He grabbed hold of her arm. “We need to move.”
“The camp . . .”
Whatever expression he wore was lost in the shadows, but his tone was tight. “It’s lost. We have a secondary location in case of ambushes. We’ll meet the others there tomorrow.” He grabbed her and they began running.
“Why didn’t you tell me there were search parties out looking for me, murdering everyone they come across?”
“Why would I?” His shirt was soaked with blood, but the wound in his shoulder didn’t seem to slow him down at all.
“Because I have a right to know!”
“You have a right to know,” he muttered, his tone coated with mockery. “Why? Could you have done anything to stop it?”
“I could have gone back to the palace.”
“That’s not part of my plan.”
“I don’t really care! I can’t let more innocent people die.”
Jonas stopped, his grip on her arm tight enough to be painful. He looked so frustrated that for a moment she thought he might shake her, but then his expression eased.
“Many people will die, no matter what happens next—innocent or not. King Gaius may have already stolen your kingdom, but the war continues. And it will continue for as long as he sits his royal arse on that throne. Do you understand this?”
Cleo’s jaw tensed as she looked up at him, angry now. “I’m not an idiot. I understand.”
His glare burned. “Good. Now shut up so I can get you to safety.”
Jonas’s viselike grip loosened only slightly as they hurried through the forest.
“We can hide here. I found this grotto only yesterday.”
Cleo was caught off guard when Jonas pulled her sharply to the right, through a curtain of moss and vines, and through the hollow of a massive oak tree. It led, very unexpectedly, directly into a cave six paces in diameter. It was formed from the thickness of branches and leaves arching over their heads and shielding them from both the guards and any moonlight peeking through the lush green canopy above.
Cleo opened her mouth to speak, but Jonas pressed her back against the wall of this natural barrier.
“Shh,” Jonas cautioned.
Cleo concentrated on trying not to tremble from the cold and her swelling fear.
She could see the guards from where they stood and she held her breath—even the sound of breathing might give away their location. The opening to the grotto was clearly visible through the hollow of the large tree by the torches the guards held. Red uniforms moved past the entrance and guards poked at bushes and shrubs with their swords. Their horses snorted and pawed at the ground.
They were going to be discovered any moment. Jonas’s grip tightened on her, betraying his own trepidation.
The sharp tip of a sword pushed back the vines only inches from Cleo’s face, and she stifled a scream with the back of her hand.
“This way,” one guard shouted at the others, and the sword withdrew. “Make haste, they’re getting away!”
She let out a shuddery sigh of relief as the sound of their pursuers faded into the distance.
Moments later, she jumped as a flame caught her attention. Jonas had struck a piece of flint from his pocket and lit a candle he drew out of a cloth bag hidden in the cave.
“Let me see your neck.” He brought the candle close to her, rubbing his thumb over her skin where the guard had pressed his blade. “Good. It’s only a scratch.”
“Put that out,” she warned. “They’ll see.”
“They won’t see. They’re gone.”
“Fine. Then give it to me.” She held out her hand. “I should look at your shoulder.”
Jonas winced as if he’d forgotten he’d caught an arrow.
“I’ll have to stop the bleeding.” He handed her the candle, then shrugged the shoulder of his shirt down to bare half his chest and his upper arm. Cleo brought the flame closer to see the wound and grimaced at the sight of all the blood.
“That bad?” he asked, glancing at her reaction.
“Not bad enough to kill you, obviously.”
Jonas quickly worked his shirt off all the way. His one shoulder was coated in blood around the wound. Otherwise, the flickering light showed his skin to be tanned and flawless and every bit as muscled as, if she admitted it to herself, she’d expected.
Cleo immediately snapped her gaze back to his face.
“Hold the flame still, your highness,” Jonas said. “I have a hole in my shoulder I need to fix or I’m going to keep bleeding.”
Her eyes widened as he pulled the dagger at his belt—polished silver inlaid with gold, a wavy, tapered blade, and a jeweled hilt. She recognized it immediately as the same dagger once owned by Aron, the one he’d used to kill Jonas’s brother. “What are you going to do with that?”