Alastor couldn't understand the emotions stirring within him. Ever since the princess had healed his wounds and showered him with kindness, he felt a strange warmth creeping into his chest, softening the edges of his hardened heart. No one in this had treated him as anything more than a tool for war but she was not the same. She healed him when he was hurt and treated him with respect.
But he couldn't shake the warnings from his men—Faes were liars, masters of manipulation. Her sweetness could easily be a mask, a tool to disarm him. He reminded himself of his purpose. He wasn't here to fall for a princess, especially not one from the kingdom he had sworn to ruin.
Yet, no matter how much he tried, his thoughts kept returning to her gentle touch and the way her eyes seemed to hold an innocence that didn't match the tales of her kind.
