The carriage rattled and swayed as it traversed the rugged terrain.
Gwendolyn tried not to dwell on the possibility that the wheels could crack under the strain. She didn't want to think about being stranded in the wilderness, at the mercy of the elements.
She shivered and pulled her fur coat tighter around her. The chill was biting, and the air was thick with moisture.
A drop of water fell from the ceiling, landing on her cheek. She flinched, her senses heightened by the tension.
It wasn't just the cold that was making her uncomfortable. It was the uncertainty of her situation. She had no idea where she was going or why.
Gwendolyn thought about the man she loved, Prince Rylan, and her heart ached. She had trusted him, and he had betrayed her. He had led the rebels who had kidnapped her. She wondered if she would ever see him again.
As the carriage continued its journey, Gwendolyn was consumed by despair. She had never felt so alone and helpless. She wished her parents were there to comfort her. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on something else, anything other than her grim predicament.
The faint sound of galloping hooves penetrated her thoughts. They were coming closer, faster. Suddenly, the carriage jerked violently, and the door swung open.
Gwendolyn was thrown out of the carriage and into the waiting arms of a stranger. She let out a cry of alarm, but it was quickly silenced by a strong hand covering her mouth.
She struggled in vain against the strong grip, her muffled protests falling on deaf ears. Her captor's grip was firm, and he easily carried her to a horse, tossing her over the saddle like a sack of grain.
Before she could regain her senses, her captor mounted the horse and took off at a breakneck speed. Gwendolyn clung to the horse's mane for dear life, her heart pounding in her chest.
Who was this man, and what did he want with her? She had no answers, and the only thing she knew was that she had to get away.
"Hold on tight, lass!" The man said, his voice gruff and commanding.
She didn't know what was more frightening: the prospect of being taken by a stranger or the fact that her captor had spoken in a strange accent.
The man held her tightly and spoke with a strong voice that showed he was serious. Gwendolyn had no choice but to obey. She didn't want to know what would happen if she disobeyed.
"Do you think I'm stupid? Let me go!" she cried, thrashing about and trying to free herself.
"Shut up," the man growled.
"Why did you kidnap me?" she demanded, struggling against his iron grip.
The man didn't respond, and the silence between them grew more uncomfortable with every passing moment.
Gwendolyn squirmed against the man's firm grip, her voice laced with panic. "Let me go! What do you want with me?"
Silence met her outburst, broken only by the sound of galloping hooves. The man didn't respond, his face unreadable in the dim light. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and gravelly. "You weren't taken for me, little one. You were... sold. Delivered like a package. Now I gotta get you where you're supposed to go."
The man's words hit Gwendolyn like a blow to the stomach. Sold. The word rang through her thoughts, whatever it meant soaking in.
She had been bought and sold, like an object. Her value had been reduced to nothing more than a transaction, a business deal.
"Who are you? Why have you done this to me?"
"I'm just the courier. I don't ask questions, I just do my job. Now, be quiet. We have a long journey ahead of us."
The man tightened his grip on her, and the horse beneath them lurched forward, galloping into the darkness.
"Please, just let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. I'll just disappear. Please..."
His expression remained impassive.
"Don't you dare cry. Your tears will do you no good."
She sniffed, desperately trying to hold back the tears.
"My name is Gwendolyn. Will you at least tell me your name?"
"I have no name. I'm a lowly person, and you'll address me as 'sir.' You're a slave now, too. And slaves don't need names."
Gwendolyn shuddered at his words, his cold and unfeeling tone chilling her to the bone. All the hope she had clung to seemed to disappear, leaving only despair and hopelessness
"How much farther until we reach our destination?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Quiet. Keep your questions to yourself, slave."
"Where are we going?"
The man's patience was wearing thin. "To the slave market. That's all you need to know."
Gwendolyn swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. The slave market. She had heard stories of the horrors that took place there. A sense of dread settled in the pit of her stomach, and she felt like she was going to be sick.
She had no idea what fate awaited her at the hands of her captors, but one thing was certain: it was going to be a nightmare from which she would never awaken.
The sun had begun to set, casting its crimson rays over the landscape. The wind had picked up, blowing strands of Gwendolyn's hair across her face. She brushed them aside and looked up at the man who held her captive.
"You don't look like a slave trader," she ventured, trying to gauge his reaction.
The man let out a harsh laugh. "And what does a slave trader look like?"
"I don't know. Cruel, vicious, heartless. Not like you."
He turned his gaze towards her, his expression hard and unreadable.
"You've got a smart mouth on you, little girl. Best learn to keep it shut, or someone will shut it for you."
Gwendolyn swallowed hard, shivering at the warning. She had no doubt the man meant what he said, and she had no desire to test his patience.
The tension between them was evident as they silently carried on with their journey.
As the last rays of the sun disappeared below the horizon, the man slowed his horse and came to a stop.
"We're here," he said, his tone brooking no argument.
"Here?" Gwendolyn echoed, her voice trembling.
"Yes. We're at the slave market. This is where your new life begins."
The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she suddenly felt very small and alone.
"Please, sir. Please don't do this. I'll do anything. Just let me go."
"Stop your pleading, slave. You're worth a lot of money, and I intend to get every penny of it."
The man dismounted the horse swiftly. Gwendolyn struggled against his grip, but it was no use. He was far too strong for her.
"You'll fetch a good price," he said, a cruel grin twisting his lips. "I can see it now."
He dragged her off the horse and pushed her forward, his grip on her arm like a vice. She stumbled, her legs weak and shaky, and the man grabbed her again, dragging her towards the entrance of the slave market.
"Welcome," the man said mockingly.
Gwendolyn couldn't stop shaking. Her brain buzzed with confusion as she tried to figure out what was happening. How had she gone from being a noble young woman to a slave, with no hope of rescue or escape?