Chapter 8
"The Hunt Begins"
Dawn broke through the shroud of night with pale rays to cast aside the chill of darkness hanging across their lands. The hunting party gathered beneath its heaving crest and treaded across the barren grounds. At the point of the pack, Haemon rode beside Savas in stark contrast to the Apulian King. The latter donned his lavish regalia with a heavy cape finished by thick furs, his golden crown fitted to his pale head, and numerous rings skewering his strong fingers where they held fast to the reigns while the Prince accomplished a more austere appearance. His black robes bore no refinement aside from the gold edges, and only a plain cloak hung around his massive shoulders to fight away the chill. His sole adornments were fitting to his purpose: a dagger at his waist and quiver of arrows and bow slung across his back. He surveyed the forest crowding around them with the comfortable ease of a man assured victory, and she watched his head full of chestnut curls oscillate from side to side as she followed behind him.
The air was crisp and sweet beneath the forest's canopy, and day's growth could be monitored by the shade of light scattered throughout the woods –fast shifting from white to golden. She urged the collar of her cloak higher upon her shoulders where its fur collar tickled her features and swept away the cold numbing her hands. Day would bring warmer weather now that the rains had passed, but night held its grip a while longer in the face of the party daring outside the palace walls. Her tongue was heavy with thirst and her body aching slightly at every stride of her stallion, forcing her to recall the cup of wine which had been refilled numerous times and kept her company long into the night. Its motivation rode ahead of her, and she latched her eyes into the span of his back made larger by the draping of his cloak and wished they would dismiss him to his task soon lest she find reason to admire the way the curls gathered around his powerful neck and the occasional glimpse at his sharp profile if he tossed his attention far enough. Still, they rode on, and she loathed how she inspected him without shame to those who might notice. He would be her husband soon, and their newly bought association rewarded her at least this much, the freedom to study him.
"How long do these hunts usually take?"
Her posture bobbed into perfect alignment as she turned to acknowledge Ascanius who had maneuvered to ride beside her. Even the early light seemed to suit his handsome features: the wrinkles across his brow gave him a more robust appearance like a man wise with age, and his blue eyes were bright and sharp where they focused on her. He smiled pleasantly, and she strained to mirror his expression.
"It depends on the man, Prince," she answered coolly and turned once more to gaze at her betrothed. "Some men meet their prey within hours of tracking, and I've seen others who have lingered until nearly night to find the perfect offering… Which do you suppose your brother is?"
He grinned and glanced at Haemon who perhaps heard their exchange and felt no need to participate. "I don't know," he confessed before looking confidentially toward the Princess once more and lowering his tone. "He's both capable and stubborn as an ass."
To this, Haemon's head stretched to offer his brother a loaded glance, and Ascanius laughed in his charming way which caused an off-center smirk to grace his older brother's features. Feeling her eyes, his chin dipped slightly and allowed him to catch her out of the edge of his gaze. She met it briefly, long enough to know its weight, and looked away, and the Prince twisted to face their advance once more. Such was the game among them, but neither seemed amused by its insurmountable divide.
Finally, the King stopped and announced, "We'll part here." The company gathered to bear witness progressively came to a halt, and conversations waned in order to hear Savas speak. He addressed Haemon first, explaining, "The woods become too dense farther ahead to continue together. It's best that you go along on foot."
"The trail you spoke of is ahead?" the Prince asked while probing the woods with his sight to assess what he could from its endless symmetry.
"Yes," Savas replied and only then seemed to recall his advice. Along this thought, he acknowledged his niece. "It is customary for the woman to see the man off. Aurora will show you how to reach it." He turned toward her then and wondered, "You recall where it is, don't you?" It appeared less a genuine question than an imposition of his will that she guide the Prince to make a show of her support and their upcoming nuptials.
"Yes," she answered evenly though was not eager to abandon her horse and tread through the forest in her current dress, but the decision was made.
Haemon dismounted before her and circled back to the side of her horse to help her alight as well. She doubted it a sincere act of chivalry as perhaps a show for those around them of his goodwill toward her, but regardless, she balanced her palms on his shoulders while he took her waist and helped her gently to the ground. Their eyes caught in the middle, a spark of recognition between their bodies from the last time they were so close. At the tremble in her gut, she released his shoulders and turned away, leaving him to consider her avoidant stance as usual, and he afforded himself a rare moment to drink her in. A slender gold diadem draped across her forehead and was braided into her straw blonde hair, and beneath her cloak, a sanguine red gown fit her shape to symbolize the blood of the hunt and the blood of their union. It summoned memories of the first time they collided in the corridor outside the dining hall, but she had misled him with a spirited version of herself much shrouded behind this timid, ever-fearful mask she wore. Still, his eyes enjoyed the red upon her skin, making the tone and texture creamy as milk, and he imagined it to taste as soft and sweet as her lips had nights ago. The temptation was renewed knowing how those lips, that pale skin, and the fluid curves hidden beneath her dress were his as much this day as they would be at his last. He was lured by the woman her body promised but continually shut off by the frightened girl hiding in her eyes.
"I wish you a fruitful hunt, Prince," Savas said grandly and smiled in an amiable way uncharacteristic given his sharp moods. "Keep to the trail, and you'll find your prey within an hour's time."
"The gods willing," Haemon muttered with a smile of his own though more restrained. Already his attention was settling to consider his task like a hunter keen for the scent of blood.
"Don't disappoint your wife, brother," Ascanius chimed in, rather sarcastic but too charming to be ignored. "Kill something worthy of her beauty."
Unconsciously, her head turned to acknowledge Ascanius over her shoulder, and the man laughed, pleased to receive any reaction from the stoic Princess.
"And don't worry… I'll offer a cup to your first born while you're out."
