Page 21

AMELIA

I would be fraught with worry, and I wouldn’t stop looking for you.

As I await Tristan’s instructions, his gently spoken words ring in my ears. He meant it, too. Every word. Yes, he’s intensely possessive of me, and that’s one reason he’ll never let me go, but he also cares for my safety. He really would be sick with fear if I went missing.

Even if I escaped, where would I go?

I would have to worry about Lord Nevel and his soldiers tracking me down. More than once, Tristan has mentioned that he plans to bring me my husband’s head, but if I run away, Tristan will likely spend all his time searching for me, and Nevel would keep his head for a while longer.

Despite the argument we just had, the thought of leaving Tristan fills me with grief. I want to escape him, yet I would miss him. My chest goes tight, and each breath becomes painful when I consider never seeing him again.

I wish he hadn’t referred to me as his war prize in front of his soldiers. It made me feel small and insignificant, and when he returned to the tent, I’d lashed out. Yes, I was goading him when I suggested he should treat me as a war prize and cease being so gentle.

Gods, I can’t believe I’d allowed my emotions to get the better of me, and my face heats with shame.

“Try to step outside the tent, Amelia!” Tristan finally calls, and my stomach dives to the ground as an idea takes root.

Yes, I’m curious about whether I can get around wards set by all highborn fae, but maybe I should pretend I can’t. Will it give me an advantage if I conceal this ability, assuming I even have it, from my captor? I’m not sure, but just in case it will, I decide I won’t even try to leave the tent.

“All right,” I reply. “I’m coming.” Except I’m not. I’m about to have a little trouble opening the tent flap.

Knowing Tristan can likely see my shadow, I reach down, grasp the thick fabric, and groan as I keep my arm in place.

“Oh, it would seem I can’t even open it,” I say as I congratulate myself for outwitting a highborn fae general. I let go of the fabric and step back. “I can’t make it outside.”

Tristan sticks his head in the tent and gives me a scolding look that takes me aback. “Amelia, the ward hasn’t been set yet. I know you were faking.”

I gasp. “But you told me to step out!” Indignation sweeps through me. “And just a few moments ago, you blathered about how there should be honesty between us. You lied!” The irony of my accusation strikes me, and I hope he doesn’t point out that I’m the one who just sort of lied.

“I told you to step out, yes, but I didn’t specifically say the ward had been set. Technically, I didn’t lie to you.”

I release a dramatic huff. “Fine. Let’s try again.”

“Yes, Amelia, let’s try again.” The reproachful gleam in his eyes shifts to one of mild amusement. Then he disappears and the tent flap falls back into place.

A minute passes, then another. I resist the urge to resume pacing the tent as my impatience grows. Will he try to trick me again? Or will a protective ward actually be in place the next time he instructs me to step outside?

I suppose I’ll have no choice but to be honest this time.

My face heats anew. I’m embarrassed that he caught me trying to fool him, particularly when I was so certain that I was the one doing the tricking.

The humiliation is sobering and serves as another reminder that he has all the power, and I have none.

“Okay, Amelia, let’s try this again.” His deep voice incites butterflies in my stomach. “Please try to step outside.”

Why can’t I sense whether he’s trying to trick me again? I can usually sense his thoughts and emotions without fail, but right now, it’s like there’s a wall there. A wall I can’t break through.

I draw in a huge breath and try to step outside.

It works. I manage to pull the flap aside and step into the open air near the ussha-blessed forest. Fireflies dance all around us, and a warm summer breeze ruffles my hair.

I peer at Tristan. His eyes have gone wide, and his mouth is hanging open. But a second later, he composes himself and displays an expression of casual disinterest. He glances at the fae male standing next to him.

“Thank you for your assistance, Commander Klemat. That will be all. Please feel free to call upon me for that favor I owe you at any time.”

“You’re quite welcome, General. Goodnight.” The highborn fae walks away and disappears into the camp.

Tristan approaches me as the fireflies continue dancing around us. It’s a beautiful night, and in the right company, I might consider it romantic. As his gaze holds mine, the glow of the fae vegetation bathes him in a multitude of colors. His wings are still out, and they suddenly flare wide.

“Do you truly have no idea how you’re able to bypass fae wards?”

“I truly have no idea.” Alongside my confusion, a sense of giddiness fills me.

For so long, I’ve felt powerless, but I can do something most humans can’t.

Something most fae can’t do either, now that I think about it.

It’s my understanding that when Tristan infiltrated Prince Lucas’s wards and flashed into his quarters to protect me, he was performing an unusual feat that the prince would’ve never expected.

Anguished screams echo from the other side of the camp, and I tense and look in the direction of the sound. This time, it’s a woman’s screams. I wonder what happened to the man who was screaming earlier. What if he’s dead?

“It’s not right,” I blurt. “What your people are doing to mine.”

“My people only attack yours when we’re provoked. If one of our new fae settlements are attacked, we seek revenge. Blood for blood.”

“Blood for blood.” I shake my head. “That seems to be a favorite saying among your people. I must’ve heard it spoken a hundred times in the Sorsston castle. But what did that poor woman who’s screaming do? I doubt she personally attacked one of your precious fae settlements.”

“If we could figure out why wards are no longer effective on you, perhaps I could create a soundproof ward to keep you from hearing the screams.”

“It wouldn’t matter. It would still be happening.

The pain and the violations.” I sigh. “Yes, I was goading you earlier. You were right about that. I don’t want you to hurt me and treat me the way most war prizes or pleasure slaves are treated.

But I wish this wasn’t happening at all.

None of it.” I make a sweeping gesture at the camp.

“I wish there was a way for our people to make peace.”

