Little mouse

The spiced wine burned in Aurelia’s stomach, a sudden, sharp catalyst for the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Malakai’s parting words echoed in her mind like a death knell. "He knew." Or, at the very least, he suspected enough to find her presence amusing. If she allowed herself to be dragged all the way to the Night Kingdom’s capital, surrounded by his full army, she would never see the light of day again. She had to move now, while they were still in the borderlands, and while the camp was settling into the deep, exhausted lull of a post-battle midnight.

Aurelia rubbed her freed wrists, calculating her odds.

To her left, the baggage horses were tethered near the edge of the ravine. The guards there were passing around a skin of ale, their laughter muffled by the howling wind. To her right, the cliff dropped off into a steep, heavily forested slope. It was a treacherous descent, but the dense canopy would offer immediate cover from mounted pursuers.

She waited. She breathed through the panic, counting the seconds between the guards' patrols.

When the moon drifted behind a thick blanket of clouds, plunging the camp into near-total darkness, Aurelia struck.

She didn't run for a horse, that would make too much noise. Instead, she dropped to her hands and knees, slithering backward into the brush. The brambles tore at her woolen dress and scratched her palms, but she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Once she cleared the perimeter firelight, she stood and threw herself down the steep, rocky incline.

Branches slapped her face. She slipped on loose shale, tumbling violently down a steep embankment, her hands scraping against sharp rocks as she desperately tried to slow her descent. She caught herself on a thick pine root, gasping for breath, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

She was free. She just needed to find the river at the bottom of the valley and follow it south

"An admirable effort, little mouse."

The voice didn't come from behind her. It came from right in front of her, stepping out from the deep shadow of an ancient oak tree.

Aurelia froze, her blood turning to ice.

Malakai stood there, completely unbothered by the terrain. He hadn't even broken a sweat. In fact, he looked as though he had simply walked down a manicured garden path to meet her. The terrifying truth struck her instantly: he hadn't just noticed her escape; he had "let" her run, watching her like a cat toys with a mouse before closing its jaws.

"Did you truly think my scouts wouldn't secure the perimeter of the ravine?" Malakai asked, taking a slow, predatory step toward her.

Aurelia scrambled backward on her hands and knees, her pride fracturing along with her composure. "Stay away from me!"

"Or what? You'll scratch me with those filthy fingernails?" In a flash of terrifying, supernatural speed, Malakai closed the distance.

Before she could scream, his hand wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground as easily as if she were a bundle of straw. Aurelia thrashed, kicking her legs and striking her fists against his solid, obsidian-clad chest.

"Let me go! You beast! You monster!"

"Quiet," he growled, a low, rumbling vibration against her ribcage. He pinned her arms to her sides with one massive forearm, trapping her against his chest. "You've already cost me a pair of boots on this muddy slope. Do not tempt me to bind your mouth as well."

He hiked her up over his shoulder, his grip unyielding. Aurelia’s vision swam as she hung upside down, watching the forest floor retreat as he effortlessly carried her back up the steep incline.

"I am a maid!" she lied desperately, one last, pathetic attempt to cling to her cover. "The Princess will have you executed for treating her servant this way!"

Malakai let out a dark, rich laugh that sent a shiver straight down her spine. "A maid with hands as soft as silk? A maid who knows the precise cadence of courtly speech, even when terrified? A maid who carries herself like she owns the dirt she walks on?" He paused at the crest of the hill, slapping his hand firmly against her thigh to emphasize his point. "Play your game if it comforts you, Princess. But do not insult my intelligence."

When they returned to the camp, Malakai didn't throw her back to the baggage train.

Instead, he carried her straight to his personal command tent. He dumped her unceremoniously onto a pile of thick, heavy furs spread across the ground. Aurelia scrambled to the far corner, pulling her knees to her chest, her eyes wide and defiant despite the tears of frustration blurring her vision.

Malakai stood over her, unbuckling his heavy broadsword and tossing it onto a wooden camp table. Next came his gauntlets, clattering loudly in the tense silence.

"We have a two-week march through the northern peaks before we reach my citadel," Malakai said, pouring himself a fresh goblet of wine. He didn't look at her, but his presence filled the entire tent, suffocating and absolute. "The terrain is brutal. The weather is worse. If you attempt to run again, I will not come looking for you. I will let the mountain wolves have their meal."

He walked over, standing directly at the foot of her fur bed. He looked down at her, his winter-sea eyes gleaming with a dark, intoxicating possessiveness.

"From this moment on, you sleep here. Under my eye. If my men ask, you are my newfound pet-a little maid I took a fancy to. If you reveal your true identity to anyone, the fake princess loses her head. Do we understand each other?"

Aurelia glared up at him, her jaw clenched so tightly it ached. She was trapped in the lion's den, stripped of her crown, her title, and her safety. But as she looked into the eyes of her kingdom's greatest enemy, she realized something else.

He hadn't broken her. Not yet.

"Perfectly, Your Grace," she spat out, the venom in her voice dripping through her faux-servant compliance.

Malakai’s lips curved into that slow, wicked smirk again. "Good. Sleep now, little mouse. Tomorrow, our journey truly begins."

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