“It’s okay, Pru!” I yelled out. “Be brave. Be strong.”
She settled at my words, and the guard put her down. Pru buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.
Behind Pru stood a smug Yasmin, who in the last hour had changed into one of her more extravagant dresses. No longer was her face pale with worry, but instead it glowed with happiness. And why wouldn’t it? She was getting what she wanted. I was imprisoned and would probably be executed in a foreign country, leaving Xander free to marry her. Baist would have peace, and Florin would be happy because they had what they wanted—me. Their own revenge on Baist. An eye for an eye; a dead princess for a dead queen.
This wasn’t right. I needed to hear it from Xander himself. He couldn’t have agreed to trade me away. But I couldn’t find his amber eyes and dark head among the crowd. He was absent. My heart broke as I realized our love was nothing more than a distraction. His pretty words were lies, and he knew all along that Florin would eventually take me, so he wouldn’t care if the blood oath failed or not.
Mud pelted me in the face, and I glared at the mob, unsure of whom it was who had dared throw something at me.
“Monster!” a random voice yelled.
“Murderer!” a second followed.
No one tried to help me. Most stood before me with looks of hatred, fear, and confusion.
Clenching my eyes and fists, I tried to fight back the tears that were burning in the corners of my eyes, a sensation that matched the one in my heart as I felt it shrivel and die. My mother was right. Love brought nothing but pain and suffering. Heartbreak could make one weak.
But she was also wrong about another thing.
Lifting my head, I quenched my tears and looked with hatred upon the crowd.
Vengeance would be mine, but I could be patient.
“So be it,” I said, turning my back on the people of Baist. They never were my people, as much as I wanted it to be different. They would never accept me.
I was hauled past the stables and tossed into a cage on the back of a wagon. A guard linked my chains through a pole in the side, attaching an iron lock. The emissaries of Florin prepared to depart. Servants loaded their trunks, and I watched as Earlsgaarde directed more guards to surround my cell.
Tipper came to stand near the cage. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, turning his back to speak to me. “Glad to finally be rid of you!” He waved to Earlsgaarde, then brought his fingers up to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The horses started moving, and I lost my balance and fell to my knees. Grasping the bars of my prison, I watched as I was taken away.
The crowd jeered at me and tossed garbage my way.
“Good riddance to the beast!”
“Now we will be safe!”
“Hooray!”
“I’m not the beast,” I shouted back, but they couldn’t hear me over the din of their cries.
A well-thrown rock made it through the bars and cut my cheek. A tomato followed, striking me in the chest, the red juices running down my shirt like blood. Then came dung.
They were the same as all the others.
Heartless souls.
And they would pay.
I remembered little of my trip into Florin, too wrapped up in my hatred. It burned, feeding me, keeping me warm on the cold trek through the mountains.
Twice a day we stopped, and they would let me out to relieve myself and give me a plate of food. Then back into my mobile prison I would go. Only once more did I try to use my powers to break the enchanted chains on my wrist, quickly deciding I liked being alive. For when I reached for power, the manacles would burn and then quickly drain away my energy, and my mind would be in a fog for hours afterward.
The terrain changed and became warmer. Flowers bloomed along the hillside and their aroma calmed me, reminding me of my family.
My family. What would my mother say when she found out how easily I was captured and subdued? Not at all becoming of the Eville name or legacy.
Earlsgaarde would frequently ride along next to me and gloat. He was the worst kind of man—cruel to animals, greedy among his men, and all in all a greasy little weasel. My fingers weaved a pattern in the air, unconsciously forming the spell to transform him into such an animal, but nothing would come with the manacles.
My wrists were burned and gave off a rancid smell. Without proper clean water or ointment, they would probably become infected, and there was a good chance I would either die from sepsis or they would have to be amputated.
Neither was a favorable option for me. I would have to escape or die trying.
Picking up a spoon, I ate what little food they had given me for dinner—a weak porridge, which tasted strangely sweet. It was better than the bland porridge I had been given for breakfast.
Just when I thought I was recovered enough to attempt an escape or break the enchantment on the manacles, the world started to tilt and the faces blurred. Dropping the spoon, I kicked the pewter plate away in disgust.
Drugged.
They had drugged me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The wagon stopped, the door of my cage opened, and footsteps drew near. I tried to open my eyes, but I was too weak.
A shadow passed over me as someone kneeled by me to take stock of my wrists. A curse fell from their lips as they touched the burned areas. I moaned, the excruciating white pain blinding me.
“Is this her?” a deep but somewhat familiar voice asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Earlsgaarde’s whiny voice answered. “This is the girl I told you about—Eville’s adopted daughter.”
I tried to open my eyes, to take in the new speaker, but all I saw was a dark blur. He gasped when our eyes met.
“It can’t be,” the strange man said. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it, Your Majesty. Test her and you will know I speak the truth.”
“It’s really her?” he asked. “She’s alive after all this time?”
My head rolled and I muttered incomprehensibly. My wrist moved and pus leaked out from beneath the shackles, a rank smell along with it.
“By the stars, Earlsgaarde. What is that stench?”
“It’s her wounds, my king. They are festering. She will die soon, so maybe we should move up the execution.”
The king’s voice was muffled as he spoke through his sleeve. “No, send for a healer immediately. Take her to the guest suite and make sure she’s comfortable.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Time was nonexistent in my prison. The next time I opened my eyes, there were two more blurred shapes standing over me. Based on the shapes of their brown, dirty boots, it was one male and one female.
“This is going to hurt.” The man carefully began to clean around my shackles with a damp cloth. He lifted the manacles, but my burned skin came with it. I screamed in agony as white blindness came over me again, and then I mercifully passed out.
Warmth. I was warm. After shivering for hours, I finally felt warmth, or maybe I had died. A rough wool blanket was tucked over my shoulders, and I opened my eyes to find that I was no longer in the cell but in a clean bed. My wrists were bandaged carefully in white linen under the heavy manacles, and the smell of disinfectant hit my nose.
I didn’t recognize the bedroom but cared little because the pain had stopped.