Page 3 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
She’s been hit.
Selene presses her hand against the wound in her side, the warm, sticky wetness of her own blood slipping through her trembling fingers. Each step sends a fresh bolt of pain shooting up her spine, but she can’t stop. Not when the screams still echo behind her. Not when the air reeks of iron and ash.
Her breath rasps in her throat as she staggers forward, her boots sinking into the damp forest floor. The trees loom overhead, their skeletal branches clawing at the storm-heavy sky.
She wants it to rain. She needs it to rain. Rain might slow the army’s advance, might buy Cassie enough time to reach the next town and alert the watch. To get word to King Alden. To summon his troops.
The kingdom can’t be lost in a single day.
She utters a silent prayer to Liriel, Keeper of Waters, to bring down a torrent upon this corner of the realm. But she doesn’t wait to see if the goddess answers.
She can’t.
Her knees buckle, and she catches herself against a jagged rock, crying out as the motion jars her wound. Blood stains the moss beneath her, vivid and accusing. The sky above blurs as her vision falters. For one terrible moment, she considers staying there, letting the forest take her. It would be easier. Easier than moving. Easier than facing the truth.
This is her fault.
She sees her father’s face, chastising her, berating her for her stupidity. She should have known the Duke had never loved her. She should have known he’d never marry someone with nothing but a small estate to her name.
But she hasn’t known. She couldn’t have. How could she?
Because she hadn’t wanted to know. She hadn’t wanted to believe anything but her own fantasies—that she was perfect,that he was perfect, that they were. She hadn’t known she was allowed to ask questions.
Her lips tremble. No. This isn’t her fault. It’s his. Her husband’s.
Hehas allied with Ashvold.Hehas taken advantage of her inheritance—taken advantage of her.
Heis the one that should pay.
Not her. Not all the servants lying dead on the ground.
She forces herself upright.
Not my fault, she tells herself.Not my fault.
A shadow flashes to her left, and she freezes, pressing herself against the trunk of a tree. Her pulse thunders in her ears, drowning out the distant din of battle. For one wild moment, she thinks it might be him, come to find her—to finish what his betrayal has started. But it’s only a fox, its golden eyes wide with fear as it skitters into the underbrush.
She staggers on, each breath burning like acid in her chest. The forest thins as she nears the base of the mountain, the jagged silhouette of stone rising like a titan before her. The terrain grows steeper, and the underbrush clutches at her slippers like hands determined to drag her back.
Her vision swims, the blood loss pulling her toward unconsciousness.
Voices carry through the darkness—gruff, clipped, far too close.
Soldiers.
Panic seizes her. She scans the rocky face of the mountain for cover. The voices grow louder, the crunch of boots on leaves unmistakable. She forces herself toward a shallow recess in the stone, half hidden by ivy. It offers barely more than a shadow of protection.
She presses herself into it, one hand over her mouth to muffle her ragged breathing, the other clutching her side.The voices draw nearer, and she closes her eyes, willing herself to disappear.
“She couldn’t have gotten far,” one of them says.
“She’s bleeding out. The forest will finish her if we don’t,” another replies.
Her nails bite into the jagged rock behind her, every nerve screaming in protest as she shrinks further into the alcove. Her lungs beg for air, but she doesn’t dare breathe too loudly.
The soldiers pass, their voices fading into the distance, leaving only the eerie quiet of the forest. She waits, counting her breaths until she’s sure they are gone. Only then does she collapse against the stone, letting out a shaky exhale.
That’s when she feels it—cool air brushing her skin. Not from the forest, but from the alcove itself.
