Haven (War of the Princes) by A. R. Ivanovich

would believe.
    “Axton,” the old man barked. “Do you know this girl?”
    I heard movement behind me and spun to see a square, solid palomino horse come a little farther into the light. I expected the rider to be someone as rough as the gritty old man or the woman with the scarred face.
    I was completely unprepared for what I saw when the rider who answered to Axton came closer to get a look at me. He was young, easily the youngest of the group, with blonde hair that brushed his shoulders, framing the most beautiful face I had ever seen. His fine, symmetrical features were just masculine enough to remind me very clearly that he didn’t share my gender. If they were standing beside one another, he would have made the thuggishly handsome Sterling Mason look like a brute in comparison to his perfection. It was a very striking first impression, and I gaped in spite of my situation.
                I flushed instantly under Axton’s scrutiny, wildly unprepared to see someone so attractive.
    It didn’t escape me that we were probably close enough in age that he would know me if we were from the same town. And he answered the way I knew he would. “I’ve never seen her before.”
    “Look at that coat,” someone else said, and I took the opportunity to break eye contact with Axton. The other speaker was a rugged, middle-aged man with a crossbow aimed at my head. “Unusual tailoring isn’t it?”
                “Could be Eastwater . She might be a spy,” someone suggested.
                “Isn’t the first order of a spy to blend in?” Axton said in a droll tone.
                “Why take any chances?” the woman said.
                “I’m not a spy,” I said meekly. “Rune is very badly injured, I helped him get here, and I’d just like to go home.”
                I was being honest. I didn’t see any reason why I wouldn’t be allowed to turn and walk away from them, but they held their circle around me.
                “Listen to her accent… what is that?” someone asked.
                “Do I look like a cultured enough ‘gent to have left the region? Idiot ,” another soldier responded. “Axton, do you know it?”
                The beautiful young man stared at me, leaning casually forward over his saddle. “Never heard it before.”
                The old man squinted at me and set his jaw. “Collect her.”
                The words rang in my ears, hardly taking any meaning. It wasn’t until I saw the horses closing in on me from all sides that I understood. They weren’t letting me go.
                I cried the name of the only person I knew who might be my friend. “Rune!” But he lay still.
                Seeing and hearing them all press toward me in unison was like a trigger for my newly discovered claustrophobia. I sucked fast breaths through my mouth and nose in panic, and bolted for the nearest opening between horses, abandoning the lantern for the darkness of the sparse wood.
                I was no match for the horses, and knew it, but I had to try. They intercepted my path, flanking and cornering me until I was no farther than I’d started off. Attempting to dart past them didn’t do any good. They were too many. Finally, my knees buckled and I sank into the tall grass, overcome by exhaustion.  
                I was captured.

Chapter 13: Breakwater
     
     
     
     
     
    Being taken away was surreal at first. I felt strangely numb as they bound my hands in front of me and forced me to sit astride a tall chestnut gelding with the scar-faced woman. Maybe they thought it was a courtesy to seat me with someone of the same gender, but she was meaner than the men she rode with.
    Someone attended to Rune, announcing that he was still alive. It was as though no one had listened to a word I said. I was relieved to see that they didn’t treat him