Page 10

AMELIA

I awake to the sounds of nighttime insects. Warmth envelops me, and I snuggle deeper in the soft blanket, half-wondering where it came from. I don’t recall having a blanket this soft and warm at the Glenville Inn.

Is the window open? Hm. For the song of the nighttime insects and trilling frogs to be so loud, I must’ve left the window open.

My eyes feel so heavy, it’s a struggle to open them, but I eventually rouse to full wakefulness and sit up… on a plush sofa inside a massive tent.

Oh, my gods.

Memories sweep over me, returning with a vengeance that leaves me gasping for breath.

I peer around the tent, shocked by the atmosphere that buzzes with magic.

I’m not certain whether it’s really night, but there are fireflies inside the tent, or rather, little flashing orbs that mimic their radiant dance through the night.

The tent is dark but not so dark that I can’t make out the large bed and other furniture.

The general isn’t here.

Tristan . My face heats as his given name reverberates inside my head, and for a reason I can’t fathom, I find myself yearning to utter his name aloud.

“Tristan,” I whisper, unable to quell the urge. “Tristan.”

To my utter shock, warmth pangs between my thighs as I think about him and recall the tenderness he’s shown me thus far.

Yes, he hunted me down and kidnapped me, and he announced that I’m his war prize and says he has no intention of letting me go. But he hasn’t raised a hand to me. He hasn’t hurt me in any way physically. Instead, he healed my injuries. More than once. And he seemed eager to do so.

He also gave me my memories back, for which I’m grateful. Having only vague recollections of the strange experience at the Sorsston castle has been bothering me for months.

My breath catches when I consider the general’s reasons for keeping me here. He’s drawn to me and wants to get a better understanding of why that is. He says he wants to get to know me.

Though there’s no denying that I’m General Dalgaard’s captive, I suddenly realize that I just slept deeply and peacefully for the first time in ages.

I didn’t have to worry about Lord Nevel’s soldiers tracking me down, nor did I have to worry about Lord Nevel himself bothering me.

At his manor, we had separate rooms, but he frequently visited me so he could try to…

A shudder courses through me as I attempt to push the dark memories away. But it’s no use. The memories keep coming. I force in a few deep breaths and try to focus on the ever-present scent of lavender and the repetitive, calming sound of the nighttime insects.

After a few minutes, the panic dissipates, though the memories don’t.

To his great frustration, Lord Nevel had struggled to consummate our marriage.

During the five months I remained at his manor, he entered my room now and then in the middle of the night, but each time he failed to remain ready long enough to complete the act.

Well, long enough to start the act, now that I think about it.

His member rarely became stiff for more than a few seconds.

Each time it returned to its natural soft state, he would become furious, and he tended to blame me for his inability to consummate our marriage.

Filthy witch. You’ve cursed me with dark powers, haven’t you? I bet you want me to die soon so you can inherit my estate. Godsdamn witch. I ought to turn you over to Warden Xall and ask for you to be burned at the stake.

His accusations and threats had terrified me, though I don’t know if the fae warden of Sosstorn would’ve actually burned me at the stake. Surely fae, with their magical abilities, would be able to sort out the matter and determine whether someone is truly a witch or a mage.

I won’t lie. More than once, I’d hoped Lord Nevel would die, though not because I was keen to inherit his sizable estate. I simply wanted out. I wanted to be free.

I study my current surroundings. Fireflies continue dancing around the tent, and I’m not able to see anything beyond the structure, not a shadow outside the thick fabric, or even a hint of the moon or sun.

It’s rather disorienting not knowing what time it is, but it’s also pleasant in a way.

Because at the moment, I don’t have anywhere to be nor any tasks awaiting me.

Best of all, I don’t have to worry about my husband’s soldiers snatching me away and dragging me back to the cold, cavernous manor that never felt like home.

I’m still wary of General Dalgaard, but there’s something about him that makes me believe he’s more trustworthy than the average fae.

Despite my previous suspicions that he might’ve hurt me in the Sorsston castle, I don’t think he lied about what happened that night. The detailed narrative he supplied fits with the flashes of memory and feelings I’ve been experiencing related to the highborn fae who helped me.

It's shocking to learn General Dalgaard himself stayed with me, in secret , while I conversed with Prince Lucas.

Just because he wanted to ensure my safety.

As though summoned by my thoughts, the general himself steps into the tent, instantly filling up the spacious area with his formidable presence.

I peer at him in the semi-darkness, my heart pounding in my chest, my palms sweaty as my breaths become rapid and shallow.

Our eyes meet and his visage softens.

I push the blanket off myself and stand up, though I keep my head slightly lowered in a show of submission.

I’m not certain whether it’s because of the power that emanates from him or my wariness around all males (that logically, I know is a result of Lord Nevel’s brutal treatment), but I can’t help the display of obedience.

