7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
W e ride well into nightfall.
The deeper into the Steel Court we travel, the thicker the forests become. Lush greenery lines the road, the forest floor on either side of us covered in a dense blanket of ferns, shrubbery, and multi-colored red, orange, and yellow toadstools of mismatched heights. The trees are taller here, looking as if they could touch the stars that light our path. Patches of moss and lichen cling to the tree trunks, leaving only flecks of bark visible through the growth.
Memories of these woods from my childhood come back to me in fragments. Given my mother’s position as Head of House, it was rare that we left Illnamoor. While the forests were visible from within the city walls, they were far enough away that I couldn’t explore them as much as I had wanted to.
But despite that, there were times my sister Vestella and I would accompany my mother and father on visits to the Wynterliffean mine, to the south. Named for my bloodline, the mine is the largest producer of steel within the Steel Court’s borders.
During my parents’ meetings with the fae responsible for overseeing the mine’s operations, Vestella and I would pretend to be mighty warriors, battling make-believe, legendary beasts of folklore. We would find downed branches and imagine that they were our broadswords, sparring with the thick tree trunks that we’d declared to be enemy invaders.
Now, I stare at those same trees in wonder, even as the darkness of night swallows most of the forest surrounding us.
Guiding the horse forward, Asheros chuckles behind me. “Have you forgotten what the forests of your home Court looked like, Bladesinger?”
I swallow. “Would you think less of me if I told you I had?”
That seems to give him pause.
“No,” he says, his voice softening. “How long has it been since you’ve seen them?”
“Nearly sixty years,” I murmur, my voice trailing off. “Since I first left for Keuron.”
He’s silent for a moment. “I hadn’t realized. ”
“Not many do.” Something in my chest tightens when I form the words. “I don’t talk about home much.”
Part of me silently prays that he doesn’t ask why. I’m not ready to answer that question.
Not yet.
But, to my relief, he says, “Tell me something about these woods.”
“Well,” I start, “it’s said they’re home to many creatures that only awaken after dark.”
“Oh?” he asks, his voice lilting in interest. “Do tell.”
“My father used to tell my sister and I stories about the gnomes, trolls, and stone giants that many believe lurk here. Stories about fae children who wandered into the woods at night, never to return.”
“Tell me more.” Loosening his grip on the horse’s reins, there’s a gentle sincerity to Asheros’s voice that makes me want to share everything I know.
“Gnomes are mischievous, but they’ll be loyal to you if you can earn their respect. Trolls will eat you the first chance they get, but they’ll turn to stone if touched by sunlight. Stone giants are incredibly strong, but they’re slow,” I remark, recalling my father’s tales. It feels as though it’s been ages since I saw him. Since I sat with him around the fireplace during the long winter nights. He hadn’t said it aloud, but I knew my father had been worried when I decided to leave and join the Guard.
“Interesting,” Asheros muses. “Do you believe the stories?”
“Not anymore,” I reply, releasing the tension in my upper body. “But I used to.”
“Why is that?” he asks, curiosity bleeding through his demeanor. “Have you ever encountered such a creature?”
“There was one time,” I admit, my lips tugging into something akin to a smile. “I was playing with my sister, but she was off looking for stones we could use to build our pretend fortress. When I was alone, I thought I saw a gnome duck behind a tree.” I let out an airy laugh. The memory is so vivid, it feels as if it happened only yesterday. “Gods, I was terrified.”
“You, terrified? Of a gnome?” Asheros asks. There’s a light, but dismissive note to his voice. “Those don’t sound very formidable.”
“Ah, but that’s what they want you to think,” I explain. “It’s said that gnomes appear to be friendly, but they’ll trick you if you’re not careful.”
“Oh, will they now?” Leaning forward so that his chest brushes my shoulder blades, Asheros adds, “I suppose I should be wary of gnomes, then.”
“Yes.” I work to keep my breath steady. He and that gods-damned ability of his to accelerate my heartbeat without my permission. “You should.”
“And you?” Low and husky, his voice sends shivers down my body. “Will you trick me if I’m not careful, Bladesinger?”
“Perhaps,” I say .
“Perhaps,” he repeats, his breath hot on my neck.
The desire to arch my back and drive my rear into him almost overwhelms me. I dare to let myself imagine what that might feel like, to have his hardness pressed against me. To reach for him, and entwine my fingers in that silky, white-blond hair.
Don’t lose focus.
I cough, as if to clear my throat. “We’re near the Wynterliffean mine.”
Asheros doesn’t deny it. “We are.”
“How close?” I ask.
He goes quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, the huskiness in his voice is gone, replaced by his usual, cool, and even tone. “About half a day’s ride.”
Surprise lifts my brows. I didn’t think he’d answer that question. “You still haven’t told me where we’re headed.”
“I’m aware.” He straightens his posture, leaning away from me.
“It’s late,” I say.
“I’m aware of that, too.”
“Aren’t you going to make camp for the night?” I ask, loud enough for the others to hear. “You know the horses need to rest.”
