When the horses slowed down, my head came up, now noticing more torchlight danced across the wagon canvas. The two soldiers seemed relieved to have finally arrived, although the watchdogs gave no sign of the change.

I took a deep breath to prepare myself and absently rotated my wrists against the cuffs. The weight dropped off, landing with a metallic clunk by my feet. My eyes darted over to my watchdogs, both of whom were watching me closely.

Instead of getting up, the man said, "Put them back on."

I looked back at the cuffs and leaned over, snagging them off the floor. It was hard to believe the cuffs had just come undone – and we knew they'd been locked because the man had tested them – but then again, I'd also seen the necklace defy gravity and escape from my change purse. With a disbelieving shake of my head, I put them around my wrists, checking to make sure they fit and that the men saw it.

The first time I'd been fiddling with the chain. This time, the cuffs had fallen off when I rotated my wrist, but it was also the first time I'd moved in a long time. Could movement be the key? Or was it just random? Would me putting the bindings on make any difference?

Why couldn't these necklaces have come with instructions?

The wagon came to a stop, giving me something entirely different to worry about. The two watchdogs remained seated, still watching us. Well, moreso me than Shane, but they were keeping tabs on him as well.

"Unlock it," a voice outside said. "The Warlord is waiting for 'em."

"Here's the key," the cultured voice of the warrior replied.

The chains on the flap jingled, then it opened. The silent watchdog got up and went outside, aiming his crossbow at Shane while his companion exited the wagon.

"Your turn," the watchdog said, waving us forward.

Shane narrowed his eyes untrustingly. Reluctantly, I got to my feet and went forward, not wanting to give this many soldiers an excuse to hurry us along. The air behind me shifted, and I didn't need to look over my shoulder to know Shane was following closely.

I climbed down the steps, surreptitiously checking my surroundings. Tents spread out in every direction with too many torches to sneak unseen, even if we were able to evade the numerous soldiers pointing crossbows at us. Shane simply jumped to the ground without using the steps, standing so close our cloaks brushed against each other.

"Let's go," the warrior said. "Warlord Ivar is eager to meet you two."

The feeling was not mutual. My feet remained frozen to the ground until a sharp prod from a crossbow bolt poked into my side. I winced and staggered ahead. Shane spun to face the offender, but the soldier had already stepped back, his crossbow pointed at Shane's chest.

The message was clear: there was no way to decline the invitation, not with dozens of soldiers insisting we go. With heavy feet and dread in my heart, I trailed after him. Shane stuck close to my side, anger once again radiating off him as he glared at the fighters around us.

My chain was long enough that it clinked against my knees with every step. The rhythm dimly reminded me of the tolling of the execution bells, although I knew our deaths wouldn't be anywhere near as swift or painless.

Without warning, the clinking ceased as the cuffs once more tumbled to the ground. I promptly stopped, uneasy with so many fighters around and no easy explanation. My two watchdogs closed in. The silent one aimed his crossbow at Shane in case his chains likewise came undone. My primary watchdog picked up the manacles and frowned as he scrutinized them, turning his piercing gaze to me.

"I wasn't even touching them that time," I murmured, feeling like I had to say something.

"I saw that," he muttered quietly, once more checking the cuffs before securing them around my wrists again.

"Is there a problem?" the warrior asked, watching with more interest than I had seen him display yet.

"Her manacles seem to be flawed. They keep letting go," the watchdog replied, carefully checking the cuffs and trying to pull them apart, with no success. He released them and gave me a searching look. When I offered no other comment, he stepped back.

"She's not my concern," he said dismissively as he resumed his walk. "There are more restraints waiting."

"Keep going," the watchdog told me.

The chain once more clinked against my knees as we approached a pavilion. It was the largest and most decorated one in sight. It could only belong to the Warlord – and we were being taken straight there upon our arrival, even though dawn was still several hours away. It didn't bode well, and my anxiety built with each step.

Soldiers opened both tent flaps as we approached. The inside was brightly lit with lanterns. At the far end, a man in expensive clothing sat on a large chair that looked a lot more like a throne than something you'd take along on a trip through the mountains.

The two watchdogs and over a dozen soldiers with crossbows followed us inside, fanning out behind us. Each soldier's weapon was pointed at Shane, who was already glaring at the Warlord.

"So," the Warlord drawled out, "these are the two responsible for killing my son?"

The warrior went down to one knee, bowing his head in homage. "The warriors have scoured the mountains, and there were no other travelers. They match the knights' descriptions – a woman on a mule accompanied by a werewolf."

"Werewolf, huh?" His cold eyes met Shane's, curious, but calculating in a fashion that sent shivers down my spine.

"He shifts at will, regardless of the moon," the warrior answered, standing back up. "It was easier to transport him in human shape."

"I've never had the opportunity to entertain a werewolf before. This shall be interesting."

The inflection behind his words had my hair prickling, although Shane just continued to glare at the man.

A cruel grin appeared on the Warlord's face. "Oh, this shall be enjoyable. I have many things planned, but first, we need more restraints."

As if they had been waiting for the command, several soldiers converged on us. Shane tensed when he saw the numerous chains and leg shackles, but the moment a soldier held up an iron collar, he swung his chained fists.

A hand wrapped around my arm as a watchdog yanked me away from the fight that rapidly resembled a tavern brawl. I couldn't pry my eyes away. With so many of their own men in the way, the archers held their fire. A couple of soldiers flew through the air, either thrown or kicked by Shane's as-of-yet-unshackled legs.

The Warlord watched in amusement as the men slowly overpowered Shane. When the men finally stepped back, Shane surged to his feet, only for the chains to clang as they were pulled tight, securing him to some sort of bolt anchored in the rock beneath the tent floor.

His chest heaved for breath as rage burned in his eyes, his muscles straining against the numerous chains around his ankles, feet, waist, and chest. The chain attached to the collar was still slack, but the end of that one was loose, so its presence was likely meant to humiliate and insult, not prevent him from trying to kill the Warlord.

Small trails of lightning danced across his skin, zapping the chains as his muscles shuddered, trying to force a shift while his hands were too bound to remove his necklace. The Warlord also noticed the muscle tremors and how the lightning interacted with the chains. He smirked at Shane's failed attempts to shift, likely assuming the chains were preventing him from taking his more powerful form.

It was only when the watchdog pulled a section of chain across my back that I realized he'd been adding more restraints in my distraction. I tried stepping away, only for him to hang onto the chains, preventing my movement and calmly finishing his task.

The chains arranged across my body like a harness were lighter than the ones binding Shane, but would be just as impossible to escape from. I cast an accusing glare at the watchdog, to which he gave an apologetic shrug as he backed up.

My eyes followed the chains, noticing the ends simply lay on the floor. I hadn't been tied to anything. I stepped to the side and almost stumbled due to the short chain between my leg shackles.

The Warlord stood up and took several steps forward, telling the soldiers, "This should be sufficient. You're dismissed. You two-" he gestured to my watchdogs, "remain in case I need something."

The warrior and soldiers filed out as the watchdogs went to stand on either side of the now-closed tent flap. The Warlord wandered over to a rough wooden table against the tent wall, appraising the items neatly arranged there.

My heart hammered in my chest when he picked up a short whip and began circling around us as if debating where to start.