Page 35 of Captive

I settle the goblet against my thigh and meet her brown eyes. “You were a prisoner?”

“Yes, for many summers.” She traces the rim of her goblet as she speaks. “To the Kyanites.”

My people imprisoned her?

I study her face, but I find no bitterness or hatred. “I’m sorry.”

Loose strands of hair brush her shoulders as she shakes her head. “Please don’t be. It is my father who is to blame.”

“What happened?” I ask as I think ofmyfather and his inability to show anyone affection.

“He owed a debt he could not pay.” Quinn takes another sip of wine, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the torch. “So, the Kyanites took me instead…as collateral. I spent many summers as a slave, working in their mines and fields, until one day, I managed to escape.”

My heart aches at her story, and I can’t help but feel a sense of admiration for her strength. “How did you escape?”

Quinn looks at me, her eyes shining with a glimmer of pride. “I overheard the guards talking about a weak spot. I waited for the right moment and made a run for it.”

The weight of her words hangs in the air before Quinn changes the subject. “You know, I thought you were too afraid to live a little, and I honestly believed you would send me away.”

I laugh, feeling the warmth of the wine spreading through my body. “I'm always up for a delicious goblet of wine.”

“To wine.” Quinn smiles and refills our goblets.

We continue to drink and talk, sharing stories of our past. As the moon prowls the night sky, the fire dies down, and we’re left in the dim light of the torch.

The linen flap snaps open, and Hector steps into the tent, his eyes flashing with irritation.

“Where have you been?” he asks, his steely gaze locked on Quinn. “You are supposed to be on night watch.”

“Why here, of course.” She stumbles to her feet, hiccups, and plops back to her bottom.

“Hades! You’re sloshed.” He yanks the tent flap open. “Report to Cenric.”

I giggle and pat the thin air. “She cannot walk.”

His attention shifts to me, and I smile up at him, admiring his height and the width of his shoulders. “Have you always been so tall?”

He rolls his eyes. “Quinn.”

She staggers to her feet again and throws her arms wide in an attempt to not fall over. Hector closes the space between them and catches her, keeping her from toppling.

I settle against the mattress and hiccup as he helps her from the tent. The wine was fantastic. No, Hector was fantastic.

Does he even know how handsome he looks with his hair strewn across his forehead and his eyes wild? Probably not.

He looked like he woke from his bed and came directly here. Even his surcoat was rumpled. I arch my bound hands through the air, imagining them smoothing the wrinkles.

I sing a lewd song as the flap lifts, and Hector steps back into my tent.

“Where is the wine, Sol?” he queries with an arched eyebrow.

“Do you know…” I swing my hand toward him, “…that your hair is a mess?”

He frowns and runs his fingers through the strands in an unsuccessful attempt to tame them.

A giggle escapes me. “You look like you just lost a battle with a tornado.”

Hector gives me a long stare. “At least I can handle my wine.” He crosses the tent, yanks up the terracotta jar, and shakes his head. “How could you two have possibly drank all of this?”

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