The front shelf was tucked in, the walls and roof folded down, and down again, and now, with another swift, folding twist, and all there was before him was a lumpy rucksack of a size to fit her shoulders. She hoisted it to her back, settled it. An upper part was extended, and a little flop-up-and-over roof appeared above Ruth’s head.
The birds fluttered down onto that small, new roof.
Ruth dusted off her hands then slapped them together. “Done. You can go first.”
As if he needed to approve her, Ruff sniffed at her boots then circled her heels.
He raised himself up on fluffy paws, propping himself on her leg and stretching to sniff higher up Ruth’s pants. She picked him up and deposited him on her shoulder. There was a long second of startled Ruff, eyes staring at the horizon, as if he were thinking, how dare she do this?
Then he pricked to life. Whereupon he settled down, perching there beneath the little roof.
John shook his head. If this was magic, he wasn’t arguing.
He mounted up, seating himself comfortably behind his captive princess, tossed his cloak over her far-too-enticing form, and geed the horse into motion.
True love is like a cake. It does, of course, require constructing.
Rarely is it achieved with one simple ingredient.
John had begun his recipe with bondage and lust, and a little care.
More ingredients were likely coming, or so one might think.
If one believed that Ruth, the dwarf-giant, could predict the future.
She couldn’t, but she was really good at guessing.
After a few yards, John gave in and edged his palm beneath the cloak, where Po’s rear made a minor hill. He ran his thumb over the crease of ass and thigh. Her stillness, then her near imperceptible ass-wriggle made him smile internally. A few strides of Rocky later, a real smile sneaked onto his mouth.
“You okay?”
“Mmpff!”
“Good.” Truth be told, he needed a translator for that.
This was promising.
For the rescue, obviously. His love life was a distant secondary matter.
He held the cloak higher, studying the shadowed contours of her nakedness—hills, yes, also dips, gullies, and dark lustful alleyways. He swallowed.
Not that distant.
CHAPTER SIX
was possibly her weirdest day ever, and she’d had some really unusual ones lately.
Po hung over the horse’s withers, staring at the ground going by a few feet from her eyes, trying not to throw up when the horse strode jerkily and squashed her stomach.
The rope around and under her breasts was chafing, her nipples were digging into saddlecloth, and the rope between her teeth was making her dribble. Drooling was generally considered bad manners. The road had many holes and ups and downs. She made a note of that, for the purpose of distracting herself.
Spend more on road maintenance in the mountains. When she was princess again.
Right now, this day, this second, she certainly was not being very princessy.
What she’d vaguely agreed to with John, while he was manhandling her, was abhorrent.
Those hands of his. She shut her eyes, and not because of vertigo. He somehow bothered her so much with his sexy ways, when he was touching her, feeling her, biting her, that her thought processes became mud.
Then, she felt his hand on her ass again, caressing her there.
Intolerable. Inconceivable even.
She really must shut this reaction down. Be the princess again.
Be.
The.
Princess.
She squeezed her eyelids together even tighter then began to listen, for they’d halted. The horse whickered; his hoofs did a little dance. Rocky shook his head, making the tackle jingle. Boots stomped closer.
“What’s your purpose, and what’s this on your horse, sir? A body?”
“A female slave. A pretty one. Naked. Want to see?”
This was the checkpoint. Making a fuss was still possible. He had her tied, but she could move. And if she did and succeeded in attracting the right attention, John would be arrested, then brought to court. She could ask for clemency. Beg for it even.
Was that so awful?
Who would rescue Xander if John were stopped?
She inhaled, exhaled, thinking. It would be awful, except she would be free to help in the search.
“Sure. We need to see her, officially, like.”
Someone laughed.
The cloak was flipped back, removing her from shadow, exposing her to sunlight and the soldier’s eyes. Below, Po could see their legs and feet around her. John smacked her on the butt, and she squeaked and pulled at the bindings on her arms. The soldiers laughed again.
If she arched, twisted, showed her face, they might know her? The rope distorted her words, it did not silence her.
They would see their princess, naked and in this terribly humiliating position.
She must decide.
The Princess Manual Lesson #1: Sometimes one has to make difficult decisions.
“Isn’t she a beauty! She ran off, but I caught her,” John declared. “You boys need to get yourselves a Kostan slave. Soon as I make camp tonight, I’m going to fuck her every which way, every hole.”
How dare he! Her eyes snapped open. The man had plainly asked for retribution.
“Damn,” one of them muttered. “That is some hot slave flesh you got there. Show us her face.”
Good man.
“Not between her legs? You disappoint me.”
“Doing my job, sir.”
“Okay.”
John weaved his hand into the base of her wet hair, and she tensed, anticipating the coming discomfort and her chance. He had plastered mud over her body, face, and hair but this was going to be a chance.
Say princess and stare into the guard’s eyes. Say it over and over.
As he levered her head back, she couldn’t help hissing, and almost missed the shouted
