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In the last second before she plunged into darkness for good, Wren thought she saw a flicker of recognition cross the man’s face, and she imagined that his hands might’ve loosened just a little from her throat. But then her vision went entirely, and all of her thoughts—of the man who was killing her, of her parents, of Rowen, of Britta—faded away, and then there was nothing.

10

Arrik

This was exactly why he hated female warriors.

It was wrong to hurt a woman and yet she’d been the one to draw first blood.

Arrik sighed and released her throat. Her breaths were steady, but she wouldn’t be out for long. He’d only held her down long enough to get her to pass out, so he didn’t do any permanent damage on accident.

His father would call him weak. Maybe, he was.

What was she doing up here?

He’d specifically chosen this spot to gain some peace. After his men swept the keep one last time, they had taken every last morsel of food, wine, and ale from the castle and carried it down to the beach. Arrik had stayed behind to watch them from above as they ate, drank, and celebrated their win while the bodies of the fallen burned to ash as was proper.

Many of his men still hated that Arrik gave their enemy’s bodies the same respect. It didn’t seem right to leave the fallen warriors behind to rot. They were soldiers following orders just like he and his men were. They fought valiantly and deserved a warrior’s send off and proper burial.

He leaned back, still straddling the woman. Pain lanced up his side, and Arrik winced and cupped his left hand over the wound. She’d come at him like a wraith. He noticed her presence a split second before she so foolishly chose to stab him. Did she know her chances of gutting him were slim from the back? There were too many bones in the way.

He pushed to his feet and stood and growled as heat and pain radiated from his wound. While she hadn’t killed him, his wound still hurt. Arrik cursed and strode toward the tapestry hanging on the southern wall and tore a section from along the bottom before holding it against his bleeding injury.

Facing the woman, he glared at her. Any other man would have died for deigning to attack him. And yet, he hadn’t killed her and that was a problem.

He didn’t take prisoners.

The dark elves didn’t take prisoners.

Arrik had made a name for himself by being a cold, brutal monster. He couldn’t make exceptions to his rule. That’s how people got killed.

He tossed away the soiled rag and yanked another long strip from the bottom of tapestry. From the corner of his eye, he could still see her flaming red hair. It was clear from the way she moved that she was exhausted and lacked the strength to counter-attack while he almost lazily removed the sword from his side. Nimbly, he wrapped the torn tapestry around his waist, over the seeping wound, and knotted it below his naval. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at her face before she passed out.

In all honesty, he hadn’t really noticed anything but her wild mane. The other rule he abided by was not to allow himself to see the people he conquered. Too many faces already haunted his sleep each night. She was merely a faceless, desperate Lorne citizen.

Look at her.

Arrik lifted his head and fully faced her once again. She was the one bright spot amongst the destruction in the room. He frowned at her. Why was he so drawn to her? What the devil was this? He prided himself on control. It was a skill he had to learn at a very young age. His father’s court was a depraved place where only those with an unflinching mask or a sadistic streak a league wide could survive.

Steps echoed in the corridor across from him, but he didn’t move from his spot. The man’s gait was distinctive.

His second stepped into the room, his attention moving straight to the unconscious woman on the floor. Shane’s upturned hazel eyes narrowed and then turned to Arrik, missing nothing. His black brows lifted in surprise.

“She wounded you?” he asked, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “And yet she still lives?”

Arrik didn’t have an answer for Shane.

His second pushed away from the wall and approached the woman. He paused at her side and crossed his arms. “What obscene hair.” A pause. “I like it.”

For some reason, that caused Arrik’s hackles to raise. He moved to the woman’s left side and stared down at her as well. Her face was turned toward Shane, like she didn’t want to look at Arrik. Some of her hair covered her eyes and cheek so he couldn’t see her face.

“It’s nothing like the women of our court, no?” Arrik asked.

Shane shook his head. “While I appreciate the finer things in life, there are times that I’m tempted to join the wild side.” He sighed. “But alas, her fate has already been decided. She spilled royal blood and so she must pay with her own.”

“A moment,” Arrik commanded, something in the back of his mind bothering him. He knelt, looming over her now almost-peaceful form, and took in her appearance properly for the first time.

Of course, his eyes strayed first to her intensely red hair, which was wet and knotted from the storm outside but unmistakably a shade he had seen just once in his life before—earlier that very day, upon the head of the warrior he’d ordered to be shot from the sky.