Urgency found them again. Slaide grasped her hand in the darkness.
“Here’s the deal, sweets. You’re going to do everything I say the very moment I say it, no hesitations. Got it? Good. From here on out, we don’t talk unless it’s urgent.” There was something comforting in the return of strictly business Slaide. A sense of familiarity.
She nodded her agreement before mumbling “yes” when she reminded herself it was so dark he likely couldn’t see her head movement.
He led her on then, winding through the dark tunnel for far too long. Did he know where he was going?Of course he does. That sort of thinking is going to get you killed,she thought.
At last, they reached another dead end. Slaide turned to her and spoke quietly.
“Now comes the fun part.” She could hear the grin in his voice. Light was filtering in between the stones, not quite enough to see, but enough to suggest it was no longer night. Meaning there would be fewer shadows for them to hide in, and more people moving about the castle. This was suicide.
“Trust me.” And she did… sort of. Maybe it was less trust and more of a lack of options. She’d have to revisit that when her life wasn’t on the line.
Slaide repeated the same sequence as before, knocking on seemingly random stones. Once more, the stones rotated and rearranged themselves to form a small opening.
To Hazel’s surprise, they stepped into someone’s living quarters. There were three pallet beds on either side of the cramped space. Hand-sewn sheets appeared to be stuffed with straw, which by the smell of the room, was beginning to mold. A few of the beds had the luxury of a stained pillow or threadbare blanket. There was a community chamber pot in the far corner.Her cheeks reddened as she determined where they were.Slave quarters.
“All the resources and wealth the king has,” she hissed, “and he forces them to sleep like this?”
“You’re right to be angry, but understand this: these are the ones who are treatedwell.You don’t want to see where the rest are forced to sleep.” He rushed around while he spoke, and just as Hazel was about to ask what he was looking for, he held up a knapsack and a change of clothes for her.
She jangled the manacles. “How do you expect me to change like this?” Her voice was just above a whisper, a little too loud. This earned her a chastising glare. “Tell me you at least have the keys to these, or maybe you can tappy-tap on them like that little trick you did with the magic doorways back there? You know, wave your hand and make them fall off? Anything?”
But the look on his face was enough. Slaide Elias did not have the keys, and there was no magic trick to make the iron shackles fall from her wrists.
“Then how do you propose I change?” No sooner than she’d said it, Hazel became acutely aware of her mistake. Slaide was going to relish in the way she had phrased that.
But to her surprise, he held his tongue. There was no snide remark, no biting sarcasm about how he could “help her with that.” And she was glad for it. Because while she’d recently found herself in some precarious, deliciously sinful situations with Slaide, her mind could not currently fathom the idea of a man’s body pressed against hers. Not after… no, she wouldn’t focus on that right now.
He truly looked stumped on how he could help her.
“It’s okay,” she said at last. “We don’t have a choice. I need your help.”
His movements were cautious and deliberate as he moved to help her remove the soiled shift. However, they quickly discovered her shackled hands posed an issue there as well.
“Just cut it off,” she spoke flatly.
That caught him off guard. “What?”
“Tear it. Cut it. I don’t care what you do. Get this disgusting thing off of me.” Because maybe, just maybe, the shock was beginning to set in. She was feeling panicked, losing control. And she was no risk to anyone as long as she wore the irons, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t break down into a useless, sobbing mess when she needed to stay strong.
So Slaide unsheathed his knife and went to work, the sharp blade slicing through the paper-thin fabric with ease.
At last, the dirty piece of cloth fell in a heap at Hazel’s feet. She shivered as the air met her exposed flesh.
Hazel turned around, wearing nothing but her underclothes, and was surprised to find Slaide had averted his gaze. She was glad for it, unsure how she would feel to see the feral longing in his eyes knowing she did not currently return the sentiment.
“Slaide, we still have a problem.” She could manage to shimmy into the reinforced, boiled leather pants of her fighting leathers well enough, but her bindings once again created a complication in putting on any sort of top.
She opened her mouth to explain just that when she was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Rap-tap. Rap-tap. Rap-tap.
Hazel froze.
Slaide moved to the small single door, hand hovering over the dagger on his hip. A curious tendril emerged from the shadow he cast on the floor, slithering like a snake toward the door. It spread so thin Hazel could hardly see it as it slipped beneath the door. A moment later, it retracted swiftly.
Whoever it was, they must have been expected. Slaide unlatched the door and cracked it open to confirm the visitor with his own eyes. Satisfied, he let them in.
