The distant rustling of leaves and the crackling of dying embers begin to lull me into a deep sleep after staring at the fire, paranoid, all night.

  Finally comfortable, my eyes flutter shut.

  The thick weight of the cloak vanishes in an instant, yanked away with such force that my eyes snap open. A gasp rips from my lips as the cold crashes over me like a wave. I jolt upward, disoriented as my fingers scramble across the empty space the cloak had just been, but it is already gone--dangling carelessly in the King's Blade's grasp.

  "Finally," he grumbles.

  I blink at him, still half-caught in the haze of sleep. "What...?"

  "You sleep like the dead, princess," he states, shaking dirt and leaves from the dark fabric before tossing it back at me. I barely catch it before it smothers my face, limbs leaden from lying on the ground.

  Sleep like the dead? I hadn't even gotten an ounce of rest.

  "I was about to throw you in the pond," his eyes glimmer dangerously, "figured you'd prefer this over drowning." I squint beneath the clouded sky, noticing the lack of shadows and crickets surrounding us, still unaware of what is happening.

  It was pitch black outside moments ago.

  He stares at me, a brow raised in question.

  Had he asked me something?

  Heat blooms in my cheeks and I pull myself to my feet, brushing off the purple fabric of my dress now stained with mud and bits of moss. "You could have simply shaken me," I mutter, trying to will the redness from my face as I clutch the cloak to my chest.

  "I did," Rael admits and I shift to find him stamping out the last glowing embers of the fire with his boot. He glances over at me, a mirthless grin on his lips. "Twice."

  Oh.

  Humiliation crawls up my spine but I hold his stare. "Still, you didn't have to rip the cloak away like that," I grumble. My spine stiffens, seeming to remember myself. Seeming to remember who I am and who he is and what we're working towards.

  'Compose yourself.' My mother's voice rings in my head like a distant reprimand.

  I'm about to apologize for my lack of manners when I notice the faintest twitch of his mouth. "If you'd rather I strip something else off next time, just say so."

  My stomach plummets.

  I suck in a sharp breath, my face burning hotter than the fire had been. "H-how dar--!"

  "Relax, princess. I'm not interested." He straightens, rolling his shoulders as he faces toward the carriage lounging lazily on the side of the road. "Now hurry up--we need to move, and I need to wash off this blood before you faint again."

  I gape at his retreating figure, unsure if I want to strangle him or disappear into the dirt.

  Perhaps both.

  What is his problem? Does he speak to every lady like that? How... unbecoming.

  I shake away my frustration and start toward the carriage, damp wood and leather perfuming the air. I find the coachman nearby, adjusting the reins of the horses.

  Was he able to sleep, or was he up all night burying bodies?

  "Good morning, your Highness." His voice is warm, his expression kind as he spots me approaching. He is younger than I had originally insinuated, with snowy blonde hair and sharp blue eyes that soften as he smiles.

  "Good morning," I reply sweetly with a smile of my own, "would you be able to help me with my trunk when you've finished?"

  "Of course, your Highness." He nods swiftly, meeting me at the back of the carriage to unbuckle my belongings.

  "Thank you."

  "You are most welcome." He bows quickly, starting back toward the horses but I stop him with another question.

  "What is your name?" I ask, feeling guilty for not knowing sooner.

  His brows raise, and his eyes glitter with something close to surprise. "Quite a forward question to ask, your Highness."

  I look at him, perplexed.

  Is it wrong to ask for his name?

  His eyes scan the nearly barren treetops above before landing back on me. "You can call me Finn, your Highness."

  "Very well, thank you, Finn."

  He strides away and I am left to my thoughts.

  I rifle through the trunk, fingers finding the familiar fabric of a clean dress. This one is a deep shade of sapphire, lighter than the heavy, violet gown I've dirtied. Delicate silver thread embroiders the cuffs of the flowy sleeves, but it remains a casual frock. Quickly, I grab a fresh chemise, stockings, and a white ribbon for my hair. I reach for my brush, stopping as my hand bumps against something solid. I pull it free from beneath the other clothes, brows knitting as it comes into view.

  A book.

  The leather cover is worn with age, its gilded title barely visible.

  The Wolf and the Rabbit.

  I stare at it, unblinking. I don't remember packing it. Had one of my maids tucked it in?

  I can't stop the smile tugging at my lips as I trace the spine. It had been my favorite as a child, the pages creased and softened from years of reading it before the fireplace.

  Shaking off my surprise, I tuck It under my arm and make my way in the direction the King's Blade had wandered.

  The forest is quiet, only the crunching of leaves underfoot and the occasional melody of birdsong breaking the stillness. I lean around jutting branches, stepping over stumps and stones until I spot the glassy surface of a pond.

  And then, I see him.

  Rael stands at the water's edge, his feet submerged beneath the surface, his back to me.

  My eyes widen, my mouth falling open.

  He is completely naked.

  I yelp, losing my grip on everything in my arms as it tumbles into the dirt. I slap my hands over my eyes, heat rushing to my face.

