"Ouch! That hurt." Gwen winced from the floor of the carriage, glaring up at the devil himself—still seated, unbothered, and as infuriatingly calm as ever.
"Stay here," Gerald ordered coldly, as if she were the reason for whatever had just gone wrong. She groaned when he stepped out, offering no hand to help her up.
"A little help would be nice," Gwen muttered, struggling to stand on her own.
Outside, Gerald approached Robinson, who was speaking with a few of the guards.
"What's going on, Robinson?" Gerald asked.
"Your Highness, the road ahead is blocked. Looks like something happened here—we might have to take another route," Robinson replied.
"It's just tree trunks. Get the men to clear the way. We're moving on," Gerald said.
Robinson hesitated. "It's possible, but the men and horses are exhausted. They need rest and food."
"I need to reach Almor before dawn," Gerald snapped, jaw tight. "Tell them to move the trunks and get the carriage rolling."
Just then, one of the guards approached. "Your Highness, I'm afraid we have a bigger issue. One of the carriage wheels is caught in a trap—likely set by hunters," the guard said.
Gerald frowned, walked over, and crouched beside the carriage to confirm it himself.
"Get the horses ready," he ordered.
Gwen emerged, limping slightly as she peered at the scene. The tension in the air didn't bode well.
"Your Highness, what about Princess Gwendolyn?" Robinson asked.
Without looking back, Gerald replied loudly enough for her to hear, "She'll survive."
Gwen stopped in her tracks, fists clenched. Unbelievable. He'd leave her here in the middle of nowhere like some useless baggage?
"Your Highness," Robinson tried again, "We can't leave her with just the guards—not in her condition."
Gerald raised a brow. "Who said anything about leaving her? She's riding with me."
Gwen's jaw dropped. "When you say riding with you, what exactly do you mean?" she limped closer. "Absolutely not. I'd rather walk to your kingdom."
"Suit yourself," Gerald muttered, taking the reins from a guard and leading the horse toward her.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Gwen snapped—only to yelp as he suddenly hoisted her up onto the saddle with little effort.
"You son of a—" She stopped when she felt him mount behind her, his presence imposing and all too close.
"What in the devil's name do you think you're doing? Let me down right now!" Gwen shouted, struggling to slide off, but his firm grip on her waist held her in place.
"Stay still, woman," Gerald ordered in a low voice.
"I said, let me down!" Gwen demanded.
Leaning in, Gerald whispered, "One more word or movement, and I'll push you off myself. You're welcome to ride with the guards if you prefer."
Gwen stilled. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me," Gerald replied.
Seeing the guards looking anywhere but at her, Gwen growled, "Have I ever told you how much I hate you?"
"I figured," Gerald replied, loosening his grip just slightly. Then to Robinson:
"Take the men to the next village. We'll rest there tonight."
"Yes, Your Highness," Robinson replied as Gerald urged the horse forward, carrying them deeper into the woods.
Gwen sat stiffly, her pride refusing to let her lean back against him—even though her entire body ached.
Could I push him off and take the horse? Ride into the woods and vanish?
And then die of starvation or get eaten by wolves? No thanks.
She squirmed, pain flaring in her injured leg.
"Hold tight. We're almost there," Gerald said, his breath brushing against her neck.
"Define 'almost.' How far is this village?" Gwen asked, her fatigue slipping into her voice.
"Four hours," Gerald replied.
She nearly choked. "You can't be serious! Do I look like a war horse to you? I'm a regular girl trying to survive in this brutal world!"
"I would have never guessed," Gerald muttered dryly.
"It's dark. We might crash into a tree." Gwen said.
Silence.
"You should really talk less," Gerald said.
"You're a heartless bas—" Gwen stopped mid-sentence as the forest began to thin. Was that a building ahead? And… people?
"Thank your stars you didn't finish that word," Gerald said calmly, sending a chill down her spine.
"You tricked me! You said four hours!" Gwen accused.
She thought she heard a chuckle—but no, he didn't have a sense of humour. Did he?
To her surprise, Gerald dismounted and gently helped her down. She blinked, startled by the rare display of kindness. He said nothing in response to her soft thanks.
"Wait here. I'll be back." Gerald said.
"What if there aren't any rooms?" Gwen asked.
"There will be," Gerald said, heading inside.
Gwen eyed the inn nervously. It looked centuries old. One wrong sneeze and the whole place might collapse. She prayed they wouldn't be crushed in their sleep.
Inside the inn...
Though not dressed in his royal attire, Gerald's aura demanded attention. He walked up to the wooden counter where a bespectacled boy, no older than fifteen, scribbled in a record book.
"I need thirty rooms. Now," Gerald said.
The boy nearly fell off his stool. "G-Good evening, sire. I—I'm sorry, but all the rooms are taken. We're full. Thirty rooms are… a lot." He looked around, as if expecting an entourage to appear behind Gerald.
"Make them available," Gerald said.
The boy's eyes darted nervously. "Sire, I—I can't. No one will leave their room at this hour. They've all paid—"
Gerald tilted his head. "Either you convince them, or I will. And trust me, you don't want me to."
"S-Sire, perhaps try the inn to the east? It's quieter and less busy there," the boy suggested.
"You have two minutes," Gerald said.
The boy paled. "But, sire, they came before you—" Without another word, Gerald turned, heading for the hallway. "You can't go in there, sire!" the boy cried, stepping in front of him.
"Move," Gerald said.
"No, sire. I can't," the boy replied.
In a blink, the boy was dangling in the air, Gerald's grip firm. "Talks big for a little boy," Gerald muttered.
"P-Please, put me down!" the boy cried.
Gerald rested a hand on his sword. "Your pretty little head would look nice on a spike, don't you think?" He began to unsheathe the weapon—
"Put him down. Now." Gwen's voice rang across the room like thunder. All eyes turned to her.
She was furious. The sight of him threatening a child sent her blood boiling.
"Why should I?" Gerald asked, holding the struggling boy like a sack of flour.
"Because he's a child. Because this is insane." Gwen replied.
"A child who mouths off?" Gerald asked.
"I'm sure he didn't mean it!" Gwen said.
An elderly voice interrupted the chaos. "What's going on here? Kingsley, what trouble are you in now?" An old man appeared, stooped over a staff, skin wrinkled with age.
"I'm up here, Grandpa!" the boy called.
"Huh?" the old man said.
Gwen stepped aside to let the man see the situation.
"Boy, what are you doing up there?" the old man squinted.
"This man is causing trouble!" the boy pointed dramatically at Gerald.
Gerald's expression softened slightly. "Long time no see, Rod."