Page 57 of Ravenrose

Maybe this isn’t over.

Maybe I haven’t lost yet.

I redirect my attention back to the men. If I’m going to escape, I need to look for patterns—routines. Anything I can take advantage of. Most of the men take turns riding ahead, scouting. But Wyatt and Hayes stay close to Ayer. And another man, Marz, brings up our rear.

Ayer rides with a bow slung across his back, over a large sword. He moves as if he were born to command—easy, confident, cocky. I narrow my eyes at the captain, silently glowering at him while he touches base with each of his men.

They respect him. It’s obvious. And they all ride as if the forest holds no danger, like the Wyldewood isn’t watching us—even now.

But I feel it.

Trying to stay on my feet proved to be a welcome distraction from the forest, but as darkness settles over me, that familiar fear creeps back in. As does an overwhelming feeling of being watched.

I do my best to shake it off, telling myself there’s nothing I can do about it, and turn my attention back to my wounds—to my wrists. They are on fire, burning from the ropes constantly chafing against my skin. I fiddle awkwardly with the tightly wound ropes, attempting to loosen them, but there’s almost no give at all, even after all day of being dragged around this way and that, they’re still as tight as ever. I try shifting them a fraction higher up my arm, to give the raw skin underneath just a little relief, but they don’t budge.

I blow out a pained breath at having made things worse in my efforts, and then rest them gingerly atop my knees before tilting the back of my head against the tree and closing my eyes.

I sit like that for a while. I sense the men’s eyes on me, checking to be sure I’m still where they’ve left me while they eat and soak in the warmth of the fire they’d built.

The chill of night cuts deeper as the air turns colder. My clothes are still damp from the mud and river crossings. My stomach growls loudly, and I pull my arms tighter around myself.

While I thought the day would never end, now I worry about the night.

But as deeply uncomfortable as I am, sleep still beckons, exhaustion winning out and nearly taking me under right before I catch a whiff of Ayer’s scent. It’s mixed with all the other scents of the day: leather, horse, forest, and sweat, but underneath it all is a faint musk of ash and cedar I can attribute only to him.

My eyes snap open. My stomach roils with rising anxiety.

Ayer reaches his horse, swiftly untying my rope from the saddle before giving it a sharp jerk.

Pain lances through the raw skin of my wrists from the pressure, and I hiss softly, giving him my best withering glare while refusing to move an inch.

The rope tugs again; he’s clearly summoning me over, but I’m not some dog to be called. I don’t move, practically rooting myself into the tree at my back, staring defiantly up into Ayer’s dark eyes.

To my astonishment, the rope slackens. The captain steps closer, peering down at me like I’m nothing more than a cockroach in the mud. One he wishes he could crush with a stomp of his boot.

“You can come on your own, or you will be brought.”

My frown deepens, and I glare at him—a challenge in my eyes, tempted to be as much work as possible—but he just shrugs.

“Your choice, Princess.”

With the end of my rope in his hand, he leans casually against a nearby tree, arms crossed, waiting. Though there’s nothing casual about it—about him. He might play it off well enough, but the man exudes power, discipline, and if anything, he reminds me of a big cat, tensed up and waiting for an opportunity to attack.

I narrow my eyes.

I absolutely do not want to comply. But the thought of being thrown over his shoulder and carried like a petulant faeling does little for my wounded pride at the same time.

Taking a few more seconds to study him, I sigh, rising slowly and taking my sweet time, wondering just how far he’ll let me push him.

The twitch of irritation I catch on his face before it’s quickly masked gives me the smallest hint of satisfaction for being the reason behind it.

But my amusement is short-lived when, despite following his directions, he reaches for me anyway. And maybe it’s my utter exhaustion fueling hysteria, but his approaching gaze causes something inside me to snap.

Panic—sudden and violent—surges, and I lose it.

Chapter 28

AYER