And yet… I can’t help but yearn for his touch.
The truth is, I’m looking forward to this evening. After camp is set up, the general will retrieve me from the carriage and bring me to his tent. We’ll share a meal and converse with one another before going to bed.
I groan and lean against one of the soft, velvet pillows. I glance at the beautiful dresses that are hanging in an open closet, then look down at my own attire that’s shabby in comparison. The pants and shirt I’d been wearing when General Dalgaard captured me mysteriously vanished (though the silver I’d kept in my pocket later appeared in my bag), so I’ve taken to wearing the old dresses I brought along when I ran away from Lord Nevel. Today I’m wearing a faded blue gown that’s decorated with fraying ribbon.
Longing fills me as I return my gaze to the beautiful dresses, particularly the vibrant purple one. Perhaps if I wore one of the new dresses, I wouldn’t feel so out of place sitting in this opulent carriage. Okay, I suppose that’s a stretch of reasoning, but I really would like to try the dresses on and wear them. If only for a little while. Just to know what it’s like to wear something so fine.
When I worked in the Sorsston castle, especially as a young girl, I used to dream about what it would be like to wear fancyclothing and jewels, as well as shoes that actually fit. I used to fantasize that a handsome lord would visit the castle, become instantly besotted with me, and whisk me away to his grand countryside manor.
My heart breaks a little when my gaze snags on the stack of books that rest on a side table. Mama used to read to me every night. Before I was forced to work in the castle. Before I went from being tucked in nightly by the mother I adored to seeing her but once a year.
I blink back tears and retrieve one of the books. I open it to the first page and start reading. I was one of the few servants who could read, and sometimes I would sneak a book from the castle library and read to my roommates at night. Sharing the experience of getting lost in a good story was always a pleasant way to spend the evening.
Though the book I’m holding is an interesting retelling of an old fairytale about an army of pixies, my eyes soon grow heavy, and I find myself nodding off. Eventually, I give up trying to stay awake, and I lean further against the pillows, telling myself I’ll just sleep for a few minutes.
Unfortunately, my slumber is far from restful. I keep dreaming about Lord Nevel and jolting awake whenever he’s about to strike me. Then I fall back asleep only to dream about the fae attacks on Sorsston and Glenville. I jolt to awareness again and force myself to stay awake this time. I rush to the bathroom sink, where I splash my face with cold water. It helps. Sort of. The shock of the cold makes staying awake easier, but it does little to calm the residual panic from the bad dreams.
The carriage comes to a stop, and I move to the window and peer outside to see what’s going on. I’m greeted by the most breathtaking sunset I’ve ever seen. Gods, is it evening already? It would seem I’ve lost track of time.
The door opens behind me, and I whirl around to face General Dalgaard. Tristan. His eyes flare with warmth as he looks at me, and I’m suddenly eager to move closer to him. For a reason I can’t quite fathom, his presence brings me comfort and helps chase away the lingering terror of my nightmares.
Safe. Why does he make me feel so safe?
Though I first encountered him in Sorsston six months ago, we’ve truly only known one another for about two weeks. That’s it. Yet I’m aching for his touch and overwhelmed by the desire to be close to him.
His emotions reach me, just like they always do, and I sense his happiness over our reunion, as well as his anticipation for the evening to come. I keep getting a visual of the bed in his tent. My heart races faster and heat pulsates in my nether region. He wants to sleep next to me, very badly, though he’s conflicted about it and doesn’t quite know how to broach the subject.
He holds out a hand, and I approach him and place my hand in his. “Come, sweet human, and we’ll enjoy our evening together.”
CHAPTER 14
TRISTAN
I guideAmelia toward my tent. Normally, my tent is erected in the center of camp, but I decided on a change for tonight and ordered it placed on the edge of camp. It’s my hope that perhaps after the evening meal, the pretty little human will agree to join me for a leisurely, romantic walk in the ussha-blessed forest.
Yes, I’m absolutely planning to steal one of the ideas she gave Prince Lucas by taking her on a moonlit walk.
Just as we’re about to reach the tent, war cries sound along the perimeter of the camp, and an ear-splitting horn resounds over the mountainside. The soldiers around me draw their swords, and all the highborn fae in the camp immediately take to the skies. All of them except for me. I clutch Amelia close. I cannot leave her side during an enemy attack.
“Orcs!” someone shouts. “Bloody fucking orcs!”
Amelia gasps and tucks herself more deeply into my embrace, seeking refuge in my arms. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation, I would pause and savor themoment. But we’re under attack, and I must protect my female while issuing orders to my soldiers and commanders.
Before I’m able to draw a breath and shout the first order, three orcs roll a catapult out of the forest and aim it in our direction. The multiple projectiles they’ve loaded into the apparatus are on fire, and I watch in shock as the first flaming projectiles hurl through the air, splintering in different directions.
Fucking gods. Dark magic sizzles in the air.
The orcs must have a human mage among their ranks.
I grab Amelia and roll onto the ground while holding her, careful not to crush her with my weight. I position the length of my body over hers and shield her while the projectiles rain down on the camp.
Pained cries of fae ring out, but so do the screams of dying orcs. Don’t the orcs realize how many highborn fae always remain with the Summer Court army?
Yes, I sent a good number of highborn fae ahead to Sorsston, but enough of us remain to combat the enchanted catapult as well as the human mage.
Amelia shudders beneath me, and I duck my head down and press a kiss to her forehead. “All will be well, sweet human. Don’t be afraid. I will keep you safe. As soon as the flaming projectiles stop falling, I’ll get you into the warded tent.”
One of the projectiles strikes my back. Despite the pain, I will myself not to flinch. Fae soldiers are taught not to respond to pain, and though some among our ranks are crying out, I would be setting a poor example if I showed any reaction. Besides, I heal more quickly than most fae, and I’m confident any bruises or wounds I just incurred will be fully healed by the time the battle is over.
