Page 23 of Ruling the Green

The best she could hope for would be to be forced to become a servant. The worst, well, the worst was a fate I’d never knowingly allow a woman to be subjected to. Given how gorgeous she was, the latter would have been her future. She might even continue to be drugged by the Bellhush so the wicked men could do unforgivable things without anyone knowing or trying to stop them.

Not calling him out complicated things in ways I hadn’t considered in the moment, though. Like how I could keep the truth from my father. Like what would I do if she decided she didn’t want to be a princess? How could I get myself (and her) out of this clusterfuck of a situation?

There were a few ways out of even such a high-profile political marriage—all of them working in the royal’s favor. The top being if she were unable to produce an heir. Which she wouldn’t since I wouldn’t be touching her. But that would be over a year of ‘trying’ to prove that she couldn’t become with child.

A long sacrifice of her life, but worth having her freedom for the rest of it.

If she were able to speak in the morning, I would suggest it. It was the easiest way out for both of us. Without involving Grimwood. More importantly, without involving my father. Save for, I imagined, another arranged marriage after that. Likely with someone with grand aspirations, who would make my life a living hell. But at least she’d be willing.

“Whoa. You’re okay. Well, as okay as you can be, I guess,” I said as she jolted hard in my arms and wrenched away.

Rolling onto her back, her eyes went huge, panicked, until consciousness and her memory caught up with her. But that look of shock and fear was quickly replaced with something that twisted her whole face. In a blink, she rolled away again, curling into a tight ball, and rocking.

“What is it?” I asked, climbing off the bed and moving around to find her mouth opened in a silent scream.

“Shit. The fuck?” Knight hopped off the bed, crying. “What hurts?” I asked, but she only curled tighter, tears streaming down her face. “Fuck. Okay.”

I strode across the room, yanked open the door, and called out for Vishen.

He came stumbling out the door, shirtless, his hair still wet.

“Something’s wrong with her.”

His brows pinched as he rushed across the hall and into my room. Taking one look at her face, he whipped the blankets off her.

“Why is it so fucking hot in here?”

“She was shivering all night. Hard.”

“Did she have a fever?” he asked, feeling her head.

“No. She was cold as a corpse.”

Vishen’s brows knitted as his hands moved over her body, seeming to try to feel for injuries. He was no doctor, but there’d been no doctors in a regiment, either. So, soldiers got good at treating not only battlefield wounds, but random accidents or illnesses. Though I had no idea how he was gauging if anywhere he pressed hurt when she was still silently screaming.

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked.

“I don’t know. She’s not hurt anywhere. Except for this.”

He yanked up her sleeves, revealing bruises wrapped around her wrists and forearms. From where someone a lot stronger than her had held on and likely dragged her.

“And these.” He waved to the tops of her feet and knees, where red scratches were clear in the harsh morning light. That solidified my dragging theory.

Grimwood.

He was going to pay one day.

Slowly. Painfully. Along with whoever did his dirty work for him. Judging by how much deeper and larger some of the bruises were than the other, there were at least two men involved.

“Gotta do something,” I said as she pressed her hands to her face. She still looked like she was crying, but no more tears came.

“I don’t know what to do,” Vishen admitted. I knew it killed him a little. He almost always had advice or answers.

But he wasn’t the type to give up, either.

He yanked her hands away from her face, pulling her mouth open, when something caught my attention.

“Wait. Her eyes… her eyes look like paper.”