by Nicole René
He was a monster, and he always would be.
She was going to escape him.
Even if it killed her.
“Asten!” a twelve-year old Leawyn shouted after the sixteen-year-old boy. He simply laughed at her and spurred his horse faster, holding the book he had taken away from her in the air teasingly.
Leawyn growled under her breath in annoyance.
“Deydrey, faster!” she urged her young mare, using her thighs to kick her into action. Deydrey snorted and pounded her hooves on the sand quicker, catching up to the quarter horse in front of her.
* * *
“Give it back!” Leawyn shouted at Asten when she and Deydrey pulled up beside his stallion.
Asten simply smirked at her, his hazel eyes sparkling in mischief and humor. “You want this, do you?” he shouted back.
* * *
His smirk grew at Leawyn’s angry “Yes!”
* * *
“Go get it then!” he said before he chucked it forward toward the crashing waves.
Leawyn gasped in horror, watching the book sail high into the air. Asten’s laughter sounded behind her when she and Deydrey flew ahead of him.
Without thinking, she stood up, threw herself off Deydrey’s back and into the air, catching the book before she crashed into the ocean.
* * *
Deydrey instantly stopped when she felt her owner’s weight leave her, sliding in the sand with her haste.
* * *
“Leawyn!” Asten yelled, pulling his horse to a hard stop and jumping off him. He rushed to the bank, ignoring the white of the water as it soaked his boots and pants. Leawyn gasped, her hair sticking to her face as she sputtered.
* * *
Asten stared at her drowned form before he burst out into heavy laughter. Leawyn scowled as she waddled to shore. “Oh yes, it’s very funny!” she snapped, swatting at him as she passed.
Asten laughed harder, holding his sides as he bent forward. “You should have seen your face!” He managed to gasp out before his laughter continued.
Leawyn rolled her eyes heavenward.
* * *
“It’s not funny; stop laughing!” she yelled at him, muttering curses under her breath when he fell on the beach in more laughter, not caring it got him wet.
* * *
She angrily wrung out her shoulder-length hair and her skirts, watching as the ocean water made a small puddle in the sand. Straightening, her lips curled in distaste as she plucked a string of seaweed off her shoulder blade.
* * *
“Gross,” Leawyn muttered. She looked down at the book she held in her hands and knew that despite her efforts to save it, the drawings were now swirling together and wouldn’t be readable.
She bit her lip hard to keep from crying in her anger, and instead she marched to her waiting horse so she could leave. She was just about to mount when a hand latched onto her wrist and spun her around.
* * *
“Hey!” Asten laughed. “Where are you going?”
* * *
Leawyn’s eyes narrowed as she yanked herself out of his grip.
“I’m going away from you!” she yelled and shoved her finger into his chest. “You—you--” She struggled for an adequate word to call him. “Oaf!”
* * *
Asten’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Oaf?”
* * *
“You ruined my book!” She poked him again. “You ruined it, and now I’ll never be able to finish!” she ranted, poking his chest, yet again, with each word.
* * *
Asten grinned, gently grabbing the offending finger and holding it in his hands.
“Come now, Lea, it’s not the end of the world. I’ll just buy you a new one!”
* * *
“Don’t ‘Lea’ me, Asten!” she huffed, yanking her hand back from him. “That’s not the point!”
* * *
“What is the point then, Lea?” Asten asked innocently, purposely using the nickname he knew she hated.
* * *
Leawyn’s mouth dropped open. “What’s the—? You— My—” Asten raised a brow in amusement as she struggled for words. It only infuriated her more.
* * *
“UGH!” Leawyn threw her hands up in the air and turned her back on him to mount Deydrey again. When strong arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her up and away from Deydrey, she started to kick her feet.
* * *
“Put me down!” she yelled, struggling even more when Asten continued to carry her. “Asten!” Leawyn said sharply in warning, trying to push away from him.
* * *
“Leawyn!” Asten mocked.
* * *
“I hate you,” Leawyn pouted, folding her arms across her chest, giving up.
* * *
Asten just chuckled. “I know.”
Xavier held in his sigh when he stepped out of the tent. He knew he was again too harsh with her, but he couldn’t seem to rein in his anger at the thought of her trying to escape him. Not only did it cause a weird clenching sensation in his gut, but it was also extremely dangerous.
Stupid girl. Didn’t she know they were far away from the tribes, and unfamiliar men were roaming our lands?
Xavier growled to himself in annoyance as he stalked to where he knew he would find his brother. His question was unnecessary since he knew the answer.
Of course, she didn’t. How could she?
War was no place for a woman. Xavier knew that all too well. But he couldn’t stand the thought of being away from her and, if anything, she would have a better chance at escaping him back in his village than she did here.
He couldn’t allow her to escape him. She was his.
Whether she liked it or not, she was going to be with him forever.
“You’re going to scout?” Tristan asked incredulously.
Xavier paused with his saddle in his hands, to give his brother an annoyed glare.
