Time was running out and the horse would only ride so fast. She rested it where she could, but even that rubbed her wrong and robbed her of her sanity. The cold clung to them, though it offered little comfort, or quell the heat burning in their veins.
The sun slipped across the sky all too easily, the last rays of light dying on the horizon as darkness crawled in. With each passing hour, she'd prayed. Though she was sure God had stopped listening.
Caerwyn rode close behind her, his silence an eerie companion. He hadn't tried to stop her, but at the first sight of danger, she knew he wouldn't hesitate.
Mounds of grass flew underneath her horse's large strides, each beat vibrating through her as hooves skimmed the ground and sound became the hollow drumming in her chest.
Then a new feeling twisted inside her at the sound of shouting. She crested the hill and the scene almost halted her movements.
Blood tinged the air, cries trembled through the field, half-muted around her and then she saw the bodies littered everywhere. Some men still alive with half their limbs missing, others stared unseeing at the sky as if asking God why. The ground had already been trampled here, her horse finding it difficult to maneuver around heaps of the dead.
It wasn't clear who won the battle, still groups of men standing restless on the far edges that divided the space. But she couldn't see Leoric. A foreboding ached in her chest and she couldn't let Caerwyn stop her now.
She peeled out and rushed her mount towards the flags flying Aramor Lions, clawing at the sky.
The numerous tents stretched out on the horizon, crimson and gold lace atop a muddy field dressed in dead. It was the snatch of blue and silver that caught her eye and she skirted the guards who approached to halt her.
"Leoric," she called, over the noise of metal and grim jeers, heart in her throat and he turned at the sound of his name.
The men who escorted him paused, but it was the look that slashed Leoric's face that cut her. She knew she wasn't supposed to be here, let alone anywhere near the battlefield. But if she hadn't, he'd be gone, and she couldn't let that happen.
A face peered around Leoric's—Edrien.
At a tilt of Edrien's head, the guards backed away from her skittish mare and she dismounted, Caerwyn at her back.
"Ed," her voice came shaky, her steps shakier.
The mud was wet, but it felt like her world was tilting for entirely other reasons. She couldn't not look at Leoric, standing cuffed—seized as a war prisoner—though the look he gave her was a scowl and she knew she earnt it.
Rhosyn didn't know much about war or battles. But the pattern in the way the dead bodies laid on the field, painted a picture that they'd been pursued from behind. Maybe they hadn't had time to put a defence together and he must've been captured amid the battle.
Lords were always taken prisoner. Hostages to be traded for advantages or sometimes just gold. If she could become the payment, she would.
"Ed, don't do this," she implored, standing between the men, her pleading eyes staring up at Edrien. "Let him go unharmed and I'll surrender myself to you—"
"Don't," Leoric roared, but Rhosyn ignored him.
Edrien struggled with himself for a moment, as if his blood-rage for Leoric was more than his wish to have her returned to him.
"Rhosyn," Leoric whispered and she heard the plea in his voice.
"Fine," Edrien ran his eyes over her and there was something different in them than she last remembered. "But when he turns his sword against me again, I'll kill him for a traitor." A satisfied smirk curled onto his face and she saw how this rivalry twisted him.
He nodded his command to his guards.
"Rhos—" Leoric begged.
But Edrien had turned away and all Rhosyn could do to keep the man she loved alive was to follow her Crown Prince.
She heard the tussle of Leoric clashing against the guards. "If you touch her, I'll—"
A soldier cut off Leoric's threat and she tossed a last look around to make sure he was alright. His hands unbound, the guards shoving him away and their eyes lock briefly. His face went blank. Not calm—empty. The kind of empty men wore before they burn a world down.
Then she was walking into a tent, its flap held open by Edrien and the sound of war muffling into a dreary mumble beyond the walls.
Rhosyn ventured deeper into the surprisingly large tent, marveling at the amount of furniture that lined the room. It looked like a copy of Edrien's apartments, only more condensed and encased in crimson and gold fabric.
"Wine?" Edrien offered.
She turned to find the flap closed and Edrien by a cabinet with a full glass in each hand. They were alone.
He made his way around couches and low tables, a face she knew, but there was something more in the way he stared that crawled a warning through her middle.
She shook her head—no.
"Still my same Rhos."
