“Going to visit the Sorceress? She must be a witch!”
“That’s right—I’m a witch!” I say desperately. I glare at my attacker. “And if you don’t let me go this minute, I’ll make you sorry!”
“First you’re a princess and now you’re a witch,” he scoffs, but he looks uneasy. However, he doesn’t release his grip on my wrist. If anything, it tightens as he continues dragging me into the shadows.
My panic rises higher and higher until it threatens to choke me like bile. What’s wrong with the people here? Why won’t they help me? Do they really not mind that a woman is being dragged away to be raped?
“Come on now, girly—don’t be troublesome. None of the barmaids mind,” the man says, his fingers tightening until I feel the small bones of my wrist grinding together.
So, this is something he regularly does to the women working here—no wonder the patrons of the inn are looking the other direction! Rape is normalized here at The Slaughtered Lamb.
I feel sick but I’m more determined than ever to get free of him.
“Let go of me!” I shout in his face, trying one more time. “Let go or you’ll be sorry!”
“I’d listen to her,” a low, growling voice says, and a huge hand suddenly clamps itself onto the man’s shoulder.
I follow the hand and wrist up the muscular arm and see—to my relief—Valen standing there. His long black hair is wild around his shoulders and he’s bare-chested. The firelight gilds his bronze skin, making him look like some kind of demi-god. The look on his face is terrible to behold—a kind of possessive rage twists his features, and his eyes are glowing like two live coals.
“Get your fucking hands off my woman,” Valen growls and I see his grip tighten until his knuckles turn white.
The man who grabbed me gasps and abruptly drops my wrist. Valen lets him go and he backs away, glaring at us mistrustfully as he rubs his bruised shoulder.
“Hey, Maud!” he shouts, his beady little eyes never leaving Valen and me. “What the hell is going on around here?”
“What’s that?” I hear a familiar voice shout from the back of the inn.
A moment later, our innkeeper, Maud, comes bustling up, wiping her hands on a grimy dishcloth.
“What’s all this then?” she demands, her sharp eyes taking in me and Valen and the man with the dirty, hairy face who’s looking at us accusingly. “What’s wrong, Harry?” she demands, looking at him. “What happened?”
“What happened? This bastard here attacked me and this other one claims she’s a witch!” he snarls, pointing at first Valen and then me. “What kind of people are you letting into my inn, woman?”
“He’s lying!” I say quickly. “None of what he said is true!”
“What—you mean him saying you said you’re a witch?” Maud asks, raising her eyebrows.
“Well, no—I mean, I did say that, but only to make him leave me alone!” I say quickly. “He was attacking me and Valen made him stop.”
Her look of suspicion becomes one of anger.
“Are you saying my husband was attacking you?” she demands.
Her husband? Oh, no…
But though she might not want to hear it, there’s no other way to put it.
“He had his hand on my wrist, and he was dragging me away.”
I pull back my cloak and show her my wrist, which still bears angry red finger marks from where her husband grabbed me.
“He admitted he’s done this to the barmaids,” I say. “You must see I’m telling the truth—this is where he grabbed me!” I shoved my wrist closer to her face.
Maud’s face gets even darker.
“Well maybe he was trying to throw you out seeing as how you’re a witch!” she exclaims.
Clearly she doesn’t want to know the truth about her husband. I’ve made a grave error. I look at Valen for support, but now that I’m no longer in imminent danger of being raped, he’s just standing there with his arms crossed over his bare chest, watching me with what appears to be mild interest.
