But then, seconds before they reached the path, a tall, mounted officer wearing the black of the cavalry urged his massive gray stallion forward, emerging from the exact opening that Mathos had been aiming at.
Gods. He pulled back viciously, forcing Heracles into a brutal stop as Tor and Lucilla did the same beside him, the horses whinnying and snorting in the cloud of dust.
Mathos whirled to Tor. “Go! Now!”
Tor didn’t hesitate, he simply took off, splitting them up and hopefully ensuring at least one of them would get away to go for help.
More riders flooded from the woods, half a dozen speeding off after Tor.
Mathos turned Heracles, impressed to see Lucilla do the same, and the two of them fled back the way they had come. Pushing the sweating horses once more, desperate to make it back onto the open road.
They clattered over the ancient wooden bridge with horns blowing and hooves thundering behind them. They bent low and pushed the horses harder.
They hurtled around the corner where they’d met Alis, desperate to see an open escape route ahead, only to meet the worst sight imaginable. Arrayed across the road were more cavalry troops, walking their horses in formation, three deep.
They pulled to a stop, Heracles and Penelope stepping anxiously and breathing hard as Lucilla leaned down and soothed her mare with quiet words and gentle pats. Gods, she was a magnificent horsewoman.
More men flooded the road behind them. Fuck it all. They’d been trapped. Soldiers ahead and behind.
Mathos could feel his scales settling in a wave, up his arms and over his face. Beside him, Lucilla sat straight-backed, chin up, looking entirely regal. But, perhaps because he’d been watching her all day, he imagined he also saw a hint of uncertainty, vulnerability even, beneath her serene composure.
He gave her a quick smile, hoping it was reassuring, and whispered, “Well, Princess, it looks like our plans for an afternoon of hard riding, no breaks, and occasional sniping at each other are about to fall through.”
She gave a slight shake of her head, ignoring his joke to nervously watch the ranks of soldiers forming.
Gods. He had let her down in so many ways. His beast turned unhappily, desperate to make her feel even a little better.
He leaned closer. “My father used to tell me that the best thing to do is to imagine them all naked. That might help.” Finally, the side of her mouth twitched ever so slightly, and his beast rumbled in relief.
Her eyes flicked to his and then back to the soldiers, and he noticed that, despite his being fully battle-scaled, she didn’t seem bothered by his beast at all.
She nudged Penelope closer to him—away from the array of Apollyon—and his beast grumbled even louder in a surge of protective watchfulness.
He angled himself so that Lucilla was behind his shoulder, then turned to the soldiers and raised his voice. “What is the meaning of this?”
A burly Apollyon wearing the marks of sergeant stepped forward. “I’ll be asking the questions. What are you doing with Queen Lucilla?”
Mathos opened his mouth, fully intending to explain that the woman beside him was called Claudia and they could all fuck off. But a look at her white-knuckled grip on Penelope’s mane had him swallowing the words. Everyone there knew exactly who she was. Insisting on maintaining the farce that she was Claudia would only humiliate her. He closed his mouth again and shook his head.
He was still trying to think of a sensible, and ideally amusing, explanation when they were interrupted by a voice calling loudly from behind them, in the direction of the bridge. They both turned to see the lieutenant from the tavern pushing his horse past the ranks of cavalry.
Beside him, Mathos felt Lucilla go absolutely still. Her spine went, if possible, even straighter, and her chin went up another notch as her face drained of all expression.
The day before he’d thought it was haughty and condescending—her spoiled princess look—but from his position right next to her, seeing her heavy swallow, the pulse beating frantically in her neck, he realized what it really was. It was fear.
No. It was bravery. It was the look she got when she felt threatened and was trying to stay calm and not give herself away.
Fuck. How could he only be realizing that now?
“Thank the gods,” Claudius stated grumpily. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Mathos blinked. Claudius sounded like he was rebuking a child. And by the mottled red creeping up Lucilla’s neck, she thought so too.
Something about the way she sat, disheveled, tired and hungry, but still facing down multiple soldiers without flinching, spine straight and elegant—despite not even having a saddle—made him want to lay waste to these rows of unfeeling soldiers. Starting with the man who had the nerve to treat her with so little respect in front of everyone.
Ah… like all the respect you’ve shown her.
Mathos swallowed. He hadn’t been at his best. Still, it was one thing for him to call her princess in private when she was denying everything about herself. It was another thing entirely from this man who should know better. Especially in front of the troops.
