Page 44 of What Lies Within Masks & Shadows

The heavy scent of fire, cooked meat, and coffee hovered in the breeze as the rising sun bathed the valley in warm light.

In every direction, an ocean of canvas as far as she could see marred the landscape. The High Prince’s Dragons were … a considerable force. Of remarkable size, almost unbelievable in its magnitude.

She hadn’t taken in their particular firesite since her arrival. Being that she was struck by something like lightning and could barely remain on the horse. Her best conclusion was that the High Prince’s personal soldiers’ camp sat in the heart of the valley. Which made perfect sense; the High Prince would be positioned in the middle of his army. Not that he appeared to need protecting by it.

From his tent, she stared down a wide, trampled path, large enough to house two horse carts beside one another. To the left sat two canvases—one hers, the other no doubt one of his … Shadow Order? Large enough to host three bodies comfortably, except hers, of course, which was the smallest. To the right, the same setup. Two more tents and horses tied to a long hitching post. Equal amounts of tents spread in every direction beyond there.

She fixed her hair, staring at the back of a tent with its entrance facing the steep hill in front of them.

At least the morning air was chilled. Normally, her burning skin would welcome the coolness of the outside air. But her fire was still gone, causing a soft chill to crawl across her skin instead.

Alora reluctantly walked forward. Straight for the fire filled with conversation and cheerful voices.

Toward them. Toward the laughter.

The raising of glasses, untroubled as they slay their hunger, disgusted her.

How can they be laughing after what happened last night? She balled her hand into a fist and shoved her arm around her torso, cheeks filling with heat.

Around the fire, the High Prince waited along with three of his soldiers. Garrik—the mere thought of his name had bile burning her throat—was sitting on a stump tall enough to sit comfortably for his height.

To his right, on a long since fallen tree, held the male who had nodded at her in the tavern, sharpening a monstrous, rune-covered sword. The words ‘House of the Seventh N’ engraved down the length of the golden blade jutting from the cross guard. It had a black, spiral leathered grip, and feathered wings with a golden pommel sat at its top.

To his right, Jade. Her end of the log a healthy distance from the flames of a roaring campfire. Alora didn’t spend too long assessing her; she didn’t deserve the attention.

To the High Prince’s left, a new face that she hadn’t been forced to meet yet. He was scruffy; disheveled, shaggy, black hair fell down to his chin. Wisps of it fell in front of light blue shale—somewhat mistakenly gray—colored eyes that created wrinkles as he laughed. The male stirred the contents of the iron pot, arm muscles outlined in his open-collared, long-sleeved, white tunic, and a bandolier strapped across his chest.

The male jumped from the ground onto his folded buckled boots. A red sash tied down by a thick leather belt around his waist swayed as he pointed at the fire upon her approach. “Welcome! Do hope you enjoy this morning’s selections. We have a meager variety of last night’s venison stew, courtesy of moi—best in the kingdom. Rock-solid morning bread is also on special, complete with a big cup of our finest roast.” He sniffed a cup in his left hand. “Some sort of… Is that darkforest blend?” The male took a sip, twisting his face in disgust. “Oh, that is truly awful… Grog! Grog is always a favorite. Highly recommended. So many wonderful choices. How will you ever choose?”

What the hell?—

“Aiden, sit down before you scare the poor girl off,” a dark-skinned, High Fae male on the log joked. Clad with inked markings, symbols, and beasts over every inch of his arms, hands, and neck, he threw a piece of morning bread with perfect accuracy.

Aiden rubbed the back of his head where it had landed. “Scare? I think she rather likes me.”

Garrik stood from the stump and walked to her, carrying a bowl full of stew. “Ignore him. We all do.” He said, grinning as Aiden crossed his arms, “Allow me,” and offered her the bowl.

With a crooked snarl, Alora replied, “I’m perfectly capable of getting my own.”It’s likely poisoned.

Garrik raised an eyebrow, and with his right hand, scooped the stew, and proceeded to eat as she watched him. “Have it your way.” He returned to the stump, settling back down to eat from the bowl meant for her.

Scanning the firesite, she found an empty bowl beside Aiden. He caught her glance and lifted it to her with a reassuring smile.

The corners of her mouth twitched as she accepted it from him and spooned stew from the iron pot above the flames. Alora searched around for a spot to sit. The only option was beside Jade, who took notice of her and shifted her position enough that she covered the space left.

Alora didn’t care to find herself in a territorial battle. Instead of standing awkwardly, she decided to walk past them, in the direction of her tent.

“Where do you think you are going?” Garrik still faced the campfire.

“I’ll eat in my tent … alone.”

“You will stay here with us.” He stood. The muscles in his forearms shifted as he beckoned her to the stump. Tanned skin had been washed clean. His voice roughened. “Sit.”

Alora stifled a frustrated growl.I’m not one of your soldiers. You can’t order me around.

She reluctantly walked back and sat.

Garrik waited for her to settle before he found a new position in the dirt alongside Aiden. And, before long, the group sat eating in silence.

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