Edric shouted toward them at the top of his lungs.
“Her Highness is wounded! Bring a healer at once!”
At his shout, Lord Hart turned and commanded the knight behind him to fetch a mage immediately.
Before long, a young palace mage came rushing through the rocks.
While the mage knelt to examine the Princess, Edric set to work with the other knights, shifting the rubble away.
As they levered the boulder off her leg, the shredded hem of her skirt gave way, baring a knee and calf that were entirely crushed.
Edric swallowed hard at the sight of jagged bone splintering through the flesh. Mutilated like this, even the most potent healing magic might leave her lame for life.
“If the flesh knits over the wound as it is, the leg will heal hopelessly mangled. We have to bring her back to camp and set the bone first.”
Examining her wounds with a drawn, grim expression, the mage spoke in a hollow voice.
Edric’s gaze hardened.
“Will she last that long?”
“I’ve cast a mending spell to stem the worst of it. It should keep her stable for now.”
The mage let out a tired sigh, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Still, we need a splint so the bone doesn’t tear open the wound while we carry her. Is there anything stiff enough?”
“Take this.”
Lord Hart unbuckled his sword scabbard from his hip and held it out.
The mage accepted the sheath, testing its weight with a slight shake before giving a firm nod.
“I’m going to bind the leg now. Support it from beneath.”
Obeying the order, Edric carefully cupped her bruised, swollen calf with both hands.
The moment his fingers touched her, a raw scream tore from the unconscious woman.
The sudden screech made Edric flinch, and the broken limb slipped from his grasp, the exposed bone striking the rough earth as dark blood welled afresh. While he froze in horror, Varkas, who had been watching in silence from a step away, dropped to one knee and took the Princess firmly in his arms, securing her thrashing torso against his chest.
“Hurry. Stem the bleeding.”
Jarred back to his senses, Edric seized the leg once more.
The mage tore a strip from a cloak and pressed hard against the deep laceration running along her thigh. Her face buried against Varkas’s chest, the Princess gasped in feral, strangled agony, her crimson-stained fingernails digging frantically into the nape of his neck.
“Done! Bind the splint!”
At the mage’s call, the knights knelt and lashed the rigid scabbard against her ruined limb.
With the rough splint in place, Varkas gathered her limp body entirely into his arms and rose.
Edric reached out to relieve him.
“I will take her. Commander, your own injuries—”
Before Edric’s hands could touch her, Varkas pulled the woman tighter against his chest, retreating just an inch. Edric drew back, startled by the sharp defensiveness in the movement.
Varkas’s brows drew together with cool irritation, and he gestured toward the path with his chin.
“Leave it. Just lead. We have no time to waste.”
“My apologies, Commander.”
Edric bowed his head and raised his torch high to lead the march. The gorge was far too steep to carry someone so grievously injured straight up the face; they were forced to take the winding cliffside path around the edge of the camp.
Following the dark woodland trail, Edric stole a glance over his shoulder.
The torch flames flickered faintly against the line of Varkas’s jaw. His expression was not merely cold—it was almost utterly vacant, stripped of all feeling. Edric forced his eyes back ahead. Now was not the time to wonder what lay beneath that stillness.
Shaking the useless thought from his head, Edric pushed through the thick branches and quickened his stride.
It felt as though her leg were engulfed in flames.
A moan escaped Talia as the scald tore through her, burning down into the meat of her leg, and she forced her crusted eyelids open against the searing dark.
Through a blurred haze, she saw the pale fabric of a tent ceiling lit by trembling candlelight. A flash of disorientation took her, then, as she instinctively shifted, a bolt of agony shot straight through the marrow of her bones, ripping a shriek from her throat.
“Keep her still! Don’t let her thrash!”
The sharp bark of a stranger’s voice drew her unfocused gaze down to where a thickset, middle-aged man was bent over her mangled limb.
Bracing one forearm heavily against her thigh, he was working small iron pincers deep into the shredded mess of her knee.
A surge of animal terror widened Talia’s eyes, and she arched her spine to pull away from his grip. Instantly, heavy hands fell from behind and slammed her shoulders down into the cot.
“Your Highness! Stop, please!”
Gasping for breath, Talia craned her head up toward the figure pinning her.
The gaunt, exhausted face looming over her held a trace of familiarity. After several frantic beats, she recognized one of the maids Senevier had placed at her side. But recognition offered no comfort; it only chilled her blood.
Her eyes wide and wild, Talia darted her gaze between the maid’s grim features and the man digging through her open flesh, then lunged forward, clawing violently at the woman’s face.
The maid flinched back with a cry, her sun-darkened arms slipping away. Talia clawed at the sheets, trying desperately to drag herself to the edge of the cot, but an iron grip locked down around her wrist, pinning it flat against the mattress.
Talia fought with every ounce of strength she had left, kicking and snarling like an animal caught in a snare.
“Let go! Get off me!”
“Be still! We must treat the wound! If you move now, you’ll tear it apart!”
A man’s voice roared above her as his armored breastplate pressed down across her chest, crushing her breath away.
The restriction only fed her panic, and Talia thrashed beneath him with desperate fury. Every wrench of her torso felt as if her bones were tearing through skin, but the cold certainty that she had to flee eclipsed even the pain.
“No! Don’t touch me!”
“Get the draught! Now!”
The man shouted toward the entryway.
Through a veil of terror, Talia looked up at the rugged face looming in the gloom. It was her personal guard—the clumsy, thick-witted knight—his jaw clamped in hard, stubborn resolve as he held her down.
A suffocating sense of powerlessness, sickeningly familiar, tightened like a noose around her throat.
She tore her free hand toward his face, nails bared.
“Get away from me! Let me go!”
Her scream dissolved into a ragged, helpless sob, and the knight let out a low curse through his teeth.
Talia bucked harder, using the heels of her palms, but he caught both her wrists in a single crushing hand and forced a cold vial of glass against her lips.
“Drink it. It will all be over when you wake.”
Talia clamped her jaw shut with all her might.
He did not pull away. Keeping the lip of the bottle wedged against her teeth, the knight spoke in an urgent, pleading rasp.
“It is not poison! It only dulls the agony while they set the bone. Please, Your Highness…”
Even with his frantic entreaty, Talia’s teeth remained locked tight.
She could trust none of them.
They were only waiting for her to close her eyes, to leave her powerless so they could do whatever terrible thing they wished.
Snapping her elbow out, she struck the vial away, sending it tumbling, and twisted upright. She kicked out wildly with her bloody leg, desperate to wrench free from the hands pinning her down, when a tall, lean shadow stepped quietly through the flap of the tent.
Talia froze the instant she saw his face.
Carrying with him the cold, heavy scent of rain, the man reached out, his arms locking around her like an inescapable vice.
There was no time to pull away. Bracing his chest against her back, Varkas trapped her torso securely in the crook of one arm, then tipped his head toward the knight.
“Another draught.”
The knight scrambled to obey.
Taking the fresh vial, Varkas ripped the wax stopper out with his teeth, spat it aside, and pressed the glass firmly against her lips.
Talia stared wide-eyed at the dark liquid, then lifted her trembling gaze to his unreadable, impassive face.
His voice came low, quiet and unyielding.
“Drink.”
END