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Kassandra wiped her brow and pulled a tray of barley bread from the fire. She set it next to the cheese, where the cook’s assistant, Yiannis, would soon take it out to the main dining area by the fires for the men to eat.

A gust of icy wind tossed her hair across her face, and the fire guttered. The cooking quarters were only a wall and a bit of a roof and not inside a tent due to the fires. If it rained, like it had the first two days Kassandra worked in the kitchen, or it was windy, like tonight, the weather could be a challenge.

“What did I say about letting that fire go out?” the cook barked. He toiled over the larger fire, braising hunks of meat turning on a spit. No one touched the meat but him—or they risked a tongue-lashing. Although he was quick to use his tongue to flay someone for just about anything, and she seemed to be a favorite target.

Kassandra tossed a log onto the fire, then prodded it with a stick. While she knew how to build a fire, she hadn’t tended many. Sarda City stayed mild almost all year, and if a night was chilly enough, servants always built the fires. In the temple, fires were considered a luxury, and Kassandra would have loved to work the one in the kitchens if only for the warmth, but she had to stay in the food preparation area.

“Fix it Sardi, especially since I need you to heat a few things for me.”

Kassandra turned, but she already recognized the voice. Greta.

She sighed. Fantastic, tonight she got to deal with both the cook and Greta. Over the past week, she was with one or the other, helping them as camp wound down every evening, but she didn’t normally have to work with both. Both were surly, both called her “Sardi,” saying the word like it was some kind of curse, and both seemed to enjoy ordering her around, watching her as if waiting for her to argue or toss their orders back at them.

She squared her shoulders. It was better than waiting on the Warlord.

Apparently, her ploy about her visions worked. Ever since the night in his tent where she’d seen his past, he hadn’t demanded she wait on him, or come to the tent to taunt her. She’d barely seen him at all. The man didn’t seem to ever sleep. He didn’t come to bed while she was awake, and he was gone before she rose.

She gritted her teeth. It was a good thing he wasn’t around because the less she saw of him, the easier it would be for her to escape. Her feet were fully healed, which meant she walked easily again, and if she needed to, she could also run. However, even though the Warlord ignored her, he still had guards on her every minute. From working in the kitchens the past week, she understood the flow of the day and the switching of patrols, and the more she learned, the more likely she could find a weakness, and slip away.

Greta joined her at the fire. The older woman held two copper jars and a hunk of a plant. She thrust the plant at Kassandra. “Strip all the leaves and put them a pot with some wine.”

The plant had dingy bluish-green leaves and wiry stems. “I know this plant,” Kassandra said. “It was all over the hillside at the temple.”

Greta nodded. “It’s dittany. Good as an antidote for poisons if you know how to mix it properly.”

Kassandra’s brows shot up. “Has someone been poisoned?”

“No, but I saw some dittany on the road today and decided to add this to my stores just in case.”

Poison. Maybe she could poison the Warlord.

Yet the moment the idea sprung into her head, something hot and tight twisted in her chest. The Warlord could have hurt her, and he hadn’t. It wouldn’t be right to hurt him.

No. Poison wasn’t the answer. She would escape from him, but she wasn’t going to damage anything other than his pride when she did it.

She plucked the last of the leaves from the stem and put them in the dark wine at the bottom of one of the copper jars. Greta swirled the mixture several times, then handed it to Kassandra. “Put this in the fire for heating. It needs a slow and gentle boil for the next half hour or so. Don’t let it get too hot, you understand?”

Kassandra nodded.

“Every few minutes, you add one drop from this jar.” She handed the second jar to Kassandra. “Only one drop. And keep swirling it to keep the ingredients dancing inside. I’ll know if you don’t do it right.”

Kassandra’s lips tightened, but she didn’t say anything.

“Is she doing her work?” The deep voice rumbled behind her, and Kassandra jumped, almost dropping the jars into the fire.

The Warlord stepped around to her right, the light from the fire flickering over his form, putting him half in shadow, half in a warm, reddish glow. He’d taken his armor off for the day, and wore a simple tunic, this one in crimson.

“She’s slow,” the cook said, turning the meat on the spit with a quick yank. “And the bread she made was too flat.”

Kassandra glared at him. “It’s not flat, I added honey to it, so it’s a little more … oblong than normal.”

