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Her name was Haya. She was a Tintagel horse, bred for sure-footedness on the rocky windswept terrain. I moved a hand over her flank, appreciating the ripple of muscles beneath the mare's skin. Her back was broad and strong and Gregor claimed she would be able to bear my weight and that of my gear without complaint. I certainly hoped so, but vowed to lighten my load when I returned to my room.
Haya nuzzled my head, snorting softly, and I felt a surge of affection.
“You take care of me and I'll take care of you, Haya. Deal?”
“Talking to a fucking horse, Pendragon? How utterly pathetic.”
I stiffened, then turned slowly around.
“What happened to your face, Florian? Did a horse kick it in?”
Florian sneered and took a step closer.
Carefully, I moved away from Haya's stall.
“Amusing. As if you don't know who did this, you little bitch.”
I didn't reply. My eyes were fixed on the glint of steel in his hand. A dagger. Larger than the one he had used on me in my room.
And there I was, unarmed, defenseless, in an empty stable. Leaving the castle suddenly seemed like the worst idea I’d ever had.
My back hit a wooden pillar and Florian smiled, his handsome lips pulling up sharply. He pushed a lock of blonde hair off his forehead, revealing more deep cuts and bruises.
The beating he'd received had been a bad one. I tried to feel pity for him, tried to put myself in his shoes.
I failed completely.
Someone had made him feel fear, like he had made me feel. Someone had made him hurt, like he had hurt me.
I felt nothing but satisfaction as I looked at his disfigured face.
“Not quite so pretty now, are you, Florian?” I said softly. “How the tables have turned.”
“You appreciate my face like this, don't you, Morgan. Now that it looks more like your own?” He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his breath warm against my face. I turned my head, disgust blossoming in the pit of my stomach.
Florian reached out a hand, his fingers sliding over the silk of my gown, then curling around my throat.
“I've missed you, Morgan. Our last visit was much too long ago for my liking.”
I forced a grimace. “It was far too recent for mine. Let's not repeat it.”
My eyes were scanning the stalls, looking for something I could use. A bridle. A harness. But all the tack had been stowed away. Damn the tidy competency of the castle servants.
Florian's hand slid down my throat, trailing over my collarbone.
“I've dreamed of seeing my name on you, Morgan,” he breathed. “How does it look, each time you peer into the mirror and see me there, reflected back at you? I bet it looks good.”
“It's practically vanished. Faded quite quickly. Soon there will be no trace left,” I lied.
Florian smirked. “Let's see about that, shall we?”
I moved fast, stepping to the side, but I wasn't fast enough. His free hand caught me by the hip, slamming me back against the pole. All the while I was aware of the long knife in his other hand, so close to me.
Florian’s hips pressed against me. His body was flush with mine. The sensation was unbearable. The memory of the last time he had been this close pulsed through me. The memory of him sitting atop me. My terror at the thought of what he might do.
Tonight I thought he might not stop. This might be it. He would go all the way.
“I admit, I'm thrilled to catch you here, Morgan. On our last night together. Let's make it a good one, shall we? I know I'll miss you. And you... Well, you won't forget me anytime soon. Not when I'm through with you.”
