“I was going to do that.”
“Sure you were.”
Amusement leaks into his deep voice.
My cheeks heat, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me blush. I turn my back on him and get to work untying the hunter’s shoes, but I draw the line at stinky socks. I’ll probably regret it when blisters form.
I am stubborn. He’s right about that.
I bend over to slip on a boot, hear a choked sound from behind me, and pause. The strips of silk flowing from my hips billow in the breeze, likely revealing parts of me reserved for my new husband… parts recently waxed.
My worst trait has always been the urge to poke the bear. Especially one that tries to tell me what to do. I have a voice. Ignore me at your peril, Huntsman.
I make a show of struggling to put on my boot. I bend lower, fumble with the laces, whimper with frustration, and flip my hair as if it helps me concentrate. Then I cock my hips and work on the other boot.
His attention is palpable, a hot caress pushing against my skin. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
A slow smile curves across my lips. By the time I’m done, the weight of his unwavering attention feels triumphant. He’s definitely attracted to me, despite his declaration he’s not in this for his own rewards. I can use this to my advantage.
I have a new pair of boots, a sheathed dagger tucked into my pink sash on one side, and a rations pouch on the other. But that’s all I take because having hunters leer at me will piss him off.
He might enjoy delaying his gratification, but the sooner we eliminate obstacles in my way, the better.
“And the coat.” The clipped order is gruff.
I don’t think he’s moved an inch from that spot on the wall.
“No.”
“Do as you’re told.”
I snort. “You don’t own me. You’re not my king.”
Silence stretches. His next words are softer. “And if I were?”
Ha! So, he does want to be king. I plant my boot on the dead man’s chest and yank the arrow from his throat.
“You want to own me?” I smirk. “Then earn me.”
I don’t know why I said that. I don’t want to be owned.
He ignores the arrow I offer him. Torchlight reflects in his eyes. Something about him looks different from this angle. His mask still wears the monstrous smile, but it no longer mocks me. It’s just a mask.
I know his game now. I’ll have an unexpected ally if I handle this right. And when it comes down to the two of us, I’ll evade him. If all else fails, I’ll have my virginal blood.
He’ll be dead before his cock spills inside me.
“You worried you’ll fall?” I tease and stretch on my tiptoes to lift the arrow higher.
Slowly, still staring at me, he reaches down and wraps his fingers around the arrow’s shaft. That’s when I notice the scars, the gnarled and knotted knuckles. My heart stops beating for a second. His hand is disfigured.
But it’s not only the scars that catch my eye. Red moonlight reveals three freckles forming a triangle near his thumb, reminding me of a time in my childhood.
The well swallows me in darkness. Water glints below like a mirror waiting to shatter. My hollow voice echoes when I call for help, each repetition smaller until silence crushes in. Night prowls closer. I wrap my arms around my scraped knees, the chill seeping into my bones.
Stupid Leander and his taunts. “Bet you can’t reach the ledge. Bet you’re too chicken.”
I’ll show him. Gritting my teeth, I brace against the slick wall. Push up. Scrabble for purchase. My fingernails crack and my palms sting as I crash back down. Hot tears threaten, but I blink them away.
