"The boss will be pleased with us," the leader of the group was saying as they rode on through the woods at a canter. Darkness had fallen not long after they had reached the treeline, plunging the woods into a blackness in which the shapes of tree and rock only became discernible once you were upon them. Her eyes had adjusted enough to make out the outlines of her closest captors and the leader of their group who rode on at the front of the procession was never quiet long enough for her to lose track of his position.

"It was a good plan," a man on her right spoke. If his voice was any indication, he was quite young. She shot him a look of hatred that she knew he could not see as he continued. "Though I have to say I am a bit impressed with the lord's dedication. Thought he was gonna let us slit his brother's throat right in front of him."

She lowered her head. In truth, she had too. She had seen it in his eyes. Lord Huntington had resigned himself to the fact that he was going to protect her no matter the cost but his brother's life was not a price that she was willing to let him pay. Maybe these men would kill her and maybe they wouldn't. Maybe Lord Huntington would be angry with her for her decision but at least he would not have to live with the burden of sacrificing his own brother.

The man on her right was distracted now by the conversation with his leader. The others were in a celebratory mood. All but the man holding her horse's reins. He was close enough to see even in the dark. His expression remained serious despite their Lucieny and he stared straight ahead with the solemn countenance one might expect of a jailor.

Briar felt her long unused training returning to her slowly. She had a blade in her boot, the small paring knife that she had lifted from the kitchens. If she could somehow get to it, she could free herself of her bonds. But it was impossible to reach the contents of her shoe from her bound and upright position on the horse. And even if she did manage to get the knife and free herself, what then? There were at least a dozen men surrounding her and these were not like the commoners who had ambushed her wagon on the way north. These were men of the army, lord's men, trained and under a command. Even if she managed to cut a few of them down, the rest would overtake her quickly enough and men were known to forget their orders when angry.

She could run. It seemed the best of her limited available options. But even if she managed to outrun a horde of trained soldiers on horseback, where would she go? It was so dark she couldn't see a few feet in front of her. They had been winding through unseen forest paths for hours. She would never find her way back to Northbrook and who was to say that whatever she did find wouldn't be worse than her current company. At least, they hadn't killed her yet. They seemed to be keeping her alive for some purpose and, as much as she hated to admit it, it seemed that her best course of action would be to sit tight and wait to see what that purpose was.

So she settled in for what the leader promised would be along night of riding and thought of all of the possibilities and of how she could be prepared for them. She would have to get to her blade as quickly as possible, that much was certain. She was sure she could fight any of them with her fists but not with her hands tied like this and not so many of them.

She sat back into the steady rhythm of her horse's canter, lost in her preparations, listening to the sounds of the jovial and perhaps relatively intoxicated rebels around her, eying her stone faced keeper from time to time, daydreaming about bringing her boot up to meet his meaty jaw. She tried her best not to fall asleep on their journey, needing to be alert as possible but the blanketed darkness and rocking of her horse made even that nearly impossible.

A few hours later, Briar believed they must be coming upon their destination judging from the growing restlessness of the men around her and the thinning of the woods. They emerged in front of what must have been a fairly large estate. Briar could see candlelight streaming from particular windows and torches set out in the yard.

They led her on through the gates into the main courtyard which was packed to the brim with tents that she could only speculate housed soldiers wearing the pin of the rebellion.

When they approached the old castle's doors, she was helped roughly from her horse and to her feet, the young man who helped her taking a much firmer hold of her arse than was strictly necessary. Then she was led forward into the estate itself and through dark hallways and up and equally dark set of spiraling stairs in a rounded room that seemed to ascend forever. From that, she gathered that they were in a tower of some sort.

At the top was a door. They pushed her through it and into the room beyond, two of them following her inside. They entered to find the chamber's only inhabitant drawing the shutters closed of a window facing north. There was a tree outside so tall that it's branches nearly extended into the room with them. It would be possible to catch herself on such a branch if she had the opportunity to leap for it, she thought, noticing that the man closed the shutters but did not latch them. Clearly, this man had limited experience with the desperation of prisoners. When he turned to face her, she was surprised to find she knew him.

