Page 43 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
The rest of the day was spent packing all our new clothes and belongings into the new luggage, eating, and not speaking to one another, despite the curiosity boring a deep hole in my stomach about what Roweena had told Abigail about me.
The farewell from Abbie had been bittersweet. Deep in my heart, I feared I would never see her again. A founded worry, since I didn't think I would ever return to London, or anywhere in England for that matter. My future was either in Egypt or America. Time would tell.
The rented carriage arrived in the early morning hours. It was still dark, and gas lanterns were the only illumination since thick clouds covered the skies. Two horses neighed and stomped restlessly from foot to foot while the carriage driver loaded up the baggage.
Now we were sitting in what would have been a relatively roomy carriage if it hadn't been for the size of my travel companion. Travel companion, I mused, feeling resentment rising up inside me. He was still my captor, and I needed to remember that. No matter how nicely he had cleaned up in his gentile clothing, he was still an insane barbarian who had abducted me from my wedding. It didn't matter that he might or might not have saved me. He hadn't known that. Plus, he thought he was a god. Insane, like I said. Utterly insane, this man.
Still.
Now and then I snuck a glance at him through lowered eyelashes while I pretended to read a book. He looked very smart in his suit. The cream lace contrasted beautifully with his oliveskin and dark hair. Hair I had talked him into at least tying at the nape of his neck with a tie that matched his cravat. He had refused the top hat but kept it next to him. He had, however, embraced a walking stick, and now he never let go of it.
The dark suit trousers fitted tightly around his thick thighs, which were bigger than my waist. His massive shoulders stretched the material of his jacket, the tailor had wanted to fit it for him, but that would have taken a few days, and Vardor was in a hurry. There was no denying his good looks, many women turned their heads whenever the carriage stopped for a short while.
For hour upon hour, the carriage rattled over the uneven road, the wooden frame groaning with each jolt. My back pressed against the velvet seat. The fabric felt anything but luxurious. It was old and worn, nothing like the carriages I was used to riding in with Thomas.
Vardor sat across from me, watching me like a predator deciding when to pounce. The lantern inside flickered, casting shadows that danced across his sharp, unforgiving features. His black eyes gleamed in the dim light, too intense, too knowing, as if he could hear the frantic beating of my heart.
I swallowed hard and folded my hands in my lap, desperate for something—anything—to ground me.
"You haven't said a word since we left the rest stop," I muttered after a while, hating how my voice wavered.
Vardor didn't move. Didn't blink. His fingers drummed idly against the carved handle of his ever-present walking stick. The same he had used to break a man's jaw at the last rest stop without giving it a second thought. The man had accosted me when Vardor left the table for a moment to order more food. I had asked the man nicely to leave me alone, but he had grabbed my arm, and that was when Vardor returned and lashed out.
"How could you?" I had wailed while the man was lying moaning on the ground.
"He dared touch you," Vardor replied as if his reaction was the most normal in the world. We hadn't spoken since.
"You wish for words, Roweena?" His voice was a low growl, rough like stone grinding against stone. He leaned forward slightly, and I tensed. He had no right to be so calm while I questioned my sanity with every mile that took us from London and brought us closer to Portsmouth. I was collaborating with him. With the man who had abducted me. A man I had watched kill. A man who had just broken another's jaw for touching me. He was a barbarian. He was insane.
"You dragged me from my wedding," I reminded him—or myself, I wasn't sure which—clenching my fists. I needed the reminder. I needed to remember how he had dragged me through the streets of London into a temple ruin. It was hard to reconcile that barbarian with the refined gentleman sitting across from me.
"You ruined my life," I accused.
A slow, mocking smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You need to stop pretending that your life was worth mourning."
I sucked in a sharp breath. "Excuse me?"
"You were marrying a man who planned to lock you away." His fingers curled around the walking stick, knuckles whitening.
My nails dug into my palms. "You didn't know that when you took me!"
His smirk faded. His eyes darkened, something deeper and more dangerous flickered beneath the surface. "And what would you have done, Roweena? Would you have stood at the altar and let him claim you?"
The word claim sent a shiver through me—not of fear, but something far more unsettling. So unsettling that I kept fanning the slowly burning embers of my rising anger.
I forced my chin higher. "I had a plan."
Vardor exhaled, slow and measured, as if forcing himself to remain seated instead of storming across the carriage and shaking sense into me. The tension between us thickened, filling the small space with an almost suffocating heat.
"Remind me, little one," he murmured, voice as sharp as a blade. "What was your brilliant plan?"
I swallowed. With him this close, his presence a heavy force pressing against me, my carefully laid plan felt... pathetic.
I averted my gaze. "It doesn't matter now."
Vardor hummed, a low sound of both amusement and something else—something unreadable. "No, it does not."
He leaned back, settling into his seat as if the conversation had bored him. As if I were not worth arguing with. Something about that dismissal made my blood boil.
