Chapter 5

T he elves, I decide, are trying to kill me.

"Come on, princess, lift those knees!" Eldrin shouts from the other side of the training area. At least, it feels like that's Eldrin's intention with this workout.

Lungs wheezing, chest heaving, and with my heart threatening to pound itself right out of my chest, I make a rude gesture towards the tyrannical elf as I lean forward, resting my hands on my knees. I focus on trying to slow my breathing, closing my eyes and concentrating on the rise and fall of my chest and the sound of the air entering and leaving my lungs.

How did I go from feeling like a princess at the beginning of last night to this? I ponder dryly, and I wonder if that's exactly why Eldrin demanded that I train today—to put me back in my place. Maybe I'm just feeling bitter after how disastrously everything ended last night—Tor leaving with the queen, and Vaeril disappearing, leaving me to defend myself against his feral friend. Naril had walked me back to my rooms not long after, and I've not seen any of them since. Until Eldrin, that is.

After last night, I didn't think I'd see him for a couple of days while he licked his wounds from the verbal beatdown the queen gave him. Unfortunately, I was wrong. A pounding on my door had announced his arrival, startling me from my breakfast. I suppose I should be grateful that he'd at least waited for me to open the door rather than just barging through it. I can remember how he looked as his eyes tracked up and down my body as I stood in the doorway, my soft, pale blue wrap dress billowing around me from the breeze streaming in through the open window. It was a shocked, unfamiliar, vulnerable expression that crossed his face, and for a second, I wanted to reach out and comfort him. Of course, that didn't last long. He soon returned to his rude, grouchy self and barked that I'd need to change since we were training today.

That look haunts me still. I can't seem to get it out of my head, no matter how much I want to murder him right now.

A shadow falls over me, providing a small bit of shade as I try to cool myself down. I know exactly who it'll be, but I refuse to break my calm for him. He can wait until I can breathe properly again. After all, it's his fault I feel this way in the first place.

"For someone who spent almost a week on the run, you seem to be pretty awful at it." He sounds amused at his own joke, or it could be that he's enjoying seeing me out of breath and in pain. With Eldrin, that wouldn't surprise me—there's no love lost between the two of us.

"Har, har," I reply dryly, and with a sigh, I push up into a standing position, stretching out my sore limbs. Sweat drips down my back, and I'm thankful that my maid, Lillia, managed to find something that would be acceptable for me to work out in.

When I'd asked her why I couldn't just wear what the male elves were wearing to exercise in, she practically fainted from shock and horror and explained that it just wasn't done. Loose, stretchy trousers which pull together at the ankles make it easy to move about in, whilst still looking feminine. The top part wraps together like the dresses I'm used to wearing during the day and hangs down, and along with the flowing trousers, it gives the impression I'm wearing a dress, while still giving me the freedom of movement I need.

Now that my breathing has settled down and my lungs don't feel like they're going to rip themselves apart, I turn to look at the elf who belongs to the shadows. A smirk greets me, riling me up once again. What is it about this guy that just makes me mad all the time? I feel drawn to him for some reason—not the way I am with Vaeril, Tor, and Grayson—but there's something about him that speaks to a part of me. Unfortunately, he also seems to bring out my anger. I'm fairly sure he hates me, but sometimes I see him looking at me with such a heart-breaking sadness that I wonder if I've got him wrong.

"Better, princess?"

Nope. I've not got him wrong. He's a bastard who thrives off the pain of others , I think bitterly as I glare up at him. He started calling me ‘princess' this morning, but I know it's not in a positive way, as he sneers the words at me.

Thanks to the sleeveless outfit I'm wearing, my marks are all on display and stand out against my pale, alabaster skin. Lifting my wrist, I turn it around to expose the marks. "Slave, remember?" His eyes lock onto the brands, his expression turning fierce. Suddenly feeling awkward, I quickly drop my arm and press it to my side so it's hidden from view. Showing off my marks is not something I feel comfortable with. In fact, back in Arhaven, I had to hide them. If anyone saw them, it would've been a death sentence, so now it feels uncomfortable when they're not covered.

