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“Of course I can, and yes, I could hear it earlier too.” But it suddenly strikes me that this is the first time I’ve been able to hear the goings-on outside the tent in quite some time. Not since I heard the human female’s screams that first night and a second later it all went quiet.

A deep frown mars his visage. “The soundproof ward is still in place. You shouldn’t be able to hear anything.” He rises to his feet, rounds the table, and helps me out of my chair. “Please come with me. I want to test something.”

“All right.” I stand with his help, and I revel in his closeness. His body heat wafts onto me, and his summer scent is so enticing, I find myself wishing he would hold me again.

He presses a hand to my lower back and guides me to the tent flap.

Before we reach the exit, I know what he’s about to ask.

“Try to leave the tent, sweet human. Try to step outside. I want to see if you can do it.” He moves back and nods at the tent flap, though his features remain tense.

I know he’s worried. Worried his wards won’t work on me any longer.

“Very well,” I finally say as I eye the exit. I reach for the flap and pull it aside. Not just a crack either, but I’m able to yank it fully aside. Hm. Maybe I really can bypass his wards.

“Gods, sweet human, you shouldn’t be able to do that.” He growls, but it’s a slight growl of frustration, not the angry, intimidating kind. “Go ahead. Try to step outside.”

We exchange a quick glance, then I easily step outside. Still holding the tent flap open, I say, “Ta da!” as though I’ve just performed a magic trick. Well, maybe I have. If I’m bypassing his wards, does it mean I must possess some magic? My head spins at the idea.

“Gods be damned,” he says, then he utters some additional curses that make the tips of my ears go hot. He drags a hand through his hair and starts pacing the tent. Then he pauses, his eyes go wide, and he motions toward me. “Come back inside, Amelia. Please.”

Knowing I’m probably safest in his tent, I comply without argument.

He pulls me close, and I gasp. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he’s already pushed my hair out of the way so he can inspect my ears. I almost laugh because when he encountered me in Glenville, my hair was tied back, my curved, human ears on full display.

“You are tiny, Amelia, and your ears don’t have the slightest point.” He draws back and holds me out by my forearms. “How are you bypassing the wards? Tell me. Now. I promise I won’t be angry with you, but I must know the truth.”

“I honestly have no idea.” My mind reels. I’m shocked by my apparent abilities to thwart his wards, and I wonder what it might mean, just as I wonder what my ability to sense his thoughts and emotions might mean.

As he stares at me, a scream sounds in the distance. This time, I think it’s a human man, but it’s still unsettling. What is the poor man’s fae master doing to him? A shiver racks my body as I glance at the tent flap, wishing I could rush outside and help the man.

“Godsfuckingdamnit,” Tristan says with a growl, though I know his frustration isn’t directed at me. I’m suddenly aware of his anger toward the fae master who’s tormenting his war prize or slave.

He releases me and steps back. He lifts a hand and the air buzzes with magic.

A look of intense concentration comes over him.

A soundproof ward. He’s trying to erect another soundproof ward.

But it doesn’t work. When he lowers his hand and gives me a questioning look, all I can do is respond with a half-shrug and a shake of my head.

“You can still hear the screams?” he asks in a tone of astonishment.

“Yes, and they’re getting louder.” I can’t keep the catch of emotion from my voice. My heart is breaking for the poor human man.

Tristan curses again, runs his hands through his hair, then bolts out of the tent. I hurry to the flap and open it so I might see what he’s doing. He makes it five steps before he pauses, spins on his heel, and faces me.

He summons his massive wings in a flash of brilliant white light, then draws in a huge breath.

“Officers Zants and Vernn,” he bellows, and within moments, two soldiers hurry into the small clearing and stand at attention, awaiting whatever orders their ill-tempered general is about to issue.

“Officer Zants, please try to step inside my tent. Don’t hesitate, just fucking do it. ”

The soldier pales and casts a wary look at me, but he soon heads in my direction, and I release the flap and step back.

I’m not sure whether to hope my captor’s Summer Court magic is diminishing, or whether I’m truly capable of feats most humans aren’t.

If the general has suddenly lost his power to wield magic, escaping him might be easier than I expected.

But if this test proves I’m the one at fault in this situation—and given the fact that Tristan can still summon his wings and I just watched him wield magic during the orc attack—surely my captor will be extra vigilant about my safety going forward. I can sense his thoughts.

At present, he’s picturing over a dozen well-trained soldiers stationed outside his tent. Soldiers he plans to put on a permanent detail if it’s discovered I’m the problem here. My heart races with nerves.

Escape might be harder than ever.

Not that I had any real plan. Only a desperate wish. The same desperate hope I’ve always had for freedom.

Officer Zants’s shadow appears at the flap, and I can tell by his movements that he’s trying his best to enter the tent, but he can’t. He can’t come inside because of Tristan’s powerful wards.

“That’s enough. You may stop. Officers Zants and Vernn, you will both remain here and guard my tent until I tell you otherwise.

No one comes in, and no one goes out. If my war prize attempts to leave, you will put her in restraints—as gently as possible—and you will await my return.

Physical restraints, mind you, not spelled ones. ”

If my war prize attempts to leave…

Disbelief spirals through me, and angry tears prick at my eyes.

Hearing Tristan address me as his war prize in front of others is hurtful in a way I never imagined. Yes, I know what I am. I know my status in this fae camp.

But until now, given his gentle treatment of me, I suppose I was under the illusion that I meant more to him than a mere war prize.

I repeat one of the bawdy curses I recently heard my captor use and wipe away a fallen tear.

You will put her in restraints…

Panic descends, and the scent of lavender reaches me, and a blanket suddenly rises from the bed and floats in my direction. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Did he truly spell his tent to comfort me in his absence?

How is this magic working, but not the soundproof wards or the wards meant to keep me inside his tent?

When the blanket starts to fall upon my shoulders, I step out of the way, grasp it from the air, and toss it onto the ground. It works. The blanket stays there. But the aroma of lavender remains strong, and there’s a definite buzz of magic around me.

I hate that it’s calming, and it takes everything inside me to keep from crying. I blink fast and sniffle, determined not to allow another tear to fall. General Dalgaard isn’t worth it.

You will put her in restraints…

Each time those six words echo in my head, my heart breaks anew.