Bernulf guided his stallion down the path. His journey was almost over, he would reach the castle within the hour. The next day he would be married, and officially become the Crown Prince to the kingdom. He had worked his whole life, weaseling his way up the ranks of nobility until he was in the king’s pocket. He then slowly made his way to the princess’s side, charming her until she practically begged her father to allow their union. Everything he had spent his life working for was finally in his lap.
An ear shattering scream pierced through the quiet of the forest. His stallion jumped, nearly knocking him off. Bernulf dismounted and drew his sword, scanning the forest. A young woman burst through the trees and dove into his arms, weeping. He grabbed her roughly by the arms and held her away.
“Get a hold of yourself!” He snapped. “What is going on?!”
The damsel trembled in his arms. Her face was smeared with mud, her dress torn and tattered, showing mud smeared legs and bare feet. Underneath the grime, she was a beauty. Her eyes large and moss green, her body thin and soft in all the right places.
She grasped his arms desperately, her eyes filling with tears. “There’s a man trying to hurt me, he’s following me. Please, please help me!”
Bernulf looked at the forest behind her. There was nothing there. But her disheveled appearance and frantic countenance were hard to ignore. Plus the possibility of adding the rescue of a damsel in distress to his list of appealing traits was attractive. Who knew, maybe she would be grateful enough to offer him a reward. His eyes moved to the shadow of her breasts at that thought.
He swept his cloak from his shoulders grandly and wrapped it around the girl, brushing his fingers against her chest. He guided her to a fallen tree to the side of the path and helped her sit. His eyes roved over her, something nagging at the back of his mind. There was something familiar about this girl.
“There is no need to cry, milady.” Bernulf clasped her hand gently in his and planted a kiss in her palm. “I will rescue you from this evil.”
Holding his sword out in front of him, Bernulf walked into the trees, every sense tuned in to the smallest movement or sound. The forest was dead quiet at his approach, no sign of danger. He scanned the forest floor, following the trodden foliage from the girl’s wild approach.
“You’re gonna get it when I find you, girl!” A man’s voice reached him finally, along with the sound of someone crashing through the trees. The voice yelled, cursing roughly. He could hear the girl whimpering weakly behind him.
Bernulf raised the tip of his sword into the air and took a step towards the yells. Suddenly, a cord wrapped around his ankles and he was yanked off his feet, landing hard on his stomach. Somebody dove onto his back and wrenched his arms back, binding them deftly. The stranger sat on his back, sinking his weight into him heavily.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Bernulf roared, straining against his ties.
Twigs snapped as someone approached. A pair of bare feet stood in front of his face, and his heart sank.
A trick.
“You can get off of him now, Weasel.” The damsel said behind him. The trembling in her voice was gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.
The weight shifted, and Bernulf was dragged into an upright position. His captor stood behind him, pressing a knee between his shoulders and holding the collar of his shirt in an iron grip. The girl stood before him, her entire countenance changed. Her lips curved upward and her hip cocked, causing something in his memory to stir.
The girl stepped forward, gripping his chin in her fingers hard enough to bruise. Her eyes flashed angrily. “Don’t you recognize me, Prince?”
She leaned in close, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. The feel of her mouth, the sweet smell of her, triggered a vague memory. A drunk night in the tavern with his mates. A young girl drinking from his poisoned glass. That same girl, crying as he coaxed her into his bed. The dead look in her eyes when he stole her virtue from her.
“Th...the tavern,” Bernulf stammered, “I was drunk, I...I would never!”
The girl’s hand connected with the side of his face hard, nearly knocking him over. He stopped talking as a knife pressed against his neck. The large figure standing behind him cackled gleefully.
“You hurt me,” the girl hissed, “and now you want to hurt our Princess.” The knife’s point broke skin, and warm blood seeped into Bernulf’s shirt. Her grin grew sinister as the knife slowly pushed deeper. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, her lips brushing against his skin.
“Men like you deserve to die.”
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