Under Water

‘There is no price for my protection,’ Fenrir told her. His voice was firm and cold. Exacting. ‘But there are rules that you will obey, or see it lost. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered the word, breathless. As though she was sinking back down under the icy water once more, the air squeezed from her lungs.

‘You will not enter the grounds of the Castle, unless escorted by myself, Genevive or Dorien.’

Wynter nodded then. Her gaze slipped from his shoulder to the centre of his chest. Her head bowed despite her intention to stand up straight as he set out the conditions of her safety.

‘You will not pass beyond the Roses into the Hart Wood,’ his voice was a growl then, ‘you understand, Wynter?’

‘I understand, Fe- Your Highness.’

‘You will not wander these Forests alone at night,’ he added finally and drew a breath. Inhaling through his nose in a way that made his chest lift. He seemed bigger than ever and she was shrinking before him. Her hand curled around the hilt of her sword, gripping it with white-knuckles.

‘Punishment for transgression will be severe, Wynter. Far worse and far longer reaching than death or anything you might be able to imagine.’

‘I can imagine a great deal,’ she replied softly, forgetting herself.

‘Get back to your lodge,’ he ordered then and she turned, contrite as she hurried back through the forest, without looking back. She heard him walking behind her. Keeping up with his longer strides. She wanted to be away from the man. His warnings had been stark enough but worse was the way that she was reacting to him.

As though he was Malachi with some power over her. As though she was some submissive pet to be commanded. There was nothing that she could fight against, no argument that was worth making. This was for the best, as least Fenrir had been honest with his intentions. He’d wanted to explore desire, and he had. It was simple, and it was done.

They walked in silence, her gaze fixed on the stone wall in the distance. Following the river back up to where she’d started out her journey during the evening light. His warnings had frightened her. She had taken notice of what Genevive and Dorien had said, but Fenrir had been specific in his threat.

Whatever their reasons for setting the rules, Wynter had no intention of breaking them. It felt like an age before she reached the door of the lodge. She heard his steps behind her and paused at the door, her fingers brushing the painted wood.

It was easier to hate him, she reasoned and moved to step inside the lodge once more. Fixing a list of things to do in her mind. She would light the fire, then strip out of the wet clothes, dry herself, dress and get something to eat. Her stomach was tight with hunger once more, her body quick to remember all the days that she had gone without.

‘I would ask that you tell me more about the men who were searching for you,’ he broke the uncomfortable silence they’d shared during the journey back to the wall.

‘Would you command me to tell you?’ Wynter replied, her voice soft. He had a right to know what and who he was protecting her from, yet after the argument they’d shared, she didn’t feel that she had the strength to tell him. Nor did she want to. Speaking about Malachi, explaining all that had taken place, would be opening herself to vulnerability.

More than anything, she didn’t want Fenrir to see her break down. She refused to cry in front of him. Even as her eyes burnt with unshed tears. She blinked, keeping her back to the man once more. Fighting to master the emotions upon her face.

‘Not tonight,’ he conceded after a moment. He seemed to sigh and she looked down at her bare feet. Her toes were lost in the dirt and the moss covered ground of the forest. The moon was behind her, throwing her shadow onto the door. She heard him shifting his weight and bit her bottom lip once more.

‘I heard part of your conversation with them,’ Wynter admitted, ‘they claimed to be my brothers?’

‘They did. They were most concerned for your welfare. They’re part of the soldiers that make up the command of Castle Ashton.’

‘Yes…’ Wynter gave a small nod, confirming his information. ‘Only…I don’t have any brothers,’ she explained in a soft voice. She had sisters. Half sisters, two of them. She’d always wished for Brothers. Maybe life might have been different then. Maybe she might have been different then, less flawed. Yet there was little point in wishing or a life that could never be hers.

‘Do you think that they will return to Whire?’ He asked.

‘Yes,’ there was no hesitation. Her spine was stiff as she looked up, staring at the wooden door in front of her face. She could pick out the little flakes of dark blue paint that had started to peel. Showing the cracked and damaged wood beneath.

‘They won’t give up their search for you?’

Wynter shook her head. No, they wouldn’t. Malachi might not love her, but he felt that she belonged to him. That he owned her. Had she believed that once? Had it mattered? All that mattered now was the certainty that she had, that Malachi would not give up. He would search until he took her back to Castle Ashton, or she was dead.

‘Wynter…’ the way he said her name was softer. Gentler than his harsh tone of warning. She bristled, and hated the kindness it implied. He was being kind because he pitied her, nothing else. She didn’t want his pity. Despised it. Hated herself for being pitiful and for needing his help. ‘Wynter, do you think that I can protect you?’

She bit the inside of her cheek then. Her eyes stung as if she stood over a smoking fire. The door had swung open at her touch and offered darkness. Somewhere that she could run and hide from the man behind her. A refuge. No matter their argument, he hadn’t tried to touch her again and she knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t follow her into the lodge.

No. The answer was simply, no. She did not believe that Castle Whire could defend against the determined cunning of Malachi Ashton. So why was she still here? Why had she asked for protection? So that she could hide from Malachi. So that she could gather herself and make a plan. Even if that plan was to run, and never stop until she was forever beyond Malachi’s reach.

But she couldn’t run without supplies, clothes and rest. If she left now, she wouldn’t get far. Yet she would need to leave, or Malachi would eventually find her and bring his troops to Fenrir’s door to cause trouble.

‘Answer me,’ it was another command, harsher than the last. His voice hoarse as she refused to look back at him.

‘I hope so,’ she gave the only answer she could. Hope. She had to hope. Even if Fenrir couldn’t protect her indefinitely. Perhaps he could protect her, for long enough for her to regroup and leave on her own terms.

There was silence once more. The sounds of the forest intruding between them. Wynter fought with herself and finally summoned her courage. Turning to bid the Prince goodnight and thank him once again for his hospitality, even if it did come with dire warnings and great deal of frustration. He had given her a home, had sent her to someone who had given her food, clothes, soap and all the basic provisions that she needed to rest and recover her stamina and strength. It didn’t matter that she hated him, that she had let herself be used by his desire, she still owed him thanks.

He was gone. The carpet of moss between the moonlit trees was empty.