by Simone Pond
She did have the good fortune of being Verubri’s most-wanted lady-in-waiting. Perhaps she could use this to her advantage. Stay alive and get back inside the castle without having to fight an army of knights … It could work.
Evelyn remained on the steps and asked, “Do you have any idea who I am?”
He peered down and cracked a smile from under his helmet, but didn’t say anything.
Evelyn figured she probably looked more like a wild forest creature than a lady-in-waiting thanks to her ratty hair, bare feet, and tattered tunic. She slowly turned around and pulled back her unruly coppery hair and smiled. “I’m Lady Evelyn. And it appears as though luck has landed on your doorstep. I escaped from the castle, but I’m quite sure if you return with me alive—and unsoiled—you will be handsomely rewarded.”
The knight feigned a dramatic bow. “Tis an honor, my lady. I’m Gaberdine of Tulles. Now let’s move along so we can proceed with our business.” He nudged her shoulder with the point of his sword.
Evelyn didn’t want to stick around to find out what he had planned for her. She promptly jabbed her elbow into his kneecap, causing his leg to buckle. Thrown off balance, he tottered a bit. She yanked the same leg and thrust him backward. His head slammed against the stairs. Unfortunately, this didn’t do much damage since he wore a helmet. But he had dropped his sword in the commotion. Evelyn snatched it up and aimed at his groin.
“Stay right where you are or I’ll …” She raised the sword up a few more inches. “Or I’ll gut you.”
He sat up, chuckling. “All of this is quite unnecessary, Lady Evelyn. Besides, do you really want to harm an innocent man?”
Guilt wasn’t going to dissuade her, but she didn’t want to kill the man. He hadn’t tried to take her life … yet. She hoisted the weapon high above her head and brought it down onto his helmet. The abrupt clang was enough to cause the knight to fall back against the steps again. As he fumbled around to get his bearings, Evelyn jumped down the stairs and darted out the front door just as the coyote had done a few minutes earlier.
Still running with the sword, Evelyn headed into the forest. It was dark by that point, and she relied on the light of the full moon to help guide her through the maze of trees. She didn’t see or hear the knight trailing behind her and thought she was safe just as she landed on a sharp rock that jabbed the sole of her foot. She toppled to the dirt and rolled around, grabbing her foot to assuage the agony. Blood gushed over her hands from the deep wound the rock had caused. She needed to find shelter for the night.
She flung the sword into the bushes and climbed up one of the large pine trees, where she perched herself on a nest of branches. She waited and listened for any signs of the knight, her foot throbbing with intense pangs. Silence echoed around the moonlit forest. She leaned back against the trunk of the pine tree and released a long and faint sigh.
After a solid twenty minutes of utter stillness, she figured the knight had either given up or gotten lost. But it still wasn’t safe enough to get down and make a run for it—the forest was too quiet and any noise would draw attention to her. She decided to stay put—as motionless as possible—until morning. Her foot needed to stop bleeding anyway before she could do any strenuous hiking.
Nestled snugly between the tree branches, she tried to inspect the wound, but it was too dark to see the extent of the damage. She could see the blood—as black as pitch—and her entire foot was drenched in it. The gash was still bleeding, which caused concern. Returning to the village to dress the wound was out of the question. She quietly tore off a large strip of material from the bottom hem of her tunic and wrapped it tightly around her foot to stave off the bleeding. The throbbing continued through the night as Evelyn watched the full moon drag across the dark sky.
***
In the first light of morning, Evelyn reexamined her foot to find the strip of material saturated in blood. And the wound was still open and bleeding. Dizziness clouded over her like a fog—too much blood loss and not enough sleep—but she needed to get back to the village and tend to her foot. She also needed to get some proper clothes and more weapons.
Evelyn climbed down from her perch in the tree, then limped around the area and rifled through the nearby bushes looking for the sword. Every time her foot touched the ground, blades of fire surged through her body. She tore off some more of the tunic to wrap around her foot, and added some leaves for padding. That helped only a little, but it was enough to help her continue onward.
