Page 127 of The Faceless Queen

“Olivay!” Brennan cried out. He turned, handing the torch off to Rowan before sliding to his knees and hitting the ground. He scooped an arm behind my legs, pulling me up against him, and then he rose to his feet, holding me tight. His eyes searched mine in the firelight, worry all over his face, before he faced my captors, baring his teeth. “You fucking scoundrels!”

“We didn’t—we didn’t know! We didn’t know it was her—we couldn't see!” Stephen pleaded. “It was dark, Your Highness, please, we swear!”

“You think it matters that you did this in the dark?” Brennan growled. “You had her on the ground! I know exactly what you were about to do!”

“But we didn’t! We didn’t have time! And we didn’t know it was the princess!” Erick shouted.

“But it was, and you will pay with your Godsdamned lives!” Brennan said.

“No!” all three captors were yelling then.

“We didn’t see her! We didn’t,” Erick begged.

I buried my head against Brennan’s chest, startled that real tears were streaming down my cheeks. At that moment, the reality of what they had done to me, what they would have done if I wasn’t Azete, I could feel it, feel all of it. Everything started to catch up to me. Years at the tavern. Memories I’d suppressed because they were only “almosts” like tonight. Jaron. Cecelia.

And suddenly, I was actually crying, because for once, someone had come, someone had defended me, had believed me, had come to protect me. No one had done that for years. No one had cared. I’d had to be the one to save myself again and again, had to be the one to save Cecelia, and then doing so cost me my body, my name, and the life I’d fought for. I had to lose everything to survive, and all because a fucking man thought he was entitled to what he wanted.

I buried my face deeper into Brennan’s cloak, my chest rising and falling in explosive bursts.

He stroked my hair. “Shhh. It’s all right,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I swear.”

Maybe I was. But he wasn’t, not as long as he held me, not as long as he stayed with me. And I couldn’t take it. Couldn’t stand it anymore.

“B-Brennan,” I cried.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he said. “Far from this scum.” Then loudly, his voice carrying all the command of a king, he ordered his men. “Bind them all and keep them the fuck away from me. Or I’ll rip them all apart!”

And then he turned toward the lodge, rushing me back toward the clearing as screams erupted. I could hear the distinct sound of flesh pounding on flesh as the men weren’t just being bound. They were being beaten.

Good.

“Olivay?” Brennan’s voice shook as he rushed back through the trees. “Did they hurt you?” he asked, hoisting me up in his arms, holding me closer. He was anxiously looking at me all over. Then his green eyes widened, brimming with worry and concern as the torchlights outside the lodge lit our bodies in the clearing. “Did they touch you?”

I sniffled and shook my head. “They tried.”

His eyes darted wildly over my body, taking in my bare arms, exposed hands, collarbone, and ankles. Every inch of skin was soft, pristine, unblemished. As if I hadn’t been attacked at all.

“I don’t—” Brennan frowned, “I don’t see a single scratch or—” He swallowed roughly, hoisting me up in his arms, readjusting his hold. His gaze narrowed, and he shook his head. “Even your dress, there’s no tears or-or dirt.”

Shit. Shit! I had been injured, cut and scratched. I could feel the bruises across my arms and back already forming, the ache across my body dull. There’d been scratches all over my legs from their disgusting hands and unkempt nails, and scratches I’d gotten from running through the woods, from fighting the chimera.

But I’d been so focused on becoming Olivay again, on maintaining my appearance, and how she had looked when I’d last been her, on separating myself from the Azete, I’d shifted into her perfect, unblemished form.

There was a sudden burst of emotion from Brennan—so powerful that I connected to his mind.

I was Samara again, in the tavern room that first night we met. My long hair was curly and brown. My breasts swelled from inside my red coin bra.

Brennan swept my hair over my shoulders, inspecting my skin, looking for cuts, for the evidence of what he’d seen Geoffrey do. He knew it wasn’t the first time. He knew Geoffrey had been hurting me regularly. But he couldn’t find a single scratch. No evidence he’d ever put his hands on me tonight—or any night.

How? It didn’t make sense. He’d seen it—seen him hurt me with his own two eyes. Seen the tears form in mine. But they were gone. Healed. Except …

No one’s injuries healed that quickly.

I was thrown from the memory, the connection between us breaking as his emotions shifted from me to Samara, then to the Azete he’d met in the woods.

My heart thundered, and I sent a burst of magic to my dress, adding tears, some leaves from the ground, and then some mud, keeping it all to the underlayers, then sent the appearance of some cuts to my arms, hating I had to do this, had to stoop to this level of deception.

But before I could show him, a knight caught up to us. Half a dozen more trailed behind.