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He pulled her a little closer until their noses almost touched. “No, I need you, unfortunately, you bloodthirsty little thing.”

Then she’d make him do it. Mer lurched forward to bite his throat, intending to tear it out with her teeth if necessary.

His gaze flattened, and he slammed his head against her temple.

Stars and pain burst across her vision, and she managed to slur out, “You’ll never survive me.”

The Methians did not take kindlyto assassination attempts.

Mer discreetly tugged at the manacles that were tightly clasped around her wrists. She’d awoken to the gentle sway of a horse, a pounding headache, and the scent of wet horseflesh in her nose. They’d tossed her over the mount like common goods.

So, they hadn’t killed her. Interesting.

Keeping her eyes closed and breathing shallowly through the nausea, she pulled on the cuffs again. Nothing.

“Stop wiggling,” a sharp female voice commanded. “Or you’ll fall off the horse.”

The game was up.

Mer stopped pretending to be asleep and lifted her pounding head.

The dowager queen rode beside them. The regal older woman arched a cool eyebrow but said nothing else. As if she was daring Mer to argue with her.

Not in this position. While she hated the king, the older woman Mer could have some respect for.

Each step the four-legged animal took jarred Mer, the shoulders of the horse digging into her ribs. She’d be bruised for sure. Blood rushed to her head, and she swayed. That wasn’t good. A firm but warm hand pressed between her shoulder blades as if comforting her.

Mer’s brows furrowed. That was unexpected.

“Deep breaths and steady yourself,” one of the female warrior’s demanded.

Mer squinted, turned her sore neck, and peered up at the woman who rode behind her. “What’s your name?” she croaked.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she answered grudgingly. “Mazie.”

“What a pretty name.”

Mazie scowled, tossing her head, long curls bouncing with the movement.

“You have gorgeous hair.” And Mer meant it. Although, it seemed impractical not to have bound such hair as a warrior. Gauging from the polished leather uniform, they weren’t planning on an actual attack.

Fools.

Mazie frowned, her deep coral eyes turning downward.

Flattery wasn’t going to get Mer anywhere with that one.

She hummed and scanned the convoy. Ten riders total including herself, the dowager queen, and the king. Very little protection for three royals. It wouldn’t be too hard to...

“You’re not going anywhere, so get that out of your head,” Mazie warned.

“What makes you think I was planning an escape?” Mer replied with a lazy air.

“You just assessed each of the riders.”

Point to Mazie. The woman was sharp.

Mer wasn’t trying to escape. She was measuring what she was up against. The king hadn’t killed her, so that told her either he was extremely tolerant or a deviant who planned to torture her. A sigh slipped past her lips. There was only one person she could blame for her predicament and that was herself.