Page 15

TRISTAN

I walk at the head of the army as we march south.

A third of my commanders are up front with me, another third are taking up the rear, and the remaining third are patrolling the skies.

We’ve been on the road for twelve days, and we’ve made such good time that it’s possible we’ll reach Sorsston by tomorrow evening, a day earlier than planned.

Not for the first time, I lament that we no longer possess horses large enough to carry our substantial frames, which would make travel faster for the non-highborn fae soldiers who can’t summon wings.

Long ago, when my people were split into two kingdoms—the original fae courts, Seelie and Unseelie—our soldiers rode giant horses called namulas.

But the creatures died out thousands of years ago during a plague that affected fae as well as animals living in the two fallen courts.

Though we’re maintaining a rapid pace on foot, I still itch to summon my wings and soar toward Sorsston at full speed. As the general of the army, however, I’m expected to remain with my soldiers.

I glance at the floating carriage that holds my war prize.

Amelia. The carriage glides a few feet above the ground, and it’s spelled to travel within five hundred feet of me.

If I were to move to the rear of the marching army, the conveyance would follow, and if we came under attack and I suddenly took to the skies, the carriage would remain on land but float to an area away from the fighting.

Amelia’s profile in the large window brings me comfort.

I like that she’s always within viewing distance, though I keep trying to refrain from constantly staring at her.

The soldiers are already whispering about my taking of a war prize for the first time ever.

I don’t want to add to the whispers, though if the gossip continues, I might have to make an example out of one of the blathering soldiers.

What if Amelia really is my fated mate?

The thought is as enticing as it is unsettling.

I yearn for her, that much is true, and I would be devastated if something happened to her, but does that mean she’s my mate?

I think about the evening meal we shared about a week and a half ago, when she told me more about herself. Though she was initially reluctant to tell me about her upbringing, as well as her years spent toiling in the Sorsston castle, after some persistence on my part, she’d finally opened up.

As our conversation comes back to me now, I attempt not to glance at her profile in the carriage window.

“Well, as you already know, I have four older sisters,” Amelia says.

“Agatha, Addison, Aria, and Anne. Yes, all A-names. My mother’s name is Aurora, and she has two sisters, Audrey and Adeline.

A-names for girls is sort of a family tradition, I guess you could say, because it goes back even further than that in our family tree.

Anyway, I grew up with my parents and sisters in a small house on the edge of Sorsston, though still within the tall stone walls of the city proper. ”

“I see. How old were you when you went to work in the castle?” I brace myself for the answer, knowing she was probably far too young to be torn away from her parents. I’ve heard it’s common practice among humans to send a child into service at a young age while the parents collect the money.

Her face falls, confirming my suspicions.

“I was just ten years old. My parents were struggling to put food on the table. It was decided that my older sisters would try to marry well as soon as they came of age, but for that to happen, they needed dowries. So, my father took me to the castle only a few days after my tenth birthday, and I spent the next nine years working there. I was allowed to go home and visit my family once a year, but my sisters would sneak away to come see me as much as possible, though those visits tapered off after they got married and started having children.”

The standoffish greeting her father gave her when Prince Lucas dropped her off suddenly makes sense. What a horrid man her father must be to send his youngest daughter away like that. “Your mother never visited you at the castle?”

“No. Not even once. My father wouldn’t allow it.

” She swallows hard and her eyes dance around the tent before she returns her gaze to me.

“According to my sisters, he told Mama he would sell me to the fae for a bag of silver if she ever visited me. He worried that if my family called on me too much at the castle, it might cause problems and result in my dismissal. I’m grateful my sisters still visited in secret, as often as they could, and I don’t hold it against them that I had to work in order to fund their dowries. ”

“What does your father do for work? Forgive me, but I am having unkind thoughts toward him right now and I don’t understand why he didn’t work extra jobs to keep you from being sent to the castle at such a young age.

You were only a child.” Among the fae, children are precious.

We don’t reproduce as frequently as humans, and most fae couples only have one or two offspring.

As such, it would be unconscionable for us to basically sell one of our children into service.

She sighs and shifts in her seat. “He’s a barrister, though not a very successful one.

Years ago, he was involved in a scandal, and not many people in Sorsston want to be associated with him as a result, though he charges bargain prices since he’s not in high demand, and he does get some work that way.

” Her face turns red. “I’m sure you’re wondering about the scandal. ”

“I am.” I give her an encouraging look, hoping she’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me.

She stares at me for a full minute, then says, “When I was about eight years old, he had an affair with a young widow who lived nearby and got her with child. When the truth came out, he was sentenced to spend three days in the stocks, and he also had to fund the young widow’s travel expenses so she could go to Trevos and live with her sister. ”

Gods. What a terrible husband and father. Compassion for Amelia and her mother and sisters flares inside me, and so does a wave of violence toward her father.

“Why did your mother never leave your father?” I eventually ask. “You mentioned she has two sisters. Why didn’t your aunts not take your mother and sisters in?”

“She didn’t have any real way to leave. No money of her own, no family nearby, no friends willing to help. My aunts live too far away, and travel between kingdoms is dangerous. With five daughters… well, I think my mother worried we would run into slavers on the road.”

“Gods, sweet human, I am sorry for your mother’s plight, as well as yours and your sisters,” I say.

Her comment about her father threatening to sell her to my people is unnerving.

Until now, I’ve never given much thought to the human children who are purchased by wealthy fae, children that are used for hard labor or sometimes kept as pets until the fae lords and ladies tire of them.

