Page 16 of Blood Beneath the Snow (Blood & Souls Duology #1)

16

When the Hellbringer reappeared one evening—or what I assumed was evening—I knew I’d been in the prison for several days. He held out his hand to silence me before I could speak.

“It’s been four days since we returned from the forge. And if you ask me again how long you’ve been here, I’ll make you do another hundred push-ups.”

I frowned from my perch on the bed. “Don’t I have the right to know?”

He snorted, but it sounded strange through the voice distortion. “You’re a prisoner. Prisoners don’t have rights.”

I bit back a retort. At least he’d brought me something to read while he was gone during the day. I couldn’t do much while he was out and about on the surface because I was so sore from our rigid training regimen, but I always managed to stretch out my aching muscles, eat whatever was in the jars, and read some of the book. It was an excruciatingly dull piece on the strategy of war and the history of the Fjordlands.

Better than nothing, I supposed.

We’d fallen into a routine so quickly, it surprised me. Each morning, or what I assumed was morning, the Hellbringer would train me in combat. Most often it was swordplay, but occasionally he spent an hour or two teaching me hand-to-hand attacks and defenses as well.

Then we would spar.

Aloisa was a far better sword than the one I had previously, but I had yet to touch him, much less defeat him. It was both belittling and annoying how quickly he could move. Each morning training session ended with me fighting in a blind rage until I threw my weapon to the ground, swearing.

At that point Mira would arrive and transport him away, giving me time to sulk until the heat of my anger died and I could stretch my taut muscles.

He would be gone for hours. I spent the time reading, exploring the winding halls of the prison, and—begrudgingly—thinking about him.

I wasn’t sure if I’d suffered a head injury with uncommon symptoms or I was losing my sanity after so much time without seeing the sun, but thoughts of the Hellbringer invaded my mind at almost all times. If I wasn’t wondering what he was up to on the war front, worrying about whether he’d killed the brothers I’d allied with, then I was forcing myself away from thoughts of his hands wrapped around the hilt of his blade, the press of his body behind mine when he helped me shape Aloisa, the ridges of muscle I’d seen when he took his shirt off.

It was distracting. And extremely frustrating.

He was incredibly aggravating and ridiculously attractive. An unfortunate combination.

Fortunately, he hadn’t removed any more clothing in front of me since we returned. I found myself wondering sometimes whether I’d imagined the whole thing, my mental faculties damaged by the unwavering heat of the forge.

My thoughts also drifted to Freja, though. My friend was not forgotten, not when everything I did was for her freedom. I wondered if she was surviving, managing to stay warm despite the steadily encroaching winter weather. Surely Halvar had brought her something to keep her from freezing.

When the Hellbringer returned each evening, he would bring something to cook for dinner, usually meat or stew, and then we would train again before I collapsed into bed, exhausted. We rarely spoke, so most of my days were spent in silence.

Over the past three days, I’d bothered him for information on the war. “What’s happening? Who won the battle where you kidnapped me? Is my family alive?”

The first time, he’d studiously ignored me until I gave up. But I tried again the next day with another tactic.

“Shouldn’t the future Queen of Bhorglid at least be aware of the political climate outside this prison?” While he cooked, I paced along the open stretch of wall. At my assertion, he stilled, and I pushed on. “At least tell me if there have been any major developments in the last few days.”

He’d sighed. “War is slow, Princess. Strategy is the foremost game here, despite the insinuation by everyone close to you that it should be slaughter. As much as your father might enjoy decimating Kryllian troops, our goal is to end this with as little bloodshed as possible.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like “pain in the ass” before saying, “Nothing has happened. And if it does, I’ll tell you. Satisfied?”

“Not particularly.”

He’d stomped over to me and stared me down, close enough that, without the mask, I would have felt his breath on my face. “I. Am. Not. Your. Personal. Informant,” he growled. “Pick up your sword. Sparring seems to be the only way to keep you from talking my ear off.”

However, when he returned the next day, the first words from his mouth were “No changes today. Only a brief border skirmish.”

