The Crowned Captive
Hunted by Death

Many hours later, Morana sat with her kidnapper so close behind her she was enveloped in his scent. A thousand thoughts flashed through her mind, each more worrying than the last. Primarily, she thought of how truly, deeply, irrevocably doomed she was. All she could think of was how she was being whisked away to gods-know-where with an arrogant faerie she knew absolutely nothing about. Nobody would even blink at her absence, except maybe Mrs Midday. Even then, all she would do was run her name into the ground. No, Morana was entirely alone, with no hope of being saved, on a horse with an arrogant faerie with violent tendencies. Sure, she was alive for now, but nothing good happened to a half-fae woman at the end of the road with any man.

Her teeth clattered in her head at the next gust of wind, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it. She told herself it was just the cold, nothing more, but fear still clawed at her. Morana knew her odds were slim, but escaping when they made camp was her only chance. She still knew the forest, she could still replace her way home. That luxury was not one that was likely to last.

“We ride through the night,” Rowan grumbled behind her, thankfully a fraction friendlier than when he had last spoken. “Stop your shivering and sleep. I will make sure you don’t fall from the horse.”

And just like that, Morana’s hopes of escape whilst in familiar territory were dashed. Still, there was no way in hell that she was simply going to sleep on a horse with his will as the only thing holding her upright. It was simply not a viable option. Unwittingly, she felt herself relax as a blanket of warmth wrapped around her, immediately chasing the cold from her bones. She swallowed as she processed where that warmth came from, and what it meant. It wasn’t just some faerie trick that the fire had parted for her captor - no, Rowan was gifted in more than parlour tricks. He more than likely had enough power to boil the blood within her veins or burn the air within her lungs at a whim. Her next shiver was undeniable fear. She finally realised why the only weapon he carried was the damned dagger; any other weapon would be useless to him. She had surely found herself in the bleakest and most hopeless situation she had been in to date.

Morana did not truly relax at any point that night. No, she sat with her spine as stiff as a board, watching the forest and monitoring the living weapon behind her. The gentle gait of the mare made it difficult to stay alert, but she tried her hardest. Eagle eyes scanned the dimness between the trees, straining for signs of any danger that wasn’t currently brushing against her skin. Even with her half-fat eyes, every shadow seemed too dark in the crescent moon, every inch of the forest now alien and threatening.

It was when the darkness reached its deepest that Morana felt the change in the air. She stiffened, peering as far as she could into the inky depths between the trees. She nearly thought herself insane until the smell hit her. Death wafted through the air, its tendrils reaching for every crevice of her nose. Underneath her, the horse grunted. The last of the trio to catch on, Rowan finally stiffened behind her. One of his hands on the reigns released for a second, then was replaced with that gleaming dagger within.

“Stay quiet and the wolves will likely go on their way,” he growled into her ear. She nodded briefly, her body as tense as a bowstring. “If they attack, stay on the horse. It will either replace its way back to me when it is safe with you on it, or I will hunt you down and tie you to it. Whether that be whole or in pieces.:

Morana did not dare question him, but she did not relax, either. She knew wolves and the aura that hung around them was not that. Even if Rowan was capable of taking down a pack of wolves single-handedly, this did not seem like something one just sat on a horse and got away from scot-free. If nothing else, her suspicions were confirmed: it was no ordinary mare. If it was magically tied to her captor, there would be no escape upon it. Running from wolves and her fae kidnapper on foot seemed like an even stupider idea than simply staying on the horse.

The howls of the beasts cut through her thoughts, rising in a bone-chilling chorus. They intertwined in a haunting symphony, making it hard for even Moron’s sensitive ears to differentiate individuals. Behind her, Rowan showed no inclination of his thoughts on the pack. He sat as stiff as she did, his tunic brushing lightly against her back but otherwise unmoving. Her heartbeat increased as she heard the crackling of leaves through the underbrush beside them, barely a whisper. Silence settled over the forest for a few minutes after that, and finally, Morana allowed herself to relax, holding as she sagged back against the hard planes of the faerie behind her.

The mare stopped suddenly and Morana tensed once more. She nearly began an apology for the touch, sure it had angered Rowan, before she heard the footfall. A change in the wind brought the scent of death straight towards them, even more pungent than before.

Morana’s heart leapt into her throat as she frantically searched the night. Was that a flicker in the shadows there, to the left? Her ears strained to pick up the footfall again, but no rustling of leaf litter came. The stench was so strong that she could not work out which direction the rot and death came from, nor where the wolves stood. Her breath came in short and shallow pants as she searched the dark for its source. Behind her, Rowan swore, then swung down from the horse.

As if on queue, the creatures emerged from the murky depths of the forest. The obviously-not-wolves crept forward, black leathery skin glistening wherever the moonlight hit. Morana quickly realised the stink of death came not from some rotting kill, but the creatures themselves. Like a toxic cloud, it floated from each of their grinning maws. It was so pungent it threatened to overwhelm her completely. Her eyes counted four creatures, but with their midnight skin she had no doubt more were waiting. Against her and a single faerie, no matter how skilled, she knew their chances were poor.

“When I move, you are to take the horse and ride as far away as you can. Do not get off, no matter what. I will help cover your tracks, but you must stay on the horse. Do you understand?” Rowan spoke slowly, whether to ensure her comprehension or to not startle the beasts, she was unsure.

Morana hoped he didn’t expect a verbal response. The constriction of her throat would never allow one. She watched him carefully from her periphery as he shifted on his feet, adjusting his every movement to those of the surrounding beasts. Then, with no perceptible initiation, the night exploded into action.