  A sharp exhale. Then, dryly, "Oh, for Hell's sake."

  "I—I didn't—! I wasn't—!" I sputter, my voice strangled.

  Water sloshes and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. "I didn't take you for a voyeur, princess. Do you always sneak up on men while they bathe?"

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Anger quickly replaces my embarrassment. I refuse to allow this treatment. "Mind your tongue, King's Blade," I say as I drop my hands and level his gaze. I lift my chin in feigned confidence as his eyes bore into mine. "Unless you'd like me to tell your King how his guard speaks to his future queen."

  A devilish smirk slashes across his face. "You're welcome to try, princess. But I doubt your soon-to-be husband will care what I do with my tongue."

  "Filthy, classless demon." I curse under my breath.

  His lips wilt slightly as he scoffs. "If you say so, princess."

  I turn my back, focusing on the forest instead of the water splashing behind me. My heart hammers against my ribs, not just from embarrassment, not just from frustration.

  The image of his back flashes in my mind. Scars--hundreds of them--crisscrossing his skin. Old wounds layered over new. I chew on my lip, fingers curling into fists.

  He's seen battle. A lot of battle.

  I swallow the lump in my throat, anger diminishing. I want to ask about them—specifically the large gruesome one carving down from his right shoulder to his left hip—but knowing it isn't my place. He owes me as much as I do him. Nothing.

  'Remember your place.' I tell myself. 'Remember his... guard.'

  Few minutes pass before the sound of trickling water shifts into wooshing strides. "Your turn," he states as something thuds lightly against my shoulder.

  I spin in place, startled at how close he stands. And then my eyes follow his gaze down to his hands, where my book rests in his grip.

  He inspects it, brows raising as he reads the title aloud. "The Wolf and the Rabbit." A snort. "You're a little too old for fairy tales, don't you think?"

  I bite back an improper retort, holding my tongue as he places the book in my palms.

  He shoulders past me, damp but dressed, his hair still dripping onto his tunic as he reaches his discarded armor. "Hurry up. We don't have time for you to lounge around in there."

  I glare at his retreating figure, then shift my gaze to the empty pond before me. A dark rippling surface, reflecting the overhanging branches like fractured veins. Mist clings to the water's edge, twisting through the reeds in ghostly tendrils as if hiding secrets of an unknown past. The birds no longer sing. Insects no longer buzz. Only the sound of Rael's footfalls echo through the silent clearing.

  A strange unease curls in my stomach. All my life, I have bathed in warm, perfumed baths, never in a place that feels so utterly lifeless.

  Turning, I find Rael staring at me, his eyes void of any thought. "What if someone attacks?"

  His expression darkens, black brows furrowing. "Then I kill them."

  "That's not—" I huff, shaking my head. "Just—turn around, don't leave until I've finished."

  Annoyance flashes across his features but he obeys, his broad shoulders stiff with irritation. I face away from him, fingers fumbling with the ties of my dress. The knot is a mess--twisted and tangled from tossing and turning on the ground. I tug harder, nails scraping against the thick fabric, but it refuses to budge.

  Try again.

  My shoulders begin to ache from the effort but I refuse to ask for help. I can't swing a sword or start a fire or name one village in the Kingdom I'll soon rule, the least I can do is untie my damn--

  "You're joking."

  I clench my jaw, eyes stinging. "I've got it."

  Pathetic. I can hear him thinking it.

  The air shifts as his presence nears my back, unwavering.

  He's too close.

  "Move your hands."

  "No."

  A sharp growl. Warm fingers curl over my shoulder—lightly, but enough to make my stomach seize. Then something curved and sharp hooks beneath the knotted laces.

  My body goes rigid.

  Shkkkt.

  The ties split in an instant. Fabric slipping from my shoulders.

  I gasp, hiking the dress up before it can fall any further. My heart stutters as I stumble forward, putting distance between us. "You--" I turn, but he is already stepping away, flexing his fingers. A single claw disappears into the flesh of his pointer.

  "Next time, don't tie it so tight," he mutters, staring at his finger.

  I swallow hard, my skin tingling where his hand had been.

  Stupid.

  He just wants to stop wasting time.

  I adjust my grip on my dress, keeping it secure over my chest as I glare at him. "You could've just untied it."

  His snarl is razor-sharp. "And wait for you to fumble with it all morning? No thanks."

  Then he spins on his heel, walking back toward the trees as if nothing happened.

  I am being foolish.

  But, the way he loomed, the way his claws made quick work of something as simple as a knot—it's unsettling.

  It is a reminder, that I am alone with a demon, a monster.

