I nod profusely and blurt, “So wrong. I hate what Baelliles takes from my people, and I hate it even more that you’re a part of it.” The uneasy wave roams through my stomach, yet the words still somehow make their way out.

“I hate that I have to hate you.”

Hot bile inches its way up my throat, and as Braizen opens his mouth to say something back, I vomit onto the grass. I heave, and the bile flows in unrelenting droves. I’ll never drink ale again. Ever. Well, maybe I will, but at least not as fast.

I collapse, and my cheek slams against dirt. I can’t hold my eyes open a second longer; it’s dark.

Gasping, I quickly push myself up when I hear voices. I reach for my dagger. It’s gone, of course, and bleak reality washes over me as it has each morning I’ve awakened since my kidnapping. I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes and stretch my limbs. They ache from calling the ground a bed, and I wonder if I’ll ever get a good night's rest again. I touch my hair, disheveled and tangled, and reach to pull threads from my cloak to tie it back. But it’s not my cloak covering me. This one is far thinner and pine green— Braizen’s cloak.

With a huge yawn, I scan my surroundings. I don’t see him. Only Idunns, whistling, humming, skipping, dear gods, as they go about their sunrise duties. Some smile and wave, seemingly unperturbed by my ghastly appearance. I pluck a green string from Braizen’s cloak and wrap it as many times around my hair as I can. It won’t hold long, but it’ll have to do for now.

“Good morning. Idalia, is it?” A silken voice greets me. I look up to see a blonde beauty smiling down. It’s the woman Lorna spent the night with. She reaches down and helps pull me to my feet. “I see you slept well. That’s good.”

“I slept. I don’t know how well,” I say with a weak laugh.

Her light eyebrows rise. “Apologies. Had we known you’d sleep on the ground, we would’ve offered you one of our own beds.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want any of you to do such a thing.” I follow her to one of the large tables in the small square. I don’t know what to do with the cloak. I’m afraid even to hold it; it’s something that constantly brushes against his skin and feels almost blasphemous to wear against mine. I place it next to me on the bench. “Do you know where the Prince went this morning? I believe he slept near me.”