Page 24 of Betrothed

She had come to a decision in the past few days: she could not kill him. She wouldn’t have been able to kill him a week ago, despite what she might have told herself. But she still had to leave. What kind of woman got kidnapped by a Skullstalker and just… stayed? She was still suspicious of Zax’s brothers’ wives, who surely had something wrong with them to stay with a literal monster.

“Fawn?” Zax said.

Fawn made herself smile. “That sounds wonderful, my love.”

She had never said it before. It had the desired effect: Zax glowed with excitement, his eye flaring bright and his tail swishing in absurd pleasure.

“Good,” he said, very fast. “That’s—that’s good. I will go and pick you some berries. You will tell me what recipes you enjoy later. I will learn to make them!”

He lumbered toward her, oddly shy. Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and Fawn had to stop herself both from cringing away and from leaning into it.

He left her there with a small pressure mark from his skull mask. Fawn laid her cane on the table and dipped her hand back into her pocket to feel the freckle rock, wondering if she would still have it in a week or even a month. Would she still talk about Zax, even after she fled from him?

Nine

Zax sorted his supplies on the forest floor, humming happily.

He had never owned so many things before he took a wife. Food and kitchen utensils, and firewood, all of which needed to be bundled in a pack that he would carry up his brother’s mountain. Fawn had said he could carry her, so she would only use her cane for emergencies.

Zax hoped there would be none. He wanted so badly for this to work out. He and Fawn had a troubled start; they deserved peace.

He was about to close his pack when he heard a distant, familiar voice ring through the evening air: the villainous Errol.

Zax looked desperately around for Fawn, who had gone to collect berries. How far away was she? He couldn’t let these people find her. They would try to take her. Or worse, Fawn might ask to go back with them. Not that she would want that, of course. These people were awful. And Fawn was growing to care for Zax, he could tell. But he did not want to deny her. And he would have to deny her if she asked to go with them.

Zax closed his pack and leapt into a tree, hidden in the leaves. Then he peered out, watching the mortals walk into view.

Errol’s mother was nowhere to be seen. Errol was guiding three hunters through the woods, heavy with crossbows and swords.

“He will not be too difficult to take down,” Errol told them. “He is small and young. Barely big enough to be called a Skullstalker, the rest of the Circle claimed. They captured him with a group of mages who were untrained in battle. The four of us should be able to take him down with no issue. Especially after the wounds they left him with.”

“Uh-huh,” said the hunter walking next to him, who had a mustache and an eye that was scarred over much like Zax’s. “You’re sure he’s wounded?”

“I heard they took his eye,” Errol said. “And half a horn. And left debilitating scars all over his body. Speaking of, do you have it?”

The lead hunter patted his belt. There was a coil of rope attached to it, Zax realized. But it was no ordinary rope. It was malblossom rope.

Zax shuddered. Sometimes when he dreamed, he still felt the burn of those horrible petals. And when he was awake, moving too vigorously could stretch his scars so deeply it made him feel like he was back there, tied and helpless as mortals poked him with sticks.

He held back a growl. The mortals were almost below them. He could drop down right now and tear them to shreds. Fawn would never have to know.

“Excellent,” said Errol distractedly. He stared up into the trees, and Zax stopped his tail from swishing and his chest from rising and falling with breath, as he waited to be spotted. But the leaves were thick, and Errol had weak mortal eyes.

“What’s our plan of attack?” Errol continued.

“Three days’ time,” the hunter replied. “Give us enough time to prepare what you have planned. You’re sure it lives in a tree?”

“Yes,” said Errol. “My mother spotted it, if you can believe it. She even saw the creature through a window. It is keeping my Fawn hostage. We must—” He stopped, his head snapping to the right. “Did you hear that?”

The hunters frowned. But Zax went cold.

It was Fawn. She was walking toward them with her quickening tread, the cane thudding into the forest floor with each step.

Zax could not risk letting her run into them. He took off, leaping to the next tree and then the next, ignoring his twinging scars over his shoulders as he jumped from branch to branch.

Errol shouted in alarm. The hunters yelled a battle cry and took off after him. But Zax was faster than any puny mortal, and he spotted Fawn before they could. She was frowning, peering through the trees like she, too, had heard something.

Zax leapt down and swept her up in his arms, making her shriek and drop the berries she had collected. Any other time, Zax would have apologized. But there was no time. He tucked her cane into her lap and took off to the trees once more, leaping toward the treehouse.