I’ve beenbranded.
I stare at the soldier’s back as he walks out of the room. The air chills me, reminding me of my nudity, and I clutch my branded arm to my chest.
I’m shivering uncontrollably now, but not just from the cold. Everything aches, my throat is like the Wastelands. My legs wobble; I’m not sure how much longer I can remain standing.
Sergeant Angharad appears at my side again, shoving clean clothes against my chest. “Get dressed,” she says.
I nod, biting back a cry of pain from the fresh burn on my forearm as I slip the tunic over my head and gingerly guide my injured arm through the first sleeve. The excess fabric hangs off me, rubbing against my raw skin with each movement. The trousers prove to be more difficult than I imagined to don; my balance is way off kilter, my toes are still numb, and every movement of my left arms isagonizing. The incessant whistling in my ear only worsens things. I get one leg in and my foot catches on the inside of the other pant leg. Sergeant Angharad throws her arm out to keep me from toppling over.
“Thank you,” I say, but she just folds her burly arms across her chest.
“Cadet Bronn,” she calls. I follow her line of sight to where the young soldier has returned with two others in charcoal uniforms.
Immediately, my pulse skitters. They march toward me, manacles in hand. I’m shackled at the wrists in front of my body and flanked by the other two guards. Dizziness swoops in with a vengeance. I’m kept upright only by the grip of the soldiers.
“Please,” I beg. I don’t even know why I’ve been brought here. I haven’t done anything! The words remain locked in my mind, and Sergeant Angharad turns to walk away. “Please!I can’t…” I can’t what? Logical words abandon me as bright light flares in my vision. I blink forcibly, clinging to consciousness. I can’t faint. Not now. Not when I have no clue what’s about to happen to me.
My ears are agonizing, and nausea has my stomach in a chokehold. Which would be worse: vomiting all over these soldiers or collapsing? The absurdity of it forces a sharp, bitter laugh out of me.
Cadet Bronn stands in front of me again, his face distorted with annoyance. I open my mouth to plead again, all the while fighting the darkness that threatens to pull me down. But it’s clear my fight is in vain as soon as he lifts his fist.
I hardly feel the strike before the darkness welcomes me back in its embrace.
CHAPTER 7
Carys
The archery rangeis nestled within tall, perfectly manicured hedges in a massive field just beyond the royal gardens. Beneath my feet, the grass has been so trampled that there’s more dirt than green. Wiping my hand across my brow, I force myself to focus on my archery master, Gethin, and not on the boredom of target after target that I can hit with my eyes closed. If only he’d give me a greater challenge!
“I believe you’re ready to work on hitting targets from horseback,” Master Gethin says, shoving wispy white hairs out of his gaunt face.
My eyes widen, and I press my lips together to keep from squealing, but a smile spreads across my face anyway. I set my bow against a boulder and shift on my feet, unable to stand still.
“I’ll go set up the targets. In the meantime, try not to shoot your sentinel, hmm?” He turns and hurries off, leaving me surprised at his attempt at humor.
I set my bow and quiver down against a boulder as Tiernan steps closer to me. “Have you considered learning to wield a dagger?” he asks.
“This again?” I prop my fists on my hips.
The corner of his lip twitches, his stern expression softening. “You’re impressive with a bow and arrow, but in the event of close combat?—”
My heart skitters and I push away the memory of an arrow zipping toward me. With a steadying breath, I summon enough gall to say, “I’m not a warrior or a knight, Tiernan. What close combat must I be prepared for?”
His thoughtful expression and unspoken words uncover the rubble of my past. I wet my lips, which have suddenly gone dry.
“Princess, youknowthere have been?—”
I cut him off with a glare. “Security at Paramount has been rectified since that last incident.” I try not to remember rough hands around my throat, but it’s getting harder to breathe. The archery range fades from my view. I blink away the memories. Hot, reeking breath against my face. Harsh promises of destroying the royal bloodline. The sword running straight through the assassin’s middle, forcing him to release his death grip on me. Once I’d caught my breath, it had taken so godsdamned long for me to stop screaming. Even as the assassin lay dead at my feet, even as Tiernan told me over and over that I was safe.
It wasn’t the first time he’d saved my arse.
With another blink, the gardens of the past fall away, the archery range clear again as the cool breeze rustles through my hair and pulls me back to the present. Tiernan’s sword is still firmly secured at his hip. There’s no blood in sight, no dead assassin at my feet. I absently rub my neck, as if the incident happened moments ago rather than three years prior.
The next attempt had been just days later as I stepped beyond the gates to visit Barr na Cahar with Ellynne. The arrow meant for me hadwhizzed right past Ellynne’s ear. I can still remember her shriek that had twisted my gut and left me unwilling to ever leave the castle again.
Tiernan’s concerned face comes back into view and I narrow my eyes at him as though my mind hadn’t taken a nasty tumble into the past. His lips part, but another voice comes from elsewhere and it takes me a brief moment to return to my senses. I spin, perhaps a little too dramatically, toward Iywan as he approaches. The sun suddenly feels too warm, and I have to remind myself to unclench my jaw and smile politely.
Tiernan’s face has gone stony again as he lowers his head in a respectful greeting, but he remains rooted at my side.
