Page 46 of The Cursed Kingdom

“We bandaged your knees and arm.” Kie talks as if all of this were perfectly normal, like he and Mason weren’t just talking about murdering me or giving me as a sacrificial slave to some god. “And you woke up just in time to go back to sleep. We’ll be setting up camp in about an hour.”

It’s dark, but I can see the beginnings of sunrise through the trees.

“The sun is coming up,” I point out.

Mason snorts. “Excellent critical thinking skills.”

Did I sleep through the entire dayandnight? I must have a concussion, and I highly doubt these men know anything abouttreating them. From what I understand, faeries and shifters don’t often find themselves injured.

Do I have brain damage? I feel relatively okay, but I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t be walking. This severe of a head injury should mean hospitalization.

“What did you do to me?” I ask. Being unconscious for, what, twenty hours is a death sentence. It’s not healthy, and it’s not normal. There’s something else at play.

Mason blinks. “I drugged you.”

What? How? My gaze darts toward his shoulders, toward the bags slung over them. He’s carrying his and mine, and I can’t help but flinch as he slides mine down his arm and tosses it in my direction. It smacks me in the chest before falling to the ground.

It looks untouched, but I doubt that’s the case. I’m sure they were tearing through my things the moment I passed out. One of them bandaged me up, destroying my expensive leggings in the process, and the other went through my bag. I’d bet money on it.

“We need to keep moving,” Kie says. “Grab your bag, and let’s go.”

I gulp, sparing a quick glance at my body. My gloves are still in place, and I pull up my sweatshirt sleeve to get a better look at my right elbow. A white bandage appears about halfway up my forearm, continuing until just above my elbow.

It’s too dark to get a good look, but I can tell the bandage isn’t from my first-aid kit. Kie and Mason must have used their own.

I suppose that’s good. I’m trying to save my items, and I should use their supplies first. If and when I sneak away from the pair, I’d like to have my complete kit with me.

I roll my sleeve back down my arm before peering at my legs. My once ankle-length leggings have been cut just above my knees, essentially turning them into uneven bike shorts. I don’tlike knowing these two saw my bare legs, even if there’s no evidence of foul play.

Both my knees are wrapped with the same bandage that’s been put on my elbow, and I scrunch my nose as I give my legs a tentative bend. Neither knee hurts as much as it should. Maybe they put some numbing cream on them.

Mason shifts, and I snap my attention back to him. He pushes off the tree he leans against and turns his back to me, done watching my self-evaluation. The image of him as that giant animal is permanently burned into my irises, and even as I stare at his broad shoulders and lean waist, all I see are snarling teeth and a giant animal frame.

I’ve seen hundreds of depictions of shifters in movies and TV shows, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing. Seeing it on the screen doesn’t do justice to the horror of having the deadly predator only inches from my face.

I never want to see it again.

My breathing is heavy, borderline hyperventilating, and I place a hand over my chest as I work to calm myself. It’s too easy to panic right now, and I need to keep a level head.

“Let’s keep walking,” Kie says, breaking the silence.

Mason doesn’t need to be told twice as he storms ahead, his steps unnervingly silent despite how loud they look like they ought to be.

I don’t move, and my hesitation is noticed.

Kie is too close for comfort, but he says nothing as he waits for me to begin walking. I wonder what he’ll do if I don’t.He’ll probably send Mason after me.

Kie sighs. “Walk, Abby.”

I don’t like the way he says my name. He speaks like he owns me, and while that might be common for his world, it isn’t for mine. I wonder if faerie royals have a reputation for kidnappingpeople. I’m not sure what else to call this. Human trafficking, maybe.

I’m not dead, so I assume they’ve decided I’m best served as a gift for Zaha. I still struggle to wrap my mind around that particular fact, and it doesn’t feel real. None of this does, and a part of me is waiting to wake up and realize this is nothing more than a horrid nightmare.

Kie crosses his arms over his chest, his cold gaze calculating.

Despite what my instincts scream for me to do, I pick up my backpack and follow Mason. I don’t want to go with them, but I need time to plan before attempting another escape.

I don’t trust these men, but I’m afraid if I put up too much of a struggle too soon, they’ll drug me the remainder of the trip. They’re probably used to people obeying their every royal order, but the title of prince means nothing to me.

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