"Why should he not be impressing you or the rest of the Generals?"
"Luka is the most powerful man at that table," he replied. "He's no reason to lie or spin words when he could easily report back to our King anything, and the King would blindly listen to him."
"Your King sounds like an idiot."
He looked like he might laugh, but he didn’t comment on her statement. "We've new traders coming in five days. Another meeting in seven. You'll attend both of these gatherings and report back to me what you see."
"Why would I do that?"
Quinn came back in the room then, carrying a towering tray of foods. Her mouth began to salivate at the sight of actual food and not just the scraps she'd been given. Quinn sat the tray on the bed, and Nyssa looked at the Noble, meeting his smug smile.
"Food is your barter?"
"You're starving," he noted. "I can hear the grumble of your insides every time you walk by in that room."
"I doubt your wife would like you feeding me, considering how much she is working on getting me ready for your Prince," Nyssa seethed.
Bechmen considered it. "Then tell me what else I can give you."
"You cannot buy me."
"Do not think that because you are a prize for my Prince, I will not use other methods to persuade you," he warned.
"I didn't know your Prince liked damaged goods."
"Once he learns why you're damaged, he'll agree with me."
The smell of the food made her eyes flutter. But she would not be bought with that. She would not cave for pastries or meat.
But she would play the game.
"No more burning me," she requested. "If you think the spots on my skin were horrendous, you must agree the burns are worse."
"What my wife does with you is not my territory," he told her. "Name something else."
"A walk in the market," she countered. "Daily."
"Weekly," he argued. "One walk per week. With guards."
"Not in chains," she added. "And not surrounded by one of your legions."
"Two guards, and you'll wear a scarf, so my people do not get ideas about your hair."
The Noble held out his hand, and when she frowned at the gesture, his lip faintly twitched at the corner.
"You shake my hand, and the deal is done," he explained.
Nyssa hesitated. "Repeat the terms aloud."
This time, he did smile.
"Youdolike politics, don't you?" he knew.
When she didn't respond, he turned back to the table and poured two glasses of wine.
"You'll watch my meetings with me and report back what you see,” he said. “Anything out of the ordinary. Lies. Exaggerations. Treachery. In exchange for your help, I'll allow you to the market for a walk once a week. Escorted by two guards, without chains, and with a scarf to hide your hair and keep your skin from getting more of these spots—“
"They're called freckles," she practically snapped.
