Hunted
Janelle
Two days of running had worn us all down to nothing.
I crouched behind a fallen log, my servant's dress torn and muddy, watching Adrian pace like a caged wolf. We'd moved camps twice since leaving the rebel stronghold, always one step ahead of the hunting parties that seemed to multiply every day. The forest that had once felt like home now felt like a trap closing around us.
"We can't keep this up," Adrian said for the tenth time that morning. His royal bearing had cracked under the strain. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and stubble covered his jaw. "They're getting closer."
"We're safe here," I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction. "The magic protects this grove."
"Magic won't stop arrows, Janelle." He stopped pacing and turned to face me, his green eyes wild with frustration. "Or swords. Or the fifty men I counted yesterday morning."