She limped along back to the village as quietly as possible, whispering, “Spear of Gorias … Come, spear of Gorias …” over and over. But it was no use. Aine and the crystal stone were long gone. She’d have to rescue her father from the castle without the spear. She had just killed a dragon without the thing, so anything was possible. There were plenty of weapons left behind in the village; all she needed was a solid plan … Her mother’s cleverness lived in her, just as her father’s dragon slayer blood did, so she’d figure out something.
Just as her confidence swelled, she caught a glint of metallic silver coming at her. She raised her sword, and the clanking of metal on metal rang through the trees. The impact clattered through Evelyn’s bones, and her sword flew out of her grip and landed in the dirt just a few feet away. She stumbled, trying to regain her balance, and inadvertently put too much weight on her injured foot. The shock seized her entire body. The forest flashed red as she crumpled to the ground.
The knight she’d encountered earlier in the lodge approached with a wide and satisfied grin. “Been looking for you all night, Lady Evelyn. You’re a sneaky and stubborn one, aren’t you?”
“And you’re a bloody worm,” she grumbled.
The knight bent down and hoisted Evelyn up over his shoulder and began walking, whistling as he did so. In her bleary state, she noticed he was heading back toward the village and not the castle.
“Where are you taking me?” she muttered.
“Back to where we started. Now why don’t you rest that pretty little head of yours. Your foot is bleeding and you look a bit pale.”
She writhed around, trying to free herself. But even if she could’ve broken out of the behemoth’s grip, she wouldn’t have gotten very far. Exhaustion, the loss of blood, and the thwack of the knight’s sword had done a number on Evelyn. She closed her eyes and surrendered. What was the point in fighting? She’d just wait and face whatever nightmare was coming.
6
On the walk to the carriages, Ciara plotted the conversation she planned to have with Olen. The watchman had already proven to have a soft spot for her on a couple of occasions. This should make sealing an alliance with him fairly simple. In Ocelum, she’d forged many close relationships among the May Day girls, using each one to her advantage. She’d never experienced any sort of intimacy until she met Kateline, and look where that had gotten her … distracted. This would not be the case with Olen.
“My lady,” he said when Ciara approached.
A curt nod of the head was all she mustered, but her eyes said much more. She tilted a suggestive gaze upward toward Olen, letting her eyes linger on his for quite some time. So long that the quiet intenseness of the moment grew deeply awkward. But she held her gaze and only relented when she caught a slight flush rise up Olen’s neck. Checkmate, she thought to herself.
She falsified a stumble as she proceeded to the steps of the carriage, and Olen caught her by the waist.
“Pardon me,” she said, steadying herself.
“Watch your step, Lady Ciara,” said Olen, narrowing his stern gray eyes, “you’re walking on very dangerous grounds.”
Ciara knew he wasn’t referring to the dirt underneath her satin shoes. It was a warning. This meant the perceptive watchman had sniffed her out and knew she was up to something. No wonder Prince Kieran wanted the man nearby. Keep the clever ones closest. But this couldn’t be the end of her undertaking. She’d seen the way he gaped at her on the ship. And he’d saved her life by standing up t
o the prince that day in the prince’s chambers. But perhaps she’d misread something. With all of the distractions, it was possible she was off her game. She turned to get a better look at Olen.
“I’ll have to be more careful,” she said.
He nodded and helped her into the carriage, then began to shut the door.
“Wait!” she blurted.
“What say you, my lady?”
“Won’t you join me while we wait for the prince to return with his new army? I’d love some company. Perhaps you could tell me your story of how you came to be one of the prince’s most revered watchmen.”
Ciara noticed Olen’s cheeks flush a bit upon hearing the compliment. She patted the seat.
Olen chuckled lightly and climbed up into the carriage. “As you wish, my lady. But if I get reprimanded by the prince for being in your company alone, I’m blaming you.”
