The Crowned Captive

Despite last night, Morana was more than glad when she woke up without her cheek pressed to Rowan’s chest. The bite of the cold was completely natural she realised as she sat up. No fae captor smirked at her from the furs beside her. In fact, her fae captor was nowhere to be found she realised. Guilt and adrenaline commingled in her blood as she realised that now was the chance she would get to escape. Without further delay, she found her clothes and dressed.

The indigo blouse she had chosen last night would attract far too much attention as she ran, but if Rowan came back to see her in anything else he would likely feel it odd. Her riding tunics were dirtied regardless, and she had not had enough sense to wash them in the lake last night. She wasn’t even sure if that was allowed in such a sacred place. Rowan had not asked her to, but maybe that was because they were close to the king’s location. Morana felt her heart tighten at the realisation that Rowan would likely suffer for her escape, and any genuine feelings between them would be ruined. She shoved the thought from her head. If he cared little enough to still take her to the king who may very well kill or torture her, she cared little enough to stay to save his skin. Immortal, quicker healing and stronger skin, she noted.

She was nearly prepared to run then as she shoved her clothes into the satchel, but remembered the dried meat. If she could find that satchel, she should have enough food if she needed to hide or lay low for a few days. She cursed under her breath, stalking back to the tent to find where Rowan had put the spare rations. She bent down then, sorting through the bags.

“I must say, I do like this view. But what on earth are you doing?” A gravelly voice asked behind her. Morana yelped and dried to stand, catching herself on the wall of the tent and falling off balance. Her face was mere inches from the ground as Rowan casually grabbed the back of her blouse, stopping her fall, before easing her onto the ground. When she turned to look up at him, his face was a mix of amusement and accusation.

“I was hungry and looking for the dried venison,” Morana snapped, hoping the embarrassment from nearly falling on her face covered her embarrassment at getting caught. Rowan looked at her for a long second, a withering look on his face, before he turned away.

“Where were you anyways?” She called out after him.

“I was contacting the king,” Rowan grumbled, seeming somewhat disgruntled. “He wished for an update on our progress.”

Rowan seemed to pause to say something else, then shook his head. He turned, grabbed one of the leather satchels from the corner, and chucked it to her before walking back out of the tent. She opened it to see the dried venison inside and started eating it mainly out of obligation. It had been nearly too easy to brush that off, and Rowan had given up the chance to fight. She may have fooled him for now, but something was wrong.

She walked out of the tent with a bag of jerky, happily chowing down on it and watched as Rowan sat and pulled the arrows from his quiver. He looked at her with a blank look before pulling a vial from his pocket, meticulously dipping each arrowhead into it before placing it back in the sheath. He had the sword strapped over his back again, and the dagger out beside him.

“Are you expecting an attack?” Morana questioned around a mouthful of meat.

“I was strongly recommended by the king to take precautions in the following days. I do not wish to ignore him and find them necessary,” Rowan replied flatly.

“Precautions against what?”

“Precautions against you. He said, and with great emphasis, that you are likely to be dangerous, clever and manipulative, and to not trust you for a single second. He said that the blood that runs in your veins is known for using people for whatever means they see fit.” Rowan dropped what he was doing and stared at Morana intently.

“He thinks me, a half-fae with no idea who her father even is, is dangerous enough to warrant... poison-tipped arrows?”

“They are tipped with a paralytic agent, but yes. He said you were dangerous enough to warrant an entire armed guard to escort you into the city, but he wanted to avoid the fuss.”

Morana couldn’t help but laugh, a hysterical sound that held no amusement within it.

“He really thinks that? He hasn’t gotten me mistaken with somebody else?”

“I don’t know, Morana. I certainly hope so, for both of our sakes.”

Morana frowned at that statement but did not bother asking what he meant. Probably that if she was who the king thought she was, she was likely to end up dead. It was a good thing she wasn’t going to allow her captivity to reach that point then. The arrows were going to be an issue, but that just meant she had to get out of range quickly enough. Or when Rowan was distracted.

Choosing to ignore the fact he was currently building an arsenal to incapacitate her at a moment’s notice, Morana chose to dig through the rest of the bags to find food for breakfast and handed him some bread, dried venison and cheese silently. Rowan looked at her for a long moment as she did, but she simply rolled her eyes and began packing as she ate. When she began struggling to roll the bedroll, she heard Rowan sigh and stop fiddling with the arrows. She continued packing the bags onto the horses as evenly as possible as he took apart the tent and packed the bedroll.

By the time they were finally ready to go, the sun had risen high enough to banish the last lingering reds and pinks of night’s fight. Morana untied her horse and swung up onto it before Rowan, fingers of anxiety clawing at her belly. She knew Rowan was on guard already, but any chance she got today, she would run. She would not allow herself to fall into the king’s hands if she could avoid it.

And so they rode, at a steady pace, for most of the day. Morana kept a close eye on their surroundings, and Rowan a close eye on her until they stopped for dinner at the edge of more woodlands. With Rowan not willing to let her from his sight, they ate a plain dinner of stale bread and dried venison before Morana had to excuse herself to use the bathroom. Rowan nodded but knocked an arrow, obviously at the ready if it was a ploy to run. She forced herself to look hurt and offended, hoping that would help him lower his guard. Guilt flashed across his face, but he said nothing else as she hid behind the bush to relieve herself. She knew the fae warrior listened to every sound, and she tried to push the thought from her head.

“We ride through the night. We are getting to the king as soon as possible. I can stop you from falling from your horse, just try and sleep,” Rowan said as they remounted. Morana nodded her head, somewhat disappointed. Already she could see dark circles forming under Rowan’s eyes, and she wondered how long he could keep this up.

The sun weakened and fizzled out, giving way to night as they made their way through the forest. Morana could feel Rowan’s attention on her constantly as the night grew old. Finally, without seeing a chance to run, she closed her eyes. When she next opened her eyes, the darkness had softened, and the very beginnings of light filtered through the leaves. Morana smiled for a moment at the beauty of the forest in the morning, before remembering where she was. And who she was with.

Rowan ahead of her was slowing to a halt on his mare. Morana followed in suit, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as Rowan dismounted and walked up to her.

“We ride through the day again, and should reach the city by the afternoon,” Rowan said, and if she didn’t know better there was sadness in his eyes. “Stay on the horse, and I will be back soon.”

Morana felt her heart flop as the elf indeed walked off into the trees, leaving his bow on his mare. He still had those arrows and the sword, but she doubted that those would be easy to throw to hit her. She swivelled her head as his footsteps faded between the trees, her eyes locking on to the bag of dried meat within her saddle bags. She looked back at where Rowan had come from then, hearing only silence. Her heart rose into her throat as she realised this was her moment.

This was her chance.