A warrior without a sword.
A woman who had trusted the wrong prince—only to be ruined by him in the end.
My fingers curled into the blankets until my nails bit through the soft material. I had to get out. Now. Before my new captors realized I was awake and came to torture me for whatever information Rydian told them I had. Or worse, maybe they wanted what Duron had coveted: my magic.
I slid from the bed, my legs unsteady, the floor tilting beneath me as if the whole world had been knocked askew. I faltered at the sight of the simple nightgown clinging to my frame. Not the wedding gown I’d been wearing when I fled. Which meant someone had dressed me. And undressed me. Bile rose in the back of my throat, but I shoved it down.
My palms found the smooth, exposed log wall, steadying myself as I shuffled to the bathing chamber. When I was finished, I splashed water on my face and drank deeply from the faucet of cold water being piped in. The attention to detail in this place was on par with royal houses. It reeked of luxury rather than the filth I’d expected.
On my way back through the bedroom, my gaze caught ona large pack sitting against the wall. I went to it and peeled it open, surprised to find all my belongings I thought I’d left in Grey Oak, including the jewels and Aine armor I’d brought from Sunspire. Dorcha and Latha, my swords, were still missing, which only reminded me of the fact that I was, in fact, a prisoner despite the accommodations.
I straightened again and went to the bedroom door. The heavy iron latch gleamed faintly in the torchlight.
I pressed against it anyway.
Locked. A clear message. But I was no good at obeying.
I opened my hand, willing furyfire to spark to life in my palm. A single, sad ember sizzled then winked out. I tried again. And again. Nothing.
My stores of magic were still depleted, thanks to whatever they’d drugged me with, but I rummaged through my bag again and managed to come away with a hairpin. Picking the lock took far more time than I wanted, but eventually the lock sprang free, and the door opened.
Stumbling out of the bedroom, I tried to breathe through the pounding in my head. Gripping the wall, I hurried forward, bare feet brushing over worn rugs, my pulse thudding loud in my sensitive fae ears.
The hallway opened into a larger space that was clearly the living area of a massive log cabin-style residence, and I was so surprised by the fact that it wasn’t a dungeon, I halted and stared.
The space was high-ceilinged yet warm, with the glow of firelight spilling from a hearth built with gray stones the size of my head. Before it, a comfy sitting area beckoned, complete with fluffy pillows and a throw blanket tossed over the back of the deep-cushioned sofa. A pair of reading glasses was perched on the coffee table as if someone had only just set them down before getting up and wandering off.
Along the far wall, built-in bookshelves were stuffed andbrimming with books. In the corner, beneath a window, a large desk stood with papers stacked in haphazard piles.
It felt almost… cozy.
Other than the fact that the walls bore blades of various shapes and sizes, lined up in neat, lethal order with tiny placards beside them, likely listing the number of enemies their wielder had slain.
Still… this place was lived-in. Comfortable. Something about it reminded me of Rydian’s townhouse in Grey Oak. Which, now that I thought about it, made it all so much worse than a dank prison cell in the bowels of a drafty castle.
A male stepped from the shadows near the door. I didn’t recognize him. Midnight fae, I assumed. He was tall and broad, his cloak failing to hide the sword pommel protruding from his hip. He wore all black except for the small silver sigil of the midnight court emblazoned on his lapel.
“You shouldn’t be out of your room,” he said, voice low.
I dropped into a fighting stance, fists raised, my body already moving on instinct. My magic sparked, embers of furyfire flickering at my fingertips. Hopefully, the male wouldn’t know embers was the extent of my stores just now.
“Try to stop me,” I hissed.
The fae lunged.
I braced, ready to fight until the walls ran red?—
“Enough.”
The voice cut clean through the haze, sharp as a blade but achingly familiar.
The male stopped.
I whipped around, heart slamming into my ribs.
A female stepped into the firelight. Her dark hair was cropped short and almost jagged on one side, her arm bound in a sling, wings scarred and torn but unmistakable.
Her eyes were steady, bright, unyielding as ever as she took me in.
