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The fact that she didn’t possess any weaponswasthe issue.

Flipping the bedside table, Alora quietly kicked off a leg, splintering it around the nail. The only weapon she had was the dragon clasp. And that wouldn’t get her very far if she needed to fight.

Creeping across the dirt to the tent entrance, Alora glimpsed between the thin crack. Aiden sat on the stump from breakfast, the fire slowly licking its flame against a black iron pot. Fumes of thick, hearty gravy, garlic, herb, and pepper-rubbed venison, boiled potatoes, and onions and carrots wafted her way, triggering an angry ache and growl from deep in her stomach. Aiden’s hands scrubbed a saddle on the fallen log with a greased brush, lathering oil into the embellishments and tassels.

Completely unaware of her intruding gaze.

Unaware that in a matter of seconds, she’d be gone.

This is it.

Alora backed away from the gap now that she had her final confirmation. Careful to make no sound.I must go now.

She pivoted to the back canvas before pulling the dragon clasp in front, angling the tail. All that stood between her and freedom—realfreedom—was a thin canopy of fabric. It could’ve been a twenty-foot stone wall, she’d still climb it.

Every nerve in her body pricked with energy when she lifted the clasp halfway up the wall. Flexing the fabric, the tail connected, popping and shredding as it poked through. Alora paused. Her breath stopped in anticipation, uncertain if anyone had heard.

Nothing. Nothing but the sounds of a harsh brush scraping against leather and the crackling of burning wood.

She guided the dragon down slowly, the shredding canvas threatening to give away her escape until the long cut reached the dirt below. She’d done it.

And now could breathe again.

No turning back now.

Alora toweled the cloak over her shoulders and buried the clasp in her corset. She carefully concealed the wooden leg inside her cloak, unseen, unnoticed, ready to strike if required.

When her shaking hands lifted the canvas apart and slowly pushed her head outside, dusk greeted her with cast shadows. She was surrounded by an alley of canvas.

If she could sneak through this, she would reach the back of Aiden’s tent, slip across to the High Prince’s, and then vanish through the maze until running into the safe arms of the forest behind.

Breathe, Alora. Just breathe. You can do this.

Garrik’s tent was in front of her in mere heartbeats.

Directly ahead, a small path between his tent and a line of four more pathways that led to barracks, which would force her to make a choice in direction. With one more quick glance at Aiden, she dashed across the opening and crouched beside Garrik’s tent, listening for footsteps.

When no one came, Alora swiftly moved to the barracks in front of her, forcing her to make that choice. She’d been both ways today. To the left, the arena and lake. To her right, somewhere, Eldacar’s blackened tent stood.

Footsteps startled her thundering heart.

Not from behind. It wasn’t Aiden.

A soldier emerged from a tent to her right, settling near a firesite where four other faeries lounged.

She could’ve sworn that they could hear her heartbeat from there.

Alora almost stepped out into the path when a soldier looked her way and stared. His gaze didn’t falter for what seemed ages until he returned his attention to the fire.

Slipping around the barracks, she dashed down the long pathway, clutching her hands to her chest. Another firesite sat directly in front of her, this one too filled with soldiers. That was the problem with escaping at dusk. The army was retiring for the evening, all but sentries patrolling. She was exposed where she crouched. If one of them turned their head, they would see her, and by now, everyone in camp likely knew she was the High Prince’s prisoner. There were no allies here. And she wouldn’t be enough of a fool to believe she could sway any of them into helping her.

She fled to her left, down a new row of tents, crossing over another main walking path and into the next alley of canvases.

Another barracks tent sat before her as she leaned her head out. An entire area of logs and tables sat: the mess area. It was completely filled with faeries eating, talking, laughing. That would’ve been the best route if it was empty, but there was no choice now. She had to go right.

Within minutes, relief bubbled inside her chest at the sight of a familiar structure—Eldacar’s black tent. The furthest she’d been on this side of the camp. An amber glow of lantern light seeped through the structure’s open windows. She ran to it and crouched below, listening to Eldacar mutter to himself inside.

“… figure out how, we could reverse the washing.” He sounded distraught, flipping book pages as he sighed. “Nothing. There’snothing.”