Frostbitten

Mikhail crouched down to examine the body. It was more than a day old. The cut across the neck was clean and precise. She hadn't hesitated for a second. He could see where the others had slept, perhaps three or four men, close to the remains of the campfire. The corpse was at some distance from the rest of them.

The snow had covered her tracks, but he could see that the men who pursued her were on horses and that they had gone west toward the Southern Road. She would not have gone to the Southern Road. There was no cover on the road, and she would too easily spotted. She must have misdirected them somehow.

She was alone and did not know the terrain. She could certainly not carry enough supplies on her back to reach the next town in the extreme cold. The Princess would have returned to Pirchburg, but she was far too clever to go in a direct way. If she had purposely led them west, she would have probably gone east or northeast, he decided.

Mikhail jumped back on Ilya's horse and rode through the woods, his eyes sweeping the ground for any sign of her. To him, the extreme cold of the northern highlands was bearable. He had grown up accustomed to it. To that Vezdan child, who had grown up under the blazing southern skies, where even the nights were warmed by the heat absorbed by the earth during the day-- to that child, such cold could be deadly.

To that woman, he corrected his own thought. At some point, the Princess had become two separate people in his thoughts. Sometimes, she was the precocious and bright-eyed child who had seemed so tiny and fragile but had somehow both bested him in battle and later saved his life. That child had made him smile when he never thought he would again. It was also for that child's sake that he had defied the Krovbond for the very first time. He would do anything to protect that child.

At other times, she was that woman. That beautiful woman with the blue-green eyes that paralyzed his brain every time she looked at him. That woman still as brilliant and fragile as the child had been, but colder and harder in nature. That woman who hated him. That woman whose every movement and expression stoked a burning to desire to drag her to his bed and have her whether she would or no. He would give anything just to hear that woman say his name with affection or longing.

Which is why he had to send her to Frem as soon as he possibly could. He could not trust himself to protect the girl. There were too many powerful players that wanted to use her. He could not even protect her from himself.

Mikhail hissed and pulled the reins hard. He had almost missed it! What looked like a few scattered branches poking out of the snow was in actuality a mark of her trail. The branches had been hacked off with a sword or a dagger, the pine needles on them were still green. Several lumps in the snow turned out to be thick pieces of bark which someone had stripped from a nearby log.

Mikhail crouched down, inspecting the hollow by a large tree. She had built a shelter there and rested beneath it. He nodded approvingly to himself. Smart. She had even thought to destroy it to cover her trail. Clever little thing! A bit more effort, and even he would have missed it.

The Princess was headed east, exactly as he had assumed. A short ride brought him to the open plains of Wembra. Here he would have to make a decision. Pirchburg was north of Wembra. The smart thing for her to do, would be to stick to the cover of the treeline and trek north, not exposing herself on the plain. Also, there was little to the east besides the mines and the sulpher springs. There was a tiny village of healers beyond that, but surely there was little chance of her knowing that. The Princess would have likely gone north.

However, there was a fresh trail leading east across the plains. Several horses had passed that way, and recently too, just before the snow that morning. It might have been the men Ilya sent to search for her, but somehow, he did not think that was true. The men who'd taken her would have eventually figured out that she'd tricked them by leaving that trail to the road. They may have been following her tracks before the snow fell. Of course, she was a clever girl. She might have left tracks simply to throw them off her true path.

He glanced to the north and rubbed his forehead as he thought. If she had gone north, she might be almost to Pirchburg. Ilya was in Pirchburg. She would be safe. If she had gone east, she was in great danger. Not only would the men overtake her, but the terrain was very dangerous.

He spurred his horse and rode hard across the plains, following the mostly covered tracks. He kept his eyes trained on the horizon and very soon saw the steam that billowed from the geysers there. The locals called the area just north of the sulpher springs 'the Demon's Oven'. It was an apt name. The land in those parts was extremely unstable from the heat trapped beneath the earth there. It was filling with boiling mud, exploding geysers, poisonous gases, and ground that looked stable, but would break once you stepped on it, like thin ice in the spring. Only in the Demon's Oven, you would plunge into a burning pool of melted rock.