I’d paused practicing the sword stances he’d taught me and now raised an eyebrow. “A border skirmish? This land is all Bhorglid.”

“?‘Border’ isn’t exactly the right word,” he said with a shrug as he prepared dinner. “Not border of the country. More like there was a skirmish where Kryllian soldiers attempted to force the Bhorglid army back south. I assume they’re hoping to move the fighting out of the wastelands and into the populated area soon.”

My blade glinted in the light of the lamps around the edge of the room as I let it drop. “Into the populated area?” Anyone could have heard the strangled way my voice tightened at his statement.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be on the throne long before they make any real progress. And then the queen will work on a treaty with you.” He’d gone back to focusing on dinner, but my thoughts didn’t stop whirling.

If I didn’t win the Trials, didn’t become queen, didn’t arrange a truce…what would happen to the godforsaken people in Bhorglid? They’d be defenseless against the Kryllian armies, especially if Halvar was successful in starting any kind of rebellion and threw the country into chaos—

“Stop,” the Hellbringer said. His tone told me behind his mask he was rolling his eyes.

I blinked and turned to him. “Stop what?”

“Thinking. It’s loud.”

He sounded exactly like Frode, and it made my chest ache. I already hated the Hellbringer, but his snide comment solidified my feelings.

Tonight’s meal was beef. It cooked quickly and I scarfed it down quicker. As soon as it was gone, I bounced to my feet and hefted my sword. The day’s report had left me on edge and I buzzed with pent-up energy. “Fight me, Hellbringer. Let’s get this over with.”

He stood and walked to where I waited. He didn’t draw his weapon. “It’s not exactly a fight if you can’t hit me.”

When I pursed my lips, his ensuing laugh caught me by surprise. It wasn’t derisive or cynical, as his laughs before had been. It was genuine, and it startled me how much I enjoyed knowing I’d caused it.

I schooled my features into a scowl. “What?”

“Your face is easy to read. It’s amusing,” he chuckled. “You don’t hide anything, do you?”

“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “Like you’d know how to socialize properly if you tried.”

“At least I’m not trying to kill you. You can’t say that about your own family.”

“Are we sparring or not?”

He didn’t answer my question. Instead, he returned to the table and started clearing away the remains of dinner. “Your turn, Princess. Tell me something true. Do you truly believe your father would have murdered you?” he asked. There was a strange hollowness in his voice, and I hesitated. Why the sudden interest?

The callback to our moment in the wastes threw me off. It was the only reason to explain why I obliged his request and answered him honestly.

“My father has been trying to get rid of me my whole life. This is nothing new.” I sheathed my weapon. Apparently, tonight’s training had been canceled. “It would have been more surprising if he wasn’t trying to murder me.”

“Why don’t you murder him first?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you think murder is the solution to all of life’s problems?”

He shrugged from where he scraped the remains of the food into the fire. “It’s always been the solution to mine.”

I tried to hold my laugh in, but it burst out of me. “Do you hear yourself?” I asked. “You sound ridiculous.”

“I was joking.” He might have been lying, but without a facial expression to read, I couldn’t be sure.

I felt myself grinning and managed to wipe it off my face. He is your enemy. Do not let him take advantage of you.

I stopped laughing and forced myself to replace it with irritation. For some reason I couldn’t summon anger no matter how badly I wanted to. Annoyance would have to be enough for the time being.

The Hellbringer was quiet for a moment. “Would your father be punished if he murdered you?” he asked. “He is king, after all.”

“Probably not, but if he were, then the priests would be the ones to execute him,” I explained. “My father holds the ultimate authority in Bhorglid, but their influence on the crown is strong. It’s been that way for generations.”

I watched as a shudder moved through the Hellbringer. “I hate your priests,” he muttered. “Their uniforms are…eerie at best.”

Another laugh fell from my lips.

“What?” he asked.

“Have you ever looked in a mirror while you’re wearing”—I gestured at him—“ that ?”

I waited for him to chuckle, the response I was expecting. But he didn’t speak. Silence followed him like a dark shroud. It was fitting, with the shadows dancing across the walls from the lanterns. My amusement turned sour in my stomach.

