North Queen (Crowns Book 1), page 21
News that bothered him.
The king snapped an order to a soldier, who brought him a leather cord. He stepped forward and caught her wrists, clenching them tightly and tying her hands. Then he jerked her from the commander and pushed her toward the army. She didn’t fight. There was no chance for her now, but seeing the brute commander limp back to another horse brought her a wave of satisfaction.
The king pushed her in front of him as they walked. His presence behind her made her skin crawl, but she focused her eyes ahead and kept walking. She stumbled over a sliver of a spear protruding from the frozen ground but caught herself—she’d almost forgotten the field of death they were walking across. She kept her eyes on the ground to watch her step. Just then, she spotted a sheath belt, half-covered in frozen mud, with what appeared to be a knife inside it. Or maybe it wasn’t a knife at all. But if it was…
She faked another stumble and dropped to her knee over it, quickly grabbing at the hilt. Her heart leapt. It was a knife—a rusted knife, but a knife nonetheless. The king grabbed her arm and pulled her back to her feet, and she tucked the blade up her jacket sleeve the best she could manage with her hands tied.
A soldier brought a horse, a smaller palfrey—no doubt a less energetic mount, and the king dragged her toward it. She struggled against him. “I can manage myself,” she hissed.
He shoved her forward. “Get on.”
She grabbed the pommel, careful to keep her knife hidden in her sleeve, and mounted the palfrey. The binding cut into her wrists, but she gritted through it. She glared back at the king as he mounted his destrier beside her.
Wait. Was that it? Were they leaving?
“What about the mountains?”
“Change of plans,” he said shortly. “The Bear comes for you.”
She swallowed. Did he mean Alexander? Had he confused him with his father?
“He brings your entire army. Just as I expected.”
“Well, if it’s a change of plans, it’s not exactly as you expected,” she cut back.
His eyes burned into her. “Your army will meet their fate all the same. And you can watch, before you join them.”
He was trying to scare her. It was working.
Taking one last look at the stronghold, he gave a frustrated snarl and led them away.
She shifted uncomfortably as they rode. She knew he wanted the stronghold of Bahoul. What had been the news? What had changed? He had expected her army, and they were coming. What was different?
“Where are we going?” she asked.
The king ignored her, and hot anger flushed her cheeks.
They rode all day, until the darkness of night came. She had managed to slide her stolen knife undetected into the empty sheath in her boot. At least now she had a weapon.
The ache in her shoulder crept up her neck and made her head throb. The fight, the fear, the struggle—it had drained her. When they finally stopped, she thought she might fall from her horse in exhaustion.
The king dismounted. “We’ll camp here.”
The army started their work, tethering their horses and erecting their tents. The king grasped her arm, pulling her from her horse and dragging her through the tasked soldiers.
“Let me go!” She struggled against him. “I can walk myself.”
He gripped her arm tightly as a warning but finally released her and kept walking. She followed. She struggled to keep up. The army had no fires burning, and she wasn’t used to maneuvering through the darkness.
“Where are we going?” she asked him again, and again he didn’t answer. Anger flashed through her. “If you think you can best my army, you’re mistaken. They’ve beaten you back before, and they’ll do it again.”
He whirled around and grabbed her, pulling her close. “They had Aleon.” There was a deep irritation in his voice. “But now they come with nothing. And your men are archers and peace wishers. My army is skilled in true battle, and we do it often. The Northmen march to their end.”
He released her and kept walking.
He was right. Phillip wouldn’t yet know of her capture to send forces to join them, and without Aleon, they weren’t strong enough to defeat the Shadow army. This nightmare was only just beginning.
They came to a large tent in the darkness. He pushed her inside and stepped in after her. It was dimly lit by a small candle. Dread rippled under her skin with him so close.
He reached to pull off his helm, and she looked away, afraid to see what it would reveal, but she couldn’t help herself, and her eyes found their way back to him. A wave of surprise hit her. He was younger than she’d thought, aged by battle, but perhaps only a few years older than she was. His shoulder-length hair was tied back and was black as his cloak. The bruises and scrapes from her fight during her capture were bold on his face. Good—he deserved it. An old scar ran from his brow to his cheek. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who disliked him.
But this wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. “You’re not the Shadow King,” she said coldly.
“You were expecting something else?” he asked. “A monster, perhaps?”
She scoffed. “Stories, meant to scare people.”
He ambled toward her, the darks of his eyes almost drowning her, but she stood firm.
“You’re flesh and blood,” she said coldly. “Like your brute. You’re men. And I’m not afraid of men.”
“You should be,” he said hauntingly.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “My father battled the Shadow King. You’re not him. Where is he?”
His face darkened, and he shifted uneasily. She had struck something within him.
“You’ll sleep here,” he growled. Without another word, he ducked out of the tent and nodded to the soldier outside.
Was that it? Was that all he would tell her? She snorted in frustration and jerked the tent flap closed, but she did take a small comfort in being alone. A small comfort.
