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“Kaelan and Haldrian will accompany you. I wanted to be there with you, but a prince is needed elsewhere.” The slight tension in his jaw and the hard glint in his eyes told her this decision hadn’t been made lightly. If he had a choice . . . he would be there with her.
“It’s alright, Endreth. I know you have responsibilities.”
“Think clearly,” he murmured. “Be cautious in that cave. Do not take any risks you don’t absolutely have to.” He took a deep breath, and glanced at Eldrion. A silent understanding seemed to pass between the two males. “I need to go,” he finally said, cupping her cheek. “Farewell, Thea.” He let go of her then and with a final, curt nod to Eldrion, the prince turned on his heel and left.
Watching him go, she felt strangely isolated, like a parcel handed over from one owner to the next. It didn’t feel right. Straightening her posture, she lifted her chin and turned to face Eldrion, silently daring him to comment on any of it.
The Nephrite warrior kept his eyes on her. A sigh escaped him, and he brought a hand up, rubbing his temples.
“We’ll leave shortly,” he said. “Be ready.”
Beldor had gone ahead to meet with a Nephrite court’s spy: an elven maid who had been embedded in the Iron Castle by the House of Nephrite sixty years ago. The spy would join them on their journey. She knew the fortress best, knew the secret routes out of it.
Anthea followed Eldrion through the stone corridors, her head bowed and her eyes downcast. He kept a gentle grip on her elbow, tugging her along with him, guiding her through the crowds of elven nobles. The sounds of laughter and the clinking of glasses from the ongoing festivities grew muffled as they moved deeper into the fortress.
They turned a corner and Eldrion stilled, turning his head sharply toward the winding corridor. Then, he gritted his teeth and pushed her against the wall.
“What—”
“Play along . . .” the elf murmured softly. Anthea froze, she could hear it now, voices. Coming their way.
Play along. Surely, he didn’t mean?—
She gasped as he lifted her up and stepped between her legs. Almost instinctively, Anthea wrapped her legs around him, wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on. He was so close, she could feel the warmth of him. His eyes found hers, an apology in the gray depth, then his hand gripped her hair and tugged, exposing her neck to him.
Closing her eyes, she swallowed all the sounds she wanted to make as his mouth landed on where her jaw met her neck. His other hand found her thigh, fingers gripping her flesh.
“What do we have here?” an amused voice asked.
Eldrion stilled against her, and a soft kiss landed on her jaw, so similar to the one he had placed on her wrist many weeks ago. Then?—
He stepped away, dropping her abruptly before pivoting around.
Anthea fell to the ground, her rump hitting the stone, making her release a pained gasp. Eldrion had planted himself between the three Iron soldiers and her. His feet were slightly apart. Right leg just a bit more forward than his left. His stance looked casual, but she knew better. Had seen him standing like that countless times at their training. Waiting for her to strike.
“Why don’t you move along. There’s nothing to see here,” he sneered at the three guards.
“You have wandered quite far from the party. These parts are not for the guests,” one of the soldiers warned. “Leave the way you came.”
Eldrion bared his teeth in a snarl. “We will leave once I’m finished here.”
One of the guards smirked at that. “I wouldn’t mind a go at her. Perhaps we could share?—”
“No!” The growl that came from Eldrion reverberated through her. All casualness had left his stance. It was obvious now—he was ready for a fight.
The guards seemed to take note. The one who had proposed to share stepped closer, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. “Then perhaps, we will take her off your hands altogether.”
The Nephrite warrior moved so fast Anthea didn’t even realize what had happened before the two guards on the sides were dead on the ground, small daggers protruding from their necks. Eldrion leaped back as the final guard swung his sword at him. He didn’t have a sword of his own, only another dagger. Anthea crawled on her hands and knees to the closest body and yanked the knife out of its neck. Blood oozed out. Her hands trembled.
No hesitation—it was not for causing permanent harm, only to give a fighting chance.
She repeated these words in her mind as she leaped into a slide, her skin scraping against the stone. As she reached the Iron guard, whose attention was fixated on Eldrion, she plunged the dagger into the back of his knee, making him grunt in pain and fall to his knees.
Eldrion took the opening and thrust his dagger straight through the guard’s neck.
Then he grasped her elbow, lifting her up.
“Are you alright?”