"Lord Morgan," she said. He smiled wickedly in response.

"Princess Briar Aldrich," he answered. "You have no idea how long I have looked forward to this meeting. We've had quite a time finding you. I should have known the moment your uncle fell ill that you would run like the cowardly woman you are."

"I'm the coward?" Briar laughed aloud. "You're the one hiding in your tower while common soldiers do your bidding, never telling anyone who pulls their strings."

She could tell she was angering him by the pronounced vein throbbing in his forehead but she simply couldn't help herself.

"And as for which one of us is the woman," she began with a derisive grin. "Well, if the rumors are true, Lord Morgan, you've bedded more men than I."

"Enough!" Lord Morgan exploded. Face red and fists clenched, he rounded his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment, slamming it and a pen to the top of the desk. "Sign this."

"What is it?"

He smiled again. "There's a baby downstairs. This document states that he is your bastard son. When you come upon your... untimely death, this document will name him as sole heir and successor to your throne."

She stared at the pen he held out to her, knowing that she was as good as dead the moment her signature was on the page. So this was what they had been saving her for. She needed to stall though she had no idea what she was stalling for.

"Whose baby is it?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that we will raise him to know what is right."

"A chauvinist then."

His lip twitched.

"Sign the document," he said.

"No," she answered.

"You will sign it."

"I will not," she persisted. To her surprise, he smiled.

"Gentlemen," he said to her guards. "The princess is refusing to cooperate but I think we can convince her. It may just take a bit of... rough treatment. So, who wants to have the royal whore?"

Before she could react, one of the men was on top of her, pinning her tied up hands over her head and bending her backwards over a nearby table. She cried out in a mixture of fear and fury as she felt him eagerly pressed against her thigh.

"Would you like to renegotiate?" Lord Morgan asked. She only stared at him, hating him, memorizing every line of his young, wicked face, until he sighed and leaned back against his desk, arms folded around his midsection. "Very well. Carry on then."

The man smiled so that she could see the spaces where his teeth had rotted out. She tried to push him away but he held her hands firmly so that she could not interfere. He began to lift her dress, pulling the hem up toward her waist.

Suddenly, an arrow pierced directly through his left eye and he fell, motionless, on top of her. She gasped, the other man shouted something. She shoved the man off of her and grabbed the blade from her boot in one quick motion, turning to disable the other guard but she was too late. As she faced him, another arrow pierced his own chest. She turned to see two familiar faces perched together on the window's ledge, bows poised after having just shot their arrows. Douglas and Lord Huntington himself. He smiled at her as he lowered his bow but that smile faltered when they both heard the telltale sound of steel being unsheathed from behind her.

Then Lord Morgan was behind her, arm slung around her shoulder, knife at her throat. Both Douglas and Lord Huntington nocked another arrow but could not shoot for fear of hitting her. With a quick movement, Briar jerked the blade concealed in her hand back, stabbing Lord Morgan right in the stomach. He pulled away, clutching his abdomen, hands coming away slick with his own blood. He fell. She stomped on his arm, making him release his dagger. She knelt on his chest and held it to his throat. That's when she heard the boots on the stairs beyond, rebels responding to the cries of their fallen.

"Princess," Lord Huntington said but she kept her gaze on the knife in her hands, ready to slit this man's throat. Lord Huntington tried again. "Briar."

She looked at him.

"We have to go."

Reluctantly, she stood, glaring down at Lord Morgan.

"If you survive this," she told him. "Tell your rebel friends that the next time they come for me, they'd better finish me."

She turned for the window and Douglas hopped down into the room to help her climb up. Lord Huntington reached out a hand in support and she grasped it, feeling that familiar surge of electricity and attributing it to the adrenaline coursing through her veins. From atop the ledge, it was clear that Douglas and Lord Huntington had climbed through the adjacent tree but luckily had the foresight to bring a rope and secure it to a cleft on the outer walls of the tower. Lord Huntington gripped it now and used his upper body strength to easily lower himself down to the ground far below. She was next. She gripped the rope and did the same, pleased with the look of surprise on Lord Huntington's face as she leapt to her feet next to him. Douglas joined them a moment later.

