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It allowed me time to plan.

It also allowed me time to forget that, odds were, they could see with perfect clarity into my cage and were at least circumspect enough not to mention the nearly naked woman in the cage among them. The fact that they hadn’t mentioned it told me a lot. And I would use that information as much as I could.

The cage around me swayed, lifted, and came to an unsettling stillness, knocking me from my brooding. The patch of thigh beneath my finger was raw from the constant tracing of the numbers two and one, which had become an idle reminder of my purpose. I didn’t even remember starting to scratch the number into my skin again.

The scent of cooking food filled my cage, and my stomach twisted with empty longing. Deep, greedy breaths were taken of roasted chicken, berries, and some sort of vegetable I couldn’t quite pick out. The fog rolled away, and a plate was set in front of me, a two-pronged fork set beside it.

A stranger smiled softly at me and then nodded to the food. “Eat up, little pearl.”

“I’d give my left tit for one of you to call me something other than some stupid pet name.”

Right. Tongue lock had been disengaged—or so it seemed—and I’ve completely forgotten what an inside thought was.

A villainous smirk pulled across the man’s face as he crouched before me, meeting my eyes. “Then, by all means, give us your name, little pearl.”

“Oh, fuck off, Stag,” The Raven of the Dawn barked from somewhere behind my tormentor.

The Stag, satisfied with his game, pushed up from his crouch and spun on the heels of his well-oiled boots, arms wide in mock acquiescence. “Captain, forgive the harmless joke at the expense of our guest. Perish the thought of sullying your gift.”

The two men were joined in their laughter by their compatriots, moving out of my field of vision and allowing me to take stock of the scene before me.

A fire burned pale orange and yellow in the night, casting dancing and swaying light outward. The men were camped around it, bedrolls rimming the makeshift pit. A bottle of what I guessed was wine was passing between the circle of men as they talked, but I could not follow it, as my attention was seized by the forest eyes of The Raven of the Dawn who had settled across the flames from me.

He was stretched out, his long legs crossed at his booted ankle, his upper body leaning on his pack. His breastplate stood upright behind him, resting on what looked like a padded coat. The lack of armor allowed me to see the cut of his wide shoulders, defined and built strong by heavy toiling. The dipped V of his tunic, its laces haphazardly splayed open, gave me a delicious view of dark hair beneath his collar and drew my eye to the way the shirt strained against muscles. The lurid red mark where my teeth had sunk in was on full display.

Once again, his gaze locked with mine like a bear trap. Once you were in its grasp, there was no escaping it. We watched each other, eyes never moving away, the tension in the air thickening with every shared breath. What was it about this man? Why couldn’t I look away? Why couldn’t I keep myself from leaning toward the bars of the cage as if subconsciously trying to get closer to him? I couldn’t decide if I wanted to touch him or take up the sword lying across his lap and plunge it into his piercing regard.

It was him who finally broke the spell and cast his gaze down my face, throat, then finally to the plate before me. The path was slow, as if he were indulging in every single inch of barely shielded skin he could see. My own gaze followed his, staring at the lavish meal before me.

Rage itched at my throat. I was not a pet. I was not his pet! I pushed the plate away from me, petulant and childish. I wouldn’t eat when they fed me in a cage.

I turned my back on The Raven and curled my knees up against my chest to shut him out.

Mere seconds passed before I heard him at the bars. “Do not force me to open these bars, Cricket. Eat. I can hear your stomach from across the fire, which means the wolves can hear your stomach.”

Get fucked, I wanted to spit at him, but I remained quiet, tracing the two and one on the back of my hand.

“I will give you until I finish seeing to the others to eat in peace. If I return and find that plate full, I will tie you down and shove the food down your throat.”

The threat in his voice was soft. It didn’t need to be loud. This wasn’t a man who needed to shout or bite out his threats. This was a man who wore his confidence and power like an unseen mantle of authority. The kind of man whose every movement should be watched carefully. A man dangerous enough that his very breath could slice his enemies in two.

And I was the kind of woman who ignored dangerous men and let them stab pillows in dark long-abandoned rooms. So, I ignored him until I felt the familiar sensation of the black fog falling around the cage. This was thicker, though. It felt fully like a blanket had fallen over the cage, and only the softest of light from the fire beyond it pooled inside.

He was giving me privacy. Time away from the leering gaze of his riding companions and time away from being on display. I didn’t like that he was being kind. I wanted him to stay a bastard. I wanted to hate him. I didn’t want to imagine anyone could be kind in this land. It would be easier to light them all on fire on my way out—whenever that was.

The gnawing in my stomach won out, and I ate my meal quietly.

He never came back, at least not while I was awake. In the morning, I woke to the complex aroma of cloves, cardamom, rosemary, cedar, campfire smoke, and the warm scent of clean, masculine skin. The cloak that had been draped over me was tucked under my chin, and there was a bundled-up shirt under my head. My dish from the evening had disappeared, and in its place was a divine scent and warmth.

I let myself indulge in the comfort for a moment before I kicked out of it and pushed it through the bars along with the shirt. Tossing them into the blackness of the fog around me, hoping I hit him or one of his friends in the face.

Raucous laughter was the answer to my unspoken question about whether they were close.

Every night that followed was the same. He would have someone deliver me my meal when they ate, the exact same food they ate, and he would watch me across the fire. He didn’t need to tell me to eat, though. As soon as I lifted my fork, the darkness would fall around my cage, and I would be given the privilege of privacy.

Every morning, I woke to the same, his cloak around me, his shirt as my pillow, and my plate cleared away. I was starting to get used to the rhythm of the travel. Starting to get used to our uneasy truce. If this was to be my life in this hideous land, I could suffer this for a while.

I had never been that lucky, though, and even in the pits of my worst nightmare, I was not going to scrounge up some small nuggets of luck. It was a nice distraction, days of being left alone aside from my nightly eye-fucking, but it was not to last.