Page 47 of The Cursed Kingdom

“Where’s my knife?” I ask.

Kie only laughs and positions himself behind me, out of my sight. I don’t like not being able to see him, and I chew at the inside of my cheek as I follow Mason’s retreating form. I bet they want to keep me in their sight.

Twigs and leaves crunch under my shoes, the sound loud in the otherwise-quiet forest.

Despite the tight bandages and what I still suspect is numbing cream on my knees, there’s a slight twinge each time I place my foot on the ground. I wonder how nasty the wounds are. I landed pretty hard, and I could feel the blood soaking through the fabric of my leggings even before Mason pinned me to the ground.

It’ll take a while to heal.

The sun crests over the horizon, the sunrise slow but steady. I estimate I was unconscious for almost a full day, at least twenty hours, but I don’t feel well-rested. Exhaustion pulls at me, making me sluggish.

I need to keep a sharp mind, though.

I won’t be given to Zaha, or any of her brothers. I wasn’t keen on the idea when it was first suggested, and especially not after hearing Mason’s hesitance. He thinks it’s more humane to kill me than let me be given to Zaha’s brothers. That’s not a great sign.

“My feet hurt,” I say.

Maybe the pair will let me go if I prove to be too much of a hassle.

“Too bad,” Kie says. “Either you walk, or I’ll drag you by the straps of your bag.”

I doubt they’d do that after all the care they took to bandage up my wounds. Mason’s animal form resembles a wolf, and they have an incredible sense of smell. If these men are trying to avoid the shifters that live in the forest, they probably don’t want me leaving a blood trail behind.

Still, despite my suspicions, I continue walking. My feet really do hurt, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

“We’ll stop soon to rest,” Kie says. “Mason’s searching for a spot without a heavy shifter scent.”

So, he does have a heightened sense of smell? How long was he aware I was walking ahead of him and Kie? Did they purposefully wait until we were so deep into the woods that I had little hope of escaping?

My blood boils, and I glare at the back of Mason’s head.

Everybody talks about Prince Kieran with so much respect, but now I realize it was inflated. The faeries I’ve met have been kind, but these two were clearly raised with giant, royal sticks shoved so far up their asses that they have no sense of decency or respect.

I’m unsurprised.

They’re the human equivalent of stereotypical rich frat boys.

And I’m, at least for now, trapped with them.

Chapter Nineteen

ABBY

KIE AND MASON are efficient in setting up their sleeping gear, the two moving in sync, as if they’ve done this a million times before. Maybe they have. Maybe they’ve made a habit of escaping into the Redstall Forest together.

I stand back and watch them work, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.

I should rest—my body is begging for it—but I see no point. I won’t be able to relax around these men, and I don’t trust them enough to try. Sleeping is about as vulnerable as it gets, and I won’t put myself in that position.

It took almost forty minutes for Mason to approve of a spot—or at least, what I assume was his approval. He stopped walking, grunted, and dropped his bag onto the ground. This isn’t a spot I would’ve chosen for myself, but I keep my mouth shut.

My tongue slides over my top lip as I eye the trees surrounding us and the roots sticking out of the ground in Mason's chosen area. The ground isn’t level, not in the slightest, and I press my back against a tree before sliding down. A rock sticks into my butt, and I reach around and toss it away before crossing my legs and plopping my backpack into my lap. It feelsgood to be off my feet, and I rifle through my things until I secure a handful of nuts.

I still when my gloved fingers come in contact with a familiar metal handle. My knife. They’re letting me keep my knife? Why?

“Did you look through my bag?” I ask.

“Yes,” is Kie’s curt reply.

---