"I'll get the princess a horse from the stables," Lord Huntington spoke rapidly. "I'll meet the two of you where we left our own."

"My Lord, please, let me-" Douglas started.

"You don't know where the stables are. And we don't have time to argue. Go. I'll meet you there as soon as I can. If I haven't come within the hour, go on without me."

Douglas and Briar opened their mouths to protest but Lord Huntington didn't give them time to. He just simply ran off. Douglas cursed him under his breath and then, gently but quickly, led Briar through the forgotten outskirts of the estate and back into the woods beyond. There was a clearing hidden quite a ways into the forest where two saddled horses waited, patiently munching on the grass beneath their hooves. Douglas busied himself with arranging to leave while Briar sat on a log and focused all of her energy on not shaking or getting sick.

Douglas became more and more agitated the longer they waited. Briar found herself beginning to worry after about half an hour had passed. Soon enough, she was watching Douglas pace, glancing at the clearing opening at every minor noise.

When it had just about been an hour, they heard the sound of hoofbeats. Douglas quieted her by holding up a finger and they both listening. One horse, just one. A moment later, Lord Huntington came galloping into the clearing. The relief that flooded through her at the sight of him vanished when she saw that he was clutching his upper arm, blood running through his sleeve and down his arm. He hopped off of the horse and winced.

"You're hurt," she gasped.

"One of the bastards got a piece of me with their sword," Lord Huntington explained, sitting down on the log that Briar had vacated. "I don't think it's too deep a gash."

"Let me see," she ordered, peeling off his jacket to see the white, buttoned shirt stained red underneath. She pulled Lord Morgan's dagger from the band of her dress and cut the sleeve, tearing it away to see the wound underneath. It was deep but not too deep. Still, she would need to tourniquet it to stop the blood. Holding the dagger between her teeth, she knelt and ripped a bit of fabric from the hem of her dress and began to tie it tightly around his upper arm, near the shoulder joint.

"Sterling," Douglas said, drawing Lord Huntington's attention to him. "We've officially attacked the rebellion."

Lord Huntington sighed, knowing well what that meant.

"Ride to Northbrook, stay there with my brother in case of an attack. Send Cora to Corinth with the Duke and the Duchess. The princess and I will meet them there," he commanded, wincing at every tug of his arm. Douglas nodded.

"They'll be out to find you by daybreak," Douglas warned. "You won't be able to take the roads."

"We'll keep to the trees and take a circuitous route."

Douglas nodded and the two men exchanged a look of goodbye. Then Douglas mounted his horse and rode off at top speed.

"We need to go as well," he told her. "We'll need to put as much distance between us and this estate between us as we can by daybreak."

"But your arm-" she started but he was already getting to his feet, checking her work.

"You did well. This should last for a few hours."

"Not with hard riding."

"We'll stop when I bleed through. Now, we must go."

He was gripping her shoulder with his good hand. She nodded. She moved to help him onto his horse but he swung himself up without her help. So she mounted her own and off they went. She followed close behind him, urging her own horse to maintain the ambitious pace set by his own. They rode for hours, far past daybreak, and she could see him getting more and more uncomfortable in the saddle as they went. Sometime in the afternoon, they came to a clearing. There was a beautiful lake with a waterfall just on the other side of a large rock formation sitting by the treeline. Lord Huntington brought his horse to a stop and looked her way, exhaustion present all over his face.

"How does this look as a stopping point for you?" he asked. "Corinth is still some miles away but we've put a good distance between ourselves and Lord Morgan."

She nodded and vaulted from her saddle. He smirked as he climbed gingerly from his own.

"I've never seen a woman ride a horse as comfortably as you do," he told her. She smiled. They stared at each other for a moment and then he cleared his throat.

