Page 8

AMELIA

I listen raptly as General Dalgaard reveals what happened in Sorsston.

I’m shocked to learn about the depths of Prince Lucas’s kindness, and I wish I could recall his face.

I’m also a bit embarrassed by how hysterical I’d become in the banquet hall.

But in my defense, I was on edge after recently witnessing a fae soldier rip the arms off a male servant who’d dropped a tray of food.

Though I’m not happy General Dalgaard is holding me captive, I can’t help but feel touched when I learn about how he stayed in Prince Lucas’s quarters just to keep me safe. He’d also sent me waves of summer warmth when he noticed I was cold.

How incredible that I spent several hours in Prince Lucas’s quarters and not only emerged untouched, but I spent those hours drinking with him and offering advice about how he might get a human woman named Yvette to fall in love with him.

“Wait!” I set my glass of water aside and turn to face the general fully. He’s seated on the sofa next to me, but there’s a fair amount of space between us. “Did Prince Lucas succeed in getting Yvette to fall in love with him?”

The general nods. “I believe so. Only a few weeks ago, I attended their wedding, and they looked very much in love.” A strange, distant look enters his eyes, but he blinks and it disappears.

“A wedding? But I didn’t think fae held wedding ceremonies. I thought you just found your fated mate and then?—”

“Prince Lucas’s father, King Haratt, ordered him to marry a human. It’s my understanding that Yvette was the human he desired above all others.”

“Oh. I see.” Excitement churns through me. It’s rather thrilling to think that Prince Lucas used my advice to help him make Yvette fall in love with him. “Sorry I interrupted, sir. Please continue.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me sir , Amelia. You may call me by my name.”

“Okay… General Dalgaard .” My face grows hot, though I’m not certain why.

“No, my given name.” His eyes flare with warmth. “You may call me Tristan .”

My breath hitches, and pulsating heat abruptly quakes between my thighs. I try to push the sensation away, and I really hope the general isn’t glamouring me into a state of wantonness. It’s been ages since I experienced the slightest hint of carnal excitement.

“Please.” The general’s eyes darken in a way that makes me worry he somehow knows about the sudden ache that’s thrumming in my core. “Please say my name. I want to hear you say it.”

I draw in a deep breath and meet his eyes. “Tristan.”

A low growl emanates from his throat, but it’s not a scary, I’m-going-to-kill-you growl. It’s a sound of pleasure. His gaze flashes with… desire? I can’t be certain. We’re sharing a semi-intimate moment, and it’s taking all my willpower to keep from squirming on the sofa.

But I can’t let him know about the warmth quaking between my thighs. I don’t want him to view it as an invitation to ravish me. My face becomes even hotter at the thought.

“Thank you for saying my name, Amelia.” He gives me a brief but affectionate smile, and gods how it steals my breath. “There aren’t many souls who call me Tristan anymore. Just the Summer Court lord who fostered me after my parents died, and the lord’s son who happens to be my oldest friend.”

I tilt my head to the side and study him, trying to discern whether he’s full of dung, as my father might say.

“You’ve never asked any of your former war prizes to call you by your given name?

” I don’t mean to sound flippant when I ask the question, but that’s how it comes out.

I hold my breath as I await his reaction, praying he’ll keep his word about not hurting me.

I also try to ignore the unexpected pang of jealousy that heats my blood. Surely I’m just imagining it.

His dark eyes glint with amusement as he watches me. “You’re my first war prize, Amelia. There have been no others. Just you. Only you.”

I straighten and brush an imaginary speck of lint from my shirt. “Well, perhaps we ought to get back to the story. What happened after I gave Prince Lucas advice about how to make Yvette fall in love with him?”

General Dalgaard displays a knowing smile, as though he realizes I’m more than a bit flummoxed by his admission that I’m his first and only war prize, then he resumes telling the story and giving me back my memories.

I don’t ask any additional questions, and it doesn’t take long for the general to reach the end.

I vaguely recall standing in front of my parents’ house waiting for them to answer the door, followed by a happy reunion with my mother who I hadn’t seen in months, and it’s nice to receive a full explanation of the events that heralded that moment.

“Thank you for telling me everything,” I say after a long, contemplative silence. Can I trust him? Gods, I hope I can.

Except… how could I ever trust a fae male who’s holding me captive? If he were truly a decent individual, he wouldn’t be keeping me against my will. He would set me free. He would set me free just like Prince Lucas did.

I regard General Dalgaard as my wariness grows. What will he expect of me here in this tent? Does he expect me to cook and clean? If he really doesn’t want me for fucking, perhaps he’ll treat me as a servant.

I suppress a sigh, not wanting him to inquire what’s wrong. I don’t owe him my thoughts, and I very much want to keep my secret yearnings private. I don’t owe him anything.

Freedom. My heart aches.

Will I ever attain real freedom?

Escaping Nevel, an old human lord, had been difficult enough.

Not only is he strong for his age, but he employs over a dozen well-trained soldiers.

Soldiers who were ordered to keep me confined within the oppressive walls of his manor.

I’d had to bide my time for months as I studied their schedules and waited for an unexpected break in the routine to finally make my escape.

I sneak another glance at General Dalgaard.

Tristan . I’m still shocked he’s invited me to use his given name.

How could I escape a powerful, highborn fae general like him?

Will he keep soldiers stationed outside the tent when he leaves?

In any case, if I tried to make a run for it, I would have to navigate a massive campsite filled with twenty-eight thousand lethal fae soldiers.

“Would you like more to eat, sweet human?” His eyes brim with… affection. That’s the word that best describes the extreme warmth in his visage.

