#ww84

Not that it mattered much to him. Clint had greater worries than what would occur after his delivery of the magical royal brat. The Count has his daughter. She’ll be released back to him upon handing over the princess.

There’s only one catch. He thinks he has the princess, but he has you.

You’re slumbering peacefully when suddenly a large gloved hand clamps over your mouth, a pair of strong arms pulling you from the satin softness of the bed. Your screams go unheard to the guards napping just outside the door as your wrists and ankles are bound and you’re hoisted underneath those arms and made to hold on for dear life as your captor heaves himself over the window’s ledge and out onto the stony wall of the tower.

“Stop wriggling lest you fall to your death,” a gruff voice warns, putting your physical resistance to an abrupt stop. It matters very little after all, because when you glance down to see how high up you are, you immediately faint.

By the light of the full moon Clint and his beastly companion, cursed Goat-Man of the East Bay, scare off a couple of travelers and take their campfire. Making sure they stay gone, the goat-man growls and tramples a path, keeping it clear from others. Clint ties up his horse to a tree and feeds it an apple, cooing soft words and petting its snout.

You’re still passed out, a burlap bag as a makeshift bed beneath you. Not that Clint did it out of kindness. It’s just easier to roll you up in case he needs to make a mad dash back to the Count’s castle.

There are likely many who would recognize you – the princess – famous for your long silver hair, rumored to possess magical healing powers and light to total darkness. Clint needs to keep your kidnapping a secret. Other henchmen, worse than he, wouldn’t give it a second thought to steal you away.

So he stays awake, the adrenaline of the capture still singing in his veins, and watches you sleep.

“Is she dead?” the cursed goat-man asks. He’s been sent along, momentarily freed of his jester duties to the count, to see that Clint keeps to his task. Nothing gets past him and he’ll report to the count truthfully. Clint has thought several times of kicking him into the river. Surely such a creature cannot tread water.

“She’s alive,” he mutters, taking a bite of the beef jerky he’d kept in his pack. He sighs when Goat-Man sidles up to him, asking for a scrap of his food. Clint rips off a piece of jerky and tosses it into the woods. Goat-Man goes after it without shame.

From your supine position on the ground next to Clint you start to rouse from your unconsciousness. “Mmmmmm,” you moan lightly, stretching your limbs, eyes still closed. Goat-Man hurries to you before Clint can stop him. You yawn peacefully, sighing deeply, smacking your lips as you open your eyes.

“You’re finally awake, Princess!” Goat-Man says excitedly.

You scream in terror at the creature before you until Clint pulls him away and replaces your sight with a better one. “Don’t mind him. He can’t and won’t harm you. He’s castrated.”

“Hey!” Goat-Man shouts.

“I won’t harm you either. But I need you to be very quiet and very obedient.”

A beat. And you scream again. Clint clamps his hand over your mouth. “What did I just say?” he demands. “Now, quiet or I’ll shut you up with something worse. If you try to run I’ll catch you. You’re mine. Understood?”

Shaking, you nod.

“Good. Now, don’t be frightened, Princess. I’m going to bring you to the Count of Alameda, who wants you to do a very special favor for him.”

“Princess? I’m not–”

“You won’t be harmed. The court’s realm has known nothing but darkness for many months. You and your magic.. hair.. can help bring light to the people again. It’s a noble thing, you should be happy to help,” he adds irritably.

“You don’t understand! I’m not–”

“Don’t be stingy, Princess. There’s more at stake here than you know.” Clint’s face darkens as he thinks of his young daughter in strangers’ hands.

Angrily you stand and rip the silver hair off your head, revealing you are not, in fact, the magical princess.

“A wig??” Clint is stunned and angry.

“I tried to tell you – I’m not the princess!”

“What were you doing in her bed in the tower?”

“None of your business!”

“Tell me now. Or I’ll get this little devil to gnaw on your leg.” To emphasize the threat, Goat-Man grins evilly, showing off sharp fangs.

“If he sinks his teeth into you, you’ll die from some nasty infection,” Clint shrugs. Goat-Man chomps his terrifying teeth.

“Fine! Alright!” You raise your hands in surrender, trying to remember what your kidnapper has asked you.

“Who are you, and where is the princess?” he asks slowly.

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips. “I am the princess’s maid and greatest confidant. She tasked me to sleep in her bed as her, a pretense in case the king or queen looked in on her during the night.”

Clint raises a brow, intrigued. “And where is your lady?”

“Meeting the stable lad, mayhap engaging in the fornication of a lifetime. They’re madly in love and forbidden from seeing each other.”

Clint groans. He has the wrong person. He wipes a hand over his face. “I can’t go back to the Count with a maid.”

