Page 9

I sneak glimpses of the foliage around us as my stomach settles. The vibrancy of the green is unlike anything I’ve ever seen but it’s impossible to make out much of it at the speed we’re moving. After a time I lean forward to stretch out my legs which have gone completely numb.

“Once we clear the Dark Wood, we can take a break but I’d prefer not to stop here.”

“Why?”

“Various reasons,” he says carefully.

I marvel at how his horse can move at such a pace while keeping a steady steer on the narrow path. I periodically lean forward, run my hand along his mane, and cluck some soft words in appreciation.

The next time I do, I swear I hear him blow out a breath in amusement. “What is his name?”

“She,” he corrects. “And it’s Epona. She was my mother’s horse.”

Was. I don’t have to ask to know she’s no longer among the living either. Fullness settles in my bladder. I hold it until I’m certain I’m going to burst. “I think we’re going to have to stop.”

“You can’t wait a little longer? We’ve almost cleared it.”

I shift uncomfortably. “I’ve already been waiting.”

He sighs and slows the horse to a still. Trees curl and twist over the narrow path, threatening to swallow it completely. He remains quiet and stiff in a manner that suggests he’s searching for something.

“Are you worried there’s something in these woods?” I whisper.

“There are many things in this forest,” he says vaguely. “That I’d prefer not to interact with. But I’m not exactly worried, no.”

He shifts me forward slightly as he climbs down, and his eyes, as vibrant as the foliage, continue to skirt around the clearing. I swing a leg over the saddle, debating the best way down. I stretch my foot toward the stirrup. It never meets it as he simply grabs me around the waist and hauls me down. That is… humiliating. Our eyes meet briefly, and my cheeks flame.

He turns his back to me with his hand against Epona’s neck. “I’ll look this way.”

I blanch. “I’m not going right here beside you!”

He whirls, eyes bulging. “I told you I have no interest in you, nought. None.”

I bristle. The dāemon that’s been oddly quiet since we left slithers to life, shooting a series of swift shocks that aggravate me even further. “You’ve made that abundantly clear. There’s no need to keep reiterating that point. And, just for the record, I’m not particularly interested in you either, witch ,” I spit. Regret finds me shortly after. Should I really be testing the man who has so much power over my fate?

The suspense of not knowing what his intentions are for me is too much to bear. I am testing him, pushing at the boundaries, trying to evoke the worst out of him now so it doesn’t come as a surprise to me later. I point my chin defiantly and… wait .

His mouth twists as if he’s fighting back a grin and then he fails spectacularly as he lets out a deep, hearty laugh. I hadn’t noticed before, but now, with his full smile on display, I can see that his two front teeth are slightly crooked.

Ha! A flaw across his otherwise perfectly formed face. The longer I look, the less confident I am that it’s a flaw at all. There’s a mischievous air to his grin that makes him look younger, boyish even. Those two teeth manage to soften all of his sharp angles in a way that’s almost…endearing. I banish that thought immediately. “What?” I snap, nostrils flaring.

“If you’re going to call me an archaic word, you could at least call me something cool like sorcerer or wizard,” he says, wriggling his fingers. I stare at him blankly. He chuckles again, running a hand over his bloodshot eyes. “Don’t say that word around anyone else.”

“Why?”

“It’s Magi,” he corrects. “That’s what we call ourselves. Witch is insulting.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Because I doubt it’s been wielded as a serious insult in…694 years,” he says with another laugh. A nearby twig snaps, snagging his attention, and his grin fades. “Don’t go far and be quick about it.”

Oh, he’s actually giving in and allowing me this. I look around the overgrown forest and back to him. “I’ll just…” I point toward the Wood, and he raises his brows with a smug look that seems to say you asked for this. Oh, screw him. I turn to the right and fight my way through the shrubbery that climbs to my chest.

The underbrush tugs at my dress like eager fingers, and I have to stop several times to disentangle myself. The forest is so ghastly thick that I don’t have to go far before I’m completely eclipsed from view. I pace several more steps to a small dip in the land that is a tad bit clearer than the rest. Another snapping twig sends my heart to thumping. I search the area. Nothing. Only trees upon trees and the deep green tangle of foliage.

I continue to survey my surroundings as I hike my dress up and relieve myself, feeling unbearably exposed to the elements. I snatch my undergarments back up in a hurry. The witch’s careful combing of the land, as if he was expecting something to emerge, fills me with a sharp sense of unease.

Paranoia has me breaking into a slow jog back the way I came. The crack of a snapping twig, closer this time, stops me in my tracks. The hair on the back of my neck comes to a point.

In the distance, I hear a wail . Like that of a screaming child. I whip around, heart dropping out of my chest when I discover something… someone looming there.

It’s a child.

