Between Tides Thunder(82)

The soldiers’ eyes are on me, even as they pretend not to watch.

With a long-suffering sigh, Zev strides back.

“Don’t try anything, waterwielder,” he hisses, face stony as he crouches to my level. I glare at him, holding up my iron-bound wrists. Idiot. Did he forget how iron works?

He tilts the canteen against my mouth, and I gulp down the water as quickly as I can manage before he changes his mind. There’s a strange expression on his face as he watches me. I wait for him to insult me, liken me to a fish or something equally stupid, but he doesn’t. He lets me drink my fill in tense silence.

When I finish, he grabs me by the arm and hauls me up.

“What—”

I don’t get my question out. My husband drags me over to a tree and forces me to the ground, hands heavy on my shoulders.

Hot anger courses through my veins, and even still, a spark skitters across my skin where he touches me.

I hate myself. I hate him.

“I could run,” I snap, trying to burn him with my glare.

He smirks. “Try it. I’ll drag you back by your pretty hair.”

Before I can respond, he slams his jaw shut and storms back to the fire.

My faithless eyes linger on the stretch of his tunic across the breadth of his shoulders, even as scorching fury simmers in my belly.

I’m an embarrassment to Tundrayn.

With a huff, I lean back against the tree and observe.

Sulon and one other soldier are earthwielders—Sulon summoned roots from the ground to secure the tents while the other grew some type of root vegetable within minutes. Three, I suspect, are nonwielders. Their tasks seem more menial compared to the others—sharpening weapons and cleaning armor.

The men speak in low voices around the fire, and I strain to listen.

“…Tundrayni…” Sulon whispers, but I can’t make out the rest. Tides drown them.

“…camp?” Zev responds, his voice low. He glances at me, as if he can sense my eyes. The bastards lower their voices further, and then it’s impossible to hear anything at all.

I don’t know how long I rest against the tree, but fatigue eventually overtakes me. I fight off sleep for as long as I can—I’m bound and surrounded by enemies, for Tide’s sake—but eventually I succumb.


A rough hand glides across my ankle, shoving up my leggings to skate along my bare skin. Sweaty fingers stroking my neck, yanking down my collar.

“Zev?” I mumble, trying to move.

I can’t.

A dark chuckle scrapes against my nerves.

“Zev? That’s cute.”

The camp is quiet. Too quiet. No hushed murmurs, no thudding boots. Not even the crackling of the fire.

My eyes snap open.

Sulon is hunched over me, hateful eyes glittering in the dark, one hand wrapped around my bare ankle, the other shoved down the front of my tunic.





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE




“HELLO, PRINCESS. REMEMBER ME?” His voice is slimy, just like him. A cruel smile stretches across his lips as he gropes me. “Not so queenly now, are you?”

“Get off me,” I rasp, struggling to scramble away from him. He shoves me onto the cold ground, twigs and rocks digging into my back.

His meaty fist grips the collar of my tunic.

A sharp rip. He tears it down to my navel, where my bound hands rest on my abdomen.

He buries his face in my neck and inhales, and Tides, I’m going to vomit. With all my might, I bring my knee up into his groin.

“Fuck,” he wheezes, pushing himself off.

A loud crack echoes through the silence as his palm connects with my cheek.

Pain explodes through every nerve. My face is on fire.

A warm drip. My nose is bleeding.

“On your feet,” he growls, glaring down at me.

“No.” I hate the tremble in my voice.

“On your feet, now.”

I ignore him, working my jaw. All my teeth seem to be intact.

With a low growl, Sulon grabs my arm. His grip is clammy and unyielding, like a dead thing pretending to be warm. I stumble as he hauls me to my feet, extending my bound arms for balance.

Rustling sounds from the tents, and the other soldiers slowly file out, some of them wiping sleep from bleary eyes.

But no sign of their commander.

Where is he?

“What are you doing?” one of the soldiers hisses, the same one who’d offered to feed me earlier. “She’s the Commander’s wife.”

Sulon stares down at me, eyes flinty with malice. “She’s in chains, idiot.” The soldier still looks uncertain, chewing the inside of his cheek. It’s clear Sulon outranks him.

“I don’t know…” the soldier says, worried eyes scanning my bruised face. “He asked me if I thought she was pretty before he left. He was acting strange. Angrier than usual.”

Sulon scoffs. “She’s a prisoner. And that means she’s mine.”

No one says anything else. No one tries to stop him.

His gaze slides across my body again, and its filthy heat burns as if he’d pressed an open flame to my skin. Sulon’s cold eyes meet mine. “Bow.”

Terror grips me, freezing me in place. I know what comes next.

He scowls. “Bow, Tundrayni whore.”