“Forgive me,” she says in a taunting tone. “I seem to have forgotten my place. Given how gently you’ve treated me thus far, it’s sometimes easy to forget that I’m your war prize. But that’s what I am, isn’t it? I’m your human captive, and you’re my fae master. I’m nothing to you but a warm hole you’re eventually going to decide to fuck.” She emits a crazed laugh and shakes her head slightly. “Maybe you should stop being so gentle. Maybe you should treat me the way your soldiers treat their war prizes. Maybe you should hurt me and make me scream for the whole camp to hear.”
I force in a deep breath. “You can goad me all you like, Amelia, but I will never hurt you. If I ever make you scream for the whole camp to hear, it’ll be when I’m feasting on your pussy—at your own invitation—and your cries of pleasure are rending the night while you shatter on my tongue.”
She gasps, and her eyes widen with outrage. “I am not goading you. And I will never invite you to-to… do what you just described.”
“Feast on your pussy?” I grin when she flushes bright red. “Are you sure you don’t want to invite me to do that right now? Because despite what I’m sure are your best efforts, you’re aroused, sweet human.” I flare my nostrils and inhale deeply, just for show. “I can easily detect the slickness that’s growing between your thighs, and it’s not the first time I’ve smelled it. Frequently when I’m close to you, you become excited.”
She shakes her head. “No, no, you’re lying. I’m not…aroused.” She whispers the last word as though it’s the most scandalous curse in existence.
“I’ve never lied to you, sweet human, nor do I ever intend to. I want there to be honesty between us.”
She snorts. “As much honesty as can exist between a slave and her master?”
“You’re not my slave, and I’m not your master.” Except, Iamher master. In a way. I captured her, and I’m refusing to let her go. But I’m not ordering her around and forcing her into my bed.
“Slave, prisoner, war prize, call me whatever you’d like, but I’m not free, and I’m living under your authority. Whatever happens to me, whether I live or die, whether I’m hurt or tormented, is tied to you and the decisions you make.” Her bottom lip trembles, and I long to gather her in my arms. But I doubt she would accept my comfort when I’m the source of her grief. “I’m at your mercy,” she continues. “Do you know what it’s like to be at someone’s complete mercy?”
“Amelia, sweet human, I am sorry you’re upset, truly I am, and I am sorry I’m the cause of your distress. I hope we can continue this conversation later. But right now, I need to test whether you can bypass the wards of all highborn fae. Commander Klemat is waiting outside. After I step out, he’s going to erect a protective ward around the tent, and I want you to try to leave.”
“Very well.” Her tone is bitter. “I suppose you need to figure out whether you must keep me surrounded by your soldiers going forward. What an embarrassment it would be for you if your war prize managed to escape.”
She’s upset, and rightfully so. As I head for the tent flap, I consider how I might mend the difficulties between us. She wants freedom, but it’s the one thing I refuse to give her. IfI continue treating her with gentleness, will she learn to be content as my war prize?
“If you managed to escape, Amelia, I would be too concerned about your safety, knowing that you would be wandering through the dangerous, ussha-blessed forest, to even feel any embarrassment. I would be fraught with worry, and I wouldn’t stop looking for you.”
Most of the fire leaves her eyes, and her expressions softens a bit. She no longer appears angry enough to plunge a knife into my heart. But she doesn’t respond to my truthful and somewhat vulnerable statement, so I step out of the tent.
It’s time for the test.
CHAPTER 17
AMELIA
I would befraught with worry, and I wouldn’t stop looking for you.
As I await Tristan’s instructions, his gently spoken words ring in my ears. He meant it, too. Every word. Yes, he’s intensely possessive of me, and that’s one reason he’ll never let me go, but he also cares for my safety. He really would be sick with fear if I went missing.
Even if I escaped, where would I go?
I would have to worry about Lord Nevel and his soldiers tracking me down. More than once, Tristan has mentioned that he plans to bring me my husband’s head, but if I run away, Tristan will likely spend all his time searching for me, and Nevel would keep his head for a while longer.
Despite the argument we just had, the thought of leaving Tristan fills me with grief. I want to escape him, yet I would miss him. My chest goes tight, and each breath becomes painful when I consider never seeing him again.
I wish he hadn’t referred to me as his war prize in front of his soldiers. It made me feel small and insignificant, and when he returned to the tent, I’d lashed out. Yes, I was goading him when I suggested he should treat me as a war prize and cease being so gentle.
Gods, I can’t believe I’d allowed my emotions to get the better of me, and my face heats with shame.
“Try to step outside the tent, Amelia!” Tristan finally calls, and my stomach dives to the ground as an idea takes root.
Yes, I’m curious about whether I can get around wards set by all highborn fae, but maybe I should pretend I can’t. Will it give me an advantage if I conceal this ability, assuming I even have it, from my captor? I’m not sure, but just in case it will, I decide I won’t even try to leave the tent.
“All right,” I reply. “I’m coming.” Except I’m not. I’m about to have a little trouble opening the tent flap.
Knowing Tristan can likely see my shadow, I reach down, grasp the thick fabric, and groan as I keep my arm in place.
“Oh, it would seem I can’t even open it,” I say as I congratulate myself for outwitting a highborn fae general. I let go of the fabric and step back. “I can’t make it outside.”
Tristan sticks his head in the tent and gives me a scolding look that takes me aback. “Amelia, the ward hasn’t been set yet. I know you were faking.”
