Page 50 of Ravenrose

Wyatt gives the rope a light tug, and I can’t quite stop the small smile that finds my lips as I step into the sunlight.

Oh, Captain Rusic, you have no idea.

Chapter 24

ROWAN

Ineed a plan. Despite going over and over it in my head, I still only have the same two options: escape or die. Both of which I’ve already failed at.

Despite his words, Ayer wants me dead. I read it, clear as day, in his eyes. He basically promised me death if I only begged him for it.

Begged. Him.

That I won’t do, but what if—what if I were to push that seemingly thin patience of his just a little too far? It shouldn’t be too hard. His profound irritation at my being alive is palpable. He’s just biding his time, his fingers practically twitching at the promise of gutting me.

The soldiers regard me carefully as they spur me forward, leading me from Ayer’s tent by my bound hands. The two not holding the rope have their hands on the hilts of their swords, ready and waiting. I know they think us worse than demons.

Hypocrites.

The monster they summoned to do their dirty work is far worse than anything the fae could ever possibly be.

My thoughts turn to the Raven, a shudder running through me at the mere thought. I hope the reason they kept me alive has nothing to do with that stars-cursed shadow demon.

But the wariness of the guards’ gaze sparks a new idea. Let me play into the worst of their fears about my kind. I’m sure the carefully constructed reputation my father has worked tirelessly to perfect already precedes me. The pretty, poised, and perfect Princess of Sitara. Let them think me spoiled and weak—anything but a threat. And then, when they inevitably drop their guard…

I’ll be ready.

It’s a weak plan, and not without its flaws, but it’s still a plan. It’s enough to give me the strength required to follow the tug of the rope down the long line of tents, ignoring the burn of the rough material against my already raw skin.

Ayer’s soldiers pull me through the packed war camp. The smell of smoke, leather, and sweat fills my nose.

As if drawn to him, my eyes find Ayer immediately; he’s waiting just up ahead with a few more of his men, all dressed all in black. So different from the silver armour the rest, like Theo, wear.

The captain’s cold eyes fall on me with one last look of warning before turning and striding down the narrow path that cuts between an endless stream of tents and soldiers.

We fall in line behind him.

There are armoured soldiers milling about everywhere; some sharpen their weapons, while others take a minute to grab some food, eating out of tin bowls, and others busy themselves cleaning leather tack.

I feel their eyes, even more than I can see them, as we progress through the camp. My guards, as if wanting to be as far away from me as possible, leave me quite a bit of slack in the rope.

The two soldiers with Wyatt fall in beside him, murmuring quietly to each other as we continue on, ignoring me, too interested in their own conversation. Their voices are too low for me to make out anything of use.

Looking around, I realize it’s a good thing I didn’t get much further than I did last night. Surprisingly, Ayer was telling the truth when he warned me I’d never make it. I’m so far behind enemy lines, in the center of a vast camp full of an army who—judging by the stares and glares I’m receiving—hate fae.

The men’s stares weigh more heavily on me the further we go, making me increasingly uncomfortable. Whistles ring out as I’m paraded past, on full display for the camp to ogle; a growing group of soldiers trail menacingly at my back.

Inching closer to Wyatt, I discreetly gather the excess rope in my hands. I blink in shock at the glares of bitter hatred and contempt shot my way. I know they hate the fae, but it’s one thing to know, and it’s another to experience it. The way they look at me… An awful feeling of unease settles over me.

Stares turn to scowls, and those scowls become jeers. The men grow more rowdy by the minute, and the commotion only serves to draw more attention, emboldening them further. It’s not long until I find myself the spectacle of the camp.

Shouts ring out, and curses too. With so many yelling at once, it’s hard to make out their words, but “Fae filth, trash, faerie scum…” make their way through. The growing crowd presses in, and it’s not long until I lose sight of the captain up ahead, though I keep close to Wyatt and the other two guards, winding the slack in the rope carefully around my palm so I don’t trip on it, and so no one else can grab hold of it.

Refusing to kowtow to their jeers, I continue forward with my chin held high, keeping my eyes fixed ahead, ignoring the insults and obscenities thrown at me and not rewarding them with my attention. My fists tighten on the rope. I remain stoic—impassive—until I feel a sharp flick against the delicate skin at the tip of my ear.

Curling my lip, I let out a snarl, my temper immediately getting the better of me.

Don’t do it, Rowan.