Chapter Two

Lucky?

Amelia remembered — the tears, the blood, the mud, and Arthur on his knees begging her not to leave. She remembered pausing, tempted to turn back, to forgive. She remembered how he read bedtime stories and cooked for her and his warm hugs.

Amelia could never forget, anymore than she could forgive.

It made her sick to remember that he tore them apart.

So she fled, ignoring his shouts for the others to seize her and drag her back by any means necessary. Humans were not allowed to escape the Fae, and Amelia was not allowed to leave Arthur.

Until death do we part.

Amelia jerked away, gasping and blinking her eyes clear. Strong hands caged her, steadiying her. Confused, her face went red as she realized she shared a saddle with a man, the one whose arms encircled her now as he gripped the reins.

"Easy there," he said with an accent. His voice was higher than one might expect for such a large build. However, there was no tenderness or warmth in his words. "The Hound is dead."

Amelia stared at her wrists, bound together and resting on the saddle horn. The trees and mist of the forest had thinned. Golden sunlight peeked between, warming her skin. She squinted against it, marveling at the light's touch. It had been ages since she felt true sunlight on her skin.

Amelia shifted, craning her head around to peek at him from the corner of her vision. Her hero — the pale man in the beige coat — had an eerie smile plastered on his face. His eyes glittered like opals in the light — did humans have such eyes? — Amelia was not sure. Fae certainly did, but he was not of the Fae.

By instinct, she found herself scooting forward until the saddle horn dug painfully into her front. Amelia wanted to separate her back from his broad chest as much as possible.

"No need to be afraid," he said, leaning forward, breathe tickling the shell of her ear. "After all, I saved you."

Everywhere ached. Amelia felt as though she had been rolled down a hill, into a beehive, and then used a chew toy by a pack of wolves. The only part of her not hurting was perhaps her right toe and left thumb. The silver band — Arthur's engagement ring — was frigid on the ring finger of her right hand. Arthur was livid and aware that his hound had been slain.

She turned away, lips curving in a small smile. There was a silver-lining in everything.

"I know you speak English. I heard you screaming in it earlier," he said, squeezing her forearm, thumb pressing on one of the scratches. She grit her teeth, refusing to cry out. "You are tainted by Arthur."

Amelia went still. He spat Arthur like a curse. It was the most emotion she had heard in his voice so far. If he had a grudge against Arthur, then she was also in trouble.

"What do you want with me?" she asked.

"I am not sure until I know what you are. Who were they forcing you to marry?"

Amelia turned slowly to meet those hooded eyes. The sunlight lit his round face, his prominent nose casting a long shadow across his left cheek. Those lavender eyes gazed at her coldly, the same color as someone else she knew.

Should I tell him the truth?

Amelia dismissed that idea.

"A Fae named Peter," she said, shifting her gaze back to the uneven path. the column of black-armored soldiers marched two-by-two, the ones around them were mounted.

"Why?"

"B-Because… I'm not really sure. They didn't want me to leave."

"Arthur didn't want you to leave." A chill ran up her spine from the emptiness in his voice. "Why?"

The road began to curve left, soon to leave the forest.

"Why am I tied up?" Amelia asked, testing the strength of the ropes. "It hurts."

"It's only temporary. Blame Yao."

Yao? Was that name? Did he mean that Castor from before?

"I didn't know there were ways to kill a Fae Hound," she said.

"There are always ways. That bolt was an enchanted one, designed to kill their kind."

It made her a little sad. Although she had not raised that one, Amelia had raised several Fae Hounds from pups. They could be quite sweet if you looked past the whole 'hounds of death and doom' thing.

"Thank you for saving me, but there's no reason to take me prisoner. I'm no threat to you."

"Anything that comes out of the Arthur's Kingdom is a threat to us."

"I'm really not. I'm just an innocent maiden, trying to get to freedom."

He laughed, or more like giggled from the sound of it, an unnerving sound.

"Maybe that's true, maybe it isn't. We will know soon."

"What do you mean? What are you planning?" Amelia bit her lower lip, balling her hands into fists.

"A surprise," he said cheerfully, but it sounded more mocking than full of mirth.

Her skin crawled at the promise in his tone. What terrible thing did he plan?

They emerged from the forest, a rolling meadow opening out in front. She held her hand to shield her eyes for the first time in her life. A small laugh escaped. Amelia had never seen the blue sky and sun like this before, it had been raining the first time she escaped the Unseelie Woods. In there it was always foggy and misty with only glimpses of blue sky and a faded sun.

Artie hid this from me.

The thought made her heart clench with anger. He had betrayed her deeply, even if he did not see it that way.

The air suddenly lightened, as if it had been jelly before and now it was not. The mist vanished entirely, along with that awful weight in the back of her mind. For a moment, she gaped, puzzled by this sudden change.

Behind her, the man sighed in relief. "That's better."

"What happened?"

"We are no longer in Arthur's territory."

Amelia glanced back, staring past his shoulder at the receding edge of the woods. She was free of Arthur's kingdom for the third time in her life. Shifting her gaze ahead, she studied the clumps of tents sprawled out over a meadow. They grew larger and larger as they approached.

She glanced at the banners fluttering above it and the symbol of a silver grizzly on the soldier's tabards. Slowly, a thought began to dawn on her, one that made her increasingly nervous.

"May I ask your name?"

"You may, but I will only give it if you tell me yours first."

"That's not fair."

"You're not one to set terms, my dear."

"A-Amelia," she said. "And yours?"

"Ivan Braginski," he said proudly.

If she had been standing, she would have collapsed. Her heart nearly leapt to her chest. How could this have happened? She had escaped Arthur and run right into the arms of his mortal enemy.

The Winter Butcher had her.