She never thought it was so hot today: avoiding meeting her sister's new intended was fast becoming a silly idea, as she baked in the last bit of shade by the pond where she was lazily skipping stones.
She'd snuck away from the castle without really trying; she wasn't even in full "Renald" disguise; she'd donned the leather breeches and boots, and she'd tucked her long hair into her cap, but the heat had made her hesitant to wear her chain mail: she'd bake alive.
She'd hidden the breeches under a long dress – a plain, dull blue that didn't attract attention. As soon as she'd reached the pond, she'd discarded the dress, favoring the white shift – it was a less dense fabric, and much cooler. Paired with the breeches, it looked like it could be a lad's tunic, and she encouraged the façade.
She felt a sense of foreboding, then, almost unsurprised to see three men round the bend in the road. She kept the stones in her palm as an emergency weapon, and got to her feet – the shade she'd rested in was in the middle of their path. She stepped courteously into the sun – closer to the lake – and waited for them to pass her. They seemed to be the beginning of a band of guards – her insufferable future brother-in-law was here, then, and she would be expected home soon.
The men were in raucous conversation with one another, laughing merrily as they approached where she was standing.
She wasn't sure how it happened – she knew, though, that it hadn't been an accident. She was quite deliberately shoved into the pond, with barely enough time to take a breath in preparation.
The cool was inviting – the surprise was not. She bobbed slowly to the surface, gasping – she was not a good swimmer. Two splashes alerted her that she was no longer alone – apparently they'd seen her struggle and felt bad for their prank…but no…somehow, the sense of urgent foreboding still surged through her, and she watched warily as one man outpaced his companion and reached her.
"Sorry, lad, my friend tripped," he said, not the least bit apologetically, swimming effortlessly in place as she struggled to remain afloat. He was looking at her strangely…
"Knocked his hat clean off, Tyrus!"
She reached automatically for her cap, which had indeed fallen off. At the same time, the man gripped her wrist, grinning.
"Oy, gents! Lad's got a surprise for us!"
She blushed as he lifted her hand into the air like a trophy, lifting her out of the water – her shift was soaking, and sticking to a body that was obviously not male.
The other man who'd jumped in the water helped the first man pull her to shore – once she'd clambered up the bank, she saw the third man grinning down at her, pointing a sword in her face. She spun to find the other two were pointing swords in her face as well – they'd made quick work climbing out behind her.
"Not a lad at all," murmured the dry man, a smile twitching his mustache.
"We have ourselves a peasant's daughter playing lad is all," added one of the wet men.
The third – the one who'd been called Tyrus – smiled wickedly. He seemed to be in charge of the other two. She tried to adopt a defensive stance – how would she go about turning these swords to her advantage?
"What's yer name, mermaid?" the dry man murmured, his sword point deceptively lax against her collarbone. She knew, somehow, that it was an act. That he was quite a good swordsman. Even now, he would be prepared for anything she did.
She didn't answer his question, trying, instead, to size up the other two.
And then she was on her back, her head thudding smartly on the grass. Her legs had been knocked from under her. She cursed herself a fool for falling for such a simpleton's trick, and then she felt the sword tips on her forearms. She glanced at them hurriedly, seeing no weakness in the stances of the two men – Tyrus was crouched on the ground, leering over her as he put his own sword away – he pulled out a dagger instead, and only when he straddled her at the hips did he allow his defensive posture to lax in the slightest – that was to allow him the freedom to fall to his knees.
Her heart hammered against her chest, and she tried to think of a solution to her problem. She was weaponless, bested in strength, and outmaneuvered by these three soldiers, and she started to see how much trouble she was really in.
"My companion asked you a question, pet, and I'd answer it, if I were you," Tyrus crooned softly, his dagger pressed almost lazily against her throat.
She glared defiance. Until she felt the blade draw blood.
"Helaine," she muttered, trying hard not to swallow.
"Good, good. And, Helaine, how many summers are you? Hmm?" Tyrus tilted his head curiously, as if he didn't have her at his mercy.
"Thirteen," she almost spat, trying to inject as much venom into her words as possible.
"You'll want t' put her back, mate," guffawed the man who had helped drag her to shore. "Let 'er finish growin,' so you won't think you have a lad with you."
The swords were moved, and the two other men turned their backs. She hoped for a moment they'd leave her alone.
Tyrus peeled her shift from her stomach, and slowly unlaced the drawstring of her breeches. She colored immediately, hands clamoring to push him away, but he patiently bested her in strength, pushing her hands away and crushing both of them in the grip of one of his hands.
He took his time, forcing her. Slow, and torturous, and vile. He breathed threats into her ear when she cried out, and when he was done, the other two went in turn.
It was never ending.
They were so heavy, and she was so small, and she hated that she couldn't stop it.
It hurt. It hurt so much…
She stopped fighting, hoping that if she just closed her eyes and submitted, it would be over faster.
It was the leader, Tyrus, who she hated the most. He, who put her to rights after they'd finished, taking a kiss, and then pushing her again into the lake. When she surfaced, her instincts forcing her to swim, she saw them walking away, not looking back.
She felt heavy and muddled as she clambered ashore again, pulling the dress from its hiding place, none worse for the wear.
She never knew how she came back home in such a timely manner. She didn't even recall walking the miles of distance between the lake and her home.
Her wet, muddy state was enough to merit a chastising from her lady's maid, saying she'd have to bathe quickly because dinner was set to start in less than a quarter hour.
She had scarcely sat to dine, her hair pulled tightly into a formal knot to disguise its sleek wetness, than their honored guests graced them with their presence.
And Helaine saw how low she could descend.
For there, in splendid finery, his unsuspecting face grinning merrily at Adelaide, his intended, was Tyrus.
Her future brother-in-law.