It’s his eyes. Those intense brown eyes, so full of rage. They harbor death. Maybe mine, I ponder when we reach the river. Wren bypasses a bridge, dragging me farther down to one that—No. There is no way I’m crossing those rotten and broken wooden boards. I’m sure his intentions are for me to meet my demise right here, right now, by letting me drown.
“Are you mad?” I point to the remnants of what must have once been a sturdy means across the Merrie River.
Wren gives me a vicious smile. “I thought I cleared up any confusion about my state of mind when I finger-fucked you against your precious tower.”
The tower has never been precious to me. “This will never support our weight.”
He releases my wrist with a little shove that propels me onto the rickety bridge. “Walk, Rapunzel.”
With no choice but to comply, I grip the prickly, frayed rope, barely holding the bridge together. I take the first few steps. The bridge groans and sways, and I freeze in horror, expecting the decayed boards to splinter beneath my feet. But Wren is directly behind me. He curls his hand around the nape of my neck, squeezing.
His breath is warm against my ear. “Did I tell you to stop?”
“I’m afraid.”
His nasty laugh hurts worse than a slap. “Good. Now fucking walk, or I’ll drag you across this bridge by your goddamn hair.”
The venom in Wren’s tone pollutes the air when he releases me. His threat propels me forward across the bridge. I almost hope the boards will crumble and I’ll fall into the rushing water below just to spite him. To rob him of the pleasure of killing me himself. I shuffle one foot in front of the other, my yellow tunic catching in the summer breeze to tangle around my trembling legs all the way until I reach the other side. Then he’s there beside me, with another warning for me to keep up with his punishing pace.
Or else.
To me, Blithe Forest always seemed large. A vast expanse that stretched on forever. With their twisted branches, the tall trees block out the rest of Rygard. However, it’s much smaller than I thought. We walk for less than an hour in silence, which allows me to lay my starved and greedy gaze on the world. To enjoy the glory of seeing something other than the same stone walls. The same…everything. But the silence becomes too thick between us, and I finally work up the courage to, again, ask Wren where he’s taking me.
Without missing a step, he answers, “Where you belong. Hell.”
I can’t imagine how much worse my life can get, given that I spent twenty-four miserable years in a cage, often half-mad from solitude. But I get a good idea when, a moment later, we reach the edge of the forest, and there, perched upon two massive steeds, are our escorts to the underworld—one with eyes as black as a demon’s.
12
WREN
Loyalty is everything.
Without loyalty, there is no trust. Without trust, there are only lies, betrayal, and bloodshed. John proved this by infecting Rygard with his cleverly concealed evil and demented desire to possess Rapunzel. And Rapunzel reinforced this by hiding her gift from me.
Me.
Someone who would have given his life to protect her.
I was a fool in love with an illusion. A person I crafted in my mind because I never knew the person beneath the fantasy I created.
But Dax and Quinn, they’ve proved their loyalty to me—and I to them. So much so, I trusted them with the knowledge of Rapunzel—Rapunzel and her fucking magical ability to heal.
I can’t even look at her as we journey southwest, away from Blithe. Away from the charred remains of Leeds. Putting as much distance as possible between me and my mother’s grave before the sun sets and we stop for the night.
I need to put an end to this vile day.
Speaking of vile things…
Rapunzel, hidden from view by Dax’s brawny body, hasn’t complained once. Yet. Surprising given how we’ve been traveling for hours, and she was initially reluctant to ride with Dax. Her protest was absurd. Every woman he meets falls at his feet. Yet there she was, refusing to climb on the saddle and take a seat in front of him. Regardless, I hoisted her up, and she’s been sitting there, stiff as wood since.
Before we started our trek toward Dyhurst, I changed out of my soiled jerkin and replace it with a clean garment. Somehow, though, I still feel saturated in Mary Kincaid’s blood. My sorrow is there, simmering beneath the surface, but there’s no time to grieve. Not until John is dead and Rygard is free. Instead, there is rage, and when I gaze out at the landscape, at Rygard’s undeniable beauty, it reinforces the need to rid this land of its maniacal king.
Realizing I’m gripping Frenzy’s reins tight enough to slow the black steed’s pace, I loosen my hold and quicken the animal’s gait. Riding parallel to Dax, I glimpse Rapunzel, and lust, pure and hot, fills my cock, hardening it to the point of pain. Fuck. I can still feel her, tight and wet around my fingers.
I wanted to hurt her, wanted her shame.
She gave me her passion.
