He shoved her forward. “Get on.”
She grabbed the pommel, careful to keep her knife hidden in her sleeve, and mounted the palfrey. The binding cut into her wrists, but she gritted through it. She glared back at the king as he mounted his destrier beside her.
Wait. Was that it? Were they leaving?
“What about the mountains?”
“Change of plans,” he said shortly. “The Bear comes for you.”
She swallowed. Did he mean Alexander? Had he confused him with his father?
“He brings your entire army. Just as I expected.”
“Well, if it’s a change of plans, it’s not exactly as you expected,” she cut back.
His eyes burned into her. “Your army will meet their fate all the same. And you can watch, before you join them.”
He was trying to scare her. It was working.
Taking one last look at the stronghold, he gave a frustrated snarl and led them away.
She shifted uncomfortably as they rode. She knew he wanted the stronghold of Bahoul. What had been the news? What had changed? He had expected her army, and they were coming. What was different?
“Where are we going?” she asked.
The king ignored her, and hot anger flushed her cheeks.
They rode all day, until the darkness of night came. She had managed to slide her stolen knife undetected into the empty sheath in her boot. At least now she had a weapon.
The ache in her shoulder crept up her neck and made her head throb. The fight, the fear, the struggle—it had drained her. When they finally stopped, she thought she might fall from her horse in exhaustion.
The king dismounted. “We’ll camp here.”
The army started their work, tethering their horses and erecting their tents. The king grasped her arm, pulling her from her horse and dragging her through the tasked soldiers.
“Let me go!” She struggled against him. “I can walk myself.”
He gripped her arm tightly as a warning but finally released her and kept walking. She followed. She struggled to keep up. The army had no fires burning, and she wasn’t used to maneuvering through the darkness.
“Where are we going?” she asked him again, and again he didn’t answer. Anger flashed through her. “If you think you can best my army, you’re mistaken. They’ve beaten you back before, and they’ll do it again.”
He whirled around and grabbed her, pulling her close. “They had Aleon.” There was a deep irritation in his voice. “But now they come with nothing. And your men are archers and peace wishers. My army is skilled in true battle, and we do it often. The Northmen march to their end.”
He released her and kept walking.
He was right. Phillip wouldn’t yet know of her capture to send forces to join them, and without Aleon, they weren’t strong enough to defeat the Shadow army. This nightmare was only just beginning.
They came to a large tent in the darkness. He pushed her inside and stepped in after her. It was dimly lit by a small candle. Dread rippled under her skin with him so close.
He reached to pull off his helm, and she looked away, afraid to see what it would reveal, but she couldn’t help herself, and her eyes found their way back to him. A wave of surprise hit her. He was younger than she’d thought, aged by battle, but perhaps only a few years older than she was. His shoulder-length hair was tied back and was black as his cloak. The bruises and scrapes from her fight during her capture were bold on his face. Good—he deserved it. An old scar ran from his brow to his cheek. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who disliked him.
But this wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. “You’re not the Shadow King,” she said coldly.
“You were expecting something else?” he asked. “A monster, perhaps?”
She scoffed. “Stories, meant to scare people.”
He ambled toward her, the darks of his eyes almost drowning her, but she stood firm.
“You’re flesh and blood,” she said coldly. “Like your brute. You’re men. And I’m not afraid of men.”
“You should be,” he said hauntingly.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “My father battled the Shadow King. You’re not him. Where is he?”
His face darkened, and he shifted uneasily. She had struck something within him.
“You’ll sleep here,” he growled. Without another word, he ducked out of the tent and nodded to the soldier outside.
Was that it? Was that all he would tell her? She snorted in frustration and jerked the tent flap closed, but she did take a small comfort in being alone. A small comfort.
She blew out the candle and struggled for clearer vision in the darkness, then felt for the stolen dagger against her calf inside her boot. They still didn’t know she had it. It brought a calmness to her. She wanted to run, but they would be expecting her to, and she didn’t want to think about what would happen if she was caught trying to escape again. She struggled against the binding. She could cut it off, but then they would know she had the knife. No, she needed to wait.
Norah curled up on the bedroll. Her mind was filled with thought after thought, thoughts that sowed fear deep inside her, but she tried to push them out. She needed sleep.
She shuffled awkwardly to reach her bound hands down to her boot and curled her fingers around the knife. It wasn’t Alexander’s knife, but it would do. She held it as if it were his hand. And finally, sleep came.
Chapter twenty-five
The tent provided little warmth, and Norah shivered in the early morning chill. She lay long after waking, wishing for a fire. The Shadow army built no fires. She clenched her hands together; they ached with stiffness. Hearing voices outside her tent, she recognized one as the king’s and quickly stumbled up from the bedroll.
He ducked into her tent but paused when their eyes met. “We leave now,” he said.
She stood and eyed him coldly. She knew she’d dealt him a painful injury with the dagger, but it didn’t show. He stepped closer to her, but she stood her ground. He reached out and grabbed her wrists, inspecting the binding.
She twisted away. “As you left me,” she said sharply.
He towered over her, but she narrowed her eyes and faced him squarely. His face hardened, and he turned, leaving her alone once again.
Norah paused but then followed him out to find the palfrey from the day before saddled for her. She mounted as gracefully as one could manage with bound hands. The king mounted his destrier and reined up beside her. He held out a wrap of salted meat. She only shot him a daggered gaze in response.
“Eat,” he said irritably.
She didn’t want to accept food from him, but she was incredibly hungry. She needed to keep her strength, she told herself. Reluctantly, she took the meat.
He eyed her with a bitter smile. “Tell me, why come out now? Why come out freely after hiding for so long, where it was so easy for me to take you?”
Norah refused to answer him. She looked out across the hills as she bit the inside of her cheek, silently cursing. She’d been foolish for thinking the journey to Aleon would be an easy one, even if it was through Mercian lands. She’d been foolish for leaving the safety of the castle when the Shadow King wanted her dead, and for thinking he hadn’t yet known of her return. Now he had her.