Chapter 9: Captured

Roots of Desire

Chapter 9: Captured

A rough hand clamped over her mouth, yanking her backward. Panic exploded through her chest as she thrashed against the grip, her pulse roaring in her ears. She kicked out, but her attacker was stronger; too strong.

“Quiet,” a voice murmured against her ear, low and smooth. Familiar.

Her best friend Lyric. Iveyna’s blood turned to ice. “You’re not the first, girl,” he said as he bound her wrists, the rope biting into her skin. “But I reckon you’ll not be the last.” Terror clawed through her as she fought against the ropes, but they only held tighter. The world tilted as they dragged her out the door and into the night. Beyond the village, the forest stood dark and silent.

Iveyna’s heart pounded in her chest, each thundering beat a desperate plea for freedom. The rough ropes dug into her wrists, biting deeply as she thrashed against them, but the more she fought, the tighter they seemed to become. Her breath was muffled, and her body ached with the strain of trying to break free. Every twist of her limbs only sent shockwaves of pain through her joints.

The world around her felt disjointed, slipping in and out of focus as she was dragged through the darkened streets. Her limbs were stiff with fear, and despite the terror flooding her veins, she could still hear the quiet hum of the night around her; the distant chirp of crickets, the rustle of the trees swaying in the breeze. But none of it felt real. It felt like a dream, a nightmare she couldn’t escape.

Two figures emerged from the darkness ahead of her. She could barely make them out; shadows moving in the blackened world, but they were too real to be part of some twisted illusion. Lyric, tugged sharply on the ropes binding her, pulling her forward. She could feel the rough pull of the other man beside him, a second figure, the foreman, also one of the Steward’s men. Their steps were calculated, purposeful, as they moved through the night with ease.

Despite her best efforts, there was nothing she could do. The gag stifled any cries she might have made, and the men were too strong, their grip too firm.

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With every step, they moved closer to the waiting cart. The wheels creaked under the weight of the heavy load, but the sound felt distant to her; like something happening in another world, far removed from the cold terror in her chest. She caught a glimpse of the cart, the dim outline of the wooden frame visible in the moonlight. Her stomach twisted with dread.

Then, she saw him.

Standing like a shadow beneath the houses, the Steward watched. He was calm, composed; his presence sending a cold shiver down her spine. The moonlight touched the sharp planes of his face, revealing the steely coldness in his eyes, the slight curl of his lips that held no warmth, only dark amusement.

As his men brought her closer, the rope biting painfully into her flesh, he stepped forward, his gaze never leaving her. His voice broke the silence, smooth and unwavering, laced with something cold and possessive.

“Such a rare treasure… and now, mine.”

The words lingered in the air, sending a chill down her spine. The way he spoke, so certain, as if she were little more than an object to be claimed. She wanted to scream, to fight back, but the gag kept her silent, her cries reduced to muffled sobs.

Her body was trembling now, a mix of terror and anger flooding her veins, but all she could do was stare at him. She saw the quiet power in his posture, the way his hands rested at his sides; unbothered, patient; as if he had all the time in the world.

“Get her in the cart,” he said, his voice still smooth, but with an edge that made her stomach twist. The foreman and his companion obeyed, forcing her into the cart with a brutality that left her gasping for breath. The rough boards scraped against her skin as they shoved her down, and she fought to keep her composure, to hold onto whatever shred of control she had left.

But it was no use.

The ropes were too tight. The gag too suffocating. Her strength drained away with every passing moment, until all she could do was watch in silent horror as the cart lurched forward, the wheels turning in slow, deliberate rotations.

And as the cart moved deeper into the night, she could hear the distant rustling of the trees, the low groan of the wind stirring the branches. The forest felt close now, pressing in from every side, its shadows seeming to reach for her like grasping hands. She didn’t know where they were taking her, but one thing was certain: the Steward had plans for her.

A strange sensation washed over her, something that felt like a mixture of dread and an unnerving pull of curiosity. She wanted to fight, to scream, to flee; but a part of her, somewhere deep inside, wanted to know what would happen if she gave in.

As the cart rattled over uneven ground, the moonlight began to fade behind the rising trees, and she felt the last trace of freedom slip away. The Steward’s presence, his gaze, hung over her like an oppressive weight