“They still wouldn’t be able to find our camp.”
The fabric at her eyes pulled tight as Drake tied it behind her head. All Myka could see was a little slice of light peeking in by her nose. She’d have to tilt her head way back to even have a chance at seeing anything, and even then, she wouldn’t have an angle.
“Let’s go,” he said.
His arms went behind her back and knees, and Myka let out a yelp as she was unexpectedly lifted off the ground.
“Put me down!” she demanded as she wiggled against the cradle his arms had made. She was like a giant baby. She turned her head to where she assumed his face was, and her nose awkwardly brushed up against his cheek and neck like she was some sort of lovesick girl sniffing his skin. She could only imagine the look of horror on his face from being nuzzled by her.
Drake mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like a curse word, but Myka couldn’t be sure. She was too busy jerking her head back. Flames of embarrassment erupted up her skin. Her hip bumped into the side of the horse, and somehow Drake’s Herculean strength hoisted her up onto the saddle. Myka wasn’t going to be impressed, though. She was going to compliment herself on being so light that even Drake Vestry could lift her. He wasn’t attractively strong.
His hands held tight at her hips, steadying her, and she tried to ignore the way his warm touch made her feel like, at any moment, her skin would melt off her body from the heat of his fingers.
Stupid hormones.
She quickly swung her leg around the horse, trying to scoot back into the saddle as soon as possible so his grabby, warm hands would release her, but her leg ended up kicking him in the shoulder or face...somewhere on his body that she couldn’t see.
Drake swore under his breath again, and this time she’d clearly heard it.
“Do you have to make everything so difficult?” he asked as he let go of her.
Myka straightened in the seat. “Me? You could have put the blindfold on when I was already on the horse. That would have been a lot easier, but I think you enjoy manhandling me.”
The rope at her waist tugged, and the horse moved under her as Drake lifted his body into the seat behind her. “I don’t enjoy manhandling you.”
“Grabby hands. That’s what I’m calling you from here on out. Mr. Grabby Hands.”
“Personally, I’d save that name for Dawsick,” Drake grumbled as reached around her to pull on the reins, making the horse jolt forward.
“I already have a name for him,” she muttered.
“What is it?”
“You don’t get to know. I don’t tell my kidnapper personal things.”
Drake laughed in a deep, rich way that simultaneously grated on her and made her feel light.
She sucked in, choosing to focus on her annoyance. “If you’re all soldiers, why aren’t we riding on personal transporters?” Myka asked, changing the subject.
“I didn’t say we were soldiers. YOU did.” Drake’s voice was full of amusement. “Besides, PTs would draw too much attention, don’t you think? Since only soldiers are allowed to have them.”
Attention. That’s exactly what Myka needed. She needed someone to notice them and help her, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen.
After about an hour, the horse slowed its pace. Myka’s body tilted forward in the seat, and she could feel Drake’s body against her back like they were going down a steep hill. She tried to lean forward so that she couldn’t feel his solid chest against her, but she didn’t want to topple over the front of the horse. That would be embarrassing. The horse would probably trample her, and then depending on how steep the hill was, she’d roll down it uncontrollably to the bottom.
It wasn’t worth it.
She would have to suffer through his solid chest pressed up against her.
How unbearable.
Myka felt the ground even out below them, and she heard voices off in the distance. Drake removed the blindfold, but the sunlight blinded her as she waited for her eyes to adjust. When she could finally see again, she scanned the area in front of her. Brown log homes with smoke billowing out of the chimneys were scrunched together, creating a small village. Farmland stretched behind the houses as far as Myka could see.
“Is this where we’re staying?” she asked Drake.
“No, this is just a quick stop.”
“Won’t we draw too much attention to ourselves here?” she asked in her sassy voice.
“This village is helping us.”
Her brows furrowed. “Why would Tolsten villagers help you fight against their own king?”
“The village used to have a large metalsmith factory that most of the villagers worked in. That’s where your father got the metal to make his weapons.”
Here we go again. More lies about the weapons.
Myka rolled her eyes, but Drake couldn’t see the action since she was sitting in front of him.
“After a few years, some of the villagers figured out what the king was making. They saw some of the missiles when they dropped off the metal at Tolsten House. After that, they refused to keep supplying metal for him. Then a few guards from the Tolsten army showed up with some bombs that they could shoot out of a barrel gun; at least, that’s how they explained it. Within a matter of minutes, they watched their entire village go up in flames. More than sixty people died that day. Adler told them if they ever mentioned anything about the bombing, he would find the rest of them and kill them. The survivors went in search of a new home. That’s how they ended up in such a remote area.”
Her father would never be so cruel. It had to be a lie.
She lifted her chin. “How did you find out about this village?”
“Albion has been sending spies to Tolsten for the last couple of years. Last year, two of our spies came upon this village. They gained their trust, and eventually, one of the men told our spies what had happened.”
“Why now?” she asked. “Why are the villagers helping now?”
“They’re tired of living in fear,” he said.
That, or they want money or whatever else the Council operatives had offered them.
Myka bristled. She didn’t want to talk about the village anymore. These people were clearly traitors.
