Nobody was watching the small woman with a dislocated thumb and a plan.
The one holding the leash was two paces in front of her, walking like he was on a Sunday stroll.
Guinevere let her wrists fall open and slid the rope off in one silent motion. Then she yanked the leash with her entire bodyweight in a single brutal pull.
Hard. Both hands minus a thumb.
The line snapped taut and whipped him off his feet like a sled dog hitting the end of a tether. He went flat on his back in the pine needles with a sound that was half grunt and half outrage.
The two guards flanking her turned towards the sound.
Mistake.
Guinevere pivoted and drove her boot up into the groin of the one on her left with enough force that his knees buckled before his brain had processed what had happened to him.
