Page 16

AMELIA

The carriage is so extravagant, I can’t help but feel out of place.

Surely I don’t belong here. I was raised in a tiny house and frequently went to bed hungry as a child, and then I spent years working as a lowly castle servant.

I never expected to find myself surrounded by such luxury.

Even Lord Nevel’s manor can’t compare to this level of opulence.

Although I really am grateful that I don’t have to walk all the way back to Sorsston. I was stunned when the general informed me that the sky bridge was destroyed and our trip south would take longer than expected.

I settle deeper into the comfortable, padded seat and try to resist glancing out the window at General Dalgaard.

Tristan . My pulse quickens. He’s difficult to miss whenever I surrender to temptation and peer out the window, as he’s the largest fae male in the Summer Court army.

He stands over a head taller than most of his comrades, even the other winged highborn fae.

How long until we reach Sorsston? My stomach bottoms out when I consider the homecoming that won’t quite feel like a homecoming. I’m returning as a fae general’s captive.

As a war prize.

I doubt I’ll have the freedom to waltz out of camp and visit my family. Not that a visit would be a good idea…

The letters. By now, the letters I wrote to my mother and sisters have already been delivered by messenger bird.

Tristan promised they would arrive well ahead of the army.

I’d kept the letters as vague as possible, not divulging my location or the fact that I’m traveling with the Summer Court army.

I didn’t breathe a word about the general either.

If they knew I was a fae general’s war prize, it would only make them worry.

Well, it would probably just make my mother and sisters worry.

My father would likely believe I was getting what I deserved.

I glance around the carriage. If I’m counting correctly, it’s the twelfth day of travel, and I’m still taken aback by the luxuriousness of the conveyance, as well as its size.

It’s practically the size of a small house.

Not only is there a kitchen area that contains vast amounts of prepared food that’s enchanted not to spoil (including a tray of decadent candies that replenishes itself whenever I take a piece), but there’s a bathing room that contains running water and a toilet.

There’s also a tiny garden that contains about a dozen resident butterflies that constantly flit from flower to flower.

Then there are the dresses and shoes and jewels, as well as the games and books.

I doubt the other war prizes in this endless procession of soldiers are traveling in such luxury.

I suspect most, if not all, are walking on foot just like the soldiers.

Every now and then, I’ll spot a browbeaten human walking among the fae.

Most are women, though I glimpse a few males.

How many are slaves, and how many are war prizes?

I can’t help but wonder, though I suppose it doesn’t matter.

Either way, they’re prisoners, and they’ll likely never escape their masters.

Will I ever escape General Dalgaard?

I chance a peek out the window at him, and the gods really must hate me, because our eyes meet yet again. He probably thinks I’m growing to like him for all the staring I’m doing.

If only the carriage had curtains so I might shut him out, but curtains are an addition to the conveyance that are suspiciously missing.

I suspect the general wants to be able to look in on me whenever he desires. Not once during the march south has he walked out of eyesight of the carriage. At least not while I was paying attention.

After trying and failing to amuse myself with a card game, I soon push the cards aside and heave a long sigh.

Restless yet tired, I’m not certain whether I’d rather walk outside among the fae for a little while or curl up in the daybed and take a nap.

Yes, in addition to the plush seating area, there’s also a small daybed that’s piled with covers and pillows.

I strive to remain awake, however, because I don’t want to find myself tossing and turning tonight. Sleeping in the same tent as Tristan is difficult enough because I’m so aware of his proximity, but if I end up lying in bed awake all night, it’ll make for a trying time.

My heart commences racing when I consider our sleeping arrangements. For the past twelve nights, he’s slept on the floor next to the bed. He’s also slept in his clothes, though whenever I see him in the morning, he appears freshly bathed and dressed in a clean uniform.

Will he eventually demand to sleep next to me?

Warmth quakes between my thighs at the possibility.

The last few times he’s touched me have been surprisingly pleasurable, like when he’s guided me into a chair or placed a hand on my lower back as I walked inside his tent.

