It isn’t the first time something strange has happened between us.
His voice in my head. Seeing through his eyes. That flare in my chest during the night when we were tangled together. But the pull on the hill was different. Therin and Vel felt it too. Whatever Cairn was doing, it affected them, too. But they’re fae. His warriors.
I’m not.
So why did I feel it? Does it have something to do with how I keep seeing through his eyes?
That’s the part that really won’t leave me alone. At the Dell and during the attack on the road, I wasn’t watching from a distance. I was inside his head as it was happening.
I felteverything. The weight of the blades in his hands. The spray of blood, hot across his armor. The way his body moved, fluid and precise, cutting through those men like they were nothing.
And coiling low in my stomach … heat. Want.Need.
I wanted him. While watching him kill my own kind.
I. Wanted. Him.
My face burns at the thought, and I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and try to think about anything else.
The village. I’ll think about the village.
This place contradicts everything I’ve grown up believing.
Fae are dangerous. That’s still true. But the rest? Fae must be contained. The preserves exist to protect us. The hunts exist to cull their numbers. Without those things, humanity would be their slaves.
I walked through that village tonight and no one was afraid. There were fae and humans at tables together, laughing and touching. An entire community where everything I’ve been taught doesn’t seem to apply.
It’s making me question what else is wrong. I’ve been questioning it for a while, but today …
Tonight, I watched as three warriors ran toward us, fell to the dirt, and bowed before him. The fae in the inn sank to the floor when he walked in. And it was relief and hope on their faces, not fear.
They touched him so easily. They embraced him, and he let them. The warmth between them was clear. It wasn’t just bowing to their commander, it wasmore.
I think about the way he touches me. His hand fisting in my hair. His fingers closing around my wrist. His mouth on my throat, biting down hard enough to leave marks. Even when I’m melting into him, even when I’m arching up and making sounds I’ll be ashamed of later, there’s always an edge to it. Anger. Control. Power. A reminder of what I am.
When I watched him with his warriors tonight, the way he let them close, thesoftnessabout him with them, something in my chest twisted.
It shouldn’t matter how he treats them versus how he treatsme. They’re his people, fae he’s known for longer than I can possibly imagine. I’m his prisoner. A human. The daughter of a king who profits from fae suffering.
But watching the female press her face against his chest and weep, watching how he put his arms around her … I felt it. A sharp, ugly twist beneath my ribs.
What would it be like to have him look atmethe same way he looks at them? To treat me gently instead of with anger and violence and mockery?
No, I don’t want him to treat me like that … I want to get away from him. I want to escape. I want to go back to my life.
What life?
The thought catches me off guard. At the palace, I had Nella. I had my chambers, my books, my rides through the royal forest. But who else? Brennan? Wil? They care about me, but there’s always a wall between us—duty and station and the fact that their job is to keep me safe, not be my friends.
My father loves me, I know that, but I’ve always been the youngest, the one who’d rather be in the stables than the sewing room, who doesn’t fit the mold of what a princess should be. Merina and I love each other, but we’ve never trulyunderstoodeach other. And the court … the court has always felt like a performance I was never quite good enough at.
I think about the warriors embracing on the road. The way they held each other, wept openly, and didn’t care who was watching. When was the last time someone touched me like that? Not to adjust my dress or fix my hair. Just … held me. Because they wanted to. Because theyneededto.
Nella hugs me sometimes. But that always carries the weight of what we are to each other. Princess and handmaiden. There’s always a line, even when we pretend there isn’t. I’ve been surrounded by people my entire life, and it’s taken until now to realize that I’m lonely.
Do I really want to go back to that? If I do, then why did I stay silent on the road? Why did I stand there and let him slaughter all those people?
I can’t lie to myself any longer.
