“What’s the code word?” Alexios shouted.
“She knows it,” Goran yelled back as he vanished down the deer path, leaves and branches flying.
“Fuck,” I spat out, knowing there was no way Alexios and I could fight mounted warriors, not with the armor the Mirrenese army wore. So I ran in front of Alexios to the spot Goran had sent us, the early autumnal color of the birches guiding us as we crested small rises in the landscape.
Two dozen warriors poured out of a stand of golden-leafed trees at our approach, weapons raised. “Goran needs you,” I shouted. “He’s fighting a mile back.”
“Who the hells are you?”
I glanced at the group. I didn’t know a single one of these warriors. Most of them were young, though, not much past eighteen. All of them were Alphas.
There was no time for fucking around. “The code word is Warqueen.” I lifted the black-jeweled dagger I’d carried since I was a child. “And that’s me, so move your asses.”
No one moved until my sleeve slipped down, revealing my tattoo.
“It’s her,” one of them murmured.
Another one spat on the ground. “NotourWarqueen.”
“Does it matter who I am? Your warlord needs you. He’s under attack from the Mirrenese army.”
“The whole army? Shit,” somebody muttered.
One of the youngest Alphas—or the smallest, anyway—started barking out orders in Starlakian. Another one demanded directions, his glower as fierce as Goran’s had been, and almost as personal. In less than a minute, a group of six warriors on horses raced past us, retracing our path. Another six packed up the few belongings that lay at the feet of the closest trees.
The small Alpha—still far taller than me or Alexios—approached. His nose crinkled as he came closer, but he kept his face still, like I’d stepped in shit and he didn’t want to remark on it. “Warqueen, huh? For what? All of a month?”
“A year, asshole. I was given the title by Warlord Wulfram, not by Goran,” I corrected.
We’d never gone on the traditional journey to meet all the other warlords of Starlak. Not all of the Starlakians had accepted Goran’s rule, and we’d both known some of them would have risked everything for a chance to capture me.
Capture, chain, and breed me.
I took a long, slow breath, trying to keep from getting pissed at the Goddess again.
“Last I heard, you abandoned the warlord and your throne to go play spy in the southern lands.” The Alpha raked me with a glance. “Thought you’d be taller. And prettier.” He lifted his hand toward me, about to offer the Starlakian salute as far as I could tell.
But Alexios didn’t know that. He had the young man in an odd hold on the ground in two seconds, one knee on the larger man’s back and a pinched grip on his neck. “You will not insult my mistress,” he purred in Starlakian.
“Your mistress?” the Alpha repeated, his eyes wide.
I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. I wouldn’t correct my valet in front of the others; I’d never hear the end of it. But now all the warriors close by probably thought I was fucking Alexios.
“I apologize to yourmistress,” the Alpha spat, loud enough for all of them to hear. Alexios let the man go and moved to my side, ever watchful as the camp was packed up.
The tone in the clearing had darkened even further, though. I straightened, feeling their judgmental stares like invisible whips on my skin, but determined not to react. I heard a few mutters of “whore” and “betrayer,” and one “oathbreaker” as they moved around the clearing.
It enraged me. I hadn’t touched a single male since Goran. But they were right to hate me. I’d abandoned them all, hadn’t I? Now I had to live with myself.
The sullen Alpha saddled a horse for me and Alexios to ride, instructing us to follow them to the rest of the warriors a few miles away. I spent the next few moments avoiding my valet’s gaze and checking the cinch on the saddle.
“Mistress,” he repeated in his native language after he’d mounted the horse behind me. “That means something else in Starlakian, doesn’t it?”
“Ah, yes,” I said, ignoring the warmth of his body behind me, the hard flex of his muscles as he held the reins around me. “I’m sorry I didn’t teach you, um, well enough.” Quickly, I gave him the word he needed. I would only have to tell him once; he was even better with languages than I was.
“You knew. You had me call you mistress in Starlakian many times, though that word meant…” He cleared his throat, almost nervously. “Why?” The question landed as softly as a butterfly.
My hand twitched on my knife anyway. I wanted to stab this odd sensation uncurling in my gut. It felt like shame, and I tried never to feel that. How could I admit that I’d liked to hear him say that word to me, that I’d let myself imagine I was more than just his employer, or friend?