"Can you contain yourself to one?" Haemon prodded.
"Ah, I'll wish you many children, brother," Ascanius replied with a grin, and the group laughed quietly at the brother's jesting as siblings would no matter their age or circumstances.
"It's time," Savas decided and revealed himself to be impatient to return within his palace. "The best hour to hunt is now. I leave you to it, and tonight we'll all drink to your success, Prince, when you've returned."
"You won't wait for me?" her quiet voice interrupted the rearranging of horses' hooves already turning to descend the trail yet again.
"My dear niece," Savas answered and chuckled humorlessly, "it would be selfish to require our guests to wait in the chill with empty bellies."
"And dangerous for her to ride alone," Haemon contributed in an unbending manner that surprised her.
"Of course, Prince. I'll leave two of my guards to protect her, and you'll have nothing to distract your thoughts."
"Then we will meet again when I return."
"May the gods give you a light foot and swift arrow."
Other members of the company murmured their wishes, but the group was turning to retreat to the warmth and comfort of the palace with only two guards lingering behind. They likewise dismounted, and Haemon's chestnut eyes made the revolution of studying their faces before considering his betrothed.
"This way," Aurora murmured while gathering the front of her dress in one palm, the other held fast to her reigns, and they set off deeper into the woods with only the trees and the silence to keep them company. The two guards remained at a respectful distance which unnerved the Princess, paranoid since she had felt the eyes on her in the corridor nights ago, but there was an unexpected solace to be had from his company –at least knowing he was bound to protect her and capable enough to be entrusted with such a task. The path was unworn and made more difficult by the rains. A rotting tree had split above its roots and fallen to block their path. Haemon wordlessly took the reigns from her, allowing her the chance to collect her dress in both hands and step across the trunk, but her progress halted abruptly at the sound of a screeching split.
Wincing and flushing, she turned to see the Prince untangling the ends of her dress from the bark to free her, and she ducked her head in embarrassment, muttering "Thank you" beneath her breath.
He merely took his turn and helped the horse across as well before they continued their journey. Her head abandoned its cover of hiding her blush to check their surroundings, and she adjusted their course the slightest to the west.
"You know the forest well," he acknowledged, and within the veil of woods, his robust voice felt louder among them.
For a moment, she peeked at him, trying to assess whether he was purposefully ironic to mock her or sincere. She gained nothing from her fleeting assessment, and she answered neutrally, "Yes. Better than most."
"I'm surprised that you come here still, considering."
She kept her pace, knowing she could let his comment trail into the oblivion of the world around them and maintain the strict guard protecting her, but Cybele's words echoed through her brain. Don't make an enemy of your husband lest you wage war the rest of your days. Spurred by the brief persuasion, she sought to translate it into something he could understand and thought of Alba Longa's riders. "If you fall off a horse, you get up and ride again. You don't blame the horse for your clumsiness… I don't blame the woods for being lost in them. I learned."
"It's not a matter of blame," he said, "but of the memories."
"It's important to remember. Our past molds us. If we forget, we deny part of ourselves."
She spoke with more conviction than he had heard in the time he had come to know her; it was evidence of her loyalty, all that she embodied, and he knew the burden well. "It is important to remember the past," he agreed while changing his grip on the reigns to a more comfortable position and guiding the horse on, "but keep your eyes on today."
Her shoulders stiffened at the constant reminder. Atlan's words might as well have come from her betrothed's lips, and the parallel felt prickly to her skin making the irritation crawl down her spin. She shuddered unconsciously and kept her pace. Perhaps it would have been better to keep the silence between them. The only relief was her sights catching the glistening of morning on the thin stream ahead of them. They were close to the river birthed in the northern mountains and snaking its way across Apulia to empty into the sea. The heavy rains had caused the river to flood, and this stream was a thin offshoot of its pregnant mother; but it offered Aurora a fortunate reprieve from their conversation.
"This stream," she said as they found their way into the slight clearing off the trees where the space between trunks was substantial enough to allow water to build, "will guide you to the river. There you'll see the path north toward the mountains, and that is where your hunt will begin, Prince."
Haemon surveyed the track he would take, perhaps mapping in his head his movements so that he might retrace them, and Aurora sensed his purpose.
"When it is time to return," she added, "you may follow the river here once more and head east to find the trail to the palace. I'm sure my uncle's left a guard and horse to return you… If you lose your way, find the river. The woods are vast and indistinguishable to an outsider, and the river is the easiest feature to orient yourself."
Now in the belly of the forest, faced with its infinite conformity, he had a better idea of what he had committed himself to. It was archaic as she had suggested nights before, one man setting off blindly into the forest all for the fortune of his marriage and the superstitious promise of a son. No matter his abrupt misgivings, his pride nipped at him to remind him he had the strength and mind to accomplish it without aid and without knowledge of the terrain. Yet, her advice hinted at a warning and piqued his interest. Could she possibly be concerned for him?
"I will return by afternoon," he decided, more a promise to himself than her, but he assumed it might offer her solace.
"That is wise. No one should linger in the forest for long."
He was further intrigued and smirked proudly. "I've faced armies in battle, Princess. A few trees don't frighten me."
Her eyes narrowed at the insinuation of her anxieties being ill founded from someone who had no stake in her land or her people or what haunted them. "There are some things you cannot kill with a sword," she said coldly, but the cracking of twigs and leaves distracted her. Reminded of their audience approaching them, her brief courage waned, and she bowed her head uncertainly between them. "There is nothing more I can tell you. I pray that your success be swift and that you return before nightfall."
