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My hand falls to the hilt of my sword, gripping tight, the cool hardness of the pommel a steadying anchor against the maelstrom raging inside me. I have to get out of here. Have to warn them, my family, my people, before it's too late.
Have to...have to leave him, no matter how it tears and claws at something deep in my chest, something that wails and rages and bleeds at the very thought.
Not your mate, I remind myself savagely, blinking back the hot sting of tears. Not your king, or your lover, or anything but your enemy. Your captor.
Remember that, Lily. Remember who you are, and what you stand for.
Remember...and fight.
Gritting my teeth, I turn towards the door, my steps slow and measured, my senses straining for any hint of movement or sound beyond. The way seems clear, the corridor empty...but I can't take any chances.
Easing the door open a crack, I peer out into the gloom, scanning for guards, for any sign of watching eyes or alert ears. Nothing. Just the gutter and hiss of the torches, the distant murmur of reveling warriors in the great hall.
Slowly, carefully, I slip out into the hall, easing the door shut behind me with a soft snick. My heart is pounding, my palms slick with sweat as I grip the hilt of my sword, ready to draw at the first hint of discovery.
But the shadows remain empty, the silence unbroken. I take a shaky breath, sending up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever gods might be listening, and start down the corridor, keeping to the edges, the darkest pools of flickering light.
I've studied the layout of the stronghold in my time here, mapping the twists and turns, the choke points and bottlenecks. I know the guard rotations, the patterns of patrols, the places where eyes are most likely to be drowsy and inattentive.
And I mean to use every scrap of that knowledge now, to weave through this maze of stone and shadow like a ghost, a wraith, leaving no trace of my passing.
Leaving him, and everything he represents, far behind.
I slip through the halls like a shadow myself, darting from alcove to alcove, ducking into empty chambers and little-used stairwells whenever I hear the tromp of approaching feet, the guttural snarl of ogre voices.
My heart is in my throat, my blood thrumming with adrenaline and a sick, twisting dread. I can't shake the feeling that any moment, any heartbeat, I'll turn a corner and find him there. Grok. Waiting for me, knowing somehow, in that uncanny way of his.
And if he catches me, if he takes me...
I don't know what I'll do. Don't know if I'll have the strength to fight him, to resist the treacherous pull of my body to his, the aching need his touch ignites in my blood.
Focus, I snarl at myself, shoving the thought away with ruthless determination. Focus on what matters, on getting out, before it's too late.
Before you betray everything you are, everything you stand for...just for the sake of a monster's kiss, a beast's empty promise of love.
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache, using the pain to center myself. I can't think of him, of us, of the raw and raging hunger that even now pulses like a living thing between my thighs, in the secret, shadowed corners of my heart.
I have to be strong. Have to remember my duty, to my people and to myself.
Have to...have to let him go, no matter how it breaks me, how it carves me hollow and bleeding.
A shudder runs through me, a full-body flinch of grief and longing. But I don't slow, don't stop. I can't. Too much rides on my escape, on my warning.
Lives. Innocence. The very fate of my village, my world.
And so I push on, winding through the labyrinth of the stronghold, every sense straining. The halls grow emptier, the air colder, as I near the outer edges, the places where the bones of the mountain press close and dense.
I'm close. So close now, I can practically taste the crisp, pine-scented air of the forests beyond, the sweet, bracing flavor of freedom.
Just a little further. Just a few more turns, a few more breathless, heart-stopping moments of dodging patrols and clinging to shadows.
And then...then I'll be out. Away. Safe.
From the stronghold...and from him, the warlord who would make me his own, his captured queen, even as he destroys everything I love.
I reach a final corner, the last turn before the heavy iron gates that mark the boundary between my prison and the world beyond. My heart is a wild drum in my chest as I flatten myself against the cold, rough stone, straining my ears for any hint of movement, of watching eyes.
Nothing. Just the groan of the wind, the creak of rusting hinges. The way is clear.
