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She sighed, threw off the covers, and sat up to start her day.

4

The worst part of war was camp life.

Well, not truly. The worst was getting raped, and hanged, and surviving both, and then voluntarily landing yourself back into the war effort after a short, attempted return to one’s former foppish ways.

But after that, it was camp.

Temporary camps weren’t so bad. Sometimes, there was a certain charm in the campfire bonhomie of them, passing bottles and flasks around while a deer roasted on the spit. But stationary, dug-in encampments were nothing but cesspools of flies, waste – human and horse – and whoring. It reeked, the ground was nothing but churned-up mud, and if they weren’t practicing drills, most of the soldiers – such as they were – spent their days drinking and gambling, camp followers perched on their knees.

Over the weeks since Inglewood had been retaken, and the manor house turned into their motley army’s headquarters, Reggie had found himself drawn night after night to the field where the drakes bedded down for the night. Away from the campfires, and the shouted laughter; the drunken brawls and the overly loud exclamations of whores in the throes. At some point during every night watch, he found reason to visit Amelia’s beasts – one in particular.

“You musn’t tell anyone,” he whispered, in the dark chill just before dawn. He pulled a hunk of dried ham from his cloak pocket and offered it on a flat palm as he would when offering a horse a carrot. “They’d be jealous.”

Given that drakes could communicate with Amelia telepathically, keeping these nightly treats a secret was probably impossible. But Valencia – in his estimation the loveliest of the creatures – took the ham daintily between her teeth and swallowed it in a few efficient movements.

“You’re only humoring me, aren’t you?” he asked, wryly, and gave her a scritch behind the horns. Her eyes slitted shut and she leaned into the touch, crooning a low, pleased sound not unlike a purr. “That’s all right. If I’m to be humored, I’d rather it be by you than anyone else.”

She leaned in close, which would have once sent him stumbling back to land on his backside in the dirt. Now, he welcomed the warmth of her breath on his face, and her gentle nuzzling of his shoulder.

“Who’s a lovely girl? Who’s the prettiest?” When she cracked her eyes open and warbled happily, he was stunned all over again by their color, that brilliant amber backlit from within.

A dozen yards away, Alpha lifted his head and gave a rumble of greeting. Someone was coming, someone the drakes knew and didn’t fear. Reggie’s stomach tightened, though, and he smoothed his cloak and pushed back his hair; steeled himself as he turned to meet someone who would expect him to play the commanding general.

Tall grass shifted and waved in the last of the moonlight, and a small shape emerged in the clearing where the drakes had flattened the grass down into a bower. Reggie’s gut unclenched when he saw that it was only Liam Dale, Connor’s son.

“Reggie! Reggie! Reggie!” He ran into Reggie’s legs, nearly knocking him down in the process, and gripped the front of his tunic in both hands, tugging excitedly. “Reggie!”

“Yes, yes, I see you. What is it?”

“There’s people coming! The carriage is covered in jewels!” There was just enough light to make out the way the boy’s eyes shone. “It must be a princess!”

The sentry trumpets rang out across the estate, two long blasts to signal a friendly arrival.

Reggie lifted his brows. “Now, how would you know a princess was coming before the guards did, hm?”

Demonstrating a bit more social grace than his father, Liam dropped to his heels and wiped at his nose, chagrined. “I guessed?” he tried.

“Youguessedthe carriage was covered in jewels?”

“Well…” He knotted his fingers together, fidgeting where he stood. Reggie was quietly horrified to note that he was barefoot, especially considering his own breath and that of the drakes curled as white steam in the chill air. “I…saw it,” Liam admitted, and then sighed, because he knew he was to be lectured.

“Mmhm.” Reggie steered him around by the shoulder so they both faced the manor and offered his hand. Liam sighed again, deflating with comic seriousness, but clapped his small, grubby hand into Reggie’s and held on tight. Reggie had never wanted to hold the child’s hand – nor carry him on a hip, which he’d now done more than once – but had found it was the best way to keep him from pelting off mid-conversation because he’d seen a butterfly or a toad or some such. “And how might you have seen it if you were tucked away warm and snug in your bed?”

Liam brightened, as they began making their way down the path of crushed grass. He reached to pat at Valencia’s nose, in parting, and Reggie lifted a wave toward her with his free hand; perhaps drakes understood a good wave; he was ridiculous, truly. “I saw it out the window,” he said, excitement mounting again. “And–”

“Nice try, but you can’t fool me, old chap. There’s mud up to your ankles.”

“But–”

“You might attempt to be truthful,” Reggie said, lightly. “It carries more weight than you’d expect.”

With a noisy sigh, Liam admitted defeat. “I was out past the guard lines.”

Reggie chose not to examine the way his insides lurched and turned cold when he thought of this small boy, mop of hair gleaming in the light of the torches they passed through, out on his own in the dark of night, at the mercy of wolves, at best, and enemy scouts, at worst. There were soldiers that would ransom a child; he didn’t believe the Sels were of that ilk.

“All the way to the tree line?” he asked, dreading the answer.