The voice whispered into the gloom of her cell, and into her core, once more. She held her breath, unsure if this foreign feeling, or this man who caused it, could be trusted. But then the words came again, this time not in the human language, but in the Elven tongue.
“Princess Brandela, of the House of Oendale, do not fear. I have come to help. I have come to rescue you.”
Brandela gasped. Who was this man who knew her language and her name? Had her father finally sent someone to free her? Or was this a trick?
“Who are you?” she demanded, despising the quiver that she could not keep from her voice. “How is it that you can speak my language? I don’t recall any of the soldiers being able to speak Elven.”
Donovan smiled. He knew from the sound of that frightened, regal voice that he had definitely found who he was looking for.
“It does not matter how I come to speak your tongue. That can all be explained later. All that matters now is that I have found you and we must escape. We don’t have much time. They will soon discover one of their dead comrades and the fact that you are missing.”
Brandela’s voice was cautious and hesitant when she asked, “You…you killed someone?”
“Yes, Princess, the guard at the entrance to your cell.”
Brandela was silent for a long moment before asking, “How do I know you speak the truth? My father would likely wait for a ransom demand before sending his men. Has a ransom demand been made then?”
Donovan struggled to keep the impatience from his voice when he answered her. “That has nothing to do with why I’m here, and with all due respect, Princess, if you stay here, you won’t be ransomed off. I have overheard some of the guards saying that Garock is planning to give you directly to his suppliers, which appear to be Shadow Elves. If this is true, you will likely never see your family again, if you survive at all.”
“That is troubling news,” answered Brandela thoughtfully. “I didn’t realize they were in league with Shadow Elves. My father will have to be told of this.”
Donovan sighed. “We will be telling high Lord Aden nothing unless we get you out of here. We really must hurry, Princess.”
“Then you do know my father?” Brandela asked, stepping forward eagerly. “How do you know him? Did he send you? That would be odd, for he has a strong distaste for humans.”
Donovan rolled his eyes in the darkness and did not even try to hide his irritation this time. “Look, I’ll explain everything to you later, after we’ve made it out of here in one piece. Right now, we don’t have time for idle chitchat. We have to go, now!” He grabbed her hand and led her into the darkened hallway. Brandela, taken aback by his sudden forcefulness, followed without further protest.
As they hurried down the hallway and down the stairs, Brandela noticed a warm tingling in the hand that was held in this strange man’s grip. It was a pleasant, safe feeling and she was almost sorry when they came to the lower floor intersection and Donovan let go of her to check if the guard was still asleep.
Donovan led the way down the stairs to the storage room and then gave her the Elven hand signal to wait while he checked the door on the far side to make sure it was clear. Brandela thought it very strange indeed that this man knew the Elven hand signals. The signals were only taught to Elven scouts, and the only reason she knew some of them was because she had thought it would be interesting to learn them when she was younger. The man was becoming a greater mystery by the moment.
Donovan found that the way was clear, so he returned to the princess, grabbed her hand again, led her out the door, and began running with her for the alleyway. When they reached the alley, Donovan pulled the princess into the shadows and listened intently for any sign that they were being followed. The alley and the surrounding buildings were silent. They moved into the moonlit alley once more and began traveling quickly.
Donovan stopped suddenly, next to one of the small buildings, and surprised Brandela by laughing out loud. She followed his gaze and saw a mound of clothing on the side of their path—a clean, folded pile of hunter-green garments. She looked up at him, puzzled by his mirth, and he grinned at her.
“The old lady,” he whispered, as though that should have been enough to explain things.
Donovan picked up the pile and held them out to Brandela. “Put these on,” he commanded, and she could see he wasn’t kidding.
Brandela held the pants in front of her. They were far too large. She started to protest but Donovan quickly cut her off. “Put them on,” he insisted. “We won’t get far with you in that fancy gown of yours. You’ll need to be able to move fast and keep up with me. We’ll belt them up and roll the pant legs. Don’t worry about how they fit. Just put them on!”
Brandela looked around nervously. “There’s no place to change,” she protested. She looked up at him with her remarkably beautiful bluish-green eyes shining in the moonlight, silently pleading that he not make her do this. For a moment, Donovan’s breath caught. Those eyes…
He caught himself and raised his eyebrows in a gesture she would soon come to recognize as an amusement that never seemed far from Donovan’s surface. He grinned slightly, looked around, and shrugged. “Yeah, it kinda looks that way,” he said.
She frowned and he added, more seriously, “Princess, believe me, if there was another way I would use it, but there’s no time. I’ll turn my back. I promise not to look.”
Brandela moved into the shadow of the building and began to change. In a clipped, frustrated tone, she said, “I just hope you are an honorable person.”
Donovan chuckled. “Rest assured, Princess, your virtue is quite safe with me. I am not interested in some skinny, little, noble Elf who comes from a family that thinks Elves are the only honorable beings in this world.”
