My finger shook from where it was jammed into his chest, fear and outrage coursing through my veins. His fingers flexed on my biceps, where he’d caught me.
He had the sense to appear cautious, for once. “Your eyes…” He squinted in the low light for a moment, then shook his head. “They’re not in a cell, but they’re here, just around the corner. They were armed, and we still haven’t confirmed their identities.”
No explanation could stop me from seething, “If she was hurt coming down here, I’ll kill whoever was responsible. Even if it was North.”
Not waiting for his reply, I tore myself from his hands and rounded the corner. Soft voices came from behind a battered wooden door. I flung it open, and my entire world reduced to one small room.
Soft, white hair pulled away from her face. Kind eyes. Smile lines framing her mouth, and tanned, freckled skin that could make you believe sunshine was abundant. Dark clothing that likely hid dirt. A deep groove formed a dimple in her cheek.
“I never thought I’d see you flaunt your breasts, dear, but you are a sight.” Her voice was hoarser than I knew it to be, but it was still warm, woven with kindness and humor.
I glanced down at my chest.
The neckline. The crown. Right.
“Way to make us all uncomfortable,” Marsik grumbled. He stood behind her, his bald head covered in splotches of dirt, his bushy gray eyebrows askew.
Merelda laughed, the sound melodic and so damn familiar. “It’s true.” She shook her head, taking me in from where she sat. “She’s…magnificent.”
“She’s frozen there like a rabbit.”
I was. Rooted to the spot, because my mind and my body still didn’t know if this was real. If she was before me.
Of course it’s real, you fool.
Why wasn’t I hugging her?
I launched myself across the room. Without giving her the chance to stand, I threw myself into her arms—the same arms that raised me and gave me a loving home amidst a cruel world. I buried my face in her hair, not caring that she reeked, still able to smell her hint of lavender beneath the grime coating the strands.
“She certainly doesn’t hug like a rabbit. She hugs like a boar,” she said, holding me as tightly as I held her.
“A boar with strange eyes,” Marsik murmured.
“Beautiful eyes,” Merelda corrected, her words muffled against my hair.
I wanted to hug her forever. But we needed to talk, and she needed to be taken care of. Fed. Given water and a bath. Who knew what she’d gone through? She wasn’t even standing up. She was sitting, and sheneversat, which meant—
“Tell me you’re okay.”
She rubbed my back. “Etarla, dear, I’m better than okay.”
It was painful to pull away from her, but I did, scanning over her filthy form.
“Don’t you go judging me by appearances, now,” she admonished.
Behind me, Harthon stepped closer. “Let’s go up to your room, Etarla. Where they can get what they need and you can have some privacy.”
There were so many things to say, but not with the guards here.
“You must be Princeps Harthon,” Merelda said to him.
“I am.”
Most people would probably be wary of him. She certainly wasn’t, because she said, “Your rumors precede you. The ruthless mercenary who stole a crown. A leader who is more beast than man. But the rumors did not speak of how handsome you are.”
Did she really just say that?
“Skies, Merelda.”
