“Against what?”
“You running. You betraying me. You deciding your life is worth less than your freedom.” I start walking toward the eastern corridor. “Move.”
She falls into step behind me, the shackles clicking softly with each movement. Not magical compulsion—just the reality of her situation. She can follow willingly or be dragged.
We walk through the fortress corridors, and I’m acutely aware of her behind me. Her breathing. Her footsteps. The rustle of her dress.
Her scent mixing with the smoke and iron of Ironhold.
The corridors twist and turn—I built them that way deliberately, a maze designed to confuse invaders. Fire pits burn at intervals, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Iron Warlord statues snarl from alcoves, their eyes inset with amber that glows in the firelight.
I glance back.
She’s mapping the route. I see it in the way she studies each turn, each landmark. The twisted pillar that looks like three wolves climbing over each other. The archway carved with runes. The split in the corridor where one path leads to the barracks and the other to the high tower.
She’s memorizing escape routes even with the shackles marking her as mine.
Smart. Foolish. But smart.
We climb the tower stairs—she’s breathing hard by the third flight—and emerge into the high corridor where I keep the guest chambers. Better quarters than most tributes see. Better than she deserves, probably.
But I take her to the best, anyway. The room at the end of the hall with windows overlooking the valley and a real bed piled with furs.
I unlock the door and push it open. “In.”
She peers inside cautiously, expecting a trap. Then steps over the threshold and surveys the space. I watch her take in the bed, the chair, the chest of clothes, the washbasin. The windows with their iron bars.
“Luxurious.” and her voice drips with sarcasm. “Really spared no expense on the prison cell.”
“It’s not a cell.”
“There are bars on the windows.”
“There are bars on all the windows. We’re at war.” I nod toward the window. “Don’t bother trying to climb down. It’s a hundred-foot drop to sharp rocks.”
“Noted.”
I should leave. Should walk away and let her settle in, let the guards take over.
But I find myself lingering in the doorway, watching her explore the space. She trails her fingers along the furs on the bed, testing their softness. Moves to the window and looks out at the darkening valley below.
The moonlight catches her profile.
My chest tightens.
Leave. Now.
I turn without another word and walk away, pulling the door shut behind me. The lock clicks. Heavy. Final.
Four warriors materialize from the shadows—I stationed them here earlier—and take up positions flanking the door.
“No one enters without my permission,” I tell them. “No one speaks to her. No one even looks at her wrong. Understood?”
“Yes, Warlord.”
I leave them and descend the tower stairs two at a time, putting distance between myself and the human girl with storm-gray eyes.
Distance that doesn’t help at all.