Haemon studied her, seeing through the thin shroud she attempted to don. She was not a woman eager to be his wife, and she played the role poorly. But there was something lingering beneath the surface indistinguishable and murky, and for the flickering of a moment, he thought it was fear but for whom he couldn't decipher. "The guards will take you to the palace, and I'll return soon."
He saw those oddly colored eyes glancing through the veil of her lashes, and she seemed at once discomforted and relieved by his words. She nodded her head, and Haemon turned his attention above her tawny blonde waves to the woods behind them, crowded and somehow empty. With words spoken and nothing left to be handled, he assumed his path along the stream deep enough to reach past his ankle but still shallow so that he could see the rocks and branches poking through. Apollo was well along in his race across the sky, but the Prince offered no prayer and anticipated no blessing from a god who had forsaken him and his people years before.
In his absence, her gaze monitored his leave, seeing how his massive shape blended uncharacteristically well with the surrounding woods. Throughout the morning a tension had grown in her gut steady as the sun's ascent, and each passing minute was another knot added to the bundle until she found stillness a burden in itself. The anxiety made her restless, and watching his back shrink with distance only compounded her nerves. She felt suddenly dizzy and disoriented, and still she couldn't turn away from his retreating figure. There was an inexplicable desire to follow after him, and it had been long years since she had faced such intense intuition. The woods were dangerous. She had warned him, but how could he know…
Her lips parted to call out to him, but it was stifled swiftly by a rough hand smothering her scream and pinning her head into the unyielding mass of a man's shoulder. She was not so immediately aware of the pressure of a cold blade against her throat, but her hand circled his wrist instinctively, pushing against his strength though she could scarcely restrain him only pause his attack. Her eyes were still latched onto Haemon's back, and the sickening chill of his departure and her end were too tangled so that she couldn't dare release him from her sights like that might condemn her.
"Scream, and I'll gut you," the voice whispered against her temple so harsh and raspy she winced at its resonance like scratches to her cheek. His hand relaxed from her mouth tentatively one strong finger at a time, but her lips were still frozen in the prepared call though nothing but strained, shallow breaths passed through them. Fear made her obedient, and this seemed to content her captor who found a more pleasing embrace for his hand, burying it into her waist and faintly massaging the soft line. She shuddered compulsively, but his hands held her still pinning her against the stiffness of his body. Her eyelashes flickered against her will, so brief, but Haemon was already passing away. When they focused again, she had lost him. Her heart sunk in her chest deep and painful, and her eyes followed suit, coming in line with his fingers curled around the blade at her throat. Without warning, her breath ceased, allowing every ounce of her attention and focus to settle on the ring circling his forefinger golden and taunting her with its mark.
"You traitor," she whispered, unable to claim where that voice came from, but against her shaking body and wracking nerves, it was strong, low, threatening. Hearing it in her ears fooled her into thinking she could embrace those characteristics, but her knees were weak and her body so cold with fear. Still, the voice persevered, "I know who you are."
He chuckled amused for the moment by her fleeting courage and drew his nose along her hairline to her cheek where his lips met her smooth skin, dragging them heavy and messily toward her mouth. "Do you now?"
She jerked as a tender kiss was planted on the corner of her lips, but she was pinned to him and powerless. Only her voice could defy him, and its strength tore down the shackles holding her one by one by one… Her entire body was trembling, but the chill was thawing let her feel the resounding pulse of her heart in her chest and fire in her lungs. "You killed my family."
"Not me, Princess," he said sounding disappointed by her mistake and buried his lips into her hairline, "but I will finish what was begun…"
Her eyes found the line of trees around them and darted frantically from corner to corner for any sign of him, but the silence and the stillness killed her hopes. She was alone now like she had been that night, and as in her darkest nightmares, they had found her. She expected the floor to collapse from beneath them and allow her to fall into the abyss that had swallowed her life, but a sudden rush flooded her unraveling that knot in her gut until every nerve was colliding within her and making her breath quicken, her heart sprint, her eyes pulse. A warm tear rolled down her cheek to be followed by its twin on the other, but sorrow didn't own them.
He kneaded his face against her moist cheek surprisingly compassionate for a hand of Death. It fueled the burning in her blood. "There is time for pleasure before pain." His lips burned her ear forced roughly upon it, and she could feel his smile on her skin as he continued, "They spoke of how sweet your mother and sister were. I wonder if you are the same-"
All at once she screamed and thrust her elbow deep into his gut. He doubled over her causing them both to bend, and only her hand on his wrist kept him from balancing his weight with the blade at her throat. Not a moment later, she sunk her teeth into those flimsy tendons making him howl out, and she jerked against him, pushing with all the power of her legs and back to throw them both over. Against his strength the ground was loose and uneasy beneath them. He slipped, and they both tumbled over with her landing upon his chest. The blade had fallen away into the mud, and she rolled off her captor unable to catch her footing with her dress tangled around her but crawling for the weapon to arm herself against another attack. Her elbows buried in the soil, dragging her through the mud and away from him, and her fingers narrowly circled the hilt slippery with the soil covering them. She rolled onto her back in time to the see the man charging her, and she buried the blade into his thigh hearing him yell out but too terrified to linger. Her legs were caught in the trap of her dress, and she crawled still kicking against the tangled fabric and attempting to gain some distance so that she might free herself.
A familiar whistle sang through the air followed by the soft impact and groan of an injured beast. Her hair was in her face, her eyes still filled with tears, and she couldn't focus nor clear her sights to see if such a beautiful sound were a savior. Her hopes were choked with the sudden constriction around her throat, and dirt sunk under her nails as they ripped into the soil to brace herself. He caught on to her cloak and pulled roughly, making the collar embed in her thin skin and forcing her back up into a painful arch. She coughed a sore breath, wincing, face turning red, and her fingers tore desperately at the collar with every second of growing tension between them: he forced her higher and higher, the material digging in deeper and deeper. She caught the edge of the lacing and freed herself with one swift yank, and she tumbled onto the ground even more breathless and disoriented, curling to give her chest the space for air.