When a long moment passed without a response, I realized he was done talking. More than that, he was ignoring me now.

For the briefest moment I allowed myself to wonder where the man I was coming to expect had disappeared to. This was no longer the Hellbringer who plied me with requests to tell him something true. Who was endlessly patient when I didn’t master a new form with instant perfection during training.

No. That man had disappeared in a swift instant, replaced by the general who had kidnapped me.

After returning to my place on the bed, I cursed myself in the silence. I’d begun to let my guard down as I eased into routine with him. He’d been warm, inviting, even friendly at times. I had started thinking of him as human. I shook my head. That was a mistake. I was a captive here.

You are in a prison with a madman and no one is coming for you.

This time the words did not come unwillingly but as a reminder.

I ran them through my head over and over again until dinner was cleaned up and the Hellbringer ordered me to run laps around the space.

Sparring was quickly becoming my least favorite part of the day.

Frustration wrapped its strangling hand around my throat—again—and I forced myself to breathe deeply in an attempt to sate it. My limbs shook with a dangerous combination of exhaustion and anger. When the Hellbringer readjusted his stance and ordered, “Again,” I shook my head.

“No.” The word tasted like bile. “I won’t. I’m done with this.”

I laid Aloisa down—after the lecture he’d given me two days before about throwing my brand-new sword on the unforgiving metal floor, I was begrudgingly gentler with the weapon—and moved to begin kicking the toe of my boot against the wall. It was nothing like the way I’d ravaged my hand back home before my last night at Halvar’s. This was a softer motion, because even if I was done, even if I did demand the Hellbringer take me back to Bhorglid that very minute, I still had to compete in the Trials. And I had my suspicions that no gift would be enough for Waddell now that I was a contender for the throne.

Still, the repetitive motion and the sensation of impact on my foot soothed me. My thoughts, a deep spiral unafraid to dive further into darkness, settled slightly. I swallowed the lump in my throat at the thought of Frode, who would wrap me in an embrace whenever he sensed my thoughts turning morbid.

Gods, I missed him. And Jac, too.

A rustling pulled me back to the present and I turned to see the Hellbringer discarding his cloak against the wall. “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice far softer than I wanted it to be.

He sighed, and I could sense his reluctance before he spoke. “Teach me the dance.”

For a long moment we stared at each other. “What?”

“I said teach me the dance. The one you were doing in the tavern that night when they took your friend to prison.” Through the distortion of his voice, I could tell he was gritting his teeth as he spoke. He waved a hand dismissively, as if it would make the request any less absurd. “Show me how to do it.”

I leaned my forehead against the wall. “You’re making fun of me.”

He snorted, and it sounded strange through the mask’s voice distortion. “If I was going to make fun of you, Princess, there are far easier ways to do it. Most of which don’t involve humiliating myself. So, no, I’m not teasing. I’m trying to show you this doesn’t have to be entirely miserable.”

I stood and faced him, arms crossed. “How does dancing have anything to do with my training?”

“It keeps you nimble, quick on your feet. Gets your blood pumping. You’ll have to dodge plenty of attacks during the Trials. This will help.” He moved a hand in the direction of the mask before it twitched and returned to his side, a motion I’d begun noticing over the past few days. If I ever managed to see his face, I bet he’d run that same hand through his hair whenever he was nervous—which, apparently, he was now. “Think about your brothers—the ones you’ll be fighting. Their methods of fighting will be the same because they learned from all the same people. But you? Your background in swordsmanship comes from entirely different sources. And as a dancer, you have a sense of movement few others possess.”

I looked at my feet, unwilling to answer him. Then the Hellbringer, Kryllian’s most feared general and possibly the most powerful man to ever live, extended a hand to me. His voice was soft around the edges when he said, “Please?”

In a trancelike state, I reached back. I stared at our hands, clasped together the way Arne’s and mine had been that night, and decided to untangle the strange cacophony of emotions whirling around in my head later.