“You mean flat,” the Warlord said.

The cook’s eyes flashed, his expression murderous. “You altered one of my recipes?”

“I thought the men might like something a little sweeter for a change. You serve the same thing every day.” The camp food was excellent, but it was always the same. The cook probably only knew a few recipes.

The Warlord tilted his head slightly, but as always, his expression was unreadable. He didn’t appear angry, though.

“Let me try one.” Greta walked to the pile of bread on the table with the cheese and wine. She picked up one of the smaller rolls. All right, that particular bread was flat and a bit misshapen on one side—not the best example of her work. Greta tore off a hunk and popped it in her mouth.

The Warlord strode over and also tore a piece off. His gaze bored into Kassandra’s. A tingle spread down her spine, as if he’d caressed her. Her heart rate kicked up, her heart fluttering in her chest.

“Why would you care if the men have something sweet?” he asked.

She glanced at the cook. He would yell at her later, no matter what she said now. “I know what it’s like to eat the same thing every day. I thought they might like a little variety.” She shrugged. “I won’t alter it again.”

“It’s good,” Greta said. “The men will like it.” She pointed at the fire. “Now get to work on that dittany.”

Kassandra turned her back on them and put the copper jar at the fire’s edge. The back of her neck still tingled, so she knew the Warlord remained near her. Her hand holding the second jar shook slightly.

She worked near the big, burly Alpha cook every evening, with his fearsome grimace and arms the size of her head, and her hands never shook once. Yet the moment he showed up, she was a mess. She clenched her teeth and reached down to pull the copper jar farther away from the fire.

Her fingertips touched the rim, and she yelped and snatched her hand back.

The Warlord was at her side, grabbing her hand in his. “Are the Sardi such fools they don’t know a fire is hot?” His thumb whispered over her fingertips.

“It’s your fault. You distracted me.”

His brows lifted a fraction. “Did I?”

Why had she said that? Now, he would start in on his whole ‘I’m your Alpha thing.’ She frowned. “I meant all that nonsense about the bread distracted me.”

“Hmm.” He rubbed her fingertips again. This was the second time he’d caressed her hands, and just like the time on the horse, with only his fingers feathering over hers, an ache unfurled low in her stomach.

She pulled her hand away. “I need to take care of this tincture for Greta.” This time, she used a stick to adjust the little copper jar.

“Greta left, yet you still follow her orders?”

“I respect healers.” She turned slightly so he wasn’t so much in her peripheral vision. “The temple of Suilani is part of the pilgrimage to the great temple at the Acropolis. If you’d bothered to come and kidnap me yourself, you would know our temple is difficult to get to, and most of those making the trek to see us come with injuries, or are half-starved because the journey took longer than expected. I worked with one of the high priestesses to help heal them.”

The copper pot boiled, and Kassandra carefully poured out one drop from the second jar. Steady. Steady. She didn’t want him to see how he made her tremble. The jar fizzed, white bubbles burbling up on the surface. “Our healers weren’t as knowledgeable as Greta, though.” She turned and met his gaze. “You’re lucky to have her.” Despite the healer calling her “Sardi” and barely acknowledging her when Kassandra worked at her side, she admired Greta’s skill. She seemed to know every plant and had multiple uses for each one.

“She’s useful,” the Warlord admitted, crossing his arms. He quirked a brow. “You’re upset I didn’t kidnap you myself?”

Her hand tightened around the jar she held. Gods above he looked so smug. She sniffed. “You’re the one who said you had a ‘big plan’ for me. If that is the case, why wouldn’t you get me yourself?”

“I do have a plan for you, but that doesn’t mean I thought you required my personal attention. I had better things to do.”

She shook her head, pouring another drop into the wine mixture. “Warring. Such a noble cause.”

“If it were the Sardi warring, you’d have a different opinion.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. He had a point. “You must have spent your entire life warring. How did you find the time to perform all the legendary feats people say about you?” Despite trying to push it from her mind, she kept seeing the images of him washing ashore on the black beach. For days, she’d told herself she was not curious about him, yet here she was, the first time they were together all week, and she was asking about his history.

“What legends have you heard?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t heard any particular stories. Only that you’re Lodan the Unkillable.” That was mostly the truth. She knew he was called the Unkillable because he’d supposedly conquered death, but she didn’t know more than that.