The fight screamed in her ears, and she dug her elbows into the ground completely consumed with her escape knowing she could not battle and conscious enough only to run. She shrieked at the flash of pain hot as flames to her scalp when his fingers knotted in her hair and pulled harshly. Her hands clawed at his wrist only to grasp onto it a moment later and keep him from ripping out her hair as he drug her through the mud. Her legs kicked, her body twisted, but his hold was too strong and too furious to break. Then ice consumed her so shocking and unbearable that she could not move. He flipped her onto her back, and water rushed through her hair, across her face, blinding her eyes. The ice-cold liquid numbed her, and before her mind could realize what was happening, his hands took her slender neck between them and forced her head against the rocky bed of the stream. Deep enough the water crashed over her features and flooded her mouth when she opened her lips to suck in a breath of air, and she swallowed a gulp of water feeling it swarm her stomach and lungs. Her hands changed their siege from his wrists to find his face, but he was angled back too far for her to reach. Still, she swiped at the air, fingers bent like claws, fighting to injure him and release herself, but her attack was futile. She writhed, throwing more of the water across her chest and body, but only her shoulders and hips could move. Her neck was immobile and constricted beneath his impenetrable grip. Already her face burned against the cool chill of water, her throat was closing beneath his weight, her lungs ached deep in her chest for a gasp of air. More water flooded her, and she was suffocating and drowning at once with no way to free herself. Her eyes flung open wishing to see the face that would doom her, but the water rushed through her lashes, tangling them, making it impossible for her to decipher the blurry lines of the trees and the sky and the man killing her. Sensing the futility, her shoulders stilled, relaxing almost into the bed of the stream, as she stared into the rush of colors and roar of the stream. Her legs kicked their final dispute; her features unwound; her body accepted its fate without her consent. Her mind was throbbing and weakening. The black was circling her gaze, and she listened to the last howl of the stream in her ears as she waited for her consciousness to die and her self soon after.
Red bloomed across her eyes so thick and dark it was a cloud upon the water, and she could taste its bitter color like metal on her tongue. The weight was released from her throat, and those hands were replaced by one powerful grip on the front of her dress which tore her from the water and stumbling to her feet. Her weak legs collapsed making her fall face first into the strength of his chest, battling between coughing up water and sucking in air, and with every burning, aching, sharp gasp, the fight breathed inside her. Her hands pushed against him nearly sending her fatigued body over her heels and tumbling into the water again but for the strength of the grip holding to her and steadying her even as she swayed. Her heart thundered in her chest picking up its pace with the air to enable it, and as the water drained from hers ears, she could hear the bark of a command again and again and again. Her eyes blinked away the shroud blinding them, and steadily her spinning world settled letting his features come into focus: blurry chestnut eyes hardening as she gazed at them and realized her Alban Prince bent inches from her face. His thick beard molded around his mouth as it opened and yelled at her again, the sound echoing in her deaf ears.
"Run!"
The present broke around her, and she suddenly remembered the sound of the stream at her feet, the icy chill of her wet dress and hair, and the snapping of twigs as more vagrants were born out of the forest.
Haemon turned to face them, five men in all, looking disheveled and dirty like thieves come to rob them. He notched an arrow and let it fly into one man's chest so that he collapsed onto his knees, blood falling to his chin, and the Prince found another in his sights. He hesitated, staring down this thief charging at him, and his thoughts flickered to the number of arrows resting his quiver –three. He was not as skilled as his brother Nereus and had wasted too many on the men who had attacked Aurora. His rage had blinded him seeing how they tormented her when his back was turned, but now he was calculated, able to reserve his shots in case more enemies emerged, and slid his bow onto his back taking an arrow in one hand and his knife in the other. He met the first attack, narrowly evading the stab for his waist as his heavy feet slid against the soil wet and muddy from treading into the stream to retrieve Aurora, but this close he had no need for agility only speed. He struck in a flash driving the arrow through the man's neck until the bronze tip reappeared, and he yanked to pull it out once more. His hand was too wet with mud and blood, and it slid along the fletching leaving his weapon lost to the corpse that buckled onto the ground twitching and spewing blood from his lips. Haemon spun to face his next enemies, a pair of vagrants charging together, and he ducked to his right, falling beneath the raised blade of one man and leaving the other to double back for him.
He buried his knife into the man's gut, angling it beneath his ribs, and he thrust up with his full strength until he heard that wheezing breath of a lung flooding and saw the dim flicker in the man's eyes. He retracted his knife as roughly but was distracted by the flash of pain as a blade sliced open his forearm, making his teeth grit with a furious growl and his hand open without his consent. The knife fell from his grip, and he had no time to retrieve it as he faced his attacker and caught the man's wrist, holding the blade between them shaking with the muscles straining to overpower the other. The man added his other hand to his wrist, increasing his strength, and Haemon as swiftly followed suit until both were caught and immovable. Above the dirty weapon, their regards locked each motivated by life and death, but who would Hades claim? Not the Prince. He threw his head forward past the siege of their combat colliding into the thief who, unprepared, groaned and stumbled backward. Before Haemon could lunge and steal his blade, two arms circled beneath his shoulders and yanked back his arms until only his forearms could rotate to fight. Snarling under his breath, he thrashed trying to throw off the man holding him, while his comrade regained his senses briefly rattled from Haemon's ignoble tactic and raised his blade overhead once more. There was no hand to impede him, and he aimed without hesitation for the Prince's heart. Haemon stretched to reach the feathered tip of an arrow, fighting against the crude strength holding him, and in that breath of a moment, his eyes focused on the knife watching it fall and knowing its mark would be true.
