To Hell And Back: (On-Hold), Chloe Knox [lightest ebook reader txt] 📗

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“You often meet your fate on the road you take to avoid it”

~French Prover Quote


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Walking carefully but swiftly through the night, away from the small shack, a man dressed in huntsman attire made his way to a nearby river. He gripped a small box in his hands tightly, trying to keep the little thing from moving inside. Soft muffled cries of need came from the box, begging for mercy, but the man ignored them.

He looked left, then right, making sure there was no one to witness his crime. When he saw the coast was clear, he knelt down onto the moist bank. Just as precaution, he again looked from side to side, then to the dark shack in which he was “spending the night”. He would leave early in the morning so the kind farmer and his wife wouldn’t suspect him of anything, so he wouldn’t be blamed.

The man looked at the small, mostly vacant shack, and felt a small prick of guilt stinging his insides. The farmer and his wife? They had been so kind to supply him with dinner and a place to stay…then again they might have not done any of that if they knew who he actually was…but was that enough of a reason to steel something so closely dear and precious to them?

Anger quickly overwhelmed his guilt when he remembered the prophecy in which the whole town had spoke of, including the farmer and his wife.

“You will never be my son-in-law,” he whispered aggressively to the box. A soft cry, the sound of a desperate baby, erupted from the box, “You’re not worthy of my daughter…and you’re sure as hell not worthy for the thrown! My thrown!”

And with those last words, the king whom was disguised as a commoner gently set the box carrying the farmer and his wife’s child onto the soft surface of the cold brown waters. He watched with narrowed eyes as the current of the river gently pushed the box out of his hands, and down the bank away from him, out of his life. The king didn’t care what God’s will was, or what the prophets read of the future. He would never give his daughter, or his thrown, away to some farm boy. This boy was unworthy of the very air he breathed, and fortunately he’d never have to see him again.

Sarah's P.O.V.

I watched him stride through the forest, along the river, near the house he shared with his father, the famous town's blacksmith. He was wearing his everyday commoner attire; brown leather breeches with the trim pulled up to his knees, so he could walk through the semi-deep waters without getting his pants wet, and his puffy white shirt and leather vest.

I watched as he knelt down, cupping his hands and dipping them into the river, acting as a cup. He splashed a handful of the cold yet dirty river waters across his face and neck, rinsing him of all the sweat that accumulated from his daily laborious chores but coating his skin with sprinkles of mud. He didn’t care, though. Like most guys, he enjoyed being dirty.

He splashed the remaining water off his hands back into the water, and I took a step forward, not wanting to waste the best opportunity to strike him.

I stepped on a branch, and it snapped, echoing around the trees.

Ulrich reacted immediately; turning quickly and on his feet to face whatever it was that had disturbed him. He looked left and right, and then shrugged, turning back to the river. He folded the long sleeves to his thin white shirt up to his elbows, and before my opportunity was completely lost, I pounced.

I ran and then jumped, ready to lock him in a choke hold, but he must have heard me. He quickly and easily, grabbed me by my arms and yanked flipping me over his right shoulder and then pinning me to the ground on my back.

“Oomph!” I grunt, sucking in the quick breath that I lost when I slammed into the leaves and shrubbery on the ground, “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Neither is attempting to sneak attack someone.” Ulrich said back with a big and bright smile, the one that always made my insides melt. I couldn’t help but smile back, “Attempting? Was I really that bad?”

“Let’s just say you need more practice.”

“Well what did I do wrong?”

Ulrich sighed, his dark brown eyes seeming extremely amused. He ran a hand through his long blonde locks of hair and sighed, “Well…next time, you might want to lose the war cry.”

“Oh…yeah, I guess that would be beneficial.”

“You don’t say.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed on his shoulders with all my might. Ulrich stumbled back, falling on his butt with a faint chuckle, “Well I can see you’ve gained some strength in those tiny arms of yours.” Ulrich said, pushing me with just as much force as I had pushed him with, yet instead of stumbling on my butt I literally rolled backward into the river.

It only took seconds for me to panic, when my whole body became enveloped in cold water. I slowly tried to open my eyes, but I could barely even open them let alone see through the muddy waters.

I innately began to thrash my arms and legs, trying to reach for the surface, but that only made me sink faster. I innately opened my mouth to scream for help, and the disgusting contaminated waters took it upon themselves to plunge incessantly into my mouth. Only seconds passed before the back of my throat was burning and my lungs began to shrivel and ache in pain. I tried to hold my breath, but couldn’t. I found myself gasping for air, but the more I tried to breath, the more the waters were able to rape my mouth.

Then, as quickly as I had sunk, I was back on land. Drenched with dirty water, staining my tan commoner dress, and hair sticking to my wet cheeks, I clawed at the now damp foliage under my hands. Digging my fingers into the dirt, I pulled, yanking the rest of me from the waters. Ulrich grabbed me by my waist, helping to pull me away from the river.

When I was finally a safe distance away from the river, where I was sure I wouldn’t again fall in, I flipped onto my back. I took in a breath of relief, and then turned to cough up the unhygienic water that I had swallowed.

“Only you would drown in water, two feet deep.”

“Well I’m sorry, I can’t swim! It’s not exactly my fault…besides! You’re the one that pushed me!” I yelled in between heaves, slapping him playfully on the shoulder.

Ulrich rolled his eyes, “Whatever, are you okay?”

I nodded; whipping a splatter of mud away from the corner of my mouth…it tasted horrible!

Ulrich sighed, then reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, “It won’t do much, but it’ll be fine till we get back to the house.” He said handing me his shirt.

I quickly tore it from his hands, making sure to avert my eyes from his perfectly sculpted and tan chest, “Thanks.”

I slipped into the shirt and let him walk me into his house.


Ulrich's P.O.V.

“So…how’ve you been?” Sarah asked to me, through the closed door of my mother’s bedroom.

I shrugged, sighed, and then leaned against the wall to look aimlessly at the weak and wooden ceiling of the house my father had built with his bare hands, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s just been awhile since the last time I saw you. I was just wondering how you are since then…good? Bad? The same?” I heard her, voice sounding a bit strained.

Furrowing my brows with confusion and worry, I looked at my mother’s bedroom door, “I’m fine, I guess.”

“I guess? That doesn’t sound to assuring.”

“I’m fine, Sarah.” I said, curious to why her voice kept cracking and why she kept squealing.

Lightly I pushed on the door. It cracked open an inch or two, making a barely audible creak.

I took a little and quite step toward the door, to peer into the small opening in between the door and door frame. Through the tiny sliver, I saw why she was shrieking continuously like an annoying little girl.

She had been in my mother’s room for over twenty-minutes now, yet she was still changing out of her wet dress. She awkwardly reached over her shoulders reaching the back to her dress. It was quite a struggle which seemed to take much effort and time, but eventually she was able to untie the back of her dress.

I knew better…I was raised better…but I couldn’t help it, couldn’t help myself. I knew I should, but I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from her as she let her dress fall over her hips and to the ground.

She untied the back to her corset, a contraption which me and my father considered pointless, which most commoner’s, like herself, didn’t—shouldn’t—possess. Within seconds, she was completely nude, running her hands through her long, wavy, and lushes blonde hair.

“You still there?” she asked, as she peered over her shoulder toward the door which she thought was still shut.

I took a quick step back, to avoid being seen as I licked my lips and in a cracked voice mumbled, “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Oh, okay…so how’s your father been?”

“Good.”

“His drinking habits?”

“Escalating.”

“And his yelling habits?”

“Deceasing,” that was a lie, but it would make her