The woman’s screams suddenly fade, and I peer at the tent flap in question. Did Tristan make the fae soldier stop hurting his slave? Is that the business he had to take care of? Hope rises within me at the prospect.
Maybe sharing my feelings about how humans and orcs are treated in his war camp had an effect on my black-winged captor. Even if he’s doing it to garner my favor, I don’t care. All that matters is that the woman is no longer screaming, and I pray that means she’s no longer being tormented.
A servant enters the tent carrying a tray that holds two covered plates. I give the male a polite smile as he sets the tray on the table, but he doesn’t make eye contact with me. He simply turns and vacates the tent, leaving me alone again. I wish I knew his name. I’ve never heard Tristan call him by name, only an impersonal ‘you there’ or ‘servant.’
Though I’m starving, I decide to wait for the general. It feels wrong to start eating alone, and the truth is, I’ve started to enjoy the evening meals we share.
At Lord Nevel’s manor, I usually ate alone. I would arrive in the opulent dining room each night to find a singular place setting with no sign of my husband. If he wasn’t passed out drunk somewhere, he was out riding the countryside with his soldiers.
Once, I tried to join the servants for dinner, but they’d appeared horrified by my arrival in their small dining room, and the bravest among them spoke up and pleaded with me to leave because they feared Lord Nevel would punish them for daring to dine with me.
So, yes, the evening meals with Tristan have served to quell some of my loneliness. But I doubt my sense of solitude will ever fully go away because of the glaring fact that there’s no one I might turn to for help. No friends or family who might try to mount a rescue even if they knew my location.
Guilt blankets me. While I like the idea of someone trying to help me escape the general, I hate the thought of anyone getting hurt or dying in the process. It’s a double bind, that’s for sure.
Approaching footsteps catch my attention, and my anticipation to spend the evening with Tristan grows, even though we’ll probably just eat dinner and then go to sleep.
Except, during our argument earlier, he’d mentioned we would finish the conversation later. My stomach does a little flip because I don’t think we’ll ever manage to resolve the issues that loom between us.
At last, I see a brilliant flash of light coming from outside the tent, and Tristan finally enters. He must’ve just vanished his wings.
He strides to the table and reaches out a hand. Uncertain what he’s about, I place my hand in his. To my utterastonishment, he leans down and presses a firm, lingering kiss to the back of my hand. Heat promptly spasms in my nether area.
Oh gods, can he detect my sudden excitement?
I flush when he glances up. Our eyes meet. After a few seconds, he stands taller and releases my hand. He takes a seat across from me and lifts the lids off our plates.
“It’s been a long, eventful day, sweet human. I don’t want to fight with you.” His voice resonates with honesty, and waves of warmth keep hitting me. Not physical waves of warmth, but waves of deep affection that seem to wrap around my heart.
“I don’t want to fight either.”
He smiles. “Good. Let’s enjoy this meal, and let’s enjoy one another’s presence. We can talk later, perhaps before bed. Civilly.”
I emit a playful scoff. “I was more civil than you were earlier. You threatened to have me restrained.” I pick up my fork. “Perhaps we should do a little less talking and just eat for now.”
“You are as wise as you are beautiful, sweet human.”
CHAPTER 18
TRISTAN
After we finishthe sumptuous meal of seared elk steaks, roasted vegetables, and frosted apple cake, Amelia feigns tiredness and expresses her wishes to go to bed. Well, I’m not certain whether she’s faking. Perhaps she really is exhausted. Even though she sometimes changes behind the curtain that shields the bathing area, I step outside the tent and allow her to change in complete privacy. When I re-enter the tent a few minutes later, I find her in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin.
Just a short while ago, I’d hoped that perhaps she would invite me to share the bed with her tonight. My heart plunges to the floor as I wonder if she’ll ever permit me to hold her while she sleeps.
She turns on her side, showing me the back of her golden head. “Goodnight, Tristan.”
I quickly remove my boots and uniform, then I don a tunic and a pair of regular pants, the sort of casual attire regular faefolk usually wear.
“I’m not going to sleep yet.” I take a seat on the bed.
She gasps and turns to face me. Her knuckles go white as she takes a firm grip on the covers. “What are you doing?”
I hold out a hand in a peaceful gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweet human, please don’t fear me.” Longing pulsates through me, a blend of the overpowering need to be close to her as well as the physical need to claim her. I won’t claim her though, not unless she pleads for it. I doubt that’ll happen tonight, but I would settle for nearness. I would settle for holding her in my arms for a few minutes.
The worry fades from her eyes, and she pushes the covers down a bit and sits up against the pillows. “Do you want to talk? Is that it? I confess that despite the long and very eventful day, I’m not that tired. Perhaps that means I lied to you, a very small lie, but in my defense, I don’t see how we could ever reach an agreement. I want freedom, and I’m starting to believe I’ll never convince you to release me. Perhaps I shouldn’t waste my breath.”
“You’re right, you’ll never convince me to release you,” I tell her since I’ve promised to give her honesty. “Amelia, I would very much like to hold you for a while.”
