“Hold it!”
The big soldier lowered his arm, obviously trained to obey orders. Half blinded by the bright sun, Cara looked askance at the leader. Looming over her, he brought one of the daggers close to her face.
“Where did you get these blades?”
When she didn’t reply, he snapped his fingers and commanded his unit, “Fetch the horses. We’re taking her to King Devlyn.”
“Come on, chief, can’t we have a little fun before?”
“Now!”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Cara let them tie her to a horse. The time of her death had merely been postponed, yet she was grateful for the respite. Being alive meant she might get another chance to fight. However, that son of a bitch Devlyn would have her in his grasp again because he had obviously got away from his burning castle. In all likelihood, he was already kicking ass.
To the north, dark, big clouds marred the sunny horizon. The wind had picked up and the nice weather seemed to have been blown away southward. Matching colder draughts of air, temperatures dropped.
When they had ridden for about an hour at a steady but not reckless pace, the chief pushed his mount abreast of hers. She had seen him storing Morgan’s daggers in his saddlebags earlier. Sure, she had no means to get to them, but at least she knew where they were. Watching the road, he addressed her.
“Where did you steal the blades?”
“What makes you think I stole them?”
Cara hadn’t meant to start a conversation until she realised any scrap of information might come in handy. Who knew when and where her next opportunity to give them the slip might originate from? Beside her horse, the leader uttered a bark of laughter.
“The seal on the hilt.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
For a wonder, she didn’t even have to lie to him. If she hadn’t been his prisoner she might have found the idea amusing. But as he bent over to retrieve one of the daggers from his saddlebag, she wondered if an important detail hadn’t escaped her notice. Although she had worn and wielded the steel weapons several times, she hadn’t really looked at them. Careful fingers holding the blade, he put the hilt in front of her face.
“This seal.”
Very small markings were engraved on the centre—easy to overlook but there nonetheless. A sense of familiarity invaded Cara as she made out the strange shape. She had seen this sign before, but where?
“I’ve no idea what that is.”
He shrugged before replacing the dagger in his bag. “Too bad. I think you’re going to have a tough time convincing the king though. The resistance has been defying him too long and he’s lost his patience.”
“I guess that’s my problem.”
Reining in his mount a little, the chief slowed down to go bring up the rear. Although leader of the unit, he’d rather ride at the back of the group to keep an eye on her and she knew it. As if she could escape when they had tied her legs around the horse’s belly!
The ride to Agravar continued. With no one to disturb her, Cara reflected on the peculiar markings engraved on Morgan’s blades. They belonged to her past in the Four Kingdoms, not New York, so she should remember them. What did they look like again? Shutting out all emotion connected to her current situation, she summoned her recollections.
Exactly what had she glimpsed a minute ago? Two spread-out rectangles seeming to end in feathers and surmounted with some kind of archway—like wings under an arch. And it came to her in a flash. The pattern on the daggers was the same design adorning Morgan’s medallion. The precious silver object he had taken back from thugs at the Tower of the Blind Seers.
Although he had briefly shown her the medallion later that night, she hadn’t forgotten the beautiful markings—nor the rest of the evening. The glow of the fire lighting the cave they had found refuge in, Morgan’s intense gaze as he discovered her naked body, the strain on his muscles shifting as he had asked her to touch him, the hard feel of his cock sliding into her.
No, she wouldn’t forget that moment. And right now, on her way to the king of Agravar, she missed him so badly she felt like crying. But today Morgan had saved her life. The soldiers’ chief had put off her death because he had recognised the pattern on the hilt—the sign of the leader of the resistance.
Silently thanking her warrior, she gripped the reins tighter as her horse missed a step. Hoof skidding over a stone, the animal quickly regained its balance while advancing towards the crest of the low hill they had been climbing. At the top of the gentle slope, a new landscape had Cara’s heart stuttering.
Luscious green lands surrounded the city of Agravar. Although Devlyn wreaked havoc on most of the Four Kingdoms, he had made sure to keep his neighbouring territories fertile. In the heart of the valley a huge castle stood out. Strengthened with four high watchtowers, battlements and turrets projecting from the edges of the main building, the dark grey fortress looked sombre and impregnable.
Houses, buildings and various structures encased the king’s main residence and formed the vast town of Agravar. A high stone wall featuring a rampart walk all around protected the city from any kind of assault. On all sides of the fortified settlement lay immense crop fields, probably feeding the population. From her elevated position, Cara estimated about a thousand head of livestock grazing on pastureland.
Obviously, Devlyn and his troops weren’t suffering from starvation. What about the people though? Although they must work in the fields every day she doubted they were treated as well as soldiers.
The chief clucked his tongue and the horses began the long descent to the city. With each passing minute they got closer and closer to the castle. A heavy dread tensed her body and Cara feared a new encounter with the king. From his point of view, she had dared strike him, kill his lieutenant and torch one of his fortresses. In all probability he wouldn’t be overjoyed to see her again.
Too soon they passed under the open city doors with a gate tower on each side. A slight drizzle fell and Cara bent her head down a little while studying the place. The captain gestured to one of the sentries.