Even though I’m also calculating the distance to the tent flap and whether I could dart around General Dalgaard and escape before he caught me.

But, knowing what I know about fae powers, particularly the powers of highborn fae such as the general, I suppose he’s warded the tent to keep me inside. Part of me still wants to try though. Am I a coward if I never attempt to flee this tent?

“Amelia.” His deep voice vibrates through me, inciting desires I’m not certain I can put a name to. All I know is that I like the way he says my name, as though he’s savoring it, and it’s causing a reckless, wanton feeling within me.

“Good evening, General Dalgaard,” I say, only for my face to heat a second later. “ Tristan . Good evening, Tristan. Um, is it evening? I’m not certain. The magic makes it difficult to tell.” I glance around the tent.

He lifts a hand briefly, and the magic fades.

The fireflies disappear, the sound of nighttime insects and trilling frogs fades, and the room becomes illuminated.

Shadows appear outside the tent, and I’m surprised by the number of soldiers that are marching past. They seem to be in a hurry.

My stomach performs a quick somersault. Has something happened?

“Well, it would appear it’s still daytime,” I say.

“It is, though evening isn’t far off.” He approaches me, and the warmth in eyes deepens as he continues holding my gaze. I cannot look away. “Did you sleep well?” he asks.

“Yes, I did. Thank you for the blanket, and thank you for the pleasant, nighttime atmosphere.”

“You’re very welcome, sweet human.” He smiles. “I would be happy to summon the same magic every time you wish to sleep.”

I’m about to thank him again when I stop myself. I press my lips together and remind myself that he’s my captor. I’m not free to walk out of this camp. I should be fighting him, not thanking him for providing small comforts and kindnesses. A cage, however gilded, is still a cage.

“What’s happening?” I ask with a gesture at the soldiers’ shadows outside the tent. “Are you about to go to battle again?” My throat burns. Is he preparing to attack another human town? Is he about to slaughter more of my people?

His expression dims, and he appears suddenly guarded.

He’s silent for so long that I start to think he won’t answer, but finally, he says, “There’s been some trouble in Sorsston, and the Summer Court army is departing for the human city early tomorrow morning.

” He clears his throat. “You’re coming with us, of course—coming with me.

I will arrange for you to travel in a luxurious carriage. ”

“Sorsston?” Worry expands in my chest. “What kind of trouble? As you know, my parents and sisters all live within the walls of the city.”

“The trouble hasn’t affected the regular citizens of Sorsston,” he says a bit cryptically. “Your parents and sisters are likely fine.”

“What kind of trouble is it? Please tell me.”

He gives a slow shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Amelia, but I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to tell you what’s happened.

Perhaps after the situation is handled, I will be able to reveal more.

Just trust me when I promise you’ll be safe.

And if you’re worried about your family members, I will send a soldier to verify their welfare. ”

I’m about to ask him if I can visit them, but then I think better of it.

My father won’t want to see me, and he probably wouldn’t permit a visit with my mother.

As for my sisters, their husbands are probably of the same mind as my father.

By leaving Lord Nevel, I’ve caused problems. I doubt any of my brothers-in-law appreciated having their homes searched by Lord Nevel’s soldiers.

I’m certain my sisters would be understanding, but I don’t want to be the cause of discord in their marriages.

Alone. I’m about to return to Sorsston, the place I grew up and where my entire family still lives, yet I won’t get to see any of the people I care about.

I’ve never felt so alone and utterly displaced.

Even if I managed to escape General Dalgaard, I wouldn’t be able to reconnect with my family.

I blink back tears. Should I even bother writing letters to my mother and sisters?

The general takes a step closer and gives me a concerned look. He likely believes I’m on the verge of tears because I’m worried about the safety of my family members in Sorsston, yet it’s so much more complicated than that.

I swallow hard and will myself to hold it together until he vacates the tent. The last time I cried in his presence, he tried to wipe away my tears. As though he, my captor, has the right to comfort me.

“I must finish preparing the soldiers for departure,” he says, “among other duties. I’ll return soon, however, and we can share the evening meal.

” He gestures at the large desk. “Perhaps in my absence, you can write the letters to your family.” His expression becomes conflicted, and I get the sense that he’s contemplating whether I might visit my family in a few days rather than write the letters.

I also sense that he fears it would be a bad idea.

My stomach clenches. How very odd. I can’t hear his exact thoughts, but I swear that’s the gist of what he’s currently thinking. I just… know .

Oh, gods. My heart races as I try to understand what this might mean. I don’t think he’s glamouring me. His eyes aren’t glowing, and though I’m a tad confused, I feel entirely present in the moment.

“Good idea,” I force out as I move to sit at the desk, partly because I need to put more space between us. “I-I’ll write the letters now, and I’ll see you later this evening, sir.”

He lifts one eyebrow at me. “ Tristan .”

My mouth goes dry as I hold his penetrating gaze. “ Tristan .”