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My handmaidens?
Sensitive Anya would be too crippled with fear to be able to protect her queen from harm.
Inessa, though, wouldn’t think twice in charging at the villain, but not having had the proper military training, I doubt she would impose much of a threat.
Me?
I’d thrash and spit, curse and kick, but like Inessa, I’d be no match against a professional hired assassin.
No.
I’d die on foreign soil, my crown no longer a concern.
I’m so in my thoughts that I don’t even realize that my feet have led me away from the campsite and farther into the woods. Owls hoot their hellos, as other small creatures rush to hide in their homes, unsettled with my presence. The cool wind brushes each leaf of the tall oak trees I’m surrounded by, creating an ominous melody that brings ill-gotten memories to the forefront of my mind. My shoes crunch the fallen snow, now more brown than white, as I turn around to see just how far from the campsite I am.
All I see are trees.
No trace of the camp whatsoever.
Damn the gods for me being so in my head that I lost track of where I was going.
The whole purpose of my walk was so I could enjoy the last time I’d be protected by the northern soil and its elements, but now that I’ve lost my way, I fear protection is too far away from me to call upon it.
I take a minute to breathe, knowing that panic would do me no good in this situation.
I push all thoughts away from the last time I got lost, and square my shoulders, my spine now ramrod straight.
“It’s fine, Kat. Just follow your footprints. That’s how Levi found you last time,” I tell myself encouragingly.
My eyes scan the perimeter and thankfully, I find shoe prints on the ground, the puddles of mud making them more visible than the snow. I begin to follow my own tracks, hoping I didn’t stray too far from camp.
How long had I been walking?
Half an hour?
An hour?
Couldn’t have been that long.
Could it?
I shake my head, hating that I have no correct answer to those questions. I was so preoccupied in painting the worst possible outcome of my stay in the east, that my own feet brought me to such a perilous situation.
Thoughts of thieves and kidnappers, and worse, consume me as I quicken my step, needing the comforts and safety of my tent more than I would have ever realized possible.
But then I hear it.
A growl.
A growl so menacing that I freeze in place.
I close my eyelids and swallow dryly, my breathing becoming halted as the growl grows nearer to me. Terror has my skin breaking out in goosebumps as the growl is now accompanied by another, and then another. It’s only when my ears deafen with a piercing howl that I open my eyes and see the pack of gray wolves circling me. When I slowly take a step back, they bare their fangs at me, their sinister amber eyes locked on their prey, telling me to stay exactly where I stand or suffer the consequences.
Damn the gods, what should I do?
I just can’t stand here, for they’ll make a meal out of me if I do.
I don’t have any weapons on me to fight them off and they are far too fast for me to outrun.