“You! Send someone to inform the king I’m bringing a prisoner. Tell him she has a high rank in the resistance.”
“Right away, Captain.”
This was news. Hours ago she had simply been carrying particular daggers, but now she was considered one of the enemy’s leaders. Wow! Not bad for a Brooklyn girl who spilt coffee on tables more often than not.
As the sentry relayed the message, the soldier on her left side cut the rope fastening her to the horse. Taking the lead, the captain headed towards the castle. Her mount followed his through a tangled web of streets. Troops made way for them at almost every corner while saluting the captain.
Grim and scared, people actually stepped in gutters to let them pass, but Cara read pity in their eyes when they realised her status of prisoner. That didn’t bode well. In front of a modest house, an old woman interrupted her sweeping to watch them. As her gaze met Cara’s she gave the slightest nod. A friendly sign? A warning?
On they rode at a very slow pace towards the tyrant’s castle. There was no room to gallop in the narrow city streets and the captain probably wanted the king to be aware of their arrival beforehand. Yet they made it to the fortress entrance and Cara moistened her lips when he motioned for her to dismount.
He grabbed her arm with one hand and the daggers with the other. As their footsteps echoed in the vast entrance hall, he pulled her up a wide flight of stairs. Dozens of guards watched them stride along without showing any reaction. She knew two things now—the fortress was big and heavily protected.
On the landing, the captain led her towards the nearest of two massive doors, both displaying elaborate ornamentation, both guarded by four soldiers. He pointed his finger at one of them.
“Has the king been informed of my arrival?”
“Yes, Captain.”
He knocked on the door. Hair standing on end at the sound of a muffled ??
?come in’, Cara had no choice but to follow him inside. He bowed, pushed her forward, put the daggers down on a small table by the door and exited the room as if he had just remembered a gas leak might blow up his house.
The icy gaze of the king of Agravar lingered on her breasts before rising to her face. Expecting a violent manifestation of his wrath, Cara tensed. But a large smile lit his gorgeous features as he came up to her.
“Lana, what a pleasure to see you again! I didn’t think you’d come back so soon, I must have left an impression on you.”
“You did.”
She was telling the truth. Before their first encounter he had been a faceless name. Now he represented the enemy to bring down and the sole person she hated. His smile deepened, but the coldness in his eyes remained.
“I knew it.”
Without warning, he gripped her hair to pull her head back before grinding his lips on hers. Barely able to breathe, she felt like retching at the revolting touch of his thick, flaccid tongue.
He rummaged her palate with his flabby limb, so fat it seemed to fill her entire mouth. Sucking her teeth dry, he poked her throat and she uttered a harsh noise to avoid gagging.
He must have mistaken her cry of repugnance for passion because he released her after a last sweep around. Seemingly satisfied of his royal performance, he stared at her and tapped her chin with his forefinger.
“You can’t live without me, can you?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Too full of himself to be content with being a tyrant, the king was also off his rocker. Not the sort of lunatic that belonged to a madhouse but the merciless, out-of-bounds, thirsty-for-blood kind.
When he finally let go of her hair Cara blew out a silent sigh and left his question unanswered. As he eyed her from head to toe, she used the extra seconds to observe the room. Featuring a different layout than his chambers at the Castle of the Seven Ravens, it still contained a very large bed beside an old wardrobe, a writing desk and a fireplace where flames crackled high.
On the mantelpiece she spotted a strange object—a sphere. Orange, yellow and reddish streaks of colour seemed to move inside the round and transparent orb, somewhat like static light contained in a hermetic receptacle. Although the sphere caught her eye she quickly looked away when Devlyn gestured towards the daggers.
“So, you’re carrying Morgan’s blades. He must trust you with his life to allow you to wear them. Unless…”
He didn’t end his sentence and the fine hairs on the nape of her neck stood up at the sudden change in his tone. Refraining from shivering, she looked at his confident stance and beaming smile.
“Unless you came to me willingly. I bet he isn’t man enough for you. Does he not satisfy you in bed? Does he leave you frustrated because he can’t fill his britches? And now you want a taste of a real man.”
If the king’s dick was anything like his tongue, she’d rather die than be subjected to such a repellent member. His sleazy insinuations infuriated her. Cara knew she shouldn’t let him get to her, but his almighty attitude rattled her nerves and clouded her reasoning. She smirked at him.
“His touch takes my breath away. His hands burn my soul. He fills me so much I pass out from pleasure every time he’s inside me. King as you are, that’s something you’ll never be capable of doing. To anyone.”
The sharp blow sent her reeling. She staggered to the side, pain turning her right cheek into a blaze. Lips pursed to stifle a cry, hair curtaining half of her face, she glared at him from the corner of her eye.
“Very impressive. What a real man you are!”
She doubled over when he rammed his fist into her stomach. Bile rose up her throat. Lungs depleted, she struggled to draw in some air while she willed herself not to shout from the vicious hurt cramping her belly.
Although she felt like slumping to the floor and closing her eyes, Cara squared her shoulders. Back straight, she defied him as much with her gaze as with the challenging tone of her voice.
“See my point?”
He didn’t hit her this time. The smile on his face had disappeared only to be replaced with a cunning, somewhat impatient expression.
