Prim had no choice but to allow the behemoth of a man to pat her down, ensuring she had no other weapons. She expected his hands to wander and linger, she braced herself for it, but he was quick and efficient. He found none--she had none--but he pocketed the envelope that had been her sole reason for venturing outside the safety of the complex. He hadn’t opened it, a small mercy. Still, her chest tightened. The package wouldn’t make it to its recipient.
The man in black led her through the dark city streets, one large hand gripping her arm all the while. She could scream, she supposed, but had not yet determined what sort of man he was. Perhaps he would just slit her throat and be off before anyone could come to investigate. She could only pray to Solin that the man was being honest when he said he wouldn’t kill her. As long as she stayed alive, she had no doubt in her mind that she could escape him. She just needed time. Whether it would take a few hours or a few days, she couldn’t tell. In the meantime, she would get information.
“Who are you?” The stranger pulled her along quickly enough that the words came out a bit breathless. He ignored her. “Where are you taking me?”
The man stopped short, causing her to collide with his solid body as he gripped her arm tighter. “No talking, Princess.” She looked at his face, but couldn’t make out anymore up close than she had in the alley. Only his eyes were visible, and it was too dark to reveal anything specific about them. A heartbeat later, he was off again, winding through streets and alleys in a swift confidence that revealed intimate knowledge of the city.
Hours passed before the man stopped again. He hadn’t turned back to look at her once. He hadn’t released his grip once. Prim was certain a handprint-shaped splotch would remain on her arm for hours once he did. They had exited Hogard proper and immediately cut inland, away from the Great Road and into the wooded territory beyond. The sky began to lighten in front of them and only then did he stop. Thank Solin, because she was exhausted and in need of a privy.
The area he claimed for their camp was well surrounded by a cliff on one side and a bramble of trees on the other. The man ripped some extra branches to conceal any remaining openings to the clearing, completely closing it off from the rest of the forest. Prim wasn’t sure why he bothered; surely no one would be this far out.
“See to your needs. Don’t try to flee, Princess, as I will catch you. And if I have to run after you, I will make sure your legs won’t be up for a second attempt.”
Prim wasn’t afraid of his threat. It would only make his life harder if he broke her legs and he was forced to carry her. So she stared at him menacingly, twirling her finger at him in command to turn around. Surprisingly, he obeyed. She tucked behind some of the trees and relieved herself. When she emerged, she saw he was in the same exact spot, still facing away, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. “You may turn around.”
He did. He took long strides toward her, staring at her even as he passed her. She turned her head, allowing her gaze to follow him back to the trees where he extracted more branches. These he laid upon the ground, expertly situating them into a makeshift bed. When he was finished, he rose from his crouching position and gestured to his creation. “Sleep.”
Prim would do no such thing. They had left the city swiftly, carrying nothing but the clothes on their backs. Well, that and whatever else the man had hidden upon his person. Surely their destination wasn’t far off if the man had no supplies. “Where are we going?”
The man only blinked at her. Of course, he could be doing more under that mask, but she wouldn’t be able to tell.
“I’d rather push on. Let’s just get to wherever it is you’re taking me. I don’t need to sleep.” She supposed anywhere would be better than the middle of nowhere, alone with a man psychotic enough to attempt to abduct the Princess of Wassalia. A man who obviously had nothing to lose.
“It will take us six weeks to get to our destination.”
Six weeks. Prim didn’t attempt to conceal her shock. Though it didn’t really matter; she would be back at the castle soon enough. But where on Hosta was he planning on taking her?
The man tilted his head at her expression. “We must travel discreetly for…obvious reasons. Therefore, we will be traveling quite slowly.” His eyes raked over her, lingering on her hair and again on her chest. She did not appreciate it one bit.
“Do not look at me like that. You may have my dagger, but I will rip your balls off with my bare hands before I let you touch me.” The fabric over the man’s mouth shifted. Was he smiling?
“I don’t fuck anyone with a higher body count than me.” His voice held no amusement; he was definitely not smiling.
Prim narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but may I remind you that you are--”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Princess. I’m stating a fact. You have killed far more people than I have or ever will.” The man hadn’t moved from his place next to the makeshift bed and pointed at it again. “Now, sleep.”
Oh. That kind of body count. “I’ve never killed anyone. I doubt you can say the same. I will not sleep and let you add me to your list.” It was true. She was well-trained and knew how to kill, but had never had to. Throwing that dagger at the man’s heart was the closest she’d ever come. It was fairly reassuring that her skills in training transferred to a real-life application, though the man’s magic made it moot.
The man issued a hissing noise, the first sign of emotion she’d yet witnessed. “Bloodshed perpetrated in your name still adds to your tally, even if you did not swing the blade yourself, Princess.” He took two steps toward Prim, and with his long legs, he was in front of her, towering over her, having to bend his neck down to look at her. “And I’ll only kill you if you force my hand. Certainly not while you are sleeping.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Prim didn’t raise her neck to keep his gaze. She stared at his chest, at the tiny mark over his heart that her dagger had left. She didn’t think it was a good sign that he had said then that he wasn’t going to kill her, but was now admitting that it was a possibility. “Give me a reason to trust what you say is true.”
