Page 25
Story: His Forbidden Princess
"We can still make the river," Dain murmurs, his eyes never leaving the guards before us. "But I'll have to clear a path."
I understand immediately what he means. He will fight—four against one, with more on the way. Impossible odds, even for a soldier of his caliber.
"No." I clutch his arm. "There must be another way."
He turns to me then, and the tenderness in his expression nearly breaks me. "Trust me, Lirien. I will get you across that river if it's the last thing I do."
Before I can respond, he wheels his horse toward the guards, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. "Last chance," he calls to them. "Stand aside."
Thorne shakes his head sadly, signaling his men to spread out. They draw their weapons—swords gleaming dully in the pre-dawn light. Not the lethal efficiency of a battlefield formation, but a half-hearted perimeter that betrays their reluctance to fight their former captain.
"Take her unharmed," Thorne orders. "Subdue Vorex if possible."
If possible. The qualifier speaks volumes. They know what Dain is capable of, know that "subduing" him will likely cost lives.
Dain doesn't wait for them to make the first move. He kicks his horse forward, sword flashing as he charges directly at the weakest point in their line—the youngest guard, who hesitates fractionally too long.
Steel meets steel with a sound that slices through the morning air. The young guard goes down, disarmed but not seriously injured, as Dain's horse pushes through the gap in their formation.
"Ride for the river!" he shouts to me, already engaged with a second guard who swings wildly at his exposed back.
I spur my horse forward, aiming for the opening Dain has created. One of the remaining guards moves to intercept me, but Dain is there somehow, his blade a silver blur that forces the man to defend himself instead of blocking my path.
I break through their line, galloping toward the riverbank, the sounds of combat ringing in my ears. I reach the water's edge and pull up, turning to look back.
What I see freezes the blood in my veins.
Dain fights like a man possessed, keeping all four guards at bay, preventing any of them from pursuing me. But he's outnumbered, and as I watch, Thorne manages to slice across his thigh. Blood darkens the fabric of his pants, but Dain barely seems to notice, pressing his attack with undiminished ferocity.
"Dain!" I scream, unable to help myself.
He glances toward me, a split-second lapse in concentration. It's enough for another guard to land a blow—this one to his shoulder, making him grunt in pain.
I cannot leave him. I will not.
I turn my horse back toward the fray, drawing the small dagger Dain insisted I carry. I have no illusions about my fighting ability—princesses learn statecraft, not swordplay—but I cannot watch him die for me.
"Princess, go!" Dain roars when he sees me approaching. "Cross the river!"
I ignore him, charging toward the nearest guard, my dagger raised in what must look like a pathetic threat. The guard turns,surprise written across his face at the sight of the crown princess bearing down on him with a weapon.
His hesitation gives Dain the opening he needs. With a vicious swing, he disarms the man, then wheels his horse around to engage Thorne, who presses forward relentlessly.
"Lirien, for God's sake, RUN!" Dain's voice cracks with desperation.
More hoofbeats thunder through the trees—the rest of the pursuit catching up. Within moments, we'll be hopelessly outnumbered.
I open my mouth to respond when sudden pain explodes across my temple. One of the guards, seeing me as the easier target, has struck me with the flat of his blade. Not hard enough to cause serious injury, but enough to disorient me. I sway in the saddle, the world spinning sickeningly around me.
Through blurred vision, I see Dain's face transform. Gone is the controlled soldier, replaced by something feral and terrifying. He abandons all defensive posture, charging directly at the man who struck me with such violence that both horses rear in alarm.
His sword arcs down in a killing blow that only Thorne's desperate intervention prevents from splitting the guard's skull. Even so, the man goes down hard, unconscious or worse.
"Don't touch her!" Dain roars, his voice barely human. "I'll kill any man who lays a hand on her!"
He fights like a demon now, heedless of his own safety, driven by rage and desperation. Blood streams from the wound in his thigh, from a new cut along his arm, from a gash on his forehead. But he doesn't slow, doesn't yield, his only goal to keep the guards away from me.
My vision clears in time to see reinforcements burst from the trees—six more palace guards, weapons drawn, faces grim. Ten against one. Impossible odds, even for Dain Vorex.
