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At the door, she hopped out, falling to her knees as she landed. None of the men standing around her reached a hand to help.

Farrendel prepared to jump, but Mark grabbed his arm and yanked, sending Farrendel tumbling from the boxcar.

Farrendel landed on his shoulder, rolled, then lay on the ground as if stunned.

Essie scrambled to reach his side, but hands gripped her arms, holding her back. She wrenched, trying to break free, but they were too strong.

Farrendel’s gaze met hers, and he tipped his head in a nod so slight no one would notice if they hadn’t spent months living with the elves learning to look for such subtle expressions.

He was fine. Not as stunned and helpless as he appeared to be.

These men would expect her to be terrified. Hysterical. Helpless.

That’s exactly what she would give them. Right up until the moment she drew her derringer.

“Unhand me.” It didn’t take too much effort to add a screeching sob to her voice. “I am your princess. My brother will hear about this.”

“Oh, he will. When your murdered body is found across the border in Tarenhiel, the public outcry against the elves will be all he’ll hear.” Mark sent a sneer her way as he kicked Farrendel in the ribs before yanking him to his feet.

With one of the armed men leading the way, Mark and the other workman shoved Farrendel in front of them. That left only Lord Bletchly guarding her. He gripped her arm, hard enough her muscles ground against her bones. “Come along, Your Highness.”

Even though she was trying to appear helpless and weak, Essie swallowed back the gasp of pain. She didn’t want Farrendel to feel like he had to act sooner than he should on her account.

Instead, as Lord Bletchly marched her past the engine house where the train was currently being turned around, she did what she did best.

Talk.

“Why are you doing this? What do you have to gain?” Essie tried to remember everything she knew about Lord Bletchly. “You had a son who died fighting the elves, didn’t you? Please don’t tell me you betrayed your country merely out of revenge.”

Lord Bletchly snorted as they strode past a large, wooden warehouse. “Revenge is just the topping on the cake. You see, I have invested in many companies, especially weapons manufacturers. War is profitable. Even the threat of war is very profitable.”

“But the new treaty with the elves would cut into their profits and thus your dividends.” Essie nodded toward Mark ahead, using the motion to peer into a doorway to the warehouse as they passed. Boxes were stacked along the wall, marked with the army’s symbol.

Weapons then. A warehouse filled with weapons all waiting to be shipped to the trolls.

Essie snapped her gaze away before Lord Bletchly would notice her looking. “I suppose that’s why Mark is in on this. As the army’s main supplier, his company has the most to lose. Is his father a part of this?”

Mark glanced over his shoulder, scowling. “My father is too patriotic for that. No, he intends to retire, taking all his money with him. Sure, he plans to leave me the company. But not a dime of all the money he’s earned over the years. Says it’s up to me to keep the business profitable and earn my own money. Well, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Money. Farrendel could end up dead just for money.

Lord Bletchly’s grip on her arm squeezed tighter. “Selling to the trolls has helped boost the profit margins, but war will be astronomically more profitable if the company is selling weapons to both Escarland and Kostaria. If the elves that killed my son are wiped out in the process, so much the better.”

Essie’s stomach churned. Didn’t he care about the lives that would be lost? The Escarlish soldiers who could go into a war started for money. The elven warriors fighting just to protect their homeland. “Don’t you see how wrong this is? You’ve turned the army into your own personal money-making machine. It’s not supposed to work like that. The army exists to protect the people, and their weapons are manufactured to give them that ability. It is a duty, a heavy burden. Not...not this.”

“Are you truly so naïve, princess, that you think the world works like that? The world runs on money, nothing more. Ideals are just wishful thinking.”

Maybe they were. But she refused to believe goodness didn’t exist. That honor didn’t exist. Maybe it wasn’t in people’s hearts. Maybe people were nothing but greed and evil.

But there was still family. Friendship. Love. They were real. They existed. And they were worth fighting for.

They cleared the end of the warehouse, finally catching a glimpse of the Hydalla River ahead. A wharf extended into the river, a steamboat puffing smoke tied to it. Figures hauled crates up the gangplank, all but their forms obscured by the steamboat’s smoke billowing between them and Essie.

Six figures strolled down the wharf toward Essie, Farrendel, and their captors while others still moved by the boat, loading crates. Four of the figures were trolls, with their white-blue skin and hair cropped short, revealing their slightly tapered ears.

But the two people behind them were willowy, with long hair flowing around their shoulders. Elves. One was a male elf with golden blond hair darker than Farrendel’s that Essie vaguely recognized. Had she seen him around Estyra? Wandering the tree branches of Ellonahshinel?

It didn’t matter. Not when her gaze snagged on the second elf, with her long black hair blowing in the breeze and her dark eyes focused on Farrendel.