Red caught my attention, and I thought I’d fallen into another nightmare, another dark dream about the creatures with glowing eyes the color of blood following my every step. I blinked and sat up when the king ducked into the canopy.
Without a word, he stepped over me and lay down,molding himself to the shape of my body. My pulse pounded loud enough to wake the entire camp.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered. “Come closer.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. King Drakkar palmed my stomach and gently pulled me flush against him. He plucked my wrists from between my legs and blanketed both of my hands with his. His fingers were surprisingly hot, nearly burning.
Without thinking, I squirmed to press more firmly against him, soaking every bit of this unexpected warmth. He’d just come from outside where he should have been wind-bitten, not carrying the fiery invitation of a flaming hearth at the tips of his fingers.
I didn’t know when or how I fell asleep with my heart skipping so erratically, but I woke to the king’s nose buried in my braids.
As much as I wanted to pull away, he was still warm. Not fiery anymore, but enough to keep me comfortable.
I squinted at the world beyond the canopy. The embers of an evening sunset blanketed the trees in gold. We’d slept the entire daylight away. Soon, the guards would wake and rouse King Drakkar.
I closed my eyes and felt his breath on my neck, telling myself I only liked the warmth of it, nothing more.
We resumed our journey though the wind made it nearly impossible to resume our conversation. The king could no longer interrogate me with the wind carrying our voices away. The air whipped around us, violent and needling my nose and cheeks.
By mid-night my thighs were sore from riding, and all the heat I’d maintained after the night of curling into King Drakkar had been sucked from my bones. Even in summer, the wind was relentless. Winter would claim twice as many souls as last year. Of that I had no doubt.
King Drakkar leaned into me and did what he could to protect my hands from the wind, but curiously, he was nolonger able to keep the heat he’d somehow gathered the previous night.
One of the king’s guards stopped the travels at the front. He swung one leg and hopped off his horse, handing the reins to another guard as he fixed his eyes on us.
King Drakkar sighed as he slid his palm down the curve of my torso before he dismounted, but it wasn’t enough to cause any heat of friction other than the traitorous heat building at the base of my belly. The cold grew worse when the king dismounted and left me alone on his horse.
He met the approaching guard halfway.
“Time to split parties.” The guard said. “The king enters Mara first. Three days ahead. Three riders together. Three kingdoms combined.” The guard spoke in a monotone voice as if having recited this a hundred times like the Grimward relaying the execution announcement.
King Drakkar released another rough breath. “Bring me a new horse, Silver will stay with this one.”
The guard gave him a single curt nod before turning around. After a few minutes, he reappeared on his horse with a riderless horse cantering at his mount’s side. The king climbed into the saddles and flicked his icy eyes toward me one last time before directing his horse away from me.
Without another word, he took off on his new horse, a guard at one side and an owl-masked executioner at his other.
And though I was surrounded by guards and members of the Grimward, I was alone, the cold air slicing through my animal furs and cloak.
Shame tormented me for three days. The sickness twisting my gut grew worse with my monthly bleeding. Whenever the stomach cramps and flow of blood cropped up, my obsessive dwelling and nervous energy became all-consuming. I didn’t have the energy to keep the thoughts at bay.
This slow journey to a lifetime of servitude didn’t help. What would my days look like as I worked in the castle at Mara? My skills with cooking, baking, and cleaning were basic and attuned to village life in Skaldir. I was best skilled at reciting the sagas and solving riddles buried in the history of the Gods.
My favorite duty had always been as a gatherer. My mother taught me how every plant served humans either as a salve, an oral medicine, food, to burn for scent, or to sacrifice to Odin and Freya. Of course I could identify any poisonous leaf as well. But none of that would serve me well in Mara where much of the flora was different, if I even worked as a gatherer at all.
Dull pain clawed through my lower stomach. Each month I dreaded the bleeding because it never failed to leave mynerves more frayed than ever. The flow was as heavy as the weight of each painful reminder.
I almost missed having the king at my back, which meant I was a traitor.
I almost lost my chance to free my mother because I was short-sighted and selfish.
I almost died, and I should have.
The Stormdal witch’s life was not less valuable than mine, despite whatever King Drakkar was attempting to suggest. I hated his interest in me as much as I craved more of it, and this sent me into another spiral that only a careful focus on the senses helped me crawl out of.
I felt the rhythmic canter of the horse’s stride and the ache in my thighs. I smelled the remnants of rain as we left the storm in our wake. Taste was trickier, since I hadn’t eaten for hours. Bleeding either stripped me of my appetite, or sent me into an insatiable hunger. This month’s wave turned my stomach inside out, leaving no room for a desire for food, which was just as well since we’d nearly run out of provisions after the storm slowed our expected travel by two days.
Closing my eyes, I narrowed in on the next sense. An owl hooted from nearby. The horses' hooves struck the earth with steady purpose. I heard tentative cheering…
