Chapter Fourteen

There is no pain or suffering. No love or joy. Here, I'm no one.

I float among a sea of bright silver balls spun from moonlight. My fingers sink into the sliver of a crescent moon and disappear into a translucent, shimmering crevice. Molten starlight the shade of honey drips from the tips of my fingers when I pull my hand away.

The peaceful, bright blue water I float in transforms into a sea of gold when my fingertips graze the surface. A cool breeze kisses my skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Despite the chilled air, the water beneath me swathes my bones with warmth.

A sigh of contentment passes my lips as I inhale the scent of the sea. Turning my head, my reflection stares back at me across the water's golden, mirror-like surface.

With the next inhale between my parted lips, searing fire lances through my temple. Despite the pain, I strain to concentrate on the sounds that echo in the distance. The crisp clicking of boots, a midnight breeze carrying the scent of pine.

"I will guard her—"

"You will. And should you not—"An abundance of warmth rushes through me and nestles into my bones.

"Yes, My—"

My eyes snap open when cold sweeps in, and the serene lake fades to an abyss of darkness once more. Soft golden light bathes the silver and onyx tent peaks above me in shadows as I blink. Silver.

I scurry backward and groan when my head meets thick wood with a sickening thunk. My ankles peek out from the thick brown furs that cover me with the movement. The cot I lie on is smaller than my own in the Amber Palace, but the soft material beneath my fingers is luxurious.

To my right, ornate rugs of the same black and silver cover the soft earth. Propping myself up on my elbows, I tilt my head to study the layout of them. The patterns on each rug seem to form a strange puzzle that I can't quite make out.

A long, rectangular table that looks to be made of a bittercrass tree sits in the center of the room and stretches the length of the tent. Various pieces of parchment, ink, and maps litter the smooth, dark table.

A dry swallow works down my throat when the golden light reflects off a pair of onyx boots sitting in the far left corner of the tent. A black tunic and breeches with silver stitching lie in a heap beside them.

"Yer Grace."

I freeze when a deep baritone voice fills the space, the mocking inflection hanging thick in the air.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, to register the silhouette sitting in a wooden chair at the foot of the bed. Given the height of his shadow dancing along the wall, he's a large man. A very large man. Nefarious thoughts filter into my mind as he leans forward and sneers at me, candlelight illuminating his black abyss of a mouth and single front tooth. The muscles in my body still when he places his hands on his knees.

Delight dances in his hazel eyes. "Not so brave without that bloody crown on yer head, are we?" His mocking smile stretches impossibly further across his lips.

My gaze darts around the room in search of a weapon to defend myself. The silver tip of a blade on the table at my bedside glints beneath the soft light and allows me to breathe easier. While the enemy's sheer size will make killing him a near impossible task, the blade will at least be enough to fend him off. Though I'm unashamed of the pleasure I find when bodies join together, I'll slit my throat before I see myself disgraced in such a manner.

"The King left that for ye." Following the path of my gaze, he inclines his head toward the bedside table. "Though I say ye deserve e'ery bit of what that pretty lil' head of yers is thinking." He throws his head back and howls with laughter as the color drains from my face.

Images flood my mind. Blood and dismembered figures littering the scorched earth of the battlefield. My men slaughtered, then my body weakened as I channeled each drop of power inside me. The soft earth beneath my knees, blood dribbling down my chin. The wild and maniacal laughter that escaped my hoarse throat accompanied by a sharp tug in my chest.

Felix.

The corners of my lips twitch upward. For the first time since I discovered my fate is intertwined with the Risian King for all eternity, there is nothing. There is no cry that echoes through my chest or twist of emotion that curls around the bond. Blessed hollowness accompanies thoughts of him, delivering to me a sense of freedom I've never known.

"What, your precious king is of such cowardice that he's left me with the likes of you?" The words are a rasp, grating against my hoarse throat.

I fist the thin wool blanket that covers me when the man suddenly gets to his feet. With my next sharp inhale, he's towering over me. A whoosh of air pierces my lungs as his large, rough hand closes around my elbow. Nausea overcomes me as he jerks me upright.

Pulling out of his grasp, I'm taken aback when I glance down to find that I'm no longer wearing the tunic and breeches I stepped onto the battlefield in. Instead, a silver gown that looks to be spun from moonlight clings to my waist. The material is light and thin, the simple tie around the middle ensuring I'm able to breathe comfortably. I have no reason to ask who dressed me. A whisper in my mind tells me that the possessive male who has taken me prisoner likely saw to the changing of my soiled clothing himself. Sick bastard.

Cutting the gruff man my most withering glare, he eyes me as I saunter to the long rectangular table. I sigh and whisper a silent thanks to the stars when I spy a decanter sitting at its center.

Though the tent is plain, it's also luxurious, even by my standards. My toes sink into the warm fur rugs with each step I take. A settee the color of midnight sits on the far right side of the tent, whorls of silver and gold embroidered into the velvet backing. Silver feather pillows are tucked into each corner of the settee.

Plucking the decanter from the center of the table, I smirk when the scent of glorious wine fills my nose. It's sweet, with the hint of bitterness I prefer. Although it's my enemy's doing, at least I won't have to worry about having a clear mind. Or poison. Some may call it reckless abandon, but it isn't as if the all mighty King of Risian will allow a soul to touch a hair on my head.

Filling the silver goblet that sits at the head of the table, I raise it to the stars. Thanking them for the blessing that is wine, I drain it in one gulp.

"And where is His Grace now?" I relish in the unforced lightness that seeps into my tone. I suppose there is some personal gain in using my powers after all.

I glance over my shoulder and lift a brow when he snorts. "Off tendin' to more important matters, I s'pose."

Wiping the corners of my mouth as a proper lady should, I smile. Existing is so much more pleasant when the shadows of the damnable mirror soul bond are nowhere to be found.

