ARELLIA

I bury my face into Dillon's back and squeeze my arms tightly around his waist as we ride away from the only place I have ever known. His palms are calloused and rough. He holds my hands tightly against his abdomen, afraid that I will fall off. His fingers are entwined with mine. Despite the sweat and discomfort, I cannot bring myself to let go.

I have never ridden a horse before and I never imagined it to be as rough as this. I clench my teeth so that I do not bite off my own tongue. With each rise and fall, it feels like my heart will be ripped out of my chest. But, I am thankful for the pain as without it, my mind wanders back to Vasilis and the warden. To the horrific image of the warden's arms sizzling. The pungent stench of burning flesh. To the sound of Vasilis' blade as it pierced flesh and bone and Yhana's body falling into the mud. To Ermund's screams. How many more deaths must I endure? How can one man be so cruel?

I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears. Then, I try to distract myself by studying the surroundings; the flora out here beyond the castle is completely unfamiliar to me. The lands beyond my castle's walls are arid and dry. Light grey clouds blanket the sky, blocking the heat of the early morning sun. But, the humidity remains. The grass in the royal gardens was bright green and vivid, but out here they are yellow and pale, dry and lifeless under the sun. The landscape is mostly sand and rocks. If there was grass, it grew in patches along the sides of rocks in short spiky blades.

The horse slows from a sprint into a gallop. We have been riding for a couple of hours or so, slowing down when Dillon feels that the horse may be tiring. I am not sure how he is able to tell. I cannot bring myself to look back as I am scared of what I will see. My brother's army? The palace? The faces of those I have left behind?

As we make pace down a dirt road, I notice finally that the mare has slowed considerably. Shock and adrenaline have worn off and the pain in my arm comes back which such a force that I cannot contain my tears. I squeeze Dillon's hand and notice that his grip has loosened, his body sways slightly to the left.

"D-Dillon?" I mutter but he does not reply. Something is wrong. My heart speeds. But, before I am able to call his name again, Dillon's weight shifts and he falls limply to the side. I try to hold him in place, but he is too large and heavy. I yelp as he falls to the ground stirring up dust.

The mare whinnies and raises its front legs and suddenly, I feel myself sliding backwards, unable to grasp the reins. The world turns and I scream when I am suddenly thrown off the horse, landing painfully on my back and elbows. Dust and sand are kicked over me as the horse gallops a short distance away, clearly spooked.

With a groan, I crawl over to Dillon. He is pale and drenched in sweat. His black suit is soaked through, clinging to his body. I shake him lightly, praying that he opens his eyes but he trembles as though he is cold. A pang of guilt shoots through me. Did I make the right decision by freeing this man of his cell? I will not fool myself and think that he has no ulterior motives for pledging his loyalty to me. I understand he did so to save himself from execution. But, who can save him now? I do not know how to treat wounds. I am also injured. I touch the shallow cut at my neck and pick lightly at the dried blood.

His skin is clammy and pale, hair damp with sweat. Breaths shallow. Should I end him now? Avenge my father? Guilt lies heavy on my conscience as I stare at him, as he lies completely vulnerable and helpless. No. I have no one else. I feel a sob building within me. Must I always depend on others to survive? I grab small rocks and dirt and squeeze until my palm stings and weep as frustration rises. I do not even know how to ride a horse. If Dillon perishes here, what can I do? Where can I go? I know nothing of this world, nothing beyond what was written in old crumbling scrolls and dusty books.

"Please, Dillon, wake up!" I place a hand on his forehead and neck. His skin is sticky and hot. His chest rises and falls softly. He does not reply. I bury my face in my hands and sob.

"S-save your tears," Dillon mutters and I snap my gaze to him, surprised. "You will need all the moisture in your body for our travel. Don't waste them on me." A long-winded groan escapes his lips as Dillon turns over and pushes himself up on his hands and elbows. He is shaking and weak. I wrap my arms around his chest and heave him up, gritting my teeth at his weight.

