Rotating his arm, Neve slowly strolled around the empty tent, thinking about the day and savoring the rare moment of time alone.
Today had not gone as they had planned. After weeks of snowfall, the humans were at a disadvantage. The Loriian army had been creating tunnels through the snow to reach thesaloescamp. They should have been able to sneak in and take the whole camp. Except the humans had somehow gained more support.
He sneered at the rug, pausing to massage a sore knot in his right shoulder.
The bloody Asteran monarchy had hired mercenaries—a mixture of humans, halflings, and eastern Fierrans. That was the problem. Fierrans were known for their explosives.The mercenaries had buried giants in the snow, the tunnels becoming icy graves.
When Olwen had discovered what they were up against, their army had made a tactical retreat. It could have been a bloodier day, but the loss still haunted Neve. He had dug in the snow for hours trying to save some lives.
Some giants survived. Others had suffocated.
Neve shook, and a roar built in his throat. He wanted to scream all the outrage, pain, and loss to the sky. But he swallowed it down. His men could not see the king losing his composure. They had to be smart. They could not let emotion get the best of them.
But it was easier said than done.
Even now, he could taste blood in his mouth. The smell seemed permanently stuck to his skin.
He ignored the food on the table in the middle of the room and instead grabbed a cup. Neve poured some warm wine into it before tossing it back. He swished it around in his mouth before spitting it back into the cup. It took away some of the taste from his mouth.
All in all, today was a blow.
Moving forward would be a challenge.
He ran a hand down his face and set the cup on the table before moving toward his bed at the back of the tent. It was a little cozy nook that should have been perfect for sleeping. Yet, true rest evaded him. His body demanded that he fall into the plush furs and soft sleeping mats, but his mind whispered that the nightmares would come for him first.
Too long, he stared at the bed taunting him.
Eventually, he turned away, gazing down at himself. While he was bare chested, he still had his war leathers and boots on. Blood—both human and giant—splattered his chest. It was dry and somehow sticky. He needed a bath.
An undeniably female scream pierced the air.
Neve stiffened.
It was one of absolute pain and rage. One that spoke to the own suffering in his soul.
Shouts and raised voices followed.
Neve found himself grabbing his sword and marching toward the tent flap. He plunged out into the cold. His guards eyed him but said nothing as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and flickering fires. He observed his camp, searching for the source of the outburst.
He lifted his hand to block the light from the large bonfire and spotted a large group gathering. One of his warriors shifted, giving Neve a glimpse of a halfling holding a sword that was almost as big as she was.
There were no halflings in his army.
This one must be from Mizar.
In truth, he had not come across many of them. Prejudice ran deep among his people. The only place you found halflings were along the Loriian-Asteran border where the two peoples mixed.
“Do you know what is happening?” he asked his guards.
“Only that the young one touched the halfling, and she didn’t take too kindly to it,Reillov.”
Neve’s lip curled. This was a situation he could take care of himself. No one touched avalleswithout her permission.
He prowled around the fire, his warriors parting for him.
The circle of warriors opened up, giving him a clear view of the scene.
The halfling held a long sword, her arms straining to keep it pointed at the giant lying on the ground. She was a mess.