"And where has the oh-so-mighty king instructed his precious cargo be taken?" I say sweetly, savoring the scowl that rests upon the tan skin of his face.

A thud echoes throughout the tent when I set the goblet back down on the table. My eyes narrow to mere slits and I crane my neck upward as he closes the distance between us in two long strides. Seeing that I barely reach his shoulders, he's at least a foot taller than me.

Bile rises in my throat when he leans down and his rancid breath fans across my face. "Guess yer about to find out, ain't ye?"

His hand clamps around my forearm in a vise-like grip and I shriek. "Get your filthy hands off me!"

His hold on me tightens when I attempt to pull out of his grasp and claw at any visible skin I can reach. He doesn't allow me to lose my footing when my legs get tangled in the skirts of my gown from thrashing about. Instead, he readjusts his hold on me. I stumble with a curse on my breath when he lifts the tent flap and drags me in front of him.

Dawn's rays shine in my eyes, forcing me to squint. While the sea of unfamiliar faces is no surprise, it's the quiet that strikes me. Most pay little mind to me. The Risian soldiers resume their conversations in hushed tones that filter into the crisp morning air.

Men love nothing more than enjoying the spoils of war and blustering about their conquests. Despite their losses, Risian forces cut down the stars know how many of my men a night ago. Their king has taken the enemy captive. This should be a celebration filled with boisterous laughter and a copious amount of ale, not the stillness that has settled over the camp.

Instead, men take to the battlefield in the distance. Most of them sort through the carnage that sprawls in each direction as far as my eyes can see. Their silver cloaks billow in the wind as they load maimed bodies into wooden carts. Thick plumes of smoke stretch high into the air, clouding the bright blue day with darkness. Fragments of stone, both large and small, sink into the muddy earth. Whole trees keel over on their sides, their branches askew and stripped of all color.

And the smell. The metallic stench of blood intertwines with the fetor of death and decay. I turn my head and cover my nose as we weave our way through the camp.

I imagine it would be a devastating sight to another. The cold unfeeling that stretches through my chest, however, only takes note of the one that is absent. While I ensured that my kingdom won the battle, Felix now has all that he's wished for. So where is he?

Being led through the camp, it strikes me that not a single woman or child is to be found. My cheeks don't sting with shame when some halt in their tracks and gape at me. In truth, I find a twisted sense of amusement over my current predicament. While I have no regrets about using my powers, I realize that I all but handed myself to the mirror of my soul by doing so.

Although I can't discern why, I believe Felix wanted me to use my powers. He also knew of my plans to kill him. If the truth of the matter wasn't staring back at me in the form of an enemy war camp, I would believe it impossible. Only a select few people were privy to my plans of stepping onto the battlefield.

The grisly man keeps a firm grip on my arm as we weave through the camp, glowering at anyone who catches his eye. Men avert their gazes and return to their task, telling me that he's well-respected. While I can't discern his exact status, it's plain to see that the Risian King holds him in high regard as well.

I turn my head to peer up at him. "Where are we going?"

I sigh when he grunts in response, his eyes remaining trained on the tree line ahead. Although more questions linger on the tip of my tongue as we skirt around the debris of the battlefield, speaking life to them would be a waste. As it would be foolish for me to try to escape, I instead take to studying my surroundings.

In many ways, the layout of the enemy camp is similar to the one I occupied the night before. Quaint onyx tents align in neat rows. Flags bearing the Risian crest of a crescent moon surrounded by stars billow in the breeze.

The flap of a tent to my left is open, revealing what looks to be a makeshift armory. An array of weapons and armor rest on a long wooden table. Silver swords, helmets, breastplates, vambraces, and lances glitter in the morning light.

As we reach the edge of the encampment, I recognize the bittercrass trees towering in the distant north. A dry swallow works down my throat. Though I've never passed through Greenwrath Forest, I know it serves as a border between Minalis and Risian.

Through the wire-like branches and bright emerald leaves that litter the forest floor, I make out eight mounted soldiers along the tree line. Their conversation dies as they catch sight of us and stiffen.

The man who leads the party sits atop a chestnut-colored mount. Compared to other men of my enemy's camp thus far, he's a welcome sight to behold. His face is a smooth plane of tan skin, complete with an exquisite jawline and sharp cheekbones. His golden hair is tied back at the nape of his neck, making his striking features stand out all the more.

My tongue darts out and swipes across my bottom lip when his hazel eyes come to rest on me. Though not the most attractive specimen to warm my bed, he will most certainly do. His hardened gaze flickers to the large man beside me when he slows our steps. Without warning, he releases his hold on me and gives a stiff nod before turning heel.

A slow grin spreads across my lips as Goldie's eyes flicker back to me. "And you are?"

A high-pitched snort bounces off the trees. I tilt my head and arch a brow when my eyes land on the source of the sound.

To my surprise, a female sits upon a charcoal-colored horse. Her dull brown hair is short and frames her long, narrow face and shallow cheekbones in odd angles. The shining breastplate she wears covers her chest and broad shoulders, giving her a masculine appearance.

Raising a gloved hand, she wipes a bead of sweat from her brow. Amusement dances in her eyes when our gazes clash and I lift my chin. Swinging her leg over the horse, she dismounts in one fluid movement. She pulls the glove from her hand with her teeth as she strides forward. "You must be Lady Ellesandra."

"Queen Ellesandra, yes," I reply. My nose wrinkles as my gaze flickers to her outstretched hand.

My eyes become mere slits when I glance up to find her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. I'm quite unsure what's so amusing. Although I am a prisoner in all manners of speaking, I'm also still a queen.

"My apologies." There's a smile behind her voice. Dropping her hand, she turns and steps to the side. "After you, Your Highness."