Page 19 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

“I bent them into shape as best I could.” He pressed the mangled remains of her eyeglasses in her hand. The right lens was gone. The left was cracked but seemed intact enough for her to see. With unsteady fingers, she fumbled to open them, almost dropping them instead.

“Let me.” He helped guide them onto her face, his dry fingertips sliding along her dirty, sweaty cheeks. With what felt like great care, he adjusted her glasses until she took over and pushed the crooked frames higher on her nose, their fingers tangling.

He jerked away. Perhaps he didn’t want the dust coating her skin to transfer to his clean hands. “Better?” he asked quite stiffly after clearing his throat.

“Yes, thank you.” Through filthy glass and a web of cracks, she saw a pair of midnight-blue eyes observing her. Chiseled, hard-cut features, short, dark brown hair, neat brows pulled together, and in the center of his chin, a merry dimple.

She knew that face, those eyes—and especially that dimple. Aral Mawndarr, the cadet from ten years ago, all grown and filled out, was here! Observing her with the same shy manner and haunted eyes that had captured her heart. Her kindred spirit, he’d helped her survive her presentation, the one good thing on that terrible day.

What was he doing in the middle of a refugee camp?

Her thoughts whirled. He was a powerful battlelord’s firstborn son. He could be one ofthem. A loyalist. Ilkka must have contacted the warlord’s men when she’d gone to get the hopper, and they’d sent Aral after her, disguised as a Triad official. Well, if he tried to force her to go with him, she would flag down a guard and turn him in. Surely Aral was a wanted man himself.

And clever, no doubt. He could easily tell the authorities whoshewas in a bid to help his case. They’d both wind up in custody. Bad plan.

“Miss Senderin.”

She pushed hard on her glasses. “It’ssister.”

“Sister it is. I am Officer Gramm.” How smoothly he offered his false identity.

As smoothly as you offered yours, Wren.

“I would like to discuss some legal matters, in private.” Extending his arm, he lifted his brows, as if awaiting her consent. That alone was enough for her to walk with him. At least it got her away from the camp guard typing who knew what in her data-vis.

He steered her away, robes flying, dust churning. His grip on her elbow wasn’t tight—but it was firm enough to let her know that he had no intention of letting go. “Listen closely. I need you to do as I say in order to get you out of the camp.”

Of course you do. You think you’ve found your breeding mare.Loyalist scum.She almost jerked out of his grip and told him to go to hells, but she overrode the impulse.

Refugees approached from all corners, reaching out to touch her robes, smiling, asking for blessings. They acted as if Aral were invisible. “May the Goddess be with you,” she said, bestowing blessings on all within reach.

“And also with you,” they called to her.

Aral bent closer and spoke in her ear. He smelled faintly of sweat, soap, and leather. She hadn’t smelled many males in her life. Clean ones. His scent was definitely… different. “You’re under my protection now,” he said. “Don’t worry about returning to your tent. Time is of the essence. They just announced there’s a bounty on your head.”

“Fifty million queens. Yes. It was kind of hard to miss.”

“My partner, Officer Zann, will retrieve your belongings and transfer them to our ship.”

She pulled aside her hood and glared at him. “I recognize you,” she whisper-snarled. “I know who you are, Aral.”

“At least now I won’t have to try to convince you of my true identity after ten years. One less complication.” She caught a hint of wry amusement in his sarcastic statement. “However, in this camp you shall refer to me only as Agent Gramm. I have the authority to extradite you.”

“Extradition. That is what one does to someone accused or convicted of a crime. Or maybe this is really an abduction.”

His sideways glance revealed honest dismay. “It is none of those. I’ll explain everything once we’re on my ship.”

“Where are you taking me? The destination.”

His grip tightened. “I’ll explain that too.”

Secrets.They made her nervous. She wanted to trust Aral, but should she? She sensed no ill will. Or was that just wishful thinking? He seemed to want to help her. Once he got her off world and in his sole possession, he might not be as accommodating.

Yet with a bounty of fifty million queens on her head, two bodies in a shed on Barokk, and a camp predator wearing gravy, she had a choice to make—have her freedom taken away by the loyalists or by the Triad.

The Triad wanted her dead. The loyalists wanted her alive.

Decision made.

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