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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tessa
When I awake, I have one blissful, quiet moment when I think everything was a dream, and I’ll blink into the morning sunlight and shudder over the tricks my mind played on me.
Instead, I can’t blink the darkness away, because there’s something over my head.
I can’t move my hands because they’re still chained, and the right one seems to have gone a bit numb.
My heart immediately leaps into action. I struggle to sit up, to right myself somehow, but I’m lying in what feels like a pile of pillows, and I can’t gain any leverage or traction. The guards did exactly what he said, and there’s a hood over my head, tied at the neck the way the prisoners wore them on the stage. I can’t tell what I’m wearing, but the heavy warmth of my homespun skirts is gone. I’m not naked, but the idea of someone undressing me while I was unconscious, of being at Prince Corrick’s mercy in that way, is . . . ?abhorrent. My stomach rolls and threatens to empty itself.
Butmy body doesn’t feel abused, aside from the aches from being chained. And I feel dressed, just not in my own clothes. From what I can tell, I’m alone.
I choke down my panic, little by little, until I can force my thoughts to organize. I need a plan.
I’m chained and effectively blindfolded. No plan is forthcoming.
Think, Tessa. There’s a fire somewhere to my left; I can hear it crackling. And I’m not sure how I can tell, but this room feels . . . ? large. Maybe I can roll myself somewhere that I can find . . .
Find what? A key? I’m not sure who I think I’m kidding, but Weston would find this hilarious.
What are you going to do?
I’m sure you can figure it out.
I can figure it out. I already have. Every time I think of it, the pit of my stomach gives way and I nearly vomit into this burlap sack. Just the memory of his terrible voice saying the words sets a tremor rolling through my body again.
No. A plan. I need one.
A door clicks, and I go still.
There’s no noise—or maybe I can’t hear anything over the rush of my heart. Tension holds my body rigid, braced against the chains.
Something brushes against my bruised and aching wrist, and I jerk so violently that I think I might break my arm. I drive my feet into the floor, only finding more pillows and no traction.
“No!” I cry out as a hand closes around my forearm. I’m choking on each word, pulling away, my head shaking violently. “No! No! No—”
“Mind your mettle, Tessa.” The voice is low and soft and so familiar that it forces me still the way nothing else would. “You don’t want to draw the guards in here.”
I’m frozen in place. I’m dreaming. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
“Wes?” I whisper, and my voice is so soft.
“I’ll unchain you, but you have to be absolutely quiet.”
It’s his voice. It’s his voice. Maybe I’m hallucinating, but I’m nodding almost involuntarily. I don’t know how he’s alive, or where he found a key, or how he got in here, but I don’t care. His hands, always warm and sure, brush my wrists, and the chains give way.
“Tessa,” he says softly, “I need to tell you—”
I launch myself forward blindly and throw my arms around his neck. There’s still a sack tied around my head, and one hand has all but fallen asleep, but the relief that courses through me is so fast and true.
“Please say it’s you,” I whisper. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming.”
His hands come around my back, and he’s holding me lightly. His scent is in my nose, comforting and familiar. I was shaking in terror before, but now I’m shaky with adrenaline and relief. Wes is here. I want to burrow into him.
“Easy,” he says softly. “Easy.”
I have so many questions that they all fight to get out of my mouth at once, and I draw back. I have to fight to keep to a whisper. “How? How did you escape? Who’s hanging on the gate?” I start fighting with the knot at the base of the sack, but half my fingers are numb and refuse to work. I need to see him. Nothing matters now that Wes is here—now that we’re together. “How can we get out? How long do we have before you’re discovered? How—”
