Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 11–Capture

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Moving quickly through the maze of tents, Britta struggled to keep up with Gall. Katun stumbled, and she stopped to brace him.

“Sorry,” he apologized with a wince. “My leg is in worse shape than I thought.”

Gall turned to look for them but swore instead. “The spell. It’s worn off.”

As he spoke, Gall’s concealment faded away as well.

“Yours too,” Britta said.

A horn rang out in the camp.

“We must run for it. I’ll have to carry him,” Gall said in a rush, seizing Katun and tossing him over his shoulder. “Follow me.” Sprinting, he tore through the darkness, weaving between tents and Bretagne soldiers milling about.

Britta followed Gall’s movements as best she could. Despite carrying Katun, the man moved incredibly quickly, shifting direction with great finesse. Her breath came in ragged gulps as she fell further and further behind. Sweat poured down her face. Gall whipped around the corner of a tent, and several seconds later, she made the turn, only to find no evidence of him.

Which way? She gamely ventured further in a straight line but soon could not determine whether she was still headed out of the camp or going further in. A hand grabbed her arm and stopped her in her tracks.

“You,” a rough voice called out. “What are you doing?”

Britta whipped around to find a soldier staring with a stern look.

“Captain,” he shouted. “An intruder.”

She stomped on his foot. He yelped and released his grip, but before she could pull away, his other hand snagged her hair and yanked. Pain arced through her scalp, and she dug her fingers into his wrist. A vicious yank whipped her sideways. His other hand struck the side of her head, and the world disappeared into darkness.

* * *

Gall slowed once free of the sentry lines and paused under the canopy of a large tree. He turned to look for Britta. Horns carried in the darkness. To wait longer risked being detected, but he could not leave the princess wandering in the dark. Shouts and rustling sounds in the nearby underbrush decided the matter. She must have been caught. As the bitter realization surfaced, he ran toward the horses; he had traded the heir of Cazidor for a disgraced noble from Bretagne, a poor bargain by anyone’s measure.

* * *

Britta woke to a massive headache and tried to touch her head. Chains shackled her hands and clinked behind her back. Dim lamp light stabbed at her vision as she sought to orient herself. Cloth walls and wooden poles surrounded her.

“So, you’re awake,” a familiar voice intoned. She quickly identified the source, sitting in a chair, studying her. Edwyn, King of Bretagne, stared without blinking. His blue eyes set fixedly in his smooth pale face, framed by thin black hair. “You can imagine my surprise finding that I am missing a Duke but now have a Queen.” He paused. “Would-be Queen, that is.”

“I have no desire to be anyone’s queen, and certainly not of Bretagne.”

“Then why have you come back? It couldn’t have been only to rescue a traitorous underling of mine. Was it you he was communicating with? He wouldn’t tell me, but perhaps you will.”

“I will say this. What you are doing to your people is criminal.”

“Criminal? I find that laughable coming from someone who creeps into my camp under cover of darkness and releases a turncoat trying to undermine my rule. That is not criminal–it is treason.”

Britta swallowed.

He flashed her a smile. “So, there will still be an execution in the morning. It just won’t be Katun.”

She stuck out her chin. “Killing me won’t solve anything. You’ve already lost legitimacy.”

His gaze traversed her slowly. “It is a shame because you’re quite attractive in your own way.” His face softened, and he looked past her. “Katherin was more so, but differently, in a regale manner.”

Katherin? Wasn’t that his wife?

“Yes, so beautiful.” His gaze drifted to her again. His hand reached toward her, the fingertips lifting her chin, as his eyes relaxed, pupils dilating. “So beautiful, like a rose perhaps, but she was a lotus.”

A hand cupped her cheek, the fingers feeling rough and cold against her skin. He slipped off the chair and knelt before her. She leaned backward but bumped into the pole. His other hand dug into her long red curls, sliding around the back of her head and pulling her toward him. She twisted at the shackles binding her, but he continued to slip closer, eyes fixed on hers. Without warning, he lurched forward.

Cold, wet lips pressed against hers. Bile rose; her mind screamed. Bastard. Quickly, she opened her mouth and bit hard.

“Gaaaah.” Hands grappled with her face, pushing her jaws open. Freed, he recoiled as blood flowed down his chin. One hand pressed against his wound. The other swept forward.

The blow ripped through the air and wrenched her head sideways. Burning pain seared her cheek. But she quickly whipped around and bared her teeth.

Eyes burning with fury, Edwyn pulled his fingers away from his mouth. He glanced at the crimson stain on them. “I forgot that roses have thorns.” Jumping to his feet, he fixed her with a brutal look. “It will be a joy to see you hang.” He turned and shouted out of the tent. “Fitz, come here.”

The dirty little henchman slipped inside, his nose swollen and one side of his face black and blue. Beady eyes darted between Edwyn and Britta. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The King spat blood on the ground. “I want to know who put her up to this. Do whatever you feel necessary to get her to talk.”

Fitz swallowed. “But she’s a woman–and a Royal.”

Edwyn’s visage twisted into a sneer, and blood stained his teeth. “She is a whore. Treat her as one.” With a yank, he threw open the tent flap and stepped outside.