I hurry to my feet, struggling to bring my world into focus despite my pounding head.

"Look what we have here, lads. She is but a wee thing; too bad her man didn't keep a better eye on her." The dirty face of the man across from me breaks into a smile, displaying the few teeth remaining in his mouth.

An unnerving roll starts at the pit of my stomach and spreads throughout my body. There are people who live in our kingdom who don't follow the rules of the land. The outlanders are known for stealing and performing disgusting acts on unexpecting travelers. Micah has worked tirelessly to run them from our land, but it's difficult when they drift and have nothing to lose.

I set my jaw and inch my hand toward the hilt of my sword.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. It would be easier for all involved if you didn't put up a fight," says a robust man with a long, tangled beard adorned with beads.

"Look at her fancy clothes." A younger man sweeps his hand in front of him, and a gust of air catches my cloak and pulls it behind me. He rakes his gaze over my tight riding clothes. "I bet we could trade those leather trousers for a round of pints."

"My trousers will remain on my body, sir," I say, my words leaving my mouth on a growl.

"Is that a challenge, girl?" the first man asks.

"I sure hope it is." The younger man licks his chapped lips while his fingers trail down his bare chest and over the front of his weathered trousers. He grips himself in a lewd gesture, saying, "I enjoy fighting women out of their clothes. So what will it be: are you gonna fight or be a good girl?"

I hold his stare, and he provokes me with a cocked eyebrow. Anger and disgust boil within me; my face burns, and my muscles coil until they quiver and I can't contain it anymore. I draw my sword and lunge forward. "Fight," I hiss.

The young man pulls his sword and metal clinks against metal. I keep my moves swift and precise, waiting for him to topple me over with a blast of hurricane strength wind. It quickly becomes apparent that I've seen the extent of his powers when he does nothing more than block each of my blows with sloppy swings of his blade. I jump back as he swipes at my abdomen, catching a button on my coat.

"I'll undress ya piece by piece," he says through his laughter.

"Perhaps I'll carve you to pieces instead." I plunge forward, slicing through the ragged sleeve of his open shirt, leaving a wet, red line.

"Bitch," he spits, cutting his blade through the air.

"You're not having fun?" I ask.

He's not as formidable as I thought he would be. Perhaps it's the stale whiskey wafting from him or the constant twitching of his limbs. Either way, I'm glad all his faculties aren't at their finest.

The sharp edge of my sword runs over the back of his hand, and his weapon tumbles to the ground. I cut through his thigh, sending him to his knees. Feeling empowered, I toss my sword from hand to hand and smile.

"Who's next?" I ask over the wails of my first challenger.

The standing men exchange glances and charge at me. One opponent I can handle, but two—I'm completely out of my skill level. My smugness vanishes and I sprint through the woods.

"Come on, little girl."

"We won't bite unless you beg us to."

My chest tightens like a heavy ball expanding within me, and I swat away the sweat trickling down my face. My legs quicken as the men's calls bounce through the trees from every direction. The rocks and vines blanketing the forest floor command my focus, and the leaves from the thick canopy block the sun. I'm trapped within a dark, unending labyrinth.

Whipping my head side to side, I examine the thick brush surrounding me. If I continue into the dense forest, I risk becoming tangled in the vines. Their sharp thorns will dig into my skin and snag my clothes. I tilt my head back and stare up at the sturdy branches crossing over each other, and my stomach somersaults.

"No, no, no," I chant, searching for another escape route. My options are limited, thorns or heights. My best bet for survival might also send me plunging to my death. "Fuck!"

I dig my fingers into the bark, clinging to my sword, and the soles of my shoes find enough purchase in the jagged trunk to push me up. My muscles tremble under the strain, and my palms grow slick. It's a fight to keep my gaze from wandering as I move higher, looking no further than the next branch within my reach. I stretch toward the first limb, my fingertips grazing the underside.

"Oh no, you don't, lass." A pull at my ankle breaks my hold, and I scream. My sword slips from my hand, and my fingers scrape against the bark before my arms and legs flail. I plummet toward the ground, where a plump body breaks my fall. I swing my fists, hitting any part of him I can as we thrash around in the thorny vines. When I'm free, my knuckles plow into the man's hairy jaw.

"Feisty little twat," the man with missing teeth says, jumping behind me and restraining my arms.

I kick and land the heel of my boot against the temple of the man below me. His pupils grow wide and he mutters a string of incoherent words before his head lolls to the side. My captor presses his front to my spine and buries his face against my neck, taking a deep breath. I arch my back, trying to put some space between us, but it's not enough to stop the pungent scent of his body odor from making my stomach turn.

I twist and fight against my thickening tongue to scream, "Let me go! I demand you let me go."

His torso shakes with laughter, and he lifts one of my hands to his lips. "So soft," he says and shoves my finger into his toothless mouth, swirling his tongue around it. I wiggle and kick backward, but it's useless.

"I suggest you let her go."

Both my attacker and I pause. I yank my finger from between his lips, and his grip on me intensifies. His fingernails dig into my skin, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

"Get the hell out of here; she's none of your concern, boy."

"I beg to differ; she is very much my concern," Leif says, drawing his sword and flashing a wide smile.

I roll my eyes to distract from my heated cheeks. This isn't a position my best friend has ever seen me in; I've held the upper hand over him many times while training.

The man pushes me to the side, and I stumble to the ground next to his unconscious accomplice.

The clink of clashing swords resounds through the trees, accompanied by the rapid shuffling of their feet. If I didn't know better, I would think Leif was dancing with the man rather than defending himself. Every swing of his sword is effortless, and his brawny frame moves with such grace. He skips forward two steps and jabs, and the man reacts with a sloppy slash through the air. Leif swiftly takes advantage of the opening and embeds the end of his weapon between his opponent's ribs. The man screams and falls to his knees, clenching his side as blood seeps through his fingers.

I scramble to my feet and kick the outlander in the back. He falls face first into the dirt with a thud.

"All right, you got the last hit. Now let's get out of here," Leif says, pulling on my upper arm.

We don't run far before approaching my runaway horse tied up next to Leif's. I work fast to release Nortus and climb into his saddle, but fall short when piercing pain shoots up my thigh. Countless thorns protrude from my pants, running knee to hip.

"Shit, Elle. Can you ride?"

My ears prickle at the steady crunching of leaves from behind us. Leif meets my gaze with wide eyes, and I pull myself onto Nortus with a sharp intake of air. "I don't have a choice. How did you know I was in trouble?"

"Who else is brave enough to take your father's beloved stallion beyond the walls of Lucent?" Leif mounts his brown horse and flashes a mischievous smile. "Try to stay in the saddle this time."

I release a breath, sending the hair plastered to my forehead billowing around my face. "Stop gloating and lead the way out of here, so I can pluck these damn things from my leg."

"And then I'm taking you home."

I open my mouth to disagree, but promptly snap it shut and steer my horse behind his. There is no use in starting a fight until we're somewhere safe. We have a tendency to bump heads with matters such as this and have argued our points well into the night. Leif may think he is taking me home, but I'll kick his ass before I turn my back on what I set out to do.