Mathos’s first reaction was relief; it wasn’t a picture of Nim or Alanna or even any of the Hawks. The last time a Blue Guard had handed over a picture, a great deal of pain had followed close behind, and he hadn’t been looking forward to a repeat.
But his next emotion was far more complicated.
He didn’t know the woman in the picture. He had never seen her heart-shaped face, framed by waves of thick ebony hair, her dark eyes, or her seductively plump lips, curled up on one side as if she knew something she wasn’t sharing. But he knew exactly who she looked like. Ballanor. And if the fact that Lucilla looked just like her brother wasn’t enough, he would recognize the barbed black-and-red family tattoos entwining her arms anywhere.
The palace women had always considered Ballanor handsome, but Mathos had never been able to see it. Now, looking down on the feminine version, he finally understood. She was breathtaking.
And she was missing. Bollocks.
Not safe at home waiting for them to find. No. He stifled a rough groan. Why was nothing ever easy? Instead of a short ride in the morning to cover the last few miles down to the manor house, followed by a civilized conversation, an easy win—who wouldn’t want to be queen?—and a rapid return to his squad, now the woman they needed was gone.
The amount of effort this was going to take had just increased exponentially. Gods, he hadn’t even met her yet, and she was already more annoying than he’d imagined. And he’d imagined that Ballanor’s cosseted little sister would be fucking annoying.
And yet… there was something about those huge eyes. That almost-smile. Something that lit a tiny flame of concern deep in his belly. Knowing that a pampered, vulnerable woman was out all alone in the darkness brought to life the protective instincts he had spent decades working hard to erase.
He was grateful for the jerkin he was wearing; its collar was high enough to hide the scales now flickering up his throat as his beast turned and twisted in his belly.
Who was this lieutenant? His gut said this was a guard from the manor house, Queen Lucilla’s home. And his instinct was generally pretty bloody good.
Mathos shrugged, winking at the guards with as much of a leer as he could manage as he passed the sketch to Tor. “Sorry, haven’t seen her… I’d remember.”
The lieutenant snatched the painting back from Tor with a stony glare and shoved it inside his coat, the gloves in his other hand slapping against his thigh as his irritation rose.
“You’re welcome to check our rooms if you like,” Mathos added as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. They hadn’t been into them yet, so there was nothing to see.
The lieutenant snatched the key and handed it to one of the dark-haired sergeants standing impatiently behind him. “Sergeant Cerdic, take a look around.”
The sergeant stepped forward, his face twisted into a deep scowl, saluted, and hurried away.
They all stared at each other as the lieutenant slapped his gloves and watched them with undisguised irritation. Mathos took another swallow of his increasingly tepid ale.
Finally, Cerdic came back with a sharp shake of his head and dropped the key onto the table. “Nothing there, Lieutenant Claudius, sir.”
Lieutenant Claudius grunted in annoyance and pulled on his gloves, his men falling in behind him.
“Hey, we really could help,” Mathos urged as the guards turned to go. “Why don’t you tell us how she became… lost? We’ll help you find her. Our rates are very reasonable.”
Claudius gave them a long look over his shoulder, his lip twisted up in a sneer. “The Blue Guards don’t need mercenaries to find one bloody disobedient woman. She’ll be secured by morning, I assure you.”
Fuck. Mathos had not expected that at all. This was not a man speaking out of care and concern for his overprotected charge. Claudius had no respect for the queen whatsoever; if anything, he sounded like a warder looking for his prisoner.
His beast gave a menacing growl, too low for anyone else to hear. His primal side did not approve of holding an innocent woman captive.
Mathos gave the man a lazy two-fingered salute, as if he genuinely didn’t care, and took another long slow sip of his ale. He hadn’t been lying—it did taste like piss, and now it was warm and flat—but he kept his face neutral as he settled back into his seat and watched the Blue Guards march out the door and back into the night.
Gods. They had found Lucilla’s home. But she wasn’t safely waiting in her luxurious manor. Nope, she was gone. Lost somewhere in the miles of woods around them. Infinitely more difficult to find.
And worse than that, she had three separate sets of armed men after her—the Hawks, Dornar’s men, and the guards from the manor. Fuck it all.
Tor raised a mocking eyebrow and smirked. “I told you we should go earlier.”
Chapter Three
Lucilla sat on the ground,her back against a tree, head resting on her knees. Her body ached from hours of riding bareback. She was dirty. She stank. She was exhausted. She was so thirsty that her lips had cracked to the point of bleeding.
And she felt deeply, deeply sorry for herself.
She had been alone in the woods for three days. At first, she had been terrified, fleeing on adrenaline and fear. But slowly, as the hours passed, her fear diminished, replaced with an ever-growing sense of isolation. The sense of how truly small she was, surrounded by the vastness of the world.