Edrien downed one glass, set it aside and took a step closer sipping at the other. It was the way his tongue twisted around the word 'my', and lips lingered on her name.
"Ed," she said, trying to reason with him. "Just think, for a second."
But he wasn't listening, another step.
"When we get back, everything will go back to normal, Rhos," Edrien soothed, his breath on her face, the taste of wine in the air.
There was something in his eyes that spelled danger and she swallowed down her trepidation.
"Ed, I don't know—"
"You were given to me," he hushed.
A finger brushed a hair from her face and she retreated a step, her back meeting the central pole of the tent.
"You're my playmate," he purred.
"I'm married, Ed"
"Nothing an annulment won't fix," his eyes ran over her face, his tongue running along the point of his teeth.
"You're engaged—"
"Which is a shame, but it does not matter," Edrien breathed, a hand pinning her against the pole, his lips brushing her ear. "You are mine."
His lips crushed into hers harsh, suffocating and possessive. Rhosyn tried to push against him, but he was too strong, his body pressed her into the metal biting into her back and his lips greedy as were his hands. He grappled at her, fingers biting into flesh and she tried to bite back her yelp.
"Ed—" she hummed against his mouth, but it was muffled and useless.
Hands got rougher. Breaths deafening. His body firm against her. Then a foot kicked hers apart, knees forcing hers open and she panicked. Fists slammed into his chest, she tried to twist away, but she was secured in his grip. A scream might've escaped her mouth, but for all the clamour, it didn't matter—because she couldn't.
A sword sang from a sheath and everything paused at its tip. Caerwyn stood with his blade grazing Edrien's neck. Guards rushed in behind him, alarm and frustration in their eyes. Caerwyn must've barged past, taking them off-guard.
"Unhand, My Lady Grace," her knight said with all the threat and seriousness of carrying it out.
"No, Caerwyn," she breathed shakily, tears stinging in her eyes.
No—because heroes get buried first. If he strikes, they are both dead and he knew it.
Rhosyn could see the anguish in his eyes. Like he regretted not stopping her sooner, before she jumped into the hornets nest. She knew he wouldn't leave her, even if it all but sealed his fate.
The guards were fast, taking advantage of his hesitation. Caerwyn smashed an elbow into one's face, but the other twisted his sword arm behind his back and restrained him. Though Caerwyn didn't stop fighting, even as his arm bent further and pain clawed in his throat.
The head-butted guard pulled his sword on Caerwyn.
"Please, Edrien," Rhosyn pleaded.
She clung to him, though it was pointless, he was the only reason she was still standing—her knees had buckled, everything was just moving all too quickly.
"He is one that I can't spare, Rhos," Edrien replied, level-toned and stone-faced.
The guards instantly seized him and Rhosyn was screaming for them to stop. She was losing everything—everyone she loved all over again.
A knee came up and Edrien doubled over, Rhosyn slipping out of reach of them all. In one movement, she slipped her dagger from her calf and branded it.
"You're pointing a blade at me?" Edrien leered and her gaze slid to Caerwyn.
"No," she jeered, turning the blade on herself, pressing it deep and feeling blood already seep. "On myself."
Edrien took a step forward and she buried the knife dangerously closer to her jugular. He paused.
"Let him go, or I'll slit my throat right here," Rhosyn ground out, feeling a fresh drip of blood slip down her throat from the blade biting in at her words—a promise.
"And there I thought you lost your fight, Rhos—I'm impressed." But there was only menace behind Edrien's eyes.
With a simple wave of his hand, the guards released the knight.
Caerwyn took a step. "My Lady—"
"I'll do it Caerwyn." She halted his advance. "Don't make me choose, because I'll choose those I love."
Something more than a drop of blood pooled forth, and it was the first time she'd seen him cry. Caerwyn bowed deeply and vanished through the tent flap.
Edrien took a step forward and she held the blade a beat more. She needed to make sure Caerwyn had enough time to escape. And then she felt herself give up, her grip on the blade fastened—as did her resolve.
But the guards were quicker.
They'd seized her hand, twisting the blade free and she sagged into a puddle on the floor.
Edrien pulled the creases from his collar and ran a hand through his hair, a fascination gleaming in his eyes. He wore smugness in the set of his lips as he crouched over her.
"I'm impressed," he repeated, with an entertained hum. "But, I know your weaknesses, Rhos—I used to be one of them."