**BOOK II OF THE FOUR REALMS SERIES**
When war came for Azura, Fara of Calate lost everything. Her husband, her new home, her freedom. When her captor - the formidable commander of the Leoth army - saves her life, she begins to see the enemy as som...
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Had it been days or hours since they had locked her in here? Valdr's Nati standing guard outside. Some hours ago they'd sent a mouse-quiet maid with food and a jug of sweet wine. Wine she was sure had been laced with something, for not long after a cup she had fallen asleep, despite her mind being afire with all that had happened.
When she awoke, it was dark. A hot bath waited for her, a new gown of sumptuous silk laid out flat on the bed. The colour a rich golden yellow, a colour Valdr liked on her. It would do no one good to defy him now, she thought, and so after bathing - she'd found spatters of dried blood between her fingers, on her throat, in her hair - she stepped into the gown and pulled it on, doing the laces as best she could on her own.
When the maids came again to carry away the bath, they also aided her to dress. While they did, she asked if they had any news of the Leoth, of Lord Dacian, even the Lady Dura - but no one spoke a word to her.
Had that been Valdr's instruction?
Or was it the wound inflicted by Torrik's carefully chosen words? His insinuation that she was a Leoth whore. No doubt the news of all that had happened at the war council had spread to the castle and beyond. She cared not what damage his words had done because deep down she knew the truth of it: she would be a Leoth whore before she would be a Zybar's female and she cared not who knew it.
As fury simmered, she let herself enjoy the ripple of satisfaction at the memory of Torrik's blood arcing in great red waves from his gaping throat. The sound of his desperate, drowning struggle. The end of his bloody reign.
He was dead, surely? There was no healer alive that could stitch a head back to a body, and Elyon had torn a hole through his neck so thoroughly that there was barely a scrap of flesh left to hold it.
Gods, Elyon. Do you live, still?
What had they done to him? Elyon who was afraid of nothing and lived as though he were invincible. Had they taken his head yet? If not, she would do whatever she could to save him. She thought of how she might get a message to Theodan to warn him. If only she knew more of these Leoth messengers dotted across the realm. If she could speak with Elyon, then she could force him to tell her all he knew so she could save him from this.
She stood from the chair and went again to the door to bang her fist against it.
'I demand this door be unlocked at once! I demand an audience with my brother! I am a princess of the blood, not some mad woman!' She pulled at the handle and rocked it in its frame. 'I know you stand out there - open this door, I command it!' When her demands went unanswered, she kick at it angrily before storming back across the room.
From the window she saw that Zybar's ships still sat in the harbour. The port still bustled with activity. No headless Leoth had been impaled upon the castle wall she could see. It all served to heighten the feeling of dread and unease which lurched and pulled within her. For surely it meant plans were being redrawn, pacts being solidified once more - decisions being made which she had absolutely no influence upon.