“For as long as history has been recorded, sweet human, fae and humans and orcs have been fighting one another. But my people also fight amongst themselves, just as human kingdoms go to war against other human kingdoms, and it’s the same with the orcs.

You have a gentle heart to desire peace, Amelia, but I doubt it’ll ever happen.

As for me, I’m bound to protect my people, and I will never stop.

” He sighs and glances around the camp. “The regular faefolk who inhabit our new settlements possess little magic and they struggle to protect themselves from well-trained human and orc soldiers.”

“I can’t fault you for protecting your people, Tristan,” I say, “and I suppose you’re right that realm-wide peace would never happen, but isn’t there something you could do about the way war prizes and slaves are treated in your camp?”

He gazes at me as though I’ve gone mad, and perhaps I have.

Fae are so different from humans. Most of them possess a sadistic side and take great delight in the pain and tears of humans.

They don’t value our lives and don’t view us as individuals.

How many humans has Tristan felled on the battlefield?

Hundreds if not thousands I would guess.

“Return to the tent, Amelia, and I will have a servant bring you the evening meal, just in case the snack you had earlier wasn’t substantial enough.

I must attend to some business,” he says a bit cryptically, “but I will join you as soon as possible. Yes, I am stationing guards outside the tent, and yes, they will be instructed to put you in restraints if you attempt to leave.” To his credit, when he mentions having me put in restraints, his dark eyes brim with regret.

I also sense that he hates the thought of the guards putting their hands on me.

He hates it so much that he worries he’ll lose control and kill them if they touch me.

“I will remain in the tent,” I say in an obedient tone. “I promise I won’t try to leave… tonight.” I add that last word because I can’t vow I’ll never try to escape. Maybe one day the opportunity to leave will present itself.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He waits and watches until I’m back in the tent, then he calls for a servant to deliver our meals. He also orders Officers Zants and Vernn to stand guard outside the tent.

I close the flap and settle on the sofa. My mind won’t cease spinning. Not only can I bypass Tristan’s wards, but I can bypass wards set by all highborn fae. How shocking. How unexpected.

It’s even more surprising than my ability to discern Tristan’s thoughts and emotions.

My ears aren’t pointed, not even slightly, and neither are my teeth.

But is it still possible I have a small amount of fae blood?

Maybe an ancient ancestor of mine took a fae lover.

My heart sinks a second later, because it’s far more likely that if an ancestor of mine reproduced with a fae, whatever happened between them likely wasn’t consensual.

The woman’s screams suddenly fade, and I peer at the tent flap in question. Did Tristan make the fae soldier stop hurting his slave? Is that the business he had to take care of? Hope rises within me at the prospect.

Maybe sharing my feelings about how humans and orcs are treated in his war camp had an effect on my black-winged captor. Even if he’s doing it to garner my favor, I don’t care. All that matters is that the woman is no longer screaming, and I pray that means she’s no longer being tormented.

A servant enters the tent carrying a tray that holds two covered plates.

I give the male a polite smile as he sets the tray on the table, but he doesn’t make eye contact with me.

He simply turns and vacates the tent, leaving me alone again.

I wish I knew his name. I’ve never heard Tristan call him by name, only an impersonal ‘you there’ or ‘servant.’

Though I’m starving, I decide to wait for the general. It feels wrong to start eating alone, and the truth is, I’ve started to enjoy the evening meals we share.

At Lord Nevel’s manor, I usually ate alone. I would arrive in the opulent dining room each night to find a singular place setting with no sign of my husband. If he wasn’t passed out drunk somewhere, he was out riding the countryside with his soldiers.

Once, I tried to join the servants for dinner, but they’d appeared horrified by my arrival in their small dining room, and the bravest among them spoke up and pleaded with me to leave because they feared Lord Nevel would punish them for daring to dine with me.

So, yes, the evening meals with Tristan have served to quell some of my loneliness. But I doubt my sense of solitude will ever fully go away because of the glaring fact that there’s no one I might turn to for help. No friends or family who might try to mount a rescue even if they knew my location.

Guilt blankets me. While I like the idea of someone trying to help me escape the general, I hate the thought of anyone getting hurt or dying in the process. It’s a double bind, that’s for sure.

Approaching footsteps catch my attention, and my anticipation to spend the evening with Tristan grows, even though we’ll probably just eat dinner and then go to sleep.

Except, during our argument earlier, he’d mentioned we would finish the conversation later. My stomach does a little flip because I don’t think we’ll ever manage to resolve the issues that loom between us.

At last, I see a brilliant flash of light coming from outside the tent, and Tristan finally enters. He must’ve just vanished his wings.

He strides to the table and reaches out a hand. Uncertain what he’s about, I place my hand in his. To my utter astonishment, he leans down and presses a firm, lingering kiss to the back of my hand. Heat promptly spasms in my nether area.

Oh gods, can he detect my sudden excitement?

I flush when he glances up. Our eyes meet. After a few seconds, he stands taller and releases my hand. He takes a seat across from me and lifts the lids off our plates.

“It’s been a long, eventful day, sweet human. I don’t want to fight with you.” His voice resonates with honesty, and waves of warmth keep hitting me. Not physical waves of warmth, but waves of deep affection that seem to wrap around my heart.

“I don’t want to fight either.”

He smiles. “Good. Let’s enjoy this meal, and let’s enjoy one another’s presence. We can talk later, perhaps before bed. Civilly.”

I emit a playful scoff. “I was more civil than you were earlier. You threatened to have me restrained.” I pick up my fork. “Perhaps we should do a little less talking and just eat for now.”

“You are as wise as you are beautiful, sweet human.”