The sound of explosions grows distant the faster your mare gallops with everything she has. You’re trailing slightly behind the Commander at full speed, tethered to his black stallion by the long chain attached to your mare’s reins and your shackles. 

The too-cold morning wind is whipping past your cheeks, making them feel like icicles. 

Even if you wanted to jump off, you couldn’t for fear of being dragged to death. You shudder at the thought. You’re prepared to die for your people, but you prefer it not to be that way. 

He’s trying hard to escape the wrath of Aandaris, your homeland, as they raid the fort that was your prison. 

And you have no choice but to follow. They were overrun, and you expect there will be no survivors, except yourself and the Commander, of course. 

Running. You’d much rather fight alongside your countrymen, but you’ve no choice in the matter here. You’re trapped and bound to him.

A sharp pain in your hand shifts your attention. And you realize you have something curled so tightly in your palm, it’s stabbing you. It’s well obscured by the sleeves of your gown. And you can’t even believe it. 

As casually as possible, you pull the reins softly, just a little, until your mare falls behind the Commander. 

When you can see his back, you open your hand. 

It’s the fork from the mess hall that you were using to pick the lock on your shackles. You’d been so caught up in the catastrophe back at the falling fort that you’d clutched it hard and forgotten all about it.

Oh! 

Even though it’s not much. It’s definitely something you can use for freedom.

You keep your eye on the Commander’s back. Then, you slip it inside your gown. It slides down the front of your chest. The little thin prongs are poking uncomfortably into your skin.

But you don’t care. 

You can’t let him see your advantage. It’s the only thing you have left to escape. 

Once it’s secure and safe, you heave a huge breath in relief. You realize that so much has happened. But the most important thing, in addition to all of that, is realizing you’ve lost your trusty blade forever. 

Your shoulders slump with the realization. And you’ve no choice but to continue without her. She’s lost forever to you, then. 

The depression sinks in quickly, the harder and further you ride into Sherinde, and the Commander sets a furious, breakneck pace, even for you. You’ve had a lifetime of grueling training ever since you were a small child. As long as you can remember, anyway. Admittedly, there are some periods in your life you can’t quite recall. 

But isn’t that normal for anyone? 

You shake your head, pushing those nonsense thoughts away, and focus on escape.

 

                                                            ***

Several hours later, the sun is high in the sky. You rub your hands together to ward off the morning chill as the afternoon sun rays warm your skin. And the Commander suddenly slows his pace. Finally. 

Your mare falls into a gentle trot beside his massive stallion. 

“We’re out of danger,” he says, but his sharp eyes still scan the trees. 

You’re in soft-looking grass that reaches the belly of your mare. It reminds you of horse’s hair as it sways gently in the wind.  

You wonder how far he really sees with his unnatural vision. Maybe there’s something there that your own human eyes can’t glimpse? 

You shift in your seat, turning to survey the new, lush green landscape ahead, squinting hard. 

“For now,” he says as an afterthought. The low warning sends an icy chill running up the ladder of your spine. 

Your heartbeat evens out from the ride, but you’re still upset about losing your blade and can’t help lingering on the enormous loss. 

She’s been with you for as long as you can remember. As long as you had your first memory, that is. Focus on the present, y/n!

Isn’t that what your commanding leaders back home always said to you during your training as a soldier? 

They’d told you you were always focused on the past or something in the nebulous future. They ordered you to stop asking questions. And as much as you’d tried, you’d had plenty of lashings and beatings when you failed. But that was long ago. 

Right now, you’re finding it hard to think about your dreary-looking future as it is. So it’s just as well. 

Instinctively, you stretch your arms over your head and arch your now aching back. The shackles on your wrists only let you go so far. They clang loudly, irritating you, tugging your hands back down, reminding you of your captivity. 

A loud groan escapes your lips, and you issue a harsh glare at the Commander in annoyance as your mare trots beside him. “If we are far from any danger, then why am I still in these?” You hold up your wrists, showing him as proof. 

His green eyes scan them in approval. “I’d like you to arrive in one piece, y/n,” he says. 

