The Ring Master's Fair - Part 4

Lark's hands were bound tightly together. Her back was pressed up against Atticus's chest. One of his hands rested too comfortably on her hip, and the other was slung across her upper chest, holding her securely in place.

"You are lucky that you didn't get sold to that man," Atticus said, pointing his finger to a man that was practically dragging a screaming woman across the ground.

Lark visibly winced, but still remained silent. "How about that one," Atticus pointed out another man who was practically raping a woman in broad daylight; her screams were muffled by the man's mean kisses.

Lark shuddered at the sight. "Yeah, I get it. I should be ecstatic that I belong to you," she grumbled.

"You should be."

She groaned and wanted to bury her face in her hands, which she, sadly, was incapable of doing at the moment.

His hair tickled her neck as his breath felt hot up against her ear. "You are going to admit that you like being mine at one point. I will make sure of it."

Lark shivered with pleasure at the sudden fantasies appearing in her mind. "N-no," she barely managed to stutter out.

Atticus eventually let her go for merely a moment before she found herself slung uncomfortably over his shoulder.

"Put me down Atticus," she said, pounding her bound hands hard against his back.

Atticus liked the way his name rolled off her tongue easily in her sweet, sharp northern accent. "No," he responded in a hard voice.

Lark grimaced at his tone. "Why are you acting like this? Earlier you were sweet enough."

"I was drunk earlier," he retorted, "That's how I act when I'm drunk. Right now I am completely sober."

"Earlier you were complaining about me calling you drunk. You insisted that you were tipsy, and far from drunk," she whined.

Atticus tightened his already tight grip on Lark's legs, and sped up his already fast pace. He soon set her down next to a beautiful, chestnut stallion. He hoisted himself up on the stallion, and then a soldier came up from behind her and helped her up.

Just to make her mad, Atticus untied her wrists, causing Lark to let out a sigh of relief and to start rubbing her sore wrists. But he quickly grabbed her wrists and wrapped them around his waist, and retied them together in a secure, square knot.

Lark tried to tug her hands way, but the knot was too tight. "Where did you learn to tie a knot like this?" she asked, even though annoyed.

"From my father. We sometimes set traps in the forest to catch animals for the kitchen."

"You catch your own food sometimes?" she asked, shocked. "I never would have thought."

"That's because you don't know me," Atticus snapped. He hit the stallion in the sides with his legs, sending the stallion off into a steady, bouncy trot.

The sun shone down on them from high in the sky. It was a bright, clear early afternoon. The pair rode with no one else at their sides. The servants had already left before them. And the soldiers would be coming soon after, with Atticus's younger brother Rylan.

They rode down a smaller path, besides a larger road. This was done to avoid beggars and peasants selling various items.

But, nevertheless, the view form the road they were on was beautiful. On the right side was a massive, waist high field of wheat. Women and children were picking and sorting the ripe wheat. And men hauled, full to the brim, carts and wheelbarrows to a large mill in the farther distance.

Lark's face was pressed up against Atticus's back, facing the direction of the massive field. She admired how everyone was included in the work, and the fun and games that came along with it.

Back at the corn farm Lark worked from sunup to sundown. She was given a set of chores at the beginning of the day: feeding animals, serving those with a higher status than her, Working in the fields, and filling bucket upon bucket with water from the nearby stream.

If the assigned tasks were not completed by sundown, then a harsh punishment was bestowed on Lark. She was forcefully stripped from the waist up and tied to a wooden post. Her master would then whip her; one whip for each task not completed, and not to mention an additional one for each time she cried out against the pain.

Lark squeezed her eyes shut at the painful memories. It was in the past where it hopefully would stay. She must have let out a sob at some point, because Atticus stopped the stallion on the side of the road. "You okay there?" he asked, a laugh was laced within his voice.

Lark stayed silent for a moment. "What is wrong with you?," she eventually asked.

"Nothing is wrong with me, except for the fact that you have somehow managed to piss me off already," he snapped.

"Okay, okay." She would have held up her hands in surrender if it wasn't for the sad fact that they were still tightly bound together around his waist.

They rode the rest of the way in silence after that. Lark's eyes grew heavy at some point. "How long," she asked Atticus tiredly.

"Not much longer."

Lark fought hard to stay awake. But eventually, she gave in and let sleep take over.

-----

Lark woke up on a bed that felt like a cloud. She yawned and stretched like a cat, before sitting up to examine her surroundings.

The room was medium-sized. The constant theme was black cherry wood with brown, forest green and white detailing. The bed was a sturdy canopy bed with white, free flowing curtains hanging down on all sides. Opposite of the bed was a large window covered by a heavy material, making the room seem gloomier than it should have been. There was a vanity with an ivory mirror hanging over it. A large fire place, on the wall opposite of the bed, burned brightly, the flames licked and devoured the logs easily.

Lark found a hint of a homey feel in this room. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the quiet peace for a few moments, before a door suddenly burst open. Her eyes snapped open as she gasped in surprise.

There was a girl who looked a few winters older than Lark; she was finely dressed compared to Lark's rags. "You must be Larne," said the girl with her big blue eyes widening.

Lark laughed. "It's Lark," she corrected.

"Oh my, I'm incredibly sorry, my cousin was in a rush to be somewhere after he carried you in," she explained, flustered.

"It's fine. Is your cousin, by chance, Prince Atticus?" Lark asked curiously.

The girl nodded, causing Lark to gasp as she struggled to get out of bed. "My apologies Princess Chryste," she clumsily curtsied as best she could.

"Oh, nonsense, that's Chrys to you young lady," Chrys said with her hands on her hips. "Now come on, tea is in an hour and Atticus wants you to come down for a stroll in the garden or something," she grinned with her eyes gleaming.