Above me, General Tilcot tossed the remnants of his glass back, swallowing with a hum. “What happened to your unit, Rawlings? I heard you lost ground.”
An indulgent sigh spilled from the captain’s lips. “We did,” he admitted. “The rebels managed to hit us with a few explosive charges at shift change.” He shrugged, though his eyes went flat and hard. Wary, I assumed, of a trap with gilded jaws. “Nothing but a few injured men, though…” Pausing long enough to sip at a tumbler of amber liquid, he added, “It could have been much worse, of course.” Absently, he stroked my hair. Gentle, despite the snag of callouses catching at my roots. Making my scalp dance. “Incidentally, that’s why I was looking for a new girl in the first place.” A sinister chuckle skated along my nape, igniting my temper. “Nothing inspires a soldier to work harder than access to high-quality pussy, which is something my men seem to have forgotten.”
“I heard she was a dreadful sight when you got her,” said an elegant woman seated across the table. Most of her face left hidden from my vantage point on the floor, until she shifted forward. Inspecting me down the length of a narrow, aristocratic nose. A perfect coil of gleaming, ebon thick hair positioned to cover her right breast. “Was she to be a punishment for your men? Or are the common folk really so desperate that they’ll stoop as low as…that.”
At this, the captain smirked and turned his attention down. To me. Swirling the amber liquid in his glass, he watched me from eyes gone dark as pitch, and said, “Mila, how long did you live in the forest?”
Insulted, feelings hurt, I let my glare fall to the cushion beneath my knees and mumbled, “I don’t know.”
The elegant woman sneered. “Honestly, Asher. I don’t understand your tolerance for such blatant disrespect. A man of your up-and-coming station deserves much better,” she purred, making it impossible for anyone to mistake her intentions toward Captain Asher Rawlings.
“Nonsense, Carina,” he returned with a smile, all the while those fingers remained tangled in my hair. Petting… stroking with an absent-minded compulsion. “Mila’s testing her limits, that’s all. All new slaves need to figure out what they can and can’t get away with,” he said and refreshed her glass. “Now, Mila, I’ll ask again. How old were you when you fled the Empire?”
I shook off his touch with a jerk of my shoulders. “Eighteen.”
“And how old are you now?” he purred, and merely continued to stroke through the silky, well-groomed locks he couldn’t seem to get enough of.
A sneer curled at the edge of my lips. “I don’t know,” I said, enunciating every word.
Carina scoffed, but with a patronizing smirk the captain pressed on. “Let’s try something different, hmm? When did you flee Elora?”
Confusion bunched between my brows. “I didn’t,” I replied. “I’m Tritan”—I seized a handful of that hated, silver-blonde hair, shaking it with a flick of my wrist that glittered with the stamp of gold, the mark of a bound priestess—“remember?”
It was his turn to frown, and he lurched forward to cup my chin in strong fingers. To make me look, when he said, “You leftTritan?” with genuine surprise etched across his face. “Mila…” He shook his head. “We conquered Tritanfive years ago. Have you been in the forest all that time?”
I blinked at the news, but that was all. Concealing my shock behind lax facial muscles and a wall of simmering spite.
The general laughed, boisterous and loud. “Five years of filth wouldindeedbe adequate motivation to get results out of the rabble!”
And as if given permission, the rest of the diners followed suit. Elite laughter echoing all around me. Sending heat to flood my cheeks, filling my chest with mortified shame.
“Ah,” the general sighed, and sat back. Hands clasped in his lap as a wall of Eloran slaves emerged from the kitchens, laden with trays of steaming food. “Dinner is served.”
Stomach rumbling, I couldn’t help the way my mouth watered. The tilt of my head as I tried to catch the scent of Eloran cooking—a beloved staple of my upbringing, and one I was suddenly aching to try again.
But the instant the first silver lid was lifted, my heart plummeted.
“I haven’t had a good steak in months,” the captain said, grinning at a plate swimming in blood, butter, and garlic.
Dejected, I sank back into my cushion.
“I was getting rather tired of rations myself,” another replied. The jealous man, who’d paid half a million for the honor of putting a Tritan priestess on her knees.
“Don’t fast on my account!” the general said, flicking his utensils at the elites before cutting into his steak with a flourish. “Dig in.”
Resigned to yet another hungry, sleepless night, I scowled at my chains. Digging a fingernail at the seam of gold and flesh, just to feel the nip of pain. To wallow when I was unable to act.
Fingers cascaded through my hair. “I really shouldn’t be rewarding your behavior with steak,” the captain said, “but you’ll need the energy. Eat.”
Startled, I glanced up to find the captain’s free hand outstretched. Between his fingers, a slab of lightly charred flesh, dripping in grease.
Mouth flooding with sour spittle, I cringed back and said, “No, thank you, sir,” with all the learned courtesy of a high-born, Tritan lady.
The captain sighed, one brow cocked as he pinned me with a dark glare. “Must you fight me at every turn?” He pushed the strip of steak closer to my lips. Insistent. “Eat.”
“Sir, I’d really rather not,” I whispered, trying to convey my disgust. To beg him for mercy in this, if nothing else.
“And as I’ve already made clear, I don’t care what you’dratherdo, Mila. Eat, or I’ll strap you up on the cross beside Sasha.”
