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A sneer twisted my face. Disgust for him. For everything he stood for. I didn't care how warm it was in here. Whatever he had planned, was not going to end well for me.
There are very few things I know for certain and one is, beasts only care for beasts.
Instead of heeding his advice about sleep. I allow my eyes to wander towards to handle of the door closest to me.
I don't know how fast we are going but I was willing to risk it to get one last shot at freedom. One last ditch effort.
There are no windows. I have no idea where we are heading. I feel clueless, I feel lost and vulnerable. Everything is out of my control. Or at least it will be if I don't make it out of here.
Without thinking, without letting anything or anyone cloud my judgment, I lunge towards the handle.
I've never seen someone react that fast.
His strong hand grips my forearm pulling me back to the seat before I can even blink. His grip is powerful, not enough to hurt me but a pressing warning.
One look at him and I know he's pissed, but so am I.
I try ripping my arm away from him, not even thinking about escaping anymore, just getting him to stop touching me. It makes everything feel far away, so hazy and light. I hate it.
He doesn't let go of me. His intense stare makes me want to look down. Look anywhere but at him. I don't though. I swallow my nerves and I give him one last glare.
"You are a long way from home little fox. You have nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Don't do something you'll regret." His voice cuts down my hope one word at a time. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
Trapped. A trapped fox.
He finally releases my arm and I bring it back to my chest quickly. His eyes do not leave mine.
A wave of exhaustion seeps over me. I'm so tired. So tired of this life. Of running and running and getting nowhere.
I wish for home.
Home for me is an abstract concept. The village has never been my home. Not after my mother died. The people around me vacant-eyed and withdrawn. Dead in almost every way that counts. The closest thing to home for me is the feeling of warmth and the dirt beneath my feet. But even then I feel something is missing. Nothing feels complete. I've given up trying to figure out why or how to fix the feeling that I'm broken somehow.
I fill the hollow feeling with my anger and it works well enough.
I look away from him, still not saying a word. I rub my hands over my eyes and wipe down my face. The gash on my forehead is tapped over.
I wonder when that happened.
Looking down at my foot, I noticed it is wrapped too. The pain numbed, my mind either not processing what is happening or they gave me some healing herbs.
I bring my knees up to my chest, making myself as small as possible. His gaze drills into the side of my head. I do not meet it.
Resting my head on my knees. I clear my mind. Deep breaths. Whatever is going to happen, I can take it.
At least, that's what I tell myself. Although truly, I find it hard to believe.
His voice is soft again, soothing my jagged mind like calming a storm, "Sleep. The ride is long."
My head still on my knees, I manage to close my eyes. Counting the seconds to ten, and then starting all over again.
Nothing matters but the numbers. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten...
I do not fight my heavy eyes as I continue counting until I can't feel his stare. His heavy, scary, soothing stare.
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He did not lie when he said the ride was long.
Three days at least.
He let me out a couple times, to relieve myself like a fucking dog. He must truly see me as an animal, letting me out to stretch my legs like a good owner does.
He forced me to put on the nicest, warmest coat I've ever seen and the sturdiest shoes I've ever worn.
At first, I refused to wear them. My pride not letting me take anything from the wolf king. But the winter is harsh and as prideful as I was, I would be stupid to turn down something to shelter me from the elements.
I try escaping every time. And every time I was pulled back by him, dragging me back to whatever hell we are heading to.
I do not refuse the meals he gives me. It's not much, more than I'm used to though. I ended up eating to much the first time and almost vomited all over the floor of the carriage. Even though I am starving, next time I eat slower.
He stares at me. It's cold and calculating and it makes me want to scratch my own skin off.
He hasn't said much since telling me to sleep. The little things here and there. He asks me once about my family.
I stiffen when he asks me that. He doesn't know what he's done. Of course he wouldn't. The orders were probably vague when given. And know my mother is dead and my father a drunk.
I do not answer any of his questions.
If he grew frustrated by my silence he did not show it.
I observe small things about him. His posture is perfect, he treats people lower them him with some sort of respect but still manages to give out an air of 'I'm your king' that makes me want to slap his handsome face.
"We will be at the castle by tomorrow morning," I manage to keep a straight face instead of letting my questions rise to the surface.
Why is he taking me to the castle? Why is he giving me food? Why won't he stop staring at me? Why give me clothes if it's just going to be stained with my blood anyway?
I stop the words from leaving my mouth. Not wanting him to know what I'm thinking. Not wanting him to get a taste of my fear. Keep him in the dark about anything I can. Keep some semblance of control.
For a second I wonder if he'll make me his whore. King's have done it before. But the thought leaves my mind as soon as it gets there. I'm not pretty enough to be a king's whore. Plain and simple. I do not envy pretty girls, I do not spite them, although I admire them. I'm not stupid enough to believe I'm pretty. Gaunt face, a nose just a bit too big, brown eyes, freckled face and a body marred with scars. I'm nothing special. I'm okay with that, makes it easier to be in the shadows and just observe.
So the question remains. What does a king want with me?
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To Love A King
مستذئب(THIS WORK IS COMPLETELY UNEDITED, I WOULD SUGGEST READING THE GREED OF WOLVES INSTEAD UNTIL THIS BOOK HAS BEEN COMPLETELY READ OVER) One of his hands skims down my arm, while the other holds me in place. Keeping me close. While he does this, his no...