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She was going to hate him forever, he already assumed it.
Who the hell gives that kind of a kiss and then pushes them into a river? Aric Kayden was scolding himself, throwing another stick into the fire he had made. He glared at the flames as he ran his hands through his long blonde hair. His fingers tangled in those golden waves as he re-tied his hair back, giving him something to do while his mind tried to run away with him again. When he had pushed her off that ledge, he justified his actions, but being by himself led him to think it all over again, and now his confidence on the matter wore off.
Aric should have been sleeping, the fatigue nesting down deep into his bones. He had dozed off the moment he settled down for the night, but the forest was too quiet compared to the towns and villages he frequented, causing his nerves to wake him up, an important habit for a man who always had to watch his back. Even being off the main road hadn’t eased his mind, the traffic of the day dying off for the night. It didn’t help that he couldn’t keep Jocelyn—or rather Joss, as everyone else called her—out of his mind, taking up space where his planning should have been. The worn black shirt he wore and the cloak wrapped around him were also constant reminders of her, items she gave to him to wear that belonged to her late father.
After events earlier that day—attempting to kill the prisoner in the courtyard, the chase into town, the kiss with Joss which ended so abruptly—Aric spent the rest of the time walking, traveling past farmlands and into the rolling woods that backed up against the forest. With his aching shoulder and leg, past injuries that were still stitched up and trying to heal, he wouldn’t be able to fight a man for his horse like Callan Ronen, the Prince Royal he was tracking, had.
The walking had worn him out, and knowing the prince was gaining more ground ahead of him, he was a little more grateful than he wanted to admit when he came across an outpost, a couple stray buildings and a tavern making up the stopping point for any weary traveler who was in between towns. The horses tied to the hitching post in front of the tavern were the first things he noticed. He would have just taken one openly if people weren't milling around, travelers who were meandering in at a wearier pace than him. So instead, he made his way into the tavern, taking a seat next to a man who was sleeping against the bar. He ordered a warm ale and enjoyed his drink, eyeing the company who were too drunk to notice him. Even the tavern keeper didn’t really seem to care, assuming like most that he was a hunter stopping in for a drink, thanks to the crossbow remaining slung against his good shoulder. Aric was honest about not having any money on him, but the tavern keeper seemed to expect that, claiming the first drink was free and anything after would be costly.
Counting the minutes, Aric waited for the tavern keeper to go into the back before he searched the sleeping drunk next to him, finding the small coin purse tucked deep in his pocket. It took some maneuvering and quiet wrestling to get it free, but finally he had it on hand, taking his leave from the place. Outside, he eyed the area as he stretched, finding no one around. Casually, he went up to the chestnut mare tied at the end, her color matching that of a fine whiskey. Looking like a decent steed, he untied the reins and pulled himself up into the saddle. Without looking back, he pressed the horse into a gallop, not waiting around to see or hear if anyone had caught on to him.
Despite covering more ground with the horse, the farther he was from Galmoor didn’t lessen the hold Joss had on him. In fact, it made it worse. Everything somehow reminded him of her: the golden fields of the farmlands resembled her honey-colored eyes; the density of the forest ahead reminded him of the cottage and the time he spent recovering from his wounds. Even the few passersby he encountered on the main road—a woman with dark hair, a glimpse of a smile—conjured up an image of her, which was hard to disregard given how much he had wanted that kiss. It didn’t help that he was so set on her while she helped him heal, a crush formed from her kindness. But while other infatuations had all died off easily, this one hadn’t. This one had stayed.
Then the river happened.
He had done it to protect her, knowing the Mask—the ringleader who hired him to kill the prince—would go after her and Henrik next. They always seemed to be watching, were always a step ahead of him, and so for a second he thought pushing her into the river would help her escape. It was impulsive and reckless, and now he wasn’t even sure if she was alive.
I am a monster, he thought, sitting back now against the tree, feeling the weight of his guilt. He needed to stop thinking about it, he reasoned. He needed to focus, needed a plan. The sooner he killed the prince, the sooner he would go find her. She was tough and she had Henrik, and that lad wouldn’t let her get away like he had. No, they were both fine and out of danger, and all Aric would have to do is figure out how to beg correctly in order to gain their forgiveness, especially hers.
It was while he was lamenting his future that Aric heard it: the unmistakable call of a raven.
That’s when his nerves heightened. No, not the ravens, he thought, but then he heard it again, closer, and something in him recoiled.
Aric slowly looked up, faced with the night. That didn’t stop his eyes from wandering, tracking the bird’s whereabouts as it called out again, this time in the direction he was traveling. The pit of his stomach turned, knowing instinctively it was a crier, carrying a message from one town to the next. It was coming from the direction of Galmoor, the town they had all escaped, which only meant one thing.
They had dispatched their warnings.
