Obsession (Royally Hot 3)

Shutting my eyes, I buried my face against my knees, trying desperately to warm myself up, trying to make myself small like animals do.

It was fitting.

I’d bolted from the castle that day more like an animal than a human. Some primal part of me governed my actions. I’d been neither rational nor careful. All I’d known was a desperate need to get away, get away, get away. To save myself, whatever the cost.

I had gotten away, but not nearly far enough. On a good day, the journey to the little cave where I sheltered would have only taken me a few hours. But every path was washed away by the torrential rains or blocked by lightning-felled trees.

Without the sun, I got turned around in the forest and doubled back on myself time and again. What should’ve taken me part of the morning took me nearly ten hours. Now, it was night.

The storm had broken and a shaft of moonlight cut through the opening of the secondary cave where I sat. The drip-drip of rain off the leaves outside marked the passage of the seconds. And outside in the forest, the branches groaned painfully against one another. It sounded more human than I wanted to admit.

My mare, Rosie, was in the front part of the cave, both because it was bigger and easier for her to negotiate, and because I knew she’d alert me to intruders. Who would be after me, I didn’t know, but my parents hadn’t gone very far when I decided to run—a messenger could have easily caught up to them.

I could almost hear the hounds in the distance, searching for me; I imagined our master of the hunt giving them one of my gowns to find my scent. And their blood-curdling yelps when they got on my trail.

I was afraid of being caught, but I was even more afraid of how to survive this night by myself. I’d stripped out of my wet britches and now wore only the tunic I’d been wearing all day. The sopping wet linen stuck to my skin, drawing the heat from my body.

In my haste to get away I hadn’t bothered stopping to pick up a change of clothes, and had no real plans for what I was going to do next, how I’d feed or clothe myself, where I was going… All I knew was that I had to get away from the castle and the life that was planned for me.

A saying from our master of the hunt flashed into my head. Scared animals are dead animals. Here I was, soaked through, starving and terrified. I felt like the young doe that drowns itself trying to swim across a raging river, all to spare itself being torn apart by hounds.

A sob got caught in my throat, but I forced it back down. I’d had no choice. I couldn’t marry him. And I didn’t regret what I had done. A freezing death was better than one moment as Prince Galen’s wife.

Falroy was beside me, as ever. He nudged my thigh with his cold nose and I felt him curl up into a tight ball beside me. I stroked his damp fur and tried to steady myself. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live, to be wild, to be free. To marry for love. Not for the sake of the crown.

I sniffled hard. Maria’s comment about near enemies floated back to me, along with a memory of Maksim. A spring day, when I’d seen him from a great distance, re-fletching an arrow, drawing the feathers across his tongue. He’d looked beautiful, even from so very far away.

But ever since we kissed, it was as if I looked at him with new eyes. His power, his size, his presence. His chiseled body and strikingly handsome face.

Rubbing my hands together, I winced and sucked in a painful hiss. That long day of riding, with my hands clutching Rosie’s wet reins, had taken a terrible toll on my skin. Even in the darkness, with just one sliver of moonlight, I knew I had rows of painful blisters across both palms.

But I ignored the stinging pain and picked up the stick of poplar and the larger piece of wood that I’d been using to try to get a fire going. Kneeling on the cold damp cave floor, with sharp stones digging into my knees, I placed the point of the stick into the larger branch and worked my hands back and forth to spin it as fast and as long as I could. With all my might, with all my terror, I focused on that movement. I had to get a fire lit. If I wanted to survive tonight, I had to have a fire to warm me up.

The cold and blisters made my movements awkward and shaky. The stick flew from my hands and clattered somewhere nearby. I pawed at the dirt around me like a blind woman. I’d lost it. My frustrated groan turned instantly to a sob as I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking and chattering.