Dorian sat alone in his room, brooding over the events of dinner. He needed a moment of solitude to think through his next steps, and Marcus was sulking anyway, angry that they weren't burning the castle down that very instant. Perhaps he was right. These base, evil creatures didn't deserve to live.
But his father had ordered him not to return home until he had made an agreement with the humans. And it was hard to negotiate with the dead.
Then there was the matter of that strange girl. He had no idea why she kept forcing her way back into his thoughts, yet that freckled face kept appearing before his mind's eye. Of course he had no intention of actually taking her to his bed; he had simply decided it was better to have her brought to his room before she was left alone with those lust-crazed men.
What had possessed her to step in front of the other girl? She wasn't just foolish, she clearly lacked any sense of self-preservation as well—that much was obvious. During their earlier encounter she had actually punched him. The last time anyone's fist had connected with his face had been during a combat drill when he hadn't been paying attention, and he had wiped the floor with that man afterward. Yes, this girl was utterly reckless.
And still… there was something about her. Something strange and incomprehensible. When he had stood close to her, it had felt as though his magic had woken up, reacting to her presence.
Or maybe he was just imagining things.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," he called, snapping out of his reverie and turning toward the entrance just as a guard shoved the red-haired girl into the room ahead of him.
"Have fun," the man grinned, pulling the door shut behind him and leaving a heavy silence hanging in the room.
The two of them stared at each other.
Dorian's brows immediately knit together as he registered how much worse the girl looked than she had at dinner. The right side of her face was swollen, her lip split, and under her clothes… he didn't even want to think about what state the rest of her body was in. He was horrified they had dragged her along the corridor like this. She wore nothing but a midnight-black, almost completely transparent cloak, and no undergarments at all. Bruises and dark blotches covered every patch of visible skin.
By the time he finished taking in her condition, he drew in a sharp breath and had to fight the urge to storm out and slaughter everyone in the castle on the spot.
He had an even bigger problem, though: the redhead was barely standing. She was swaying, staggering, her eyes so unfocused it seemed she had no idea where she even was. When he took a step toward her, Leonie also stepped back—or rather, lurched.
"Damn it," he muttered, darting forward and catching her before she fell. The girl groaned as a spike of pain shot through her side, and she tried to push the blond away.
"Please… just leave me," she whispered. She had no chance against the elf's strength, but she fought anyway. Her legs, however, soon gave out entirely, leaving her capable of nothing more than weak whimpers in Dorian's arms.
"Well look at that, you can speak," he said. Until now he hadn't heard a single word from her, and while women fainting in his arms wasn't exactly new, the way her eyes rolled in her head was worrying. Scooping her up as if she weighed nothing, he carried her to the bed and laid her down carefully.
"What am I supposed to do with you now?" he murmured more to himself than to her as he studied her pale face, half hidden by her red hair. Leonie was barely aware of the world around her, and her shallow breathing suggested she was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.
Dorian watched her in silence for several minutes, his anger building with every bruise he spotted. At last he swore under his breath, sprang up from the edge of the bed, and strode out into the corridor—straight up to the guard who had brought the girl to him.
"Is something wrong?" the guard asked, trying to peer 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 face.
"I'm inviting my friend over to share the fun. He's earned a taste of this delicacy after such a long day," he said.
A greedy gleam lit up the guard's eyes, and a disgusting grin stretched across his face.
"More is always merrier," he chuckled, stepping aside to let Dorian pass.
Dorian committed his face to memory. The man would be among the first to die.
A few strides took him to Marcus's door. He opened it and said only, "Come over."
Marcus, sprawled on the bed, pulled a face.
"No thanks, I've seen enough filth for one day," he grumbled.
"Now," Dorian added in a tone that brooked no argument. For a heartbeat they stared into each other's eyes. Dorian understood his friend's position. In their kingdom, violating a woman was a capital crime, punishable by death without question. He himself would have been glad to eradicate this corruption with his bare hands, but he couldn't allow his rage to rule him. That had always been Marcus's problem. He had an extraordinarily good heart, but his temper led him, so he often acted without thinking. He struck first and asked questions later. Here, they simply couldn't afford that. The plans taking shape in Dorian's mind made caution more important than ever.
Dorian turned and walked back to his room before Marcus could respond. As he did, he heard his friend muttering some less-than-flattering names at his back. For once, Dorian couldn't blame him.
They walked past the guard, who was still grinning smugly, and entered the room where the girl lay—now half-slid off the bed, struggling for breath in a humiliating position.
"By the gods, what did you do to her?" Marcus froze and rounded on Dorian.
"I'm getting tired of you questioning me," Dorian snapped. "Obviously I didn't touch her. Maybe she tried to run away while I was gone."
He crossed the room in two strides and gathered the girl into his arms again. Leonie's head lolled back unnervingly, but her eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the world.
"She's not lucid. They must have given her some sort of sedative," he said, laying her back down and reaching for the blanket to cover her nearly naked body.
"And what exactly is your plan?" Marcus raked a hand through his hair as he stepped closer to the bed to look at the girl more closely.
