A war rages in my chest. Every single thing he’s saying is everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve agreed to. Safety. Security. The end of the constant fight to survive.
It’s so easy to let him take over.
And that’s the problem.
I force a scoff. “You don’t own me now, you know.”
His blue eyes darken, amusement flickering into something more dangerous. “Sweetheart, I owned you the second you decided I was your best option.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Because he’s right.
As Mackenzie would say, I sold my soul and punani for comfort. For money. Forhim.
Maybe he could fight back against the guards, maybehe’d even win. But me? I’m at their mercy—and his.
Alder watches me, head tilted, like he’s waiting for me to catch up to something obvious. Then he sighs, low and indulgent, like I’m a child throwing a tantrum over a scraped knee. “Come here.”
Before I can react, he grips my wrists, shifts his weight, and pulls me firmly enough that my body follows, sliding across the plush carriage seat with zero resistance. The soft cushions absorb my stumble, and then I’m right beside him, my thigh skimming against his as the scent of him—apples and linen and something darker, warmer—fills my lungs.
His hand comes up, fingers threading into my hair with a touch so gentle it unravels something inside me, something I should keep locked up tight. He strokes down the length of it, slow, like he has all the time in the world, and then he bends, brushing a kiss to the top of my head.
“There she is.” His lips move against my scalp, sending a slow, unwelcome shiver down my spine. “I told you. I’ve got this.” His hand shifts, his palm smoothing over my shoulder, his breath warm against my temple. “Everything is going to be okay.”
I keep my back straight at first, my shoulders tense and stiff beneath the weight of his arm. My gaze locks onto the passing blur of green fields and distant trees beyond the carriage window, but I can’t focus. The questions spinning in my mind are loud, but Alder’s voice is louder, stronger, curling in the spaces between my ribs, coiling into a steadiness that almost feels safe.
The tension bleeds from my body in slow increments. My shoulder softens first, leaning ever so slightlyinto his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing pulls me closer, and it’s comforting. So, so comforting.
My head tips until it finds the curve of his chest.
He strokes his fingers through my hair again, and I let myself relax.
I don’t trust him. But right now, I need him.
Outside, the guards ride alongside the carriage on horseback, their polished armor catching the light and glinting like mirrors. Beyond them, endless fields stretch out, the tall grasses bending in the breeze. Their pale tips shimmer like liquid gold under the relentless sun, a living, breathing sea of light and movement. It’s beautiful, almost hypnotic, but my attention is quickly pulled to the horizon.
I sit up and shove the curtain aside, pressing closer to the glass as my gaze sweeps over the landscape. Massive structures dot the field, their hulking forms grotesquely beautiful. One strides on long, insect-like legs, its spindly joints clicking and whirring as it moves. Steam hisses from pipes that jut out at odd angles, shrouding the giant contraption in shuddering mist.
Another machine—a huge, gleaming sphere—spins lazily in place. Its exposed inner workings are a maze of burnished steel that pumps and pulses with the fire of pistons and faint puffs of steam. Gears line its outer shell, spinning in perfect harmony, their silver teeth glinting.
The air seeping into the carriage is thick, heavy with a metallic tang that coats my tongue. It’s sharp and salty and laced with the acrid bite of oil and tinged with electricity, like a storm waiting to break.
I press a hand against the glass. “What are thosethings?”
Alder leans forward beside me, peering out like we’re simply admiring the view. His fingers rest casually on the edge of the window, as if we’re not lumbering toward something unnatural and inexplicable.
“Impressive,” he murmurs, brows lifting in appreciation.
“Impressive?” The word sticks in my throat like a splinter. “You cannot be serious.”
He glances at me, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Come on, sweetheart, don’t tell me you’re not at least a little awestruck.”
“Awe isn’t the word I’d use,” I mutter. My skin prickles as the low hum of the machines vibrates through my chest and the carriage lurches forward. “Those things could crush us. What if they’re weapons? What if they’re—”
“They’re not weapons.” His tone is maddeningly casual, as if we’re discussing weather and not towering metal nightmares that could stomp us into the dirt. “Look at how they’re moving. They’re working. See the pipes on that one?” He nods toward the massive sphere. “They’re likely venting heat. It’s regulating itself.”
“And nothing says safety like machines the size of buildings needing to regulate their own heat.”
Alder chuckles and drapes an arm over the back of the carriage seat, fingers idly playing with the loose strands of my hair. “You worry too much.”