Eldrin watches my movements with a frown, and although the marks are now hidden, he stares at my arms. "I remember." He pulls his gaze up, his expression somber as he meets my eyes, and for a moment, I think he's going to try to comfort me or say something kind. "I had hoped that it would make you stronger. I have no idea how you survived for twelve years when you can't even run ten laps."

Shaking my head as he returns back to his surly self, I take a deep, calming breath, and I have to remind myself that having an argument with him out here in the open would be a bad idea. "Running wasn't exactly something they encouraged," I reply with an eye roll, pretending that his comments don't bother me when, in fact, they do.

How dare he say I'm not strong. I've survived torture, punishments, brandings, near starvation, and backbreaking labour. Memories flash through my mind, trying to take over my calm and invade my thoughts. One of the only ways to survive as a slave in Arhaven was to push the memories of what happened to you deep, deep down, and to not think about it. But something about Eldrin brings them back. I don't want to relive them, and certainly not in front of him, so I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart.

When I open my eyes, they're steely as I glare at the elf. "Besides, being able to run has nothing to do with strength," I point out. Strength doesn't always have to be physical. Mental strength gets you through dire situations. I get the feeling, however, that Eldrin wouldn't appreciate that sort of strength, he needs a physical representation. "I carried Vaeril through the forest to get us here."

He winces at the reminder of his friend being in such a poor condition, but my words seem to make him reconsider his judgement. Eyes narrowing, he nods his head at whatever conclusion he's come to. "Okay, princess, show me how strong you are." Opening his arms theatrically, he bobs into a mocking bow and gestures for me to head over to the weights that are stacked up against the far wall.

The training space is a walled off section of grass behind the stables. A running track has been worn into the grass, and a sparring ring lies in the center. The back wall is full of equipment that I might have thought was torture gear if he hadn't told me. Although, I'm sure whatever Eldrin has planned for me will feel like torture.

"Stop calling me that," I mutter under my breath, as I start walking back towards the equipment, although calling my painful hobble a walk is a stretch.

He snorts as he falls into step beside me, and I can feel his gaze on me. I bet he's enjoying every minute of this. "Oh, you don't like it? That's a shame." I can hear the smile in his voice, and I know I was right, he's loving this.

"Why are you being such a bastard today?" I practically growl, as I spin around and glare at him. He looks like he's not going to give it a rest, so I throw my arm out and grab his wrist, gripping hard and yanking him to a stop with all my weight. He stumbles to a halt, looking at me in shock. Letting go of his wrist as if it's on fire, I hurriedly step back to put some space between us and try not to look as startled as I feel.

His expression quickly changes, the shock melting away to a blank mask, but I think I see a flash of pain in his eyes. However, he turns away before I can be sure. "I'm always a bastard, get used to it," he spits out as he skulks away.

Frowning at his back, I can't help but feel like I've offended him. "Eldrin—"

"Over to the weights. Now."

I feel like he's giving me whiplash. One second, he shows me a moment of vulnerability, and just when I think he actually has a heart, he'll turn back into the scowling, surly elf. It makes me want to scream. No one winds me up like he does. I'm usually pretty good at controlling my emotions, it was a necessity in my past, but something about him rips away all of my filters.

Trudging my way over to the rack of weights where Eldrin is waiting, I go through the motions of lifting the weights as he demands. I struggle with it, even after he shows me better techniques on how to lift. After watching me and criticising, he tries something different and stalks away. I stand there, panting in the shade, wondering where he disappeared to. After a couple of minutes, he comes back with several sacks of flour and begins tying a rope to the top of one of the bags. Throwing the end of the rope at me, he instructs me to pull the flour behind me. So, that's how I find myself trudging around the running track with sacks of flour over my shoulders. It's easier to carry them on my shoulders than drag them behind me, something I'd been used to doing as a slave. After a couple of laps, he gives me another sack, and so it continues. I'm getting hot, and the bags are heavy, but it's all been manageable.

A whistle catches my attention, and when I look up, I see Eldrin gesturing for me to return to him. Cutting across the field, I drop the bags of flour at his feet and roll my shoulders to ease the soreness there. Breathing deeply, I put my hands on my hips as I wait for him to say whatever it was he called me over here for.