"I'll go and find us something to eat," he announced and then was gone before she could protest on account of his arm. Lord Huntington spent the better part of the afternoon hunting in the forest. Briar busied herself by setting up their temporary camp. The sand on the other side of the rocks was light and soft. It would be a good place to sleep. She found some solid firewood on the outer edges of the clearing as well as a few edible berries and a useful aloe plant. She placed the berries onto a nearby rock and built a firepit for them to cook what he had hunted. He returned just after she had built the fire and the sun had begun to set. Once they had cooked and ate the two rabbits that he had shot, it was dark but they sat on nearby rocks illuminated by the firelight. Lord Huntington moved to place another log on the fire and winced in pain. Briar sighed.

"Will you please let me help you?"

He nodded. She stood and approached him. He was close enough to the fire that she could see him well but something else was obstructing her view.

"Your shirt is in the way," she told him.

"I would take it off but I'm afraid I can't raise my arm above my head," he told her.

"I hope this isn't one of your favorites."

"Why-"

She ripped it then, tore it in half and threw it to the side. Then she used what part of it was still clean, unstained by his blood and submerged it in the lake, using the water to wash away the dried blood and clean the wound, trying in vain to ignore the way his back muscles tensed when she touched him, the strong arm she held under her fingers and the muscled chest heaving in anticipatory breaths. She worked quietly, cursing herself whenever she distractedly watched the dripping water run down his bulging biceps.

"Why did you give yourself up for my brother?" he asked suddenly. She sucked in a breath, tried to shrug it off as nothing, but knew she had to be honest with him.

"He is important to you," she said and then added. "And you are important to me."

The muscles in his back visibly relaxed.

"Besides, I never asked anyone to make sacrifices for me," he nodded. "Why did you come after me?"

He tensed again. She had the urge to reach out and touch the muscles there.

"I made an oath," he told her.

"You're quite the patriot," she told him softly, reaching out. Her fingertips brushed the skin of his back and he tensed but only for a moment.

"Perhaps I had other motives," he confessed.

"Mmm?"

She trailed her fingers across his back, connecting shoulder blade to shoulder blade and then tracing his spine down.

"Even when you were just a maid, I didn't- I mean, I've never been able to talk to someone so easily."

Her fingers crossed to his shoulder and slid down the length of his good arm. She followed it, walking slowly to his side.

"I thought I might- I care for you. I care about what happens to you."

He still wasn't saying it. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe she didn't need him to. She traced his arm to his chest and walked around to face him touching the hardened muscles there and gazing into his clear blue eyes. He took a breath. She moved closer. Then their lips met and her brain was abuzz with an electric current that sent shivers up her spine and explosions through her extremities. He hesitated and she was afraid that he would push her away but then he deepened the kiss and put his arms around her, pulling her in instead. She felt his tongue slither through her lips and explore her. She straddled and sat on his lap. He held her close and sat straighter, his injured arm seeming to be no hindrance to him now. She kissed him passionately and he reciprocated in kind, their breaths coming in quickened gasps as they strove to get closer however they could. His hands slid down her back to rest on her arse, leaving a trail of sparks where they had touched. She leaned into him and drank him in, pressing her body against him as if they were becoming one. She felt her dress slip, exposing a shoulder but she made no move to fix it.

Briar wasn't sure when it had actually happened but it seemed that both of them became aware of the hardness pressing against her thighs at the same time. She pulled back but only slightly, realizing she had no intention of stopping. But before she could do anything at all, Lord Huntington jumped up from his seat and ran a hand through his hair.

"That's- I'm very sorry, I didn't- we should sleep," he blurted. Briar felt her heart drop in her chest, hurt. He started to walk away but then turned to face her. "Princess."

He bowed awkwardly and walked a few feet away where he sat facing away from her. Princess. So that was the issue. Her title had created a veritable barrier between them. Well, she thought as she sat on her own patch of sand a ridiculously respectable distance away from him, she would just have to break down that wall.