“I asked about women.” He’d grown used to being subservient within the pack, painful though it was. But having to repeat himself with the likes of a prisoner? A political hostage? It ground his back teeth together. “You were raised a soldier, without free will, force-fed gods only knows what passes for food in your ill-gotten empire. Did they at least let you have a girl or two?”
Cassius watched him another moment, then his gaze cut forward. His posture didn’t alter, but Ragnar could smell fresh sweat pricking under his arms: stress. Self-consciousness.
Ragnar grinned. “I’ll take that as ano.”
Cassius didn’t respond—save the two hectic spots of pink along his high-angled cheekbones.
“Ha! Are all Sel soldiers virgins? Or just you?”
“Carnal relations are—are a distraction,” Cassius said, haltingly, and the fear and shame pouring off of him were strong enough Ragnar couldn’t believe the horses didn’t throw their heads up to test the air. “Their purpose—”
“Gods, you’re still going.”
Blush deepening, Cassius continued, “Is to produce children, be they heirs, slaves, or soldiers. As the last of the three, all of my training was in battle.”
“Heirs, slaves, or soldiers,” Ragnar repeated. “Is that all you produce over there? What about farmers? Blacksmiths? Craftsmen? The tents we raided up north were swimming in gold trinkets and fancy cups. Someone made those, didn’t they?”
“Those would be slaves.”
“Is that how it is, then? In your empire? You’re either at the top, or someone at the top owns you?”
Cassius turned his head as they walked, his gaze near-colorless in the shade of the pines, cutting and far too bold for that of a prisoner. After a long beat of eye contact—as if Ragnar was going to be the one to look away first—Cassius returned his gaze to the road and sighed. “Have you considered that’s the precise reason I allowed myself to be captured? The reason I’m helping your people?”
“Notmypeople, mate. You’re helping the Southerners.”
“Your prince is aligned with the Southern cause, though, is he not?”
“He’s not myprince.”
“No.” Cassius sent him another sideways glance. “What is it you call him? Your alpha? He’s your master.”
Ragnar bristled. He didn’t realize he’d growled until Cassius’s brows lifted in surprise; then, aware of the rumble in his chest, he pushed it louder, deeper.
Leifwashis alpha. His master. But the intricacies of pack dynamics couldn’t be understood by anyone outside the pack, much less a Sel born into captivity. To Cassius, Ragnar’s submission to Leif’s authority, to hisbody, would resemble his own upbringing. A relationship between slave and slave-owner. He couldn’t begin to comprehend Ragnar’s relationship with Leif. Couldn’t conceive of—of the way—of the fact Leif didn’t see Ragnar as—
The shock of pain and pressure at his throat proved he’d tried to shift, and his growl choked off. He coughed, and thumped on his chest, his heart racing, his wolf whining and whimpering under his skin.
“Are you well?” Cassius asked.
“Fuck off,” Ragnar bit out between coughs.
When he’d gotten his breathing under control, and they’d walked from the shade of a pine grove back into the brilliantspring sunlight, he thought Cassius had finally learned to keep his trap shut.
But after a dozen strides of silence, Cassius said, “The collar you wear.”
Ragnar growled again, and the torq squeezed a warning that killed the sound in his throat.
“It binds you, doesn’t it?” Cassius continued, thebastard. “To Prince Leif? To his will?”
Ragnar bowed up his shoulders, lifted his arms, swelled his chest, and rounded on him. Whipped around so he stood directly before him, blocking his path, forcing him to halt in the middle of the road. A rider cursed them and steered his horse around them, and Ragnar stared directly into Cassius’s too-pale eyes.
“Lady Amelia wants you alive,” he snarled, “because she thinks you’ll prove useful. That’s the only reason you weren’t nailed up to a post and gutted the moment you were captured. Her men, Leif—they all respect her wishes. But I don’t. And collar or no collar, I don’t need to be on four legs to crush your windpipe. Say something else smart, and I’ll kill you right now and leave your body for the crows. Do we understand one another?”
“Yes,” Cassius said, right away.
But his concession felt like anything but a victory.
Ragnar turned and stalked off down the road, the prisoner’s footfalls following.
