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Eldrion let out a harsh laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “You are determined to keep up appearances, aren’t you?”

From the corner of her eyes, she saw the brown-haired elf snorting with laughter. “A wild little thing, isn’t she?” he teased, glancing at the scratch marks on Eldrion’s hand and jaw. He then turned to her, his gaze sweeping over her disheveled dress and tousled hair with an openly entertained expression. “Must have been quite a struggle,” he addressed Eldrion again, his voice carrying a tone of barely concealed amusement.

“Enough, Beldor.” Eldrion gave him a sharp look.

“I am a slave. I don’t know anything,” a hushed, tremulous whisper slipped past her lips. Anthea swept her gaze from one elf to the next, trying to convey her innocence and ignorance. The ship moved fast. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. How far they were from the Cattleya court. The air felt colder, and a cool breeze tousled her hair, making her shiver.

“You will not find the Nephrite court as accommodating as the Crimson.” The silvery tendrils of Vaelor’s hair danced freely in the river’s breeze, creating an ethereal halo around him. “Drop the lies, human. The Halls of Jewels have ways of extracting the truth. And believe me when I say—everyone has a breaking point.” As the Nephrite prince spoke, Eldrion took slow, deliberate steps toward her, his heavy boots thudding softly against the wooden deck. The elven warrior blocked her view of the Nephrite heir. Anthea turned her eyes to the ground as he reached her.

He crouched down, brushing his fingers against her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. There was no cruelty in his gray gaze, only grim solemnity. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to run, to get away from his hands—the same hands that had choked her. But there was nowhere to go, no escape; he held her tightly. Anthea’s breath hitched as his fingers traced a path from her chin to her neck, coming to rest on the bruised skin, tracing the purple lines with deceptive tenderness?—

“A collar does not make a slave,” he said. “And a slave does not wander into the vault of the Cattleya court without purpose.”

She took a deep breath, then another. She closed her eyes, willing herself to remain still, willing herself to remain calm. “I swear,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she opened her eyes, facing him again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a slave.”

The elf studied her, the gray of his eyes darkening as they bore into hers before flickering to her neck. His voice was an unexpected caress, its gentleness making her shiver. “There is no need for you to suffer, woman.” Anthea turned her eyes away, dragging them over the Nephrite heir, who had silently observed their interaction, before stopping on the evergreens covering the banks of the river. It seemed they were sailing upstream. The elven warrior sighed. Her every nerve was acutely aware of his nearness. She wished he would move. She couldn’t breathe.

His hands moved and she couldn’t help the flinch, but he only lifted her cloak up, draping it over her shoulders. His touch was careful as he tucked the fabric around her.

“It is cold,” he noted, his gaze pointedly lingering on her trembling form, “Think about your position here carefully.” Eldrion pulled back and stood up, exchanging a glance with Vaelor. It was as if they shared an unspoken understanding. Vaelor nodded, his gaze hardening once again, and he addressed the crew, giving orders to make haste for the Halls of Jewels.

As the ship surged forward, Anthea closed her eyes once more and took several deep breaths. She clenched her jaw. She would not break. Not now. She couldn’t, wouldn’t. Not when the possibility of getting home was closer than ever. She had to hold on, no matter what would happen to her at the Halls of Jewels.

She would not break.

She took another breath and silently counted to ten.

She would not break.

For the rest of the journey, Anthea embraced silence as a cloak, her eyes vigilantly observing her surroundings.

The ship, built from a dark-brown wood that seemed to gleam under the sunlight, navigated through the waters with astounding speed, unconcerned by the river’s current.

A female elf was at the helm of the ship. Her slender fingers danced with practiced skill, a gentle radiance glowing at her fingertips as she controlled the magical creatures tugging the ship forward. It seemed odd to her, as in the Crimson court, the Virens required no magical manipulation—at least none so obvious.

Endreth had to already know she was missing. He would come for her. He had promised to keep her safe—Anthea believed he had meant it. He would find her. Why hadn’t he been at the meeting place? Had he been caught up with something? Or had she mixed up the paths? She had been so sure of the way, but maybe, maybe she had gone to the wrong fountain. When Endreth had shown her the meeting place, she had been distracted by him and how he had made her feel. It didn’t matter—she was here now, she needed to focus on the present. Endreth would find her. He had promised her safety, protection—she believed in him. He would find her.

Several other elves, both males and females, were part of the crew. They worked with a precise efficiency, fulfilling their assigned tasks with a quiet, disciplined dedication. They ignored her, as if she wasn’t even there. When Anthea indicated her need for the restroom, it was a quiet elven maiden who escorted her to a small, isolated cabin underneath the deck under Beldor’s watchful eyes. As the door clicked shut, a wave of relief washed over her. For the first time since her capture, Anthea was alone. She relieved herself as quickly as possible. Then she looked around, desperately trying to find something—anything—that she could use to cut her binds later.

There was nothing.

Before exiting the cabin, she wrapped the cloak tightly around herself, covering the flimsy dress.

After her brief moment of solitude, she was once again bound and brought to the deck.

The ship continued sailing upstream toward a daunting mountain range slowly revealing itself in the distance. The air grew colder, carrying a sharper bite. Anthea was swathed in Eldrion’s warm cloak, or at least she assumed it was his, given he was the only one aboard without one. She swallowed a confusing cocktail of resentment and gratitude, the taste bitter on her tongue.

Sitting on the hay billow, Anthea watched as the landscape morphed. What once was a forest of evergreen trees slowly transitioned into vast stretches of lush grasslands. The flat horizon began to rise, forming green and gray rocky mountains. Time to time, they would pass small villages, nestled by the side of the winding river. Quaint cottages, built from timber and gray stone, dotted the landscape, their chimneys puffing out trails of smoke. The chatter of village folks could be faintly heard, children’s laughter blending with the rhythmic clang of blacksmith hammers and the low hum of busy people.

As the ship glided past these villages, Anthea could see groups of soldiers on guard. Their dark gray armor glinted under the sun, their postures straight. Upon noticing the ship, they would raise their spears or hands in a salute.

The ship made port in one of these villages.

“Prepare to dock!” the female elf shouted from the bow of the ship. She trailed her fingers in the air sending an almost luminescence wave of magic to the creatures in front of the large vessel.

The crew dropped all the green sails at once and three of the crew members gathered lines from the front, middle and back of the ship, coiled them and waited by the railing, ready to throw them at first notice to the waiting party on the dock.

Anthea glanced at Vaelor, who had joined the captain on the bow. The elven prince stood regal, his hands clasped on his back, dark green coat billowing in the wind. The sturdy wooden planks of the dock approached steadily. A group of guards were standing in formation, waiting.