I focused in on his request. The Hellbringer wanted to dance? Then we would dance.

I cleared my throat and focused on my feet, wishing for my dancing shoes. The line dance he’d watched was fairly simple, and it started with a classic step, one that wasn’t too difficult. I’d begin there. “Have you ever heard of a grapevine?”

“The plant? Sure.”

He was…entirely serious. My mouth fell open slightly, and for a moment I wondered whether to laugh. Instead, I forced myself to shake my head. “Different kind of grapevine. We’ll start there. Stand behind me and copy what I do.”

The Hellbringer was a painstakingly precise teacher, unwilling to accept anything less than perfection, unfailingly diligent in correcting any small mistakes I made. As I instructed him how to step to the side, then behind, then to the side again, it became clear he was listening closely to every word I said, determined to get it right.

“And then when you step together again, you bring your hands up and clap,” I said.

I didn’t need to see his face to know he was rolling his eyes. He brought his hands up and together so lightly, it didn’t make a sound.

I smirked. “I don’t think so. You don’t get to half-ass this, not when it’s my turn.”

He exhaled slowly. “You’re right.” His next attempt was loud enough to echo in the wide space.

“Excellent. After the two grapevines, partners turn to face each other.” He obliged, and I tried not to look into the gruesome eyes of the mask, gaping and empty. Focusing on his chest was easier.

Except my traitorous thoughts immediately began reminding me exactly what that chest looked like unclothed. My cheeks heated and my brain stuttered. For a half second too long I was incapable of human speech, my mind far too invested in the thought of him stepping forward into my space, forcing me to look up at him as he ran a gloved finger down the column of my throat and—

“Are we going to stand here all evening, Princess?”

There was a wry note of humor in his voice and I jumped, shaking my head. I cleared my throat, hoping my thoughts weren’t clear as day on my face. “Then we link arms and skip in a circle.”

His aggravated sigh lifted my spirits, and I couldn’t hold in a snort of amusement. “What? Is the fierce Hellbringer too afraid to spin like he means it?”

He chuckled. “Never.”

Teaching him the rest was fairly easy. He threw himself into it and I managed to keep my imagination away from thoughts of his torso for a while. It was refreshing to be the expert for once, even if it was only for a short time. For the first time since the night of my failed engagement party, my mind was unoccupied.

I relished it.

When we reached the second half of the dance, the complicated footwork started. I wasn’t surprised when the Hellbringer had trouble mastering it—I’d practically been born doing traditional Bhorglid dances, and even I hadn’t perfected this one until my later teenage years.

“Why would anyone think this is fun,” he muttered under his breath.

I suppressed a smile. “Do you need me to go over it again?”

“Yes.” His hands rested at his sides, but his fingers were curled into tight fists.

“It’s a step-ball-change and then a series of twisting steps,” I began, turning to face away from him so he could watch and mimic. “So you start by stepping out with your left foot—yes, good, just like that—and then while that foot is planted, you’ll step directly behind it with only the ball of your right foot touching the ground.” I continued to observe him, craning my neck to watch over my shoulder. “Oh, I see. You’re trying to do it more like a box step, so your right foot is going too far past your left when you step back. Freeze just like that.”

Obediently, he stopped moving and I jogged behind him, dropping down to my knees next to him. Only when I landed there did tension drop a heavy hand over me, a reminder of everything floating between us.

I swallowed. No, I wasn’t going to think harder than necessary about being on my knees before the Hellbringer. There were so many ways that could go wrong. So many ways I could imagine this going under any other circumstance.

Was I imagining tenseness overtaking his whole body in a way I’d never seen before? Was his breathing heavy because we’d been dancing for almost an hour, or did it have something to do with my proximity to him?

I inhaled and forced myself back to the present. I was the only one feeling the tension stretched taut in the room; that was certain. This was hands-on learning, nothing more. I rested a hand on his right ankle and pushed gently, forcing his foot back toward his center of gravity. “When your feet are aligned, it’s a lot easier to balance.”

