A sword swings toward his head and Bellamy parries desperately, the clash of steel on steel ringing across the empty countryside. But even as he blocks one attack, another comes from his blind side, and then another, until he's fighting on multiple fronts with the desperate fury of a man who knows he's outnumbered.
"Take him alive!" the leader barks as Bellamy's blade opens a shallow cut across one attacker's forearm. "King Kent wants him intact!"
Bellamy manages to land a solid blow to another rider's shoulder, sending the man reeling in his saddle, but the victory is short-lived. A weighted net comes flying out of the darkness, the heavy cords tangling around his sword arm and yanking him sideways.
Tempest screams as multiple riders grab her bridle, their combined weight overwhelming her attempts to break free. Bellamy feels the mare stumble beneath him, off-balanced by the net dragging at his weight, and knows he has seconds before they bring him down.
He throws himself from the saddle rather than be trapped beneath her if she falls, hitting the ground hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. The impact sends shockwaves of pain through his shoulder and hip, but he rolls with the momentum, trying to get his feet under him.
Strong hands grab him before he can rise, hauling him upright with brutal efficiency. Bellamy lashes out with his free hand, his fist connecting with someone's jaw in a satisfying crack of impact, but the victory costs him his balance. More hands seize him, and suddenly he's surrounded by a press of bodies, all muscle and leather armor and the distinctive smell of men who've been living rough.
"Feisty little prince," someone grunts as Bellamy drives his elbow into a kidnapper's ribs. "This one's got some fight in him."
"Not for long," another voice growls, and Bellamy sees the pommel of a sword coming toward his head.
He jerks aside at the last moment, the metal glancing off his temple instead of landing squarely. Stars explode across his vision and his knees buckle, but somehow he stays conscious, adrenaline and desperation keeping him upright when training and strength fail.
"Careful!" the leader snaps. "Damage him and answer to me!"
They wrestle his sword away from him despite his attempts to maintain his grip, the blade clattering across the stone road with a sound like a funeral bell. Rough hands grab his arms, wrenching them behind his back with enough force to make his shoulders scream in protest.
"Get off me!" Bellamy snarls, throwing his weight backward to try and break their grip. He manages to knock one of them off balance, earning himself a moment of partial freedom that he uses to drive his knee toward another attacker's groin.
The man twists away with a curse, and suddenly a mailed fist is crashing into Bellamy's stomach, doubling him over with explosive pain. He retches, gasping for air, and in that moment of vulnerability they have him.
Rope burns against his wrists as they bind his arms behind his back with efficient brutality, the hemp cords tight enough to cut off circulation. He tries to wrench free, but the bonds only tighten further, sending needles of pain shooting up his arms.
"That's enough fighting, Your Highness," the leader says conversationally, grabbing a handful of Bellamy's hair to force his head up. The man's face is weathered and scarred, with the kind of cold eyes that speak of violence as a profession rather than passion. "You're coming with us whether you like it or not. The only question is how much pain you want to endure along the way."
"Go to hell," Bellamy spits, earning himself a backhanded slap that snaps his head sideways and fills his mouth with the taste of blood.
"Such language from a prince," the leader tuts mockingly. "King Kent will have to teach you some manners."
A hood goes over his head, plunging him into suffocating darkness that makes every sound seem amplified. The coarse fabric smells of sweat and fear—previous victims, perhaps, who didn't survive whatever ordeal awaits him.
"Search him," the leader orders, and rough hands begin patting him down with professional thoroughness.
They find his purse quickly, the coins jingling as someone pockets them with casual greed. The small eating knife at his belt disappears next, followed by the decorative pins that hold his cloak in place. But they miss the thin disc of dark metal that hangs beneath his shirt—Ivah's seal, pressed against his heart like a talisman.
"Clean as a virgin's conscience," one of the searchers reports. "Nothing but royal gold and pretty baubles."
"Good. Get him mounted."
They haul him upright, ignoring his attempts to resist, and suddenly he's being lifted bodily onto a horse. The saddle is hard and unfamiliar beneath him, and they secure him to it with additional ropes around his waist and ankles, ensuring he can't throw himself off or attempt escape.
"This is an act of war," Bellamy says through gritted teeth, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fear crawling up his throat and the throbbing pain in his head. "Release me immediately, or face the consequences."
Laughter greets this pronouncement—cold, harsh amusement that speaks of men who've heard empty threats before.
"There'll be no war, princeling," the leader says, clearly enjoying Bellamy's helplessness. "Not as long as your pretty mother complies with King Kent's demands."
"The Queen will not trade her kingdom for one person," Bellamy replies with more confidence than he feels. "No matter how much she loves me, she would never betray her people for my sake."
"Oh, she won't have to trade the whole kingdom," the leader says conversationally, his horse moving up beside Bellamy's mount. "Just pieces of it. Trade routes here, tax concessions there, maybe a few strategic fortresses to sweeten the deal. King Kent is a reasonable man—he'll start small."
"And if she refuses?"
"Then she'll receive you in pieces until she learns to be more reasonable." The casual way he speaks about dismemberment makes Bellamy's stomach clench with fresh terror. "Starting with fingers, maybe. Or ears. Amazing how much blood a man can lose and still stay conscious."
