Page 55 of Wings of Lies
His rosy lips squeezed into a hard line. With two abrupt steps, he backed me into the ledge of the back doors. He leaned down, his mouth brushing my ear. A tingle of a different sort sent a shiver down my spine.
“Don’t make me do something you’ll regret,” he whispered, reaching for my legs.
Was he going to grope me?
My Glory prickled, but before it surged and my cuffs shocked me, he picked me up and threw me in. My bottom hit the exact second he jumped, straddling me with his feet.
“Hands,” he demanded, reaching out and caging me in with his boots.
“Why?”
His scar pulsed with a red light.
“I said, give me your damned hands! Now, prisoner!”
The glow in his irises convinced me to lift my hands. He unlocked a cuff from my uninjured wrist, grazing my skin. Tingles surfaced, and his tight hold eased with the light beneath his chin. He widened the cuff and latched it around my splint, loose enough to slide around the thick cloth without pain.
“Does that feel okay?” he asked.
Stunned by his gentle tone and question, I nodded.
Brock shut the doors, dimming the janky box. My princely jailor dropped my wrists and straightened. He stepped over me, and I wiggled to the side, far away from the monsters and the confusing prince. Brock signaled to the horses to move, and we were off.Yay.
Bump after bump shot into my boney butt and vibrated up my spine.Did this dirt road contain nothing but potholes? Or was this another form of torture?
Fortunately, last time, I was knocked out for most of the ride. This time, I had to listen to Bael and Cacus hiss about food and feel my princely jailor’s gaze. I think I’d rather take the agony of my Glory over this.
As time passed, I slept against my better judgment. It was the closest thing to knocking myself out, and I hoped to dream-walk again. The last few dream-walks gave me pieces of my past back and more questions, but it was better than nothing.
Sleep came and went. Flashes of colors to darkness to whispered words I forgot, then to the waking world. The day turned to night, but except for a couple of mortifying stops, we never made camp. Brock and my princely jailor traded out driving multiple times, and we continued like that.
My two meals a day consisted of apples, cheese, and dried squirrel meat chucked at me whenever Brock or the prince felt like it. Sometimes, I only ate one meal, not because they didn’t give me food but because any food I couldn’t catch was fair game for the monsters.
After the fourth day, my will hung on by threads. I stared at the splint on my pinky finger. It wasn’t there yesterday. Brock broke my finger for insulting him a second time after he stared at me like a perv during our bathroom break. He stomped on my hand as punishment. I think he hoped to break all my fingers but only managed one. When we returned to the carriage, my princely jailor grabbed my hand. He panned from my crooked pinky to my tears to Brock’s face, and his eyes lit with blue flame. He jerked me from Brock’s grasp and helped me into the carriage without a word.
Today, I woke to find it splinted. Brock would’ve never helped me, and the monsters were too idiotic to know how to splint a bone. They’d probably chomp it off as a solution. So that left my princely jailor as my secretive nurse.
I glanced at the corner where he silently slept. We spoke maybe eight sentences to each other in the last four days, in between his grunts and glares.
His knees were tucked to his chest, arms draped, and head leaning back—the same position I found him in the first time. Except now, instead of a perfect head of silk, it lay flat and glistened. Creases formed at the corner of his eyes.
A bad dream?I sure as hell hoped so.
With that sword attached to his hip, I could only imagine the amount of killing he doled out. All the muscle that swallowed his body and the blue flames that flashed in his eyes didn’t exactly saypacifist. I bet monsters haunted his dreams. He deserved every second of the pain that pinched his face.
I looked away, glancing at the quiet monsters. All six beady eyes were closed. Returning my gaze to my princely jailor, the hilt of his sword gleamed in the dim light.
What were the odds I could stab them all and live?
But before I got my desperate ass killed, a jarring impact thrust me forward. My wrist wrenched against their chains, palms splayed to catch myself. I gasped at the impact, my broken bones giving out, face-planting.
The carriage rocked back and forth, then jolted again from another slam, tilting the carriage onto two wheels. I tumbled headfirst into the wall, lying on my back when we banged down, level.
Brock shouted something, and the carriage picked up speed.
“What the hell is it?” I shifted onto my forearms and knees, looking for the prince. He stood, arms spread, bracing himself in the corner with glowing irises.
Cacus and Bael hissed at the next hit, lumbering toward the back doors, nearly crushing my body as I rolled out of the way. Our hasty speed abruptly stopped as the whole carriage skidded to the side. Yips and throaty growls drowned out the horse’s whinnies.