If the gods were watching, they had a cruel sense of humor. Keeping my hands light proved to be a challenge with the massive snow boots the Hellbringer had failed to remove when he arrived back at the prison, and just a little too much force ruined the very balance I’d been trying to help him achieve.

He lost his footing and tumbled.

I sucked in a gasp, flailing my hands automatically to try and catch him. But the Hellbringer was not a twig. Our sparring sessions had proven he was built of pure muscle, and this only confirmed it as his shoulder caught mine, pushing me to my back.

He managed to catch himself before his entire weight slammed into my body, an arm pressed into the floor next to my head. My left arm was outstretched, the right clutched to my chest and now pinned between myself and the Hellbringer. I was keenly aware of every inch of our bodies that was touching, from our stomachs to our thighs.

He smelled like pine and fresh snow. The scent filled my lungs the way the warmth of him filled the rest of me. Cautiously, I flicked my gaze to the mask.

The Hellbringer was staring at me. Or at least it looked like he was. The eye sockets of the mask were focused directly on me. How did he see out of it? Was there magic involved?

For the first time I noticed the subtle imperfections of the wooden features. It was a strikingly accurate wolf’s skull, but there were occasional nicks on the surface, evidence it had been made by human hands.

The connection was instant: the carvings on the bedposts, the way the Hellbringer had so expertly fashioned me a hilt for Aloisa from nothing but a block of wood. “You carved your helmet.”

The visage tilted slightly. “Yes.”

For an endless moment we were both unnaturally still, incapable or unwilling to move as we caught our breaths. As I relished the weight and warmth of him atop me.

My free arm moved and I reached slowly, slowly, for the helmet. He didn’t stop me, but I felt him tense. I licked my lips, nerves thrumming beneath my skin.

I brushed two gentle fingertips against the wood. It was smooth and soft—sanded and polished to perfection. How old was he when he carved this? A boy on the cusp of manhood, perhaps?

Abruptly, my thoughts scattered as he rolled off me, pushing to stand and leaving me behind, the chill air rushing in to fill the void left by his heat.

“Sorry.” The word escaped me like a curse. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to push you off-balance.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he fastened his cloak and adjusted his scabbard. Then, without a word, he strode out of the room and into the maze of hallways.

I only stared after him.

Hours later, when sleep eventually claimed me, the Hellbringer still had not returned.

When the Hellbringer’s weight pressed into the mattress against me, I knew I was dreaming. But the haze of consciousness was too dense for me to care, and the fuzzy reality my brain summoned was peaceful.

I craved it.

Dimly, I registered that the mask was gone. But as my dream eyes fluttered open, it didn’t matter, because the Hellbringer was rolling over to me, pulling the blankets over us both to calm my shivering. His face was the last of my worries. “It’s cold. Let me keep you warm.”

I sighed. It was all I was capable of as the smell of him flooded my mind. “How do you always smell like that?”

His voice was still distorted even though the mask was gone. He chuckled, and the sound rumbled through my body. My toes curled beneath the blanket, a shiver of pleasure traveling up my spine with the sound. “Like what?”

“Like a forest.” I pressed my face to his chest, nuzzled there, content in his warmth. Here, there was no forced animosity hovering its angry head over us. Here, we were just two people enjoying each other’s company. “Like the wastelands.”

He placed his hand on the small of my back and rubbed gentle circles there. “Probably has to do with how much time I spend out there.”

The first press of his lips fell on my forehead. Gentle, sweet. The brush of his nose against my cheekbone sped the beating of my heart, and when one of the hands wrapped around me and ventured lower, over my ass with a squeeze, my cheeks heated. A harsh breath left me in a rush, my own hands coming to clutch the fabric over his chest.

He hummed, the vibration beneath my fingers sending a thrill through my stomach. Full lips dragged up and down my jawline. “You like that?”

I nodded. He was warm and inviting, the hard planes of his chest unyielding under my fingers.

“Say it,” he demanded, and in a half thought our clothes had disappeared, leaving us bare beneath the blankets. His weight pressed into me, and the lips at my throat turned to teeth scraping. “Tell me you like it, Princess.”