I understand immediately what he means. He will fight—four against one, with more on the way. Impossible odds, even for a soldier of his caliber.
"No." I clutch his arm. "There must be another way."
He turns to me then, and the tenderness in his expression nearly breaks me. "Trust me, Lirien. I will get you across that river if it's the last thing I do."
Before I can respond, he wheels his horse toward the guards, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. "Last chance," he calls to them. "Stand aside."
Thorne shakes his head sadly, signaling his men to spread out. They draw their weapons—swords gleaming dully in the pre-dawn light. Not the lethal efficiency of a battlefield formation, but a half-hearted perimeter that betrays their reluctance to fight their former captain.
"Take her unharmed," Thorne orders. "Subdue Vorex if possible."
If possible. The qualifier speaks volumes. They know what Dain is capable of, know that "subduing" him will likely cost lives.
Dain doesn't wait for them to make the first move. He kicks his horse forward, sword flashing as he charges directly at the weakest point in their line—the youngest guard, who hesitates fractionally too long.
Steel meets steel with a sound that slices through the morning air. The young guard goes down, disarmed but not seriously injured, as Dain's horse pushes through the gap in their formation.
"Ride for the river!" he shouts to me, already engaged with a second guard who swings wildly at his exposed back.
I spur my horse forward, aiming for the opening Dain has created. One of the remaining guards moves to intercept me, but Dain is there somehow, his blade a silver blur that forces the man to defend himself instead of blocking my path.
I break through their line, galloping toward the riverbank, the sounds of combat ringing in my ears. I reach the water's edge and pull up, turning to look back.
What I see freezes the blood in my veins.
Dain fights like a man possessed, keeping all four guards at bay, preventing any of them from pursuing me. But he's outnumbered, and as I watch, Thorne manages to slice across his thigh. Blood darkens the fabric of his pants, but Dain barely seems to notice, pressing his attack with undiminished ferocity.
"Dain!" I scream, unable to help myself.
He glances toward me, a split-second lapse in concentration. It's enough for another guard to land a blow—this one to his shoulder, making him grunt in pain.
I cannot leave him. I will not.
I turn my horse back toward the fray, drawing the small dagger Dain insisted I carry. I have no illusions about my fighting ability—princesses learn statecraft, not swordplay—but I cannot watch him die for me.
"Princess, go!" Dain roars when he sees me approaching. "Cross the river!"
I ignore him, charging toward the nearest guard, my dagger raised in what must look like a pathetic threat. The guard turns,surprise written across his face at the sight of the crown princess bearing down on him with a weapon.
His hesitation gives Dain the opening he needs. With a vicious swing, he disarms the man, then wheels his horse around to engage Thorne, who presses forward relentlessly.
"Lirien, for God's sake, RUN!" Dain's voice cracks with desperation.
More hoofbeats thunder through the trees—the rest of the pursuit catching up. Within moments, we'll be hopelessly outnumbered.
I open my mouth to respond when sudden pain explodes across my temple. One of the guards, seeing me as the easier target, has struck me with the flat of his blade. Not hard enough to cause serious injury, but enough to disorient me. I sway in the saddle, the world spinning sickeningly around me.
Through blurred vision, I see Dain's face transform. Gone is the controlled soldier, replaced by something feral and terrifying. He abandons all defensive posture, charging directly at the man who struck me with such violence that both horses rear in alarm.
His sword arcs down in a killing blow that only Thorne's desperate intervention prevents from splitting the guard's skull. Even so, the man goes down hard, unconscious or worse.
"Don't touch her!" Dain roars, his voice barely human. "I'll kill any man who lays a hand on her!"
He fights like a demon now, heedless of his own safety, driven by rage and desperation. Blood streams from the wound in his thigh, from a new cut along his arm, from a gash on his forehead. But he doesn't slow, doesn't yield, his only goal to keep the guards away from me.
My vision clears in time to see reinforcements burst from the trees—six more palace guards, weapons drawn, faces grim. Ten against one. Impossible odds, even for Dain Vorex.