I’m left inside the motionless carriage while I listen to the sounds of the soldiers. Horses on either side block me from being able to see much out the windows, shadowed figures moving swiftly to do one job or another.
After nearly a half hour of waiting, I’m squirming, the need to relieve myself urgent. My body is pitching a fit, my thirst and hunger refusing to be ignored, exhaustion lapping at my limbs like a turmoiled sea that wants to drag me underwater.
I just want to sleep. Fall asleep and not wake up until everything stops hurting—physically and emotionally.
Not yet, I remind myself. I can’t rest yet.
I pinch myself on the arm, forcing my senses to stay alert, my ears trying to filter through the many sounds outside as the last of the light dims, the press of night draping over me like a chilled blanket.
Resting my head back against the carriage wall, I close my eyes for a moment. Just a moment, I tell myself. Just to relieve the fire burning in my swollen eyes, just to help ease my many aches.
Just for a moment…
I lurch, my eyes springing open at the sound of a key shoved into a lock.
The carriage door suddenly swings open as swiftly as the gasp of my breath, and then there he is, standing menacingly under the cover of dark, a pair of cavernous eyes staring me down.
Commander Rip.
Chapter 3
AUREN
I hold my breath, watching the commander without blinking, my body tense and alert. In this moment, I’m going to find out what it truly means to be his prisoner.
My mind whirls. Endless possibilities flit through my thoughts one after another as I attempt to brace myself.
Will he snatch me by my hair and drag me out? Will he threaten me, manhandle me? Will he force me to strip so he can see the gilt on every inch of my skin? Will he pass me around to his soldiers? Will I be forced to wear chains?
I don’t dare let my thoughts show on my face. I can’t give any indication of the what-ifs pounding against my skull.
All the grief, all the worry, I wrap it up like old yarn on a spool, tucking away every frayed strand. Because if I show him my fear, if I reveal my weaknesses to this male, he’ll latch onto those threads and yank them all, unraveling me completely.
Shove down weakness, and strength will rise...
Those old, nearly forgotten words float up from out of nowhere, as if my mind saved them for me, ready to pluck them out when I needed them most.
I remember suddenly how that was hummed against my ear, spoken softly, but carrying an edge of steel.
They echo through me now, and it helps me to pull my shoulders back, helps me to tip my chin up to face the commander head-on.
He has a helmet tucked beneath his arm and his black hair is slightly rumpled from the long hours of wearing it. I take in his pale face, the short and blunted row of tiny spikes above each dark eyebrow. His pressing aura saturates the air, coating my tongue like icing sugar, clogging every taste bud.
It tastes like power.
I wonder how people would react if they knew what he truly was. Not a man with residual magic running in his veins from distant fae ancestors. Not someone whose body was corrupted and morphed by King Rot. Not just an army commander with a bloodthirsty rage who enjoys ripping the heads off his enemies.
No, he’s something deadlier. More fearful. A full-blooded fae, hiding in plain sight.
If they knew the truth, would they run in fear? Or would they rise up against him like Oreans did hundreds of years ago, killing him, like they killed all the rest?
Some fae fought back during that dark time, but they were outnumbered, and even with their superior magic, it wasn’t enough. For some fae, they simply didn’t want to fight. They didn’t want to kill the people who they considered friends, lovers, family.
But one look at him, and I know that Commander Rip would fight. He would fight, and Orea would lose.
It may have been hundreds of years since Orea and Annwyn—the realm of the fae—were cleaved apart, but even still, I’m shocked that no one knows, that no one sees what he truly is, when it’s so incredibly obvious to me.
Based on the intensity of Rip’s gaze, I know that I’m not the only one whose mind is turning as we study each other in silence, judging, analyzing, considering.