The ride blurred into a haze of wind, moonlight, and the steady rhythm of Kylen’s heartbeat against her ear.
Maisie drifted in and out of consciousness, exhausted beyond words. Every jolt of the horse sent fresh pain through her battered body, but the arm locked around her never loosened. Kylen rode like the devil himself was chasing them — which, in a way, he was. Gaius’s howls of rage had faded hours ago, swallowed by the forest, but the fear of pursuit lingered in Maisie’s bones.
When they finally slowed, the sky was beginning to lighten with predawn gray. They crossed a wide river that marked the border, the water cold enough to make her shiver violently. Kylen’s territory. The Mad King’s lands.
She should have felt relief. Instead, terror clawed up her throat.
This was another cag
