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They’re clearly trying not to wake me and Bede, so I close my eyes and feign oblivion, even when Enthel emits a faint gasp as she comes.
I wonder how long they’ve been together. There’s an easy comfort between them, the proof of long acquaintance, and yet they obviously crave each other’s bodies as much as ever.
Will I ever have that with Rupert? What if the King rapes him, injures his mind and emotions beyond repair? What if Rupert can’t endure my touch after that? Or what if the King castrates him, cuts out his tongue, mutilates him in some other way? What if he decides to kill Rupert after all? What if… what if…
I lie frozen in the bed, prey to the circling panic. It holds me captive in my nightmares when I finally fall back asleep, and it haunts my mind the next day.
When we stop for a break to relieve ourselves, Bede and I are the first to return to the carriage.
Lannau and Enthel are probably fucking in the woods, signs Bede with a smirk.
I give her a faint half-smile.
Are you alright?
“I keep thinking… worrying about what’s happening to him.”
She nods sympathetically. You are doing everything you can to help him.
“Sacrificing too much, maybe.”
Maybe. She signs the word, then hesitates before moving her fingers quickly. I have never loved anyone like you seem to love him. I think a love like this demands sacrifice.
“But you think I was wrong,” I murmur. “About the firstborn. That part of the deal.”
She nods, winces. Her lips twitch, half-forming the shapes of words as she signs faster, with more intense energy. But it is done now. Trust your choice, and trust in yourself. You will get back to him as quickly as possible. Whatever happens to him in the meantime is the King’s fault, not yours. Do not torment yourself. You must be at your best to survive this.”
The carriage driver returns and hops up into his seat, so we let the conversation drop.
That afternoon, Lannau calls for a halt. “Here’s where we abandon the carriage,” she says. “Take your pack, and let’s go.”
Within minutes, we’re standing on a grassy lane that leads into the forest, watching our carriage and driver recede into the distance as they head back toward the main road.
“From here, we walk,” declares Lannau.
“For how long?” I ask.
“It depends on whether or not the barriers are still in the same place,” says Enthel cryptically.
“Thanks,” I mutter, hoisting my pack. “That’s a big fucking help.”
It’s uncharacteristically bitchy of me, and by the time we take our next bathroom break, I understand why. I’ve bled through my underwear, and there’s a tiny spot on the inside of my leggings. Any longer, and they’d have been saturated.
“Shit,” I hiss.
“Must you announce it, though?” calls Lannau from behind a nearby bush, with a chuckle.
“No, it’s—my monthly bleeding.”
“Oh.” A pause, then she says, “I haven’t had one in decades, and Enthel never did. You don’t have supplies, do you?”
“No.” I lean back against the trunk of a tree. It will be dark soon; the gloom of the forest is already thickening. Once the bleeding begins, the cramps are soon to follow, and for me, that means misery of horrific proportions. I’m in for a wretched night, trudging through this overgrown forest in the dark, with blood leaking out of me the whole time and my stomach muscles contorting themselves into knots.
“Shit,” I whisper again.
Someone taps my arm. It’s Bede, holding out a strip of cloth she has apparently ripped off the hem of her tunic.
I take it gratefully, folding it into a thick wad. “Thank you.”
