Chapter 2

The doors open. Not with a scream like the cell. Not with resistance. Just a heavy, final shift of iron that echoes deeper than anything else I've heard in five years.

Then blinding light. I stop. It hits all at once. Too bright. Too open. Too much. I raise a hand, squinting against it, but I don't look away. Not after five years of being prisoner in Skyless Keep. No windows, no sunshine. I refuse to allow myself to look away.

After my eyes adjust, I look around at my surroundings.

The sky stretches endlessly above me, gray-blue and streaked with slow-moving clouds. I stare at it like it might disappear if I blink too long.

I forgot how big it was. Forgot how... exposed it feels.

Like standing under something that sees everything.

"Move," the guard snaps behind me.

This time, I do.

The path curves away from the prison, winding along the mountainside until it opens into a wide clearing carved into the rock. And that's where I see them.

Not one. Not two. A full escort.

Guards line the edges of the clearing, positioned like they're expecting a threat. Or transporting one.

In the center waits the transport—dark, reinforced, built more like a moving cage than anything meant for comfort. Thick iron bands run along its sides, and hitched to it—

Not horses. Massive ironclad dragons.

Their eyes glow faintly, unnatural and sharp, smoke curling from their nostrils as they shift restlessly against their restraints.

My gaze lingers on them for half a second too long.

Then I feel it. I am hyper aware of eyes burning into me. So deep it feels like it’s piercing my soul.

I drag my attention away from the dragons and scan the clearing.

Guards. Driver. More guards.

And then— him.

He stands slightly apart from the others, not armored like the guards, not positioned like them either. He is breathtakingly gorgeous. His gaze cold and calculated. Black ink filling every inch of his skin.

And he is watching me like I'm something being studied instead of escorted. And he doesn't look away. Not once. A chill slides up my spine.

Even when I meet his gaze directly. Something about that settles wrong in my chest.

I look away first. His gaze burning me with something sharp and fierce. What the hell is his problem?

"Your transport," the guard barks behind me, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I don't answer. I step forward. Closer to my “transport”, as the guard called it. My transportation from one prison to the next I suppose.

The dragons shift as I pass, one letting out a low, warning rumble that vibrates through the ground beneath my boots.

I don't flinch. But I feel it. I feel it in my bones. I have never been this close to an ironclad before, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't afraid.

Everything here feels like it's waiting for me to make a mistake. Good thing I don't plan on sticking around long enough to give them one.

The door to the transport is already open. I climb in without help. Inside, it's just as controlled as the outside—reinforced walls, narrow seating, no wasted space.

The door shuts behind me. I sit. I wait. I count. The movement starts slowly as the dragons pull forward. Voices outside. Boots shifting. And then—silence. I sit in silence for what feels like an eternity to put enough distance between us and the prison.

When I finally feel as though we are far enough away, I weigh out my options one last time. I stay and await my unknown fate, or I at least attempt an escape.

But is this even an option to weigh? My first chance at an escape. My first chance in five years at freedom. This is it. Now or never. I move fast. My fingers find the latch, testing it. It's locked, but not well enough. Not for me.

I slam my shoulder into the door. Once. Twice— It gives just enough. Wind rushes in. I don't hesitate. I jump.

The ground hits hard, pain shooting up my legs, but I roll through it and push to my feet in the same motion.

And then I’m running.

My body takes over, instincts sharper than thought as I bolt toward the treeline. Branches whip at my arms as I break off the path, lungs burning as I push faster. I push my body as hard as I can with my sore and bruised body. The prison was not kind to me.

I move my legs as fast as they can go. Trying to dodge branches and trees and bushes as I go. Branches slicing into my arms, but I can't feel the sting over my adrenaline.

Just when I start to slow just a hair, believing I have put enough distance between me and the guards—something slams into me from behind. Fast and precise.

I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my lungs as weight crashes over me, pinning me flat. I lose all senses. Gasping for air and I try to figure out my next move.

I twist immediately, driving my elbow back as hard as I can. My elbow is caught before hitting my target.

My other hand snaps up toward my assaulters throat as best as I can manage being pinned on my stomach.

Another shot blocked so smoothly that I know this is not a battle I can win.

The assaulter pins both my wrists above my head in one smooth motion, forcing them into the dirt as their weight settles over me like I'm nothing.

I go still. Not because I'm done fighting, but because I'm thinking of my next move.

Their grip tightens slightly almost as if they know my next thoughts.

I tilt my head, meeting his eyes. Dark green swirling with flecks of gold. His eyes are breathtakingly beautiful. If he didn't have me pinned in the dirt with his cold gaze icing my entire body, I would have been enamored with his eyes. But not for this asshole.

"Well," I say, voice rough but steady, "that was almost impressive."

The corner of his mouth shifts just barely.

"I have no desire to impress you, traitor."

I raise an eyebrow. "Well… did I at least impress you?"

"Not even close, nor could you ever.”

I almost smile.

"Careful," I murmur. "That almost sounds like a challenge."

"It’s not." he scoffs.

"Shame." I shift slightly beneath him, testing—not to escape, just to remind him I could try again. "I was hoping to make a good first impression."

His grip tightens just enough to warn.

"You impressed me for a prisoner, I suppose."

I choke out a laugh and roll my eyes.

"Good. I'd hate to disappoint."

For a second, neither of us moves. Then he leans in so closely I can smell his minty and smokey aroma. It's honestly an intoxicating smell. Like I could not get enough of it even if I tried.

His grip doesn't loosen, but his head dips just enough that his voice drops—low and quiet, meant only for me. His lips hover near my ear. So close he brushes my ear with his lips.

"If you try that again," he murmurs, calm and steady, "I won't be so gentle next time."

My breath catches. Just for a second. Before I mentally slap myself. I will not get my panties in a bunch over this asshole.

I turn my head slightly,and force a laugh.

"Gentle?" I echo loudly. "That's what you call this?" I roll my eyes again.

He pulls back just enough to look at me again. Completely unaffected.

"Get up." he commands.

He releases one wrist—only to haul me to my feet in a single, controlled motion. I don't resist. Turning my head to scan my surroundings, weighing out my options.

I brush dirt from my uniform slowly, deliberately. Then look up at him. He stands at least a foot taller than me. His cold gaze peering down his nose at me.

"Or what?"

This time, his smile is real. Dangerous.

"Or I remind you that you're not the one in control here."

My pulse ticks once. How can someone so beautiful be so dark and haunting?

I turn and walk back toward the transport without another word. Defeated in my attempt to escape, but it doesn't discourage me.

Because I know, that this won't be the last time I try to run. And it probably will not be the last time he stops me.