She smiled and placed her hand on his sturdy knee. “I don’t think the prince cares much whose company I’m in.”
Olen reached for her hand and held it gently. The gesture was so tender, it sent a shock through Ciara. She hadn’t expected any sort of kindness from the man. She had a flashback to the previous night and Prince Kieran throwing her face down on the bed. The humiliation of how savagely he had treated her burned across her chest and made it difficult to breathe.
“My apologies,” said Olen softly. “I didn’t mean to make you recoil.”
Ciara gasped for air and in doing so she released a sob; one she’d been holding in since the moment Prince Kieran degraded her in the worst way. Without meaning to—because this was most definitely not part of her ploy to win over Olen—Ciara completely crumbled into his lap and cried.
“What is it, Lady Ciara?” Olen stroked his hand over her hair and this only made her sob harder. He remained quiet and let her cry it all out, assuring her it would all be okay.
When Ciara finally came up for air, wiping away the tears and streaks of makeup painting her face, she looked at Olen and tried to smile. It was the first authentic smile she’d ever known. She knew it was real because she felt it starting from deep within.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Did he hurt you?”
She managed a nod.
“He hurts them all. The … swine.”
“I’m going to put an end to it. I will be the last lady-in-waiting he ever touches like that.”
Olen grinned. “I have no doubt about that, my lady.”
Ciara’s smile grew even brighter. “Will you help me?”
“Help you with what?” he asked, raising his chin.
“In my plan to … end the prince? After I’m married to him, of course.”
Olen squeezed Ciara’s hand and leaned closer to her; close enough that his warm breath filled her ear. “That’s treason, my lady.”
In a moment of puzzlement or passion, Ciara turned her head so her lips met Olen’s and they locked into a kiss. A long and deep kiss that trembled and shook her entire body. His strong hands moved to her waist and he pressed against her, setting her back onto the seat so his weight rested on her heaving chest. She ran her fingers through his unruly hair and moaned as his lips moved down her neck and into her cleavage.
“I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad,” he groaned, glancing up at Ciara with his gray eyes hungering for more.
“Take me,” she whispered, spreading her legs apart so his body sunk closer against her. “Take all of me, right now.”
She thought Olen would be fast and furious, but he lingered with each kiss and touch. He pulled back the layers of her long ivory gown and his fingers traced up her inner thighs, reaching the place she’d been so ashamed of the night before. He kissed her there, erasing every bad thing the prince had done. When he couldn’t wait another second, he entered Ciara. He held her tightly, pulling her against him as he thrust himself into her. The radiant bliss that burst between them caused Ciara to shout in ecstasy and Olen to shake the carriage with his bellowing.
When it was over, Olen gently collapsed on top of Ciara, and she didn’t even mind his weight pressing down on her. She felt safe, shielded from the world. They laughed together for a few minutes, and when they stopped for a moment or two, they’d start laughing again.
Ciara wasn’t sure how much time had passed or how long they remained lying intertwined in each other’s arms when they heard the battle horns going off.
Olen jumped up from his dazed state and adjusted his uniform. “I must check on that.”
Ciara sat up and immediate dread filled her heart. “Don’t leave, Olen.”
He smiled when she said his name, then leaned down and kissed her again. She reached around his neck and held him there for a moment, feeling another inferno rising up between her legs. Olen moaned, then slowly pulled himself away.
“It’s my duty, Ciara. I promise, I’ll be right back. I won’t let anything happen to you … ever again.”
She nodded, then got busy straightening out her messy hair and crinkled gown.
When Ciara opened the door to air out the carriage before the prince and Kateline returned, she glanced across the manicured grounds and her throat tightened. A horde of shouting and hollering men in filthy rags were storming the queen’s estate. Ciara assumed these were the men of Clovis’s tribe. But she was confused why they would be running toward the castle after their release. Shouldn’t they be following Prince Kieran back to the carriages?