She blew out the candle and struggled for clearer vision in the darkness, then felt for the stolen dagger against her calf inside her boot. They still didn’t know she had it. It brought a calmness to her. She wanted to run, but they would be expecting her to, and she didn’t want to think about what would happen if she was caught trying to escape again. She struggled against the binding. She could cut it off, but then they would know she had the knife. No, she needed to wait.
Norah curled up on the bedroll. Her mind was filled with thought after thought, thoughts that sowed fear deep inside her, but she tried to push them out. She needed sleep.
She shuffled awkwardly to reach her bound hands down to her boot and curled her fingers around the knife. It wasn’t Alexander’s knife, but it would do. She held it as if it were his hand. And finally, sleep came.
Chapter twenty-five
The tent provided little warmth, and Norah shivered in the early morning chill. She lay long after waking, wishing for a fire. The Shadow army built no fires. She clenched her hands together; they ached with stiffness. Hearing voices outside her tent, she recognized one as the king’s and quickly stumbled up from the bedroll.
He ducked into her tent but paused when their eyes met. “We leave now,” he said.
She stood and eyed him coldly. She knew she’d dealt him a painful injury with the dagger, but it didn’t show. He stepped closer to her, but she stood her ground. He reached out and grabbed her wrists, inspecting the binding.
She twisted away. “As you left me,” she said sharply.
He towered over her, but she narrowed her eyes and faced him squarely. His face hardened, and he turned, leaving her alone once again.
Norah paused but then followed him out to find the palfrey from the day before saddled for her. She mounted as gracefully as one could manage with bound hands. The king mounted his destrier and reined up beside her. He held out a wrap of salted meat. She only shot him a daggered gaze in response.
“Eat,” he said irritably.
She didn’t want to accept food from him, but she was incredibly hungry. She needed to keep her strength, she told herself. Reluctantly, she took the meat.
He eyed her with a bitter smile. “Tell me, why come out now? Why come out freely after hiding for so long, where it was so easy for me to take you?”
Norah refused to answer him. She looked out across the hills as she bit the inside of her cheek, silently cursing. She’d been foolish for thinking the journey to Aleon would be an easy one, even if it was through Mercian lands. She’d been foolish for leaving the safety of the castle when the Shadow King wanted her dead, and for thinking he hadn’t yet known of her return. Now he had her.
They rode most of the day in silence. The sun was out, but it did little to provide warmth from the winter air.
The king’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“Who taught you to fight?” he asked.
She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “Do you have some tips for me?”
He seemed surprised but surprised her back when he moved his horse closer to answer. “You let me get too close to you,” he told her. “Your advantage is speed. You need to protect it with distance.”
She scoffed. “Since you’re free with your advice right now, how might I get this distance?”
“You won’t,” he said darkly. “You won’t escape me, North Queen.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You don’t believe I’m salar of Kharav?”
Salar of Kharav? “I don’t believe you fought my father in the Battle of Bahoul.”
“I did not. Kings die. You should know this.”
Norah paused as the realization hit her. “You’re his son?”
He looked forward, ignoring her question. “Where have you been all these years?”
In turn, she didn’t answer.
“Why did you wait so long to wed the Aleon king?” he asked.
“I wasn’t sure if I liked him,” she said flippantly. “Where did your brute commander come from?”
He shifted in agitation.
“Are you the Shadow King’s son?” she asked again, not willing to give him information without receiving any in return.
“I am the Shadow King,” he snapped.
There was a long silence between them. Finally, he spoke. “I am Mikael Ratha Shal, salar of Kharav, or the Shadowlands, as you call it.”
“Salar?”
“Yes. King. I’m the son of Rhalstad Ratha Shal, who’s the man your father fought in the Battle of Bahoul. Now, tell me where you’ve been.”
It was no longer a question.
“My lord justice taught me to fight,” she said, not willing to answer any of his other questions.
He didn’t press her for more, which was good, because he wouldn’t get more.
In her tent that evening, Norah’s mind raced with the events of the day. If Alexander came for her, he’d be walking into a trap. She had to get away before they took her farther.
She strained to hear any sounds around her, but it was eerily quiet. How was an army of that size so quiet? She reached down and slid her dagger from her calf strap and worked quickly to cut off the binding from around her wrists. Except, the blade was rusted and dull, and her movements weren’t that quick. Finally, with her hands free, she reached out to touch the back of the tent. Cloth. She worked patiently, cutting upward. She’d give anything to have Alexander’s knife again. She could chew an opening faster, she mused. Once an opening was big enough to look through, she peered out to check for guards. She’d hoped there would be no soldiers behind the tent, and she breathed a sigh of relief to find none. Norah continued cutting, creating an opening large enough to fit through. She pushed the fearful sickness down as she gathered her courage. Once again looking out, she snuck through the opening and crept away, crouching close to the ground and not daring to breathe. There was nothing to hide her, and she cursed her light-colored clothing as she hurried through the darkness.
Norah made out the shape of a large tree in front of her, and she sidled up behind it to catch her breath, her hands shaking. Where was she? She needed to head north, back to Bahoul where her Northmen were, back to safety.