But knowing Amelia could’ve endured such a grim fate is sobering.

“Well, perhaps my father should’ve just sold me to the fae.” She lifts her chin and gives me a bold look. “I ended up a fae’s captive anyway. Perhaps he should’ve sold me and hastened the process.” Her tone borders on bitter, but her voice also trembles with emotion.

“I think you will find that I will treat you far better than any fae lord or lady who might’ve bought you.

” Doesn’t she realize our situation is different?

Doesn’t she feel the intense pull between us?

Given that I keep detecting waves of her excitement in the air, I know she’s attracted to me, though whether the attraction is purely physical, I’m not yet certain.

“All my life,” she says in a much softer tone, “I’ve yearned for freedom. I’ve yearned for… escape . Whenever I think I’m close to it, I suddenly become trapped again. Sometimes I fear the gods are torturing me for their own amusement.”

Freedom. Escape. She’s yearning for the one thing I can’t give her. The prospect of letting her go fills me with rage and preemptive sorrow and loneliness. I won’t let her go. Even if she begs me to release her.

Does that make me a monster? Perhaps.

But just as she calls forth the gentle side I never knew I possessed, she also evokes the dark, vicious part of me that would go to depraved lengths just to keep her at my side.

“Were you close to achieving freedom before your father sold you to Lord Nevel?” I ask, finally breaking the tense silence.

She shakes her head as her eyes fill with self-recrimination.

“Silly me, I thought marriage to a rich old lord would be my salvation. It would help me escape the castle, and though I’m not proud to admit it, I thought I would one day end up a rich widow.

Probably a young widow, given Lord Nevel’s age.

He’s almost seventy-five. Anyway, despite our age difference, I’d planned to be a good wife to him, but our marriage didn’t turn out how I’d hoped.

I suspect my father knew Lord Nevel’s true character but didn’t care.

He sold me to the old man anyway.” She starts to take another sip of wine, only to stop herself and push the glass away.

It’s her third glass. Maybe it's upsetting her stomach.

“Well, sweet human, I still plan to bring you Lord Nevel’s head.” I wave a hand in the air, and a pitcher of water and a clean glass float over from a side table. I pour her a cup and push it toward her, and she accepts the drink with a polite smile.

“It’s really not necessary,” she says after taking a long sip of water.

“He’ll die alone, and that’s good enough for me.

His sons are gone, and unless he can prove I’m deceased, he won’t be able to remarry for five years.

The laws in Sorsston dictate that a person must be missing for five full years before they can be legally declared dead.

He’s strong and reasonably fit, but given the way he drinks, I doubt he’ll make it to eighty. ”

I decide not to say any more on the matter, though I still plan to bring her the godsblasted lord’s head. In a bag, of course. If she wants to look inside and glimpse his lifeless face, she may do so. If not, she can rest assured the man is dead and he’ll never hurt her again.

She stifles a yawn, and I notice her stealing glances at the bed.

Well, she’s not the only one who’s thinking about tonight’s sleeping arrangements.

I suppress a growl. I would like nothing more than to curl up beneath the covers with her, holding her close all night as she slumbers peacefully in my arms.

But fucking gods, I can’t in good conscience force her to sleep next to me.

She’s become more comfortable around me since our encounter on the edge of Glenville, but I doubt she would consent to sharing a bed. Even if I promised to keep my pants on all night.

I clear my throat and gesture at the bed.

“You may sleep there tonight, and I’ll take the floor.

” If she asks me to sleep outside the tent, however, I won’t agree.

Despite the strong protective wards I’ve erected around the tent, I want to remain as close as possible to her at all times.

The mere prospect of any harm coming to her is agonizing.

“Very well,” she says with a pretty blush. “Thank you. Um, would you mind leaving the tent while I get changed into a nightdress?”

“Of course. I’ll be back in a few minutes.

” Even though there’s a curtain that shields the bathing area where she could change, I decide it might be best if I give her total privacy.

I gather our plates on the tray, step outside the tent, and hand the tray to my servants.

It’s the first time I’ve ever carried my own dinner tray outside, but the servants don’t show any hint of surprise.

They’re far too glamoured for that. I would be surprised if they held any thoughts in their head beyond serving and obeying.

As I stand next to the tent flap, my mind conjures an image of Amelia stripping off her clothing.

Gods, the thought of her changing in my tent is enough to send a fresh surge of heat through my veins, and my cock lurches in my pants.

Will she wear one of her dresses tomorrow? I don’t like that she was wearing Lord Nevel’s clothing, at least I still suspect the attire belongs to him, and I decide I’ll burn it at the first opportunity. I want to get rid of anything that might remind her of the horrid male.

At last, I step back inside the tent, and I find her already abed with the covers pulled up to her chin. She casts me a worried look, then turns on her side, facing away from me, and whispers, “Goodnight, Tristan.”

“Goodnight, sweet human.”

“General Dalgaard. Um, excuse me. General?”

Commander Klemat’s voice pulls me back to the present.

I turn to look at him as he keeps a rapid stride next to me while the Summer Court army continues the march south to Sorsston.

He has a question about an injured soldier whose wounds are strangely resistant to the powers of our best healer, and we discuss the issue while I contemplate the night ahead.

I don’t enjoy sleeping on the floor of my tent, which I’ve done every night since I captured Amelia, but I do enjoy sleeping close to her.

I glance in her direction, and this time when I peer through the window of her carriage, our eyes meet. My heart pangs with warmth.