Rozmarie & Josiah

Rozmarie

"You must awake now, Princess," Lucas cooed. "We are nearly there."

I pried open an eye.

Blood.

Falling in a rhythmic drip-drip-drip onto the moving ground below. Except it wasn't cobblestone anymore, but brick. We were getting closer. I lifted my head and frowned at the overlaying topiaries in the gardens ahead. We were very close. Lucas was trying to sneak me around the rear of the palace so he could take me to my father without anyone knowing. So the king could deliver punishment as he saw fit.

I had to get free.

I struggled with my arms, rubbing my wrists raw from the rope cinching them together. I shuffled my ankles and the same thing. If I'd had the dagger, I could maybe slice through the restraints, but it sat lodged in my cloak.

There was only one thing to do.

It would hurt like hell, but I wouldn't put all of Dean's self-defense teachings to waste. It was my one chance to escape and I was taking it. I rolled myself back and forth, throwing my weight around, making it difficult to carry me.

"Stop it."

I moved faster, picking up speed so that Lucas's grip on me loosened. When it did, I flung myself off his shoulder with a mighty haul, hurling my body into the grass. Pain splintered through me. Pain and exhaustion.

Lucas snarled. His eyes flared as he marched toward me, furious with my attempt. Except as he bent down, I thrusted both legs forward, kicking him square in the face. Lucas stumbled back and fell to the ground. My thigh throbbed, pleading for me to stop already. But I couldn't, and I wouldn't—not until I was free. Lucas rolled to his feet.

"Alright," he drew his knife, blood spilling from his lip. "You want to play that game, Rozmarie? I'll play it."

Lucas meant to murder me.

I was certain.

But he'd retrieved his knife, which was what I needed. Pointing the blade at me, he stalked forward. Wrists and ankles still bound, it was the only move I had, so when Lucas got close enough, I lunged again, slamming my boots into his face and knocking him back for the second time. Lucas stumbled and dropped the knife. Momentarily blinded, he rubbed the dirt from his eyes as I rolled toward the weapon. I'd only have a few seconds. I needed to do it quick. Edging myself closer to the small blade, I shifted until I had it. Once I did, I gripped the handle and worked steadily, sawing the rope in half.

Up, down! Up, down!

The tiny blade sliced through the rope bindings, fiber by fiber as Lucas spun toward me, his eyes piercing me with hate. I continued sawing. He stood a yard away, his intense focus surveying me alone. What he wanted to do. How he wanted to make this hurt.

I nearly had the rope cut. Then my hands would be free and I could fight back. But Lucas stormed toward over, no intention of slowing.

Up, down! Up, down!

The portly guard stopped in front of me. He gripped me by the shoulder and yanked me to my feet. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out as he squeezed the injury, holding me in front of him so that my boots barely scraped the grassy mulch. I jerked my hand as fast as possible—up, down! Up, down!—praying the restraints would break.

Then Lucas threw his head back.

I knew it'd hurt. I knew it'd knock me out but there was nothing I could do to stop his heavy melon from ramming itself into mine. Lucas dropped me and I fell to the ground with a throbbing headache, certain he'd broken my skull. Everything grew dizzy. Everything was fuzzy. I couldn't see straight. I couldn't feel the grass. I teetered on the cliff of consciousness and the other. But I wasn't done yet. I brought a hand to my temple to see if—my hand! I'd cut through the rope!