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"Payment for what?"
He ran a finger across the blade, the touch gentle as he locked gazes with her. "For saving you, of course." His wide smile, his blatant cockiness, and the way he ran his finger over her blade left Kallie speechless.
Savingher? He attacked her carriage, murdered her guards, abducted her handmaiden.
The man was delusional.
"But don't worry, Princess. It's safe with me." His eyes sparkled silver as light bounced off the steel in his hand. With one hand, he grabbed a hold of both of her wrists while he used the dagger in the other hand to cleanly cut through the rope. The moment Kallie felt the relief from her bindings, she tugged.
However, she was met with immediate resistance. Graeson's grip was firm, unbreakable as he slipped Kallie's dagger into the back of his trousers and grabbed another rope from his front pocket. He placed the rope between his teeth, letting it hang from his mouth. Dark strands of hair fell on his face as he reached around her, engulfing her.
As he adjusted his grip on her hands, he looked at Kallie and her breath caught in her throat. The smell of trees—no, cedar—surrounded her. If he was a different man, perhaps one who did not want to kill her father, she would have found it soothing. Instead, it felt suffocating.
Graeson forced Kallie's hands in front of her. He ignored her pointed glare as he tied her hands once again.Then his eyes lifted to meet hers. "Figured you preferred being tied up."
Kallie snarled. "You should have just kept them tied behind my back."
Graeson winked at her. "Sure, but how would I have shown off my skills with a knife?"
She recoiled. "I think I saw enough of that when you ripped apart my men like a wild animal."
“You saw that did you?” He tilted his head. "As the princess of Ardentol, I would have assumed you were well-acquainted with monsters since your king is one of them.”
Kallie stopped snarling and dropped her gaze. She had heard the whispers of the exaggerated stories of her father wreaking havoc when he was young. But they were merely stories that had grown wilder with time. Her father was a masterful swordsman, but he did not go around slaughtering people in his spare time.
He was a man, not a beast.
Graeson pulled the rope tighter, then dragged her toward the rest of the Pontians.
The Pontians were gathered near the last tent standing. There were ten people in total besides Kallie and Myra. Fynn stood in the center of the group, stroking the blackish-blue mane of a horse. Her throat grew dry.
When Kallie and Graeson neared, Kallie stumbled when she saw the man standing beside Dani.
The man stood with his shoulders back, his hands clasped behind him as he rocked back and forth on the heels of his polished riding boots. He wore a simple, loose black shirt that was tucked into black trousers.
Kallie's eyes were playing tricks on her. It couldn’t be him. It was not possible.
Graeson tugged her forward as a red-headed woman spoke to the man. When he turned to respond, Kallie had a clear view of the side of his face. She dug her heels into the ground, and a smile found its way to her face.
Alyn.
He had survived. Her lips parted as she went to call out to him, but only air came out.
Kallie's smile faded as she tilted her head at the captain of her guard who was unharmed as he conversed with the enemy. Alyn who stood there in clean clothes. Alyn who stood with a small smile on his face. Relaxed, as if he hadn't been attacked yesterday.
He stood there as if he hadn't failed as her captain.
But Kallie had seen the blood. She had seen the small pools surrounding the fallen guards, the splotches seeping into their clothing. He should have been dead. But . . .
There had been one body absent of blood, absent of any wounds besides the dirt rubbed into his hair. As if . . . As if the attackers had gone out of their way to prevent major harm to him.
Kallie's vision blurred. Her knees grew weak.
She remembered the conversation she had heard before she had attempted to escape with Myra. How one of the voices had felt familiar. Didn't the man verbalize his frustration with Fynn being rough with him? But Fynn didn't call him Alyn . . . what did he call him? And why would Fynn have hurt one of his own men? Unless . . .
She was foolish. So completely and utterly foolish. She should have connected the dots sooner.
Alyn stood before her as if he was a part of this group of attackers because he was. He was one of them.
