“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 mesir, 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 meTristan.”
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 gazeflashes 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.