I couldn’t keep my legs from stretching out, reaching for what I desperately needed—him, in the soft place between my legs. Desire throbbed dangerously. My head was cloudy with the dream, foggy with want , but I managed to gasp, “I like it. More? Please?”

“Good.” The approval in his voice was intoxicating, and I threw my head back. He shifted his weight downward until his cheek was resting on my sternum, giving his mouth access to the underside of my breast. The Hellbringer sucked a mark there, one hand reaching up to cradle my cheek and the other sliding down my body to find solace at my damp center. Softly, almost sweetly, he ran a fingertip over my entrance and swore. “Fuck. Never imagined you’d be wet for me.”

The dream blurred in a haze of pleasure then, my body conscious only of the imagined intrusion of his finger, a pair of dark eyes focusing on my face as the too-familiar voice went husky. “Gods, you’re beautiful. Love the way your mouth falls open when I push into you, like you can’t believe it. Like you’re afraid it’s going to break you.”

My breath came in ragged gasps, a shudder coursing over my spine. The pad of his thumb began coaxing my pleasure from me. A dark head of hair entered my vision as he bent over my chest, teeth closing carefully around the stiff peak of my nipple. My toes curled. I wanted him to bite harder, to take me closer to the edge of where pain and pleasure blurred. But words were impossible in this dream, especially as my body reacted to his every imagined touch.

“Can I watch?” he asked. “While you fall apart? Can I look into those pretty eyes while you clench around my fingers until you’re soft and pliable for me? Ready for my—”

Consciousness fell over me like a bucket of ice water.

I blinked back to awareness, my body tense beneath the blankets. For a long moment I was still and silent, unsure what to do. A shuddering breath left me, the pent-up desire fading slightly. I held back my curse, clenched my teeth, forced myself to inhale slowly and acknowledge the truth.

I’d just had a sex dream about the Hellbringer.

With my fists squeezing so tightly that I knew my nails were leaving imprints on my palms, I lifted my head slightly to peer at the man himself. The Hellbringer was where he usually was: sleeping next to the fireplace, his head against the stone wall. For a second, my mind addled with inexplicable lust and frustration, I imagined myself walking over to him and pulling the mask off in one smooth motion. What face would I see, softened in sleep before it sparked into rage?

Was he handsome under the mask?

He’d better be. Otherwise that dream was pointless, I grumbled inwardly. I was still far from regaining my self-control, and I shook my head, trying to bring myself back. What the hell was I thinking?

I had no business dreaming of the Hellbringer maskless, naked, body pressed tightly against mine. Fingers in places they didn’t belong.

I shivered. Forcing the dream from my mind was nearly impossible when the thought of his dark voice whispering in my ear had me half undone. I hadn’t even touched myself, hadn’t even been touched by him.

When I moved to roll over, grumbling at the release I so desperately craved being so close and yet so far, I finally realized—more than a blanket covered me.

I slid the fabric of the Hellbringer’s long cloak between my fingers. It was finely made, the material thick enough to hold in heat and sturdy enough not to rip despite endless treks and what must have been years of wear. My hand grazed a few threads that were thicker than the others, a repair where the war had left a mark of damage. But the patch was so well done, it would never be noticed without a fine eye. It was clear the hand that had mended it was loving.

This cape meant a lot to someone. And in the winter mountains, during the heaviest snow season, giving up your source of warmth was foolish at best.

Deadly at worst.

If the Hellbringer was asking for a death sentence, it wasn’t my business to do anything about it. I shrugged off the gnawing unease and allowed myself to enjoy the warmth. Maybe I would wake in the morning to find a dead body keeping watch over me.

I chewed my lip, confused as to why a killer would offer me not only survival but comfort. There was no one else around to witness such an act of kindness. No one to impress.

Did the Hellbringer care what I thought about him?

No, I told myself, pushing down the part of me that desperately wanted the opposite to be true. Mass murderers don’t care what their enemies think of them.

