Page 26 of WarBride

“Did that half-breed fail to fill ya, girl?”

“Are you running to find yourself a real man?”

“Come play with me, my sweet! I’ll give you a propershakhingin short order!”

This and more, far cruder, floods my ears. My night-stunned vision clears somewhat, just enough for me to take in the leering faces, so beautiful, so terrible. And there stands the silver-haired Lurodos, arms crossed, looming large above the others. He catches my eye, and a cruel grin twists his lips.

I leap back, heart thudding, and yank the tent flap down into place. Immediately silence drowns out those voices. There’s probably some spell on the pavilion, some glamour to keep out unwanted noises. I stand here in this glamoured space, gaze fixed on the flap. It might as well be a wall of stone ten feet thick.

So. After everything—after all that death and destruction, the suffering of all those innocent men, the burning of the sacred temple—here I am, right back where I started. I’ve only exchanged one stranger’s bed for another.

Slowly I tip my head down, stare at my own bare, carefully manicured feet. Will I do it? Will I let this warlord have his way with me in hopes that he will honor his word and set me free?

Maybe this is all for the best. After all, were I wed to the Shadow King, there’d be no chance of freedom following my wedding night. Whatever indignities I suffered then would have to be suffered again and again, for the rest of my life. This is just one night. I can endure one night.

And when it’s all over? This man doesn’t know my name. He doesn’t know who my people are or where I belong. Perhaps I can convince him to drop me at the Gavarian border. In the end I’ll escape my father, my marriage, my prison . . . all of it.

Yes, this is better. Surely this is better.

Dread knots my stomach.

Grimacing, I turn at last to face the warlord. He stands by the fire, watching me. His gaze rakes down my body just for an instant before coming back to my face. I resist the urge to try to cover myself and instead look him in the eye. “How long . . .” I swallow. “How long do I have to decide?”

“Dawn,” he responds. “Or rather, a little sooner. We will need time to—”

“Yes.” I draw a shuddering breath. “I understand. Just . . . just give me a moment.”

“Take your time,zylnala.Only remember, if you make no choice, the choice will be made for you. You will belong to him. And there is nothing I can do to prevent it.”

10

TAAR

I raid Ruvaen’s stores for both food and drink. Something tells me the prisoners were provided with little of either during the journey through Wanfriel Forest to the spire. While the girl has not complained, she must be famished.

Most Noxaurian food would be dangerous for a human to eat. The last thing I want is to get her half-crazed on fae fruit or fae wine. Whatever happens in the next few hours, she must be clear-headed and certain of her decisions. But I find a bottle of pure river water which tastes of the mortal realm. There’s baked bread as well—bunyi bread, with a strong, earthy flavor made from root flour. It should be acceptable for her palate.

I place the bread on a plate, pour water into another one of Ruvaen’s silver cups, and cross the room to where the girl sits by the fire. Goddess spare me! I have to brace myself every time I look at her, dressed in that little bit of absolute nothing which Ruvaen provided for her. Damn the man. It’s all but impossible to keep my gaze from roving, searching for tantalizing glimpses beneath those folds of sheer cloth. There is little enough left to the imagination, but what little there is could set a man’s imagination ablaze.

I must not let such heat consume me. Not tonight. Not with her.

She is so young. I’d noticed it before, but seeing her in this gentle light, all the dirt and mud scrubbed from her face, the truth strikes me full force. Too young for the likes of me, inexperienced and frightened. I feel like a beast, especially whenthe sight of her enflames me so. But I am no beast. I can and will control my urges, no matter how potent the temptation.

And if she requires abstinence the whole night through, what then? Will I turn her over to Lurodos come dawn? The idea galls me more than I like to admit.

Shaking this thought from my head, I set the food down on a small table beside her chair. “Come,” I say. “Eat.” She looks at the plate then up at me. “It’s not enchanted,” I assure her.

“That sounds like something a fae trying to trick me into eating enchanted food would say.”

“I am not fae. And if I were, I’m sure I could find more subtle ways to deceive you.”

“You are not fae?” Her brow puckers slightly as her gaze flicks over me, taking in my proportions. “What are you then?”

“I am Licornyn,” I answer shortly and turn away. I must tear my gaze from her before the burning in my loins drives me insane. Gods above, I don’t even know this woman! I’ve never been the kind of man to lie with a stranger, to share intimacy with someone for whom I did not feel deeply. Yet the vows I made this night draw me to her more profoundly than I would have expected. I can still feel the place on my forearm where thevelracord secured us to one another. It’s tight, uncomfortable, and yet, in some inexplicable way . . . delightful.

“What is your name?” Her voice is abrupt, as though she’s just worked up the courage to speak.

I look over my shoulder to find her twisted in her seat, leaning over the back of it and studying me. I take care not to let my eyes wander. “You may call me Taar.”

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