“Maybe we can kill her and eat her,” Goat-Man pipes up, “then go back for the actual princess.”

You’re already trying to run away, but you get caught up in your ankle restraints. Clint looks on, amused as you fall flat on your face. “You’ll knock yourself out, Maid,” he taunts, arms crossed as Goat-Man laughs with him.

Groaning, you get up, spitting grass from your mouth as you pull yourself up to a sitting position. “Release me now! I am of no use to you, you rotten bastards!”

“I beg to differ!” Goat-Man exclaims. “As I said, you’d be very tasty meat. And I’ve only been given scraps on this journey.”

“All you deserve is scraps!” Clint grunts. “She’s right. She’s of no use to us. Come daylight we’ll make our journey to the village beyond the hills. There’s sure to be a tavern where we can sell her.”

Your eyes are wide in terror and indignation. “Sell me??”

“Relax. By this time tomorrow you’ll either be a barmaid or a whore. Either way you’ll make decent coin.”

Goat-Man adds, “And either way I’ll be your best customer!”

Screaming, you try to run again, but Clint is faster, grabbing your waist and clutching you to him, his chest pressed to your back, biceps straining as he tries to keep you from struggling out of his grasp.

But if he’s honest with himself, the way you’re wriggling against him is working up a disturbance below his belt. He’s careful to try to keep himself away from you, even as you thrash about in his arms.

“Forgive me,” he mutters, applying pressure on your neck until you pass out, going limp in his arms.

“What did you do that for?” Goat-Man exclaims. “I have perfectly good sleeping powder in my bag!”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Clint grunts, laying your unconscious body on the ground.

It’s easier to keep you asleep than for Clint to have to keep you bound the entire journey. Each time you start to stir, he gives you a spoonful of sleeping powder mixed with water from his canteen, or whatever alcohol Goat-Man has on his person. It’s quiet, and Clint realizes he does kind of miss the sound of your voice.

“Too much of that and she could wind up addled in the brain,” Goat-Man warns him.

“You mean, almost as if she’d been kicked in the head by a goat?” The implication in Clint’s tone and the warning in the lift of his brow speaks volumes. He’s had enough of his enforced companionship with this wretched creature and would off him if given the right circumstance.

Your silver wig is unceremoniously perched on your head, the real color of your hair showing in small wisps near your forehead. Clint’s heart does a strange backflip at the sight of it and shoves that feeling way down deep.

You’re a means to an end. Nothing more.

Even if you are pretty. Kind of.

You start to rouse just as Clint’s horse steps through a creek winding through the woods, small droplets of water splashing on your face as he tramps through, getting water everywhere.

“You should get some sleep while you can,” Clint grunts when he sees your eyes open. In all truthfulness their shape and color are a combatant effort in making his heart skip what he’s sure are very important beats.

You say in a sleepy voice, “You must return me to the palace at once. The king will be very upset at my sudden departure.”

“Are you his mistress or something?”

“What? No!!”

“Then I doubt he’ll be wringing his hands in worry at your absence. You’re just a maid, and a replaceable one at that.”

Goat-Man speaks up. “We really should stop calling her Maid, don’t you think?” He turns to you with a ghastly smile. “What is your name, or what may we call you?”

You don’t quite know what to make of this creature. Sometimes he’s kind and sometimes he’s more than willing to either take a bite out of you or fuck you. You answer most politely and give them your name.

“It’s pretty,” Goat-Man says. “It sounds like church bells ringing.”

“That’s sweet,” you say, glad that for once he’s charming and engaging. “What’s yours?”

“Clint,” your captor replies, subtly holding you tighter against him. “I bet you didn’t know he used to be human,” Clint nudges you, pointing at Goat-Man.

“I never would have guessed,” you mutter. “What happened?”

“He was once a great friend of the Count, and a wealthy lord. Lord Maxwell was his name,” Clint relays. “He was caught having an affair with the Count’s wife and had a spell put on him, turning him into what he is now. As the story goes, the Count said if Maxwell wanted to act like a horny goat then he would become one for all eternity.”

You burst into laughter at this, much to Goat-Man’s consternation. “Enough about me,” he snaps. “Or I’ll bite both your heads clean off.”

“Pretty impossible for a little goat to do,” you tease, before realizing you’re being more friendly with your captors than you should be. “Will someone tell me where the devil we are going? I’m sore from the day’s travels!”

“We’re going to find an inn for the night,” Clint mutters, his grip on you stronger after your change in attitude.

“And how will you explain a tied up woman among your company?” you challenge him.

Clint gives a wicked smile. “The type of establishment we’re going to doesn’t ask about those kinds of things.”