Little Red's Riding

Mate or Monster?

Every part of Dahlia's body hurt by the time her brother lifted her down from the saddle in the courtyard near the stable where the officers' horses were kept.

"I don't think that I can walk." She murmured as her legs gave out, the muscles that had been wrapped around the barrel of the horse for the last two days no longer functioning properly as Deckard caught her and lifted her back onto her feet.

"Well you won't need to because we're home. You can spend the next few days recovering in bed after what you've just been through. I can't imagine that anyone will expect you to be up and about after spending eighteen hours on horseback. After all, you aren't a member of the King's Guard, are you?"

"I feel like I am." She glared at him as he lifted her up in his arms as if she were still a child.

Dahlia had spent every moment of their long, fast ride towards the Capital praying that Silas would find them and rescue her. She could hardly hear anything, over the steady sound of the three horses' hooves smashing against the ground as they cantered for hours, stopping only occasionally to swap out the sweat lathered steeds for fresh mounts that were already saddled and waiting for them at the next town.

"Are wolves faster than horses?" She had asked her brother once when they had been switching from one horse to the next and he had grumbled and gripped her more tightly than necessary around the waist, as he'd hoisted her unto their fresh mount.

She had had far too much time to think on their long ride. It wasn't as if she'd been able to sleep, even when she did manage to find a less miserable position, leaning back against his chest. After a very short while everything hurt. And so she sat, because she had no other alternative, and wondered how fast werewolves were, and how long they could run, and she stared off into the woods and prayed she would see a flash of fur, or glowing eyes, or something that would let her know that her rescue was imminent.

Of course, it never came.

And that was why Deckard carried her into his apartments and deposited her lightly on his couch, before looking around, his brow furrowed as if he hadn't quite considered what their living situation would be once they arrived.

"Why don't you take a bath and soak your muscles for a while. But make sure you don't fall asleep. I'm going to ask one of the maids to fetch you some clothing from one of my friends-"

"One of your lady friends? Can't we just buy some. I feel strange wearing clothing from one of your-" Dahlia's voice trailed off. Every word she came up with was less delicate than the one before it. She didn't have a problem with her brother having a multitude of relationships or whatever he wanted to call them. She just didn't particularly want to wear the clothing of women that she'd never even met who her brother was sleeping with.

"-friends." She ended lamely and he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Lady Calla is the wife of one of the Generals. She's perfectly respectable and he is a good friend of mine. They're hoping to have a child soon, but I believe you're a similar size to what she wears now and she's very kind. I think she'd be thrilled to meet you, once you're feeling well enough. He's mentioned to me before that she's lonely when he's away. Perhaps you can have tea. I think you'd like her. She was the one I wanted to send those girls to."

At that Dahlia looked up. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to meet this particular Lady as long as she was being held captive here. She'd need allies if she was ever going to escape on her own. And now that she was inside this gilded prison it was going to harder than ever to get out.

"Now go. Take your bath. I'll have the maid bring in your new clothes as soon as they're ready. The bathroom is right through that door."

Dahlia nodded, taking one last look around the room.