Chapter Four

She was offering a ladle to a young knight who could have been no more than fifteen when she overheard men talking about the battle. They were both covered in dirt and blood and the stench of battle.

“What do you mean it was Tristos? Lord Went is pledged to the King, same as the rest of the empire.” The voice was matter-of-fact.

The smaller knight was retightening his armor as if he were preparing to go back into battle. “I know what I saw, sir. It was the black and green of Tristos, I am sure of it. They rode in as our friends and attacked once they were through our lines. Cowards! The main guard is here, but Sir Veran is mopping up the rest of the force with the van, he will be back within the hour.”

“Then you should be on your way to Harrendom. Take eight men and ride with haste, the King will want to know what happened.”

“Send a pigeon,” the short one replied with a frown.

“I will send you with a letter marked by mine own hand. I do not trust fowl with news such as this. Fetch your men, sir, and get on the road at once. See my squire, Jeb, before you set off and he will give you the letter. Make sure it lands directly in the King’s hands, and his alone.”

Reluctantly, the smaller knight nodded and, with a grumble, stalked off towards the stable yelling for his squire as he walked. The remaining knight brushed a hand through his dark black hair. He was easily over six feet, and was well-muscled, apparent even under his armor. The armor spoke to his wealth. It was inlaid with silver and gold, his crest sat large on the breastplate, though she did not know what house he belonged to. He looked over at her. Startled by his gaze, she looked away and started to move to another wounded.

“You, girl, wait.” He moved to her, his armor clinging with every step. He had a longsword on his hip with a hilt that looked to be made out of some precious metal unbeknownst to her. “A sip of water would be appreciated,” he said through an easy smile.

Selene nodded at once. “Of course, sir…” She did not know his name.

He took the ladle from her and swallowed the entire cup, followed by another. “It is Sir Lyros Regal,” he said after wiping a fist across his mouth.

“Of course, Sir Lyros. May I retrieve anything else for you?” She hated the courtesies.

He smiled a genuine smile. “I have men requiring your aid. I trust that you will take care of them?”

“Of course, sir.” She displayed her best bow.

“Good good, I will see to it that Sir Veran knows of your willingness to serve,” he said with a nod of his head before turning off towards the stable.

Her stomach dropped to her feet. Did he know who she was? A fear grew in her that she did not know existed. Surely this Sir Lyros had no idea what had been said to her by the Butcher. His smile was so sincere, so pure. No, he was simply being courteous. Selene could not bear thinking about what was standing against her. The knight left her trembling and numb. Her only thoughts were that she would die tonight, and it would not be an honorable death. It would be the death of a peasant, the death of a wench. She would be punished for being born and then die in agony.

After spending the rest of the evening feeding and watering what seemed like every knight and fighting man in the town, Selene was exhausted. She stumbled through her nightly duties and finally, Grest shooed her off to her quarters. The word was that the Butcher was on his way in, and that in the morning he would move his force to the pass and try to cut off the Lost Prince’s escape. Though, news of the Prince’s attempt to flee was met with open doubt. Some were adamant that the Lost Prince had never shown his face, and all was but a ruse, something too big to understand. Regardless, Selene crept to her small cubby and tried to get some sleep.

Selene was met with dreams, terrible dreams. In them she died over and again in the vilest and degrading ways. She woke drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, but she dared not leave her small quarters and risk being seen, the constant fear of reminding the Butcher about her was terrifying. Eventually, sleep took her, and once again she was met with night terrors.

Her legs were moving as fast as they could, burning with fire, but it was not fast enough. She willed them on, through the burn, through the fatigue. If she stopped she knew she would die. The world was a fog around her and the smell was terrible. It was his breath, coated with the stench of blood and flesh and mead and death. She cringed as she ran, bile creeping its way up her throat, threatening to escape. And then, she could no longer move. Something had her, immobile and weary, she felt tears stream down her face as she cried for help through vocal chords that emitted no sound. The eyes came first; she saw them in front of her—those terrible, black eyes.

“I have been waiting for you, my pretty.” A voice snaked through her head and she smelled another vile scent, though this one unfamiliar.

Her eyes opened and she realized it was no dream. There, above her, stood the Butcher himself. Already poised and ready, he smiled a wicked smile. “I told you I would have you, my little whore.”

Selene screamed in terror, a scream that could wake the town and send chills through the bones of every resident. The scream did not chill him though. He only smiled wider and reached for her. Dread enveloped her entire body, yet somehow she found the strength to kick. She found his manhood and he crumpled over with a grumble. She rolled off the bed and ran to the door, but the Butcher shot out a hand and grabbed her foot, sending her sprawling to the ground.

He was so strong!

His hand on her leg was so powerful that she thought the bone would snap. She wriggled and screamed, panic taut on her voice. He growled something unintelligible and moved up, grabbed a handful of her hair, and tossed her back against the wall. She hit with enough force to crack the thin, wood barrier. Dazed, she tried to run again, but he blocked the way and caught her with a devastating back hand. The world spun and the next thing she knew she was on the ground. He grabbed a handful of her hair again and wrenched her from the floor.

“Up here, my little whore, the ground is where the dogs fuck. Perhaps I should fuck you like a dog, what do you think? I fucked your little friend like a dog, mistook her room for yours. It only ripened the peach more though, I can see.” He laughed a horrible laugh and pulled her head back. His tongue snaked across her neck, her ear. A shudder shook her body and she nearly wretched. She reached her free hand back and jabbed a finger into his open eye as hard as she could.

With a yelp of pain he fell back and threw her against the other wall, taking a tuft of her hair with him. Selene crashed into the wall, but found her footing quickly and made for the door. As she pushed through it she looked back and saw him coming after her, one eye shut, blood trickling down his face. In all of her life she had never ran so fast. The world around her disappeared as she ran. She had not the slightest idea which direction she was going, but she ran nonetheless. Her legs took her forward, step after step, despite the pain that coursed through her body. Behind her, she heard him bellow something over and again, but she only ran harder and faster into the woods.

After a few minutes she heard dogs and she knew that she would not make it. She was on foot being tracked by dogs and men on horseback. It did not matter, she would rather die fleeing than suffer the hands of the Butcher. Farther into the woods her legs took her, the moonlight laid out a path and she followed it, darting this way and that, hoping to lose her pursuers. She risked a look back to see if she could glimpse any lights and never saw the large piece of wood slash through the night and smash into her face.