Page 55 of Ravenrose

“Happy?” I snap when he still says nothing. My lip curls involuntarily, revealing the sharp points of my fangs.

“Yes,” he says flatly.

Oh, I could smack him. My fingers twitch violently.

Without another word, he turns, dropping my boots into one of his saddlebags before mounting his horse once again. Ayer motions for his men to move out before urging the stallion forward. I don’t follow, letting the rope jerk tight before dragging me forward by my wrists.

I stumble, catching myself before tripping entirely. My gaze drops to the muddy, rock-strewn road ahead—and my bare feet.

Fae feet are tough. But this—this is going to hurt.

I exhale sharply, falling into step behind Ayer’s horse, the rope pulling me along. Being barefoot will make it nearly impossible for me to run should an opportunity arise.

This is going to be a long day.

A very, very long day.

Chapter 27

ROWAN

It goes exactly as I expected.

Brutal.

I fall.

A lot.

Ayer keeps us moving until long after dusk bleeds into the trees.

At first, knowing we’re traveling through the Wyldewood on the cusp of night has me on edge. I jump at every sound, tripping often because of the way I’m constantly scanning the surrounding forest.

The way we keep on, I’m almost certain we’ll just keep trekking on through the night until I’ve gone and collapsed for good. Until the last whispers of daylight finally fade away, and a shout rises from the front of the line. A call to halt.

Finally.

Ayer’s horse slows before coming to a stop in a small clearing just off the road.

Relief nearly drops me where I stand. It’s all I can do to remain on my feet and not crumple to the ground, my legs trembling under me. My bare feet are throbbing—bleeding from several cuts from rocks, sticks, and the occasional stray thorn. The bottoms are black with dirt or blood; I can’t be sure, but it’s probably both.

When I catch Ayer looking my way, I’m not sure where I find the strength, but I meet his gaze with an icy glare.

His unreadable, stony expression doesn’t waver. I can’t tell if he’s drawing amusement from my prolonged torture, or if just my mere existence is grating on him.

All day, I’ve counted the hours, minutes, seconds—praying for night to come. For rest. But now that we’re here, a sharp prick of fear sets up a fresh wave of anxiety—at what might come next. Ayer’s words from earlier now play on a loop in my head. The promise he made back at the war camp—the one about putting me on my knees.

He can try.

I don’t acknowledge the truth: if it really came down to it, I could put up a strong fight, but Ayer is a mass of hardened warrior, with nearly a foot on me, built and trained for battle and war—I won’t win. Men don’t become captains as young as he is for no reason.

If he wants something from me... he’ll take it.

And with this stars-cursed rune on my wrist, I won’t be able to stop him.

A chill runs up my spine and I shiver, monitoring Ayer as he cares for his horse.

I’m as far from him as the rope allows, standing awkwardly, unsure what to do with myself while the rest of the men are hard at work around us, setting up camp.