Asheros grumbles. “Don’t tell me you’re making it a habit to inform me of things I already know, Bladesinger.”
“You clearly need reminding.”
“She does make a fair point,” Savell calls. “The horses need rest, and so do we.”
Behind me, Asheros sighs. “Very well. We’ll camp for the night. But come dawn, we leave.”
We veer off the road and into the woods. Darkness seems to swallow us, the dense canopy over our heads obstructing the light of the moon and stars that had been guiding our course. Rustling echoes somewhere in the distance. An owl coos above us.
Our steed hesitates, seemingly startled by something.
My body goes still.
“Are you second-guessing your demand to camp for the night, Bladesinger?” Asheros’s tone is light with humor. “Ah, I think I may have just seen a gnome.”
Frowning, I turn around and shove him. “Of course not.”
Despite my bravado, I can’t shake the feeling that something here is off, somehow. Every combat instinct I have is telling me to be on my guard.
With some encouragement from Asheros, the stallion advances. We travel deeper into the woods, farther from the road, and then dismount. Savell and Ronan secure the horses to a tree trunk, while Kheldryn and Gryska begin to unpack the tents.
“No fire tonight,” Asheros commands. Keeping his eyes on me, he reaches into the satchel that’s still strapped to his mount.
“No fire?” I ask.
“You and I both know you’re perfectly aware of the reason why,” Asheros says, giving me a look.
He’s right. I know exactly why he doesn’t want to light a fire. It would call attention to us. The smoke, more so than the light it would generate. We’ve already had one close encounter with guards today, and he doesn’t want a repeat.
Closing the distance between us, Asheros clasps my wrists, fingers brushing the troilite cuff.
“What are you—”
He wraps a piece of rope around both of my wrists and pulls it through a loop until it’s wound tight. I pull at it, and the more force I use, the more the rope bites into my skin.
“You prick!” I seethe. “The troilite already saps me of strength. The rope is completely unnecessary.”
“Do you really expect me to leave you unsecured in a forest this dark?” Asheros leans forward until our faces are merely inches apart, while tying the other end of the rope around his belt loop. “Come now, love. I can’t have you running away again, can I?”
“After tonight, you’re going to wish I had,” I snap.
His face lights up with amusement, and his mouth parts into that wicked grin. “Don’t tempt me, Bladesinger.”
“Urgh!” I tug at my restraints when what I really want to do is knee him in the crotch. Ruse be dammed.
Asheros chuckles.
“As soon as I’m free, I’m going to slap you.”
“So you’ve said. As long as it’s your hands touching my pretty face, Bladesinger,” Asheros purrs, “you can do whatever you’d like.”
I grit my teeth. Now, I do want my hands on his face.
But not to slap him.
I groan in frustration. How can this male wield my own aggression against me and do it so seductively?
With the tents pitched, Asheros moves deeper into the camp, tugging me along with him. Resisting, I lean back and shift my weight to my heels.
He pulls at the rope again, this time, looking back at me over his shoulder. “Must you make this difficult?”
“You can’t honestly expect me to give in so easily.”
“Mmm, that is true,” he murmurs, glancing up like he’s considering my statement. “You will make me earn it, won’t you?”
My lips part for my breath. “Earn what?”
Asheros turns to face me, leaning forward to look into my eyes. His stare darkens, taking on a hungry, ravenous quality, and my lungs forget to work. “Everything,” he breathes.
I’m transfixed, seemingly unable to tear my gaze from his.
He shares my expression, that hungry look lingering on his face. His eyes drop to my lips.
I swallow.
Is he…?
Just when I think he might kiss me, Asheros leans back, gently tugging at the rope binding my wrists. This time, I obey and follow him where he leads.
I don’t notice Gryska or Ronan, which tells me they must have retired for the night. On the way to their tents, Savell and Kheldryn mutter their “goodnights” to one another. When we cross paths with them, Asheros dips his head to Savell and smiles at Kheldryn, wishing her a goodnight.
She tilts her head down a little, tucking her shiny, white hair behind her ear. “Goodnight.” Then she glances at me. “Both of you.”
I flash her a tight-lipped smile. Asheros nods, and then we step into our tent.
Our tent?
My brows knit together.
His tent. There is no our tent.
I let out a huff. It’s become increasingly difficult to stay focused around Asheros. He’s a distraction. A hindrance to my duty and mission to unravel his plans. One I don’t care for, any more than the rope tying my hands.
Asheros kneels and unfurls a bedroll on the right side of the tent with one hand. He stands, grasps another bedroll, and then spreads the second bedroll next to the first.
Either he notices my distaste, or he already expects it, because he turns around to face me. “Relax, Bladesinger.” A self-assured smirk plays at his mouth. “I won’t cuddle with you unless you beg me.”
I glower at him. “I don’t beg.”
“That’s quite a shame, isn’t it?”
“Maybe for you,” I retort.