Standing on the other side of the dip in the land and covered in a thick layer of leaves and dirt. He remains motionless as three more children appear from behind the trees. Small children. None of them can be a day over the age of five. Three boys and one girl, only distinguished by the differences in the states of their tattered clothing.

“Hello?” I call out weakly.

“Have you seen our Mother?”

“Your…Mother?” My eyes flicker over them, searching for the one that’s spoken. They’re in such a state of disarray, filthy with tangles making nests of their hair. I peer around the wild greenery. No sign of civilization remotely close to here. They must’ve been lost…or abandoned out here for a long time.

“Please, help us,” one calls.

“Hungry.” This time, it’s the girl who speaks, her voice so small and mellifluous that a deep pang of sympathy twists my insides.

“Oh.” I peer back in the direction I came from. “I think we have some food we could share…”

“Help us,” one of the boys pleads, his voice just as delicate and lilting as the little girls.

If I tell the prince…would he be willing to help them? We can’t just leave them out here. But we only have the one horse. I don’t know how we’d possibly fit them all. I suppose we’re going to have to do something because they’re advancing on me, steadily making their way down the hill. I very well could be the only person they’ve seen in days…weeks?

“I’ll…I’ll go get help,” I promise. Get the…witch to help these children? A tale I’ve known since I was a child springs to mind about a little boy and girl lost in the woods who come upon a witch who promises to help them only to, in turn, try to stick them in her furnace. The irony isn’t lost on me.

Just as I’m turning on my heel there’s a flash of movement, a gleam of light, and the child closest to me falls to his knees. I start forward in concern, but the image in front of me morphs. I blink rapidly, hoping the vision in front of me will clear. His head suddenly becoming dislodged from his body will be some sort of mistake.

The lifeless husk left behind sways, hitting the soil at the same time the head hits the ground with a thump. It rolls across the grass until it comes to a halt face down against the stump of a tree, baring the cleanly cauterized sinew of his neck. Time seems to hang suspended there as blood gushes and puddles below.

I stumble back, a shriek lodged in my throat. I suck in a sharp breath, preparing to scream for the prince. When I look up, he’s already there, face stony in concentration.

Blood drips down a faint, almost invisible outline of an axe in his hand. He makes a throwing motion, and I cringe as the small girl’s forehead splits right down the middle, the sheen outline of the invisible axe embedded deep. She sways for a long moment, time still moving in a sluggish crawl to show me every beat of the horrors in front of me before she topples to the ground.

The other two children begin to cry, horrible wailing noises that curdle my blood. All I can do is clap a hand over my mouth and watch .

He’s… killing them. He’s killing them. Why…is he killing them?

The dāemon fires to life with my fear, rising up like sparking embers.

The two children left scatter, their panicked pleas filling the Wood. The witch flicks his hand. I flinch, a hoarse whimper scraping out my throat as one erupts into flames. His screams turn even more shrill as the fire devours him alive. The last child has managed to get some distance away before the witch’s head snaps in his direction.

He falls face forward, body dragging across the forest floor directly into the witch’s outstretched hands. Breaking his neck with a snap, he disposes of him like someone would if they were doing something as simple as collecting kindling for a fire. “Ugh,” he complains, wiping his hands on his trousers in disgust as if this is all just a mere inconvenience to his day.

I stare at the witch I’ve been bound to as he casually cracks his neck and knuckles, not at all looking like he’s demolished four small children. He adjusts his sleeves, waving a hand over a spot of blood that swiftly dissipates.

A witch through and through, just like the stories.

I need to go.

Flee.

Get out of here.

Run .

The dāemon pulses white, hot, and sharp. I can barely breathe. I wrap one hand around my side, nails puncturing my ribs. I can scarcely think, eyes flitting around the clearing--over what’s left of the children’s bodies.

“Come nought. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he barks.

I hike one step back and stumble.

“Princess…” he says slowly, eyes cautious as he prowls forward. A predator to his petrified prey.

My heart lurches, and the dāemon expels, cracking the bark of a nearby tree. He jolts, jerking his head in the direction of the tree. I eventually remember how to work my legs and bolt. I don’t make it five paces before his arms latch around me. I can only huff out a strangled cry with the throb of the dāemon pounding in my blood and whooshing in my ears. He tosses me over his shoulder.

“Calm down,” he demands. “You’re fine, but we need to get out of here because the noise will call others.” He’s back at the horse in no time, hoisting me onto the saddle. I gasp in a breath. It’s more like a wheeze, barely able to suck in air through my swelling throat. He’s behind me then, hands on my face.

“You’re okay. You have to breathe,” he commands.

“Dn’t,” I choke, feebly pushing his hands away from my face. The dāemon barrels, like flashes of lightning stealing what little air I have. I try to suck in another breath. It gets lodged there with another choking wheeze. He dips a hand under my chin.

“ Sleep. ”

There’s a throb from his fingers that ignites one last pulse of panic before my body obeys his command and sinks into the black.