“It’s not like I did it because I wanted to. Koerlyn doesn’t have Merelda. There’s no need for me to go to him again. It’s not like I…betrayedHarthon. I was forced.”
“That’s not how he sees it.”
This had to be jest. But there was no humor on Stefano’s face.
Disbelief spiraled, making me dizzy.
Harthon viewed me as a traitor.
Atraitor.
I was still asleep, and this was a twisted dream. It had to be.
But the chilled air cooling my lungs and the ache of my body felt all too real.
“So I’m a prisoner, then?”
Stefano seemed profoundly uncomfortable with the label. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Harthon sees me as atraitor—” I spat the word out “—and I’m confined to this tent. I can’t leave.” I took a shaky step forward, hardly believing this conversation. I’d thought the nightmare had ended when I escaped Koerlyn. I was wrong. “You’re not keeping me safe—you’re keeping mehere.Does that not make me a prisoner?”
“Iamhere to keep you safe.”
I lunged to the left, toward the flaps that marked the entrance. Quick as a striking snake, Stefano moved, hand shooting out to grab me. I drew back before he needed to make contact, crossing my arms to hide their trembling.
His features fell.
My point was made.
After a heavy silence, Stefano murmured, “I’ll send for Harthon.”
His was the last face I wanted to see. “Don’t bother.”
“You’re awake. I have to notify him.”
Of course. It wasn’t up to me what Stefano did. I had no authority.
I stared down at my tunic while Stefano spoke to a leather-clad soldier outside the entranceway. The clothing dwarfed me, draping to my knees and smothering my hands. Shrugging my shoulder toward my nose, I inhaled.
This, too, smelled like Harthon, just like the bedding. Another glance around the tent told me my own clothes were nowhere to be found.
“Who changed me?” I asked once Stefano finished delivering his message.
“The healer, I think.”
If he had named Harthon, I didn’t know what I would do. Already, I was fairly certain this washistent. Aside from the bedding, two chairs, and a small chest, it was bare. Whereas most Princepes would have elaborate accommodations,Harthon was practical. He didn’t care much for embellishments or wasteful comforts. The thick bedding was the only feature that went beyond necessity to hint at status. Given its scent, this space was his.
So was the tunic.
I scowled.
Harthon had dressed me in his tunic, but thought me a traitor. I wanted to tear it off, but could see nothing else to wear.
I was about to ask where my clothing went when I was struck by something Stefano said. “What did you mean before—that Koerlyn will attack within the day?”
His hand subconsciously went to his sword. “He wants you back, and he’s chosen immediate action. He’s made it no secret that he’ll be marching his forces into our Territory immediately. It could be as soon as today.”
War. What Stefano spoke of was war, and it might be coming today.And we were juststandinghere, making small talk in a tent.
