Daughters of the King |✓|

Chapter Eight

It was impossible to gauge how much time passed as we waited for the train to coast to a stop. Sitting on the cold, hard floor, every inch of my body complained, even my eyelids when I blinked. Thankfully my headache had passed, and all that remained was a sore spot on my scalp, where I'd hit the wall. It was my ankles that felt the worst, the pain dull and constant, and now the cut at my neck, too. Not to mention I was famished, but I didn't think I wanted to eat from the bags of uncooked rice or potatoes that crowded the cargo cart.

I glanced dejectedly at the limited supplies, illuminated by the rays of hot afternoon sun that cut through the open crack of the door, until my eyes accidentally landed on the soldier. I felt a small jolt. He looked asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, although probably on the edge of waking up since he was stirring.

Every muscle in my body twitched. This was my chance.

The train was still moving, but I could tell it had slowed considerably, so all I'd have to do is make it to the edge of the forest. The soldier wouldn't have a clear shot of me among the trees.

The tricky part was getting that massive door open without him noticing, in order to gain those few minutes I'd need to make it out of sight. But then what?

A sort of restlessness took hold of me and made the pain in my ankles sharper, filling me with doubts. I'd never hesitated before, not when it came to running. Running had always come naturally to me. I'd been born for it—raised on it. But this soldier wasn't the sort of enemy I was used to going up against. An enemy who'd dedicated his life to conquering a country—an enemy who lived and breathed for gods that had taught him to fear me with every fiber of his being.

And yet here he was. Sitting next to the very thing he'd been preached to fear most in the world: a woman. That alone was impressive.

My mind whirled as I debated. It would be stupid to run with injured ankles and a sliced neck, but wouldn't it be equally stupid to stay locked up in here with an armed soldier?

I raised myself slowly onto my aching feet and waited with held breath to see if he would move.

When he didn't, I made up my mind.

I threw myself towards the door. When I wretched it open, it resisted for only half a second before it gave with an awful screech, and then I launched myself out. I'd been right about the speed, we were just drifting now, and I managed to drop and roll as I hit the ground. I didn't pause to scan my surroundings—I didn't check if I was safe from savages—I just took off running. I suddenly felt safer going up against savages than staying with an enemy soldier, because at least I understood the savages. I'd met some before, here and there over the years.

I couldn't say the same about him.

I broke through the surface of the forest in a matter of seconds and heard the gun go off almost immediately after. Panic shot through me, near paralyzing me, and a flock of birds took off overhead, their wings beating the air as loudly and as frantically as my own heartbeat in my chest.

Somehow, I never stopped. I managed to keep moving, keep running. I wasn't even sure if he'd got me. Maybe I'd been hit but hadn't felt it—maybe I wasn't even alive as I pushed through the cluster of trees, the adrenaline vibrating in my veins.

I ended up spotting a thick cluster of bushes and throwing myself into them, flattening myself as close to the ground as I could manage, pine needles sticking into my clothes.

My best chance was to hide before he could catch up to me. My ankles wouldn't be able to endure anything else.

I fought to reign in my ragged breathing as I shrunk into the foliage, my body folded painfully. The only thought that ran through my mind as I crouched there was that I was dead, and I just didn't know it yet. Even my pulse in my ears seemed to be screaming: Dead, dead, dead.

It was a couple of long, painful minutes before my heartbeat slowed and my breathing became manageable. And like a fool, I actually believed I'd gotten away from him.

But then I heard it. The crunch of a boot in the dirt, barely a couple feet away from my hiding spot. He moved so quietly I hadn't heard him coming, and I felt another jolt of terror.

Did he have to be impressive in every way? Did he have any weaknesses at all?

Against all better judgement, I hoped—no, I prayed to gods I didn't believe in—that I would have the strength to be more reckless than him. It might be my only chance to survive, if his sanity was more intact than my own. I clung to that small thread of hope with every breath I had, and somewhere deep inside, I holstered my frayed sanity as though it were a weapon.

Then I heard something else. It was the boom of his voice—a military command that clapped back against the trees—and it shattered the stillness of the forest around us like a bomb.

He said the last thing I ever expected to hear.

He shouted my name.