Page 12 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
They wouldn’t discuss whatever it was in front of her. Smart.
Dawes set to breaking down the campsite, all the while grumbling about how he’d just gotten everything the way he wanted it. She could only wait around helplessly as they prepared to leave, trying not to startle at every sound that came from the pitch-black forest surrounding them. It was a small comfort to know that every moment they wasted, the further the castle guards would get in their search for her, if they even knew she was missing at all.
From one captor to another. At least the scenery had changed.
Nakir, meanwhile, procured some rope to bind her wrists. He probably wouldn’t bother if he knew how useless she was at putting up a fight. Something like humiliation prickled Alethea’s cheeks as he bound them tightly—at her own helplessness, at being handled like a prisoner, at all of it—while the others worked to ready their horses. He made it clear she was meant to ride alongside them, but when it came time to leave, she simply held her bound wrists up to him with a raised brow. How was she meant to mount her traitorous steed this way?
Nakir smirked as he lifted her easily, setting her in the saddle without even a grunt of effort. She squeaked at the force of his grip, quickly attempting to situate herself—and her dress—as heat rose in her cheeks. He tied the rope around her wrists to the pommel of the saddle and took the reins.
The others quickly broke down the rest of the camp and mounted their horses, each eyeing her carefully. Suspiciously.
She was determined to keep quiet, and she could tell by the glances the four exchanged that they were intent on doing the same.
The only semblance of conversation happened just beforethey set off into the night. The man named Dawes approached Nakir, and Alethea felt his eyes on the back of her head.
“Emi is not going to like this,” Dawes said with a touch of disdain. “This is bad business, Nakir.”
His statement astonished Alethea. No one would dare speak in her mother’s court that way. If Nakir responded, she didn’t hear it.
Alethea had to wonder who Emi was. The name wasn’t familiar. Perhaps she was Nakir Hasan’s wife, or his lover. If she were, the princess imagined she might not take kindly to Nakir bringing another woman back to the encampment, which also left her wondering... was she about to come face-to-face with an army of Nakir’s soldiers? Surely they weren’t just camped close enough to the capital to ride there in a single night? What were they even doing so close to the castle? Did this have to do with Goran Arranil’s execution?
Knowing better than to ask questions, she kept painfully silent as she rode alongside Nakir, trying to keep her eyes open; to stay awake through the ride that may not end for days. She kept her mind occupied by studying her captors.
Dawes was the easiest to read. He carried himself like the officers in her mother's armies, leading the group through the forest and navigating the game trails with the ease of someone who had spent a lifetime doing exactly this. His silvering brown hair was piled in a knot atop his head, his fair skin weathered and lined from years in the sun. His eyes, sharp and watchful, never stopped moving—sweeping the tree line, the trail ahead, the shadows between the trunks. Whenever his gaze landed on her, it didn't soften.
Grief sat plainly on Kerrigan's face, raw and unguarded, but her eyes were something else entirely—steely and unyielding. Her shoulder-length red hair flew wildly behind her in the wind, her complexion a rich tawny beige, darker than her father's. Theway she handled her horse brooked no argument that this was a formidable woman.
Alethea wanted to relate to her, remembering the acute pain of losing her own father, but this felt too different. Aikat Onasis had died peacefully in his sleep after a prolonged illness; Goran Arranil had been executed for treason. There was little she could say to Kerrigan even in the best of circumstances. She half-expected her to turn that fire on her at any moment in retribution.
Despite his imposing stature, Balthasar moved with a deadly silence, appearing at her side without warning more than once throughout the journey. His eyes, impossibly dark, caught hers whenever she dared look at him, and he kept his pale locs tucked beneath his hood. She couldn't explain why, but whenever he rode nearby, her shoulders dropped half an inch.
Nakir Hasan was either ignoring her or was somehow capable of forgetting her existence entirely, despite the fact her horse’s bridle was tethered to his saddle. He was the hardest to study, partially because looking at him terrified her, and it had nothing to do with the horns that curled back behind his head, the same shade of midnight as his hair, and everything to do with the intensity of his gaze. The rest of him was easier to look at. His shoulders were broad and muscled, his long black hair pulled back to reveal the sharp angles of his face.
He rode ahead with the ease of a man raised on the privilege of experience, like he had been born for leadership—no,rulership. All Alethea had ever been born to do was keep her mother’s treasury full and her crown securely attached. A part of her envied Nakir and his confidence, but she knew he was going to need it if he meant to take on the Crimson Queen.
Maybe it was time someone stood up to Zenobia.
What a traitorous thought.
They rode through the night, stopping before dawn only to feed and water their horses and relieve themselves. Alethearelished the opportunity to stretch her aching limbs. She’d never ridden this far in her life. Her few trips out of Hyelea had been by carriage and ship, and Nakir’s pace was brutal.
Despite the circumstances, she couldn’t help but admire the way the rolling hills grew and shifted the farther northwest they rose. Every time they crested another foothill, she was given a glimpse of the Lenorean countryside for miles in every direction. And whenever they reached the top of a peak, the capital city had grown smaller and smaller behind them.
She considered making an attempt to run, but they rarely stopped long enough for her to get her bearings, and she’d have to figure out a way to sever the rope tying her horse’s bridle to Nakir’s saddle if she wanted any chance of getting far. Even when they took breaks to rest the horses, she didn’t get a moment of privacy. It was easy to give up on any dreams of escape with them watching her every move like a hawk. She wasn’t trained for this.
During their next stop, Balthasar approached with a few slices of an apple, and she couldn’t help but eye him with suspicion. Why would they bother feeding her? Surely they were only keeping her to seek retribution for Goran’s death?
“Take it,” Bal encouraged her. Something in his tone immediately soothed her suspicions. She watched him quietly, eyes following his every movement, until he popped a single slice into his own mouth. “See? Not poisoned.”
Alethea devoured the slices. He pulled another apple and a small loaf of bread from his bag and held it out to her. When she reluctantly accepted, he leaned down and lowered his voice.
“You’re not in the Crimson Queen’s court anymore, Your Highness.”
In any other tone, it would be a threat. But all it brought Alethea was a small amount of relief, which in itself disturbed her. The further away she got from her mother’s castle, the more danger she was in. No one here had any reason to protect herand every reason to end her life—and the Onasis bloodline. If not, they could easily bargain for a ransom for her return. Though her mother cared little for her, Queen Zenobia would be hell-bent on keeping Alethea’s powers for herself.
Exhaustion encroached as the sun rose over the horizon. Alethea jolted awake several times from nearly falling from her horse. The third time, Nakir stopped their punishing pace for a small break and regarded her with a critical eye. It was the first time he’d looked at her since the campsite, and she found his scrutiny nearly unbearable, making her flush from her toes to the top of her head.
It was also the first time she’d seen him in the light. The shock of his golden-amber gaze had her wishing she could look away, but she could not.