“Mmm, it is a gods-damned shame for me,” he drawls, his crystalline gaze capturing my own. He’s not touching me, but the heat of his icy eyes on mine makes me feel as though his hands are all over my body. “I would very much enjoy hearing you beg.”
I swallow. Whatever focus I have quickly slips away. If Ceren was here, she would scold me, but I’m too far gone to hear her lessons in my head.
“Would you?” My voice is a shell of what it was moments ago.
Asheros steps closer to me, closing the gap between us. Spruce and the scent of a coming storm grace my nostrils. “I would.”
A magnetic pull seems to thrum in the air that separates us, sparking a fire in my chest. And even though every fiber in my body is urging me to put it out, I can’t find the strength to do it.
“You’d have to make me.” My voice takes on a sultry quality—one I’m not used to hearing.
“Make you?” His expression darkens. “And how would I do that?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t earn it.” I tilt my head up to his. “And we can’t have that.”
“Mm-hmm,” he agrees, subtly running his tongue across his lips, causing my breath to hitch in my throat. “No, we can’t.”
His gaze lingers on me, jaw tensing like he’s restraining himself from touching me. He doesn’t move. The heat of his body warms mine, and I almost let myself imagine what it would be like to grab him by the collar and drag his mouth down to mine.
Focus, Lymseia. This is the male that captured you. The male that ordered your guards to be killed. My mate, or my murderer. I can’t keep allowing his charms to slip past my defenses.
Not if I want to protect Inatia.
Clearing my throat, I turn my face. “I’m going to sleep.”
Asheros nods, but the tension in his jaw doesn’t fade. “Me as well.”
An awkward silence falls around us. I press my lips together, and make for the bedroll on the right, lying as far from him as the rope tying us together allows. I consider asking him to remove my bindings, but after my last escape attempt, I’m fairly certain I know how that would go.
After a while, he lies down beside me on the other bedroll. He rests on his back, and because of the rope binding my wrists to his belt loop, I’m forced to lie on my side, facing him.
Shutting my eyes, I do my best to ignore his proximity.
What’s wrong with me?
I shouldn’t let myself get so distracted, or… relaxed. Asheros is a traitor, and my loyalties are to the crown and my kingdom. I should be doing my damnedest to gain his trust and learn who else is involved in his scheme, so I can deliver them to Viridian for judgment before they destroy the new Inatia we’re working so hard to build.
Then, I can return to my place at Court, to my duty as a diplomat. The voice of the High King and Queen of Inatia. A representative of the crown.
That is my place, now.
Apprehension closes around my throat.
Illnamoor is my place, now. Discussing politics and strategy among finely dressed nobles. Maintaining appearances. Playing nice. Compromising. Swallowing my pride to appease the nobles, even when I believe they’re being pig-headed.
A duty I never wanted.
Picking up a sword and fighting an opponent is so much easier than battling with words. Showing strength and inspiring my guards to follow me is so much easier than convincing nobles, who may have never seen combat, to ally with me.
But perhaps even in that, my sister would be the better choice.
“I expected more from you.”
How many times had I heard those words from my mother after my lessons, soured by her uncaring disappointment? How many times had I tried even harder, over and over, just to hear them again?
“I expected more from you.”
How many times had I put on a brave face, only to break down once I’d reached the privacy of my bedroom, replaying those five words over and over again? How many times had I wished, for once, to hear something different?
To hear she was proud of me?
“I expected more from you.”
Well, perhaps, she’d always expected too much from me.
A stark contrast to my mother’s, Viridian’s words echo in my mind.
“We need someone we can trust. We need you, Lymseia.”
I let out a long sigh.
“I’m not meant for this,” I murmur to myself. “I’ll only let you down.”
The weight of my fear― my failure ―swells in my chest and overflows. Tears threaten to well in my eyes, and my throat burns. A horrible knot forms in my stomach, rising to choke me. I slow my breathing, aiming to bury my emotions deep within me. Emotions, like anything else, are deadly in battle.
Ceren taught me that, too.
“Bladesinger?” Asheros asks softly.
Frantically, I wipe my eyes, inadvertently pulling at the rope binding. I curse under my breath. My control—my focus —slipped away.
Again.
“What’s wrong?” Asheros presses, his expression pinched with worry.
“Nothing.” Hardening my expression, I lock my vulnerability behind a wall as durable as the steel of my twin blades .
“Bladesinger,” he says. Though it retains its tenderness, his voice is firm. “Something— someone —hurt you, didn’t they.”
It’s not a question.
“Didn’t they?” he repeats.
“You’re my kidnapper,” I say, my voice hard. “Why would I tell you who hurt me?”
A lethal calm settles into his crystal-blue eyes, making them colder than ice. “So, someone did hurt you.”
Without meaning to, I’d said too much.
“Who, Bladesinger?” Asheros’s voice is barely above a simmer, full of deadly purpose. “Who should I bring to their knees before you?”
Tightening my jaw, I ignore him.
Before he has the chance to argue with me, the horses’ shrieks ring out, splitting the silence.