  And the only thing protecting my heart from his claws ripping it out is a ruined scrap of cloth.

  ~~~~~~~~

  The steady rock of the carriage had a lully effect, the clattering hooves against the dirt road a constant backdrop as I traced the worn pages of the book in my lap. The story had always been a comfort to me, its familiar words like an old friend. But now, with the events of the past day still clawing at my mind, certain passages struck differently.

  I reach the part where the rabbit, cornered and outmatched, asks the wolf a simple question:

  "Why do you hunt me, wolf? Because you must, or because you want to?"

  The wolf doesn't answer.

  I frown, turning the thought over in my mind.

  "Because you must, or because you want to?"

  I glance up from the page to Rael sitting across from me, arms folded as he stares out the window. His hair is still damp, a few unruly strands clinging to his temples. He hasn't spoken since we departed, but I know he is watching, listening--always.

  I hesitate, then shut the book, fingers tracing circles on the cover. "The people who attacked us," I start, and his gaze flicks to me, sharp as a blade. "Why do you think they did it?"

  He says nothing at first, only regarding me with an unreadable expression. But soon, his velvety voice fills the cabin. "Why do you think?"

  I shift, pressing the book against my lap. "They were thieves, weren't they? That's what you called them."

  "They were, yes." He dips his chin in a subtle nod.

  "Then... was it just greed? Or Desperation?" I hate the way my voice falters. "Or was there something more?"

  His silence stretches between us. A quiet I'm not sure how to fill.

  Then he exhales, low and measured. "People don't risk their lives for coin alone."

  A chill slithers down my spine. "Then what?"

  Rael leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "Ask yourself, princess. Who profits from your death?"

  I open my mouth—then shut it. My hands tighten around the book.

  Who profits from my death?

  The question lingers weighted between us uncomfortably.

  "Why would Finn be surprised that I asked for his name?" I ask abruptly, my voice breaking the quiet.

  "Who?" He casts me a confused look.

  "Finn," I state again. "The coachman."

  The corner of his mouth twitches but quickly forms back into a flat line. "You don't ask that, princess."

  "I can't ask for his name?" I frown. "Why not?"

  His blood-red eyes lift to mine, amused, then incredulous. When he realizes that I am serious, he lets out a sharp laugh. "You really don't know, do you?"

  My lips part, but I have no response. I hate how it makes me feel—like a child, na?ve and ignorant.

  Rael leans his head back against the carriage wall. "Names hold power in demon culture. Our true names are sacred—binding. Knowing someone's true name is the equivalent of having a leash around their neck. It's a possession, a claim." His gaze locks with mine, sharp and unreadable. "Which is why Finn gave you a false one."

  I stiffen, mortified. "Oh."

  Heat crawls up my neck. I had spoken so carelessly, not realizing the significance of something as simple as a name. I stare down at the pages before me, not absorbing the words.

  After a moment, a new thought strikes me. "Then... when I marry your King, will I learn his name? Since we will be—" I swallow, forcing the word out. "United?"

  Rael scoffs, a cruel twist to his mouth. "United?" His drawls lowly. "Your body, your essence, your very soul—they will all belong to him. But he will never belong to you."

  The words land cold and heavy in my stomach.

  But then his voice is softer. "It is unlikely you will ever know his true name."

  My lips press together and my knuckles glow white against the brown cover. I want to argue, to insist that marriage is supposed to be a union, an equal bond. But the expression on his face tells me otherwise.

  'It doesn't matter what you think'. I remind myself.

  This marriage was never meant to be a union. It was merely crafted as a settlement--a treaty in the form of a bride.

  The King's Blade is silent for a long moment, observing me. Then, after a beat, he asks, "Did King Aldric and Queen Seraphina teach you nothing?"

  My shoulders tense at the mention of my parents, but I don't answer.

  His tone shifts, then, laced with something indistinct. "You know nothing about Varethia, do you?

  I tear my eyes away. My face burns, but not with anger, with shame.

  "They never permitted me to attend councils," I admit quietly, my voice steady but strained. "My brother is the rightful heir, not me. My place has never been at the table of kings, never among those who shape the future of our lands. And in the palace library, there is history of my people, but there is no knowledge of Varethia or demons to be found." I inhale sharply, lifting my chin, trying to steady the tremor threatening my composure. "Once, I dared to ask."

  Rael tilts his head slightly, waiting.

  "My father looked at me as though I had spoken out of turn—as though I had forgotten my place. He told me that such matters did not concern me, that the burden of knowledge was not mine to bear. My duty was not to rule, only to obey." My lips curl into something that's not quite a smile, not quite a grimace. "They shaped me into what they believed a queen should be—an ornament, a symbol, a docile piece upon their board. I was taught to smile when I am weary, to dance when I long to be still, to dress as a queen should so that I might look the part. But never once did they teach me how to be one."

  Silence.

  I expect Rael to mock me for it—to twist his lips into a smirk and say something cruel, something that will remind me exactly what I am to him and his King: a burden, a duty, a girl to be handed off like coin in exchange for peace.

  But he doesn't.

  Instead, he looks at me with a different expression, one I can't quite place. Not pity, but close to something like recognition.

  I turn my face away before I can read further into it.

  "Only you can decide what kind of Queen you'll be, no one else." I barely hear him state it, but as soon the words leave his lips, the knot in my chest loosens a little.