Page 6

AMELIA

There’s something about you that calls to me

I intend to keep you as mine.

As General Dalgaard flies toward Glenville—at least, I assume that’s where we’re going—I can’t stop thinking about the reasons he gave for healing me.

I don’t quite understand, and more than ever I regret that the highborn fae in Sorsston stole my memories.

Was it truly Prince Lucas who saved me from danger and then glamoured me? It seems like a fantastical story.

A dark thought hits me.

What if the general is lying about the bloodthirsty crowd he mentioned earlier? What if he’s lying to cover his own misdeeds?

What if my previous suspicions hold merit and he’s actually the one who hurt me, or attempted to hurt me, at the Sorsston castle, forcing Prince Lucas to intervene?

And now I’m the general’s captive.

Fear washes over me, and I shiver in my abductor's arms. But a second later, a wave of warmth surrounds me, and I detect honeysuckle and jasmine in the air.

It’s something that’s happened every time I’ve shivered during the flight to Glenville, and I can’t fathom why General Dalgaard would use his Summer Court magic to ensure my comfort.

He tightens his hold on me, and I finally chance a look down.

We’re traveling over the dense, ussha-blessed forest. I don’t glimpse much beyond the treetops and the occasional multi-colored glow of smaller, fruit-bearing trees and the vibrant glimmer of flowers in small clearings.

In the distance, the snow-capped Warrlish Mountains rest against the backdrop of a radiant blue sky dotted with small, billowing clouds.

It’s a beautiful sight from my current vantage point.

I consider what’s happened and try to formulate a plan of escape. The general of the Summer Court army has captured me. He hunted me down after I ran away, having spent hours searching for me.

He claims he’s drawn to me, whatever that means, and he also says he plans to keep me as his.

I shiver anew, and sure enough, I’m rewarded with another wave of summer warmth infused with honeysuckle, jasmine, and other scents to which I can’t put a name.

Daisies? Roses? I’m not certain. My father arranged for me to start working in the Sorsston castle when I was only ten years old, and the majority of my tasks over the years were completed indoors within the dark, stone walls of the castle I always wanted to escape.

As a result, I never got outside much, and I’m not exceedingly familiar with the various types of spring and summer flowers.

It would seem that feeling like a prisoner and longing for freedom has been a recurrent theme in my life.

First, in the castle serving in King Garrett’s court, then in the castle again as I served our fae overlords during the early days of the occupation.

Next, during the five dreadful months I spent married to Lord Nevel.

Lastly, my present situation as General Dalgaard’s captive.

What will happen once he takes me back to Glenville? Will the fae army occupy the small town for some time? Is there even a town left to rule over? There were so many lifeless bodies in the streets that I’m not certain it would be worth the effort.

The general slows his pace, and I glance down to find a sea of tents as far as the eye can see. The tents are surrounding what’s left of Glenville, and the white structures are visible in the surrounding fields and the forest too.

Gods, did the general really bring the entire Summer Court army to attack Glenville?

I recall once hearing a fae soldier boast that the army was twenty-eight thousand strong. I doubt even five hundred souls called Glenville home. The people of this mountain town never had a chance.

The general straightens midair while holding me close, then descends into the expanse of tents. He lands next to the largest tent, a temporary structure that’s at least four times the size of my parents’ house.

I exhale a shuddering breath once General Dalgaard finally lands. I didn’t think he would drop me, not after going to the trouble of healing my leg, but I’m still relieved to be on the ground again.

A quick glance around the camp shows soldiers on patrol, human slaves rushing to and from various tasks, and even more soldiers conducting training exercises.

The fires have all burned out in Glenville, but very few buildings remain standing.

I’m heartened, however, when I notice the boarding house appears intact.

I pray Mr. and Mrs. Cornsbury, the elderly couple who run the establishment, didn’t come to any harm during the attack.

I attempt to wiggle out of the general’s arms, but a censorious growl rumbles from his throat, and he gives me a displeased look that makes me go instantly still. I lower my head and wonder if he’ll punish me for resisting him.

Will he be worse than Lord Nevel?

I grow cold at the thought, but I fight back the ensuing shiver.

I don’t want him to send me another wave of summer warmth.

I’m his captive, and surely that means he’s not going to treat me well.

I don’t want to find myself liking anything he does, and I resolve that I’ll keep my guard up and remember who he is.

He’s the fae general who’s responsible for the deaths of thousands of my people. He’s a horrid, irredeemable monster.

I lost friends, family, and acquaintances during and after the attack on Sorsston. I need to keep reminding myself of all those I lost. Uncle Kellen, Cousin Walt, my childhood friend Ben, and too many fellow servants in the castle to count.

“You needn’t fear me, sweet human,” General Dalgaard says in a strangely gentle voice. “Look at me. Please.”

I inhale a steadying breath and gradually lift my eyes to his. To my surprise, the sternness I glimpsed moments ago is gone, and there’s an undeniable tender glimmer in his stare that takes me aback.

