Rope hissed against leather as Peter pulled it from his belt.
Belle stared at him, her breath catching in her throat as the coarse fibers caught the dim lantern light.
Disbelief warped her features, her eyes tracking the rough hemp with a mixture of shock and sheer denial.
"Really...?" she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of the silence.
Peter nodded very slowly, keeping his gaze locked on hers, completely unfazed.
"Really," he murmured.
Sighing, Belle slumped against the wooden wall behind her.
"So you weren't kidding..."
"No."
His hand slid away from her mouth, leaving a cold patch where his warm palm had just been resting.
Belle took a deep, shuddering breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to process the absurdity of her situation.
Words bubbled up in her throat, her lips parting as she prepared to unleash a torrent of protests.
Before the first syllable could escape, Peter raised a finger and spoke very politely.
"Excuse me?"
Belle frowned at him, her eyebrows knitting together in sheer frustration.
"No!"
Peter's corner of his mouth turned up in a faint, infuriating smirk.
"I guessed," he said.
Gently, he reached forward and brought her wrists behind her back.
No hurry showed in his movements.
No force was applied, only a firm, unyielding pressure that made resistance feel entirely futile.
Belle twisted her arms anyway, her muscles tensing as she tried to pull away from his grip.
Peter shrugged, his shoulders rising in a lazy motion.
Quietly, his voice cut through her mounting panic.
"Belle..."
His tone remained level, entirely devoid of anger or malice.
"Cooperate, it'll be over sooner," he added.
Muttering under her breath, Belle kicked her heels against the floorboards.
"Are you kidnapping me, and do you expect cooperation?"
Peter paused, his fingers hovering over the rope as he gave her question some serious thought.
Eventually, he gave a tiny, solemn nod.
"...Yes."
Frustration flared in her chest, but she couldn't stop the ridiculousness of the situation from washing over her.
He was entirely serious, yet he treated this abduction like a minor chore on a Sunday afternoon.
Looping the rope around her slender wrists, he tied a clean, secure knot.
Testing the tightness, he slid his index finger beneath the hemp.
Frowning slightly, he adjusted the twist.
He loosened it just a fraction.
"This is better," he muttered, satisfied with his handiwork.
Then he reached deep into his heavy coat pocket.
Out came a clean, neatly folded navy cloth.
Belle's eyes widened at the sight of the fabric, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"No... no... not this one..."
Peter almost looked embarrassed, a faint flush touching his high cheekbones.
"I promise it's just so no one can hear you," he explained softly.
Belle pursed her lips, glaring at him with all the venom she could muster.
"I promise not to scream," she countered, trying to sound reasonable.
Peter looked at her, his dark eyes searching her face.
Silence stretched between them for several long, agonizing seconds.
Then, with his signature composure, he shook his head.
"No," he said.
With a gentle but swift motion, he tied the cloth behind her head.
He paused just before securing the final knot.
"Isn't it too tight?" he asked, looking genuinely concerned.
Belle stared back, her muffled protests lost against the fabric.
Peter answered his own question.
"No... it's fine."
Muffled sounds continued to escape her as she glared at him.
Peter bent down, reaching for a second length of rope resting on the dusty floorboards.
Immediately, Belle folded her legs, tucking them tight against her chest to keep them out of his reach.
Peter sighed, a heavy sound that vibrated in the small room.
"Belle..."
She glared at him, refusing to budge.
"Don't make this part difficult," he warned.
Belle shook her head angrily, her jaw set tight.
Peter smiled, a small, genuine expression that softened his sharp features.
"Okay... I'll do it myself."
Grabbing her ankles with a firm grip, he easily uncoiled her legs.
Belle squirmed, but his hands were like iron bands, steady and unmoving.
Within moments, her ankles were bound together with the same neat precision.
Peter stood up, brushing off his dark trousers as he surveyed his work.
---
Rain began to patter against the windowpane, a steady, rhythmic drumming that filled the silence of the cabin.
