A Queen Unchained

She had always imagined cliffs as dramatic, romantic places where heroines stood with wind in their hair while thinking poetic thoughts. In reality, they were terrifying. Sharp. Too high. Too final.

The cliff before her dropped straight down into a rushing river, the water foaming and smashing against rocks like it was angry at the world. One wrong step and she would be swallowed whole.

Behind her, branches snapped.

The tracker was close.

Too close.

Victoria tightened her grip on the dagger, her hand shaking. Her legs trembled in that weak, panicked way she hated. Wind whipped her cloak back, making her feel even more exposed.

Move, Rowan had yelled.

Move where? Into thin air?

She turned slightly, trying to find another path, but the cliff curved around her like a prison. She could not outrun the tracker. She could not fight him. She could not leap without breaking half the bones in her body.

Her mind raced.

Think, Victoria.

The tracker stepped into view, his boots crunching on the dirt. His face twisted in a cold, satisfied smirk.

"There you are," he said, breathing hard. "Your father will be pleased. You nearly caused trouble."

Victoria forced her voice to stay steady. "I am trouble."

It was bravado. Pure bravery flavored nonsense. But it gave her a bit of strength.

The tracker took slow steps toward her, sword raised. "Drop the knife. Come quietly."

"Quietly is not my style," she said.

Her eyes darted around, desperate for anything that could help.

A loose branch?

The trunk at her feet?

The river?

The river.

If she timed it right, if she jumped into a deeper section and angled herself correctly, she might survive long enough to reach the bank. That was a huge maybe. A wild maybe. The kind of maybe that made sensible people stay home.

Victoria was not sensible today.

She took a step back.

The tracker smirked. "You would not dare. You would die before you hit the water."

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe not."

Then she did something she had not planned.

She threw her trunk at him.

It was heavy, messy, clumsy, and completely unexpected. The trunk smashed into his chest, knocking him back with a startled grunt. He stumbled, dropping his sword.

Victoria did not wait to see if he recovered.

She ran.

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

And then she jumped.

Air roared in her ears. Her stomach flipped. Her scream tore out of her throat before she could stop it. The fall stole her breath, ripped it from her lungs, and replaced it with pure fear.

Then the river hit her.

Cold.

Violent.

Shock ripped through her body. Water closed over her head, dragging her down, spinning her like a rag doll. Her arms flailed, fighting for the surface. The current pulled her sideways, then down again.

She kicked as hard as she could, reaching for air.

Her head broke the surface for a moment. She gasped once before a wave smacked her face and dragged her under again. Her lungs burned. Panic tightened her chest.

She pushed upward again.

Her fingers brushed air.

She tried once more.

Her head broke the surface again and she coughed, gasping. Trees blurred past along the riverbank. She tried to swim but the current was too strong. It carried her faster and faster, tossing her like she weighed nothing.

"Victoria!"

The shout came faintly from the top of the cliff behind her. Rowan.

She tried to look back, but another wave blocked her view. She swallowed water and choked, fighting to stay afloat.

The river rushed her toward a bend. She saw rocks ahead and fear shot through her chest like lightning.

No.

She kicked, twisted her body, and aimed for the deeper water. She hit a smooth rock with her hip and cried out underwater, bubbles spilling from her lips. Pain burst through her side.

She forced herself back up.

The current slowed just a little as the river widened. She seized the chance, kicking toward a fallen tree near the bank. Her fingers reached a branch. Her grip slipped once, then tightened again with desperation born from pure survival.

She dragged herself closer, coughing hard, clinging to the wood like it was life itself. Inch by inch, she pulled herself toward the shore.

Her arms felt like they were barely attached. Her head spun. Her lungs burned as if she had swallowed fire.

But she made it.

With a final heave, she crawled onto the muddy bank, collapsed on her side, and lay there gulping air like someone who had almost lost the privilege forever.

Time blurred.

The world tilted.

Then footsteps crashed through the brush.

Victoria weakly grabbed her dagger, even though she probably could not lift it properly. Her vision blurred. Shapes doubled.

"Stay back," she rasped.

Someone knelt beside her.

Warm hands rolled her gently onto her back. She blinked hard, forcing her eyes to focus.

Rowan.

Soaked.

Breathing hard.

His hair dripped onto her cheek as he leaned over her, his eyes scanning her face with a mixture of relief and something she could not quite name.

"You jumped," he said in a low voice. "I told you to move, not leap off a cliff."

Victoria coughed again, wincing. "I improvised."

"You nearly died."

"But I did not."

"You could have broken your neck."

"But I did not."

His jaw tightened. "Victoria."

She looked at him stubbornly. "Would you rather I let that man drag me home?"

Rowan glared for a moment, then sighed, tension leaving his shoulders. "No. I would rather you stay alive."

She blinked at that. No one had said anything like that to her in years. Certainly not with such raw honesty. It settled somewhere deep inside her, warm in a strange, unexpected way.

He brushed wet hair away from her face. The touch was gentle, surprisingly so for someone who fought like a blade with legs.

She swallowed. "Did you kill them?"

"No," he said. "But they will not follow us for a while. One is unconscious. The others went searching the wrong direction."

Victoria nodded faintly. "Good."

Rowan studied her. "Can you stand?"

She tried pushing herself up and winced sharply. "My hip says no."

He sighed again. "I will carry you."

She stared at him. "No need. Give me a minute."

"You cannot walk like this."

"Rowan, I am fine."

"You nearly drowned."

"I said I am fine."

"You are not."

"Do not tell me what I am."

They glared at each other for a full second before Rowan finally leaned forward and scooped her into his arms.

Victoria let out a startled gasp. "Rowan!"

"Save your energy," he said. "We cannot stay here."

She wanted to argue again, but her body was trembling and her teeth had started to chatter. She tucked her face against his shoulder, partly to hide her exhaustion, partly because his warmth felt steady in a world that currently felt like chaos.

As he carried her through the forest, she whispered, "Why are you doing all this for me?"

His arms tightened around her just a little. "Because your uncle asked me to. And because someone has to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" she murmured.

Rowan did not answer immediately.

Then he said something that made her breath catch.

"From the truth your father has kept hidden for years."

Victoria's grip on his shirt tightened. "What truth?"

Rowan met her eyes.

"That you are not the only one in danger."

She opened her mouth to speak, but a rustle ahead cut her off.

Rowan stopped.

Victoria lifted her head slightly.

A shadow moved behind the trees.

Not a tracker.

Not an animal.

Someone else.

Rowan set her gently on her feet and pushed her behind him, his entire body shifting into defense without hesitation.

The bushes parted.

A man stepped out.

Dressed in green.

Holding a bow.

And aiming the arrow directly at Rowan's chest.

Victoria's breath caught.

Rowan whispered, "Stay behind me."

The archer pulled the string tighter.

"You should not have brought her here," he said.