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CHAPTER ONE

“Sandra, don’t.” Griffin held her arm in a gentle clasp, his voice low and insistent. “It’s too dangerous. You’ve lasted this long. Why risk everything now?”

Sandra glanced up at him, at his intense light blue eyes, and her heart tightened in her chest. Sometimes the way he looked at her, like he did now, made her think the Goddess hadn’t forgotten about her after all.

Griffin was always looking out for her.

But right now she had a job to do and meant to see it through.

She kept her voice to a whisper. “I have to do this. I have to help the Ruby Fae escape. It’s my destiny. The reason I’m here. I’m convinced of it.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘destiny’. Only survival. And I need you to survive. You’ve become important to me. Dammit, Sandra, don’t do this.”

She searched his eyes, stunned by his words. Was it possible he cared about her as much as she’d come to rely on him? He’d made the last year in the fortress a place of hope for her. Maybe she’d done the same for him.

He stood six-five in his traditional Guardsman black leather pants and incredibly sexy thigh boots. He had long hair like all the warriors who served Mastyr Ian of Camberlaune. Though since his capture, he’d lost the traditional woven clasp to hold it back. Instead, he used a piece of leather to keep his thick black hair in place.

Her heart responded as it always did to the warrior, like it had never known how to beat before. Or at least not for a long time, not since she’d come to the Ancient Fae’s fortress thirty years ago.

And he was worried about her.

Still holding her arm, he glanced up and down the corridor.

She felt his nerves.

Hers were the same.

On fire.

She stood with him in the hallway by the fortress kitchen, her hands shaking. She was attempting to match the black wrought iron key she held in her hand to the duplicates hanging like laundry on a row of pegs down the corridor. If she could slip Mistress Regan a key, the woman could finally escape her tower cell and flee the fortress. At least, that was Sandra’s current hope and plan.

Margetta had abducted Regan, also known as the Ruby Fae, from her Fae Guild retreat in Swanicott Realm a full month ago. The entire fortress and adjacent army camp had talked of little else since. Having Regan locked up in the fortress tower was a tremendous coup for Margetta. Rumors had flow that soon the Ancient Fae would put her massive army in motion and complete her takeover of the Nine Realms.

Sandra despised Margetta and her Invictus army more than anything. And the longer Regan had remained locked up, the more powerful Sandra’s drive had become to do what she could, even to risk her life, to help the woman escape. The Ruby Fae had a wonderful reputation among all Realm-folk. She was known as a very wise, gifted fae who spent her years training lesser fae in their powers and in the ways of the Fae Guild.

Yes, Sandra believed it her destiny, something that might redeem her thirty years of dressing Margetta’s hair, preparing her rose water baths, and trimming her disgusting toenails.

Griffin could argue with her all he wanted, but Sandra had to find the duplicate key.

She’d stolen the original from the fat troll guard who had command of a number of the fortress keys, including the one to the tower cell. She’d brought him a forbidden pint of fortress-brewed beer while he was on duty, knowing he’d soon be taking his tour of the dungeon cells. While he guzzled, she’d slipped behind him and taken the key from its hook. Before he could gather his senses, she’d offered to walk with him to the stairwell. He’d leered at her in his usual way, twirling the key ring on his finger.

As soon as she located the duplicate and matched it to the original, she would return the key to the guardroom. But it had to be soon, before the guard climbed the stairs and reached his station once more. If he discovered the tower key was missing, he’d sound the alarm, which is why she didn’t want to give the original to Regan. Handing over the duplicate to the Ruby Fae would offer Sandra a layer of protection.

Griffin leaned close again. “And how do you propose getting the k

ey to the Ruby Fae once you find it? Or have you forgotten you have company every time you head to the tower?” The same troll guard went with her, key in hand, to unlock the cell door. He was also known as one of Margetta’s most loyal spies.

“That’s the easy part. I’ll roll it in a towel and take it with me for the next meal.” One of her jobs was to carry meal trays to Regan’s cell three times a night, a service she performed happily for the fortress housekeeper, Yvonne.

The good woman, a troll enslaved to Margetta for the past sixty years, was presently having a lie-down in her bedroom. She often stretched out on her bed between meal preparations, a brandy bottle clutched to her chest. At this hour, most of the house staff was outside gathering food for the next meal, combing the forest for deadfall for the camp fires, or doing the army staff’s bidding.

Sandra, as one of three personal maids to the most wretched woman in all the Nine Realms, rarely left the stone walls of the fortress. She had recently finished dressing Margetta’s blond hair in the long curls she preferred, which meant Sandra wouldn’t be needed by her mistress for at least a couple of hours. So, if she was going to steal the duplicate key, now was the time.

Despite Griffin’s disapproval of her plan, he stuck close as she checked key after key.

“I hear someone coming,” he whispered. “We should get out of here.”

At that, she had to smile, but kept her voice low. “With your vampire hearing, no doubt you just zoned in on the rats scuttling through the upstairs bedrooms.”

He grunted. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You realize if Margetta finds out, she’ll have you tortured and killed.”

Sandra repressed a sigh. In so many ways, she was dead already. She’d served in the stone, castle-like fortress for nearly three decades as a house slave. Only the last year, since Griffin arrived, had she begun to feel alive again. But they were both fortress slaves, so what good would it do to get too attached to him, or anyone for that matter?

The past rose up suddenly like a terrible wind. She blinked slowly, her mind caught on the memory of losing her husband and young son during an Invictus attack. All the images became a demanding horror show, like watching a movie she couldn’t turn off. Her boy, only four, had clung to her, burying his face against her hip as an Invictus pair slaughtered her kind-hearted fae husband.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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