“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
Prim looked up at him now. Still, the sun had not yet risen enough to cast light upon the shadows that swallowed that sliver of him she could see. “Answer some of my questions, and I will sleep.” The man shook his head subtly, but she continued anyway. “Who are you?” No answer. “Why did you take me?”
He huffed through his nose at that. “Why do you think?”
“Money, then? Who is paying you? Are others after me?” If she was able to incapacitate him, would another come along to continue the job?
“It’s nothing personal, Princess. It’s just a job. And no, you are mine and mine alone.” The way his eyes narrowed, she wasn’t so sure she believed him when he said it wasn’t personal. Perhaps it wasn’t about money at all. Perhaps he simply had a vendetta. His comments about body counts certainly seemed personal. Either way, it sounded like he was the sole threat. And even if he wasn’t, with her disappearance, security at the castle would be doubled--tripled. That changed things. Thoughts of escape drifted away as a plan formed in her mind.
She would be compliant. For as long as it took, as long as it was safe, she would be compliant. She nodded and sidestepped him to accept his offering. “We have no food or supplies. How do you expect us to travel for six weeks?” she asked as she dropped onto the mess of twigs. They were surprisingly comfortable.
“Don’t worry,” the man said, reaching into the pocket of his cloak and jingling what sounded like a lot of coin. She really doubted this was about money if he kept that kind of gold on him at all times. “I have the funds to keep Your Highness fed and clothed.”
Prim furrowed her brow. “I have clothes.”
He breathed through his nose again. “When I was looking at you like that, I was looking at the fancy embroidery on that blouse of yours. We will have to go into towns at some point, and when we do, your identity will need to be better concealed.”
Prim was relieved to hear it. Personal vendetta or no, it sounded as though he really had no intention of touching her--fatally or otherwise. She laid down fully now, curling on her side so she could still see the man. “What can I call you?”
The man looked down at her, folding his thick arms over his broad chest. “Why would you need to call me anything?”
Prim rolled her eyes, but decided to leave it be. At some point over the next several days--or weeks depending on how the situation unfurled--she’d get more information from him. For now, she wrapped her cloak around her and closed her eyes, praying to Solin that the man kept his word not to kill her in her sleep.
#
The sun was high overhead when Prim woke up to the smell of smoke and meat. She remained on her bed of twigs for a moment, staring at the sky. Bristol and Kallia would already know something had gone wrong.
They knew what her plans were last night, and they had a contingency plan for sneaking her back in the complex if she hadn’t been able to get back in by herself during the night—which happened about a quarter of the time she snuck into the city. They probably assumed that’s what had happened and had not yet realized Prim was properly missing. They wouldn’t know that until they came upon the meeting spot at a tea house just outside the complex gates and found that Prim wasn’t there, either.
She wasn’t sure what they'd do then. Surely they wouldn’t tell the king or queen. They’d probably tell Roan, even though she hadn’t confided in them what she and the guard had been doing the past few days. He was still their friend and a kern. They’d want to give the royal guards a chance to rectify the situation before informing Achrod and Mallis.
Her heart ached at the terror her friends would be feeling in a few hours. She wished there was a way to let them know she was safe.
But was she? She turned to look at the clearing.
The man was sitting with his back against a tree, facing her. He still wore that fabric around his head, obstructing any glimpse of the face beneath. A fire roared in the space between them, a small creature stretched across it, held up by a rig of twigs. Unappetizing grease from the animal dripped into the flames, sending them crackling.
Safe enough.
“I thought you were going to use that coin to keep me fed,” Prim said as she sat up, stretching her arms high over her head.
The man gripped a skewer of an already-eaten critter. He had no doubt purposely eaten it before she woke to avoid letting her see his face. “Do you see any taverns, Princess?”
Prim didn’t care for how often the man referred to her as Princess. She certainly didn’t care for the tone he used when he said it, as if it were an insult. “Is it because you don’t think a perfect should rule? Is that why you’ve taken me?”
It had been over two hundred years since the last rule of an Orlana perfect. Quite often, all the children of the ruling king and queen were gifted. And those who were perfects were hardly ever first in line for the throne. It had only happened once before when the oldest child had been a perfect, and in that case, the throne had gone to the second-born. History claimed the perfect had abdicated, choosing his shifter lover over his duty. Prim had never been convinced it wasn’t due to pressure from the ruling king and queen at the time. She often wondered if the line of succession would be contested if Achrod and Mallis had been blessed with more children. Gifted children. Prim was not so sheltered as to not have heard rumblings of discontent about the future Queen of Wassalia having no magical abilities. The thought sent her blood boiling. As if magic was necessary to be powerful, wise, or just.
The man only stared at her for several long moments before he rose, examining the critter—a squirrel, she determined--still over the fire. He must have found it was cooked through, as he plucked the skewer from its resting place among the other twigs and handed it to her. “Do you know why non-gifted are called perfects?”
Prim looked up at him from her cross-legged seat on the mat of twigs. She’d never thought about the etymology of the term, but she wasn’t going to admit that to him. She reached up to take the squirrel, careful to keep it held away from her so grease wouldn’t drip on her clothes.
“Because they’re perfect just the way they are. That’s why they weren’t gifted.”