Page 56 of The King's Omega
“Ah, yes.” The guard relaxed. “The king wants extra eyes on the girl. Says she’s special, and he’s concerned about her safety.”
That was sweet of Rigol. If Selene tried to find me, she’d have to deal with Sorcha first. Access to my room from the castle was through her room, but mine was more easily accessible from the courtyard, which helped with Mischief’s nighttime toilet needs.
Axe gave me a hug and a soft kiss on the forehead. “No, sir,” I protested, pulling him down to my face. “I need a proper kiss on a day like this.” I stopped. “Wait, is the king’s order still in place? That you can’t touch me?”
“No,” he signed. “Rigol told me…” He blushed. “He said I could court you now.”He had to spell out the word court before I understood.
“Court me?” The words came out strangled and high-pitched. Touching was one thing. Courting meant he thought we might have a future together. Didn’t he know I wasn’t the sort of girl generals looked at that way?
Axe pressed a gentle kiss to my lips, bowed over my hands and walked out of the laundry room with his hands in his pockets.
I fell asleep, dreaming of Axe’s lips on mine.
And woke… with a gag in my mouth, a splitting headache, and the knowledge that I was nowhere near the castle.
Vali
The world rocked like I was at sea and smelled like the inside of a rotting whale. If Rimholt weren’t almost completely landlocked, I would have worried I’d been taken by pirates.
“Help!” I shouted around the foul-smelling gag in my mouth. They must have used an old sock, I thought. Or a rag from the kitchens. I refused to consider that it might be from elsewhere, even if a very obvious privy-scent pervaded the air.
I shouted again, but when no one answered, I stopped to think about where I was. My hands were bound, but my feet were free. Whatever I was on moved with bumps and jolts, and walls of reeking fabrics and other slimier materials surrounded me. My best guess would be old potato peelings, rancid grease, and rotten fruit.
So probably a wagon filled with ripe garbage that would disguise my scent and keep anyone inspecting it from digging too deep.
How long had I been out? I had no idea. It was dark inside the wagon, so I couldn’t tell if it was day or night. Someone outside was speaking and could make out a few words, but the accent was strange.
Whoever had kidnapped me wasn’t from Turino. I began wriggling, hoping to find a gap in the garbage pile, or perhaps work my way to the back and fall out, but before I could, the wagon stopped.
For an instant there was blinding light—it was daytime—but then a man threw a dark bag over my head, and said, “Need ta do yer business, this is yer one stop. Here, drink.” He thrust a water flask up to my lips under the bag, and I complained around my gag.
“Aw, yeah, sorry, Princess.” Ugh, a condescending kidnapper. I guess it could have been worse; I could have gotten a sadistic one, or… “Drink!”
He yanked out the gag, and I drank. Then I followed the man over to an area where he told me to squat, and I pretended very hard that he was not looking at me as I peed on the ground. He handed me a wiping cloth, but I hesitated. “This isn’t the one that goes in my mouth, is it?”
He laughed like I’d told the world’s funniest joke. “The king would string me up.”
The king? Did he mean Rigol? If he was behind this, I was going to kick him right in the ball sack. Twice.
“Don’t worry, Princess. Ye’ll be outta the wagon in a day or so, and then we’ll get ye right straightened up for yer family.”
A cold knot formed in my stomach. This man thought I was someone important. Whoever sent him to get me had wanted a princess—unless he’d just called me that to be funny—and when they saw me instead of their loved one, I had a feeling things would go downhill very quickly. “Sir,” I tried, as he led me back to the wagon. “I’m not who you—” But then he stuffed the rag in my mouth and I was back in the garbage for so long, I fell asleep.
I must have slept a long while because when I woke, I needed to pee like a stallion, and the wagon had stopped.
This time, the wagon driver wasn’t alone when the world filled with light and the garbage lifted. It looked like an entire army, prepared for battle, waited outside. Flags that were definitely not the blue and gold of Rimholt, but black with a red stripe, fluttered in the slight breeze.
“Mmmhmm?” I asked, working at the gag with my lips. A dark-haired officer bowed curtly and stepped forward, efficiently untying my hands and removing the gag. I licked my dry lips and rasped, “Wh-who are you?”
He moved back, standing slightly in front of five other men, and well apart from a group of curious infantrymen. “I am Lieutenant Darvon, Princess. Please allow me to guide you to your lodging for the night. We have food, water, even a bath.”
“How about a latrine?” I squeaked, afraid I was about to soil myself in front of all these men.
“Of course,” he said smoothly, his lips curling in a genuine smile. “And while you eat, might I sit with you?”
I nodded; I could pump him for information about my situation.
I hurried off in the direction they pointed. The privy was not luxurious. I finished quickly and followed my guide—or my guard, as he was watching me too carefully for him to be a casual companion—to a large tent.