I pulled the thick fabric of his cloak to my face and breathed in deeply. The scent of pine and fresh snow was intoxicating, straight from my dreams. It must have been what triggered my lustful subconscious. It reminded me of home. And beneath it was a smell I couldn’t identify—something unique to the Hellbringer. Rubbing my thighs together offered me no relief, and I refused to do anything in front of him that would come back to bite me. Muttering curses under my breath, I settled in. It was going to be a long night.

The muscles in my arms burned and my breaths rattled in my lungs. Painstakingly, I lowered myself to a position parallel with the ground before pushing myself back up into a plank again.

I dropped to the ground, exhausted. The cold stone felt amazing on my burning skin. Push-ups were cruel—probably the reason the Hellbringer kept making me do them.

“You complain too much,” he’d told me that morning. His order before he left for the day was “Do one hundred push-ups in silence.”

He didn’t vanish in time to miss the obscene gesture I threw him.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Two nights ago I’d taught the Hellbringer a traditional line dance. The same one I’d learned at Halvar’s when I was barely a teenager, finally learning what it meant to be Nilurae and royalty, despised by my family. The Hellbringer would never know how much those simple steps meant to me.

Two nights ago I’d had a highly inappropriate dream about the man, too. And now I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The dream served to confuse me more than anything, and over the past few days my frustration had only built. My body made certain to remind me I hadn’t found release that night, and it made my stomach far too eager to swoop at even a hint of decency from my captor.

The only thing keeping me sane was allowing myself permission to reminisce as I fell asleep. Knowing I’d be able to imagine him touching me brought a perverse sense of relief that allowed me to focus during the day. I hated it but accepted it grudgingly. There was no other way to keep my head on straight.

Between snatches of lustful imaginings, I began to wonder what more lay beneath the general’s mask. I hadn’t forgotten my determination to level the playing field between him and me; despite our few moments of camaraderie, I still knew next to nothing about what made him tick. But I had no clue where to even begin my search for answers.

Prone on the floor, cheek pressed against the cool ground, I made a list in my mind: Lurae of death. Powerful general. That was all I knew.

Terrible sense of humor. Rude and bossy.

I smirked. Couldn’t forget to add those to the list.

Glancing around the room, I carefully took everything in again, hunting for some clue about the Hellbringer’s origins. I’d already searched the place, but then I’d been looking for any means of escape. Now I was looking for signs of life. My eyes traveled over the lanterns, armoire, fireplace, shelves. Nothing here spoke of his identity.

It was like my thoughts had summoned him. He appeared without warning and the soldier with him disappeared instantly, leaving me alone with my captor once more. “I brought you dinner from camp,” he said, holding up a basket of something.

In a matter of minutes I was enjoying a bowl of stew while the Hellbringer sat across from me. My mental list returned to the front of my mind. Time to add to it. Without preamble I spoke. “Tell me something true, Hellbringer.”

He stilled in his chair, tension lining the set of his shoulders. Before he had the chance to derail my line of questioning with whatever fact he deemed most worthy of sharing, I asked a question. “Do you live here?”

Did I sense a flicker of emotion in the silence, hidden behind the skull mask? “When I am participating in the war, yes.”

“Why don’t you stay with your legions?”

I waited for him to answer, but as the quiet dragged on for a minute, I moved on. “If this is your home, don’t you want the bed? Why do you let me sleep there?”

He shrugged. “The bed is simply a formality. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.”

Used to sleeping on the floor? Was that from being at war for so long, or some kind of ruthless upbringing? To be the cause of mass homicide…surely something in his childhood must have gone horribly wrong to put him in such a terror-worthy position.

“How old are you?” I fired the question at him in between bites of stew.

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. It’s impossible to guess with your whole…” I gestured to him, trying to indicate his armor and the mask. “You could be an old man for all I know.”

There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m twenty-two.”

My spoon froze in midair on its way to my mouth. “You’re only twenty-two ?” I gaped. Arne was twenty-two. Freja and I would be turning twenty-two in the next year.

