Page 155 of The Princess In A 'Prince' Disguise

His gaze darted around. Another came into view, then another. His gut twisted as he spun, counting at least ten assassins closing in on him. Maybe more.

"Shoot him!"

Instinct surged through Emeriel. Sore muscles were forgotten. He couldn't fight, but maybe, just maybe, he could outrun them. He bolted.

The assassins, with their bestial pace, closed the gap with terrifying speed. Arrows whizzed past, their sharp tips a breath away from tearing his flesh.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Emeriel - thank the gods for those harsh days in Navia, spent training hard in his attempt to gain muscles.

Who knew it would actually come in handy someday?

Every sense flared alive; his ears twitched, straining for the near-silent hiss of arrows in flight as he twisted and juked around trees with the fluidity of a cat.

"The little shit runs as fast as a cheetah!" The assassin's snarl cut through the air, his voice uncomfortably close now. "He must not escape! More arrows!"

Emeriel pushed himself harder. The woods, so familiar from a life spent hunting and scavenging to feed himself and Aekeira, were now his sanctuary and his weapon.

The snap of branches and the dry rustle of leaves beneath his feet marked his passage. Every step was a frantic blur, leaving behind only the echo of his rapid heartbeat as he vanished into the depths of the woods.

"Bloody hell! Where is he!?" The fading cry marked his progress – for now. But the ceaseless chase was taking its toll.

Unlike the tireless Urekai, Emeriel was only human. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that he wouldn't outrun them all the way back to the fortress.

Emeriel's ragged breaths echoed in the sudden quiet as his heart pounded a staccato rhythm against his ribs. Desperate eyes scanned the underbrush, seeking refuge.

There – a fallen log covered in thick ferns, a sliver of darkness promising concealment. He scrambled towards it, wedging himself into the tight space.

This was it. He could hide, at least for a moment.

A strong hand clamped onto his shoulder, yanking him out of his hiding place.

"Leave me alone!" Emeriel shrieked, flailing, panic lending his blows surprising strength.

"Quiet. It's me," a familiar, deep voice spoke.

Grand Lord Vladya?

Emeriel froze, the surprise of seeing the grand lord almost outweighing his fear. Almost. How had the grand lord found him?

"Save your questions for later. We don't have time. Come on, let's go." Lord Vladya scooped Emeriel into his arms, and ran.

Emeriel held himself still, barely able to breathe. Lord Vladya's speed left him thunderstruck. He moved with the blinding flash of lightning, as quick as the wind.

If the grand lord chased him, Emeriel knew he wouldn't stand a chance.

A storm of arrows erupted, buzzing like angry wasps as they came hurtling toward them. Lord Vladya became a whirlwind, deflecting and dodging with sophisticated grace.

But the relentless onslaught was too much; Emeriel braced himself for the searing pain of an arrowhead.

Then, Lord Vladya's big form enveloped him. His larger body folded over his smaller frame like a shield, protecting Emeriel completely.

Finally, they sought cover behind a massive tree. Only then did Emeriel see it – two arrows jutted from Lord Vladya's left shoulder.

"You've been hit, Your Highness!" Emeriel choked.

Vladya studied the arrows with detached annoyance, as though they were mere nuisances.

With casual ease, he snapped them free, blood oozing from the wounds, then paused to sniff their broken shafts.

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