“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.”
CHAPTER 8
TRISTAN
It’s justas I suspected. As I feared. The pretty little human married the old lord who lived outside of Sorsston, and the bastard abused her.
Guilt spreads through me. Fuck, I should’ve followed my instincts and stolen away with Amelia before her wedding date. I should’ve taken her moments after Prince Lucas left her at her parents’ doorstep.