“Yes. Why is that such a hard thing to grasp?”
“Because you never scout, cousin.” Tristan and Xavier turned their heads as the tall, heavily muscled blonde male made his way towards them.
“Tyronian!” Tristan exclaimed in surprise, a grin taking over his face. “When did you get back? And how did you find us? The Siraces get sick of you already?”
“Just now, I have my ways, and no one will ever get sick of me—I’m too handsome for that,” Tyronian replied as he came to stand next to Tristan. He turned to Xavier. “Usually ‘tis Tristan’s expertise to scout, while yours is the maiming and stabbing,” Tyronian grinned, showing his surprisingly white teeth around his blond beard.
Tristan smirked in humor while Xavier scowled at his cousin, who continued to grin.
“As much as we all enjoy your humor and input, Tyronian,” Xavier said dryly, “I’m afraid that it is unwanted.”
“Nonsense,” Tyronian dismissed, waving his hand in front of his face as if he were swatting a fly. “My input is always wanted.”
Tristan snorted.
Xavier tried to hold in his growl of annoyance at his cousin’s teasing. Tyronian never was one to take things seriously, being the most laid-back among the three.
Besides Tristan, Tyronian was one of the few who did not cower from his glare or his moments of rage. Though part of him was thankful his cousin still treated him like kin instead of his commander, it was times like these he wished he had an effect over Tyronian.
“You’re in charge of Leawyn,” he told Tristan, turning to face him now that Killix was ready. “Do not let her out of your sight. She is not to go anywhere without you by her side, understood?” he commanded, giving Tristan a hard stare.
“Ah, yes! Your little wife.” Tyronian clapped his hands together loudly, rubbing them together. “When do I get to meet my new cousin?” He asked excitedly, looking between Xavier and Tristan.
“You? Never,” Xavier deadpanned.
“Ah, so she must be as lovely as the rumo
rs portray her!”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Tristan asked Tyronian curiously, raising a brow.
“Why else wouldn’t he let me meet her? He’s afraid I’ll sweep her right off her feet with my charm and good looks!”
Tristan chuckled, shaking his head at his cousin while Xavier scowled.
“How long do you suppose you’ll be gone?” Tristan asked, getting back on topic, watching as Xavier lifted himself onto Killix’s saddle.
“It depends on how quickly I find them, and if I decide they’re a threat or not.”
“And if they are?” Tyronian frowned.
“Then this will be the last land their feet touch.”
Xavier turned his attention back to Tristan. “Remember what I said.”
At Tristan’s nod, Xavier gathered his reins tighter in his hands.
“Ride out!” Xavier called to his men loudly over his shoulder before he kicked Killix’s side and took off in a gallop, twenty men following him on their own horses as they charged after the unknown.
It was dark. The once-roaring fires of the camp were now nothing but embers, and the men scattered all around the encampment were fast asleep.
Leawyn silently and stealthily made her way around the bodies, her booted feet making no sound as she quickly made her way to where the horses were. Spotting her mare, she rushed to her.
Deydrey nickered softly when she caught sight of her, and Leawyn hastily shushed her. “Quiet now, Deydrey,” she whispered softly to her, petting her velvety nose. “We must be quiet.”
When Deydrey made no more sounds, Leawyn made quick work of putting on the saddle and tying necessary items to hold her until she was farther away from her imprisonment. She was just about to grab the reins when a voice behind her caused her to freeze in her tracks.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Leawyn whirled around and faced the person who spoke, feeling her heart drop when she met the boyish, dark brown eyes which belonged to Tristan. His face was void of any emotion as he stared at her; only his eyes glittered with unspoken words.
“You were just taking a quiet walk,” Tristan said casually, taking measured steps towards her. “Because I know you weren’t trying to escape…were you, Leawyn?” he asked her as he finally stopped in front of her, staring into her eyes intently.
“Please,” she whispered. “I can’t go back to him.” She shook her head, her hands clutched into fists. “Please don’t make me go back to him!” she pleaded, her eyes seem to shine in the moonlight reflecting off her unshed tears. Tristan didn’t reply.
“I know you care; I can see it in your eyes.” Leawyn’s lip trembled as Tristan’s brows furrowed, his eyes flashing with an unknown emotion.
By his expression, she could see she was right; he did care. He knew she was far too innocent and pure to deserve the treatment his older brother gave her.
“Please, let me go...” Leawyn begged desperately, searching Tristan’s eyes for any indication he would let her leave. But he stood there, staring down at her much like he did at her wedding.
“Please.”
Tristan’s expression turned pained. For the second time, he drove the spear through what little hope she held.
“I can’t,” he whispered, his face scrunching up with mixed emotions.
Her heart broke as her tears slowly slid down her cheeks. She was so hurt that Tristan would betray her. But then again, why wouldn’t he obey his brother and chief over helping her?
“He’s my brother, and you are his wife,” Tristan said as he gently but firmly grabbed her arm. Leawyn didn’t fight him; she just let him take her away in defeat. When she felt she could no longer hold her own weight, he swung her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way back to camp.
