Chapter 13 #2
His eyebrows rose at the suggestion—perhaps due to the lack of any spare clothing in the tent when he had left it—but he was wise enough not to waste time with questions.
Instead, he ducked back under the tent flap and then emerged, less than five minutes later, clad in a clean new set of uniform trousers, shirt, cravat, and stiffly buttoned-up military jacket.
He looked every inch an Imperial commanding officer once more …
and Lorelei bit back a sigh as she absorbed that depressing transformation.
“I take it you abducted my travel trunk at the same time you abducted me?” he asked wryly.
“It was the only polite option,” she assured him. “You see, none of the men’s clothing left with me across the years would have been nearly large enough to fit. You wouldn’t have cared for it at all.”
His expression was skeptical. “And you were, of course, terribly concerned about my preferences when you chose to abduct me.”
“Of course!” Lorelei said piously. “I might be wicked, darling, but it’s never necessary to be cruel.”
Even more important, putting him back into uniform was a desperately needed shield to erect between them. This way, she would have a visual reminder of exactly why she’d brought him here in the first place … and why she needed to keep her hands off him.
That shredded fae tunic had simply offered too much temptation to resist.
As he sighed and stepped towards her, he began to offer his arm with the automatic courtesy of any Imperial officer to a lady—and then hesitated, apparently catching himself in the act.
A rare flush rose on Gerard’s cheekbones as he looked from her to the arm he still held half-raised between them; for the first time that she could remember, he looked uncharacteristically and delightfully awkward.
Had he actually forgotten for a moment that he was her prisoner and begun to believe she was his true partner? That realization was enough to send her mood shooting skywards. She was winning this battle, after all, no matter how often she might stumble along the way!
Wincing, Gerard cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon.”
“Never mind.” Lorelei risked a quick pat on his safely covered arm, feeling so much better than before that she only barely noticed his muscles shift, through all those layers of cloth, in reaction to her touch.
“Far better for both of us to keep our hands free as we prepare for the next challenge.”
Not all of the dangers at this tournament would politely wait for the trials to begin.
They arrived at the top of the field, where the rest of the day’s contestants were assembling, as Oberon’s herald crossed the grass with her horn held ready.
Lorelei smiled graciously at the scowling lord of the tournament—poor, dear Oberon must be so disappointed she hadn’t been a few seconds later, to give him the perfect excuse to declare her entry forfeit!
—and tipped him a perfectly gauged nod of condescension before she turned to warmly greet her competitors.
The other nineteen pairs had all survived yesterday’s challenges and won against impressive opponents; not one of them could be dismissed as a potential threat. Still, with the Golden Beacon towering at her side, Lorelei couldn’t summon up any nerves about her prospects.
True, she had allowed herself to be drawn into sharing far more vulnerability with her captive than she’d intended.
She certainly wouldn’t claim not to have made any missteps, especially when it came to this morning’s mortifying awakening.
But Lorelei knew how to learn from her mistakes.
From now on, she would simply take care never to let Gerard see deeper than was comfortable or safe—and as long as the two of them continued to fight side by side, they would surely be unstoppable.
The herald’s horn rang out, high and haunting, and silenced every conversation. A thick hush of excitement hung over the field as Oberon—no longer scowling—rose gracefully to his feet.
His lips curved into a smile as he swept the crowd with his gaze … and as his eyes lingered first upon Lorelei’s face, and then upon Gerard’s, that smile widened ominously.
“It is time,” he announced, “to begin the most entertaining segment of this year’s games—one newly added late last night for the court’s particular enjoyment.
I promise you all, by the end of today’s trials, less than half of our competitors will remain in play …
and many others may be lost to us forever. ”
Lost forever? Lorelei’s eyes narrowed as Oberon’s smile morphed into a sneer of satisfaction. What was that weasel planning to make him look so giddy? And what did that mealy-mouthed warning mean?
Every trial in the Tournament of Leaves ran the risk of death. What made this one any different?
Looking directly at her, Oberon gave a nod of taunting condescension that mirrored her own earlier move far too well for comfort. Then he turned to the rest of their audience and dramatically raised his arms. “Let Day Two of the tournament begin!”