I climb under the cart and pull the jailer with me, which takes every lick of my strength. Dragging a deadweight body while crouched under something is way more difficult than I thought.
Using my feet braced on the ground in my crouched position, I heave him under until his feet no longer poke out. We’re not totally hidden, but the two wheels are large enough that we’re somewhat concealed on both sides. I dart a glance around again before I get to work.
“Sorry about this,” I tell the unconscious male. “I won’t look.”
I waste no time since I have none to spare. I start stripping him, but this part goes quite quickly. “I wish I could say you’re the first fae I’ve had to knock out and strip, but alas, you’re not,” I mutter.
As I work, I also use my magic to glamour more of my body too. Just enough to make me fill out more so I look less like a slim female and more like a bulky male. I can’t take on his entire body—not that I’d want to, but definitely not with the stone around my ribs. The best I can do is fill out a bit more so his clothes won’t hang off me.
After I free him of his clothing, I yank on the pants and then take off my dress before pulling on his shirt and armor. It’s a tight fit because of this awful stone band around me, but the long sleeves and trousers hide my stone cuffs very nicely.
Then I lay my gold dress over his groin so that he’s not so exposed. It’s the least I can do, really.
Though, to be honest, there isn’t much to cover up.
I’m out of breath by the time I crawl down to his feet and yank off his boots. I immediately get hit in the face with his stench. “Oh, great purple skies, your feet are disgusting!” I hiss at him.
This smell can’t be normal. Surely, he has something growing there. I hesitate, wondering if I could forgo his shoes and try to filch someone else’s, but I know I can’t risk it. Cursing him under my breath the whole time, I pull on his boots and lace them up. “If I get a foot rash after this, I am going to be very annoyed,” I tell him.
Finished, I crawl up to the wheel and peer between the spokes, making sure no one is looking this way. Then I slip out from beneath it and straighten up. My pants and boots arecovered in gray dust from the ground, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
Trying to act natural, I walk up to the hitch, eyeing the horses. The last thing I want is for them to take off and expose my unconscious friend. I can’t lift him into the cart, and I don’t want to waste my power having to glamour him either. So he’s staying right there, for as long as he naps.
At least I’m letting his feet air out. Honestly, he should be thanking me.
The camp is nothing but noise and rush. Dust kicks up into the air as the soldiers behind me get ready to go to the bridge, while the convoy ahead is on the move for Lydia.
I’mreallylucky that the prison cart goes last. Or in this case, doesn’t go at all.
My pulse is racing, but I force myself to act calm. I work my way up to the moss green horse, smoothing my hand over his flank. “Easy, pony,” I murmur when he twitches. “Me and you are going to go for a little ride, okay?”
His green eye rolls toward me as I come up to his neck. “No more pulling prison carts for you. You’re better than that.”
He chuffs.
“Good pony,” I say as I move to his side harness. I need to detach it from his saddle so it’s not totally obvious that he was supposed to be hitched to something. “There we go…”
“Soldier!”
I startle so badly I nearly take out my eye on the buckle when I flinch forward. Spinning around, I face the male striding over to me. “What are you doing?” he demands.
“Just securing the saddles, sir,” I lie, dropping my voice as low as I can. It would be nice if I’d had time to come up with something better than that, but I’m working on my toes here. In a pair of very smelly boots.
At least I manage to say it with complete confidence, because usually, that’s all you need to convince someone. I’m also very good at sounding like a male. Years of practice with that too.
But the soldier’s eyes move from me, over to the cart, and I start sweating. Profusely.
Don’t look down. Please don’t look down. There’s definitely not a naked body behind the wheel.
“Where’s the prisoner?”
My heart just might fall right out of my chest.
“Uh—Had to move her to the other cart, sir,” I say, jutting my thumb toward the marching convoy. “They didn’t tell me why.”
It’s an army, someone higher up is always telling other people what to do, right? Right. I justreallyhope there is another cart, or I’m dead.
The soldier grits his teeth, glancing over. “Fucking Revi, always pulling this shit.”
