I startle awake to something touching my back. I twist around and a hand catches the swing of my arm.

  “It’s me.” Abel. His gentle face in the dim light over my shoulder.

  I blink my surroundings into focus. A faint glow overhead, masked by the brown of canvas. A cotton blanket pulled up over my naked body. Furs beneath me. My dress sprawled across the rug-covered floor of the tent.

  Abel folds my arm against my chest and moves flush against my back. His lips press into the back of my neck.

  I let my eyes drift shut again as a vague memory creeps up. One of Abel wrapping me in my disheveled dress, hoisting me into his arms, and carrying me here. Laying me on this bed. Moving over me, within me, driving me to that fiery peak of pleasure again.

  Now, his fingers slide up my arm and to my back once more. To the flesh I barely feel except for the taut pull of the scars. I feel the weight of his hand, but not the brush of his fingertips as he traces the lattice wyvernfire scars—or my gold? My throat tightens. I don’t want to be Gold to him. I want so badly for him to see past that which brands me as property.

  He shifts and the hard length of him presses against my backside. He kisses around the side of my neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen wyvernfire scars this bad before—and never over gold.” The movement of his lips sends goosebumps cascading down my chest and arms.

  I’ve seen it before in the mirror. Peaked ridges and valleys cover my back like a spider’s web of gold. “They don’t let trophies like me simply die,” I say, but it’s not quite the truth. It’d been agony, true and simple. But I’d healed in days. Clara had been furious that the Goldest girl born in decades was marred—but she’d also learned how I heal. Learned that I bled gold. And she’d taken advantage of that as soon as she took charge of our bills.

  Clara had also been consoled that the scars were only on my back. They could be hidden. Only my future husband would know they exist.

  Now Abel does.

  He runs one hand down my shoulder, my arm, to my wrist. There his thumb swipes over the subtle scars at my wrist—unnoticeable unless you peer very closely at the gold there.

  “And this?” he asks, his voice a gentle rumble against my ear.

  I don’t know how to answer. What can I say?

  “Things have been that bad? That you’ve—” His voice breaks, like it hurts him to even think it.

  “No,” I say immediately and close my opposite hand over his at my wrist. “Not me.”

  He stiffens. “Who?”

  “Sometimes we needed money. Goldblood is… very valuable.”

  He sucks in a sharp breath and his fingers tighten on my wrist. Lips press again to the back of my neck. “You are so strong.” Another kiss to the top of my shoulder. “Resilient.” Lips to my scars. “Beautiful.”

  A rush soars up into my chest and a throbbing pulse blooms between my legs.

  His hand leaves my wrist to curl around my ribs and cup my breast. Rough fingertips find my nipple, lightly pinch and roll it.

  My back arches.

  His teeth scrape my shoulder.

  I roll over and his arms draw me into his warm, rich scent—sweat and pine and musk. Into a glorious, cozy illusion of safety, of being wanted. Being held. Reality nags somewhere at the back of my head, but I push it away. Instead, I slide my hand up his body, over the muscular ridges of his ribs, over the swell of his chest, and into the soft dusting of hair.

  His mouth finds mine and I’m filled with that same flush of heat mingling with energy, waking parts of me I hadn’t known I had until last night.

  “You,” he murmurs against my lips. “I so want to—”

  “Abel!” The shout comes from somewhere outside the tent. Boots thud closer at a run.

  Abel jerks up from the bed and yanks the blanket over my shoulder. “What?”

  A man rips open the flap of the tent. “Abel, Chip—” His gaze falls on me and he swears and abruptly turns his back. “It’s Chip. They were ambushed. Chip and his men were taken. Only one made it back.”

  Abel curses and leaps from the bed. He yanks on his trousers, shoves his feet into his boots, and scrambles after the man out of the tent.

  I lay in stunned silence for a breath, then push up and collect my dress from the floor. I pull it on and do up the laces as quickly as my shaking fingers allow. Then I creep out of the tent, cognizant of the state of my hair, the paling sky that exposes me. Tugging down my sleeves, I creep around the tent and towards the sound of raised voices.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Quiet! Let him speak.” Abel’s voice.

  Skully, Red, and Clifford are among a group of rebels clustered around a man sitting on the ground. Everyone’s expression holds somber anxiety. The man on the ground holds a bundle of rags to his face, which are already soaked through with blood. Abel crouches beside him.

  “There were too many of them.” The man shakes his head as blood drips steadily from his elbow onto the dirt. “They sprung out of the caravan. There had to have been at least six or seven of them in there. Heir Vale and Prince Emory among them. There was nothing we could do.”

  “How many lost?” Abel asks.

  The man shakes his head. “They took Chip and maybe Rayad too, hard to be sure. Chip gave the order to run and we tried. They had arrows, too. I dragged Fitz awhile but…” He keeps shaking his head and slumps forward.

  Abel catches him by the shoulder. “You did the right thing to flee. They won’t kill him for a while. They’ll want information first. It was the smart thing to do, live today, fight tomorrow. Chip and Rayad will make it till we can get them.”

  Skully clenches and unclenches her fists. “This changes everything. Now our plan is compromised.”

