Page 28

TRISTAN

The old lord groans and thrashes in pain.

He’s slumped on the cold, stone floor of his manor, bleeding from multiple wounds.

After assessing the situation at the castle, I decided to pay a much overdue visit to Lord Nevel before returning to the camp.

Earlier in the night, one of my soldiers learned the location of the manor and provided me with directions.

I’ve spent hours beating Lord Nevel, interrogating him, and beating him some more. I’ve also summoned my wings a few times so I could thrust one outward, slicing his arm or his chest or whatever part of his body I felt like maiming.

“I’m sorry!” he cries as he attempts to use a chair to pull himself upward. Weakened from the hours-long torture session, he falls back on his ass with another groan. “Oh, gods, forgive me. I’m sorry.”

“You broke so quickly,” I tell him with a smirk. I land a kick in his side, and the impact of my foot striking his ribs sends him flying into the wall. “Are you frightened, Lord Nevel? Are you in pain and scared for your life?”

“Yes!” He starts weeping, and his tears cascade through the blood on his face.

“Hm. Well, now you know how Amelia must’ve felt when you hurt her.”

“I didn’t beat her as savagely as you’re beating me!” he says in a defensive tone. “Oh, gods, I think my ribs are broken. You broke my fucking ribs!”

“Ah, your ribs are nothing. Before I’m finished with you, Lord Nevel, I’m afraid your neck will no longer be attached to your body.”

“I’ll pay you. Handsomely. If you let me live, I’ll give you fifty silver coins.” The old lord resumes weeping, though he’s a bit quieter this time.

I feel no pity for him. His pain feeds my bloodlust and satiates my long-held desire to avenge Amelia’s treatment at his hands.

“I’m a highborn fae and the general of the Summer Court army.

I have no need for the paltry sum of fifty silver pieces.

” I approach him and draw my foot back, preparing for another kick.

“Though I would never accept your offer, I still find it insulting.” I kick him harder this time, and I hear the cracking as more ribs break.

He gasps for air, and I’m certain I’ve just punctured a lung.

Though I’d planned to torture him for longer, the sun is shining through the windows. Morning has arrived, and I’ve been away from my sweet human all night. I’m eager to return to her, eager to present her with Lord Nevel’s head.

“Please don’t kill me! I really am sorry!” The old lord gasps and rolls toward the wall, giving me his back. He’s still weeping. “I-I was frustrated and I took that frustration out on her. It wasn’t right, but…” His voice trails off and he struggles to breathe. He doesn’t have much longer.

“What are you talking about?” I ask. My heart breaks for Amelia, knowing she spent five months within the walls of Lord Nevel’s manor, suffering at his hands. I suppose I could glamour him and make him give me a truthful confession, but I much prefer to beat the information out of him.

“I couldn’t… couldn’t consummate our marriage.

It was my fault, but I blamed her every time I wasn’t able to, wasn’t able to remain…

ready to take her.” He covers his face with his hands.

“My two sons died during the fae attack on Sorsston, and I wanted so badly to get Amelia with child and create an heir. But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t even fuck her once!” He shudders and makes a gasping, gurgling sound.

Disbelief sweeps over me, as well as a fresh wave of fury toward Lord Nevel. He wasn’t able to consummate his marriage to Amelia, he wasn’t able to remain ready enough to claim her even once. So, he blamed her for his failure, and he made her suffer for it.

I drag the old lord away from the wall, then leave him drowning in a pool of his own blood in the middle of the cavernous entry hall.

I visit the courtyard of the manor just long enough to take a sword off one of the soldiers I killed upon my arrival.

Fourteen soldiers were guarding the estate, and I’d made quick work of slaughtering the whole lot.

I hold the sword up, inspecting its sharpness and decide it’ll serve my purposes. Given my summer magic and the sharp points on my wings, I don’t usually carry weapons, but I’ll need a long, sharp sword for what I’m about to do.

I return to the entry hall and find the old lord on the verge of death. With an echoing growl, I bring the sword down on his neck with so much force that his head goes rolling across the carpet.

It’s done. He’s dead. He’ll never bother Amelia again.

Though she was hesitant to reveal his name and thought his fate should be left up to the gods, I pray Lord Nevel’s death will bring her comfort. I search the house for a bag, and during my search I discover several servants huddled in the kitchen.

“Don’t be afraid,” I tell them. “I won’t hurt you. My quarrel was with your master, and he’s dead now. So are his soldiers. Do any of you happen to have a sturdy grain sack I might borrow? Or something else that would work well for transporting Lord Nevel’s head?”