Begin Tonight

Begin Tonight
“You can’t do that!”

The glow from the pool fades. My heart slams in my chest and Kaan simply smiles. 

“Watch me.”

He takes hold of my arm once more, pulling me with him. I’m in shock, complete surprise at how easily he delivers such cruel reality. 

We make our way back with little fight from me. Back to the outside of the mountain, where his soldiers wait and the trees cover us in darkness. 

As soon as we step out of the cavern, Kaan calls over the silence. “We’re making camp.”

His men immediately spring into action, the sound of horses whinnying as they’re moved around and tents are being hammered into the ground. 

Fires are lit, clearly, they’re not afraid of being found. There’s no hesitation in their movements. They take Kaan’s words like commands that cannot be ignored. 

They’re making camp like they intend to stay here more than just a night or a few hours. They’re preparing to stay, for days it seems. 

Dastan has days to find me. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know if he’s alive. I don’t know what Jakko has done with him since he let Kaan take me away. 

But I know that if he’s alive, Dastan will do everything in his power to find me. He’ll come, he has to. 

Men unload crates from wagons and carry them into the crimson tents. Kaan keeps his hold on me as we stand and watch. A few men approach him, and they talk in hushed tones. 

I don’t pay attention to any of it. I look up at the stars that are beginning to become visible as the sky darkens. I look at the moon. Trying to find any markers, any shapes that would make our destination obvious. 

When the biggest tent of them all is erected in the middle of the camp, a guard approaches with a bowed head. 

“Your tent is ready, Your Majesty.”

Kaan nods. “Double the watch. Post archers on the ridge. I have no doubt that they’ll be looking for her.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The guard bows low, almost at a 90 degree angle at his waist. Kaan doesn’t look in my direction as he pulls me with him, through the camp and toward the tent in the center. 

We walk inside, the flap of the opening flying shut behind us.

It’s warm, the air thick and sweet. I inhale, taking in the smoky scent of burning incense. There are bronze burners scattered throughout, disappearing into the highest parts of the tent. 

Wooden poles hold up the ceiling, the canvas heavy looking as it creates peaked patterns. Rich crimson and gold rugs overlap across the ground, so thick that my footsteps sink into them. Cushions are arranged around carved wooden tables, their embroidered fabrics shimmering in the candlelight. 

How did they get this set up so quickly?

It’s even divided into separate chambers, heavy drapes hanging from the poles, hiding whatever’s behind them. I barely have time to look around before Kaan jerks me forward.

I stumble over one of the rugs, catching myself just before I hit the floor.

“Walk.”

The command is quiet. He leads me toward one of the thick wooden support poles near the center of the tent. Iron rings have already been fastened around it.

My stomach drops and I wrench my arm backward with everything I have. “No.”

He doesn’t even falter. I dig my heels into the rugs until they bunch beneath my feet, my nails scraping at his wrist as I try to pry his hand away.

“Let me go!”

The words echo through the tent, and Kaan simply keeps walking. He reaches the pole, spins me around, and shoves my back against the carved wood hard enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

I lash out instinctively. My palm catches his cheek, and the crack echoes through the tent.

Slowly, he turns his head back toward me, his expression is unreadable. I expect a blow, but he instead catches both my wrists in one hand.

Cold iron snaps around them. The chain rattles as he threads it through the ring bolted to the pole before fastening the lock with a sharp click.

I pull immediately. I feel nothing but the iron biting into my skin. I escaped one prison just to fall into another. 

I pull harder, my chest heaving as my vision goes a bit blurry. No, not this again. I feel the cold in the tips of my fingers, ice cutting into my skin. I throw my weight against the pole, my shoulders burning from the effort.

The frost on my hands splinters apart and melts, dripping onto the rug below.

My knees threaten to buckle. Kaan watches the failed attempt with quiet interest.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

I glare at him. “Let me go.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Never.”

A shadow passes across the entrance just as the canvas flap opens. Two men step inside. They’ve traded their armor for loose linen trousers and long dark tunics belted at the waist. Without the layers of steel, they’re younger than I expected, broad-shouldered and built of muscle.

They stop the moment they notice me. Their eyes linger for only a heartbeat before dropping respectfully to the floor.

“Your Majesty,” one of them says with a bow. “Everything is prepared.”

Kaan doesn’t look away from me. “Good.”

His voice is calm enough to make my stomach knot.

“We begin tonight.”

He smiles widely, taking a step back. It’s the only sign the soldiers need, filling in the space he just left behind. 

“Make sure you bind the cut on her palm,” Kaan says, watching me over their shoulders. “I wouldn’t want it to fester and ruin her blood.”

One of the men reaches for my hand. I instinctually flinch back, but I’m held in place by the chains at my wrist. His dark eyes roam down my face, not a change in his expression. He looks almost scared to touch me, but he does, twisting my hand to look at the cut. 

Kaan hums his approval, giving a single nod of his head before disappearing behind one of the hung canvases. 

The other man removes a folded length of clean linen from the chest on the floor, kneeling beside a brass basin filled with water. He wets the linen, wringing it damp, and then hands it to the man who has my hand in his.

I jerk back. “I can do it myself.”

Neither of them say anything, watching me. 

“If you would just undo my chains, please.”

They say nothing still. The man in front of me grips the chain just above my wrists to keep me still. The warm cloth stings as it wipes away the drying blood from my palm.

I grit my teeth. The cut isn’t deep, but it stings. He cleans it until he’s able to wrap another clean linen around it, tying it into place. 

The soldier’s fingers brush against one of my rings. He freezes, just for a heartbeat. He lowers his eyes even farther, and I can’t quite make out the expression on his face.