Belle wriggled on the wooden chair, testing the limits of her constraints.
Every movement only seemed to tighten the knots, proving his expertise with cordage.
She glared up at him, her eyes burning with a mixture of fury and unanswered questions.
Peter pulled a wooden stool over, sitting directly in front of her.
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, bringing his face level with hers.
He looked tired, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
Heavy responsibility hung over his shoulders, a weight she knew all too well.
Reaching out, his fingers brushed a stray lock of dark hair away from her forehead.
His touch was surprisingly warm, contrasting with the chilly drafts sweeping through the room.
"I know you hate me right now," he said, his voice dropping to a low, quiet murmur.
Belle rolled her eyes, making a sharp, muffled sound through the navy cloth.
Peter let out a soft, breathy laugh.
"Fair enough," he conceded, rubbing the back of his neck.
"But the city isn't safe for you anymore. Your father's men are searching every tavern and boarding house from here to the docks."
Panic flared in Belle's chest at the mention of her father.
She stopped struggling, her body going completely still as the gravity of her situation hit home.
Peter noticed the change, his expression softening further as he watched her.
"They think you have the ledger," he continued, his eyes searching hers for any sign of recognition.
Belle shook her head as much as the gag would allow, trying to convey her ignorance.
He didn't seem entirely convinced, though his gaze remained gentle.
"Whether you have it or not doesn't matter to them. They will use any means to make you speak."
Standing up, he walked over to the narrow window, parting the heavy wool curtains just an inch.
Cold wind whistled through the cracks in the wood, carrying the scent of pine and salt water.
Peter scanned the dark tree line, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his dagger.
Nothing moved in the darkness, save for the swaying branches of the pines.
Satisfied for now, he let the curtain fall back into place.
Turning around, he looked at Belle again.
She was watching him intently, her anger slowly giving way to apprehension.
He walked back to her, kneeling on the floor to be at eye level.
Carefully, he reached behind her head and loosened the knot of the navy cloth just enough for her to speak.
"No screaming," he warned, his voice a low, gravelly whisper.
Belle spat the cloth from her lips, coughing slightly as the cool air hit her throat.
"You're insane, Peter," she hissed, her voice raspy.
"Perhaps," he agreed, his face inches from hers.
"But I am an insane man who is keeping you alive."
"By tying me up like a sack of potatoes?" she snapped, her jaw clenching.
Peter chuckled, a genuine sound that irritated her even more.
"You are far lighter than a sack of potatoes, and significantly more beautiful, even when you're trying to murder me with your eyes."
Color rushed to Belle's cheeks, a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
She looked away, unable to hold his intense gaze.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"You could have just left me at the inn. You didn't have to drag me into this mess."
Peter's smile faded, replaced by a grim line.
He reached out, his thumb gently tracing her jawline.
"I couldn't leave you," he said simply.
Silence descended upon the room once more, heavy and suffocating.
Belle felt her heart rate spike, not from fear of her captor, but from the sudden, overwhelming proximity.
He was too close, his scent of cedarwood and rain filling her senses.
She wanted to push him away, to scream at him, to beg him to let her go.
Yet, a small, treacherous part of her felt safer in this dusty cabin with him than she had in months.
Suddenly, a sharp snap echoed from the woods outside.
Peter froze instantly, his hand dropping from her face.
His entire posture changed, his muscles locking tight like a coiled spring.
Without a word, he reached behind Belle's head and pulled the navy cloth tight again, muffling her gasp.
She didn't fight him this time.
Fear, cold and sharp, gripped her chest.
Peter stood up, his movements silent as a shadow.
He drew his dagger, the steel catching the dim lantern light with a dull gleam.
Extinguishing the lantern with a quick blow, he plunged the room into absolute darkness.
Only the faint, gray light from the window allowed Belle to make out his silhouette.
He glided toward the door, his boots making no sound on the old floorboards.