“You’re mine, Amelia. My war prize .” Another growl rumbles from his chest. “Do you know what that means?”

War prize . Oh, gods. I can’t stop the fresh shivers that rack my body, nor can I find my voice. Not that I even know what to say.

If I were braver, I would curse him out and demand he release me.

General Dalgaard vanishes his wings in a flash of white light, then carries me into the large tent, all the while surrounding me with sweet, floral-scented warmth.

Two fae males wearing white tunics wait inside—servants?

—but they vacate the tent in a rush after the general jerks his head toward the exit.

Alone. I’m alone with General Dalgaard inside his tent, and he considers me his war prize.

How can he claim I don’t need to fear him?

Hours ago, I watched him kill several humans with ease, and he’d seemed to enjoy it. I can’t imagine not fearing him.

He’s a powerful, highborn fae from the Summer Court, and he insists I belong to him.

How long will I belong to him? I want to ask.

Maybe I’m another war prize in a long line of war prizes. Maybe hundreds of women have preceded me. What happened to the others? Did he kill them when he was finished? Or did he hand them over to his soldiers?

Finally, General Dalgaard sets me on my feet. I immediately take a few steps away, only to worry I just made a grave error. I don’t want to incur his wrath.

Oh, gods, why can’t I do anything right?

I wrap my arms around myself and lower my head, too terrified to meet his gaze.

He closes the space between us, the space I created, and places a finger beneath my chin, forcing my gaze to his. It takes all my self-control not to flinch at his touch.

My eyes burn as I look at him, and I blink fast to prevent the flow of tears. I want to weep and beg him not to hurt me, but I know such a display will only rouse the darkness that’s within him.

Tears. Weeping. Begging.

A memory tries to resurface, something that happened in the Sorsston castle, but I can’t quite make the experience whole.

Try as I might, I can’t recall the events that resulted in a highborn fae flying me to my parents’ house and giving me a bag of silver.

Did a bloodthirsty crowd of fae really have their sights on me?

“As I already said, you’re my war prize, Amelia.” His deep voice resounds in the tent and somehow fills me with warmth, though surely I’m imagining it. “Do you know what that means?”

It means I’m a prisoner.

It means I’m yours until you tire of me.

I don’t say any of that out loud, of course, because I don’t want to anger him. Instead, I shake my head and whisper, “No, sir, not really.”

“It means you’re under my protection, sweet human.” His gaze softens further. “It means no one here will hurt you.”

“What about you?” I can’t help but ask, even though I fear the answer. Even though I’m afraid that voicing the question might anger him. “Will you… hurt me?”

He draws back slightly, and his eyes fill with shock. “No,” he says in a resolute tone. “No, Amelia, I will not hurt you. I swear before the gods.”

I don’t understand. I’m his war prize, and he probably intends to use me as his plaything, yet he claims I’m under his protection and he swears before the gods that he won’t hurt me.

Is he lying? I used to believe fae couldn’t lie, but during the fae occupation of Sorsston I quickly learned they could lie just as easily as my people.

I search his dark eyes for the truth. He looks so earnest.

But he’s a highborn fae, and he’s the general of the Summer Court army. He’s supposed to be cruel and vicious. How else would he have attained such a high rank?

During the occupation of Sorsston, however, I don’t remember him tormenting any humans in the banquet hall of the castle.

Most of the soldiers and highborn fae who “held court” murdered or maimed at least one poor servant.

Every morning after a long night of drunken, violent revelry in the banquet hall, I would be tasked with helping to clean the blood off the stone floor.

But General Dalgaard mostly kept to himself, and if he would’ve killed or tortured someone, I would’ve likely witnessed it, as most of the carnage occurred in the banquet hall.

Even if he’d done so elsewhere in the castle, I would’ve heard about it.

Not much happens in a castle without all the servants eventually finding out.

Gossip helps to liven the long days of drudgery.

“How does your leg feel?” General Dalgaard asks.

“It feels much better.” I swallow hard. “Thank you for healing me.” I can’t believe I’d fainted in his arms and he’d healed me using fae magic while I was passed out.

“What about your face? Does that feel better too?”

“My face?” Confused, I reach to touch my cheek. But as I lift my hand, it brushes against his hand that’s touching my chin. I draw in a quick breath and drop my hand to my side.

“Yes, your face. You had numerous scratches all over it.”

Oh. “Uh, my face feels fine now, too. Thank you for that. As I ran through the forest, branches kept hitting my face.” It’s then that I realize my arms still hurt from the thorny bushes.

In all the excitement since he captured me in the forest, I’d forgotten about the injuries on my arms until now.

I try not to wince or show any signs of pain, but a suspicious gleam enters his eyes, and he gently takes me by my shoulders and steps back. He looks me up and down, his visage brimming with concern.

“Sweet human, you’re still hurt.” He gives me an encouraging look. “Please tell me where you’re injured, Amelia, and I will heal you.”