She turned and ran.
The wind pushed her forward, as though it too thought to help her. Her heart hammered through her chest; her legs carried her as fast as they could take her.
But not fast enough.
Hot agony sliced through her arm, a scream ripping free. Fumbling for her footing, she glanced down in horror—the tip of an arrow jutted from her bicep. Blood of light sprayed from the wound, sliding down her arm and soaking her shirt. Her scream rose again, no longer just from the pain but terror and disbelief, too, all tangled into a single, ragged note.
The guards made a tsking sound. “I warned you,” one said. She could practically hear them smirking. “Got lots more arrows if you don’t cooperate.”
She gave a quick, trembling shake of her head. “No, I’ll follow. I’ll behave.”
“Fine.” The guard scoffed, swinging down from his horse. He gave a sharp nod towards the saddle. “Get going then.”
She approached, and he helped her onto his horse, guiding her into place behind the saddle. Pain seared through her arm, turning every movement into agony as she pulled herself up and refused to lean on him for balance. She gripped the back edge of the saddle with one hand, her injured arm dangling uselessly at her side.
“I think we are closer to the camp than to town at this point,” the guard she was riding with said.
His friend nodded, and they began to head out.
The ride was brutal. Every jolt sent bolts of pain through her arm, wringing a cry from her—but her whimpers were ignored. The guards talked among themselves, as if she were nothing more than a dog whining without cause. Blood continued dripping down her arm despite her power’s attempts to heal. With the arrow still lodged deeply, there was little the magic could do.
By the time the camp appeared, Luna’s world had narrowed to waves of pain and the steady drum of hoofbeats beneath her. She barely noticed the tents ahead—white blurs against a bright blue sky.
Hundreds of white tents dotted the landscape, held down with thick wooden stakes driven into the earth. Smaller ones lined the outskirts for soldiers, while larger tents stood farther in, spaced apart and marked with subtle signs of rank. At the very center loomed a massive pavilion, easily the size of her childhood home in Grythorn, its canvas flaps snapping in the wind.
They passed fires where soldiers lingered, sharing low, idle words. Horses stood tethered to posts, swishing their tails as the group moved by. Luna blinked slowly, her head growing heavy, the sounds around her dimming . . . like someone had stuffed the world with wool. Her vision wavered—sharp one moment, swimming the next; she fought to stay upright, to stay aware.
As they entered the heart of the camp, the murmur of conversation thinned to silence. One by one, heads turned. Eyes followed. Grins tugged at mouths that had no reason to smile.
They looked at her the way hunters look at a fallen beast as it’s hauled in from the woods. She wasn’t a lady anymore; she was the prize.
When the horse stopped, she slipped from the saddle, hitting the ground hard—first, her side, then her head. No one reached for her. No one slowed her fall. She lay sprawled in the dirt, limbs twisted beneath her, painclawing up her shoulder with every breath. Voices stirred above her, but the words blurred together, distant and sharp all at once.
Minutes passed before she was hauled to her feet. Someone was speaking to her, mocking her. “Quite the adventure,” the man said, a smile evident in his voice. “Savour the memory—it’s the last taste of comfort you’ll ever know. I’m going to make sure of that.”
She was too weak to reply or even look up.
In a hushed voice, he added, “Was the arrow really necessary?” He must’ve been talking to the guards now.
“We weren’t taking our chances with a unicorn. All you asked for was to bring her in alive. No one said what condition.”
The man seized her injured arm and wrenched it upward, a sharp twist sending a fresh wave of agony through her. A strangled whimper slipped from her lips as he twisted it again, slower this time, in different directions; each movement brought fresh tears to her eyes. She tried to beg, but the words came out broken, incoherent, lost in the pain. He showed no mercy, dragging out his torment as if savouring her suffering.
At last, he let go. Her arm dropped limp at her side, and she couldn’t hold back the yelp of pain.
“Shouldn’t be fatal,” he said to the guards, voice flat.
Luna recognized that voice. This man had made oaths to protect her. How she wished she had the energy to call him every foul name she knew, but the only thing she could muster up was his name. “William,” she said weakly.
He curled a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His face held such a level of disdain she had never known existed. Hard to believe that only a few weeks ago he’d been one of her personal guards—someone tasked with her protection.
“Yes,creature, it’s me.” William grabbed hold of the arrow still lodged in Luna’s arm; Luna winced as blood seeped from the wound. “Did you really think I would let you get away with what you did to Diera?”
Lifeless eyes flashed in Luna’s mind and caused her to flinch just as William twisted the arrow. Another spike of pain shot through her, tearing a scream from her throat.
He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “You thought you could just run away like I wouldn’t go to the ends of this earth to find you.”
He twisted the arrow once more, wiggling it to open the wound further.
