When they passed close to a place in which at least a battle took place, and bones or broken weapons were still scattered around the snow, Ayla lowered her head, the hood of the cloak covering her face. She felt as if everyone was glaring at her, accusing her, hating her for being King Amul’s daughter. It was almost dark when the King said that they had finally reached the camp. Ayla was so relieved to hear she could finally get off the mare. Even if all she did all day was to be on top of Star, doing nothing, Ayla felt exhausted. All she wanted to do was to curl up under a warm blanket and sleep until the next day. The moment her feet touched the ground, muscles she did not know she had hurt so bad that she yelped. It wasn’t just her legs that hurt. Even blinking brought discomfort. Her legs shook, and she fell to her knees. Tizgar took Star away while Milton called her name, but she was too tired to reply. She closed her eyes, thinking how perfectly happy she would be
Ayla slept poorly that night, not only because her ass felt as if it was on fire but because she could hear Milton and the King arguing in low voices. She wished she could have understood them, but it was a bit difficult when they kept talking in old Nordmarian. It was a strange language with difficult pronunciations, but Ayla was determined more than ever to learn it. When they would return to the Royal Palace, she would spend as much time as possible in the Royal Library studying books in old Nordmarian. Maybe she would find someone to help her learn it. She knew she could always ask Milton for help, but she didn't want the King to learn of her plans. When Gorn and Tizgar woke up, Ayla was still ashamed of what had happened the previous night. But she knew she could not hide beneath the furs and hoped everyone would magically forget what had happened. She gritted her teeth, got up, arranged her cloak and gathered her furs and blanket, and tied them to Star's saddle. After that,
After Ghost left, a parchment from the King in the metal cylinder, the small party resumed the journey. Earlier, the King talked with Gorn and Tizgar about hunting, but ever since he received the parchment from Droyn, he appeared to be worried. Very worried. ‘What could have contained that message to make him this worried?’ Ayla thought while she kept stealing glances at him. Tizgar and Gorn talked in low voices while the King sat on his horse in silence. He kept looking at the trees every five minutes, his brow furrowed. Ayla nudged Star to get closer to Milton’s horse. “What is he looking at?” Milton, who was lost in his thoughts, blinked at Ayla a few times and asked, confused, “What?” “The King, he keeps looking at the trees, then forward, then back at the trees as if they hold the answer to some riddle.” “They do. Well, in a certain way. Old Nordmarian runes and symbols are painted or carved on certain trees, or ropes with knots or colored beads are t
Early in the morning, King Rhobart, together with his Paladins, Milton, Ayla, and Kristoff, went to the barracks to see the war prisoners. Ayla spent many hours on top of Star while thinking about how King Rhobart treated the war prisoners. Many times, she imagined her people in cold cells, without blankets to keep them warm and slowly dying of hunger or because of their untreated wounds. But when she stepped inside the warm barracks and saw beds covered with warm furs and around thirty men that appeared to be in good health, she pondered if she had misjudged the King. Her gaze found his—he stood in the middle of the barracks, next to Kristoff, his black eyes on her. She gave him a curt nod and silently thanked him. He returned her nod as if to tell her, ‘You are welcome.’ The war prisoners sat at tables playing cards or rolling dice. A few of them were reading. “King Rhobart is here to talk to you.” Kristoff said, and the war prisoners rose from their chairs.
“Milton!” No reply. “Tizgar!” Still nothing. “Gorn!” No one shouted back. “Kerra!” When not even Kerra appeared, a sob escaped her lips. “Anyone?” Her voice was barely a whisper. She was panicking, for she didn’t know what to do. Star kept advancing through the blizzard, and Ayla tried hard to calm her nerves. How could she have gotten lost in the snowstorm? She thought she was right beside King Rhobart. What should she do? She did not know where the camp was or how to get there. She was lost and alone in Nordmar. Fear crept into her heart. What if a wild animal attacked her? She had no weapons. It would not matter if she had weapons, for in Myrthana, women were not allowed to touch any. She never learned how to fight. Ayla inhaled deeply until she felt she was in control of her emotions. Star kept walking, and Ayla had no idea in which direction they were heading. Should she stop the mare and wait for the
Strong arms wrapped around Ayla's torso, her back pressed against a man's chest. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she tried to slam the heel of her boot on top of the man's foot —Drax taught her how to do it when she told him her dream of being free and traveling around the world—but he hit the back of her thigh with his knee, making her hiss in pain. He covered her mouth and nose with a gloved hand, muffling her screams, and something sharp dug into her ribs. “If you don’t want to end up as food for the ice wolf, I suggest you stop struggling,” the man snarled in her left ear. The ice wolf stopped close to where they were standing, sniffing the air, and Ayla stilled. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure the beast would hear it. Ayla had few regrets in life, but she wished she had told King Rhobart that she did not hate him when she had the chance. Sure, she had been angry at him and might have thought she hated him, but he managed to gain her respect when sh
The two men, whoever they were, did not seem honorable. Not wanting to make the man angry, Ayla sat on the log that was across from the man with white hair. He looked at her with curious blue eyes. He had noble features, and, despite his white hair, he was young. “She is beautiful,” he sounded surprised. “There’s a brothel in Davalon that will pay a lot of money for her. And we can finally start a new life somewhere far from here.” Ayla balled her fists. They wanted to sell her to a brothel? Not that she expected the men to help her, but to sell her as if they owned her? The man with white hair studied Ayla for a minute or two. She kept her chin high and studied him back. He tilted his head to the side. “Not gonna lie, she is beautiful. But, Scar, are you sure we will receive that much gold for her?” he asked. “Trust me, Nixx, she is worth a lot. I have been in this business for a long time, and I have seen many women, but none as beautiful as her.” “I am not yo
Ayla looked into Nixx’s eyes and said, “I see you.” Nixx looked at her for a long moment. When Ayla thought he won’t say anything, Nixx opened his mouth, “You do see me.” Once Scar had Ayla pack the things in the satchels, he got on his horse. “Come on, Sweetheart, you are riding with me,” Nixx said and helped Ayla get on his horse. She had never ridden with someone before, and having someone so close to her made Ayla feel very uncomfortable. Nixx put his hands around her, grabbed the reins, and said into Ayla’s ear, “Hold on, Sweetheart!” before nudging the horse to start walking. “My name is Ayla, not Sweetheart!” she said. “You have a beautiful name, but I like Sweetheart more,” Nixx murmured into her right ear. “Bet you taste real sweet too! Tell me, Sweetheart, have you ever kissed someone before?” Ayla blushed and said in an appalled tone, “That’s none of your business!” “Quiet back there!” Scar’s harsh tone reached Ayla’s ears. In a seriou