She darted from her brief cover to continue on, but a hand snaked out in the darkness and grabbed her from behind. She stifled a scream and sliced at her captor with her dagger. The blade hit something, but she wasn’t sure what—his arm, his side? Had she gotten him at all? Maybe it had only grazed his leathers. She lashed out again, but he gripped her tight, thwarting her attack. Struggling desperately, she dropped her head to the hand on her shoulder and sank her teeth into the flesh, but he didn’t release her. She tried to catch him with a butt back from her head, but he was a large man, and she hit only his chest. He clutched her tighter.
With her free left arm, she clawed back, reaching for his eyes. He twisted his head, and she caught only the flesh of his cheek and his lip through the wrap on his face. Norah ripped her arm upward and caught him on the brow with the heel of her palm. It sent a jolt of pain to the core of her bone, but it would be worse for him.
A blow to her stomach knocked the wind from her, and he pulled her close from behind. The warmth of blood dripped from his face and onto her shoulder as he wrestled her hands down. He squeezed her so tightly she could hardly breathe, and bile rose in her throat. The brute. She wrenched her body against him, only incenting his arms tighter. She feared her ribs might crack. Unable to breathe and with her energy depleted, she stopped struggling, and he pulled her back toward the tent.
“Let go of me!” she snapped at him.
When they reached the tent, the king was waiting for her. Norah tried to sheath the dagger in the sleeve of her jacket. She hoped the brute hadn’t noticed it since she wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d actually cut him in the darkness. Her wrist throbbed, and she prayed she hadn’t broken it.
The commander released her in front of the king and called out in the Shadow tongue. She looked back at him in irritation, cursing him under her breath. The king stepped forward, grabbing her arm, and pulled the dagger from her sleeve. Not letting her go, he dragged her into his tent.
“You have more weapons?” he growled.
“No,” she said stiffly. Like she’d have told him…
“Show me.”
“I don’t have anything else,” she insisted.
“Undress,” he commanded.
The audacity. The heat of anger rushed to her cheeks. “I will not!”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. It was her injured wrist, and a pain shot through her. She tried to jerk away, but his grip was tight, and she cried out. He snaked a hand around her waist, feeling for another dagger. She twisted, throwing the elbow of her free arm up and catching him in the cheekbone. The strike hit hard, and he stumbled slightly. She used the momentum and twisted again, driving her shoulder into him, and they fell onto the bedroll.
Norah tried to roll away, but he still had hold of her wrist and jerked her back, scooping her underneath him. Using his body weight, he held her down. She fought to keep her arms at her chest as he tried to pull them above her head. She struggled with all the strength she had, but she couldn’t move. In a final effort, she cracked her head forward, butting his face. It briefly stunned him, and his body weight crushed the breath from her.
Recovering, he forced her arms above her head and crossed them, scooping a fistful of her hair and completely immobilizing her. Repositioning his weight, he straddled her, holding himself above her and allowing her to breathe again.
“Stop making this harder!” he snapped.
“You mean stop fighting you?” she hissed. “Does it make you feel strong? Is this what you meant when you told me I should fear men?”
“You should fear a king!”
“Kings die,” she seethed, quoting him.
His face sobered. A gash spanned across the bridge of his nose where she’d hit him, and blood ran down his face. His lip was split, and she couldn’t remember if it was an old wound from their previous tussle or a new one. He ignored both. Slowly, he moved his free hand down her stomach, feeling around her waist. She tensed but couldn’t move.
She struggled again as he unbuttoned her jacket, but he continued to hold her. Her breath quickened as he ran his hands up her hips and sides. She looked away, shaking with rage, and waited. He used the back of his hand to touch her, a move that felt strangely considerate, but it only fueled her frustration.
Moving down, he ran his hand over her outer thighs and pulled her knee up to reach around her calves through her boots. He finished but didn’t let her go. They lay in silence, the king above her. The dark pools of his eyes didn’t hold the bitter hostility they once had. While he certainly wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t trying to hurt her, and despite his hold, her anger started to dissipate.
The king released her, standing up and straightening his clothing. He wiped the blood from the bridge of his nose and flicked his tongue over his lip.
She sprang to her feet, her heart pounding as he watched her. He swallowed and shifted. Her fury dampened slightly as she tried to make sense of him. He seemed at war in his mind, but then he pulled another leather cord from his packs and approached her again.
“Must I do this forcefully as well?” he asked.
She stewed in her anger but held out her hands to be bound. The skin was raw, and she grimaced as he pulled the cord tight around her wrists. His eyes locked with hers as he finished—they were almost apologetic, but only for a moment.
He called for another bedroll, and her stomach turned at the realization she’d be sleeping in the same tent as him. A bedroll was brought quickly, and she eyed it irritably before settling onto it.
Norah turned her back to the Shadow King and tried to imagine herself alone. She didn’t hear him behind her, and it made her uneasy, but she didn’t dare look back at him. Tears threatened. She bit her lip sharply, forcing an even breath. She couldn’t allow herself to cry.
Despite the circumstance, and the binding, she did sleep. In her dreams, she saw Caspian’s face. She saw her men falling, one after another, and all she could do was watch.