Sweet human . Why does he keep calling me that?

Every time he uses the endearment, my scalp prickles with awareness, a rather delirious but not unpleasant sensation, and heat quakes between my thighs. I also become a bit breathless.

I give myself a mental shake and glance at the empty plate next to my glass of water.

Before telling me the story about what happened in Sorsston with Prince Lucas, he’d provided me with a plate of various cheeses, strawberries, and slices of fresh bread drizzled with oil.

“No, thank you,” I eventually say. “I had plenty to eat. I appreciate the meal.”

He smiles, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him smile while revealing his sharp, pointed fae teeth. Though it makes him appear very intimidating, I can’t help but think it also suits him and accentuates his rugged, masculine features.

“I’m glad you got enough to eat, Amelia.

” He nods at the closed tent flap. “The two servants who were inside when we arrived will always be happy to bring you anything you might desire when I’m absent.

If you tap on the pole near the flap, they will attend to you.

” He clears his throat as a mildly uncomfortable look comes over him.

“Please don’t worry. They will not hurt you.

They were castrated long ago—no, I didn’t do it—and they are glamoured to obey my every command. ”

Castrated, glamoured servants? My stomach flips. The two males he’s speaking about might be fae, yet I can’t help but empathize with their plight. Did they have a choice about becoming servants? At the age of ten, my father dragged me to the castle, and I didn’t have any say in the matter.

A shiver racks my body. If General Dalgaard would glamour his servants to obey his every command, there’s always a chance he might do the same to me.

A warm breeze ruffles my hair, and it takes me a moment to realize my captor must’ve noticed my shivering.

I glance his way to find he’s fixed a concerned look on me.

His perceptiveness makes me uneasy. He knew I was still injured, and he seems to have no difficulty discerning when I’m cold, even if I don’t quite break into a shiver.

“What happens now?” I ask in a whisper as I peer around his tent.

Am I supposed to sit here and twiddle my thumbs whenever he goes off to war, or will I be given tasks to complete in his tent or within the barriers of the camp?

I can’t imagine just sitting around doing nothing. I’m used to keeping busy.

General Dalgaard leans closer, and I’m not certain whether the next wave of warmth that hits me is from his fae magic or his natural body heat. “Now, we get to know one another, and we enjoy one another’s company.”

“You want to get to know me?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.

“Yes, very much so.” His dark eyes gleam with warmth, and I don’t understand how he can look at me with so much fondness.

His proximity, however, is affecting me more than I would care to admit.

I’m tempted to lean closer to him, but I don’t.

I’m also tempted to reach out and touch his black, unbound tresses.

How his hair didn’t become tangled during the flight here, I’ll never know.

Thank goodness mine was already tied back when he’d absconded with me into the skies.

“Why do you want to get to know me, sir?” I finally ask.

“Tristan,” he says in a gentle but corrective tone. “I asked you to call me Tristan.”

I suck in a shaky breath. “Why do you want to get to know me, Tristan ?”

“Because I want to learn why I’m so drawn to you.

I want to understand the connection I feel between us, and I’m genuinely curious about you, sweet human.

Curious about your past. Curious about your hopes and dreams for the future.

” He starts to reach for my face, but I flinch, and a burst of fear makes my heart pound rapidly.

Oh, gods. I lower my head, unable to meet his eyes.

Shame spreads through me. I know he wasn’t about to strike me, but I couldn’t help the reaction.

I’ve only been away from Lord Nevel for a week.

Will I ever be able to withstand the touch of another without flinching and experiencing a wave of panic?

“I’m sorry I scared you with that sudden movement,” General Dalgaard says in an apologetic tone.

“It’s…” My throat closes up and I can’t utter another word. The walls of the tent feel like they’re closing in, and I don’t believe there’s enough air in here either.

Suddenly, the scent of lavender reaches me.

I take a few deep breaths, and it helps take the edge off my panic.

A second later, I watch as a thick blanket rises from the bed and floats in my direction.

The soft blanket gently falls upon my shoulders, and I wrap it more firmly around my body as I continue to take deep breaths of the lavender-scented air.

Tears prick my eyes at General Dalgaard’s kindness. When he noticed my fear, he didn’t force his touch upon me. Not only that, but he apologized for scaring me, and now he’s using fae magic to make me feel better.

“Who hurt you, Amelia?” he asks quietly.

I swallow hard, and I finally find my voice. “How do you know I’m not just wary of you? You are, might I remind you, holding me captive. You’re keeping me as a war prize.”

“The old, fading bruises on your arms, and the way you flinch,” he says, “make me think someone has tormented you. Was it the old lord you mentioned to Prince Lucas? The old lord you were supposed to marry?”

I lift my gaze to the general’s, and the deepening concern in his eyes is almost too much. Why does he seem to care? He’s a highborn fae, and I’m a human. Why isn’t he laughing at my fear? Most of his kind would take perverse delight in my discomfort.

“Yes, I suppose you could say someone tormented me,” I eventually admit. “Yes, it was the old lord. I married him. I had no choice. My father arranged it.”

“Did the old lord die? Or were you visiting Glenville with him?” A crease forms between General Dalgaard’s dark brows, and I know he’s trying to figure out why I’m so far from Sorsston.

“He didn’t die, though I wouldn’t be saddened if he did.

No, I wasn’t visiting Glenville with him.

That’s not why I was staying in this remote mountain town.

” I savor another inhale of lavender-scented air, and I snuggle deeper into the blanket.

“I ran away,” I finally admit, and for some reason, it feels good to share this information with the large fae male.

“I am sorry your husband tormented you, sweet human. Tell me his name, and I will bring you his head.”