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“You didn’t think to ask for help?”
“From who? You?” Anthea huffed as she struggled with her stuck dress.
He crouched down, grabbed her waist, and lifted her up. “Your hand has been strained too much these past few days. It needs to rest and recover,” he said as he tugged up her dress, removing it from her.
“What are you doing?!” She tried to push him away. She was so sick of being manhandled by him.
“You will get sick again if you leave these on.” The warrior wrapped her in a towel and stepped back. “Let me remove them.” His gray eyes were earnest as they held hers.
Anthea let out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders sagging in defeat—she was so tired of being so helpless all the time, so fucking tired. “Alright,” she let out. “Just . . . just be gentle.”
He gave a singular nod in response.
Slowly, she turned her back to him, feeling her cheeks flame. His touch was feather-like and respectful as he unwrapped the bandages on her back, revealing the raw lines where she had been whipped. He had taken off almost all the linen strips when she felt his hands still against her back, pausing for a long moment, his fingers warm against her skin. Alarm shot through her.
“What is it?” she managed, choked by the lump in her throat.
Eldrion’s voice was strained as he stripped the last bandages, “Nothing, you can . . . you can continue dressing.” He handed her the dress. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said, turning his back to her.
She pulled her dress back on. It was a lot easier without the wet strips. She then looked at the discarded bandages, hesitating for a moment.
“Eldrion, do I need to put new bandages on?”
There was a pause before he answered. “No need. The wounds aren’t bleeding anymore.”
31
Eldrion led Anthea into a room that felt both grand and cozy. It was a private suite of some kind, with a large window that overlooked the majestic view of the mountains, the sprawling valley below, and the rushing river that cut through it. Beyond that, the vibrant town looked like a painting from this height, the morning sunlight casting a golden hue over everything.
On a dark brown round table in the middle of the room, breakfast had been laid out—fresh bread, fruits, eggs, and pastries. A pitcher of green juice and a pot of something hot, possibly tea, was also present. It felt lavish, indulgent—very different from the sparse meals she’d been having lately.
As she stood there, taking it all in, a door from the adjacent bedroom opened.
Dressed in a light green gown that shimmered with each movement, her golden hair cascading down her back, the queen of the Nephrite court emerged—she was a vision in the golden morning light.
“Anthea,” the queen greeted her warmly, opening her hands and grasping her elbows lightly. “I am Fyralin. From now on, these will be your rooms.” She kept one hand on Anthea’s elbow as she glided the other through the air, showcasing the large space.
Anthea gave a curt nod in acknowledgment. Despite the luxurious surroundings and the promise of a proper meal, she couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that settled within her. The day before, they had forced her to stand in a room, where they had discussed her like an object, and now this? They were buttering her up—preparing her for something. She could see the Nephrite queen observing her, studying her reaction. She gave her a tight smile—for now, she decided, she’d play along, she didn’t have much choice anyway.
Fyralin gestured toward the array of food on the table with a warm smile. “Please, sit and eat. You must be famished,” she said as she gracefully lowered herself into the chair across from the one she’d indicated for Anthea. Once seated, Fyralin leaned back, her hazel eyes drifted from Anthea’s wet hair to her slightly wet dress, her brow lightly furrowing, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she glanced at Eldrion by the door. “Dealing with males can be quite a challenge,” she began, sliding her eyes back to Anthea. “Especially the males of our kind. They can be . . . a tad misguided.” Her eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement as she sent Eldrion a meaningful glance. “You may wait outside, Eldrion. I assure you, she will be safe here with me.”
The warrior, for his part, didn’t argue. He bowed his dark head respectfully before exiting the room, his tall form disappearing behind the door.
Turning back to her, Fyralin’s mirth faded, replaced by a look of deep sincerity. “It is not an excuse for their actions, but it is a fact nonetheless.” She paused, reaching across the table to pour a cup of steaming red tea. “Please sit. I mean it, Anthea—you are safe in here.”
Anthea finally sat down, picking the farthest chair from the elven female.
Fyralin held her eyes as she let out a quiet sigh. “I am aware of how you have been treated . . . how my husband has handled things. It is far from just or fair.” She pushed the teacup and saucer nearer to Anthea, her eyes filling with a hint of sorrow. “For what it is worth, I am truly sorry for what you have been put through.” Fyralin took a moment to savor her own cup of tea, her eyes never leaving hers.
“Ah, so your husband sends you to apologize for his actions.” Anthea took a piece of bread from the center of the table and put it on her porcelain plate.
The queen’s lips quirked up slightly at the corner. “That is a fair observation,” she admitted, putting her teacup back on the saucer. “Galodir thought it better if I would explain some things to you. He acknowledges his mistakes and recognizes our approach to you has been . . . flawed.” Fyralin picked up a slice of purple fruit, inspecting it for a moment before continuing. “After what happened last night, it is become clear we have pushed you too far.”
“You’ve all decided to change tactics then? No offense meant. But all this sudden change—a prison dressed up with a pretty bow is still a prison. Why should I believe your intentions are different? That anything has changed.”
“A fair question,” the queen replied, her voice maintaining its soothing tone. The soft morning light filtering in from the large window highlighted her sharp cheekbones, the same cheekbones Vaelor seemed to have. “And it is true. I am not different. I, like everyone else here, have a role to fulfill, a responsibility to carry out.” She leaned back in her chair, her gaze momentarily drifting away from Anthea to the view beyond the window. Her fingers absently traced the rim of her plate. “As the queen, I am bound by rules and expectations, just like my counterparts. But, unlike my husband, I chose to see you not just as a means to an end, but as a person—I suppose that makes me a bit different in a way.” Her hazel eyes shifted back to Anthea, a profound empathy reflected in them. “I came here today to help you understand the reality of the situation you are in. Not to placate you with lies and false promises, but to help you find your way through this complicated web we have caught you in.”
For all the mistrust she felt, there was a part of Anthea that wanted to believe in Fyralin, in the possibility of a different perspective within the confines of this unfamiliar world. She pushed it down. Trusting these elves had brought her no good?—
