Page 32 of Wench

But no such alarm comes. Only the trees standing sentinel, in a hush so deep that she can hear her pulse in her teeth.

Marian exhales slowly through her nose, tasting the bile of her own nerves. She shifts the basket higher on her hip and keeps moving.

A fallen branch cracks under her heel with a tiny, mutinous sound, stopping her mid-step.

She waits. Nothing.

Her heart quickens. She ducks beneath a curtain of hanging moss as the wooden walkways give way to soil. The ground is soft, wet enough that each step sighs beneath her boots. It’s darker here – the kind of dark that has weight.

The earth shudders.

Marian stops in her tracks, the basket sliding from her hip to land soundlessly at her feet. Ahead of her, the trees bend until their boughs knit together, as if a hand presses them down, until the last strip of sky is gone. The air shifts in a way that draws the hairs on her arms upright.

Roots surge from the earth, twisting over her boots before she can jump clear. They tighten and yank her ankle down until her balance fails. A strangled cry echoes as her knees hit the ground. A branch lowers from above, curling around her shoulders, pressing her back against the trunk.

‘Let me go!’ she snaps, wrenching against it, but it only tightens.

The trees creak as if in answer. The sound is low, almost human, tinged with a groan of disapproval.

Marian claws at the root binding her until her nails split, dirt caking beneath them. Another tendril wraps her wrist, not crushing but holding, as though the forest itself means to steady a frightened animal. Tears burn before she can stop them.

‘Please?’ She slams her fist against the trunk, bark scraping her knuckles. The plea tears something loose inside her. ‘I’m tired of being caged by men who smile when they lock the door,’ she whispers, breath shaking. ‘Tired of being told what to be. For once, I want to choose who I am.’

The grove hushes around her. Then the pressure at her shoulders eases a fraction, no longer forcing her down, but not freeing her either.

A shadow breaks through the lattice of branches.

Lox stands a few paces away, antlers haloed in the dim green light that slips through the canopy. His cloak is unfastened at the throat, the wind teasing the dark edge of his hair, and for a heartbeat neither of them speaks. The hush between them is heavier than any command.

Marian drags her sleeve across her face, though it does little to hide the wetness there. She can’t tell how long he’s been standing there – how much he’s heard. Of the begging. Of the breaking. Shame crawls slow and hot up her throat.

Lox’s voice slides through the quiet.

‘Bold of you to continue to test Sherwood’s patience with your wandering.’

‘I wasn’t wandering,’ she snaps. She forces herself to lift her chin. ‘I was looking for something to eat.’

The corner of his mouth curves, slow and razor-sharp. ‘Ah. It’s your pride that’s brought you to your knees before roots, begging the dirt for crumbs.’

‘Pride?’ she spits, twisting against the branches still coiled at her arm. ‘Is starvation a sin in your perfect forest? Forgive me for not munching on cursed leaves and feeding off the sun like the rest of you.’

‘You’ve been offered food.’

‘Fae food,’ she seethes.

Lox’s head tilts, the antlers glinting faintly. ‘The same food that keeps every living thing in this forest alive. The same bread you refuse out of superstition.’

‘I’ve heard what happens when mortals eat from fae tables.’

‘And I’ve heard mortals choke on their own arrogance,’ he replies evenly. ‘Tell me, how long do you plan to cling to your fallacies before you realize they’re what’s killing you, Mare?’

She grimaces at the use of her name, shortened, softened by his tongue. It sounds different there, dangerous in its intimacy. ‘Better starved and free than bound by your trickery.’

‘You call gnawing at bark and stealing berries like a rodent freedom?’

She meets his gaze and holds it. ‘At least my hunger is mine.’

Amusement flickers through his eyes. ‘Your stubbornness would almost be admirable if it weren’t so idiotic.’