How strong was the magic that bound the torq to his throat? Was Leif’s authority as alpha absolute? Able to withstand that kind of anger and resentment?
Perhaps more concerning: What had the quiet and expressionless Cassius done to engender such anger? What was he really planning?
She turned toward the rustling of the tent flap, and next heard the clink of chains as Cassius preceded Leif into the light. His ankles were bound again, with only enough slack to allow him to walk. Likewise, his wrists were bound, secured beforehim with new, thick silver cuffs more substantial than those he’d worn that morning.
Leif steered him forward with a hand gripped tight to his shoulder and said, “I hope you don’t mind: I took the liberty of having the smith fashion him new restraints.”
“I don’t mind at all. Thank you.” She was relieved to see that Ragnar wasn’t with them.
Cassius’s expression betrayed no emotion save calm readiness. Alert, but not frightened, so perfectly benign it was an obvious effort. A performance; not a brave one, but a trained one.
It was eerie.
Leif halted, hand tightening in a painful-looking way on Cassius’s shoulder. By contrast, his expression was all authority: a warrior at the ready.
Amelia’s mind flashed to a scene from the road: Ragnar’s shoulders bowed up nearly to his ears, chest heaving as he fought to regulate his breathing; a sun-scored portrait in profile, lips peeled back off his teeth, canine’s sharper than a normal man’s.
She made a swift, instinctual decision. “Prince Leif,” she said, formally, “would you please secure the prisoner and then leave us?”
Leif’s brows flew up. “Leave you?”
“Yes.” She indicated the tent’s main support pole, and then drew the sword she still wore on her hip. Lantern light flared like fire down its polished length. “He’ll be bound, and I’ll be armed.” She offered a bare smile. “I have no doubt we’ll be fine, and I’ll send someone to fetch you when we’re done.”
Leif clearly didn’t like the idea. He studied her a long moment, brow furrowed. But, finally, he shook his head, and towed Cassius over to the tentpole. He wore the key to the cuffs around his neck, and he made fast work of unlatching one, andthen tugging Cassius’s arms behind his back and securing his wrists around the pole.
“Sit,” he ordered, and shoved Cassius into an ungainly sprawl on the dirt.
“Thank you,” Amelia said. “That’ll be all.”
Leif’s parting glance was a warning.Be careful, it said.I hope you understand what you’re doing. He clearly didn’t think she did.
When he was gone, Cassius hitched his back up higher against the pole, sitting straight, and situated his legs to a more comfortable position. He tilted his head, so his white hair settled in neat sheafs over his shoulders. It was heavy and slippery as watered silk, tangle-free despite a lack of proper grooming.
He said, in the voice of a neutral but fascinated observer, “You give orders to a prince.”
“I make requests. The prince and I are friends, and because he’s in my country, he lets us Southerners take the lead.”
He cocked his head, quizzical, his gaze all the more penetrating for its confusion. “The Úlfheðnar warrior. Ragnar. He questioned me today.”
Amelia’s skin prickled with gooseflesh. She had questions of her own, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to hear what had transpired today. “About your home? About Seles?”
“Seles is where I was born and trained. I don’t think of it as home,” he said. “Nowhere is home.”
A genuine sentiment? Or a bid for sympathy? Did he think her so weak-hearted as to fall for a scheme like that?
She kept still, sword held before her, and he continued, “No. He asked me of women. Of the mating habits of Selesee soldiers.”
“Mating habits?” A startled laugh bubbled in her chest. “You could say ‘romance.’ ‘Taking a tumble.’” She lifted herbrows when he frowned, the tiniest downward twitch at the corners of his mouth. “‘Fucking.’”
The frown deepened a fraction. “Whatever you prefer to call it, I explained to him that soldiers like me are not permitted any sort of amorous contact, not with women or men. We were bred for one purpose. Leisure and diversion have no place in the life of a soldier of Seles.”
“That isn’t the custom in Aquitainia.”
“You have amorous intentions toward Prince Leif.” It was an observation, rather than a question, and it halted Amelia’s breath for three damning seconds before she took a measured inhale and walked, unhurried, toward the chest where the maps still lay spread across its lid.
It was an effort to keep her movements slow and measured. She rolled the maps up one-handed, still holding her sword. “What would make you say that? If you’ve lived your whole life without romantic entanglements, what makes you so sure you can recognize finer feelings in those around you?”
There. She felt a reassuring pulse of victory, the initial shakiness of his statement receding.