  Abel straightens to his full height. “It doesn’t change anything. Chip won’t give up anything to those bastards. Neither will Rayad. We can’t afford to delay.”

  Skully crosses her arms over her chest. “And if you’re wrong, we’ll all march to our deaths.”

  Abel’s shoulders stiffen and he squares up with her. “We’re all dead already, Skully. That was the deal, the oath when we began.”

  Skully swears and runs her hand through her braids. She draws in a breath and nods. “I die for you.”

  “And I die for you,” Abel says. “It also means our plan is that much more important to get right. If they have them, then we have a chance at getting them back.”

  She casts a long look at the man sitting on the ground. She nods her head. “Might as well make the bastards pay while we’re there.”

  “That’s right.” Abel rests a hand on her shoulder. Then he turns away from them and starts towards the horses.

  I draw back from my position by the edge of the tent. I feel sick. Just a few hours ago, Chip was laughing at my attempt to dance. He was alive and free. And now… Now he probably looks like Farnell the last I saw him—or worse.

  I turn away and start back towards the front of the tent.

  A woman with bright red hair blocks my path. Lady Nicoletta narrows her eyes to slits. “What in Skies are you doing here?”

  I freeze. Nicoletta is a Graff. A member of high society. Yet, here she is, in the middle of the rebel camp, demanding why I’m here?

  A hand touches my back and I jump. Abel, expression dark, glances between the two of us. He draws in a deep breath.

  “Did I just hear what I think I heard, Abel? Chip’s been captured?” Nicoletta says, her tone high and sharp.

  “Yes,” Abel says. “Chip’s taken.”

  “Damnit, I knew something was up—it’s all her fault.” Nicoletta jabs a finger at me.

  “My fault?” My stomach drops and I glance, bewildered, between Nicoletta and Abel.

  Abel’s brows raise.

  Nicoletta lets out a strangled sound. “She’s got our fair prince all wrapped around her finger again. I was supposed to be with him last night, but he didn’t want me around. I could have heard about this and I might’ve been able to do something to stop it. But no, he’s too busy pining all over her—again!”

  Abel’s eyes snap to mine and his expression holds… not disbelief, but almost wounded surprise.

  “I’ve done no such thing,” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I can feel the weight of the Prince’s arm around my shoulder after I’d rescued Lilianna on that airship. Can still see that arrogant, beaming smile of his.

  Nicoletta’s lip curls. “You’re all anyone can talk about, ever since you went leaping over the airship railing like a raving idiot, all while a wyvern attacks the damn ship. Went and pegged yourself a Skies-damned hero.”

  “You what?” Abel grabs me by the arms.

  “My sister fell overboard—was I supposed to just stand there and watch her die?”

  “Yes!” Abel’s gaze still holds that sudden distance and reservation. That look hurts worst of all.

  Nicoletta sniffs. “Your little act of heroism had the Prince fawning all over you—can’t talk about anything since. Didn’t want anything to do with me—or I’d have been around to hear about this nonsense.”

  Abel raises a placating hand to Nicoletta. “The Prince was there, Nicoletta. That’s why he didn’t see you, he already had plans. They knew about the ambush and set one of their own. I don’t know how—we’ve a leak somewhere. There’s nothing you could have done.”

  Nicoletta thrusts her finger at Aubrey. “Maybe she’s the leak.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but Abel’s grip on my arm tightens.

  “I had everything under control—I…” Nicoletta’s voice cracks and the anguished furrow of her brows nearly undoes me. Then her expression shutters, darkens. “Why the Skies is she here, Abel?”

  He hesitates.

  “Oh, Skies, Abel. You didn’t—”

  “She’s our source for the Pits,” he says.

  Nicoletta’s eyes narrow again. “Her? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I clear my aching throat, desperate to diffuse this, to make her see I’m not the enemy. “Yes, the Prince took me there once, sort of on accident.”

  Nicoletta throws her hands into the air. “What a blundering idiot. Well, what are we going to do now? None of my charms are working anymore.”

  Abel shrugs. “You’ll just have to keep trying. The long-term plan still hinges on having someone we trust beside the throne. Especially since Pachuate fancies themselves a war.”

  A chill runs down my spine.

  Nicoletta closes her eyes and the look of anguish that contorts her face breaks something in my chest. “Chip…”

  “We’ll get him back, Nicoletta,” Abel says.

  Nicoletta sucks in a breath and pushes her wild red hair back from her face. Her gaze drops to me, to Abel’s hand on my arm. “Keep your head, Abel.” She turns and walks away with her posture slackened, not its usual rigid frame like I’m used to seeing at court. A little broken in a way that pricks tears in the backs of my eyes.

  “Come on, we need to get you home. I never should have let myself fall asleep last night,” Abel says, low and quiet.

  “You have allies within the nobility?” I whisper.

  “Yes.”

  “More than just Nicoletta?”

  “Yes.”

  I nod. That’s good, but the knowledge doesn’t extinguish the gnawing ache in my chest. I want to ask who, but I’m pretty sure he won’t tell me. Just like he didn’t tell Nicoletta that I was in his bed last night and more than just a source for the Pits. “Let’s go.”

  Home. The last place I want to go. The sun’s early morning rays stab through the foliage. Clara will be awake by now.