I open my arms, and she steps into my embrace.
CHAPTER 15
AMELIA
My trembling gradually lessensas Tristan holds me. He runs his hands up and down my back and occasionally strokes my unbound hair. At some point, I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him back.
How can this be happening?
I don’t have the strength to push him away. He might be the enemy, and he might be my captor, but I need him right now. I desperately need the comfort he’s offering.
Why am I so relieved that he survived the battle unscathed? Is it because he shielded me with his body, protecting me from the flaming projectiles? Or is it because I’m starting to fall for him in a romantic way? My breath falters at the prospect.
I keep my face pressed to his chest, and with each deep inhale, I soak up his fragrant Summer Court scent. His arms feel like the sweetest refuge. Even though they shouldn’t. Even though I should be pushing him away and demanding he set me free.
His emotions are so clear to me, it’s almost as though I can read his thoughts. Almost. He’s dismayed that I’m so upset I’m shaking, but he’s thrilled to be holding me. He’s thankful I’m allowing him to comfort me, and he’s hopeful it means I’m starting to trust him.
Can he sense my thoughts and emotions? It’s a startling possibility, and I pray he has no idea what I’m thinking.
My power to bypass his wards, at least partially, plus my ability to sense his thoughts and emotions… what could it mean?
Not for the first time, I consider the prospect that I’m his fated mate. But if I am, wouldn’t he have known the first time he laid eyes upon me? I’ve heard that’s how it usually works with fae couples, but maybe since I’m human things have become a bit muddled.
In any case, he didn’t claim me as a mate. He claimed me as a war prize. Never mind that he hasn’t physically claimed me. Yet.
It’s my understanding that in fae culture, war prizes and concubines hold a slightly higher status than mere slaves, including pleasure slaves. But I’m not free to leave.
If I’m not his fated mate, and since he hasn’t physically claimed me yet, I’m starting to believe there’s no way I could be, what will he do with me once he meets his actual fated mate? I mean, assuming that happens during my lifetime.
It occurs to me that I don’t even know Tristan’s age. He could be one hundred or a thousand. Fae typically live for thousands of years. They are practically immortal and only perish due to a grave injury, something so terrible a skilled fae healer can’t be of help. At nineteen, I probably have seventy or eighty years left if I’m lucky.
When I start to show my age, will Tristan cast me aside?
I should rejoice at the idea, but instead, it leaves me saddened and even a bit angry. But how could I blame him, or any fae, for parting ways with a human war prize/slave/concubine who starts to show their age? Not only do fae live for thousands of years, but they also retain their youthful appearance. Most of the fae occupying the Sorsston castle didn’t look a day over thirty by human standards.
I try to banish the morose thoughts as I sink deeper into Tristan’s arms. He truly enjoys comforting me, and he hopes he’s being helpful.
Gods, how can such a ruthless fae male treat me with so much gentleness? It boggles the mind.
I’ve watched him slaughter humans and orcs, and even a dark mage, and I could’ve sworn his eyes gleamed with pleasure with each kill he made, yet he hasn’t visited any brutality upon me.
Earlier, not long after he raised his voice at me, he issued a heartfelt apology. He wasn’t faking either. I know because I’d felt his genuine regret. I also know he’s shocked I bypassed his wards. I’m shocked as well, and I kind of want to try to step outside the tent. Just to see if I can.
My trembling gradually stops, and I start to feel much calmer. I’m safe. Tristan is safe. The danger has passed. The marauding orcs are all dead and so is the mage.
A weird dark thought passes through my mind. If Tristan had perished during the attack, what would’ve happened to me? It’s a rather selfish thought, but I can’t help but wonder. I doubt his army would release me. Would I have become a pleasure slave for one of his soldiers?
Yes, there are quite a few reasons I would like Tristan to remain healthy and whole. For as long as I’m traveling with the Summer Court army, my wellbeing depends on his survival.
But if I’m being honest, I would like him to survive not just because my wellbeing is tied to his, but because the thought of any harm coming to him is devastating.
How much longer does he plan to lead the Summer Court army? Does he have any plans for retirement?
At last, I withdraw partially from his arms, and I peer up at him as my heart pounds a rapid rhythm in my chest. Part of me wonders what it might be like to kiss him. Not that I would ever initiate such an intimate act. I worry if I did, he might become ravenous and be unable to stop himself from claiming me, despite his promises not to force himself upon me or harm me in any way.
Our eyes remain locked for what feels like hours, yet I cannot look away. His gaze is dark but warm, and everything about him feels so very safe. I’ve been wronged by too many men during my short life. My father, the castle steward who used to punish me for the smallest infraction, fellow servants who happened to be duplicitous, and Lord Nevel, of course. But, Tristan? I feel so safe with him at this moment that I’m starting to believe maybe he won’t trick me in the end. Maybe he won’t hurt me.
But despite the kindness he’s shown me thus far, the uncertainty of my future with him is a dark cloud on the horizon. If something happens to him, or if I’m not his fated mate, there will be a bad ending for me. Eventually.