Heat floods up your neck at the realization, confirming your worst fears from earlier that you’d guessed at. So you’re to be sold off like a slave once you get into the capital, then? 

You raise your chin. “I won’t go lightly, Commander. And I’ll do anything in my power to make your life completely miserable until then.” You seethe.

In fact, you’d rather offer yourself up as a meal to a Xenmarg than be a slave to Sherinde. You’ll never become one of them. They’re the enemy. No one ever comes back when they’re taken as prisoners by Sherinde. That, you know of and remember from your military training. 

“I’ve no doubt about that,” he says sincerely in that low, velvety voice of his.

Oh. 

The comment disturbs you as if he had heard your innermost secret thoughts. 

The sounds of the horses trotting underfoot fill the air. 

He pins you with his leafy green gaze, sending your insides into a warm, dizzying tailspin. They seem to match the vibrant forest in the distance, and you wonder how they can be such an arresting color and why it affects you this way.

“Which is why they’ll remain on, y/n,” he rasps. 

What? It takes you a while to figure out what he meant. Oh, the shackles. Right. 

You blow out an exasperated breath. Elves. You tear your gaze away from him and observe a flock of birds soaring overhead in the soft blue sky, wishing you were one of them. Free. You’d rather be anywhere else but on this journey–and with an elvish fiend as your captor, no less. 

Even if he unshackles you, where does he think you’ll even go? You’ve ridden for hours now in unfamiliar land. 

And you hate to even think about this, but you most likely wouldn’t survive on your own. Sadly, you’re not a woodsman or a huntsman. 

As a fighting soldier for the Great City, you have been afforded a soldier’s lifestyle. You receive three meals a day. They aren’t the best compared to the feast Sherinde gives their soldiers. But they’re still meals. You’re also provided with shelter and clothing. 

You’ve never had to hunt or scavenge for your food, ever. 

And you’ve never had to be out in the wilderness like this. But there’s no way in Aandaris you’ll ever let him know any of that. 

But maybe he already knows that. In fact, he knows much more than he should about you, including your name. 

“And how do you even know my name? Hmm?” you ask, cutting through the gentle reverie of nature. You’re full of fresh annoyance. In fact, you never even bothered to ask how he learned it because you never even told him. 

And you feel extremely foolish now. So, how does he even know?

“How does anyone come to know such things?” His voice is a gentle, soft caress. And for some reason, his non-answer bothers you even more. 

You tighten your fingers around the reins. It’s a simple question! Gods. 

This man…er…elf. He’s cartloads of trouble. Are they all so evasive like him? You sigh in frustration and watch him as he stares ahead, affording you a glimpse of his striking profile. It’s something one could study forever.

You wonder for a moment how it would feel to trace your fingers over the razor-sharp line of that jaw. However, you quickly discard that traitorous thought. You glance ahead at the distance of thick trees.

He’s still silent. 

But for some reason, he finally relents, stunning you senseless. 

“I heard them.” He reaches down and gently rubs his black stallion’s neck. The soothing motion draws your attention. It warms something inside of you. “They called out for you. Before your capture.” 

Oh. 

You clear your throat, pulling your eyes away from the elegant stroking of his fingers, trying not to think of how they would feel grazing your skin. 

You feel suddenly ashamed and angered at your body’s unwelcome reaction, especially while you’re his captive for Gods’ sakes. 

As you adjust, you raise your hands to make sure your fork is still secured in place. The clanging of your shackles fuels your irritation further. 

Shackled. Like a wild animal. It’s a constant reminder that you are a prisoner, his captive—a future slave.   

Well, you won’t stand for it.

You don’t even know his given name. You demand answers. You need them. He holds too much power over you now. You’re at his mercy and defenseless, and you don’t like this at all. 

He’s shrouded in mystery, this Elvish Commander.

Who is he? 

You stare at him then, and open your mouth, the question is on the tip of your tongue.

You will make him tell you.

Coming Soon- Chapter 21  

Romance Stories Home