Authors: Thank you so much for the warm feedback - it's really motivated us to continue! As before, we just want to note that this story focuses a lot on plot and character development, in case that's not your cup of tea. That's not to say there won't be a good deal of sexual tension before then, of course. ;) Enjoy!
*****
She came to in a daze at first, spots coloring her vision and head aching as though slammed through a brick wall. Sunlight sifted in from a slanted angle, through a latticed window, warming her cheeks. The intensity of it pained her at first, and she did not want to open her eyes. Her limbs were heavy, as though dragged down with cinder blocks. Her head felt as if it were composed solely of lead, its present position against the edge of the coach seat preferable to movement. But she couldn't lie still, not after the events of -
when was it
- came flooding all at once.
Her hand instinctively flew to her temple as she dragged herself to an upright position. It touched the side of her mask, a mask which felt
different
. Large and heavily garnished, with plumes of crimped feathers emerging from one side. She immediately threw it from her face and onto the ground as though it were toxic, her mind still sharp enough to suspect its purpose. Her hair, she could feel, was all out of sorts from its previously pristine bun. She shook it loose into a relaxed braid, which fell over her shoulder. But her dress and everything else seemed (mostly) unchanged; if she had no other comfort, there was that.
The sunlight carried with it that cool morning quality, suggesting it was still early. How long had it been? Her fingers wrapped tightly around her locket, only a chilling fear kept her from looking at it.
How long?
There were soldiers marching outside, and if she wound her focus tightly enough, even in her disorientation she thought she could make out the signs of whom they belonged...
Panic joined and immediately eclipsed her confusion.
The Duke. The
"Duke"
- what would an island duke possibly stand to gain from this? And why? Was he mad? Was
she
for being so easily tricked? She knew she couldn't have trusted him, no matter how affable or charismatic he had been with her.
Especially
because he had been so ostensibly engaging, but there she was all the same. Kidnapping a member of a royal family, much less
wounding them with a knife
, beyond the treacheries of wartime, was unforgivable. If he expected a ransom for his troubles, no matter how restrained the Vvarian king was renowned for being - this wasn't going to stand. It couldn't!
As memories of the preceding night flickered back into consciousness, she found herself drawing up her sleeve (cloth still cut), only to find that her arm had been bandaged and attended to. The distinct smell of medicinal herbs exuded from it, and the bandages, when she tested them, were firmly and carefully wrapped. Not that it didn't still
hurt
, sharp pangs shooting from her arm with each motion.
How had they escaped with her in tow, with all the sentries stationed at the garden's exit points? How had they managed to leave the palace? What was it he was saying before she had succumbed to that poison-dipped dagger of his? But the answer was staring her in the face, in the form of the gaudy mask that she had just flung away.
The minstrels! They were aligned in this in some way, weren't they? They would certainly serve as an adequate guise to exit the gardens and the palace proper. There were, evidently, already reasons circulating that could conveniently excuse an early departure - perhaps the Chamberlain had finally reached the end of his patience and had them summarily evicted from the premises. Perhaps they had felt insulted by the poor reception. One of their members would be carried, but had not a certain actress already shown signs of illness? And if memory served her correctly, the unfortunate Lady Anne had a very elaborate mask - that very same mask she had just now ripped from her face. With her luck, the guards wouldn't have looked twice at a dispirited band of failed minstrels.
The other Obsivian guests must have been left behind - she dimly remembered something said to this effect. They had to have been, or else Grandfather would have noticed a mass exodus. Was that the plan all along? But what was the point of it? What would become of her now?
She instantly sought for any discernible exit, hands finally landing upon the interior latch of the door. Push, pull, and shake as she might, the barrier wouldn't relent.
"Let me out - " she coughed out through the window, her mouth dry.
The knights in direct view of the latticed window didn't seem to hear, or perhaps they were pretending not to. The nerve of them; the nerve of them - but it was her own damned fault for being such an
idiot
in the first place. She swallowed, breathed in, and hammered her palms against the sealed door of the rumbling carriage. The door shook at the tiresome, almost painful application of force, but it naturally wouldn't give. Locked, perhaps chained, from the outside, a bit like what they had for prisoners' transport? No, the wood was too luxuriant, the cushioned seating too soft. Her arms were as lithe as the rest of her, and what strength she usually had had been sapped in her languid and sore state. It was the swiftly coursing blood of adrenaline which kept her moving, banging as loudly as she did. Maybe if she kicked hard enough.
Hitting things did make her feel a little better, though just a little. "Let me
out
!"
Would no one react to her obvious noise? She persisted in her efforts, glaring at the inattentive soldiers, until -
"Good morning," intoned an all too familiar voice, pleasantly.
A big beast of a horse lumbered up next to her carriage, keeping pace side by side, and it was a foregone conclusion who rode atop it. Duke Adrien was still wearing the clothes he'd had on last night, but had since donned a layer of light, protective armor, as dark and nondescript as those of his men. His mask was gone, though - literally and figuratively, as if he had shed the facade of his benign self. His smile remained present, but there was a certain touch of calculating ruthlessness in his eyes that wasn't present before, and something of idle malice or self-indulgence seemed to linger in the way his lips were set. Without the mask, he also bared a particularly prominent scar, running jagged from temple to jaw.
The sight of him, now unmasked in broad daylight, was woefully remarkable enough to quiet her banging. His features carried a harder quality than before, she thought. Crueler in spite of that infuriating cheer, and just enough to have given her pause. How much of his cordiality had been feigned? They had genuinely seemed to
get along
so well that, despite all this, part of her was still in disbelief - but she caught herself off there, refusing to further taken in after he'd
already
duped her. Gods be good, if she managed to claw her way out of this alive, she would never hear the end of it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She could already grasp the picture of Radvar laughing for days after all this, a little imagined specter floating about her head, bubbling with mirth. If there was to be an after. Come to think of it, her brother in snide hysterics quite possibly belonged to the best outcome she could ever hope for. Such comfort.
Instead of looking least bit abashed or ashamed of his actions, the Duke appeared remarkably self-satisfied. "I do apologize for not finishing our game," he said, as if that were the most pressing faux-pas he'd committed, "if my plans hadn't gotten in the way, I assure you that I would have genuinely enjoyed playing to completion. We'll have to try again sometime."
He hadn't lost any of his apparent cordiality, and indeed, spoke as if there was no change in their situation and he was merely picking up on their last conversation.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," he continued blithely, as she began raising her fists to the door again. "Your accommodations are quite secure, and you'll only tire yourself out. But I'm glad you've recovered your strength."
She didn't even address how unbelievably improper this all was; he probably had an idea. He'd never crossed her as an unintelligent - unless if this, too, was a ruse - if not a malicious bastard, she realized now. Her lips didn't even give way to any of the insults bubbling in her chest. And as for what he planned to do with her? It didn't matter. She expected to resent it in any case, and she highly doubted he would be forthright and/or honest if she asked him now.
Instead, she eyed him ruefully, the most unamused of stares burning through the crosshatched window. That the carriage itself did not spontaneously combust in her ire was a miracle of its own. "Whatever it is you think you're doing, I don't approve. Stop. Immediately." It was inconceivable that he would actually listen to her at this point, but now that she had rendered her stance on the matter indisputable...for the sake of it, if little else...
He laughed. "Oh, you don't
approve
? Had I but known."
