Page 30 of Fortress of Blood and Power

I so wanted the look of concern, ofwanting, in those searing gold eyes to be real.

But if he’d fooled me before with behaving as if he cared, he could do so again.

“I’m fine,” I said, shoving back and teetering dangerously again. He caught my wrist, his eyes still fixed on my face. “Leave—please!”

Garrick blinked, a muscle working in his jaw. He drew back slowly, as if coming out of a trance. Or letting his pretenses fall away to reveal his true feelings. Cold and distant again, he looked at the ceiling. “You’re not going to fall and break your neck before the feast, are you?”

“I’m fine,” I repeated, hurriedly seizing the towel from a shelf near the tub and wrapping it around my body. Though Garrick had kept his word and I never once saw his eyes stray, I felt a semblance of relief with the cloth over me, even if it left far too much of my legs bare.

“The maids will return to help you dress, and they’ll bring a medicinal tea for the dizziness. And some food—you must be starving, which doesn’t help with those feelings of weakness. They’ll tend to your head injury while they fix your hair, but I’ll apply another layer of ointment to your neck again. How does it feel?”

The pain had dulled even further, leaving it almost numb. “Why not wait until they’ve dressed me?” I demanded, feeling scandalized. “Or better yet, let the maids do it?”

Garrick’s gaze was piercing. “I was ordered to personally ensure you’re all right. Though the blow to your head is causing your unsteadiness, I’m more concerned about possible venom in the bite on your neck. I can leave the maids to deal with the rest.”

“Venom?”

“No reason to fret. We’ve cleaned and tended to it swiftly, and you’re not showing any worrisome symptoms. But best to be sure. Come,” he said impatiently.

I strode out of the washroom, trailing droplets of water. Sitting rigidly in a chair before the fireplace, where a fire now roared pleasantly, I held my breath as Garrick brought over his bag.

Carefully, he tugged my soaked hair off my neck, trailing his fingers over my bite wound. My lack of pain made me hyperaware of his skin on mine as he rubbed another layer of ointment into the punctures. His fingers lingered over my racing pulse, and I prayed he didn’t sense it. Didn’t know he still had an effect on me. Didn’t realize my foolish heart couldn’t forget the growing feelings I’d been harboring.

Traitor. Liar. Hunter. Killer. Captor.I listed all the reasons I had to not trust his tenderness, to banish all memories of the man I’d thought he was.

And when he strode out of the room, leaving the maids to flock in and dress me in fae clothes for a feast hosted by my captives, it was easier to remember why I needed to distrust and hate him.

CHAPTER TEN

Clothed in layers of delicate silver silk overlaid with lace that was far too thin for the chilly halls of the castle, I trailed my maids down some flights of stairs and into a small stone antechamber. Torches set in sconces on the walls cast eerie orange light flickering over the space. I scanned the room, my eyes snagging on the two guards at the far end by a carved set of double doors. Both were heavily armed, and each had inhuman features that reminded me how far I was from Altidvale. One had horns, while the other had a pair of tusks jutting from his mouth in a terrifying sneer.

Garrick stepped out of a shadowy corner just as my maid curtsied and slipped away without a word. I glanced over my shoulder, wistfully watching the maid retreat. Though neither she nor any of the other human girls who had tended to me had spoken or offered me more than a chilling, empty sort of presence—the glazed look in their eyes had told me they were all glamoured—I’d felt a sense of solidarity with them. They weren’t starving or visibly injured, but they weren’t free either. Just like me, they were prisoners in this palace, serving monstrous masters they didn’t want to. The only difference was they were less aware of it than I was.

I didn’t know if that made me—or them—more fortunate.

At least I could try to fight back. I couldn’t be controlled or tricked with glamour.

But they? They were in some blissful state of otherness, blinded to the harsh world around them.

If I couldn’t escape, would I grow to envy them? Was it better for one to be a prisoner without knowing it, or to know it yet be incapable of freeing oneself?

My chest tightened as Garrick approached, his expressionless eyes raking over me. There wasn’t a trace of glamour in his gaze though—they were clear and piercing as ever, if stony and unyielding. His eyes flicked to the healing wounds on my neck, left exposed by the way the maids had styled my hair in a complicated arrangement of braids atop my head.

“You look cold.”

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