By the morning of the fifth day, Leonie had withdrawn completely into herself. She barely even glanced at Dorian. The thought that he judged her for everything that had happened in the castle filled her with shame and guilt.
If only she hadn't told him the truth.
If only she had stayed quiet, the way she had for so many years.
Then she wouldn't feel as if Dorian, too, saw her as nothing but a whore. How could she ever fit in among the elves if this came out and everyone started looking at her the same way?
She ate her breakfast in silence while Dorian quietly watched her. Several times he opened his mouth, ready to pick up where they had left off the night before, but she seemed so closed off he always chose silence instead.
The entire day passed like that, wordlessly—until well into the afternoon, when Dorian suddenly slowed his horse to a halt and went utterly still, listening.
"What is it?"
The question snapped Leonie out of her apathy, but before she could even finish it, Dorian had already driven his horse into a gallop, pushing it to an unimaginable speed.
"They've caught up," he shouted into the wind screaming past their ears.
He could have stopped to fight, but he had no idea how many there were, and he wasn't about to risk Leonie having to face their pursuers. He knew Marcus and the others could not be too far ahead, so he tried to warn his friend of the danger while urging his horse to go even faster. They almost flew above the ground; he could hear their pursuers falling behind, but he still didn't slow down. A good fifteen minutes later, the sound of movement rose up in front of them as well, and five horses with their riders appeared between the distant trees, thundering toward them.
Leonie pressed herself against Dorian in fright, clinging to him as if she might try to merge into his body.
"They're ours," Dorian reassured her, finally beginning to slow his horse as the riders came into focus.
Marcus led the group, and behind him four elves rode in full battle gear—each at least as imposing as Dorian himself. The sight should have calmed her, yet the elves were… intimidating, to say the least.
"Got yourself into trouble again?" a short-haired, grey-haired elf called out to Dorian from a distance.
Dorian ignored the comment, and as soon as they reached the others, he drew his horse to a halt—the others doing the same.
"They'll catch up soon. Xav, get the girl out of here."
Before Leonie could react, Dorian practically tossed her into the arms of the older-looking elf who had just shouted at them.
"All right," the man agreed without question and was already turning his horse away when Leonie began to fight him.
"No! I'm not going anywhere!"
She struggled, kicking and writhing against the iron grip of the elf. There was no way she was just going to let some stranger ride off with her. Dorian might have hurt her deeply, but in the ruins of her world, he and Marcus were the only things she had left to hold onto.
"Calm down already, girl!" the grey-haired elf snapped.
Leonie writhed and twisted in his arms until she finally managed to get her face turned towards him.
"Let me go!" she screamed again, but Xav's grip only tightened. Panic surged, and she clenched her fist, slamming it into his face with all the strength she had left.
A sharp crack sounded—her hand had broken. Again.
Silence fell in its wake, broken only by Leonie's ragged breathing.
Eventually, it was Marcus's cheerful remark that shattered the frozen moment.
"See, Dorian? You're not as special as you thought."
As much as he pitied the girl, who had clearly been terrified at the thought of leaving with Xav, he couldn't deny he was entertained by the fact that Leonie apparently wanted to punch all of his comrades as well.
Dorian, however, was far from amused; deep lines carved themselves into his face. He did not like the idea of these wretched humans getting anywhere near Leonie.
"I'm not arguing about this," he said in a voice like stone, his furious gaze making it clear the matter was settled as far as he was concerned.
"You can't tell me what to do," Leonie shot back stubbornly.
Around them, the elves displayed the full spectrum of expression. The very young-looking one stared at her, mouth hanging open. Another, a blond with his hair in a braid, watched her with soft, genuine curiosity. The older elf holding her looked understandably grumpy, but Leonie couldn't have cared less. The last one, with shoulder-length light brown hair, was clearly trying not to smile, which only made him look as if he had a stomachache.
"Of course I can tell you what to do," Dorian replied coldly.
"You are my responsibility to get home alive—and so is keeping my team safe. Out there you'd only get in their way."
His hard face showed nothing but annoyance. Why couldn't Leonie, just once, behave logically? His life was complicated enough because of her; she could at least try not to make it worse.
"I can defend myself!"
Leonie fought with all her might to slide down out of Xav's arms, only to freeze when Dorian let out a short, humourless laugh, utterly devoid of warmth.
"That's not how it looked so far."
The moment he saw the hurt flare in her face and eyes, he regretted the words. He might as well have slapped her.
"Leonie…" he began, hesitant, but Marcus cut in, vaulting down from his horse and appearing at Xav's side in a heartbeat.
"We don't have time for this, children. I'll keep an eye on you," he told Leonie, and with that, he lifted her down in a single smooth motion, setting her by his side.
