Rustling sounds from the tents, and the other soldiers slowly file out, some of them wiping sleep from bleary eyes.
But no sign of their commander.
Where is he?
“What are you doing?” one of the soldiers hisses, the same one who’d offered to feed me earlier. “She’s the Commander’s wife.”
Sulon stares down at me, eyes flinty with malice. “She’s in chains, idiot.” The soldier still looks uncertain, chewing the inside of his cheek. It’s clear Sulon outranks him.
“I don’t know…” the soldier says, worried eyes scanning my bruised face. “He asked me if I thought she was pretty before he left. He was acting strange. Angrier than usual.”
Sulon scoffs. “She’s a prisoner. And that meansshe’s mine.”
No one says anything else. No one tries to stop him.
His gaze slides across my body again, and its filthy heat burns as if he’d pressed an open flame to my skin. Sulon’s cold eyes meet mine. “Bow.”
Terror grips me, freezing me in place. I know what comes next.
He scowls. “Bow, Tundrayni whore.”
The red of rage seeps into my vision, even as fear coats my tongue.
He will not break me. I’m the princess of fucking Tundrayn.
I straighten my spine. Then, I spit right in his ugly face.
Sulon freezes.
The men stare in shock.
Calmly, too calmly, Sulon wipes the spit from his cheek.
Then, he backhands me.
A sharp crack splinters the silence as my head flings to the side. The coppery tang of blood explodes across my tongue. Thesheer force of the blow knocks me off my feet. I hit the ground hard.
Blood trickles from my mouth, dripping down my neck. Jagged rocks shred through my leggings, the skin of my knees, as I crawl away, but rough hands fist in my hair, yanking me back. Sharp needles of pain radiate through my scalp. A pained yelp claws up my throat, but I press my lips together, caging in the sound.
I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
Sulon hauls me to my feet again, this time holding me against his body—it’s the only thing that keeps me from falling over.
The world tilts.
My head is swimming.
His breath is hot against my face, rough fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“Beg me to stop, and I’ll consider it,” he whispers against my lips.
He’s lying. I know he won’t stop. He’s just a sadistic prick who wants to hear me plead.
“Stubborn little bitch,” he says when I don’t respond, almost tenderly. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you beg before the night is over.” His hand clamps around my throat, fingers digging in like an iron cuff. Pressure builds fast—too fast—until my eyes are wide and panicked.
I can’t breathe. His grip shackles my throat. My bound fists hammer at his chest, his arms, his side—wild and desperate strikes that do absolutely nothing. He doesn’t flinch. It’s like hitting a mountain.
Still, I fight.
