Page 60 of Blood Beneath the Snow

He snorted, but it sounded strange through the voice distortion. “You’re a prisoner. Prisoners don’t have rights.”

I bit back a retort. At least he’d brought me something to read while he was gone during the day. I couldn’t do much while he was out and about on the surface because I was so sore from our rigid training regimen, but I always managed to stretch out my aching muscles, eat whatever was in the jars, and read some of the book. It was an excruciatingly dull piece on the strategy of war and the history of the Fjordlands.

Better than nothing, I supposed.

We’d fallen into a routine so quickly, it surprised me. Eachmorning, or what I assumed was morning, the Hellbringer would train me in combat. Most often it was swordplay, but occasionally he spent an hour or two teaching me hand-to-hand attacks and defenses as well.

Then we would spar.

Aloisa was a far better sword than the one I had previously, but I had yet to touch him, much less defeat him. It was both belittling and annoying how quickly he could move. Each morning training session ended with me fighting in a blind rage until I threw my weapon to the ground, swearing.

At that point Mira would arrive and transport him away, giving me time to sulk until the heat of my anger died and I could stretch my taut muscles.

He would be gone for hours. I spent the time reading, exploring the winding halls of the prison, and—begrudgingly—thinking about him.

I wasn’t sure if I’d suffered a head injury with uncommon symptoms or I was losing my sanity after so much time without seeing the sun, but thoughts of the Hellbringer invaded my mind at almost all times. If I wasn’t wondering what he was up to on the war front, worrying about whether he’d killed the brothers I’d allied with, then I was forcing myself away from thoughts of his hands wrapped around the hilt of his blade, the press of his body behind mine when he helped me shape Aloisa, the ridges of muscle I’d seen when he took his shirt off.

It was distracting. And extremely frustrating.

He was incredibly aggravating and ridiculously attractive. An unfortunate combination.

Fortunately, he hadn’t removed any more clothing in front of me since we returned. I found myself wondering sometimes whether I’d imagined the whole thing, my mental faculties damaged by the unwavering heat of the forge.

My thoughts also drifted to Freja, though. My friend was not forgotten, not when everything I did was for her freedom. I wondered if she was surviving, managing to stay warm despite the steadily encroaching winter weather. Surely Halvar had brought her something to keep her from freezing.

When the Hellbringer returned each evening, he would bring something to cook for dinner, usually meat or stew, and then we would train again before I collapsed into bed, exhausted. We rarely spoke, so most of my days were spent in silence.

Over the past three days, I’d bothered him for information on the war. “What’s happening? Who won the battle where you kidnapped me? Is my family alive?”

The first time, he’d studiously ignored me until I gave up. But I tried again the next day with another tactic.

“Shouldn’t the future Queen of Bhorglid at least be aware of the political climate outside this prison?” While he cooked, I paced along the open stretch of wall. At my assertion, he stilled, and I pushed on. “At least tell me if there have been any major developments in the last few days.”

He’d sighed. “War is slow, Princess. Strategy is the foremost game here, despite the insinuation by everyone close to you that it should be slaughter. As much as your father might enjoy decimating Kryllian troops, our goal is to end this with as little bloodshed as possible.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like “pain in the ass” before saying, “Nothing has happened. And if it does, I’ll tell you. Satisfied?”

“Not particularly.”

He’d stomped over to me and stared me down, close enough that, without the mask, I would have felt his breath on my face. “I. Am. Not. Your. Personal. Informant,” he growled. “Pick up yoursword. Sparring seems to be the only way to keep you from talking my ear off.”

However, when he returned the next day, the first words from his mouth were “No changes today. Only a brief border skirmish.”

I’d paused practicing the sword stances he’d taught me and now raised an eyebrow. “A border skirmish? This land is all Bhorglid.”

“ ‘Border’ isn’t exactly the right word,” he said with a shrug as he prepared dinner. “Not border of the country. More like there was a skirmish where Kryllian soldiers attempted to force the Bhorglid army back south. I assume they’re hoping to move the fighting out of the wastelands and into the populated area soon.”

My blade glinted in the light of the lamps around the edge of the room as I let it drop. “Into the populated area?” Anyone could have heard the strangled way my voice tightened at his statement.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be on the throne long before they make any real progress. And then the queen will work on a treaty with you.” He’d gone back to focusing on dinner, but my thoughts didn’t stop whirling.

If I didn’t win the Trials, didn’t become queen, didn’t arrange a truce…what would happen to the godforsaken people in Bhorglid? They’d be defenseless against the Kryllian armies, especially if Halvar was successful in starting any kind of rebellion and threw the country into chaos—

“Stop,” the Hellbringer said. His tone told me behind his mask he was rolling his eyes.

I blinked and turned to him. “Stop what?”

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