"Her face," he whispered in horror.
"They beat her up for that little stunt of hers. I had hoped that if I asked for her, they wouldn't have time to take care of… well, this," Dorian said through clenched teeth. "I was wrong."
Marcus stared at his friend as if he were only just now realizing what had really happened that evening. He hadn't seen such torment in Dorian's expression for centuries—three hundred years, at least. Frowning, he watched as the prince gently brushed the girl's red hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear…
A strangled cry burst from Marcus, and Dorian froze mid-motion.
"Her ears! Her ears!" Marcus blurted out. How had they not seen earlier that they were pointed—just like theirs? He stepped even closer, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "That's impossible! But… Dorian!"
Dorian stared at the unconscious girl, stunned. Slowly he lifted his gaze to Marcus and saw the same shock he felt reflected there. How?
Until now they had been sure no elf had crossed the border in a thousand years.
"How could she have ended up here?" Marcus asked the obvious question. "We guard our borders. She couldn't have slipped through unnoticed. She definitely isn't from our lands."
Dorian shook his head. "No, she really isn't," he said. "When she recognized what we were at dinner, she looked confused and frightened. I'm certain she had no idea we existed until now."
He lightly touched the girl's clammy hand.
"Sounds like you were paying attention to a little more tonight than what was in the original plan," Marcus remarked casually, and Dorian shot him a sharp look.
"I'm capable of paying attention to plenty of things at once," he replied coolly.
Marcus raised his hands in surrender, then his grin faded. "What are you going to do with her? She's one of us, whether your father likes it or not… Look what they've done to her. If she doesn't get proper healing, she might be crippled for life," he said, pointing at her mangled wrist. "And if she stays here, they'll probably kill her."
Dorian lifted a hand to silence him. He got to his feet and turned to face his friend.
"You do realize what we're taking on if we get her out of here, don't you? You saw how the baron looks at her. Stealing her from him would be robbery. He might send men after her. We'd be giving them a reason to try to break into our lands…"
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Marcus asked quietly.
He understood the battle raging within the prince as Dorian weighed whether to obey his father, the king, or not. Marcus already knew the answer—he had known Dorian for nearly seven hundred years; they were practically brothers. But he was considerate enough to let his friend come to his own conclusion. He watched in silence as Dorian paced back and forth across the room, casting occasional glances at the bed.
"All right. We're taking her with us," Dorian said at last, drawing a deep breath.
Marcus nodded in approval. He had been certain his friend would make the right choice and wasn't disappointed.
"Tonight," Dorian went on. "The baron and his pack are busy carousing; no one will notice the girl is gone until morning. We might gain half a day if I keep up the illusion in my room that I'm still entertaining her. But it won't work for long—our abilities are much weaker here."
He went to his pack and rummaged through it. "She needs clothes," he muttered.
Marcus stepped up to the bed and yanked the blanket away.
"Never thought I'd ever be unhappy about undressing a woman," he sighed and started unbuttoning the girl's flimsy gown.
At his touch, Leonie's fog-veiled eyes snapped open. The first thing she saw was a huge elf looming over her, fumbling with her clothing.
"No," she rasped, struggling to sit up, to get as far away as possible. "Please…"
Her mind was sluggish; it took an effort even to grasp where she was, but her instincts screamed at her to escape.
"No, no," she whimpered, trying to push Marcus's hands away.
"Easy, little one. We're not going to hurt you," Marcus said as he grappled with her, though he hardly dared lay a hand on her for fear of causing more pain. It was obvious her body was covered in bruises; there was barely a patch of unmarked skin. Her panic-stricken flailing could easily injure her further.
"Move," Dorian ordered, when he grew tired of his friend's fruitless attempts.
"I'm sorry, but we don't have time for this."
Much as he disliked it, he tore the dress from Leonie's body in a single, effortless motion.
"Well, that's one way to do it," Marcus muttered over the girl's frightened scream, turning his head away out of tact. "I hope you don't use that trick to impress other women."
Dorian snorted in irritation. He felt a stab of pity for the girl, curled up on the bed in shock, desperately trying to cover herself, but they didn't have time to soothe her, and she probably wouldn't understand them anyway. Tossing the shredded black fabric aside, he grabbed a sweater from his pack, tugged it over her head, then guided first her left arm and then her right into the sleeves.
Trying to see as little of her exposed body as possible, he unfortunately grabbed her shattered wrist. Leonie let out a blood-chilling scream as the pain washed over her like a blanket of spikes, then plunged back into darkness.
"Damn it," Dorian swore.
"At least it'll be easier to carry her if she's unconscious," Marcus observed from the doorway, already ready to move. "What about the guard?"
"Kill him and get rid of the body," Dorian said as he pulled trousers onto Leonie's limp legs. When he finished, he walked over to the table and buckled his sword around his hips.
He intended to get out of the castle without a fight—he didn't want to expose the girl to any more danger—but it wouldn't be easy. Guards were everywhere.
Damn this cursed place.