The remaining miles ground past like millstones crushing grain. Khalden's arms encased me, his chest a furnace against my back while my damaged knee finally unclenched from its days of agony.
Each step he took sent tremors through my body, his fingers splayed too wide across my ribs, claiming territory that wasn't his to map.
Behind us, Rafi—Nadir, I forced myself to think, Nadir not Rafi—maintained his silence, but I could feel his fury radiating like heat from a forge.
Every time Khalden's grip shifted, every casual brush of thumb against my side, I watched another piece of Rafi's control splinter away.
"There." Aritan pointed ahead where wooden walls rose from snow-dusted earth. "Kharzai. Civilization at last."
The village gates yawned open like a mouth ready to swallow us whole. Guards lounged against the posts, their interest sharpening as our strange procession approached. One whistled low and appreciative.
"What have you brought us, Aritan?" The guard's eyes tracked over me like I was merchandise on display. "That's not local stock."
"Runaways from beyond the eastern peaks," Aritan replied, his chest puffing with pride. "Noble blood by the look of them. Rich ransom once we find their families."
The streets beyond the gate teemed with activity that died the instant we entered. Women paused mid-conversation, water jugs forgotten in their hands. Men straightened from their work, hammers and axes suddenly weapons rather than tools. Children scattered like startled birds, then crept back to stare from doorways.
"Look at her," someone whispered. "Have you ever seen—"
"Foreign witch," another voice cut in. "See those amber eyes? That's eastern sorcery."
"The boy's built like a warrior. Look at his shoulders."
"Pretty faces won't save them here."
Khalden's arms tightened possessively.
"Jealous dogs, all of them. They know quality when they see it." His breath scorched my ear as he lowered me to the ground, my legs trembling from disuse. "I expect proper gratitude later, Noura. For carrying you so carefully."
The words slithered across my skin like something diseased. Rafi lunged forward, hands already forming fists, but Sarkan's arm shot out, clotheslining him across the chest.
"Where do you think you're going, soft hands?" Sarkan's teeth gleamed. "The chief will want to question you separately."
"No." The word ripped from Rafi's throat. "We stay together—"
"Dungeon for this one," Aritan commanded, and village boys materialized from the crowd like wolves scenting blood.
They swarmed Rafi before he could draw his blade.
A fist cracked against his ribs—I heard the impact, saw him fold. Another blow caught his jaw, snapping his head back. Blood sprayed from his mouth as they wrestled him down, rope materializing to bite into his wrists.
"Nadir, no!" The false name tore from my lips as they dragged him backward through the mud, his boots carving furrows in the earth. "Don't hurt him! Please, he's done nothing—"
"Nothing but run," Aritan's fingers closed on my elbow like a shackle. "Healers first. That knee needs tending before the chief sees you."
"I don't need healers. I need to see Nad—"
"You need what we say you need." His grip tightened enough to bruise. "Move."
The medicine women's hut squatted like a toad at the village edge, smoke-blackened and reeking of bitter herbs. Three ancient women looked up from their grinding stones as Aritan shoved me through the entrance.
"Fix her knee," he commanded. "The chief will want her walking properly when he inspects her."
The eldest woman, her face a map of wrinkles, gestured to a low cot. "Sit."
Aritan released me and stepped back to the doorway where two guards had already positioned themselves. "Don't let her leave," he told them. "She's clever, this one."
The medicine women worked in silence, their hands surprisingly gentle as they unwrapped Rafi's makeshift bandage. The eldest clicked her tongue at the damage—swollen purple-black, the joint hot to the touch.
"Days old," she muttered. "Walking on this? Foolish girl."
"I had no choice—"
"There's always a choice." She slathered bitter paste across the swelling, and numbness spread instantly, blessed relief after days of grinding pain. "Rest. No walking for two days minimum."
"Two days?" Panic clawed up my throat. "I can't stay here two days. Where's Nadir? What happened to—"
"We don't know any Nadir." The women's eyes stayed carefully focused on their work, deliberately avoiding my gaze.
One of the younger healers pressed bread and dried meat into my hands. "Eat. You're too thin."
I tore into the food, hunger overriding caution. "Please, the man they took to the dungeon, he's my betrothed. Is he—"
"Eat." The elder's tone brooked no argument. "Questions later."
The bread was coarse but filling, the meat tough but real. After days of stringy squirrel, it tasted like salvation. A cup appeared at my elbow—tea, steam curling invitingly.
"Drink," the healer urged. "It helps with pain."
I drained the cup in three gulps, the liquid warming me from inside. The herbs tasted strange, bitter with an underlying sweetness that coated my tongue.
"What did you give—"
The room tilted. Colors bled together like wet paint. The women's faces multiplied, spinning in lazy circles as my eyelids turned to stone.
"Sleep," came a voice from very far away.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
I woke to breathing against my face—hot, rank, wrong. Terror shot through my veins like lightning.
My eyes flew open to find Khalden's face inches from mine, his massive frame blocking out the moonlight streaming through the window.
A hand crushed over my mouth before I could scream, calloused palm sealing my lips.
"Don't resist, my Light," Khalden's voice slithered through the darkness. "I was waiting for you outside the whole time. I got cold, so I came in to warm up. And your lips will give off the warmth I need—"
My hand cracked across his face with every ounce of strength I could summon. The slap echoed off the walls like a thunderclap.
"I don't belong to you and never will," I snarled, shoving against his chest. "Don't touch me!"
His face contorted from surprise to rage in a heartbeat. "Ungrateful bitch."
Iron hands captured my wrists, slamming them overhead with enough force to drive the breath from my lungs.
His weight descended like an avalanche, pinning me to the cot. The wood groaned under our combined weight as I thrashed beneath him, trying to buck him off.
"Get off me!"
"Struggle all you want." His mouth found my cheek as I twisted my head away, his beard scraping my skin raw. "Makes it more interesting."
"The guards—"
"Gone. Paid them to take a long walk." His laugh rumbled through his chest into mine. "We have all the time we need."
"I don't need your permission," he growled against my flesh, his grip tightening until my wrists burned.