What was it like to be so young and have the fate of two countries at war on your shoulders? I clenched my teeth as my thoughts reminded me. You already do know what it’s like. You’re in the same position.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, not acknowledging my disbelief. “Tell me something true. Why did you turn down your proposal?”

The callback to when I’d demanded he kill me in the snow made my cheeks heat. “Oh, I see how it is,” I said with an eye roll, hoping he didn’t notice the flush on my face. “No superficial facts from me, then.”

He shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “I already know the basics about you. A symptom of being royalty—you’ve never gone unnoticed. I know you just turned twenty-one. I know you are the only daughter in your family. I know you only get along with your two middle brothers. And I know someone taught you how to wield a sword wrong.” Was he smirking underneath that mask? “Did I miss anything?”

I glared at him and swallowed the bite I was chewing. “If you must know, I refused the proposal because I didn’t want to marry Volkan.”

“You would rather die than be married to someone you don’t love? Volkan is kind; he would have left you your freedom.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How would you know?”

He sighed. “Volkan is…a friend.”

My eyes widened and my spoon clattered in the dish. “Gods above. You dated Volkan ?”

He whipped his head around sharply. “How the hell did you know that? Did he tell you?”

“No, you just did! You should have heard your voice when you said he was your friend .” I laughed, then stopped abruptly. “Wait, you’re not still dating him, are you?”

“No. We broke things off amicably years ago.”

I picked up my spoon and resumed eating. “How did you even meet him?”

He tilted his chair back, balancing it on only the back two legs. I resisted the urge to snap at him to sit properly. “We attended many of the same diplomatic events as children. This was long before I was the Hellbringer. None of the adults wanted anything to do with us, so we got into trouble on our own.”

The Hellbringer had aristocratic blood, then. If he attended the same events as Volkan, presumably when the Queen of Kryllian and the royalty of Faste got together, then he was high in station. Perhaps the queen’s son? But, no, the Queen of Kryllian had no children. I tacked the knowledge onto the end of my list of facts about him.

If things had been different—if Bhorglid had been open to diplomacy—would the three of us have been friends as children? Would I have met the Hellbringer before the mask defined him?

“You’re queer too, then.” I raised an inquisitive eyebrow as I took my next bite.

I had no doubt he was rolling his eyes at me behind the mask. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. Bisexual, if you want to get specific.”

“Me too,” I said. “It’s not outlawed to be queer in Kryllian, is it?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m surprised Bhorglid doesn’t make a big deal of it.”

I snorted. “We make a big deal of so many other things. I’m sure we would have added queerness into the mix too if we weren’t so busy policing every other aspect of people’s identities.”

“True. But you never answered my question: Why did you turn down the proposal?”

I scraped the bottom of the bowl with my spoon. “I rejected the proposal because I was tired of only doing what I was forced to do,” I admitted. “And because I realized when my father uses me as a pawn, he gives me power to destroy his plans. In this case he believed my marriage would be the key to ending the war; all I had to do was demand what I wanted in exchange.”

“And what did you want?” the Hellbringer asked.

I glanced up at him. Considered telling him about Freja for a moment, how I needed to free her. But he’d admitted to being there when she was taken prisoner. He likely already knew she was part of my motivation. Besides, if he got to keep secrets, then so did I. “You know the answer. A chance to compete for the throne.”

There was a pause. “Do you think you can win?” he asked. His voice was quiet.

An ounce of the panic I’d held back for days threatened to spill over its dam. “Probably not,” I said. During a sparring session a few days earlier, I’d explained the plan my brothers and I had concocted. It seemed pertinent to the Hellbringer’s mission to train me. “With Frode and Jac on my side, I at least have a chance. So I’m going to try.”

He nodded. “I understand. To be nothing more than a pawn in someone’s game is less than ideal.”

The mask hid his face and the voice distortion kept me from hearing any hint of emotion in his words as he said, “Sometimes you make sacrifices for the things you care most about. Even when the sacrifice is becoming a weapon.”

We sat in the shared quiet until the fire burned to embers and I was left to wonder what—or who—the Hellbringer cared enough about to kill entire legions.