Outside, the rain seemed to grow louder, drumming against the roof in a frantic tempo.
Another sound cut through the storm—the distinct crunch of gravel.
Someone was approaching the cabin.
Belle's heart hammered so hard she feared Peter could hear it from across the room.
She strained against her bonds, but they held firm, trapping her in the chair.
Peter pressed his back against the wall next to the door, his dagger held in a reverse grip.
His breathing was slow, controlled, entirely silent.
Slowly, the doorknob began to turn.
Belle held her breath, her eyes wide in the dark.
A floorboard creaked just outside the threshold.
Sliver of wet, dark night sliced into the room as the door creaked open.
Heavy boots stepped inside, dripping water onto the floorboards.
Peter didn't hesitate.
Lunging forward, he drove his weight into the intruder, slamming them against the doorframe.
A grunt of pain echoed through the room as the two figures grappled in the dark.
Belle squeezed her eyes shut, the sound of tearing fabric and grunts of exertion filling her ears.
Metal clashed against metal, a sharp ring that vibrated in her teeth.
Suddenly, a bright flash of light illuminated the room.
Peter was pinning a tall, cloaked figure against the wall, his dagger pressed against the stranger's throat.
"Hold your hand, Peter," a familiar voice gasped out.
Peter's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.
"It's me, you fool," the figure wheezed, pulling back their hood to reveal a face covered in scars.
"Marcus?" Peter breathed, slowly lowering his weapon.
"Aye," Marcus grunted, rubbing his throat.
"And I brought company."
Behind Marcus, another figure stepped into the cabin, shaking the rain from their cloak.
Belle's breath caught as the light flickered over the newcomer's face.
It was her sister.
---
Rainwater pooled around Marcus's boots as he stepped fully into the cabin.
Belle stared at the second figure, her heart stopping in her chest.
Clad in a wet travel cloak, her sister, Clara, pulled back her hood.
"Clara...?" Belle tried to scream, but only a muffled squeak escaped her gag.
Clara's eyes widened as she took in the sight of her sister tied to the chair.
"What in the world is going on here?" Clara demanded, glaring at Peter.
"Why is she bound and gagged?"
Peter didn't look remorseful at all, simply sliding his dagger back into its sheath.
"She was uncooperative," he said smoothly.
"Uncooperative?" Clara marched forward, her boots clicking sharply on the floorboards.
"She is my sister, Peter! You were supposed to rescue her, not kidnap her!"
"I did rescue her," Peter replied, his voice calm.
"From her own stubbornness."
Marcus let out a dry chuckle, closing the door behind him and locking the heavy bolt.
"He has a point, Lady Clara. Your sister was about to walk straight into a trap at the docks."
Clara ignored him, kneeling in front of Belle and reaching behind her head to untie the navy cloth.
As soon as the gag fell away, Belle gasped for air.
"Clara! He's working for father!" Belle burst out, her voice cracking.
"He tied me up! He was going to sell me out!"
Clara paused, looking up at Peter with a sudden flash of suspicion.
Peter sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.
"I am not working for your father, Belle," he said, sounding thoroughly exhausted.
"If I were, you would already be in a carriage heading to the capital, not sitting in a dusty cabin in the middle of nowhere."
"Then why tie me up?" Belle demanded, twisting her wrists against the ropes.
"Because you wouldn't listen," Peter said, stepping closer.
"Because you were going to go back for that ledger, even knowing it was a trap."
Belle bit her lip, looking away because she knew he was right.
Her entire life depended on it.
"It's the only thing that can clear my name," she muttered, her anger deflating.
Clara reached down and began working on the knots around Belle's wrists.
"He's right, Belle. Father knew you would try to get it. He set an ambush."
"How do you know that?" Belle asked, looking at her sister.
"Because I was the one who helped him set it," Clara whispered.
Silence fell over the room, absolute and freezing.
Belle froze, her wrists halfway free from the ropes.