The men appeared mad—in the deranged sense—climbing the walls, smashing windows, and busting down doors. The queen’s knights rushed out from the castle to engage the prisoners. But they were on a rampage fueled by madness, revenge, and vitriol. They fought with their bare hands. Anyone they took down, they’d pilfer their weapons, then continue fighting. Some had made their way into the queen’s castle.
Ciara scanned the area for Kateline, hoping her friend was safe in the mayhem. A moment of hope flashed by that maybe Prince Kieran had ended up as collateral damage when the prisoners had been released. The fighting continued to become more grisly as Clovis’s men were now setting things on fire and chasing down women who resided in the castle. Ciara spotted the queen being ushered off toward what must have been a secret staircase down the side of the cliffs, when one of the burly tribe’s men grabbed her and pulled her backward. Ciara turned away, terrified to see what would come next.
Olen sprinted across the lawn to the carriage. “Get inside. I’m taking us back to the ship.”
“But what about Kateline? I don’t want to leave her behind.”
“If she’s alive, then she’s a part of this conspiracy. We must go!”
Ciara jumped back into the carriage while Olen sat at the front and ordered the horses to go. They descended down the mountain at a rapid and dangerous pace. Ciara worried they’d lose a wheel or topple over the side. But Olen had control of the horses and the situation. She was safe. She was finally safe. Though the negotiations had turned into a pile of dung, at least she was free of the prince. Hopefully he was back on the manicured lawn, disemboweled and bleeding to death under one of those exotic palm trees. As for Kateline, the double-cross was a diabolical surprise. But she admired the girl for her clever manipulation—Ciara hadn’t seen that coming. So far it seemed to be working in her favor, but she could never allow such chicanery to happen again.
At the port, Olen assisted Ciara out of the carriage and back onto the ship. She held his hand. Unabashed joy danced through her for the first time in her life. Everything was going to be so much better without the evil prince looming over her like a dark cloud. She wanted to take Olen to her cabin and continue more of what they’d started in the carriage. They had two whole days of traveling on the sea to explore each other.
They stepped onto the deck. She pulled him toward the stairs that led to the lower section of the ship. Olen stopped short and yanked away his hand.
“My lord,” he said. “You made it back. I wanted to make sure Lady Ciara was secured. It was
chaos up there.”
Prince Kieran walked over to Ciara and Olen, circling around them slowly. He struck the back of Olen’s head with the butt of his sword. Olen dropped to the deck with a loud thunk.
“That’s for putting your loyalty in the wrong place,” said the prince.
Olen moaned as dark red blood oozed from his skull onto the deck. Ciara’s heart stopped beating. Her lungs stopped working. Everything around her went still. It was over. Her moment of safe happiness vanished in an instant. The prince kicked Olen in the gut repeatedly.
“I’ll keep you alive because to kill you would be too easy. I’m also keeping you around so you can be witness to what I’m going to do to this whore the entire journey back to Verubri. Then I’m going to toss you into the dungeon for safekeeping.” The prince smirked as he glanced up at Ciara.
Her heart kicked back into motion and started racing. She had to get to her room and lock the door. She had to let the prince know she now had his precious journal and he’d never see it again if he touched her. She wanted to say the words, but they got stuck in her gullet.
She turned around and ran down the stairs toward her cabin. She darted through the narrow hallway and made it to her room and slammed the door, locking it behind her, then shoved her trunk over to barricade it. Clunk, clunk, clunk the prince’s footsteps came down the stairs. Ciara ran over to her bed and pushed away the pile of pillows and grabbed the one at the bottom, reaching inside for the dragon slayer’s journal.
It was gone.
She yanked out the stuffing and turned the fabric inside out, but the casing was empty. Then she jumped down to the floor and began digging into the other pillows, but the journal wasn’t inside any of them. Clunk, clunk, clunk … the prince was walking down the hallway.