Page 90 of North Queen
Which way?
Norah took a deep breath and decided to keep in the direction she was headed, but a shadow loomed in front of her and grabbed her. She screamed, and a sharp blow caught her across the face. She fell backward onto the hardness of the cold ground, knocking the wind from her lungs. A cackle escaped from another man to her right. He called something to her attacker she didn’t understand. She struggled for a breath, but the man was suddenly on top of her, pinning her down. He yelled at her with a clipped accent, and there was no wrap around his face. These weren’t Shadowmen.
He forced her bound arms above her head and held them there. The rope ate into her wrists as she desperately fought to pull them free. She screamed, but another blow to her face stunned her.
More men called out, encouraging him on. Another set of hands grabbed her, helping her captor hold her. She fought harder. The man on top of her pulled at her breeches underneath her riding dress, but he couldn’t get them loose.
“No!” she screamed, struggling against them. The cold blade of a knife cut up the leg of her breeches under her riding dress.
Norah bucked frantically, panic setting in. The man on top of her forced his hips between her legs and reached down to release himself. The curve of his shoulder hit her chin and she bit into it. Hard. He grunted and delivered another blow to her face.
This couldn’t be happening. She kicked, but she was no match for him. He gripped her thigh to hold her.
Just then, another shadow swept over her, and a fountain of warmth sprayed across her face.Blood.Her attacker’s weight came off her, and his hands released her. She was free. She scrambled backward, but her arms were still bound.
The sound of steel meeting flesh hissed through the night, and the silhouettes of bodies dropped to the ground as they were cut down. She stood shakily. Her legs didn’t feel like they could carry her. She pushed herself away from the sound of death, stumbling through the trees. She stifled her cries, her fear helping her focus on one thing: escaping.
But hands grabbed her again, and she screamed.
“Let me go!” she cried, trying to wrench away.
“Stop,” a voice rumbled.
But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She needed to be free.
“North Queen,” he said, holding her as she lashed out at him with her bound fists. She couldn’t help the sobs as desperation closed in around her. He pulled her close, holding her tightly—not the hold of capture.
“North Queen,” he said again.
The Shadow King.
Her fight weakened as the realization came, and a wave of relief washed over her, but still, she couldn’t hold her emotion.
“Calm yourself,” he said quietly.
A blade slipped between her wrists, cutting loose the binding, and he peeled it away. It was sticky with her blood, and stung as he pulled it from her skin. She stood shaking as he knelt and cut her tattered breeches from her leg. The warmth of his cloak came around her, and she didn’t fight as he scooped her up in his arms.
The sound of horses drew near, but he didn’t put her down. Surprisingly, he swung up on his destrier while holding her. She was relieved; she didn’t think she could stand.
They rode slowly. She tried to fight the helplessness that wrecked her, but she couldn’t. There was no fight left in her. His arms tightened around her as he carried her, and she turned her face into his chest as the tears came.
Chapter twenty-seven
Norahandthekingreached the Shadow army camp and arrived at his tent. He slipped off his horse and set her down. She was a little unsteady on her feet, but she caught herself. Feeling the chill against her bare legs, she drew the cloak tighter around herself and ducked inside.
A few moments later, the king entered. Without his helm and armor, he didn’t seem like such a monster now. He put a clean cloth and small washbasin by her bedroll. “I’ll be outside,” he told her.
He turned to go, then stopped. He pulled his shirt over his head and draped it by the basin. “You can wear this until we find you something else.”
With that, he left her in the dim candlelight. Her hands shook as she slowly pulled off the cloak. Her jacket was dirty but still serviceable, and she peeled it off her arms. The riding dress, on the other hand, was torn up the side. She wouldn’t be able to salvage it. She pulled off her chemise. It was only torn at the bottom. If a shirt and breeches could be found, she might be able to pull herself back together somewhat.
Norah trembled as she soaked the cloth in the water and scrubbed her skin. Her eyes welled, and she blinked the tears away. The feeling of helplessness, of violation, returned. A sob escaped her. She scrubbed her stomach, her legs, everywhere she had been touched. Her skin stung under the cold-water scouring. She’d never feel clean again. She put her chemise back on and pulled the king’s shirt over her head. It was large on her and covered her past mid-thigh.
She reached up to re-braid her hair and felt the swelling from the blows she had received. There was still blood on her face. She needed clean water, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. She rolled her torn clothes into a ball and dropped them beside the bed. As she crawled under the blanket, her body shook uncontrollably. She reached out and pulled the cloak over her as well, rolling to her side and drawing her knees up, defeated.
After a time, the king cautiously entered the tent, eyeing the blood-tinted water and Norah, curled up and watching him from underneath his cloak. He took the basin out and returned with fresh water and another cloth. He lowered himself to the ground beside her and submersed the cloth. “Your face,” he said as he wrung the water out.
Slowly, she sat up, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. She reached for the cloth, but he pulled back, meaning to tend to her himself. She didn’t have the will to fight him.
