Untitled Pt. One

   It was simple, really. Get the girl and get out. Piece of cake.
   Nikolas swore as she aimed another kick at him. She bounced on his shoulder as he ran, squirming to get free. Her gagged mouth muffled the screams. She had been more difficult than he'd anticipated. Oh, getting into her room was easy enough. Pathetically so, even. He expected her to be asleep in bed and so was surprised to come face to face with her as soon as he entered through the window. She, of course, screamed and he could do nothing but gag her as quickly as he could, put the bag over her head and toss her over his shoulder. The alarm was sounded shortly after and the guards were on his heels, hounds baying.
   Even now, he heard the sounds of their feet behind him, but they were growing quieter and quieter with each passing minute. Sure enough that he had escaped, he set his load down on the ground gently and took the sack off her head. He stared into a pair of emerald eyes that held a terror so great it almost made him feel bad and forget his mission. Almost.
   Behind that terror, however, was a steely rage that, as the seconds passed, grew until it consumed the fear and she glared at him with such intensity it seemed as if she were trying to burst the blood vessels in his body. He crouched in front of her and, for the first time, noticed just how old his prisoner was.
   He'd only ever seen her from a distance. High up on her dark stallion, sitting with silent authority in the throne to the king's left, or in the paintings sold in the market place. After all, we didn't want anyone getting too close to the elven princess, did we?
   He'd always seen her as some spoiled slip of a girl who would forever live under her brother's shadow. But seeing her now, this close, he realized she couldn't have been much younger than him. Nineteen, at the very least. And gorgeous too. Eyes that could pierce a man with a single glance, a figure that curved gently but voluptuously, hair that rippled in dark waves down her back, and russet skin.
   "Now, listen, Your Highness," Nikolas began. He saw her back and shoulders tense. "Your guards have stopped looking for you. We're miles away from any city or town. There's nowhere for you to run and no one will hear you if you scream. I'm going to take the gag off if you promise to keep quiet." He saw multiple emotions flash in her eyes before she nodded sharply.  
   He slowly removed the cloth and let it hang about her neck. She opened and closed her mouth a couple times, stretching out her jaw. "What do you want with me?" she asked. Her voice was cold, as if her breath froze the words as they exited her mouth. He only smirked.
   "From you? Nothing," he replied smoothly. "From your grandfather, however, everything." She eyed him coldly, but betrayed no confusion or fear. He could see, however, a curiosity brimming in those green eyes. But he stayed silent. Giving her a quick drink of water from the canteen slung across his chest, he picked her back up, tossed her over his shoulder once more, and kept moving.

   How long they traveled, the princess could not say. All she was aware of was the pain and fear that battled with the rage bubbling inside her. She bounced against the man's shoulder for hours, squirming uncomfortably in his grip. Finally, he slowed to a stop and set her down again, this time standing. Turning her around, he felt her whole body stiffen and her heart rate accelerate.
   A large group of men, all dressed in raggedy clothing, stared at the odd couple. They were at a large camp, containing innumerable tents and fire pits. Every man was armed with a knife at the very least. They all had a tired but hardened look about them that spoke of many battles won and lost. The lady had only heard of this band of men in whispers behind feathered fans and gloved hands. They greeted Nikolas warmly, but kept their eyes on the young woman. Nikolas looked at the princess with a cruel smile.
   "Welcome to your new home, Your Highness."

~*~

   Amelia Thorn's life was fairly simple. Wake up, look pretty, smile, be perfect, go to bed, repeat. No questions asked. Just do what everyone wants and expects of you, and you will be fine.
   She sat in the bay window overlooking the park and let her thoughts run away with her. She imagined galloping across the field with her brother, hair down and whipping out behind her, the horse moving beneath her so fluidly and gracefully, she'd feel as if she were flying. Instead, she was sitting pretty, waiting for her lady-in-waiting to come and dress her. She was to have tea with Lady Catherine Hornsburry today. She was to sit with a woman twenty years her senior, take the older woman's advice to heart, nod her head and smile.
   A heavy sigh exited through her nose and she pressed her forehead to the window. It was bright outside with only a few clouds in the sky. She watched a jet-black carriage pull up to the front gate, pulled by four white stallions. She leapt out of her seat and a grin broke out across her face. Running out her door, she passed by her maid, shouting protests at her back.
   In just her dressing gown and a satin robe, she ran down the stairs, bare feet slapping against the cold stone floor. She skidded to a halt before reaching the door to the grand foyer and listened to her brother's voice as he greeted the servants. Trying to slow her breath, she grinned and pushed open the door. He turned towards her and a smile broke out across his features. She rushed into his arms and hugged him close.
   "Welcome home, Darren," she said into his chest. He squeezed her briefly.
   "It's good to be back."
   He pulled back and his smile wilted ever so slightly. "Don't you have to put, oh I don't know, real clothes on? Aren't you seeing Lady Hornsbury today?" he asked. She rolled her eyes.
   "Oh, come off it. You just got home and you're already nagging me? I swear, you must have gotten lessons from Olivia," she grumbled. He looked up and over her shoulder, searching.
   "Speaking of, shouldn't she be chasing you down right now trying to force you into a corset?" he inquired dryly.
   Amelia opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by another, much older, feminine voice.
   "If I had any hope of catching her, I would."
   Amelia turned slowly to find a plump, middle-aged woman standing, hands on hips, one eye brow raised. Olivia glowered at her charge. Amelia seemed to recede to the age of twelve and lowered her eyes to the floor.
   "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see Darren," she said softly. Olivia sighed heavily.
   "Yes, yes, of course. And yesterday you just wanted to know what was for lunch. And the day before that you wanted to know how your horse was doing. You can't fool me, Lady," she reprimanded. Amelia dropped the little girl act and her shoulders dropped.
   "Do I have to wear that dress?" she whined. Olivia rolled her eyes.
   "Please, Lady, don't make this harder than it has to be. You know you have to wear the dress and you know you have to sit with Lady Hornsburry and you know you must pretend to be enjoying yourself. We went over this last time."
   Amelia scowled and stalked off to the stairs leading to her suite. Looking over her shoulder, she watched Darren say something to Olivia that had them both laughing. Coloring at their obvious jest concerning her, she hurried up to the bath that was most likely cold now.