"You're stronger than I anticipated," he muses reluctantly. "Much stronger than a normal human." He sounds like he's talking to himself more than me, but that part catches my attention. Stronger than a normal human? Does that mean I have the strength of the elves? I remember when I grabbed Eldrin's arm earlier and pulled him to a stop. I hadn't expected him to actually stop, and his expression was just as shocked as I'd felt. I hadn't thought about it much at the time.

Seeing my expression, he frowns, realising that he just complimented me. "You're still weaker than most elves, and you're too skinny, we need to work on that," he points out, almost sounding like he's backpedalling as he tries to make up for the fact that he was almost nice to me.

I don't even bother to respond. I'm exhausted, both physically and mentally, and I don't have the energy to fight with him. Slowly, I go through a series of stretches, working out my sore muscles. I know he's watching me. He's confused as to why I'm not snapping back at him.

"What's wrong with you?" he demands, but I don't even bother to look up. He makes a low growling noise in his throat, and I know if I don't answer him, he'll just get pissy.

"I'm tired, Eldrin." My voice is weary as I drop down into a sitting position, rubbing at the cuffs of the trousers around my ankles. I'd been grateful for them earlier, since they hid the scars from my manacles, but right now, the feeling of the fabric rubbing against my skin is triggering memories of my time as a slave.

"Come on, princess, is a little bit of exercise too much for you?" he sneers, but his voice sounds off, like he doesn't really mean what he's saying.

I don't respond, focusing instead on pushing down the memories that are trying to force their way up.

"Are you injured?" His voice is softer now as he drops into a crouch in front of me. Reaching out, he goes to touch one of my ankles. As soon as I spot the movement and his finger brushes my skin, panic flares to life in my chest. A ragged scream rips from my throat as I scramble backwards. Phantom hands reach out to grab me, to put me back in chains. I can feel Eldrin's horrified gaze on me, not to mention the other elves training in the space, but I can't think about them right now, I'm fighting to separate the present from the past.

"Not the chains," I moan, curling up into a protective ball as my memories overwhelm me. My hands pull at the cuffs on my ankles, desperate to get them off. As I look at them, the fabric turns to metal then back to fabric and so on as my past trauma takes over.

"Clarissa!" Eldrin shouts, but his voice barely breaks through my panic fogged brain. I can see him on his knees in front of me now, leaning forward with his fist clenched in his lap as if he wants to reach out and shake me.

"Not the chains!" I plead, tears tracking down my face. I'm too far into my terror to pick apart what is real and what's not.

"Clarissa! Look at me!" he demands loudly, sounding angry, but it's still not enough to break through. "Look at me." I do as he says. "Good. You are safe. No one is going to hurt you here." His voice is calm now, gentle. Seeing me pull at the cuffs on my ankles, he frowns and puts two and two together, realising what's setting me off. "No cuffs," he agrees. Reaching out, he takes the cuff of the trouser and tears it, instantly freeing my ankle.

Gasping, I take a deep, shuddering breath as I look down at my now free ankle. "I'm safe. I'm safe," I repeat to myself, focusing on the raised, scarred skin. Eldrin's sudden movement makes me flinch, but he just does the same to the other cuff.

"That's it. Take deep breaths, allow the bad memories to flow out of you with each exhale." Eldrin's voice has taken on a calming tone as he instructs me, the kind you would use with a startled horse. If I wasn't so traumatised, I'd probably find that amusing.

Stretching both legs out in front of me, I follow his instructions and feel the panic start to fade away with each breath. Embarrassment soon replaces it though, and as I open my eyes that I hadn't even realised I closed, I glance around the training area. I feel relief flood me as I see it's completely empty. I don't know where the other elves have gone, but I'm glad no one else is here to see this right now.

We sit together in silence, and I'm grateful for that as I regain control of my mind. Sighing, I look up and see he's still staring at my ankles, his expression pensive, deep in thought. "Eldrin," I call softly. His stony eyes slide up to my face before looking back at my ankles and the scars there.

"Your ankles…" He trails off as if he doesn't know what to say or how to put it into words. Shaking his head, he seems to give up.

