Dorian sat alone in his room, turning the events of dinner over and over in his mind.
He'd needed a moment of solitude to think through his next steps—and besides, Marcus was currently sulking, furious that they weren't already burning the castle to the ground.
Perhaps he wasn't wrong.
These vile, cruel creatures hardly deserved to live.
But the order from his father had been clear: he was not to return home until he had secured an agreement with the humans. And negotiating with corpses was notoriously difficult.
Then there was the matter of the strange girl.
He had no idea why she kept slipping back into his thoughts, but again and again that freckled face appeared before his inner eye.
Of course, he had no intention whatsoever of taking her to his bed. Ordering her brought to his room had simply seemed the best way to keep her away from those leering men for at least one night.
What had possessed her to step in front of the other girl like that?
Not only was she a fool, she seemed to be entirely lacking in self-preservation. That much was obvious. She had even had the audacity to punch him during their first encounter.
The last time someone's fist had connected with his face had been during combat training, when he hadn't been paying attention—and he had used that opportunity to wipe the floor with the unfortunate soul.
Yes. The girl was utterly reckless.
And yet… there was something about her. Something odd and inexplicable. When he had stood very close to her, it had felt as though his magic stirred—as if it had responded to her presence on some instinctive level.
Or perhaps he was imagining things.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," he called, dragged abruptly from his thoughts.
He rose and turned toward the entrance just as a guard shoved the red-haired girl into the room.
"Have fun," the man said with a grin, and closed the door behind her.
A heavy silence fell.
They stared at each other.
Dorian's brows knit at once as he took in how much worse her condition was compared to dinner. The right side of her face was swollen, her lip split. Even under the thin cloak…
He didn't need to see more to know what had been done.
They had paraded her down the corridor wearing nothing but a robe—if it could even be called that. Jet black and nearly transparent, it barely covered her body.
Beneath it she wore no undergarments.
Only bruises. Blue, purple, and sickly yellow.
By the time he finished cataloging the damage, he sucked in a sharp breath. Rage flared so hot and sudden he had to fight the urge to storm back out and slaughter every living soul in the castle.
But there was a more immediate problem.
The girl could barely stand.
She swayed on her feet, listing in all directions, and her eyes were so glassy and unfocused he doubted she had any idea where she even was.
He took a step toward her. She tried to step back—or rather, stumbled.
"For hell's sake," he muttered, lunging forward to catch her before she collapsed.
She cried out as a spike of pain lanced through her side and tried to push him away.
"Please… leave me," she breathed.
She had no chance of matching his strength, but she tried with stubborn determination.
Her knees, however, were already failing. Within moments all she could do was sag weakly against him, whimpering.
"Well now. You do have a voice," he remarked.
He had yet to hear her utter a single word until now.
He was used to women fainting in his arms, but the way her eyes rolled in her skull was distinctly unsettling.
He lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing at all and carried her to the bed, laying her down as gently as he could.
"What am I supposed to do with you?" he murmured, more to himself than to her, as he studied her pale face, half hidden beneath a curtain of red hair.
Leonie seemed barely conscious of the world around her, hovering on the very edge of oblivion. Her shallow breathing told him she was close to passing out completely.
Dorian watched her in silence for several minutes, his anger rising with every bruise he discovered.
Swearing under his breath, he pushed to his feet and strode out of the room—straight into the chest of the guard who had dragged her here.
"Problem?" the man asked, trying to peer past him into the room.
Dorian took a step toward him, fully intending to snap his neck on the spot, then forced a mask of calm onto his features.
"I'm going to invite my friend to join me. He's earned the pleasure of tasting this little morsel after such a long day," he said lightly.
Greedy anticipation lit up the guard's face. He nodded with a repulsive grin.
"More is always merrier."
He stepped aside to let Dorian pass.
Dorian took careful note of his face. The man would be one of the first to die.
A few strides brought him to Marcus's door. He pushed it open and said only:
"Come."
Marcus, lying sprawled on the bed, grimaced up at him.
"No thanks. I've seen enough of this filth for one night," he snapped.
"Now," Dorian added, voice leaving no room for argument.
For a moment they simply stared each other down.
Dorian understood his friend's outrage. In their kingdom, defiling a woman was a capital crime punishable by immediate execution.
He himself would happily erase this entire cesspit with his bare hands.
But he couldn't allow his emotions to take control. That was always Marcus's weakness. He had a good heart—but it was ruled by his temper. He acted first, thought later.
Here, they could not afford that. Not with the plans forming in Dorian's mind.
He turned and walked back toward his room before Marcus could reply, hearing his friend mutter a string of unflattering names under his breath.
For once, Dorian couldn't entirely blame him.
They passed the smirking guard without a word and stepped inside, where the girl lay.
Or rather, half slid off the bed, breathing shallowly in a thoroughly undignified position.
"By the gods, what did you do to her?" Marcus blurted, stopping short to round on Dorian.
Dorian shot him a dark look.
"I'm rapidly growing tired of you questioning me. Obviously, I didn't touch her. She probably tried to crawl away while I was gone."
He crossed the room in two strides and scooped Leonie back into his arms. Her head lolled back unnervingly, her eyes wide open and staring at nothing.
"She's not conscious. They must have given her some sort of sedative," he said, laying her down again and pulling the blanket over her nearly naked body.
"And what exactly is your plan now?" Marcus raked a hand through his hair, stepping closer to get a better look at her.
