Page 53 of Frost and Death
People and guards struggle against each other, trying to break through the tight threshold.
Noblemen abandon Niko as he reaches for me while scrambling toward his weapons.
“Niko.”
My voice cracks.
Amber eyes meet mine when he stands, almost falling forward from blood loss.
I half smile, a lump forming as I command, “You are the royal proxy in my stead.”
Niko roars, “No! Get away from her!”
Niko attempts to follow us to the back room, but his steps are sluggish.
Rick laughs and opens the door with ease, and no guards wait on the other side. He pushes me through the back chamber and down the castle’s secret halls.
Niko screams in agony, then cries after me. “I’m coming for you! I will find you!”
Tears stream down my cheeks. The heat and heaviness still flows through my body, keeping all cold from me. It feels as if my magic is draining from me.
I can’t sense it.
I barely hold together my surprise at Rick’s knowledge of the secret passageways as he pushes me. I lose my balance, stumbling over my dress.
The dress tangles between my legs as I struggle to get up.
The tearing of fabric rips.
I whip my head over my shoulder to see Rick cutting the long train of my wedding gown with his dagger. “You asshole!”
My. Wedding. Dress.
“There are prettier dresses in the world.”
“Prettierdresses!?” I darken as rage sharpens my tone. “You motherfuck—”
Rick lifts me up. “You’ll live.” He brushes off my insults without a care in the world as he resumes in dragging me along.
I make my body heavy in each step to fight against his hold.
Gone is the man with charm who saved me from embarrassment, danced with ease, and flirted with me. Now the man addresses me as if it all meant nothing.
Fucking. Asshole.
We reach the back door of the castle, the closest to the stables, as shouts and raised voices fill the air.
The terror of never riding a horse before has me digging my feet into the ground as Rick ignores the sound of soldiers’ boots hurrying toward us.
We approach one horse saddled with a few packs. The surprise of how large the saddle is, as if it was designed for two people, has me wondering how far in advance Rick planned this.
He gives the black steed a solid pat before directing his annoyance to me. “Your little lover isresourceful.”
“He is my fiancé,” I spit.
Rick rolls his eyes as he grabs a rope and ties my hands together.
I wince as he finishes the last knot, the rope rubbing uncomfortably on my skin. When I try to make a break for it, he tugs me, hands tightening around me enough to change the color of my skin.
