I feel so alone.
I finish up with my body, but I don’t attempt to wash my hair. Tackling the long golden strands and their countless tangles without the help of my ribbons is too daunting in my current state. Tomorrow. I’ll deal with that mess tomorrow.
By the time I dry myself off, my skin has pebbled from my calves to my chest, and I’m standing as close to the coals as I can without getting burned.
I bend down to pick up my chemise, but at that exact moment, the tent flap opens.
A burst of cold air flies in, provoking the chills already covering my body, but I freeze in an entirely different way, for an entirely different reason as Commander Rip steps inside.
Chapter 6
AUREN
I shouldn’t be startled by his sudden presence, but fear locks my knees and traps the breath in my throat, and for a second, I can’t move.
The commander stops short upon his entry, his black eyes widening when he sees my nakedness.
My momentary shock-stillness snaps, and I yank up the chemise to hold it in front of me. “What do you want?” I demand with a shrill voice, but I know. Of course I know, because it’s what all men want, and why should he be any different just because he’s fae?
The commander’s eyes snap up to my face, irritation showing with a tic in his jaw that makes the muscle jump. Without saying a word, he turns and walks out, the curved spike between his shoulder blades nearly catching on the flap as he goes.
I stand there in shock, gaping at the place he just was, emotions filtering in one after the other like scents in a garden. I’m embarrassed, baffled, angry, and vulnerable. Entirely too vulnerable.
Why did he just walk out?
With trembling fingers, I quickly snap into action, pulling the chemise on over my head. He left, but he could be back.
I hear footsteps outside, and I curse as I yank up the dropped fur and clutch it against my chest. Even with my chemise on, I feel naked, terror coursing through me as I look around for a weapon.
“Coming in.”
I frown at the voice, because I know for certain that it’s not the commander. It’s too high-pitched, too...friendly.
A man I don’t recognize steps inside, instantly straightening up as soon as the flap drops behind him. The first thing I notice about him is how slight he is.
The second thing I notice is that the left side of his face looks deformed, as if it were burned many years ago, healing badly with creases of skin and marks of ruin. He has no eyebrow on that side, his eyelid droops, and the corner of his lips doesn’t quite split correctly.
He’s probably in his forties, with thin brown hair and olive skin, and instead of the leathers that all the soldiers wear, he has on a thick black coat that goes all the way down to his knees, secured by a belt at his waist.
“I am Hojat,” he says, voice thick with a south Orean accent that I haven’t heard in years. “I am here to see you.”
My eyebrows pull together, mind leaping as the man watches me. The commander catches a glimpse of me naked, and now he’s sending in his men to have a peek too?
My face hardens, fingers tightening on my fur, my throat clamping with a readied scream. “Get out.”
Hojat blinks, head rearing back at the vitriol sparking from my tongue. “Pardon? The commander gave me leave to have a look at you.”
Terrified fury makes my body go rigid. “Did he? Well I don’t give you leave to look at me, no matter what the commander said. So you can turn around and leave. Now.”
Hojat blinks. “But I... No. My lady, I am a mender.”
Now it’s my turn to look confused. My eyes sweep over him again, noticing for the first time that he’s carrying a satchel and has red bands stitched on both of his sleeves around his biceps. The customary mark of an Orean army healer.
“Oh,” I say, anger immediately deflating. “I’m sorry. I thought... Never mind. Why did the commander send you?”
He nods at my split lip and what I can only imagine is a very bruised cheek. “I think I can see why, my lady.”
I’m surprised at the formality he’s using. I would’ve expected an army’s healer to be gruffer, especially given which army he serves.
“I’m fine. It’ll heal.”
He doesn’t let my dismissive tone faze him. “All the same, I still need to look you over.”
My lips press together. “Let me guess. Because the commander ordered it.”
One side of his mouth tips up in a smile, the scarred side left behind. “You catch on quick, my lady.”
“It’s mostly just aches and pains, and you can call me Auren.”
He nods and sets his satchel down. “Let’s take a look anyway, lady Auren.”
I huff a breath out, half in humor at the title he insists on using, and half in exasperation. “Honestly, I’ve had worse.”
“Not something a mender likes to hear, I don’t think,” Hojat mutters before he walks over, eyes scanning me as he steps in close. Fortunately, his gaze is clinical, nothing leering or intimidating about it. “How did you get this?” he asks, motioning to my cheek.
My eyes flick away. “I was struck.”
“Hmm. And any pain when you speak or chew?”
“No.”
“Good.” Brown eyes move down to my swollen lip, though I can feel that the split is scabbed over.
“And this here, any aching or loose teeth?”
“Thankfully, no.”
“Good, good, good,” he says. “Any other injuries?”
I fidget on my feet. “I fell and landed on a rock. I think it pierced me on my shoulder, but I can’t see it to know for sure.”
He hums in his throat and moves to my side, but I hesitate. “Umm, only look. Don’t touch it.”
He pauses, but nods and stays where he is. Keeping one eye on him, I pull the collar of my chemise down to expose the back of my shoulder. He leans in close but, thankfully, doesn’t try to touch. “Yes, there’s a small wound here. Let me get something for it.”
He goes over to his satchel and digs around, pulling out some kind of tincture. I watch, standing awkwardly as he tips the glass vial over onto the corner of a cloth, grabs another vial, and then walks back over.
Hojat reaches up to put the cloth against my skin, but I instinctively jerk back. He stops with wide eyes. “Sorry, my lady. I forgot.”
I clear my throat. “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”
He passes it over, and I take the cloth, pressing the damp material against the wound. It stings instantly, and Hojat tips his head at my hiss. “It hurts a bit, but it’ll get it clean.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I say dryly.
I finish dabbing it, and with a nod from Hojat, I hand the cloth back to him. “Let it dry a bit before you cover it again,” he instructs.
“Okay.”
Hojat turns to put the cloth away, but he accidentally steps on my ribbons. I suck in a breath as he unintentionally pulls them taut, sore lengths crushed under his heel.