"He doesn't like me very much," I say.
"Sounds like he likes you too much, but realizes he will never have you," Sly says.
"No, he covets me. There's a difference."
Sly nods. "You've spoken truly, Princess." Sly turns to Fen. "There will be no punishments levied against you since you were defending yourself and another guest."
Fen nods.
Then collapses to the floor unconscious.
Chapter 4
TAVIAN GRAY
Kayla Windhelm
"You cannot make too many enemies and still rule."
—Kayla
The messenger came early that morning, before our raiding party had risen from slumber, before we'd broken camp and headed out. It was a short note, sent from Levi—excuse me, Prince Levi—demanding we return. Saying we were needed for war. Saying Fen and Ari were scheduled to be executed—I mentally tick off the days, and my heart stops. Today. They are scheduled for execution at sunrise, today.
I look up into a sky just starting to lighten, casting long purple shadows into the twilight. I frown and chew a lip in frustration. There's no way I'll make it back in time. I'm at least two day's ride from Stonehill, and that's if I don't care if my steed survives or not.
I'm already too late. But I have to do something. I crumble the letter in my fist and look around for Salzar, snow crunching beneath my fur boots. He's not in his tent. I head to the rear of our party and find the section I know he'll be in.
Here, there are many awake. They belong to the night in their scantily clad costumes as they use all their charms to lure the desperate into their arms. I disturb a few outraged "couples" before I find him. He's laying there with his eyes closed as a young woman… services him.
I pull the girl off of him and toss the crumbled letter at his naked lap. "We've got to go back. Now. Ready the troops."
"It's the middle of the bloody night," he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he scrambles for something to cover himself. "I'll do no such thing. Now get back to your tent, Mistress Kayla Windhelm. And remember your place. You're not a princess here."
"I was never a princess," I hiss. "And when I outrank you, it will not be because of my birth. It will be because I'm not a lecherous asshole with zero ability to lead a crowd of vampires to blood, let alone a troop to raid villages of Fae. This is dangerous work. Deadly. And they need someone who will protect them. Not someone like you. We leave tonight, with or without you."
I storm out, my heart pounding frantically in my chest. I can taste the rage on my lips, like it's a poison soaking through me. For the last fortnight I have suffered the abuse of this vile man in an effort to keep our troop undivided and effective. But I am done placating that ass.
What I do next can be considered treachery, turning on my superior. But I am the one following an order from a prince of hell, and Salzar is not.
The company bell stands in the middle of the sleeping quarters, and it rings throughout the makeshift village. Tired bodies pitch out of their tents to see what the emergency is.
I summarize quickly, then give my commands. "We leave now. Pack only what is necessary to make it to Stonehill safely. Leave everything else. We have no time."
Not all follow. Some are still more loyal to greed and rage than fairness and justice. But many—most—do. I release a long held breath. For all I knew, every soldier could have decided to stay with Salzar, decided to continue raiding village after village. It was easy work. Full of reward. I had gone on two raids myself, and though at first I was driven with thoughts of vengeance for Daison, they soon turned to thoughts of shame. These weren’t soldiers we were fighting, but innocent men, women and children who could barely hold a sword. I argued with Salzar to turn our attention to military strongholds. He said we didn’t have a force big enough. I think he grew too fond of the slaughter and spoils.
But now, with an official message from a prince, I have most of the troops traveling back with me. Hopefully, my good luck continues. By the Spirits, I'm going to need it before this is all said and done.
I'm faster than most, and I'm ready with bedroll and minimal provisions in hand, mounted and wearing light armor. I set the pace for the day's march, and we make good progress come early night. But it's not enough. So I push us more.
I push past the recommendations of my advisors.
I push past my own whispered reservations.
I push past what is safe, as night falls in darkness. As a new moon keeps us shadowed. As we are blocked by a lake that we must cross.
"We must trail back and go around," my advisors say. "It's the only way. The Druids will punish us if we enter the water."
The map lies between us on the rough earth, firelight casting shadows over the parchment. I lay a rock on the narrowest part of the river. "We cross there. We shave off days of travel." I look at each of them pointedly. Daring them to contradict me. To challenge me. To tell me we should abandon my brother and friend to a false hanging.
None do.
But I alone bear the burden.
Of the thing that happens.
When we cross.
When the wind lashes at us, and the waters rage in violent waves. I see a horse pulled under before me.
And then I follow.
Drowning. Feeling the water fill my lungs. It burns. It incites the most animalistic instincts we have. That of survival. Breathe. I must breathe.
I am dying.
They are dying.