From a few steps away, the cook sneered. “Typical Sardi, only listening to Sardi lies and not the real news spreading through Anatolia.”

She kept her head tilted downward as if the copper jar in front of her was the most interesting thing in the world. “And? What are the tales?”

“They aren’t tales.” The cook turned the meat with a vigorous twist. “They are the truth about how Lodan got an army behind him. How he gained his golden armor and the gods’ blessing. Men heard and flocked to fight at his side.”

The Warlord shifted his weight beside her but said nothing.

“Lodan is the only man who made it through the symplegades—the clashing rocks—to reach Ikaria, the Unreachable Isle, and lived to talk about it.” The Unreachable Isle. That was what the man in the vision called his shore.

Lodan still didn’t say anything, and the cook continued, “He battled the brutal south wind, his boat smashing to bits, his life almost snatched away by the gods, yet in the end, he conquered it, stepping onto the black shores to claim his destiny.”

Her breath hitched. Black shores. She was right, she had seen the Warlord’s past. “Stepping? Not crawling?”

“The Warlord does not crawl,” the cook snarled.

“He might have done if he was injured.” She dared glance at the Warlord to find him peering at her in his disconcerting way, the gold of his eyes seeming to glow in the firelight.

“He didn’t crawl,” the cook said. “He walked out of the waves, greeted Chiron and the great teacher agreed to tutor him.”

Kassandra gasped. “Chiron, the sage? I thought he was dead?”

“He left Anatolia when he tired of teaching the Sardi,” the Warlord said. “He said they never truly took in any of his teachings.”

Chiron’s lectures were so important they’d been transcribed into books. The entire collection sat in her father’s library in the palace. Her brother’s tutors used them often, but the Warlord was right, her brother hadn’t paid them much attention. “He taught you?”

The Warlord nodded. “Yes. The most learned man in Anatolia taught a Myrdinian.”

Kassandra narrowed her eyes. “He’s the one who taught you to play chess, isn’t he?”

The Warlord lifted one of his brows a fraction. “Yes.”

She shook her head. “I had no hope of winning against someone trained by Chiron.”

His lips twitched, and if he were any other man, she would think he hid a smile. “No, you didn’t, but you didn’t play half bad.”

She stilled. Whether he realized it or not, he’d given her a compliment. She looked down. The faint swell of music and a sole, beautiful, female voice floated through the air. During dinner the last few nights, some of the men took out lyres or other instruments and played a little, but this was the first time someone sang.

It had to be Briseis.

Most Omegas enjoyed performing for Alpha attention, but her stomach lurched at the thought of standing in front of everyone and playing a song. She would rather feed every single Alpha in camp by hand than stand in front of them to play.

Crowds were awful. All those eyes, watching. Waiting. Judging. Expecting her to have fits and fall to the ground.

Her father forced her to play the lute at dinner for suitors he felt were possible marriage candidates. It was one of the few times she saw him and one of the few times he encouraged her to mingle with guests instead of banning her to her wing of the palace. Up until those torturous concerts, she’d loved playing the lute.

She could barely look at one now without her stomach tying in knots.

The Warlord pointed down at the copper jar. “Better take care of Greta’s concoction. She won’t be happy if you ruin it.”

Kassandra jerked, she’d completely forgotten about her task. She added another drop.

“Don’t burn yourself again, or I’ll find something even more unpleasant for you to do. Something that doesn’t involve fire.”

She huffed. “I told you, I was distracted.”

He came up behind her, snaking his arm around her waist and nestling her against him. His mouth moved to her ear, his lips tickling the outer shell. “Admit I affect you when I’m near.”

“No. I don’t care about you at all.”

“Prove it. If you can read an entire poem all the way through without being distracted by what I do to you, I will grant you a request.”

She spluttered, her mind suddenly going blank. “That … that’s silly.”

He nuzzled her neck. “If I don’t distract you, then you can win a request from me easily, can’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her heart hammering. “Any request?”

“Any request.”

She’d lost at chess, but this was simply schooling her reactions. Since she hated him, how hard could it be? She took a deep breath. She had plenty of strobile, and she could prepare well. “All right.”

“I’ll see you soon.” With that, he left.

She shivered, frozen in front of the blazing fire. But the buzzing in her blood wasn’t fear. It was excitement.