I sucked in a breath, squinting into the early morning light. “Don’t call me that.” Planting my hands on my hips, I attempted to look threatening. “I can share with one of the other men.”
Maybe Rythos. He’d been nice so far. And unlike with Lorian, my hand didn’t itch to wrap itself around his throat every time he spoke.
Lorian leaned closer, his eyes narrowed. “My horse is the largest and the most suitable for carrying two people, even if one of them is as scrawny as you.”
“We can’t all be oversized brutes.”
He flashed his teeth at me. “Get in the saddle before I put you there myself.”
I sniffed and swung my leg over the horse’s rump, almost kicking Lorian in the face. Unfortunately, he stepped out of my foot’s path.
Next time, I’d swing wider.
His huge body landed in the saddle behind mine. I should’ve told him to mount first. I’d much rather be the one holding on to him than have his huge arms caging me in.
Lorian didn’t give me the option. His arms came around my waist and gripped the reins. His body was so big, I was instantly surrounded by him. His masculine scent wound up my nostrils, and I forced myself to breathe through my mouth, ignoring the way he leaned close as he stroked his horse.
The man was oversized, with biceps larger than my thighs. From what I’d seen so far, he wasn’t exactly a lumbering oaf either. No, he moved panther-silent and far quicker than a man of his bulk should have been able to.
That made him exceptionally dangerous.
For now, at least, it meant he was a lethal threat to anyone who would stop me from fulfilling my end of our bargain. Somehow, he’d become the man most likely to keep me alive—at least for the next few days. How ironic.
With a nudge of Lorian’s heels, we were immediately moving back down the narrow forest path.
This part of the forest was dark and overgrown, with the vines intertwining and fighting for space. The tree limbs were like gnarled hands—broken fingers grasping at the denser foliage.
It was dead quiet except for the occasional creak of a branch or the snap of a twig. As if the forest was holding its breath, waiting.
“You need to relax,” Lorian told me. “You’re annoying my horse.”
I blew out a breath, the tightness in my chest letting me know I’d held it for too long. “We need to travel faster,” I muttered.
“The king’s guards don’t know about this route. Yes, we need to move quickly, but we don’t need to panic. The faster we travel, the more often we need to rest the horses.”
I knew that. But I also knew that if we were caught, I was dead. These men? They had survivor written all over them. Anyone taking one look at them would know they were made to get out of the worst kinds of situations. And I’d be an idiot to imagine they wouldn’t sacrifice me if it gave them even a few minutes of extra time to run.
Me? It was a miracle I was alive. If not a miracle, then a string of luck. But neither miracles nor luck could be counted on. And neither could the mercenaries, who were somehow convinced I could help them achieve their own goals. I was the only one who was going to ensure I kept breathing.
Eventually, my muscles began to ache from holding myself so stiffly. I rolled my shoulders and forced myself to relax as much as I could.
At least I had clothes now. The men had come up with shirts, a pair of breeches that I’d rolled up until they no longer dragged on the ground—even some massive boots that I could barely walk in. Thankfully, Rythos had given me a few pairs of socks to push into the bottom of the boots so I wouldn’t fall on my face.
I was in a better position than I’d been yesterday—despite the oversized annoyance on the horse behind me. I could at least be thankful for that much.
Once the path had widened enough, one of the men pulled his horse up next to ours. He was younger than most of the others, likely around Rythos’s age. His hair was slightly longer than Rythos’s and carelessly pushed back, displaying a broad forehead. He rode like he’d been born on a horse, and his dreamy brown eyes made me wonder exactly what he was thinking.
He gave me a surprisingly sweet smile. “I’m Cavis.”
“Prisca. Where are you from?” I asked, suddenly curious. He had the slightest accent.
I was watching him carefully, so I caught the flicker of his eyes toward Lorian.
“If you’re going to lie to me, don’t bother,” I muttered.
“Prickly woman,” Lorian murmured in my ear.
I shrugged, craving my own space.