Taking pity on him, I clear my throat. "They chained our ankles together to stop us from running away." My voice is quiet but steady. Eldrin looks up at me, his face carefully neutral as I speak, as if any emotion might spook me. "Sometimes they would put cuffs on our wrists, but they realised that we couldn't work as effectively if our hands were bound." I raise both wrists to show the pale skin there. Thankfully the only marks I still carry with me are my goddess mark and my slave brands, all other scratches and wounds disappeared over time. "The cuffs were tight and would rub. Some of the slaves would get unlucky and get an infection in the wounds under the cuffs. They were too tight to be able to clean the wound properly, and a lot of slaves died because of it." My voice is even now, as if I'm simply discussing the weather and not the death of dozens of slaves. I'm staring at my ankles and the ruined trousers, but I'm not really paying attention. My thoughts are on the slaves who died. I feel numb.

"Clarissa, look."

I look up automatically, following his direction, and see that he's gesturing to his neck. Frowning, I try to work out what I'm looking at. The skin there is raised, and parts of it are paler than the rest of his skin. That's when it hits me. His are much more faded than mine, but I would recognise those scars anywhere. Shock breaks through my stupor.

"You were chained up," I say with certainty, my voice quiet. I'm pretty sure he's only telling me this because he feels bad that he, in part, triggered my attack, but I know now why I'm drawn to him—shared experience.

"Yes," he confirms. His body is completely still, and although he tries to hide it, I can feel his pain rolling off of him at having to relive it. He could have said nothing, and I still would've known that I was right.

"What happened?" My voice is soft and timid now that my adrenaline is fading. I know I shouldn't ask when it's obvious how painful he's finding this, but I can't seem to stop myself. Once he's over his shock at seeing me like this, I'm sure he'll return to his usual self, so I want to ask now while we're sharing. Shifting his weight, he pushes up to standing and offers me his hand, which I take, shuffling my feet as I wait for his answer.

For a moment, I don't think he's going to respond, but he suddenly lets out a deep breath, his eyes studying my face. "I was stupid. I got caught, but the humans…they chained me up."

It's a basic explanation by any means, but I appreciate that he told me. Guilt fills me for bringing it up, even though I know I shouldn't feel that way. After all, he volunteered the information, but I hate seeing him in pain, even if he is a pain in my ass. His golden eyes shine with unexpressed emotion as I shift my legs underneath me. No wonder he hates humans so much when even thinking about it brings him this much turmoil.

He's caught up in his memories, and I can practically feel his distress as he relives whatever horror my words have awakened. I'm not sure what makes me do it, whether stupidity or the shared pain made me forget how he usually treats me, but I take a step forward and place my hand on his arm. "But you got away." The words are quiet, but not timid like they were a minute ago. They're filled with force, a reminder that he's stronger than his memories.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he looks at my hand which is touching his arm, his skin hot beneath mine. A few tense moments pass, but eventually, he lifts his eyes to mine. Again, I don't think he's going to say anything, and I get lost in his golden gaze. "So did you." His growly voice is softer than usual, the velvet timbre rolling over me. I have to remember to breathe as I nod my head in agreement.

"I got away." Repeating my earlier words, I realise with shock that he's not looking at me with pity anymore, but respect. I have no doubts that this won't last long and he'll soon be biting my head off because I've offended him with my presence, but right now, we're just two survivors.

We continue to stare at each other in silence, and while I've still got his respect, I ask something that has been bothering me. "You stood up for me yesterday." It's not a question, and it's not what I really want to ask, which is why . Why did he stand up for me when he hates me? He stood between his queen and me, no matter how he tried to cover it. His expression shifts as he watches me warily at the change of subject. He's silent for a time, and I get the impression he's remembering the events of yesterday. Not just in the hallway when he protected me from his queen, getting hit in the process, but when he showed up at the ball last night.

I can't tell if his outburst was because he was truly worried about why Vaeril left the ball with a sour face, or if it's for some other reason. At this point, I don't think he'll tell me, so I push those questions aside as I wait for his reaction to my statement.