He urged the tired horse to even greater speed.

At long last he could see the rocky formations that led to the Demon's Oven. The men had left their horses staked beneath a rocky ledge, a sign they knew the area well. The heavy animals would present an unnecessary danger when searching there.

He left his horse with theirs and drew his sword. The trail was easier to follow. It was very fresh now. He came across a shallow cave which poured steam from its mouth. Outside, something had been dragged... no. Someone had crawled. The Princess... was she injured? Had they hurt her? He hurried on, watching the ground carefully and then, he heard voices.

"If she's dead, we don't get paid! You heard him!" A man snarled.

"And I say, she killed Feynor, and Grayden wouldn't have been fallen and burned if we hadn't of had to search for her. Freezing to death is too good for her! Look at her, she won't survive anyhow. I want her to suffer for what she did at that very least!

Prince Mikhail clenched his jaw in anger and stepped out from behind the rock wall that separated him from the group.

A middle-aged man with a scarred face and greying teeth held the Princess up by her neck. Her face was as white as the snow beneath her. Two more men stood on either side of the older man, and as they all turned to look at him, he noted with satisfaction that all three of them looked as though an actual demon had risen out of the ground before them.

"It's him! It's the P-prince!" the man who had just been arguing to end the Princess's life stuttered, and he turned to run.

Mikhail drew his short blade with his left hand, and with a flick of his wrist, sent it hurling through the air after him. The sword hit him directly in the back, impaling him between the shoulder blades. He crumpled to the ground never to stand again.

The next man took one glance at the body of his companion and realized that there would be no escape. His face contorted in rage. He drew his sword and stood ready.

Prince Mikhail scoffed. Why did they insist on wasting his time? No matter what they did or didn't do the outcome would be the same. They would die. They were dead from the very moment they laid hands on the girl.

He advanced quickly, eager to end the play and retrieve the Princess. She was barely holding on, that much was apparent. It took three strokes and he had disarmed and stabbed the man with a killing stroke. Only the leader remained.

The man's eyes darted to the left and right, searching wildly for help or an escape. Mikhail scowled and stepped toward him, but he was not the leader for nothing. He was smarter than the others.

He drew a dagger and held it to the Princess's neck.

"One more step, and I'll kill her. I swear I'll kill her!" he threatened.

Mikhail smirked, but froze, his sword hand still raised as though he would strike.

"That's right, my Prince. You come at me and the girl dies! If you want to save her, you'd better...beh... behh..." the man gagged and then coughed. Blood spilled from his mouth.

He dropped the Princess, who collapsed to the ground and did not move. The man stared down at his chest, where the hilt of the Princess's dagger protruded from his blood-stained shirt. He fell to his knees, gasped again for air, and then fell forward, dead.

Mikhail stumbled quickly forward and dropped to his knees to turn the girl over and lift her up. For a moment, it seemed he was already too late. He ripped his glove off with his teeth and felt her cheek, which was like ice.

"Princess!" he called; his voice gravelly. When she did not answer, he slapped her face sharply.

Her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, and she blinked a few times. The vivid blue-green of those eyes almost stopped the heart beating in his chest. She stared up at him for a long silent moment, and then she smiled. It was so faint a smile, he wondered if her face had frozen.

"I... never... thought I'd... feel happy... to see you," she whispered in a voice full of pain and exhaustion.

"Ssssh," he warned, lifting her up in his arms and walking quickly toward the horses.

"I... I... didn't run from... you," she insisted, closing her eyes. Mikhail walked faster still.

"I know," he soothed her.

"How? How do... you know?" she asked, wincing in pain.

"Sssh, be still. I know that you would never do anything to break the treaty, because it might endanger your people. You would never hurt your people," he answered.

The Princess nodded and smiled that faint smile again.

"Good... it's good... that you..."

Her body went slack in his arms as she lost consciousness.