Read Only the Worthy for Free Online Page A

were confirmed. The sound
of galloping became audible, and over the hill, there appeared an entourage of
horses. Her heart lurched as she noticed their riders were clothed in the
finest silks, as she saw their banner, the green and the gold, a bear in the
center, heralding the house of Nors.
    The nobles were
coming.
    Genevieve
flushed with ire at the sight. These greedy men had tithe after tithe from her
family, from all the peasants’ families. They sucked everyone dry while they
lived like kings. And yet still, it was not enough.
    Genevieve
watched them ride, and she prayed with all she had that they were just riding
by, that they would not turn her way. After all, she had not seen them in these
fields for many sun cycles.
    Yet Genevieve
watched with despair as they suddenly turned and rode right for her.
    No , she willed
silently. Not now. Not here. Not today.
    Yet they rode
and rode, getting closer and closer, clearly coming for her. Word must have
spread of her wedding day, and that always made them eager to take what they
could, before it was too late.
    The other girls gathered
around her instinctively, coming close. Sheila turned to her and clutched her
arm frantically.
    “RUN!”” she
commanded, shoving her.
    Genevieve turned
and saw open fields before her for miles. She knew how foolish it would be—she
would not get far. She would still be taken—but without dignity.
    “No,” she
replied, cool, calm.
    Instead, she
tightened her grip on her sickle and held it before her.
    “I shall face
them head-on.”
    They looked back
at her, clearly stunned.
    “With your
sickle?” her cousin asked doubtfully.
    “Perhaps they do
not come in malice,” her other cousin chimed in.
    But Genevieve
watched them come, and slowly, she shook her head.
    “They do,” she
replied.
    She watched them
near and expected them to slow—yet to her surprise, they did not. In their
center rode Manfor, a privileged noble in his twentieth year, whom she
despised, the duke of the kingdom, a boy with wide lips, light eyes, golden
locks, and a permanent sneer. He appeared as if he were constantly looking down
on the world.
    As he neared, Genevieve
saw he wore a cruel smile on his face, as he looked over her body as if it were
a piece of meat. Hardly twenty yards away, Genevieve raised her sickle and
stepped forward.
    “They shall not
take me,” she said, resigned, thinking of Royce. She wished more than anything
that he was at her side right now.
    “Genevieve,
don’t!” Sheila cried.
    Genevieve ran
toward them with the sickle high, feeling the adrenaline course through her.
She did not know how she summoned the courage, but she did. She charged forward,
raised the sickle, and slashed it down at the first noble that came for her.
    But they were
too fast. They rode in like thunder, and as she swung, one merely raised his
club, swung it around, and smashed the sickle from her hand. She felt an awful
vibration through her hands and watched, hopeless, as her weapon went flying,
landing in the stalks nearby.
    A moment later,
Manfor galloped past, leaned down, and backhanded her across the face with his
metal gauntlet.
    Genevieve cried
out, spun around from the force of it, and landed face first in the stalks,
stung by the searing pain.
    The horses came
to an abrupt stop, and as the riders dismounted all around her, Genevieve felt
rough hands on her. She was yanked to her feet, delirious from the blow.
    She stood there,
wobbly, and looked up to see Manfor standing before her. He sneered down as he
raised his helmet and removed it.
    “Let go of me!”
she hissed. “I am not your property!”
    She heard cries
and looked over to see her sister and cousins rushing forward, trying to save
her—and she watched in horror as the knights backhanded each one, sending them
to the ground.
    Genevieve heard
Manfor’s awful laughter as he grabbed her and threw her on the back of his
horse, binding her wrists together. A moment later he mounted behind