As their horses got closer, the shouts became louder as people came out of their houses and farms to greet them. The group clapped and cheered, congratulating the men on what? Kidnapping her?
Yes, job well done. Let’s congratulate the kidnappers.
Who were these people? Did they have no humanity? Myka’s eyes went wide as she watched the fanfare unfold around her. If the king of Tolsten found them, they would all be dead. He would show no leniency toward anyone who helped these kidnappers take his daughter. It was hardcore treason. And yet, they all acted like Drake and his buddies were heroes. Why didn’t they seem worried about the kidnapped princess in Drake’s lap and what that might mean for their futures?
Myka didn’t get it.
As the horses strode through the village, every eye fell on her. Their stony glares and hate-filled expressions made something inside of her pull tight. Myka held her chin high even though she didn’t look much like a princess right now. Her long hair was tangled from the journey, dust caked her face, and she smelled like something had crawled inside of her and died.
Several kids ran alongside Drake’s horse.
“Drake! Drake!” they called out. “Give me a five!” Their little hands reached up, and Drake bent over, slapping each one’s palm. The scene would’ve been cute if she even remotely liked him, but since she didn’t, his high-fiving annoyed her.
“Welcome back!” A group of men nodded at them as they passed. “We knew you could do it.”
We knew you could do it?
A young woman around Myka’s age smiled at Drake, ignoring the other kidnappers completely. She had green eyes and short curly brown hair. “We’ve been waiting for you guys to return.” She walked alongside his horse, beaming up a
t him. “I’ve been waiting for you to return.” She let out a nervous laugh. “Is there anything I can help you with, Commander Vestry?”
Myka turned over her shoulder and raised her eyebrow. “Does Mr. Grabby Hands have a girl lined up in each city?” she asked under her breath.
Drake shook his head at her, a weak attempt at fighting against her smirk, then he turned to the girl. “Thanks, Cora. It’d be great if we could get the princess a shower so she can wash up.”
Myka straightened. She didn’t like Cora.
“And also,” Drake cleared his throat, “some feminine supplies.”
“Of course,” Cora’s eyes went wide. “I can take the princess to my house to shower...and everything else.” The girl looked at her, and for a moment, Myka thought she saw a bout of jealousy written across her face.
Oh, girl. You’ve got nothing to worry about here. Just give me some feminine products, and the kidnapping playboy is all yours!
Myka smiled at Drake. “Don’t let me ruin your afternoon. My shower can wait if you two need to catch up.”
“That’s not necessary,” Drake said through clenched teeth. He gave Myka a pointed look and steered the horse away. “Thanks, Cora. I’ll tie my horse up and bring the princess to your house.”
The girl nodded, watching after them.
“I hope that wasn’t your girlfriend you brushed off,” Myka said over her shoulder. “Or did you already explain to her your relationship limitations?”
“No,” Drake said. “She’s helping all of the operatives. That’s it.”
Myka had definitely noticed the way he’d said all of the operatives, creating a satisfied feeling inside of her.
“Maybe she finds your kidnapping ways a turn-off.”
His tone turned smug. “Does it look like she finds my kidnapping ways a turn-off?”
No.
No, it did not.
Drake was more popular than indoor plumbing, at least with Cora.
The men led their horses to a post, and Drake hopped off the back. He pulled her off the animal, but this time she grabbed the horn of the saddle for support so that she could avoid the whole physical touch problem she’d been having with him. In these situations, it was always good to avoid physical contact. There needed to be boundaries.
“I’m going to take the princess to shower. Then we can all take turns babysitting her while we clean up and eat lunch,” Drake said to the other operatives.
The other four men nodded like they agreed with the plan.
“I don’t like the term babysitter,” Myka said as Drake pulled her along to Cora’s house. “I’m not a child.”
The corner of Drake’s mouth tilted up into a smile, but he didn’t look at her. “You kind of are like a child.” He turned his head, scrunching his nose. “I think it fits perfectly.”
Myka pursed her lips, looking away, making Drake snicker beside her.
Awful, awful man.
They came upon a small two-story A-frame house, and Drake knocked on the door. As they waited for it to open, Myka found herself daydreaming about jumping on Drake’s back. Was she strong enough to strangle him? Take him down? Rip out his hair? No, not that. His hair was gorgeous. The other thoughts were tempting, though, but before she could act, Cora opened the door.
Her smile was big and animated as she looked up at Drake. “Come in,” she said, holding the door open wide for them.
Myka passed through first, glancing around the room. There wasn’t much to it. Two wooden chairs were placed in front of a fireplace and there appeared to be a small kitchen behind that, but Myka could only see the wood-burning stove from the front door. The house looked as though the occupants were as destitute as Rommel and Joett. Was everyone in Tolsten living in squalor? Or just the traitors? The stark contrast of her life compared to theirs made something inside of her feel bad, like she should be apologizing for their circumstances as if it was somehow her fault.
“We have a bathroom the princess can use to clean herself up.” Cora walked to the side of them, gesturing to the washroom. Drake peeked his head inside, looking up and down. There was a freestanding tub with a gray curtain pulled around it, a small toilet, and one sink attached to the wall. On top of the toilet was a towel, a new dress, and the feminine products she needed.