Yet, it faltered as the man groaned and jerked back, bending unnaturally beneath the dagger embedded in his back. It stabbed again and again until the man fell to his knees, and Aurora was revealed behind him, dagger still raised overhead, her eyes wide and wild with fright and the scent of blood. She looked at Haemon at once soaking and pale and shivering and armed, a frail picture of desperation and terror, his unpredicted rescuer. The Prince threw his weight back crushing the thief between the trunk of a tree and his unforgiving mass. Disoriented, the man could not fight when Haemon reached behind him and grabbed the thief by the tunic, ripping him from his back and hurling him onto the ground. In an instant, Haemon was on him steadying him with a tough grip on his tunic and sending his head swaying under the impact of his fist. The man groaned with each repercussion, his neck cracking under the force, the skin sinking and tearing and curling under Haemon's knuckles, and the blood appeared growing angrier and redder at every hit. Within minutes, the man had gone silent. Only the unforgettable sound of bone tearing flesh remained, and her stomach capsized to watch this savage death, unraveling slowly to her terror-stricken eyes when everything had seemed too fast. An eternity passed before Haemon was satisfied and sat back on his heels, still holding to the man's tunic and watching his limp head rock and fall: one side of his face a bloody pulp while the other stared at Aurora.
Those dark eyes twisted on her, and she recoiled merely at his attention, paralyzed by the brutality and the sheer power he commanded. To kill a man with his bare fist. She was revolted and horrified, but she had no opportunity to process her thoughts for horses' hooves sounded nearby. Her gaze darted toward the noise searching the forest frantically for the riders, hopeful that they were friends but fearful they were foes, when all at once, his hand circled her arm and nearly tore it from its socket with the force he took off running and pulled her in tow. Her legs stumbled clumsily over the ends of her wet dress, numb and freezing, but she ran with him less obedient than frantic. Her horse had strayed being too docile for the sight of blood shed, and it swayed unsteadily at their approach, tossing its head to keep Haemon from gripping the reigns; but he mounted the steed and reached to pull Aurora behind him keeping them both balanced with the strength of his legs and driving his heels into the steed's barrel ribs to command it. His strong fingers tangled in the horse's mane, and he pulled trying to control the agitated steed and too aggravated and rushed to catch the reigns. The horse neighed shrilly, shaking its massive head, beating its hooves into the wet soil, and Haemon gritted his teeth and kicked with his heels, knowing the enemies drawing nearer and needing them to run. The horse bore back on its hind legs enough to make Aurora throw her arms around Haemon's waist and press her body into the strength of his, and as soon as its hooves hit the dirt, they were galloping. She felt the cold wind rush across her arms where they held fast to Haemon and heard the shattering of water beneath the horse's hooves, and both were too sweet to last. Their victory was interrupted by the horse's shriek, and the steed plunged its hooves into the ground, stopping their advance and twisting violently against the arrow piercing its neck. Another ornamented its tan coat inches from Haemon's thigh, and the horse threw them, Aurora first toppling onto the ground and Haemon not a moment later.
Her ears rung from the blood hurtling into her skull, and it throbbed with the weight and the pressure building inside. She groaned and rocked from shoulder to shoulder, at once numb and aching with every bone in her body. Like in the stream, she was torn to her feet yet void of the strength to stand, and she knew the command before she heard it—
"Run!"
Haemon notched an arrow to cover their retreat, the head snapping from point to point in search of their enemy and found one of the thieves on his knees, with the bow lying against his lap. His eyes were void with the loss of blood, and they met Haemon's regard resigned and aware of their fate. He released the sinew, and the arrow flew true into his shoulder, causing the man to recoil and fall onto his side. Seeing his kill completed, the Prince turned and sprinted after his betrothed who had barely made it into the shelter of the forest once more. She staggered more than she ran, stumbling on her dress and the roots of the trees, and when he caught her, he took her elbow once more to drag her along with them. The last marksman might have doomed them by leaving them on foot, and Haemon ran for higher ground, ever aware that more enemies might stumble upon their trail and come for them. They needed to shroud themselves in the thick cover of trees, and his sole concentration grounded him giving weight and power to each footfall. The forest raced around them, an endless maze of trees and shadows and pools of light. Terror blinded her to any sense of direction, and when they stopped at last in a small clearing of trees where rocks broke through the terrain and short, rough shelf extended out of the rising mountains around them, Aurora was lost.
Chest heaving, throat burning, eyes watering, heart thundering, Haemon turned to look past her at the path they had taken and watch for signs of another ambush. The forest was quiet and still, but Haemon felt torn by suspicion and commanded shortly, "Quiet" so that he might listen for sounds of an approach.
Her thoughts were consumed with the burden of what had just passed, and her consciousness fled from her, leaving her marooned within the ocean of her mind and incapable of controlling the wheezing breaths slipping through her lips. Her body felt broken and bent over, carving out the space around her ribs and letting her slender shoulders pitch like a boat on tumultuous waves. Her head hung with them letting her stare down the front of her body without seeing the deep plunge of her dress down to her belly where the fabric dark and sticky as blood had torn with the force Haemon had plucked her from the stream. Mercifully the water made the material mold to her skin, folding around the curve of her breasts and holding it from unraveling around her –not that she would have realized if she were naked before him.
