He scoffs as he starts rolling up the blanket to pack in his rucksack. “I guess you have me figured out, little violet.”
There’s a meanness in his voice that is utterly foreign. Basten is many things—grumpy and cold and quick-tempered and violent—but not mean. We’ve spent every hour of every day together for weeks, and I’ve never heard that tone. He doesn’t play games, either. Everything about Basten is as unpretending as the animals that make their home in this forest, who couldn’t deceive even if they wanted to. It’s one of the things that draws me to him. He isn’t about games. He’s the opposite of the man who bought me as a bride and forced this twisted ride.
I know that about Basten. I know him, maybe even better than he knows himself. And everything he said to me last night wasn’t a lie.
My lips purse tightly. “No. I don’t believe you.”
He stiffens again, but only briefly before cramming the blanket into his rucksack like it’s insulted him. “Believe it, little violet. You’ve been locked away too long. You’re pretty but not smart. Men lie—accept it.”
There it is again—that cutting blade that isn’t him.
With my heart thrashing in my throat, I rest a shaking hand on Myst’s arched neck. My brave girl. Thank the gods I have her. She’s always brought me back from the brink of panic.
I ask her, Tell me more about where you went this morning. I want to know exactly what happened from the moment he woke.
She leans her weight into my palm. He never woke.
It takes me a second to catch her meaning. You mean he never slept?
You slept, he did not. There was a leaf in his bag. Its markings scared him. He smelled like fear.
It can be difficult to understand an animal’s meaning, even if their words are intelligible, I can’t make sense of what Myst is trying to tell me. She sometimes calls paper a leaf, but that’s my only clue.
I stomp over to Basten’s rucksack and start wrestling to pull out the blanket he’s stuffing in, searching for this mysterious piece of paper.
“What the hell are you doing?” Basten snaps.
“Where is it? What is it? Myst says you read something that upset you.” I tear into the contents of his rucksack with feverish intensity, past hard rocks of stale bread and leather pouches of coins. As soon as my fingers graze on a folded paper, he seizes my wrist and wrenches my hand violently away from the bag.
“Sabine, stop!”
“You’re lying!” I snap, feeling the sting of desperate tears in my eyes. “Something else happened—last night, you meant what you said! I know you did! You were ready to run away together and damn the rest of the world, so what in the gods’ names did you read?”
His eyes crackle dangerously as his fist closes over my wrist. With his knee, he shoves the rucksack away with an angry grunt. “Fine. You’re right. I did mean it last night, when you were offering me your pretty little cunt. But what Myst saw me reading? It was the list of Lord Rian’s rules for this ride. No great mystery, I assure you. It reminded me of my duty, that’s all. That as much as I want to bury my cock in you in every village from here to the coast, you’re a silly girl I’ve known for a few weeks. Rian will always matter more.” For the first time all morning, he looks directly into the depths of my eyes as he readies the final blow. “I’d be an idiot to throw away his patronage for some cunt I could get anywhere.”
There is such crass cruelty in reducing me to the parts between my legs that I’m rendered speechless. I stare at him like I’m looking at a stranger. Who the hell is this man in front of me? It isn’t Basten. It isn’t the man who slaughtered an entire raiding party to save me, then kissed me tenderly after.
Fury seizes me. Before I know what I’m doing, I deliver a sharp slap to the same place on his cheek where I kissed him only moments ago.
As my chest heaves, I spit at him viciously, “How could you do this?”
He stretches his sore jaw. In a deathly quiet voice, he says calmly, “There’s no use in running. I alerted Lord Rian by messenger that we’ll arrive tomorrow, which means he’ll send Golden Sentinels to meet us on the outskirts of town. Either I’ll catch you, or they will.”
My eyes sting. This can’t be happening. It can’t be real. My mouth is dust-dry as I gape at him with so much unspoken devastation on my lips that I don’t even know where to start.
As soon as Basten sees the tears in my eyes, he looks away. Sunlight filters from the trees beyond the cave, glimmering over the falling water. His tone is softer as he murmurs, “Rian has always been the right match for you, Sabine. He has an army that can protect you if there is ever danger.”
I wrinkle my nose in bewilderment. “Danger? What danger? Basten, I don’t need an army. I need a friend. I thought—I thought I needed you.”
As my voice breaks, he hisses a curse under his breath. He shoves to his feet like he can’t escape me fast enough, and paces near the waterfall’s stream.
My mind fogs up like it’s filling with the falling mist. That snared animal in my chest is bleeding out, afraid this is the end. The cave’s walls make me feel caged in. Suddenly, I’m back in the convent’s walls. Trapped. I’m always so fucking trapped. And there’s no way out this time; it’s too late. Every person who was supposed to care for me has hurt me. My father. The Sisters. And now Basten, too.
Tears blaze a trail down my cheeks, dripping onto my lap. The creep of hatred runs down my skin as I shove myself to my feet. If Basten is going to shatter my world, then I’ll break his, too.
Steeling my voice, I threaten, “I’ll tell Rian that you fucked me.”
“Go ahead,” Basten says steadily, as though he’s been expecting this. “He won’t believe you. I’m the one he relies on to determine who is a virgin. Besides, who will he trust, the vengeful bride he bought against her will, or his oldest confidant?”
Pure hatred chokes me as I realize he’s trapped me once more. Because he’s absolutely right. I could swear on Immortal Iyre that Basten had his cock inside me, but Rian will believe Basten. Men always believe other men.
I hate him.
I hate him so much that the thorns of it snag in my gullet until I taste blood.
I close the distance between us and, with a growl, scratch my nails down his face. A blood line appears on his cheek before he captures my wrists, preventing me from scratching him again as I struggle.
He murmurs softly, “There’s the wildcat. Still alive after all.”
“I wish I had true claws to rip open your throat!”