Humming low in his throat, he begrudgingly agrees. "I also made you a target for the queen," he counters, not answering my silent question. It's true, he made a scene last night. It was embarrassing, and I thought Tor was going to tear into him. However, the queen had already been watching me dance with the tribesman, she was just looking for an excuse to come over, and Eldrin gave her the perfect in.

"I was already a target for the queen," I reply lightly, shrugging. "She hates me."

He laughs, but it's rueful and without humour. "Ha. Something else we have in common." His statement makes me chuckle, a short, surprised bark of laughter that brings a small, surprised smile to his face.

We both fall silent again, watching each other with wary smiles. What is this between us? Could this be the start of a friendship between us? Just as I think it, his expression changes into his seemingly permanent frown as he moves back and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Right, you've rested long enough," he barks, and gestures to a machine that looks more like a torture device than an exercise machine. "Back to work, princess."

Nope, I was wrong, definitely not a friendship.

"What the hell is that thing?" I grumble, as we start walking over to the equipment against the far wall. I eye it with a distrustful glare. I don't trust anything that looks like it could be used to hurt me, and Eldrin can jump off a cliff if he thinks I'm strapping myself to that thing.

Glancing over at me, he grins briefly as he snorts. "No, we're not using that, it would break you."

I'm so relieved that I don't bother to comment on his insult. Stopping as we reach the equipment, I wrap my arms across my chest as I wait for him to explain what he has planned. If I've learned anything, it will probably be something that makes me want to strangle him, either from the task itself or his constant insults when I don't do it how he thinks I should. Eldrin walks over to the bench next to the terrifying machinery and ducks down, rummaging in a box I assumed was a wooden bench. It's long and stretches about half the length of the wall, the lid lifting to expose a storage area. When he stands up, his arms are laden with black pads.

"Catch," he calls out before throwing something towards me. Yelping in surprise, I automatically reach out and catch the items, which I now see is a padded helmet and odd padded gloves. I look down at them in confusion as a trickle of dread tries to work its way into my thoughts. "We're going to spar," Eldrin explains, picking up more pads which are much larger than what I hold. He slings them over his shoulder and starts walking towards the sparring area in the center of the training yard.

Not moving an inch, I stare at him as he strides away, waiting for him to turn around and tell me he's just pulling my leg. "You're joking, right?" I demand, shouting at his back as he places the pads down and wraps some white tape around his knuckles. "Me and you?" The dread is back now, and I feel a little sick at the prospect of fighting with him. Turning, Eldrin raises an eyebrow at my protests and gestures for me to join him. "You're going to break me!" My complaints fall on deaf ears, and my shoulders droop as I realise I'm not going to get out of this.

"Clarissa." It's a demand, not a request.

Groaning, I make my way over to his side. The gloves and helmet I'm holding suddenly feel heavy, like a dragging weight in my hands, making my trek all the more difficult. Eldrin frowns at me as he watches my slow process.

"What's wrong with you?" His expression says it all, he thinks I'm being a princess, and I brace myself for his snide comments.

"Nothing," I mutter, dropping the gloves on the ground and pulling the strange padded helmet over my head. My stomach flips and nausea fills me as I reach down for the gloves. Fumbling with the straps, I try to work out how to slip my hand into them without getting tangled up.

His shadow falls over me for the second time today, and he's so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. Except this time, he's not exuding his usual asshole vibes. "Stop." His voice is quiet but firm as he places his hand on my arm. He's touched me more times in the last couple of hours than he has since I first met him—not that I'm counting. My fingers stop scrabbling with the glove, and I look up as he gently takes the gloves from me. Placing one between his knees, he lifts the other and starts loosening the ties before grasping my right hand and sliding the glove on. It's odd. He ties it around my wrist, the fabric ballooning out to cover my entire hand. The inside is shaped so my fingers are slightly curved. It's not heavy, but it is cumbersome. I'm so busy examining my now covered hand that I didn't realise he has the other glove ready for me to put on. Eldrin clears his throat, and my cheeks flush as I quickly drop my arm down to my side and hold out my ungloved hand for him to repeat the process.

His hand stays on my arm for a second after he's finished tying the laces, hesitating for a moment. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says, his voice low. "You know that, right?"