"Who says my tears are for you, mercenar-" I am cut off as Dillon collapses on top of me with a grunt. His sharp jaw rests on my shoulder. He moans softly in pain. I am not sure what to do so I haul his body as close as I can to the horse. But I am weak and it takes all of my strength to support him. My breaths are hard and uneven. A couple of steps are all it takes for my knees to wobble. We collapse to the ground. Any strength I had are now lost, along with any hope of survival.

"Wake up! Dillon!" I shake him again, desperate. Dillon blinks as though even this small act is painful.

"N-need to keep moving and find water," He croaks softly. "First take off my boots." I hesitate at the odd request and stare down at him.

"The longer you sit here, the quicker they catch up princess," He coughs. "I'm in a lot of pain." I had been so completely absorbed in my own pain and devastation that I had forgotten he is also suffering. I crawl to his feet and start fiddling with the lace. The knot is small and complicated. My hands shake and the wound in my arm throbs. I have never untied laces before. Filled to the brim with frustration at my own vexatious incompetency, I grunt.

"Arellia," Dillon calls and I hear a shuffling of garments. From my peripheral vision, I see him sitting up, leaning on his elbows, pain etched across his sharp features. I grit my teeth.

Shut up, mercenary. The words come to mind and almost to my lips, unbidden. But, I hold my tongue. Considering my upbringing, I should be better at concealing my emotions. But freedom– without the fear that my handmaids and Vasilis are watching my every move– had severely diminished my self-control.

After a few attempts at undoing the knot, the laces fall free and I pull the boot from his feet. Dillon groans loudly, teeth gritted. The cloth wrapped around his feet is soaked in blood and in blotches, I see the yellowy stain of pus and discharge from the wound. The stench is enough to make me lightheaded.

"Give them to me," He says. I pass him the boots and he ties the ends of the laces together and throws the boots over his shoulder. "We have to move," Dillon tells me. I stare at him, nervous. If he keeps overexerting, then he will not last. I fear those blue eyes see right through me. That he will know I am using him for my own gain.

"Don't look at me like that, come," He reaches out a trembling hand. I take it hesitantly. With my remaining strength, I hoist him up. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and slowly, we make our way to the horse. Dillon limps beside me, his uneven breaths are loud in my ears but he does not groan or make a sound. When we reach the horse, Dillon strokes its side gently.

"Good girl," He whispers and grabs the reins. "You first, princess."

"I-I don't know how to ride a horse,"

"You won't need to. I will but if I fall off like last time, I won't take you down with me," He coughs and waves a hand, urging me to climb. I suppress my retort and pull myself on top of the horse. But, my legs do not reach so Dillon lifts my thighs. I kick my leg over and straddle the mare. I look at him apologetically but he pays me no heed as he pulls himself up behind me with deceptive ease.

"Fuck!" He grunts softly and lets out a long breath. Dillon wraps his arms under mine.

"Are you hurt?" I ask him softly.

"No need to worry, I won't die that easily," Dillon squeezes the horse's side with his thighs. I feel the movement against my legs and clench my jaw. Our closeness makes me uncomfortable, causing shivers to run down my spine. If Dillon feels the same, he does not show it. My stomach churns as I feel his hands graze the top of my thighs. Then, I see the warden's face. I feel his touch. Hear his voice. Smell his breath. I have to remind myself that he is dead, that he is not the man behind me. But, before I can think about it further, the horse starts to trot.

"Bear it a little longer," His voice is gentle in my ears. But, it does not take away my discomfort. Every time he touches me, I feel my skin crawl. I want to push him off. I want to scream. I grab the wound on my arm and squeeze until tears form and blood trickles. Until only the pain remains. A light breeze caresses my back as I notice Dillon has leaned away from me, creating space. I wish to hold his hand as we did before, to feel the comfort of knowing I am not alone. But there is also a desire burning in me, the wish to shove a dagger into Dillon's heart.

As we ride through fields and rocky landscape, I sob quietly, ashamed of my conflicting emotions and mourn the death of my innocence.