His rough grip took her arm making her remember him, and her head snapped so sharply to face him, Haemon wondered if she didn't mistake him for her enemy. She didn't attack though he was aware of the dagger stuck in her grip which had nearly pierced him during their brief ride, yet she appeared completely oblivious to it, holding it until her boney knuckles poked through her pale skin and driven solely by the need for survival. Her mismatched eyes centered upon his own gaze, and he sustained it even as he took her hand and unwound one finger at a time from the hilt. Neither her stance nor her face flickered with recognition, not until he claimed the dagger himself and released her hand did she notice its emptiness, tearing her attention away from him to stare at her palm still cupped in the air between them. Her body shuddered like the cold hand of fear crawling across her wet skin, and she took a tentative step away from him, then piercing him with her wavering sights, electric in fear like a lamb before a wolf. He frowned unconsciously to see her terror centered on him much like the pale horror strewn across her face when he had killed the thief with his fists, but he protected her –offered his life in exchange for her own. How could she fear him?
"What happened?" he asked, masking his frustration with neutrality, but still drunk on blood and his mind pacing with rage.
The sanguine gown swelled and collapsed around her pale body, and he monitored her erratic breath, short and uneven and only constant in that respect. She retreated another step, and his head cocked forward causing her to freeze beneath his gaze obedient as if he had threatened her with one, faint move. Her throat had closed though her lips were parted, and her mind incapacitated her from answering. This secret had consumed, twisted, and ruined her life, and seeing her darkest fears reach fruition in the light of day, baptized in the blood of her enemies, and brought to life before her, she was too terrified to admit it. Silence had saved her all these years –her silence about her father's notes, her silence about her own memories, her silence about her suspicions… They would have killed her long ago if they had known how often she fostered her investigation and sought out her family's murderers. Staring into his hardened chestnut eyes, dark as stone from the fight, she knew he would force her, and she knew she would concede to him; but she couldn't speak.
The frown mangled his features, contorting the handsome lines into something angry and restless. Her apprehension toward him and her abruptly mute tongue reawoke suspicions much like the hairs standing on edge along the back of his neck. His fingers relaxed and flexed around the hilt, spinning the leather to a fresh grip, and her attention flickered to his weapon as though the small movement were a warning. Spelling out each word, he commanded, "Tell me what happened."
Her lips trembled with the shuddering breath spinning out of them, the chill of it all permeating to touch her soul, and her body shook, little spasms of muscles all through her that made her feel as though she were crumbling to pieces. She swallowed, and her brow opened in a silent appeal that incriminated her all the more. He advanced on her, making her stumble back into a tree where she winced at his sudden proximity hunching his massive body over her, letting his face loom near her own where she could feel the heated brush of his breath on her skin. Her face stretched away from him, eyes clenched closed, and cheek buried against the bristly bark.
"What are you hiding?" he growled sand stared so intensely she could feel his eyes bore into her temple, and no sound answered him, only a tear sliding out of the prison of her lashes to line her cheek. Rather than pity, fury swarmed him so sudden it was flames lashing up his chest, and he took her jaw in his hand wrenching it to make her face him. She writhed faintly, trembling, crying, and he pinned her to the trunk with his hold, sliding back to crush her throat. The memory was too fresh, and her fingers seized him at once, folding beneath the force of his grip and pulling futilely.
"Please," she croaked at last, wincing at the one word as her tender throat ached and burned.
"What have you done!" he burst, seething at her innocent act and tired of her games. "You arranged this! Was this your plan –to ambush me!"
"No! Please!" She pulled at his grip again, growing more severe with his anger to fuel it, and the bark tore at the back of her dress and skin as she struggled to free herself.
"You thought you could kill me! Make it look like thieves!" His weight drove forward trapping her completely with his hand and his body.
"Please!" she begged, increasingly frantic and sobbing so that even her plea was barely comprehensible.
"Tell me!"
"Haemon, stop…" His fingers were compression to a fresh bruise, and her throat burned at his kindling.
"Tell me!" he roared.
Finally her tangled lashes parted letting her eyes supplicate him, shivering like her body against him and so sincerely terrified, it halted him in his tracks. She tugged at his hand, fighting to make room to swallow and speak, but as soon as her throat cleared, a new lump formed knowing what she would have to say and the truth in years of lies. Her eyes throbbed with hot tears then plunging down her face, and her nostrils fretted for the air to rasp, "They came for me."
Immediately those dark eyes scoured her for the tail of a lie, that flicker of guilt, but sorrow and fear permeated every hair upon her body as if her own trembling breath was terrified and swallowed into her lungs once more. "Why?"
Her mouth flattened but couldn't keep the steady line, and her eyes clenched closed, forcing out more tears to clear them. "You know."
Frustrated, he gripped her neck again, reminding her of the threat, and for a moment she saw the thief's mangled face staring at her. It was a promise of Haemon's strength. She pulled frantically at his hand begging him with her body when her appeals had failed to release her, but his price was the truth. The name dangled on her tongue, and yet her mouth was sealed by that twitching line, poised at any moment to break and release the deluge building behind it. His tone was deadly even as he threatened, "Aurora…"
She wanted to shake her head, refuse the obligation, but his hand held her captive and immobile. "Savas," she whispered, and her whole body sunk with superstitious quakes.
"Your uncle?" he clarified, his frown magnifying if it were possible.
"He's not-" she paused and tugged at his grip again, and reluctantly his fingers relaxed, his palm still resting against her throat in case she didn't cooperate as he desired. She held to his hand, fearful he would turn on her, and her throat smoldered all the more now that the pressure was released. It was tender muscles and blades to her throat when she spoke, "He was Gallad's bastard son, bore from one of his mistresses… Gallad provided for him but never claimed him."
He had known this since arriving in Latium: he had known she was the rightful heir, but hearing her confess it jolted him anew. Sensing the story before her lips even unfolded it, he prompted, "Why would he wish to kill you?"
Her head stretched back against the bark, her eyes squeezing shut, but her features shook like her stripped voice as she admitted, "The same reason he killed my family."