He placed her down on the bed, staring into her eyes as he gently took her wrists and tied them together, then secured them to the bedpost holding up the pallet. He pulled away, and Leawyn stared into his eyes. He looked sad and guilty. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, wiping a salty tear from her face with his lips.
“I’m sorry, Leawyn,” he whispered hoarsely, holding her head to his lips for a moment more before he rose to his feet and walked out, leaving her tied up to the bed like the prisoner she was.
It had been almost five days since Tristan caught her trying to sneak out, and Leawyn had never felt so much like a prisoner than she did now.
Every day Tristan would come in and give her water and meals. During the day, he would unbind her wrists. He knew she had no chance of escape because he always had a guard posted outside her tent.
The only time he let Leawyn outside was when she begged him to because she was going stir crazy.
But even then, she was guarded with him by her side.
When nightfall came, Tristan would again tie her to the bed to make sure she didn’t try to escape.
The only good grace was that Tristan didn’t tell anyone about her trying to run away.
Sometimes, he would try to talk to her, but each time he did, she ignored him. She knew she was being a bit irrational and childish to be snubbing him like she was; it wasn’t his fault she was stuck with a man she didn’t love. It wasn’t his fault the man was his brother and chief. Tristan would be held accountable for her actions, and the repercussions of going against the chief of the tribe were dire.
It would be like Lyrical and Chienef all over again.
It was wrong of Leawyn to ask him to betray his brother for her. But even with her rationalizing, she couldn’t bring herself to forgive him.
Eventually, Tristan stopped trying to talk to her and let her be.
Each night he would guard her tent, she would cry herself to sleep. She knew he could hear her.
Leawyn looked up at the sound of someone coming towards her tent. Figuring it was Tristan coming to bring her the evening meal, she turned her attention away, content on ignoring him.
However, the unfamiliar sound of another baritone voice caused her to whip her head back to look at the man in front of her in surprise.
“Who are you?” she asked, her tone a bit ruder than she intended.
She quickly cast her eyes down, worried she offended him. She didn’t know much about the Izayges men, but if they were anything like her husband, they wouldn’t appreciate her tone.
“Easy now, I only came to bring your meal.” The man held up the small bowl in his hand as proof. “No need to kill the server,” he chuckled, placing the bowl in her hands.
At Leawyn’s look of surprise, the man chuckled again, his teeth showing as he gave her an attractive smile.
“Don’t look so surprised, ‘tis not like we want to starve you.”
“I know that! It’s just—” Leawyn flushed in embarrassment. “I was afraid I offended you.”
She blinked when the man let out a booming laugh.
“I have no reason to be offended by a girl asking for a name of an unfamiliar man, now have I?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with humor.
“Well, when you say it like that...” Leawyn mumbled. “Yet, you still fail to answer the question,” she said when she got ahold of her embarrassment.
“Ah, you’d be correct! Tyronian, at your service!” He bowed down mockingly at her. At Leawyn’s small giggle, he winked.
She took a moment to look at Tyronian. He was the only male besides her husband and Tristan with whom she’d had a real conversation.
Tyronian was tall, but not as tall as Xavier. He was built much like her husband, with broad shoulders and bulging muscles in both his arms and legs. Leawyn was certain that behind his armor he boasted a ripped, toned stomach.
He did not look at all like any of the other Izayges men she caught a glimpse of. In fact, he looked more like her people. Blond hair that stopped just above his shoulders and sparkling blue eyes. Tyronian was different; Leawyn could tell. He lacked the usual cold indifference most of the Izayges men had, and instead he was
warm and welcoming. Already she had learned he had a good sense of humor.
She instantly liked him.
“Leawyn,” she introduced before taking a small, hesitant sip of the soup in her bowl.
It was disgusting.
“I hope you like it. I made it myself.”
Leawyn quickly stopped herself from spitting the soup back into her bowl.
“Hmm…” she forced herself to swallow it. “It’s good,” she coughed out, shooting a false reassuring smile at Tyronian. “Just hot.”
He beamed at her. “That is because I put a special type of spice in it!”
“Are you Rhoxolani?” she asked to cover her grimace before she took another sip of the foul soup.
“No, but you are not the first one to ask.” Tyronian chuckled, pulling up a seat in front of her. “My mother was Siraces, my father Izayges.”
“Siraces?” Leawyn inquired, puzzled. “I thought the Siraces and the Izayges didn’t get along. Since Lyrical slept with a Siraces man the night of her wedding,” she pointed out unnecessarily.
“They don’t really, but my father’s brother thought it a good idea. So, he arranged for my father to marry the Siraces chief’s daughter.” He paused before he grinned impishly at Leawyn. “Y’know, for tribe unity and all.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can see the Siraces relation now,” Leawyn said dryly. “You said your ‘father’s brother.’ Was your uncle the chief before?” she asked, readying herself to take another sip of the soup.