Once she was settled, Damien turned to Gregory, assisting him in managing the dress’s fabric as he climbed onto his black mare. He made a show of flaring the gown’s skirts around him, fluffing it to cover his thick legs. If not for the stains and tears, he would have looked like a beautiful princess; the thought made Luna smile, though it quickly disappeared.
“Take care of him. He can be a royal pain in the ass,” Gregory said to Luna before making a clucking noise with his mouth. Immediately, his mare leapt into action, taking off at a gallop towards the hills. It wasn’t long until he was a mere bug on the distant dim horizon.
“That should buy us some time,” Damien noted as he mounted Barley. Once astride her, he added, “Hold onto the saddle horn and let me know if you need to slow down.”
Luna wrapped both hands around the leather horn, and Damien made the same clucking sound with his mouth. Barley took off at a lope, in the opposite direction of Gregory. He’d barely gotten two paces ahead before Pickles followed after him. Apparently, the mare did not want to be left alone with Luna—which suited her just fine.
Their pace quickened, and each stride became longer and longer until the ground raced underneath them. Luna’s vision blurred from the wind stabbing her eyes, and her knuckles turned pale from gripping the saddle horn tightly, but she refused to tell Damien to slow down. She wanted to put as much distance between her and the king’s men as possible. Besides, riding the mare wasn’ttoodifferent from riding Damien in his unicorn form; she just needed to hold on for dear life and pray she didn’t fall.
Chapter 22
Into the Woods
As the hours passed, the surrounding landscape began to change. The rolling hills flattened, and the open sky disappeared, replaced by a dense canopy of green leaves. Thick trees rose tall around them, crowding together with bushes that filled every available gap. The horses were forced to slow to a cautious walk, carefully weaving around sturdy trunks and sprawling roots.
So far, there’d been no sign that anyone tailed them: No branches rustled or snapped, no distant hoofbeats could be heard. Thanks to Gregory, it appeared the king’s men had been successfully led astray, at least for now. Maybe she had been wrong not to trust him . . .
As the distance between them and Grythorn stretched, and the risk of being caught dwindled, the adrenaline coursing through Luna’s veins ebbed. Slowly, the tension coiled in her muscles dissipated. She forced herself to relax, loosening her tight grip on the saddle horn and sunk deeper into her seat. As if sensing her shift in demeanor, Pickles’s pace slowed even more, her steps unhurried but steady.
Luna put her hands in the air and enjoyed the cool forest air on her palms. Outside the palace, everything felt raw and real, untouched by careful hands. The ground was mostly dirt, moss, and fallen leaves, unlike the hard bricks and stones she was used to walking on. Even the air smelled different—cleaner. Earthier.
Luna was unaccustomed to travel though, particularly by horseback, and discomfort grew in her hips, legs, and bottom rather quickly. In an attempt to alleviate her aches, she wiggled her hips backwards. Damien shot her a not-so-subtle side-eye, frowned, and hopped off Barley, causing both horses to stop dead in their tracks.
Before Luna could ask what he was doing, he grabbed her leg. Where his fingers pressed, sparks tingled beneath her skin, causing her breath to hitch with a sharp inhale. She swore she heard him chuckle, like he found what his touch did to her entertaining.
Ever so gently, he manoeuvred her legs to either side of the saddle horn, positioning them to hang off the front of the saddle. The relief was immediate; the pressure on her bottom and the soreness developing in her thighs eased.
“Thank you,” she whispered before waving her hand about, gesturing to where they were, “for everything.”
His eyes darkened, a shadow sliding across his face as he turned away. It was as if he was uncomfortable with her acknowledging his efforts . . . appreciating his kindness.
When he turned back to her, his usual smirk was back in place. “Does that mean I’m no longer the enemy?” he asked coyly, but the words were low and somewhat rough, like they cost him something to say them.
His question went unanswered, and he remounted Barley, urging her to walk forward with Pickles in tow.
Luna wasn’t sure. The truth was, only time would tell. Guilt clawed at her chest, heavy and burdening, and she fidgeted with the saddle horn, her fingers tracing the leather strip that wrapped around the wood. Avoiding the question she instead asked, “Do you think we are safe now?”
“Yes”—his smirk faded, as if he was disappointed, but he kept his voice smooth, reassuring—“but the farther we are from Grythorn, the better.”
She couldn’t agree more; the thought of possibly facing the king’s men and their weapons again made shivers run down her spine. The powder that had been shot at them burned worse than fire . . . an experience she wished to never repeat.
Curiosity caused her to cock her head. “That was unicornbane, wasn’t it?”
He nodded. “They wield it against us to wipe away our powers, albeit temporarily.”
“It didn’t seem to affect you.” She recalled how he had continued to fight off the guards, even when he was covered in it, but when a few flakes had landed on her, the pain had been all-consuming. She’d been unable to do, or think of, anything other than getting it off her.
His shoulders tensed like he, too, was reliving the fight. “It does weaken me, but I have enough training to help me power through it. Over the years, I’ve grown a bit of a resistance to it. It’s why I let them take me as a prisoner, I knew I would be able to escape their dungeons.”
Her time in the dungeons would probably always haunt her. Never had she felt so empty, her soul so hollow. Was it the confinement that had drained her? Or the unicornbane dust coating the walls, silencing something deep inside her? Probably a bit of both.
“Why would you volunteer to be a prisoner?” Luna knew he was strong, but she didn’t understand why he’d risk being trapped in such a wretched place.
Damien tilted his head slightly, considering the weight of the question. “A miscalculation on my part,” he admitted, adjusting the reins in his hands as if the answer was of little consequence. “I figured I’d end up in the dungeons with you, judging by how that guard handled you. When you weren’t there, it made saving you a little trickier.” A beat passed before he wryly added, “Looking back, walking through the front doors and fighting my way to you might have been the simpler option.”
“Thank you doesn’t seem like enough for everything you went through to rescue me.”
“I’d rather you not thank me at all. I’ve rescued both my sisters more times than I can count from bad situations—ones far worse than yours. This was truly no trouble.”