Donovan’s words made Brandela frown. There was an element of truth in what he said, and yet she felt somehow stung, as though he had slapped her. Were non-Elven beings capable of being honorable? Was this man? It wasn’t that she didn’t believe it…she’d simply never considered it before now. She glanced over her shoulder at Donovan, who leaned against a wall patiently, not peeking, and confusion washed over her again. She didn’t want him to look at her but at the same time she sort of wanted him to want to look at her.
As she struggled to adjust the oversized clothing, she struggled, too, with her own confused emotions. What kind of power did this man have to make her feel so…so strange? No man had ever spoken so bluntly to her before, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. He commanded her as though she was a child, and yet she felt no desire to resist him. Brandela sighed. She wasn’t making any sense. Nothing in her past experiences could help her understand the effect he had on her.
She smiled slightly, despite her awkward situation. He was rather handsome, with his raven black hair, light brown eyes, strong cheekbones and solid chin, and he had been sent by her father to rescue her. There was something a little thrilling about it all.
She turned to face him and hesitated for a moment, taking in his lanky, muscular frame before speaking. “I’m done. You can turn around now.”
Donovan turned and looked at her appraisingly. She could not meet his eyes and he chuckled at her embarrassment. The pants hung, baggy, around her legs, and the shirt fell almost to her knees. Donovan nodded and smiled. There was something so endearing about her, especially as she stood there, blushing self-consciously. She almost looked like a small child—except for her long legs and her extremely feminine features. Donovan shook his head, resisting these thoughts. He could not afford to be distracted right now!
“That’s much better,” he said, then grabbed her hand and retraced his route back to the window of the food storage room. He was pleased to find that it had not been discovered and boarded back over. He peered inside, alert for any sign of activity, then hopped up onto the ledge. He quickly lifted the princess up beside him, surprised by her light weight, then turned and jumped down into the room. Gripping her waist, he lifted her down and felt a quickening of his heartbeat as he smelled her unique scent. It was odd that she should smell so good after her long confinement.
As he set her down, his own face burned hot and it was he who was finding it hard to look directly at her. He cleared his throat and said, gruffly, “Wait here.”
Brandela nodded, too breathless to speak. In those few moments that she’d been in his arms, she had felt an overwhelming sensation of longing. She wondered, again, what was wrong with her.
Donovan made his way into the hallway of the armory. Two guards were stationed, as before, at the main entrance. They were talking to each other and sat on their stools, splay-legged and relaxed, backs against the wall.
Donovan entered the hallway and walked quickly and quietly toward them. He was only a few feet away when they finally noticed him and jumped up, reaching for their swords. Donovan rushed them and knocked one of the guards back into the other, causing the hit man to stumble and fall. Donovan rammed his Elven dagger into the first guard’s heart as he landed on him, and scrambled back to his feet to face the fallen guard. Before the guard could regain his footing, Donovan pulled his long sword and launched a well-aimed thrust into the second guard’s throat. The guard clutched his throat, gasping for air and trying to stem the flow of blood that was pouring from his wound. Donovan waited until he had stopped breathing.
Brandela watched as Donovan dragged the two bodies into the food storage room. She was impressed by his fighting abilities. He had nullified both guards so quickly and efficiently. She waited until he motioned for her to come to him, which she did at once.
He guided her down the hall and through a long back room, then stopped to examine the floor. He found the spot quickly and pried up several of the floorboards, revealing a deep, well-like structure.
Donovan straightened and looked hard at the princess, and she understood that this was not the time to protest or complain. There was no playful amusement in his eyes now, and she knew this was the time she had been imagining during all those long days of captivity. She would need to find some hidden strength, some mental space that would help her get through this. She returned his look with determination and asked, “What do I do?”
“There is a knotted rope hanging on that left side. Grab it and use it to lower yourself to the bottom. I’ll wait until you’re clear and then I’ll follow.”
Brandela nodded and, taking a deep breath, knelt, and felt for the rope. Donovan helped her ease into the hole and she worked her way down to the well floor. Donovan followed once she was clear, pausing at the top to pull the floorboards back into place, hoping to disguise their route, at least for a while. The darkness was a shock after the moonlit night outside, and when he finally reached the bottom and felt for Brandela’s position, her hand trembled in his.
“We will be traveling through a tunnel,” he told her. “It’s low and wet and, at times, very smelly. We’ll have to crawl most of the way. You will go ahead of me and you must keep moving. I’ll be right behind you the whole way, and I promise, we will get out of this.”
She said nothing, but allowed him to guide her to the entrance of the tunnel. She knelt where he showed her and was instantly hit with a gust of putrid air. She pulled back, fighting a strong wave of nausea. When it had passed, she lowered herself again to her hands and knees in the mud and slime and forced herself, stoically, into the blackness of the tunnel.
Donovan was surprised and impressed by her determination and willingness to endure these conditions without a fuss. He had expected this to be the hardest part. As he moved into the tunnel behind her, he had to admit a grudging respect for her fortitude.