Page 62 of Frost and Death
“Am I to believe you are worried about me?”
I know my face is contorted with worry, alongside the pain and coldness, but Jerrick’s warm hand squeezes my legs, sending heat into my chest.
Jerrick guides us into the cave.
The moonlit night is bright enough to provide us with minimal light, and there is a slight chill, but nothing compared to outside.
He gestures his hands up to help me down.
“This is probably going to hurt, but you can’t scream. We don’t want to alert beasts,” he warns, emphasizing the last word.
Fear and the impending pain make me hesitant about dismounting, knowing my shoulder won’t be the only thing hurting. The blood loss is evident even through my drained body and wheezing breaths.
I secretly hope I could pass out again just to skip the agony of getting off this horse.
I attempt to rock my hips off the horse’s side. Pain sears through me as I lean forward, but Jerrick grips my waist, pulling me away from the steed, allowing the least amount of contact with my back.
It still doesn’t prevent the misery exploding.
I muffle my scream by biting my lip hard enough for copper to coat my tongue. Nausea roils in my gut and in my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to avoid vomiting. The fight is unbearable, and I hurl to my left, barely pulling away from Jerrick in time.
Dry heaves stick as I wobble, fighting to keep the bile from coming out. But even my own body loses control.
Jerrick holds me by my sides, keeping loose strands of hair from falling in front of my mouth.
My skin is an inferno, yet the sweat on my brow is cold, and the tremors refuse to abate. It’s freezing in the forest and in this cave, but I am confused by the sudden heat. I internally plea for this to stop.
“Don’t look,” I manage to wrench out hoarsely. Bile escapes as my body begs to crumple. “Please.”
This is another embarrassment for him to keep score of and throw in my face at a later time.
But Jerrick is silent, holding me steady.
Whether he holds me for minutes or hours, I don’t know, but when the nausea subsides, I am spent. I want to rise and push myself through the waves of exhaustion, to show I am alright, but my knees give out.
Jerrick catches me before I scrape up my legs from the rocks on the ground, putting my weight against him and tenderly guiding me into a sitting position.
I hiss through each movement, dreading this endless cycle. I exhale, trying not to be loud, but I am so fucking drained.
My head is reeling. My throat is raw. My legs are throbbing.
And I am still in my wedding gown. My torn andbloodiedwedding gown.
A tear falls down my cheek as defeat sinks in over how my wedding day turned into a disaster.
I can’t stop sniffing, the sound of it echoing in the cave, while wishing for my bedchamber—wishing for Betina—wishing for Niko.
Jerrick notices me slumping, and he eases me down on my left side.
The cold floor crashes against my body, but the second my head is braced on something, I exhale a small shudder of relief.
Jerrick’s footsteps tell me he is walking away, and only then do I fall apart.
I wish I wasn’t here.
I wish I knew what my parents thought of this predicament.
Tears stream down my cheeks as Jerrick’s approach earns a gasp from me as something touches me. I flinch at the contact, bracing for pain—
