Fantasyland 01 Wildest Dreams(189)

“Valentine,” I said warningly as I finished with the strap on the quiver and reached for the bow.

“Merde,” she muttered and stomped forward.

They got their daggers and we all stood by the tent flaps waiting, waiting and then freaking waiting some more for one of Frey’s men to come.

But the noise escalated outside the tent, grunts and clashes of steel, whizzing arrows, male cries of surprise or pain, galloping hooves.

None of it good.

All of it seriously, fucking scary.

Then we all jumped as a sword tore into the side of the tent and slashed through. I turned to the sword, lifting an arm to yank an arrow from my quiver, setting it to the bow and pulling back the string but the sword disappeared and we heard the ring of steel against steel.

A mishit.

I released the tension on the bow but none of the tension left my body and I turned to face the tent flaps with the arrow at the ready and it was then I realized my breathing was not steady.

Not even close.

“My princess,” Lavinia whispered, “The Drakkar’s men, they are loyal to their Drakkar and to you. If they could have come to us –”

“They will come,” I hissed, staring at the tent flaps, refusing to believe what I would have to believe if they didn’t and that was that they couldn’t and the only thing that would hold them back was something I would not think about.

No, I refused to believe that even as the vibe pounding against the sides of the tent became more desperate, the noises of war coming so fast, one on top of the other, it was impossible to distinguish them and two arrows tore through the tent walls on the opposite side to us, imbedding themselves in carpet and snow but, if we had been close, they would have imbedded themselves in one of us.

Shit!

“We’re sitting ducks, Seoafin,” Valentine snapped and my eyes shot to her.

Crap. She was right.

So I made my decision.

“Right, so, we fight our way to escape if we have to,” I announced, Valentine nodded instantly, I looked to Lavinia, she did too though hers was not instant and then I ordered, “I’ve had training, not a lot but some so you stick with me, hands on me at all times so I know I’ve got you. You see a threat, you tell me, point it out and I’ll do what I can. You’ve got a shot to stick someone who seems to wish us ill, go for it. We are not on the offense, ladies. I carry the future king of this land and we must all do what we can to keep him safe so our goal is simply to get clear and get away. Got me?” More nods, I nodded back, looked to the tent flaps and whispered, “Okay, girls, let’s go.”

Then we went and the minute we exited the tent we saw chaos, blood, wounded men, dead men, dead horses, arrows in the ground and body pieces. The clashes of steel rung loud enough to deafen, the whispers of arrows whizzing one on top of the other. It was hideous, extreme but I felt Valentine and Lavinia’s hands on me, I thought of the little being in my belly, I blocked it all out and I moved swiftly. Leading my witches, we skirted sparring men, ducked around tents when horses galloped through, picked our way over obstacles but steadily and as quickly as we could we kept moving.

Twice, I had to raise my bow, take aim and let fly as I caught a soldier’s eye and knew he meant harm.

Twice, my aim was true.

More blood on my hands.

I still didn’t care. The only thing I thought was I was pretty fucking pleased I’d practiced so goddamned much.

I kept moving, quickly, always vigilant, glancing left and right, up and down, over my shoulder, around tents, my witches always with me.

We got out of the tent area and into the forest but it was happening there too.

God, there were so many of them. Men all around, beasts, dead, wounded, it was everywhere, blood staining the melting snow in what seemed like a river of red and pink.

But our way was clearer, we only had to look around trees not tents and we moved more swiftly, gaining ground. I was feeling hopeful until I felt the loss of a grip on my gown. I heard Valentine cry out and I whirled, bow up, arrow at the ready and I looked into a man’s eyes. That man was holding Lavinia with a dagger at her throat while her hands were curled around his forearm, her back arched, her head pressed hard in his shoulder to get away from the blade, her eyes filled with terror.

I aimed my arrow at his face. “Drop the blade.”

The battle raged on around us as Valentine pressed close to my back with hers, protecting it.

“Drop the bow, Winter Princess, or she dies then I take you,” he replied, pressing his blade deeper and Lavinia whimpered.

I pulled the bow back tighter. “Drop the blade,” I repeated.

“Your life for hers or I take both,” he returned.