She would have argued, but she heard it too. Horns, in the distance. Gods, they would find them, and what would they do to them? It would be bad, whatever it was. Claudius had beaten her hands until they bled. What would Dornar do? Would he really hurt her, the queen?
No, the real danger was to Mathos. They would kill him. Painfully.
She took a step away, looking back the way they’d come. Maybe it would be better if she gave herself up and let Mathos go. She could—
“Stop it.” Mathos’s rough voice interrupted her thoughts at the same time as he reached forward, grabbed her hand, and started pulling her off the path and into the deep part of the woods.
She gasped. And then scowled, but before she could come up with a suitably acerbic reply, he was whispering forcefully, “I’m not leaving you. So, whatever that thought was, you can forget it.”
Her jaw dropped open, and she immediately shut it again. He’d done it again. Somehow managed to annoy the living shit out of her, and then, almost in the same breath, say the nicest thing she could imagine.
Never in her life before had anyone promised to stay with her and meant it. And she didn’t know how to respond.
They jogged as quickly as they could through the thick undergrowth, taking care not to disturb the dense layer of leaves that spread out over the forest floor.
The horns sounded again. Closer.
“Here.” Mathos pulled her toward a huge fallen tree trunk. It looked like it had lain for years, gradually decaying, slowly developing a thick covering of moss and leaves, even a cluster of flat, cream-colored mushrooms.
Mathos gave it a good kick, and then another, working his way down its length, watching it carefully. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Just checking for anything that bites.”
Damn. She quickly moved forward and helped. Something small landed in the leaves and scurried away, probably a mouse, but other than that, just a few woodlice and one big daddy longlegs spider fleeing on wobbly legs. She found a big leaf and scooped it up to deposit far away.
Mathos grinned at her spider rescue and then turned his attention to the earth running along the side of the trunk furthest away from the direction of the path, digging into the soft, muddy ground with his hands.
She knelt beside him, helping to form a hollow down the side of the trunk and partially under it. Her hands were completely caked in mud by the time they’d finished, and she wiped them as best she could on her cloak.
The mud was icy, and the hollow they’d made looked horribly like a shallow grave. She tried very hard to keep her voice steady as she whispered, “I don’t want to go in there.”
Mathos looked down at her, his expression exhausted and grim, but kind. The swelling around his bad eye meant that it was only slightly open, but he was still looking directly at her. She had never noticed his eyes before. A deep green-brown hazel flecked with gold. The same gold as the rims around his scales. She could so easily lose herself in that reassuring warmth.
He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek. “I know, Princess, and I’m sorry. But it’s the best I can do.”
Without thinking, she leaned into his hand as he continued. “I need you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“If they find us, you must tell them that I kidnapped you. That I brought you here against your will.”
Chapter Twelve
She bit her lip,looking up at him, her soft cheek still pressed into his hand, and he could see that she wanted to refuse.
“It’s the only way,” Mathos explained. “I’ll take the blame for this, and you’ll be safe. And free. You can choose what you want to do with that freedom.” He chuckled dryly. “Maybe even meet up with Alanna. But you have to get through this first. I need you to promise.”
She blinked, slowly, considering. And then finally gave a tiny nod of agreement. Thank the gods.
Everything in him had focused on the need to know that she would be safe. When he’d looked through the window and seen that guard wrap her hair around his finger, he’d been filled with an unreasoning, inexplicable, tidal wave of jealousy.
And then—when he’d heard her voice, so outraged and yet sounding so hurt, so betrayed, telling Cerdic to get his hands off her—it had turned to a fierce need to protect her.
He would have gladly ripped Cerdic’s hands completely off his body. Honestly, he’d only been half joking; he would have happily broken the man’s neck.
But then Lucilla had chosen to go with him. Had chosenhim.
She had followed him out that door and trusted him to lead her. She had put her hands in his and climbed those trees. Never complaining, never protesting or grumbling. With every step they took, his respect for her grew. And some other feeling, something complicated and primal and protective, grew alongside it. Something that terrified him.
He wanted to lean forward and rest his forehead on hers. He wanted to suck that plump, rosy lip into his mouth and kiss away that look of loss and fear. But he knew better.