Leonie clung to his arm, looking up at him with grateful eyes. The panic slowly began to ebb from her body.
Dorian stared at them for a few moments, then swung down from his horse too. The others followed suit. He handed his reins to the youngest elf, who gathered up all the horses and led them away to tie them at a safe distance.
"Don't leave anyone alive," Dorian ordered. Then, turning to Leonie, his tone just as strict:
"And you—don't move from Marcus's side."
Now Leonie, too, could clearly hear the thunder of approaching hooves. In the distance, the charging riders began to appear between the trees. At least thirty soldiers were coming their way, and Leonie couldn't help thinking it was too many.
Yet as she looked over the elves, she saw not fear, but something that looked suspiciously like excitement. All six of them were fully armed—Dorian at the front, Marcus and Leonie at the very back.
"Stay behind me and don't get into trouble, all right?" Marcus told her with a light smile, drawing a dagger from his belt and pressing it into her good hand.
"Use it if you have to."
He'd barely finished the sentence when the soldiers crashed into Dorian, and the bloody battle began.
Dorian had meant every word of his command—he did not intend to leave survivors. In three effortless strides he surged forward, caught the saddle of a passing horse, and swung himself up behind its rider as easily as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A single sharp movement, and he snapped the man's neck with his bare hands.
He pushed off the horse, landing hard enough to knock over a second soldier. His fist disappeared into the man's chest, and when he pulled it back, a dripping, blood-slick heart gleamed in his hand.
Leonie stared, rooted to the spot. He looked like some angel of death—terrifying and devastatingly beautiful, his wrath more destructive than a flood.
The others weren't far behind him. All six elves fought like war made art. The blond, braid-wearing elf battled two men at once, his sword moving like a conductor's baton. The young one—who couldn't be much older than she was—dodged a small group of soldiers with a shout of "Catch me if you can!", and, to her shock, seemed to be enjoying himself as he picked them off one by one. The older and the light-brown–haired elf fought back-to-back, their movements so perfectly in sync it might as well have been choreographed.
Leonie searched herself for at least a flicker of pity for the growing number of men lying dead on the ground. But deep down all she found was relief.
She took a few hesitant steps forward, her gaze catching Marcus—four men on him at once, not far from where she stood. One of the soldiers noticed her movement, peeled away from the others, and stalked toward her.
Leonie immediately raised the borrowed dagger in front of herself and began to back away. She had never fought anyone in close combat, and judging from her current physical state, she wasn't sure she could win against a child, let alone a grown man.
With no other option, she kept retreating from the snarling, broad-shouldered soldier until her back hit a tree.
Seeing her falter, the man gave her a disgusting grin. His hand shot out, clamping around her throat and slamming her to the trunk. With a practised twist of his wrist, he knocked the dagger from her hand.
Leonie's heart dropped into her stomach.
"Trip's over, you little slut," he said, squeezing harder.
Her mind went blank. Maybe Dorian had been right—she shouldn't have stayed. She wasn't capable of defending herself. Her breath was cut off; terror sank claws into her, and her thoughts dissolved into fog.
"The baron's not in a forgiving mood after you—"
Abruptly, the soldier looked down. A stupid, confused expression spread across his face as he tried to shake off the roots that had begun to creep up his legs.
Everything seemed to happen at once. Not far off, Marcus shouted her name. The man's grip loosened around her neck, and she managed to knock his arm aside with all the strength she had left. Something yanked sharply at her waist; she flew sideways and landed hard on her backside, as if a gust of wind had ripped her out of his reach.
She spun back immediately—and froze.
The soldier's eyes were wide with horror. Only his head still protruded from the mass of roots that had twisted around him. He opened his mouth to scream, but a thick root burst out from between his lips, and then everything went still.
At least, everything around Leonie did.
She stared, horrified, at the scene in front of her, no idea how much time passed before she finally felt a hand settle on her shoulder. She flinched, turning to face her attacker—but found only Marcus, his expression tight with worry.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly, sinking to his knees beside her.
There wasn't a scratch on him. His clothes were spotless, as if he hadn't been fighting at all.
"It's over," he murmured, trying to calm her. Leonie could only nod before she doubled over and retched, losing whatever was left of her lunch.
When the last waves of panic finally ebbed away, the nausea slowly receded as well, though her trembling fingers still clung desperately to Marcus.
Her gaze searched for Dorian. He gave her only the briefest glance as he strode past, rage carved deep into his face. He walked straight toward the man wrapped in roots, wiping blood from his hand with a rag as he went.
Leonie, of course, assumed he was still angry with her.
In truth, Dorian was furious because she had been in danger at all. If he could, he would have dragged that man back from the dead, cut off his hands, and then killed him again for daring to lay a single finger on her.