Impatient, he snapped, "Why?"
His fingers twitched, and she held his hand open still feeling his palm trap the heat between her slender throat and his skin. "It was a dangerous time. The King's reign was waning. Age had poisoned his heart and mind. There were whispers of an attack brewing in the north. All was fear…" She drew a shaking breath, meaning to still herself, but it was as uneven as everything else. "Gallad sent some of his private guards to protect my family. My father would ascend after him. He needed to be safe." Her head rocked with pain as if the memory were still fresh to her heart, and she murmured, "We were betrayed…"
"How? How can you be sure?"
"My father kept notes of his conversations, his affairs, his everything… The night they came for us, my brother gave me the scrolls and sent me into the woods." Teeth gritting, she sobbed suddenly, her whole body heaving, and the endless stream of tears fled down her face. "He knew –he knew who had betrayed him, but I couldn't understand. For years, I read his notes, begging, praying, screaming for something to make sense, and then I knew-"
"You knew what?" he interrupted, glancing briefly to his left at the path and sensing the threat building with every word she spoke. He had not been prepared for this, and it was not often the Prince found himself stranded in a foreign land with a maniacal King itching for his head.
"The guards. They were traitors –or-or mercenaries in disguise… Savas bought them somehow, made them turn on my family. With my father dead and all his heirs murdered, there would be none to stop Savas. Gallad went mad with sorrow –his wife bore no other heir than my father- and Savas made Gallad declare him the new king." Now that the truth had a gust of breath, it tumbled from her so swiftly he struggled to keep pace and process her accusations as she made them. "No one suspected him. Our house had been burned. They found remains of the guards… Savas murdered his own men and left them to burn so that none would know and none could identify them. And he blamed it on our enemies. We were so afraid of our borders, we were blind to the wolf in our throne!"
Their regards caught in the sliver of space between them, near enough there were no walls, no lies, no boundaries to separate them, and they jointly reveled in the reality. This innocent day had been undercut by a lost treachery, and they could never reverse it and return to their blissful ignorance. He didn't know whether to choke the life from her for keeping something so dangerous trapped away or to protect her. His body steeled against her, neither attacking or retreating, and he searched for a reason to dismiss her. "Why not kill you when you stepped out of the forest? Why wait until now?"
She searched the air above his head, providing a ledge for the tears to build on her lower lashes, and she shrugged listless and empty. She had little answers to her own worries less to the questions he asked. "I was a child," she supposed. "I couldn't even speak for a year afterward… And when I did, no one listened to me. I was Lycaon's mad orphan, and Savas kept me that way –neglecting me, ignoring me, refusing to acknowledge my birthright… When your diplomat arrived offering a trade negotiation, he must have seen the opportunity to be rid of me –to send me away where none would care about my ravings and where he'd never have to worry about me revealing his true nature."
"Yes," Haemon muttered at once aggravated and insulted to see there was a conspiracy behind their shame of an engagement, "I would have taken you, and he could have kept his throne and his secrets… But he risked it all today. That is senseless, Aurora. Those men were no more than dirty thieves."
Her eyes twisted on him, piercing and accusatory. Yet another disbeliever staring at her like she were truly a crazed woman spewing incomprehensible thoughts, but she was not mad! For a moment her sorrow ebbed, bowing to the rush of anger that swept through her driven by years of people trying to drive her mad, of undercutting her logic, and she snapped with her palms pummeling unexpectedly into his shoulders. He barely moved, but she saw his attention sharpen on her and burst, "Who arranged the hunt! Who sent us alone into the woods! Whose guards followed us and disappeared!" Fuming, her pale cheeks flushed, and she nearly wished to hit him again.
"Listen to yourself!" he bellowed in return, and his weight funneled into her to pin her against the tree like him forcing his will upon her.
"I'm not crazy!"
"You're paranoid!"
"I know what I saw! I know what I heard!" she groaned and pushed against him to throw him off. "He told me!" she shrieked, and it seemed to pause the struggle between them. "He told me he would finish what was began. He wore the ring of the King's private guards! It is Savas!"
Their chests mirrored haggard breaths, beating in tandem and unstoppable, but their features were locked on one another's. They scoured for breath. Their eyes burned. Suddenly Haemon abandoned her and paced toward the path, then growling, turning, and repeating the same agitated steps again and again.
Without the wall of him to impede her, she peeled herself away from the bark, immune to the small tears as the tree caught onto her dress, and watched his aggravation build. Her head ached, and she begged, "Why won't you believe me?"
"Because!" he snarled and spun to face. "Because if he is behind this all, what are we to do? We have no weapons, no money, no horse. I can't fight off an entire army! What –are we to walk to Alba Longa? We're as good as dead!"
His harsh words silenced her, and he resumed his pacing while wracking his mind for the possibilities. Against his more honorable inclinations, he entertained the idea for a moment: thinking he could return to the palace without her and with his stag in tow as though nothing were amiss. He could play the part and launch a search for her in the woods, and they might even find her alive. "Then what would you do?" he asked under his breath and imagined the dagger in his hand skewering that false king.