"Her face…" he whispered, horrified.
"They beat her for her little stunt," Dorian said grimly. "I thought if I requested her, they wouldn't have time to… deal with her beforehand. I was wrong."
Marcus stared at him as if finally piecing together the real shape of the evening.
On Dorian's face he saw a conflict he had not witnessed in centuries—not for at least three hundred years.
He frowned, watching as the prince sat on the edge of the bed and gently brushed Leonie's red hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear—
Marcus choked back a shout. Dorian froze mid-movement.
"Her ears! Look at her ears!"
How had neither of them noticed?
They were pointed. Just like theirs.
Marcus stepped closer, as if he didn't trust his own vision.
"That's impossible… But—Dorian!"
The blond elf stared at the unconscious girl, his mind numb.
He tore his gaze away to meet Marcus's eyes and saw his own shock reflected there.
How?
For a thousand years, no elf had crossed the border.
"How did she get here?" Marcus asked the obvious question. "Our borders are guarded. No one could cross unnoticed. She's not from our lands. She can't be."
Dorian shook his head.
"No. She isn't," he said slowly. "When she recognized what we were at dinner, she was confused… afraid. I'm fairly certain she didn't even know we existed until today."
He brushed his fingers against her clammy hand.
"Sounds to me like you were paying more attention tonight than the original plan called for," Marcus remarked, almost casually.
Dorian shot him a sharp look.
"I am capable of paying attention to many things at once," he replied coolly.
Marcus held up both hands in surrender and grinned—though the expression quickly faded.
"What are you going to do with her? She's one of us…"
"If my father finds out she was raised among humans, I'm not sure he'll agree," Dorian said quietly, turning back to the girl.
His instincts screamed at him not to leave her here in the hands of these monsters.
Logic, however—and their mission—whispered that she was not their responsibility.
They had come for an agreement. Nothing more.
"Dorian, she's an elf," Marcus insisted. "Look at what they've done to her. Without proper healing, she might never fully recover." He gestured toward her ruined wrist. "And if she stays here, it's more likely they'll kill her."
Dorian raised a hand to silence him and stood, facing his friend.
"You do realize what we're taking on if we remove her from this place?" he said. "You saw the way the baron looks at her. It will be theft in his eyes. He may very well hunt her. We'd be giving him a reason to try and break into our lands…"
"Are you trying to convince me—or yourself?"
Marcus understood exactly what war battled inside his prince: whether to obey his father's orders or defy them.
He knew the answer before Dorian did. Seven hundred years of friendship made them closer than brothers—close enough that Marcus could read his heart like an open book.
But he was considerate enough to let Dorian arrive at his own conclusion.
Silently, he watched as the elf paced up and down the room, casting occasional glances toward the bed.
"Fine," Dorian said at last, drawing in a deep breath. "We take her with us."
Marcus nodded, unsurprised and quietly satisfied. His friend had chosen rightly.
"Tonight," Dorian continued. "The baron and his little pack will be carousing until morning. No one will notice she's missing before then. I might even buy us half a day if I maintain the illusion that she's still here with me. But it won't hold for long. Our abilities are much weaker here."
He stepped over to his pack and rummaged inside.
"She'll need clothes."
Marcus moved to the bed and pulled back the blanket.
"Never thought I'd be unhappy about undressing a woman," he muttered, starting to unfasten the thin, flimsy garment.
At his touch, Leonie's eyes fluttered open behind the haze.
The first thing she saw was the massive silhouette of an elf looming over her, hands fumbling at the cloth over her body.
"No," she croaked, trying to sit up and crawl away. "Please…"
The gears in her mind turned sluggishly, barely processing where she was, but instinct screamed at her to flee.
"No, no…" she whimpered, batting weakly at Marcus's hands.
"Easy, little one. We're not going to hurt you," Marcus said, trying to hold her still—but he hardly dared touch her, for fear of causing more pain.
Her body was a map of bruises, with barely a patch of unmarked skin. If she thrashed much more, she might injure herself further.
"Move," Dorian ordered, when he tired of watching the hopeless struggle.
"I'm sorry," he added softly, "but we don't have time for this."
With one smooth motion, he tore the gauzy black dress from her body.
"Well, that's one way to do it," Marcus muttered as Leonie let out a frightened scream and clutched at the blanket. He politely turned his head away.
"I sincerely hope this isn't how you impress women at home," he added.
Dorian only snorted in irritation.
He hated seeing her huddled there in shock, desperately trying to cover herself—but they didn't have the luxury of calming explanations. In her current state, she wouldn't understand anyway.
He flung the shredded dress aside and pulled a thick sweater from his pack.
He tugged it over her head, then guided first her left arm, then her right into the sleeves. In his attempt to avoid looking at her exposed skin, however, his hand closed directly around her shattered wrist.
Leonie screamed—a raw, piercing sound that seemed to tear the room in half.
Pain crashed through her like a net of barbed wire, dragging her down into darkness once more.
"Damn it," Dorian snarled.
"At least she'll be easier to carry now she's unconscious," Marcus observed from his post by the door, already ready to move. "What about the guard?"
"Kill him. Get rid of the body," Dorian said, fastening the trousers on Leonie.
When he was done, he buckled his sword belt around his waist.
He intended to leave the castle without a fight—every extra clash was a risk to the girl—but slipping past so many guards would be no easy feat.
Dorian cast one last hateful look at the stone walls around him.
Damn this cursed place.