Cora to the rescue.
Drake grabbed a basket full of toiletries under the sink. “We can’t have anything in there that the princess can use as a weapon,” he said as he handed the basket to Cora.
Cora turned to her with big eyes, prompting Myka to respond with a fake smile. “I’m very resourceful. I can kill a man with a single bar of soap.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Drake’s lips twitch, giving her a small feeling of gratification—more than it should have.
Drake flipped the curtain back, looking inside the tub before he turned around. “All clear.” He stepped toward her and began untying the ropes at her waist and hands. Myka could smell his musky scent, and her eyes lined up perfectly with his broad shoulders. His muscles lifted and shifted under his shirt as he pulled at the knot. She had to look away, forcing her eyes to his chin.
Yes, much better. Chins aren’t attractive.
But then her eyes drifted from his chin to his strong, smooth jaw and tanned skin. She closed her eyes dramatically, trying to convince herself that staring at Drake was repulsive.
“Could you be any slower?” she blurted out, closing her eyes. It was like Drake purposely took his time untying the knot so that he could torture her with his manliness.
“I didn’t know we were in a time crunch.” Myka could hear the humor in his voice.
“We’re not. I’m just eager to shower.”
The rope slackened, and he stepped back. “You have twenty minutes. I’ll be waiting right out here.” He pointed to the small living space.
She gave him a tight smile and then slammed the door in his face.
The first few minutes of her shower, Myka stood like a statue, staring blankly at the curtain surrounding the tub. She thought she might be crying, but it was hard to tell with the water splashing against her face.
She felt numb.
She couldn’t feel relief that they weren’t riding anymore or that she was still alive. Her numbness didn’t let her pick and choose what she felt. It took away all of the pain, turning it into a dullness that threatened to suffocate her.
She stood there feeling nothing.
Thoughts of her father crept inside of her. Was he still alive?
The anxiety that question caused hit her square in the chest, breaking her resolve. Her shoulders jerked up and down as she tried to stifle her sobs. She cupped her mouth with her hand to keep her cries from being heard. Was there a way to make it all stop hurting? Because if there was, she’d do whatever it took. The pain in her chest throbbed to life like all her fears, insecurities, and despair had multiplied. She sat down, holding her knees against her chest, as the water pelted her from above. There was no way out of this darkness. It filled her up—a thick fog settling deep within her.
She’d felt this way before. Cried like this before. The day her mother left had felt like this. Myka had spent days and weeks breathing life into little bits of hope that her mother would return, but she never did.
Myka took in a deliberate breath. What if this never ended?
A loud knock sounded at the door, jerking her back to life.
“Your twenty minutes is almost up,” Drake said through the wood.
She wiped her hands over her face and stood up, reaching for the soap. She washed her body and hair and quickly stepped out of the shower.
Myka slipped the gray working-class dress over her head. It was a little long, but it was better than putting her dirty clothes back on. She looked around for a brush or comb, but Drake had taken everything out. That was probably a good idea, because if there had been anything that she could have used as a weapon, she would have found it.
She ran her fing
ers through her tangled hair as best as she could and then braided it. She tied the ends of her hair together, hoping the braid would stay. Without her maid, Pennie, to help her, Myka’s options were limited.
She slowly cracked the door open, not wanting them to know yet that she was done showering.
Drake sat on the edge of one of the chairs, and Cora knelt in front of him, examining his eye where Myka had elbowed him yesterday.
“It looks really bad,” she said as she wiped the wound with a clean cloth. “I’m glad we’re cleaning it up.”
That was an exaggeration. It didn’t look really bad.
Cora set the cloth aside and dipped her fingers in some sort of cream, then she slowly rubbed her fingers over the cut. Myka rolled her eyes in disgust at Caressing Cora. Was that what Nurse Myka had looked like? The thought made her want to gag.
Cora placed a fresh piece of gauze over his eye and covered it with medic tape. Then she grabbed the dirty cloth and Myka’s pink scarf that had somehow ended up next to Drake on the couch.
She held the hair tie up by the corner. “I’ll get rid of this dirty thing for you.”
“No!” Drake stood, reaching for the tie.
“What?” Cora looked confused.
Drake looked down at the ribbon between his fingers. “You can’t get rid of this.”
Yeah, because it’s mine!
“I’m growing attached to it,” he said.
Myka’s eyes went wide.
Attached?
She tried to ignore the funny feeling swirling inside her stomach.
Cora shrugged. “Oh, okay.”
Drake shoved the ribbon into his pocket then rotated his body toward the bathroom. Myka quickly threw the door open, pretending like she hadn’t been spying on them.
“All done,” she said a little too loudly.
Drake bent his brows down. “Let’s go, then.” He started walking to the door. “Please thank your parents for letting us use their house.”
“What about you?” Cora asked. “Don’t you need to shower?”
“I’d like to.” He looked at Myka. “Let me get the princess taken care of first.”
Myka strode past Cora. “That was code for, let me find a babysitter for the princess.”
The Stolen Princess: A YA Dystopian Romance (Desolation Book 3) Page 12