She stared at her sister, her mind struggling to comprehend the words.
"What...?" Belle whispered.
Clara didn't meet her eyes, her fingers trembling as she picked at the knot.
"I had no choice, Belle. He threatened to destroy everything."
Peter stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Clara.
"What did you do, Clara?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
Marcus reached for his sword, his eyes darting between the sisters.
"She's not alone," Marcus muttered, his hand on his hilt.
Outside, the sound of horses' hooves muffled by the rain began to echo through the trees.
Multiple horses.
Riders were closing in, their pace urgent.
Belle looked from Clara to Peter, terror washing over her.
"Clara... what did you do?" she screamed.
Clara looked up, tears streaming down her face.
"They're already here."
Wood splintered violently as the door exploded inward under a heavy kick.
Cold rain lashed into the room, bringing with it three armed men wearing the crest of the High Duke.
Marcus drew his sword in a fluid motion, his blade ringing out as he stepped between the intruders and the sisters.
Peter was already moving, throwing himself to the side to flank the lead soldier.
Belle strained against the ropes around her ankles, panic screaming in her ears as the room erupted into chaos.
Steel bit into steel with a deafening screech that filled the small cabin.
Clara scrambled backward, her face pale as she huddled near the cold hearth.
One of the soldiers, a massive man with a scarred face, lunged at Peter with a heavy broadsword.
Peter ducked beneath the wild swing, his movements precise and deadly.
With a swift strike, he drove his dagger upward into the gaps of the soldier's armor.
Groaning in pain, the man collapsed to his knees as blood began to stain his tunic.
Marcus held his ground against the other two, his veteran skill showing in every block and parry.
"Get her out of here!" Marcus roared, his voice straining under the effort.
Peter grabbed Belle's chair, lifting her effortlessly despite her bound ankles.
"Hold on," he muttered, kicking the window frame behind them.
Glass shattered into a shower of sharp fragments, rain pouring through the new opening.
Belle squeezed her eyes shut as Peter hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack.
Outside, the dark forest swallowed them, the storm howling through the trees.
Shouts echoed from the cabin behind them, followed by the sound of pursuit.
Peter ran through the dense undergrowth, his boots slipping on the wet mud but never losing his footing.
Belle bounced against his back, her bound wrists aching from the pressure.
"Peter, put me down!" she yelled over the wind.
"No," he grunted, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
Branches slapped against them as they plunged deeper into the dark woods.
Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath Peter's feet.
They tumbled down a steep embankment, rolling through the wet leaves and mud in a tangle of limbs.
Belle cried out as she hit the ground, her shoulder slamming into a thick tree root.
Peter rolled to a stop a few feet away, groaning as he pushed himself up.
Mud covered his face and clothes, his dark hair plastered to his forehead.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his knife and sliced through the ropes binding her ankles and wrists.
"Can you run?" he asked, his voice urgent as he pulled her to her feet.
Belle rubbed her raw wrists, nodding quickly despite the throbbing pain in her shoulder.
"I can run," she said, her voice shaking.
Footsteps crashed through the brush above them, lanterns flickering through the trees.
"They're coming," Peter whispered, grabbing her hand.
They ran, their breath clouding in the freezing air.
Up ahead, a roaring sound grew louder, drowning out the noise of the storm.
Slick stones gave way to a steep drop-off as they reached the edge of a rushing river.
Swirling black water churned below, white foam spitting against the jagged rocks.
Belle stopped at the edge, her heart leaping into her throat.
"We have to jump," Peter said, looking back at the approaching lights.
"Are you insane? We'll drown!" she screamed.
"Trust me," he said, his fingers tightening around hers.
Before she could protest, a voice boomed from the darkness behind them.
"Stop right there!"
Turning, Belle saw her father standing at the top of the rise, a loaded crossbow aimed directly at her chest.
"No..." she whispered.
Her father pulled the trigger.