Do I know it? He hasn't exactly been welcoming since I got here, his hot and cold attitude towards me giving me whiplash. He's never hurt me though, and he actively stood in front of me to take the queen's wrath on my behalf. My pause hangs heavily between us. Looking up at him, I see a flash of hurt at my hesitation. It quickly disappears and I think he's going to pull away from me, but whatever he sees in my eyes stops him. Examining his face, I reach for that place inside me that guides me. I know now that it's the Great Mother, but I used to think it was just instinct that would guide me with a nudge to make sure I didn't take a certain corridor back to the slave quarters. The gut feeling that would warn me not to drink from a certain puddle, even though I was thirsty and dehydrated, one that I would later learn was tainted.

It's been less insistent since I got here, the Mother's influence fading just as she warned me would happen, but when I reach out, I can feel her presence. Right now, it's telling me I can trust Eldrin not to hurt me, at least not physically. His barbed tongue is another matter.

He continues to stand under my piercing gaze as I come to a conclusion, and I'm glad that he's giving me this. There's a sadness clinging to him, as if he thinks I'm going to reject him, to tell him I don't trust him not to harm me, and that's what makes the decision for me.

"I trust you not to harm me."

He seems to sag with relief, and for a second, his eyes close tightly, as if my answer was somehow really important to him. When he opens his eyes again, he settles, sensing that there's more that I've not spoken. "But?" he prompts. His hand is still on my arm, the warmth distracting. He seems to realise he's still touching me and pulls away, crossing his arms over his chest, but he doesn't take a step back like I expected him to.

Taking a deep breath, I try to put my feelings into words. "This is going to be hard for me," I start, hoping he understands that I don't just mean physically. When we start fighting, I'm sure I'm going to have flashbacks, and Eldrin will turn into every man who's ever hurt me. During that panic, I won't be able to distinguish him from the men who wanted to harm me, to punish and injure me. "I trust you ," I emphasise, reaching out and briefly resting my hand on his arm before pulling away. "But when you're…touching me, fighting with me, i-it won't be you…" My words jumble and mix as I get frustrated, trying to explain how I sometimes get overwhelmed. Growling low in my throat, I shake my head and look up at his golden eyes again. "This isn't making any sense, is it?"

"I understand," he says, and to my shock, I can see the understanding in his eyes. "We'll go slowly." He straightens and takes a step back, picking up two of the smaller pads and sliding his hands into the straps. Gesturing for me to face him, he holds up the pads.

"Right, punch me," he instructs, his stance wide as he waits for the blow against the pads.

Not moving, I simply raise an eyebrow, watching him with amused confusion. "You want me to hit you?" He's seriously going to let me punch him? After all the shit he put me through, he's really giving me the opportunity to hit him?

Not changing his stance, he mimics my expression as he waits for me to make my move. "Yes, that's the whole point," he drawls, sparking that frustration within me again, and I'm pretty sure he's doing it on purpose. Two can play at that game.

Crossing my arms, which is much more difficult to do while wearing gloves, I continue to stare at him with a raised eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to teach me how to get out of a hold or something?" I tease, and I can see when my words hit their mark as his body and expression tighten, but he doesn't drop his defensive position.

"You've already had a panic attack once today, I didn't think you'd want to have another," he growls, the words low. I was expecting him to mock me, but there is no trace of derision in his voice. With a grunt of frustration, he shakes his head and raises the pads a little higher. "We can work on that another day. I want to know that you can defend yourself."

Uncrossing my arms, I glance down at my gloved hands before looking up at him again. "You're not worried I'm going to hurt you?" I'd meant the words to sound teasing, but they come out much quieter and unsure than I would have liked.

He snorts, and I see the corner of his lips twitch. "Hardly." I know he's doing it on purpose, but it angers me, makes me want to prove him wrong, and show him how strong I am. "Stop stalling, we need to unlock your fae strength." His words give me the kick up the backside I need. This isn't the first time someone has said this, and I'm keen to learn what they mean. Do I have some secret abilities I don't know about?

Rolling my neck, I step up to him and raise my gloved hands. "Your funeral," I mutter. His resulting laughter makes me narrow my eyes and want to pummel him into the ground.

"Come on then, princess, show me how strong you are."