A Queen Unchained

The moment Rowan said they are coming, something alive and sharp jolted through Victoria's body. Her fingers tightened around the hidden dagger, her pulse thudding fast enough to drown out the morning birds. She stepped back, letting her shoulder touch the rough bark of the tree. Her breath felt too tight in her chest.

"Who is coming?" she asked, louder than she meant to. "And why in the world would they be after me?"

Rowan's expression stayed calm, which annoyed her almost as much as it scared her. He looked like someone used to danger, someone who had walked through storms and learned not to flinch. He scanned the road behind him, then turned back to her.

"Victoria, you must move now," he said. "If they find you, you will be taken back before sunrise."

Heat rose in her face. "Taken? I left voluntarily. I am not a sack of flour someone can carry home."

"Your father does not care about your voluntary choice," Rowan replied. "He cares about what losing you will cost him."

She stared at him. "That makes no sense."

"It will," he said. "But you must trust me for the next few minutes if you want a chance to keep your freedom."

Trust him. A man who had followed her in the dark. A man who knew her name without introduction. A man who could be anyone, including someone dangerous.

She took a small breath and raised her chin. "I do not trust you. But I am not foolish enough to stay here waiting for whoever you are afraid of." She pointed her dagger at her trunk. "Help me carry this."

Rowan blinked once, surprised at her boldness, then nodded. He hoisted the trunk with one hand as though it weighed nothing. She tried not to stare at the ease of it, but curiosity tugged at her.

"What are you?" she asked quietly. "A soldier? A thief? A professional trunk carrier?"

He almost smiled. "A guard."

"A guard for who?"

"You."

Her eyebrows rose. "I do not recall hiring anyone."

"You did not," he said. "Your uncle did, months ago, before his death."

Victoria's breath caught. Her uncle had been the only person who made her feel understood. He had taught her how to hold a dagger without cutting herself. He had given her her compass. He used to call her, without fail, my brave girl, even on days she tripped over her own shoes.

"What did he ask you to guard?" she whispered.

"You," Rowan said again. "Your uncle believed you would one day attempt to leave. He wanted someone ready to protect you when that day came."

Her heart twisted. "He knew me too well."

Rowan glanced past her again. "They are close. We must go."

"Fine," she said, adjusting her cloak. "Lead the way. And if you try anything strange, I stab you and run."

"I understand."

"Good."

She followed him down the narrow forest path. He moved confidently, avoiding noisy leaves and branches, while she struggled not to stumble on every root that dared to exist. She was quick on her feet in her own manor, but the forest was another story. Still, she kept up. Mostly.

At one point she whispered, "What exactly is your plan?"

"To get you to Greenwharf before they catch us."

"And after Greenwharf?"

"We get you out of Aveloria."

She stumbled, nearly twisting her ankle. "Out of the kingdom? That was not in my plan."

"Your plan had holes," he said.

She frowned. "My plan was at least twenty percent solid."

Rowan slowed just enough to look at her. "Victoria, the men coming for you are not simply guards following orders. Your father hired trackers."

She felt her stomach drop. "Trackers? To collect his daughter?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "Why would my father go that far? I am not a danger. I am not Princess Loraine fleeing a curse. I am just a girl who does not want to marry a man with the emotional range of a teacup."

Rowan tilted his head. "Your father is concerned about political alliances. Your marriage to Cedric would merge two powerful families. If the wedding fails, he loses years of negotiation."

"So he would hunt me down like I am a lost coin?"

"Yes."

Victoria pressed her fingers to her forehead. "I knew my parents valued appearances, but I did not think they would panic this fast."

Rowan looked at her gently. "You leaving was not a small thing. And because of that, you must be careful."

She sighed. "I am trying."

"You are doing well," he said.

She looked at him in surprise, not expecting the small flicker of warmth in his voice. She turned away quickly so he would not see the faint flush on her cheeks.

They walked deeper into the forest, the sun rising slowly behind the trees. The air grew warmer. The path widened. The birds grew louder. Victoria began to relax, little by little, believing they had managed to slip away without being noticed.

Then she heard it.

Distant hooves.

The sound rolled through the forest like a warning. Strong. Fast. Getting closer.

Victoria froze. Rowan did not.

"Do not panic," he said quietly. "You panic loudly."

"That is rude and accurate," she whispered.

Rowan placed her trunk behind a large fallen log, then turned to her. "Stay low. If I say run, you run. Do not look back."

Her throat tightened. "What about you?"

"I will distract them."

She grabbed his sleeve. "Rowan, if they catch you because of me..."

"They will not," he said simply. "I have dealt with worse."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to insist they stay together. But the sound of the hooves grew louder, echoing through the trees, rattling her bones. The hairs on her arms rose.

Rowan stepped forward, positioning himself between her and the road. He looked calm, almost too calm, as though danger was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Victoria crouched behind the log, gripping her dagger so tightly her fingers ached. Her breath came short and rapid. She peered through the leaves just enough to see the bend in the road.

Three riders appeared.

Black cloaks. Heavy boots. Cold expressions.

Trackers.

Rowan stepped into the open path as if he owned the forest.

One of the riders slowed his horse and pointed his sword at Rowan. "We are looking for a girl. Brown cloak. Small trunk. Red hair. Have you seen her?"

Rowan's voice was steady. "No."

Victoria mouthed silently, You liar.

The man narrowed his eyes. "She is not far. We know she left the manor. If you are helping her, you will be punished."

"I am traveling alone," Rowan said. "You are wasting time."

The man swung down from his horse. "Step aside."

Rowan did not move.

The rider's jaw tightened. "I said step aside."

Victoria's breath caught.

Rowan lifted his head slightly. "Turn back. You will not find her on this path."

The rider growled. "Move."

When Rowan did not step away, the rider punched him.

Rowan barely flinched.

Victoria closed her eyes for a moment. She knew nothing about Rowan except that he was stubborn, quiet, and surprisingly gentle for someone with a scar on his face. She did not want to watch him get hurt because of her.

The rider tried to strike again.

This time Rowan caught his wrist.

In one swift motion, he twisted it behind the man's back and pushed him to the ground. The other two riders shouted and jumped off their horses.

Victoria covered her mouth to muffle a gasp.

Rowan looked like a different person now. Focused. Sharp. Ready.

She had never seen anything like it.

One of the other riders raised his sword and charged toward Rowan.

But he did not reach him.

Because the moment before the blade could strike, Rowan shouted one word she did not expect.

"Victoria, run!"

She shot to her feet.

The third rider spun in her direction.

Their eyes met.

He saw her.

A cold wave flooded her body.

Rowan yelled again. "Go!"

Victoria grabbed her trunk without thinking, turned, and launched into the trees, her heart racing, her breath tight, her legs burning with sudden fear.

The forest blurred around her.

Behind her, metal clashed with metal.

And footsteps followed her.

Fast.

Too fast.

Victoria looked over her shoulder once.

The rider was gaining on her.

She stumbled over a root, caught herself, and kept running.

The trees thinned ahead.

A drop of sunlight cut through the branches.

And then she saw it.

A cliff.

A real, towering cliff with nothing but open air beyond it.

Her feet skidded to a stop as the world fell away beneath her.

Victoria Halstead stood at the edge, chest heaving, dagger in hand, with a tracker closing in behind her.

Rowan's voice echoed faintly from somewhere in the trees.

"Victoria, move!"

But forward meant falling.

And behind her was danger.

She had seconds to choose.