As I stand next to the tent flap, my mind conjures an image of Amelia stripping off her clothing.
Gods, the thought of her changing in my tent is enough to send a fresh surge of heat through my veins, and my cock lurches in my pants.
Will she wear one of her dresses tomorrow? I don’t like that she was wearing Lord Nevel’s clothing, at least I still suspect the attire belongs to him, and I decide I’ll burn it at the first opportunity. I want to get rid of anything that might remind her of the horrid male.
At last, I step back inside the tent, and I find her already abed with the covers pulled up to her chin. She casts me a worried look, then turns on her side, facing away from me, and whispers, “Goodnight, Tristan.”
“Goodnight, sweet human.”
“General Dalgaard. Um, excuse me. General?”
Commander Klemat’s voice pulls me back to the present. I turn to look at him as he keeps a rapid stride next to me while the Summer Court army continues the march south to Sorsston. He has a question about an injured soldier whose wounds are strangely resistant to the powers of our best healer, and we discuss the issue while I contemplate the night ahead. I don’t enjoy sleeping on the floor of my tent, which I’ve done every night since I captured Amelia, but I do enjoy sleeping close to her.
I glance in her direction, and this time when I peer through the window of her carriage, our eyes meet. My heart pangs with warmth.
CHAPTER 13
AMELIA
The carriage is so extravagant,I can’t help but feel out of place. Surely I don’t belong here. I was raised in a tiny house and frequently went to bed hungry as a child, and then I spent years working as a lowly castle servant. I never expected to find myself surrounded by such luxury. Even Lord Nevel’s manor can’t compare to this level of opulence.
Although I really am grateful that I don’t have to walk all the way back to Sorsston. I was stunned when the general informed me that the sky bridge was destroyed and our trip south would take longer than expected.
I settle deeper into the comfortable, padded seat and try to resist glancing out the window at General Dalgaard.Tristan. My pulse quickens. He’s difficult to miss whenever I surrender to temptation and peer out the window, as he’s the largest fae male in the Summer Court army. He stands over a head taller than most of his comrades, even the other winged highborn fae.
How long until we reach Sorsston? My stomach bottoms out when I consider the homecoming that won’t quite feel like a homecoming. I’m returning as a fae general’s captive.
As a war prize.
I doubt I’ll have the freedom to waltz out of camp and visit my family. Not that a visit would be a good idea…
The letters. By now, the letters I wrote to my mother and sisters have already been delivered by messenger bird. Tristan promised they would arrive well ahead of the army. I’d kept the letters as vague as possible, not divulging my location or the fact that I’m traveling with the Summer Court army. I didn’t breathe a word about the general either. If they knew I was a fae general’s war prize, it would only make them worry. Well, it would probably just make my mother and sisters worry. My father would likely believe I was getting what I deserved.
I glance around the carriage. If I’m counting correctly, it’s the twelfth day of travel, and I’m still taken aback by the luxuriousness of the conveyance, as well as its size. It’s practically the size of a small house. Not only is there a kitchen area that contains vast amounts of prepared food that’s enchanted not to spoil (including a tray of decadent candies that replenishes itself whenever I take a piece), but there’s a bathing room that contains running water and a toilet. There’s also a tiny garden that contains about a dozen resident butterflies that constantly flit from flower to flower. Then there are the dresses and shoes and jewels, as well as the games and books.
I doubt the other war prizes in this endless procession of soldiers are traveling in such luxury. I suspect most, if not all, are walking on foot just like the soldiers. Every now and then, I’ll spot a browbeaten human walking among the fae. Most are women, though I glimpse a few males. How many are slaves, and how many are war prizes? I can’t help but wonder, thoughI suppose it doesn’t matter. Either way, they’re prisoners, and they’ll likely never escape their masters.
Will I ever escape General Dalgaard?
I chance a peek out the window at him, and the gods really must hate me, because our eyes meet yet again. He probably thinks I’m growing to like him for all the staring I’m doing.
If only the carriage had curtains so I might shut him out, but curtains are an addition to the conveyance that are suspiciously missing.
I suspect the general wants to be able to look in on me whenever he desires. Not once during the march south has he walked out of eyesight of the carriage. At least not while I was paying attention.
After trying and failing to amuse myself with a card game, I soon push the cards aside and heave a long sigh. Restless yet tired, I’m not certain whether I’d rather walk outside among the fae for a little while or curl up in the daybed and take a nap. Yes, in addition to the plush seating area, there’s also a small daybed that’s piled with covers and pillows.
I strive to remain awake, however, because I don’t want to find myself tossing and turning tonight. Sleeping in the same tent as Tristan is difficult enough because I’m so aware of his proximity, but if I end up lying in bed awake all night, it’ll make for a trying time.
My heart commences racing when I consider our sleeping arrangements. For the past twelve nights, he’s slept on the floor next to the bed. He’s also slept in his clothes, though whenever I see him in the morning, he appears freshly bathed and dressed in a clean uniform.
Will he eventually demand to sleep next to me? Warmth quakes between my thighs at the possibility. The last few times he’s touched me have been surprisingly pleasurable, like when he’s guided me into a chair or placed a hand on my lower back asI walked inside his tent. I’m no longer flinching at his touch, and I’m shocked by how quickly I’ve started to trust him.
Am I a fool? He’s fae. Not just any fae, but a fierce fae general.
I shouldn’t trust him. I should remain on guard and expect the worst. What if he’s tricking me? What if he’s waiting for the perfect moment to treat me with cruelty?
I remind myself that a decent male, even a fae one, wouldn’t keep a woman as a war prize. A respectable, peaceable male wouldn’t hold a woman captive. It’s only common sense.
