I am in the Elvarran lands. It is a place few humans have seen, let alone traveled through. Wrath was right. I would never have made it home from Avelisar while traveling alone. Iwould have met my end swiftly, as I know nothing about how to defend myself.
Crossing into Elvarran territory feels like an invisible door closing. In that moment, I realize I may never return home again, the goodbyes I spoke more real than I could have imagined. I’d never be able to travel through Liora alone, not with those humans we faced lurking across the border. I am stuck in Khalessor for the foreseeable future, trapped among a court of people who want nothing more than my kingdom’s ruin.
“What happened…” I ask.
“A group of men from Liora attacked us as we tried to cross the border.” Wrath reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and unlike Olav, it doesn’t disgust me.
“They called me a traitor. They tried to kill me—” I stop myself before I get upset.
“I know,” Wrath says gently. It's a tone I’m not used to hearing from him.
He stands and slowly sets me on the bed. I pull the blankets up to my chest as I lie on my side, but my head throbs. Everything hurts, and the world feels like it’s spinning. The bed dips as I feel Wrath lie beside me, tugging the blankets over him.
“Do you have to sleep next to me?” I hiss in annoyance.
“There’s only one bed. You’re welcome to sleep on the floor, Princess,” Wrath replies, adjusting the pillow beneath his head and turning his back to me.
Sighing, I close my eyes to get some rest. Every time I try to settle, I can only see visions of the attack. It haunts me for hours. Tears threaten to fall, my mouth dry as I stare at the ceiling above. The warmth of Wrath’s body and the steady rhythm of his breath provide an odd comfort in my state of duress. Eventually, it lulls me to sleep.
Although I’d never admit it to Wrath, sleeping beside him last night comforted me. When I woke up this morning, he was still asleep. Wrath usually rose before me in the mornings, leaving the tent to make travel preparations. I realize he likely hasn’t slept since the attack, ensuring I was okay before relaxing himself.
I slowly unravel myself from the sheets and quietly move out of the room, grabbing my cloak on the way out. Closing the cabin door softly behind me, I sling the cloak lazily around the middle of my shoulders, holding it close like a blanket.
Stepping out onto the small porch, I take in my surroundings.
The Elvarran town of Sinaia is a collection of cozy log cabins at the base of a mountain range. Each mountain peak is capped with snow, indicating that winter is near. The morning sun combs through the pine tree branches that scent the air. Nearby is a small rushing creek, and I watch as two small Elvarran children dash across the bridge. They chase after one another, laughing as they play. It reminds me of Valentin—that childlike curiosity and search for trouble we shared.
I turn my attention away from the children and return it to the mountains. I am woefully unprepared to cross the Northern Alps after traveling across the flatlands on horseback. The only path through is a narrow, winding trail that climbs up a steep hill and disappears into the mountainside.
Feeling ravenous and unsure of how long it has been since my last meal, I wait patiently on the porch, hoping Barnham or Taryn will walk past so I can ask them for something to eat. Unfortunately, the only people to cross my path are farmers. One walks beside an ox that pulls a wooden tumbrel. A shortmoment later, I see an Elvarran woman carrying a crying child in her arms.
A footstep sounds behind me. I glance to my right as Wrath steps out onto the porch beside me. His dark hair is disheveled; I’m not used to seeing him in any state other than icy perfection. Wrath’s eyes squint from the bright morning sun as they adjust to the light. He wears a loose long-sleeve tunic that he hasn’t bothered to tie at the top, leaving his chest exposed. His pants hang low on his hips, accompanied by knee-high black leather boots, which he must have just thrown on.
Wrath inhales deeply, placing both hands on the wooden railing to stretch out his shoulders, rolling them out a few times. I watch as the sharply defined muscles in his chest move, a pure display of strength and discipline. Wrath has several scars and cuts on his skin, with four arrow wounds still open. One in particular appears to be on the verge of infection, the skin tattered and red.
“Something caught your eye…Princess?”
My spine stiffens. He caught me gawking. I knew last night’s kindness was a farce, as Wrath is beyond bothersome.
“Shove it.” I roll my eyes. “One of them looks infected.”
He lifts a brow. “Are you worried about me?”
“I hope it goes to your blood and ends you.” I make a poor attempt to get back at him after he told me to burn off the mark on my skin.
One corner of his mouth lifts. “I should have left you in Liora.”
“You should have.” I continue to play his games. “Letting me into Khalessor will be your greatest error.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.” I refuse to back down.
“Now, now.” A voice cuts into our argument. “I need my brother alive for the time being.” Barnham walks up the frontsteps of our cabin, two steaming bowls of food in his hands. “Here.”
I take it from him. I’m so hungry that I will eat practically anything. It is a strange-looking stew with a thick, dark broth that resembles gravy. Most of the vegetables are potatoes and carrots, with the occasional onion. It looks like something they scrounged together with the last of their rations.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