"We can't return to the palace," she answered, confused by his muttering, and she wrapped her arms about her as she recalled the pervasive chill. Another home was torn from her, and she bowed her head as she felt the rush of fresh emotion. "He'll poison us both. Your brother-"
Haemon's head snapped sharply toward her, but she only realized by the silence. He hadn't yet considered Ascanius' fate. It sent him tearing into a new path, and he rubbed roughly at his face, noting to himself, "We've faced worse. Had all the armies of Greece begging for our heads…"
It seemed their predicament had turned her logical betrothed into a mad man, and she kept her tongue, letting him work through whatever torrent of thoughts plagued him, and began warming her arms with her hands. Still her dress was soaking and stuck to her much like her tawny blonde locks. Both felt like ice to her skin, and the chills beaded across her, so sensitive she shivered and felt her teeth chatter. She lifted her hands, hoping to warm them with her breath, when she saw the red smeared across her porcelain skin. For a moment, she stared at the alien substance knowing what it was and wishing she didn't. In time, she couldn't focus on them for the shaking they assumed or perhaps it was the hot tears filling her eyes and spilling over her cheeks. Her palms rubbed at the stain, rough and clumsy, missing and continuing until her skin and the stain were indistinguishable. A life, a life, a life… echoed through her head. Even traitors had families.
His hand covered her own and hid away the red blooming across her skin. She glanced at him to see his features settled calmly, and for the first time, she felt mad when faced with his stoic front.
"Take off your dress."
She couldn't contain the disgusted frown she granted him and promptly wrapped her arms tightly around herself to hide the deep gash in her dress.
He removed his cloak from his shoulders and offered it to her. "You'll freeze before night comes."
Reluctantly, she accepted his cloak but only to draw it to her chest and fold her arms around it. It was still warm from him, and she welcomed the soothing touching to her breast. Haemon retreated toward the path, and her brow knotted like her throat complicated from the tears and pain. She struggled to unwind it and call out, "Where are you going?"
Glancing over one broad shoulder, he paused. "To see if we've been followed."
"We shouldn't separate," she pressed, too afraid of being alone to care if she seemed crazed or desperate.
"The men will come from the south if any follow us today. You'll be safe here."
"What if you don't come back?"
His eyes were frank and sealed her lips, and he turned then to disappear behind the cover of the woods. She watched him as she had seemingly seconds before when he left for the hunt, and she had the same sensation of dread filling her belly like lead. She stood in the exact position feeling her muscles ache with the strength they compressed around her, drawing her knees together, holding her arms tight around her, keeping in the warmth, but every moment with the wet fabric around her was another moment she lost the heat. Haemon was right, and she needed to warm herself so that she could think the clearly. The cold clouded her thoughts and kept her too grounded in her shivering body. She dropped the cloak to the ground and removed the pins at her shoulder. The fabric peeled away from her pale skin, at once giving her relief and unleashing a renewed sense of chill when there was nothing to guard her against the air. She hurried as swiftly as her trembling hands could manage and stepped out of the ends. Naked, she checked suspiciously about her, but the woods were silent and indivisible as an army lined up for battle. Against whom, she couldn't guess. They loomed about her a constant threat and yet she felt some solace in their ranks. She drew his cloak about her shoulders, happy that he was so large the cloak swallowed her, and she could gather the extra fabric about her, wrapping herself into a cocoon. It was scratchy and heavy, but she didn't mind the itches bursting across her skin. It was a reminder that the numb was thawing and letting her blood warm once more.
Her menial task accomplished, she had nothing more to distract her. She gathered her dress and approached the stone shelf emerging from the terrain, and she laid her dress out across its floor where she thought it might dry faster but couldn't be sure. Then she sat beside it, contented to know the shelf shielded her from behind, and she could stare out in the three directions for signs of men approaching. She hadn't been alone in the woods since her childhood, but the loneliness was familiar, less an old friend than a known foe. They faced each other without smiles but comfortable with each other. She couldn't dismiss it, but she tried to fight it. She tried not to look at her hand to see if the blood still lingered. She tried not to close her eyes. Instead, she thought of Haemon and envisioned him stepping through the trees to return to her. He would be her strength, soothe her ill mind, and give them a plan. By the gods, she needed him so severely it hurt her to know she was alone still and he was possibly dead in the woods. Her head craned back letting her gaze up through the canopy of dark trees to the patches of blue sky. The color was darkening. Afternoon was approaching, but where had time fled? Was it too dangerous for even time to linger for them? What would they do when night approached?
Please let us go, she prayed suddenly. Let us go free.
There was a snap to her left, and she startled at the sharp sound. Haemon emerged from the woods with branches in his arms, and she hurriedly wiped away the tears from her cheeks, trying to look as though she had steadied herself in his absence rather than crumbling to pieces. He approached and set the branches on the stone shelf and exhaled slowly. She could still sense the disrupted around him like little fissures in his façade to reveal his nervous and tense energy.
"The bodies are gone," he said slowly and looked to her if only for confirmation of how impossible that seemed.
"What?" she muttered with nothing else to say.
His brow flexed, and his lips angled pensively. "All of them… There were tracks leading toward the road, but I didn't follow."
"Tracks…" she repeated and saw the most gruesome scene flicker before her eyes –those mangled and bloodless bodies lifting onto their feet and leaving.
"Someone cleaned up," Haemon clarified, "I assume. I hid our tracks and searched around the woods, but I didn't see anyone. I don't think they're looking for us."
"I don't understand…"
"Savas disguised his men as thieves. He must be continuing with his plan."
"Wouldn't they come looking for us?"
"Not if he said we were dead."
"But they wouldn't have our bodies."
He shook his head subtly. "I don't know. I don't know what his plan is, but I don't think they're coming for us today."
"Maybe he thinks the forest will finish us…"
"That would be fortunate." He stepped up onto the shelf and began arranging the branches into a pile. "Let him underestimate us."
"What will we do?"
"We'll rest here tonight," he said and paused to balance an arm on his knee, and he took in the scene about them. "I don't see any reason to move. Night will be here soon. We should prepare for it."
"And tomorrow…?"
He began arranging the branches once more and seemed to avoid the question. Finally he answered, "If we see tomorrow, I'll have a plan."
Author's Note (post-May): Hi lovelies! Thanks to those of you who were patient while this chapter was down! xx
