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belonged to had indoctrinated Adonia with a scornful contempt for the aristocracy, but in a matter of months following Vergaza, she’d shed their influence and opened her mind to a different way of thinking. She’d been wrong about many things. The realization had hurt, but she’d swallowed her pride, owned up to her prejudices and set about changing how she thought and behaved. Throughout her internal upheaval, she’d clung to one certainty—Klaran cared for her. She had a place with him. She was Klaran’s betrothed, his future wife. She had lost her entire family and many of her sisters-in-arms to the Haarb, but she wasn’t alone in the world. She would always have Klaran.
    It had taken Klaran mere moments to obliterate her self-worth and years later, she still bled from the gaping wound. Klaran’s words had done more than strip her of any sense she was desirable. His betrayal had obliterated her identity, her confidence in where she belonged in the world. When he’d rejected her, nothing remained of her previous life and she’d no sense of her place in a new one. Maybe she would know where she belonged at the end of this journey. Nyth Uchel’s healer? Yes. She could take pride in being Nyth Uchel’s healer.
     



Chapter Three
    I am so stinking tired of this damnable horse. Adonia snorted. The operative word being “stinking.” Nights on the ground, days of road dust and an accumulation of horse and human sweat created an unforgettable odor, and the ache in her bones was enough to bring tears to her eyes. While she would not have traded her days in the library of the High Enclave for anything, they hadn’t done her riding muscles any favors. She stood in her stirrups to ease the chaffed skin of her thighs, but when her legs refused to hold her, she slapped down onto the hard saddle seat and yelped.
    Steffania glanced her way at her outcry, and Adonia thought the woman laughed. Adonia had little time to visit with the redhead who rode beside her at a steady gallop. She envied the fit mercenary leader for more than one reason and thought back three days ago to their early-morning departure in the palace courtyard.
    The High Lord had watched Prince DeHelios tie a packhorse to his mount’s tail. “I regret we can’t send more brite-weed with you. We emptied the storehouses.”
    “At this point, I’ll take what I can get. It will have to do.” DeHelios had looked up at a clatter of hooves as two horses trotted into the courtyard.
    “ You are late, Lord DeKieran, and why is the head of my Blue Daggers with you?” Ari DeTano had stood, arms crossed, and eyed Ramsey with displeasure.
    “She is my wife, DeTano. Where I go, she goes, and vice versa . I left her behind once. I’ll never make that mistake again.”
    The two men had eyed each other in a contest of wills until DeTano had exhaled forcefully, placed his hands on his hips and nodded curtly. “Take better care of her this time.”
    Adonia sighed , remembering. She imagined what it must feel like to be so valued—to be so loved that any separation was untenable. Stop it, Adonia. Such romantic imaginings were of little practical use. There was no one who felt that way about her, and she had a duty to Nyth Uchel. Those people needed a healer. A healer, remember that, Adonia. Her thoughts drifted to Prince DeHelios and the strange attraction that seemed to be forming between them.
    Last evening, like the evening before, Hel had helped her tend to her horse and arrange her bedroll before seeing to his own. “I’ve pushed you hard today, Healer. I will assist you.”
    At her silent nod, his gray eyes had lingered on her thoughtfully. While stripping her horse and laying out her bedding, his bare hand had brushed her arm. An electric tingle had slid over her body, prompting each hair follicle erect in an eruption of tiny goose bumps. Her nipples had hardened into tight buds. 
    It was not the first time his frequent, chance contact had caused this