She sensed the threads in the electricity humming through her blood and shooting down her spine, setting every inch of her on fire. There was something unnatural about him, a discordant tone that terrified Liz. This was different and intense, a thrumming that threatened to shake her into pieces, a warning of what she would see when he touched her. His hand came down hard over her mouth anyway, his strength making a mockery of her struggles. The friction of his skin on hers sent her immediately to the place she dreaded, her eyes glassed over as the mist swirled against her skin and the snow chilled her.
Wordless screams and the clanging of steel against steel rang through the distant howling of a strong winter wind. She was here again, on the same battlefield with the white knight. This time she saw the battle through his eyes, from atop his white stallion. His hand gripped a large sword, swinging it confidently in a circular motion as he guided his steed through the writhing mass of men below.
With a swing of his arm, he beheaded a man. Another he trampled, and on and on and on, mindlessly. Disgust and horror thrashed in the pit of her stomach. So much death, so much blood. The violent throng surrounding her seemed to breathe. Sometimes there were more of the Dragon's soldiers desperate to kill her, and other times they beat back the tide. All the men had dead eyes, all of them merciless and killing each other. Until finally the general pointed out the man on the white horse, his command echoing out over the battlefield as he locked hateful black eyes on her.
Things became more jumbled, as she lost control of her sword hand. Hands reached for her from every direction, pulling at her and dragging her down, down, down. Her armor kept her too heavy to escape from them. Blades slipped in between her ribs and at the crook of her neck. Her thighs, her arms, her chest, nowhere was safe from the sting of them until the last of her warmth seemed to seep into the snow around her. Forcing her eyes down, she couldn’t unsee the damage done. The snow was stained dark with her heart’s blood. On her hand was a gold signet ring bearing a familiar sigil. An old sigil she’d seen in passing during her studies in the royal library. She couldn’t remember its significance, but recalled it all the same.
As the mist faded from her eyes, she recognized the man who saved her staring at her with clear expectations. His handsome face could make a woman forget herself, most assuredly. She could imagine herself running her fingertips over the stubble on his strong, angular jaw. His lips were sculpted and his hair a golden mane drawing perfect attention to the clearest green eyes she'd ever seen.
"Oi! Did you hear me?" He waved a hand in front of her face in a frustratedly impertinent manner.
"What?" She pushed his hand away and frowned.
"I told you to get on the bloody horse."
He dragged her over a small hill towards a stocky work pony tied to a thin birch tree. She attempted to pull out of her tight bindings to no avail and scoffed at him in disbelief.
"I most certainly will not," she stated matter-of-factly. He stared at her for a moment before crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes.
"What do you mean you will not?"
"I won't leave Tia behind. You can’t make me.," She wouldn’t abandon her friend. Instead she dug her heels into the soft mud, refusing to leave.
"If you don't climb on this horse, I will tie you to it like a sack of potatoes." He used his hands to demonstrate his point, as if she were too stupid to understand him. When her resolved expression didn’t change, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before squaring off against her.
"We don't have time for this. The others will come back soon, and if they find you, I won't be able to help you escape again. So, climb on the horse, or I swear I will leave you to those men and I won't look back." He was serious, and as much as she didn't want to leave Tia, she couldn’t be left to the bounty hunters. She couldn’t be returned to the Dragon.
"Fine, but untie me first," she spat, brandishing her still-bound hands for him to see. Before she could protest, he hauled her over his shoulder and slung her across the back of his horse.
"How dare you! I was doing as you asked, you stupid—" She huffed dramatically, not daring to kick or squirm too much in case she spooked the horse beneath her.
"I left my dagger in your captor's thigh. No way to untie you yet." He mounted the horse and gripped her by the back of her corset to keep her from tumbling off as he began to ride. Every step knocked the wind out of her and made it hard for her to speak, which surely, he knew. He might have saved her from the bounty hunters, but he was no hero.
"I hate you!" she screeched out between breaths, though she regretted it. With the wind driven from her lungs, the clopping of the horse’s hooves crushed her own weight painfully against her ribs. Without breath she couldn’t even protest or groan.
"You're welcome, by the way. For saving your life," The man responded. She grimaced, unable to curse him again. Shouts came from behind them, and Liz craned her head to see what was happening. Two of the bounty hunters, one with an ominous black stain on his thigh where her kidnapper stabbed him, were running faster than any man she’d ever seen before, fast enough to overtake their horse.
“Hurry!” she shouted between clenched teeth. She felt the man dig his heels into the pony, and the wind whistled around them as they picked up speed. The bounty hunters gained on them so rapidly that she could stare into their eyes, reptilian and cold; blackness swallowed the whites of their eyes and crept down the veins of their cheeks.
The pony found its footing, and in moments they left the crazed men behind. The hunter didn’t slow their mount for a long time. Low-hanging branches tore her clothes and hair. When he did slow, Liz tried to raise her head and shake the curls from her eyes to take in her surroundings. She had no idea how far they’d ridden or even in what direction. How would she find her way back to Tia?
Wherever they were, there was a meager camp and a fire that had burned down to nothing. The man swung his leg over the horse and dropped down fluidly, holding loosely to the pony’s reins. His eyes flicked through the trees, as though looking for something or someone who wasn’t there. Liz slid carefully off the horse and onto her feet while he was distracted, taking long slow breaths until her ribs felt less bruised.
He turned to her with a scowl, and Liz remembered the way the bounty hunters spoke about Tia. Your little friend is fair game. Liz wasn’t a princess here; maybe she wasn’t a princess anywhere anymore. Every person in Aegis, save Tia, now posed a threat to her. Should this man discover who she is or that she’d fled the sacrifice, he may want to revenge himself upon her. She shuddered, her fear crawling up her throat. When her rescuer took a step toward her, she hurtled down the path, her bound hands stretched in front of her as she crashed through the underbrush in a frenzy.
He swore, his voice so near to her back that she yelped. Before she could do anything else, he yanked her elbow hard enough to force her off balance. They tumbled in a painful heap of flailing limbs, elbows and shoulders colliding with softer parts as they slid down a steep embankment. They slid to a stop at the base of the hill, and he settled his weight on top of her.
Liz clawed at him, aiming for his eyes and neck, her legs kicking uselessly beneath him. Her nails found purchase against his skin, and he hissed. Small rivulets of red stained the collar of his shirt before he pinned her still bound wrists hard against the ground above her head.