They rode most of the day in silence. The sun was out, but it did little to provide warmth from the winter air.
The king’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“Who taught you to fight?” he asked.
She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “Do you have some tips for me?”
He seemed surprised but surprised her back when he moved his horse closer to answer. “You let me get too close to you,” he told her. “Your advantage is speed. You need to protect it with distance.”
She scoffed. “Since you’re free with your advice right now, how might I get this distance?”
“You won’t,” he said darkly. “You won’t escape me, North Queen.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You don’t believe I’m salar of Kharav?”
Salar of Kharav? “I don’t believe you fought my father in the Battle of Bahoul.”
“I did not. Kings die. You should know this.”
Norah paused as the realization hit her. “You’re his son?”
He looked forward, ignoring her question. “Where have you been all these years?”
In turn, she didn’t answer.
“Why did you wait so long to wed the Aleon king?” he asked.
“I wasn’t sure if I liked him,” she said flippantly. “Where did your brute commander come from?”
He shifted in agitation.
“Are you the Shadow King’s son?” she asked again, not willing to give him information without receiving any in return.
“I am the Shadow King,” he snapped.
There was a long silence between them. Finally, he spoke. “I am Mikael Ratha Shal, salar of Kharav, or the Shadowlands, as you call it.”
“Salar?”
“Yes. King. I’m the son of Rhalstad Ratha Shal, who’s the man your father fought in the Battle of Bahoul. Now, tell me where you’ve been.”
It was no longer a question.
“My lord justice taught me to fight,” she said, not willing to answer any of his other questions.
He didn’t press her for more, which was good, because he wouldn’t get more.
In her tent that evening, Norah’s mind raced with the events of the day. If Alexander came for her, he’d be walking into a trap. She had to get away before they took her farther.
She strained to hear any sounds around her, but it was eerily quiet. How was an army of that size so quiet? She reached down and slid her dagger from her calf strap and worked quickly to cut off the binding from around her wrists. Except, the blade was rusted and dull, and her movements weren’t that quick. Finally, with her hands free, she reached out to touch the back of the tent. Cloth. She worked patiently, cutting upward. She’d give anything to have Alexander’s knife again. She could chew an opening faster, she mused. Once an opening was big enough to look through, she peered out to check for guards. She’d hoped there would be no soldiers behind the tent, and she breathed a sigh of relief to find none. Norah continued cutting, creating an opening large enough to fit through. She pushed the fearful sickness down as she gathered her courage. Once again looking out, she snuck through the opening and crept away, crouching close to the ground and not daring to breathe. There was nothing to hide her, and she cursed her light-colored clothing as she hurried through the darkness.
Norah made out the shape of a large tree in front of her, and she sidled up behind it to catch her breath, her hands shaking. Where was she? She needed to head north, back to Bahoul where her Northmen were, back to safety.
She darted from her brief cover to continue on, but a hand snaked out in the darkness and grabbed her from behind. She stifled a scream and sliced at her captor with her dagger. The blade hit something, but she wasn’t sure what—his arm, his side? Had she gotten him at all? Maybe it had only grazed his leathers. She lashed out again, but he gripped her tight, thwarting her attack. Struggling desperately, she dropped her head to the hand on her shoulder and sank her teeth into the flesh, but he didn’t release her. She tried to catch him with a butt back from her head, but he was a large man, and she hit only his chest. He clutched her tighter.
With her free left arm, she clawed back, reaching for his eyes. He twisted his head, and she caught only the flesh of his cheek and his lip through the wrap on his face. Norah ripped her arm upward and caught him on the brow with the heel of her palm. It sent a jolt of pain to the core of her bone, but it would be worse for him.
A blow to her stomach knocked the wind from her, and he pulled her close from behind. The warmth of blood dripped from his face and onto her shoulder as he wrestled her hands down. He squeezed her so tightly she could hardly breathe, and bile rose in her throat. The brute. She wrenched her body against him, only incenting his arms tighter. She feared her ribs might crack. Unable to breathe and with her energy depleted, she stopped struggling, and he pulled her back toward the tent.
“Let go of me!” she snapped at him.
When they reached the tent, the king was waiting for her. Norah tried to sheath the dagger in the sleeve of her jacket. She hoped the brute hadn’t noticed it since she wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d actually cut him in the darkness. Her wrist throbbed, and she prayed she hadn’t broken it.
The commander released her in front of the king and called out in the Shadow tongue. She looked back at him in irritation, cursing him under her breath. The king stepped forward, grabbing her arm, and pulled the dagger from her sleeve. Not letting her go, he dragged her into his tent.
“You have more weapons?” he growled.
“No,” she said stiffly. Like she’d have told him…
“Show me.”
“I don’t have anything else,” she insisted.
“Undress,” he commanded.
The audacity. The heat of anger rushed to her cheeks. “I will not!”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. It was her injured wrist, and a pain shot through her. She tried to jerk away, but his grip was tight, and she cried out. He snaked a hand around her waist, feeling for another dagger. She twisted, throwing the elbow of her free arm up and catching him in the cheekbone. The strike hit hard, and he stumbled slightly. She used the momentum and twisted again, driving her shoulder into him, and they fell onto the bedroll.
Norah tried to roll away, but he still had hold of her wrist and jerked her back, scooping her underneath him. Using his body weight, he held her down. She fought to keep her arms at her chest as he tried to pull them above her head. She struggled with all the strength she had, but she couldn’t move. In a final effort, she cracked her head forward, butting his face. It briefly stunned him, and his body weight crushed the breath from her.
Recovering, he forced her arms above her head and crossed them, scooping a fistful of her hair and completely immobilizing her. Repositioning his weight, he straddled her, holding himself above her and allowing her to breathe again.
“Stop making this harder!” he snapped.
“You mean stop fighting you?” she hissed. “Does it make you feel strong? Is this what you meant when you told me I should fear men?”
“You should fear a king!”
“Kings die,” she seethed, quoting him.
His face sobered. A gash spanned across the bridge of his nose where she’d hit him, and blood ran down his face. His lip was split, and she couldn’t remember if it was an old wound from their previous tussle or a new one. He ignored both. Slowly, he moved his free hand down her stomach, feeling around her waist. She tensed but couldn’t move.