Leonie woke the next morning to a throbbing ache in her side and a wave of heat running through her body. For a moment she couldn't make sense of where she was, and panic nearly seized her—until she recognized the man she was lying against.
Her head rested on one of Dorian's arms, her cheek pressed to his chest, while his other, impossibly heavy arm curled around her, pinning her ribs beneath its weight. She shifted her head slightly and discovered another massive, sleeping body pressed up against her back.
She squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to sort out what she should feel. She should be terrified—after all, even if nothing had happened during the night, how could she trust them this quickly?
But as she searched herself, she realized she was mostly… embarrassed. She had never slept like this in her life, and lying wrapped in Dorian's arms was unexpectedly comforting.
For the first time, she had the chance to really study his features. In sleep his face looked softer, stripped of the stern, disciplined tension he wore while awake. There was something ancient and otherworldly about him, a quiet, timeless majesty that unsettled her in a way she struggled to name. A pale strand of hair had fallen across his face, and curiosity stirred within her.
What would it feel like to touch it?
She lifted her bandaged hand, reaching carefully toward him—but before she could make contact, Dorian's eyes snapped open. His fingers closed around her wrist, stopping her. Leonie gasped at the jolt of pain, and his grip instantly loosened, though he didn't let her go. He simply stared into her wide, translucent green eyes.
For a few breathless seconds, neither of them moved.
Then, finally, he released her wrist. Her hand trembled as she completed the gesture, brushing the lock of hair away from his face.
The small, tender act hit Dorian like a blow. It stunned him—how could she remain so untainted after growing up in a place as rotten as the baron's court? How could she look at him with such trust after everything that had happened?
Up close, he could have counted the freckles on her cheeks. A faint blush colored her skin, making her look even more delicate, and her mouth… those soft, kissable lips…
He shut his eyes briefly to rein in the sudden wave of longing burning through him. The stillness of dawn, the hush of the forest, the warmth of her body—together they lit a hunger in him that spread like wildfire. His magic stirred in response, tilting toward her like iron toward a lodestone.
"What was your life like in the castle?" he finally asked, voice low.
Leonie blinked in surprise, needing a few moments to gather her thoughts.
"It wasn't as terrible as it must seem…" she whispered.
"The baron kept me safe. Humans fear anything they don't understand. To them, elves only exist in old legends—and in those stories, elves are always monsters. If anyone had found out what I was, they would have killed me. The baron protected me. He didn't even tell the king the truth, because the king would have given me a worse fate than the baron."
"And the baron didn't already do that?" Dorian cut in, frowning.
"I… I know he isn't a good man. But everything has a price."
That sentence—he'd heard her say it before—and every time it crawled beneath his skin.
"What price did you pay for his protection?"
The silence stretched so long that Dorian wondered if she'd fallen asleep again.
But then, so quietly no human ear would have caught it, she spoke.
"When I was little, the baron would visit sometimes. He would bring things—little gifts. I was happy when he came. I only had a small room, with nothing but a bed. I wasn't allowed to leave it often. I always hoped he'd bring something new, or tell me a story. He was… like a father to me. I didn't see him much, but when I did, he was kind."
She drew a deep breath.
"And then, when I was seven, he asked for something in return. I didn't like it, but he said I was old enough, that I was living off his generosity, and all he wanted was for me to take off my nightdress. That it wasn't a big thing to ask. So I did it. I thought… that it was the way things were."
She swallowed.
"When I was around ten, I once saw Esthelle being paid her monthly wage. I asked her if she did for the baron what he asked of me."
Her voice trembled.
"She told me, 'Child, learn this: everything has a price.' So I told myself it must be normal. Esthelle is a good woman… she's just… afraid. Like everyone."
Another pause.
"When I turned sixteen, the baron started introducing me to his friends."
Her voice cracked.
"I knew then how wrong it all was. I tried to end it. More than once. But the punishment was always worse than obedience. They never… touched me. But…"
She lifted her eyes to Dorian's face—and the revulsion she found there strangled the rest of her sentence. She fell silent, her whole body flushing with shame. She never noticed Marcus slip away from behind her—everything happened too fast. By the time she pushed herself upright, the two men were already struggling by the horses.
Dorian's movement was so fast she could barely track it.
"Stop. Whatever you think you're about to do—I forbid it," he growled, gripping Marcus's reins to stop him.
"You didn't hear what she said?" Marcus snarled from atop his horse, trying repeatedly—and failing—to wrench the reins free.
"Oh, I heard everything," Dorian replied, voice low and deadly calm. Rage burned inside him like molten iron, but he couldn't allow Marcus to charge blindly into disaster.
"Then what's wrong with you? Since when do you forgive vermin like that?"
The wind stirred sharply, as if roused by Marcus's fury, rattling the leaves overhead.
"Believe me, I'm in a killing mood too. But that doesn't mean I'm going to do something stupid—and I won't let you do it either."
Leonie took a shaky step toward them, wringing her hands. They were about to come to blows—because of her. She had to do something.
She stepped beside Marcus and placed a trembling hand over his.
"Please don't. I'm grateful… but I just want to get as far away from him as possible."
Marcus stared at her for nearly half a minute. The violent storm in his expression slowly calmed. He patted her small hand lightly—then turned back to Dorian.
"So you force the truth out of her, and your answer is to do nothing?"
He slid off the horse.
"I didn't swear loyalty to a king like that."
He shoulder-checked Dorian hard as he strode past. Dorian didn't react, only exhaled. Leonie stared at him, wide-eyed.
"He'll cool off," Dorian muttered. He was used to Marcus's temper by now—but his words had hit home.
He shouldn't have pushed Leonie into such a confession. The desire to know everything about her had overwhelmed his sense. And Marcus was right: they should have gutted every last person in that damned keep, starting with the baron.
But that would have turned an already risky diplomatic disaster into full-scale war.
"Get ready. We leave soon."
Leonie slipped away to the lake, needing to wash, needing to think, needing to breathe.
Why had she told them all that? She had never spoken those truths aloud—not once.
She scrubbed herself over and over, as though she could wash history off her skin.
What did it matter what Dorian thought of her? He didn't know what it meant to live an entire life in chains—with no choices, no escape.
She had only ever tried to survive. That didn't make her foul.
And if he looked at her with disgust—well, soon enough they would go their separate ways.
Somewhere among the elves she would find a quiet place to exist.
"You done yet?" Dorian's voice came from behind her as she stood by the water's edge.
She nodded.
Without meeting his eyes, she walked toward the horses—instinctively searching for Marcus. But he was already gone, riding ahead without a glance.
A strong arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto Dorian's horse. She flinched away from him, but he didn't loosen his hold—only set the horse into a brisk trot.
He could feel how rigid she was, sitting before him like a wooden board. He had no idea what to say after the morning's conversation. Guilt gnawed at him—for pressing her, for making her relive things she never meant to share. But rage burned in him too—rage at the humans who had tortured such a fragile creature for years.
He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to tell her things would be different now.
But what could he say?
That he was sorry?
That he wished he'd been there to protect her?
All of it sounded absurd.
This girl was braver and harder than both of them combined—she didn't need pity.
If only he'd known that all Leonie wanted was for him to act as he had before—before she'd opened old wounds—perhaps the journey wouldn't have been so painfully silent.
But instead they rode on in heavy quiet, the sounds of the forest the only voice between them.