“A pity I’m out of truth serum. My wizard hasn’t had the chance to brew more and I had stashed the last batch in my castle. But you torched my property, didn’t you?” Like a parent telling off a naughty child he made clucking sounds with his tongue. “Yet things could be so easy between us, Lana. You tell me where Morgan is hiding and I swear I’ll be very good to you.”
“And if I don’t?”
He threw her against the wall. The violent impact jarred her bones right up to her skull. The skin of her hands lacerated, specks of blood stained the block of stone she had landed on. She groaned. He laughed.
“I can make you scream in pain anytime I want. Haven’t you figured that out yet? Come on, be sensible and tell me what I want to know.”
Her belly and cheek hurt like hell. Blood oozed from her abraded hands. Fighting the urge to throw up, Cara waited until she was sure her legs would bear her weight before turning back to the king.
“Okay.”
“Good girl. I sensed we’d understand each other. Come to think of it, I might even do you the honour of sharing my bed.”
The honour? Really? Within an instant, she’d leapt to the small table where the daggers lay and had seized a blade. She held it threateningly in front of her.
“Touch me again, you motherfucker, and I’ll slit your throat.”
A flash of anger crossed his eyes. Although he appeared wary of her, she saw he wouldn’t give in to menace. After all he hadn’t brought people and whole territories into servitude by being a coward.
“Give me the knife, Lana.”
His voice was rich with luring, compelling notes, and he slowly extended his arm while taking a step towards her. Gaze riveted on his every move, she stood her ground and ordered him.
“Back off! I won’t say it twice.”
“Then what? Do you believe you can get out of my fortress without anyone stopping you? My guards are right behind this door.”
“But you won’t call them. What kind of monarch would you be if a single woman defeated you?”
His features hardened. The last thing he wanted was to appear weak in front of his men, even at the cost of his own life. Taking him hostage had never been her plan anyway. The king’s chambers were on the first floor and she needed to get a closer look at the window. Adjusting her grip on the blood-slippery dagger, she glanced towards the glass panel.
His inhuman speed took her by surprise. Although expecting an attack, she had assumed the distance between them would allow her to see him coming. She had been wrong. Before she could jump back, he’d wrenched the blade out of her hand and twisted her arm almost to the point of breaking a bone.
Pain racked her. Hot tears gushed out and she howled. Unmoved by her obvious suffering, he dragged her tortured body to the large writing desk where he pinned her down.
Forearm crushing her windpipe, he placed the tip of the dagger at the corner of her eye. Utter panic took possession of her while she tried to keep on breathing. Inches from her, a triumphant grin crept up his face.
“I’ll give you one thing, Lana, I haven’t enjoyed myself like this for a long time. But let’s not get sidetracked. Where’s Morgan?”
The tip of the knife brushed her eyeball. Unlike her, he wasn’t bluffing. If she resisted a second longer he’d gouge it out. As terror blanked off her mind, a loud chatter mingled with a masculine undertone rose on the other side of the chambers’ door. A knock ensued. The king yelled, “Not now!”
In spite of his polite ‘get-the-hell-away’, someone came in and a sweet, feminine voice filled the room. Pinned to the desk with only the ceiling or Devlyn’s loathed face to stare at, Cara couldn’t see the newcomer, but just hearing the charming lilts gave her a rush of hope.
“I need to speak with you, dearest.”
Despite the hair-raising situation
she was stuck in, Cara felt like snickering when she heard the term ‘dearest’. Applied to the vicious, perverted man whose gaze hadn’t left hers, the name didn’t fit. Really not.
“What about?”
The woman paused. The silence stretched. She must have realised he was torturing someone and shock had left her speechless. Yet when she spoke again her honeyed voice sounded exactly the same.
“Not that I care much, but is this your new whore?”
He raised his eyes to heaven and a fed-up expression dulled his features. The blade eased away from Cara as he turned his head sideways.
“Does it look to you like I’m fucking her? And would you stop calling me dearest, I can’t stand that word.”
“As you wish, dearest. Who’s this woman then?”
“My prisoner.”
Two options came to mind. The woman was either his mother or his wife. Nobody else would dare enter the king’s chambers without his permission—and wouldn’t talk to him so boldly without receiving a physical, painful token of his non-appreciation.
Despite the sweet musicality and natural charm of the woman’s tones, Cara perceived malevolence and ruthlessness in her absence of reaction—or more accurately in her stupid, whimsical enquiries. So far, she hadn’t yet lifted a finger to help out a prisoner.
“What are you doing to her?”
He clenched his jaws. So close to him, Cara could see the heavy bone pushing against the taut skin. A pissed-off sigh passed his lips.
“I’m about to cut out her eye.”
Clothes rustled near the door. Probably thinking this would be a good time to find a different activity, the woman must’ve been retreating out of the room. With the tiniest bit of luck, she might go in search of someone able to reason with Devlyn. But when she asked a new question her voice sounded closer.
“Can I watch?”
Cara blinked. Oh, God, aren’t these two a perfect match? Biting her lip to prevent her body from stiffening, she willed herself to keep still. To just lie there like nothing had changed.