Oh, no.
Now fully awake, I was careful to keep my arms in place as I shifted my body to better see my wrists. My stomach plummeted as I saw the open wounds—the ones I really, really should have wrapped—stuck to the fibers of the blanket. They’d been pressed there all night.
“One minute and counting!” Callen’s sing-songy voice came from the door.
There was only one solution, and if I didn’t do it myself, Callen or…or Domus forbidHarthonwould force it on me.
I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and yanked.
I fell back on the bed, muscles tense as the skin erupted into flames. A string of silent cusses hissed out between my lips. How small wounds could hurt so much was beyond me. I’d prefer another bout with that river to this. Tears welled, even as the sharp edge of pain dulled into a throb.
“Thirty seconds!”
“I know,” I muttered, swatting at the tears and forcing myself to my feet.
There was absolutely no way I was bandaging my wrists now. The last thing they needed was the touch of more fabric.
I sniffled as I carefully threaded my arms into the vest and securedthe cloak over my shoulders. I’d hardly flung my hair into a knot when the door swung open. I jerked my wrists beneath the cloak, hiding them from view.
“Let’s go.” Callen stood at the entrance.
I wiped my eyes once more, desperately hoping any redness was gone as I approached him.
He didn’t move from the doorway. “No blindfold right now. Few are awake, and it’s dark enough out that your hood,” he reached out and tugged the mentioned fabric over my head, “should cover them enough. Keep your head down.”
The edge of the hood draped just to my eyes, shadowing my skin. Any evidence of my tears was definitely hidden now.
I quietly followed him down the hallway and steps, eventually stepping out into the early morning. Harthon’s men stood about, silently readying their horses. I shadowed Callen’s path as he weaved through the crowd until Harthon came into view. He was wearing a thick black cloak over his shoulders, and the top half of his hair was again pulled behind his head. The dark whiskers shadowing that square jaw were shorter and cleaner than yesterday. He’d shaved.
Even with his scarred arms covered and his hair tamed, he gave off the impression of a barely-restrained predator.
It would be a wondrous joy to ride with him again today. Not.
“Thanks, Cal,” Harthon said, dismissing his third-in-command.
I stood there awkwardly, watching as he secured the saddle. Like yesterday, a heavy sword lay across his back, the hilt sticking out from beneath the cloak. I saw a glimpse of knives hugged to his torso, and I allowed myself to fantasize for a moment about getting my hands on one.
Callen hadn’t bound me, but Harthon very well might.
He finished his task and, resting an arm over the saddle, set his gaze on me. “Come here.” His breath ghosted through the cool air.
Well, good morning to you, too.
Deciding not to delay the inevitable, I trudged toward him. He didn’t move to lift me. I peered up at him from beneath the hood.
“I’m not tying your hands today,” he informed me.
“Why?”
“I know more about you now, and I don’t think it’s necessary.”
As in, he didn’t view me as a threat. That was fine by me. With my hands freed, I was mobile, and if I was mobile, I could escape.
“Be sure not to mistake this as an invitation to run. You’re too valuable to let go, and you wouldn’t make it very far.” It was a dangerous promise coming from him.
Escape wouldn’t be easy, and I had no idea how I would manage it, but I would find a way. It would require time, strategy, and knowledge, but I would do my best to obtain all three as quickly as possible.
Keeping that to myself, I spoke the next response that naturally formed. “And here I thought you were inviting me to run. Thank you for the clarification,” I snarked to the formidable Princeps of Fourth Territory. Between Callen’s easy demeanor and my luxurious room, I’d apparently lost some of my timidness. Or brains. Maybe both.
