𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃│✔

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟒

Even though we've been walking for a solid couple of hours, he shows no signs of fatigue and keeps his posture way too straight for a frightened priest who's just been captured by a group of mercenaries. I tried to poke him in the midriff a couple of times, but that has earned me side glances from one particular Salavar who's been staring at me for the majority of the ride. He even directed his stallion to trot closer to me. Perfect, I warned the rest to not stand out yet I'm already in one of their men's field of vision. Behind me, Ezra seems to go extra rigid every time the man looks down at me, as if she too senses that I've caught his eye. 

Well, the seamstresses did design my attire to catch more attention, so I suppose that this is complimenting for her job well done. Although I must say that objectively, the man is a sight to behold, he'll probably end up dead after this any way. As if he heard my exact thoughts, he looks down at the same time I look up at him, and instead of looking away like he probably expected me to, I keep his gaze trapped in mine and dare to lift my chin lightly to appear like the bold type of prisoner.

Men as young as him love the idea of a challenge, from my experience, so I know that I made the intended impression when he smirks at me before breaking eye contact to pull another line of prisoners forward.

Oh, he's going to be fun to play with, the smirk on my lips concealed by my hair that falls over my face like a messy curtain when I bow my head in attempt to make myself petite. The game of push and pull I set up continues throughout the entire route, and by the time the campsite comes in side, the man made it his mission to get my attention. It's very simple really, one minute I appear bold and daring by looking him in the eye and flutter my eyelashes with purpose, the next I make myself look smaller and ignore him. The longer I stare, the longer I ignore, and the longer I ignore, the more the tension between us grows into something that he wishes to become truth instead of a mere illusion.

"A woman's true power lays in making a man belief her to be a prey, when he's the one being preyed on."

Teacher's words make so much more sense now that I'm in a situation where I have to play a victim for the life of me. Although having to bear the nasty look-overs of this lustful man who's brain capacity lies in his pants instead of his brain leaves a bitter after taste in my mouth. His idiotic attempts to be noticed by a prisoner who's temple he just trampled on make up for it.

It dawns to me that there's a traitor amongst our House. Someone who must be financially supporting them. Once we enter the campsite they're currently stationed at, all attention of their crew turns to us. Men of all ages and Clans are all tending at their own stations. Some have taken on the roles of medics, and are meticulously taking care of wounded brutes. Others have the equipment of a blacksmith, and give of a brusque air while sharpening their swords made of black metal, and probably dipped in Silver Root as well. 

Ezra pulls at my dress when a group of women walk out of a tent, happily conversing with no care of the bloodied state of the ground they walk on. Perhaps that is why I don't pay much mind to the fact that most of these women have swollen bellies. Perhaps that's why my other half wakes up from her unconscious state in growling hunger. There, not even ten meters from where pregnant women negligently chatter about the most innocent topics, at the border of the river, is a bloodied podium. 

The fresh ichor from previous captives freshly dripping through the wooden platform. Next to the the podium, an axe is lodged in a cylinder of wood, the black metal of it drenched in silver.

We come to a halt in front of the largest tent, a couple of feet from the bloody scene. Still in handcuffs, we're forced into a kneeled position lined up at the opening of the tent. The horsemen dismount and join the growing mass of people circling us. I don't have the time to second guess my presumptions that this is their version of a trial, because when the curious voices surrounding us die out, a buff middle-aged looking man steps out of the tent.