I’m no longer flinching at his touch, and I’m shocked by how quickly I’ve started to trust him.

Am I a fool? He’s fae. Not just any fae, but a fierce fae general.

I shouldn’t trust him. I should remain on guard and expect the worst. What if he’s tricking me? What if he’s waiting for the perfect moment to treat me with cruelty?

I remind myself that a decent male, even a fae one, wouldn’t keep a woman as a war prize. A respectable, peaceable male wouldn’t hold a woman captive. It’s only common sense.

And yet… I can’t help but yearn for his touch.

The truth is, I’m looking forward to this evening. After camp is set up, the general will retrieve me from the carriage and bring me to his tent. We’ll share a meal and converse with one another before going to bed.

I groan and lean against one of the soft, velvet pillows.

I glance at the beautiful dresses that are hanging in an open closet, then look down at my own attire that’s shabby in comparison.

The pants and shirt I’d been wearing when General Dalgaard captured me mysteriously vanished (though the silver I’d kept in my pocket later appeared in my bag), so I’ve taken to wearing the old dresses I brought along when I ran away from Lord Nevel.

Today I’m wearing a faded blue gown that’s decorated with fraying ribbon.

Longing fills me as I return my gaze to the beautiful dresses, particularly the vibrant purple one.

Perhaps if I wore one of the new dresses, I wouldn’t feel so out of place sitting in this opulent carriage.

Okay, I suppose that’s a stretch of reasoning, but I really would like to try the dresses on and wear them.

If only for a little while. Just to know what it’s like to wear something so fine.

When I worked in the Sorsston castle, especially as a young girl, I used to dream about what it would be like to wear fancy clothing and jewels, as well as shoes that actually fit.

I used to fantasize that a handsome lord would visit the castle, become instantly besotted with me, and whisk me away to his grand countryside manor.

My heart breaks a little when my gaze snags on the stack of books that rest on a side table. Mama used to read to me every night. Before I was forced to work in the castle. Before I went from being tucked in nightly by the mother I adored to seeing her but once a year.

I blink back tears and retrieve one of the books.

I open it to the first page and start reading.

I was one of the few servants who could read, and sometimes I would sneak a book from the castle library and read to my roommates at night.

Sharing the experience of getting lost in a good story was always a pleasant way to spend the evening.

Though the book I’m holding is an interesting retelling of an old fairytale about an army of pixies, my eyes soon grow heavy, and I find myself nodding off. Eventually, I give up trying to stay awake, and I lean further against the pillows, telling myself I’ll just sleep for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, my slumber is far from restful.

I keep dreaming about Lord Nevel and jolting awake whenever he’s about to strike me.

Then I fall back asleep only to dream about the fae attacks on Sorsston and Glenville.

I jolt to awareness again and force myself to stay awake this time.

I rush to the bathroom sink, where I splash my face with cold water.

It helps. Sort of. The shock of the cold makes staying awake easier, but it does little to calm the residual panic from the bad dreams.

The carriage comes to a stop, and I move to the window and peer outside to see what’s going on. I’m greeted by the most breathtaking sunset I’ve ever seen. Gods, is it evening already? It would seem I’ve lost track of time.

The door opens behind me, and I whirl around to face General Dalgaard. Tristan. His eyes flare with warmth as he looks at me, and I’m suddenly eager to move closer to him. For a reason I can’t quite fathom, his presence brings me comfort and helps chase away the lingering terror of my nightmares.

Safe. Why does he make me feel so safe?

Though I first encountered him in Sorsston six months ago, we’ve truly only known one another for about two weeks. That’s it. Yet I’m aching for his touch and overwhelmed by the desire to be close to him.

His emotions reach me, just like they always do, and I sense his happiness over our reunion, as well as his anticipation for the evening to come.

I keep getting a visual of the bed in his tent.

My heart races faster and heat pulsates in my nether region.

He wants to sleep next to me, very badly, though he’s conflicted about it and doesn’t quite know how to broach the subject.

He holds out a hand, and I approach him and place my hand in his. “Come, sweet human, and we’ll enjoy our evening together.”