Something instinctive told her to obey him in that moment. The look in his dark eyes and the charred tone of his growled command was undoubtedly a warning she must heed.

Of course, she wanted to defy him. Every nerve and muscle and fibre of her being screamed to defy him; to spit in his face or lunge for his throat, to reign down a thousand prayers of vengeance with more force than a thunderstorm, but in the end, she had done none of these things.

If she were to strip away everything else, what had happened before, what might happen now, then perhaps she could find some sliver of gratitude for Galyn's killer.  By his intervention, she had avoided being some momentary plaything for a pack of Zybarian dogs.  But this notion was buried too deep, buried deep beneath layer upon layer of cold unforgiving stone. She could find nothing but rage and hate in her heart as she stared back at the huge leothine stood before her with his hand stretched out.

For strength, she distilled her emotions down into one fine point until it was sharp and crystal clear. Only one thing mattered right now - survival. So she used every ounce of strength she had left in her body to force it to obey him. Obey. Survive. Avenge. She had nothing else left.

Slowly, trembling, she reached up and placed her hand in his. She had to grit her teeth hard to avoid recoiling at the touch of it.

His hand felt large in hers, too large, and too warm. Fara hadn't known they were warm to the touch. Leoth's, she'd been made to believe, were cold like a fish or like wet cave stone - but this one was not. This one was hotter than she'd ever known any human to be, as though the blood coursing under the pale skin might be made of fire itself. Perhaps it was. She'd never seen a Leoth bleed before after all. She looked down at the hand that gripped hers.

As soon as their skin touched he made a low sound in his throat and turned, marching off in the opposite direction from where her felled attackers still spluttered on the sand.  His large legs carried him faster than she could keep apace with, and so she had to run a little each step so as not to fall behind. She feared that if she either stumbled or fell, then he would turn those black eyes on her, or worse, lift her up and carry her.  At least he wasn't taking her towards the woods, she thought with a measure of comfort.

He kept moving forward, away from the Zybar, away from the woods, away from the unclaimed. So large and broad was he, his large body obscured everything in front, including the moon which was perched high and steadfast in the night sky.  The black steel of his swords glinted menacingly in their holsters, caught by the occasional moonbeam from above, the muscles of his wide back contracting and contorting with each huge stride he took forward, defined muscles rippling under pale celestial skin.

As they fell into a communal stride, she thought about the three Zybar lives she had just spared and wondered what in the name of the goddess she had been thinking when she'd done so. She'd wanted them dead only moments before. As the pig had torn at her tunic and pushed against her body she'd prayed silently for mercy, for him to be struck from above by Azura's wrath.  She'd wished for the death of that particular Zybar for almost every second of the march toward the beach. So why hadn't she let the Leoth kill him? Why hadn't she said yes and watched as the Leoth had opened his throat as she'd watched him open Galyn's?  The Leoth himself had wanted to kill him, all of them, she'd seen his monstrous teeth glinting in the darkness ready to rip the Zybar apart. She'd seen his sharp black claws pressed against his throat in readiness.

Why had she given that vile pig his freedom?

Fara hadn't known then and she didn't know now.

All she knew was that she didn't want to be the reason this particular Leoth took any more lives.

What she lamented most of all was the loss of her amethyst hairpin. She didn't regret thrusting it into the leg of the Zybar, but she did regret not having the presence of mind to retrieve it right after. She'd saw him pull it out and toss it aside like it was worthless. She had resolved to come back in the daylight and look for it. It would be nearby the drinking basin, in the sand and hopefully hidden from view. Yes, when the bulk of the army left camp tomorrow she would return to look for it.

They continued to move across the camp at pace, past the clearing where the Leoths had claimed their women under the heat of the sun earlier today, past the serving tents where Zybarians drank and ate and regaled each other with their kills of the day, past the pens where scores of horses whinnied and fed from large troughs filled with bleached grass and water.

The Leoths' it seemed were housed far away from the Zybarian and slave camps, the unclaimed camp now almost out of view when she chanced a look back over her shoulder. She wondered why the Leoth she heard laying with the slavegirl had chosen to do it so far away from his own men. Though the thought vanished from her head when they were stopped by an oncoming Leoth.

This new warrior bowed his head deferentially to the one clutching tight to her hand, indicating a level of rank above his own. When her Leoth turned she was able to see the unfamiliar warrior more fully, noting that this one's features were not as well arranged as the one holding her hand.  He was of a similar height and build; large and deadly with the same colouring and battledress, but his nose was larger and his lips thinner, helping make his wide slanted eyes look too small.

The warrior spoke to hers in harsh rough-edged leothin, casting a brief look at Fara. Her Leoth, with a single sharp word and a nod, confirmed something. At this, the other Leoth took a more leisurely assessment of her, his dark slitted eyes widening a little before he nodded, satisfied.  To her mind, however, he did not seem overly impressed by the sight she made before him.

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin, feeling a little riled for no sensible reason.  Granted she did not look like a Princess of Calate and Azura, not with her hair unbound and her body clothed in rags, but a Princess she was and when she rose again she would make sure every Leoth and Zybar in this entire camp knew what they had wrought to someone of royal birth.

She shot him a hard look and he narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to study her a little harder. He made another foreign noise, that to Fara sounded like an animal choking, and began to explain something in great detail to her silent pensive warrior.

What an ugly language the Leoths had. Tongues. Hissing. Coughing. Yet, she still wished she'd broken the rules a little regarding the study of it. In Calate and in Azura it was forbidden for women to learn Leothin, for Leoths knew only of dark worship, war, and death. All things women had no place speaking of.  Galyn she knew had spoken some, Valdr and Panos too. But then, men were often required to speak of war and death.

Their conversation of tripping tongues over, she was pulled forward again but the hot grip of the Leoth, through a settlement of tents and up a slight incline that stole her breath.  As they reached the summit they were immediately upon a large circular tent the colour of horse blood, with a fenced area to one side which held the largest Varveh she had ever seen.

It was coloured black as night, almost invisible against the sheeted backdrop of the sky, yet, when it turned she saw that its eyes where the brightest palest silver; like stars set deep into a dark sky.  Fara was momentarily stunned by its size and rare beauty.  Without a Leoth perched on it, she found the beast mesmerising instead of terrifying. She longed to go to it and touch it, smooth her hand over its velvet coat to see if it was as soft as it looked.  It was said that only Leoth could ride Varveh, but if Fara could somehow get it to trust her like she had many a wild pony, then it could take her home ten times faster than any horse she might steal from the camp. She wasn't sure if this one could fly, these were a very rare breed, and she hadn't seen any overhead on the march so it seemed they had brought only land riders. The coat of this one was also so black that she couldn't make out anything on the flanks to indicate its ability to take flight.  She would need to look closer in the daylight.

The warrior's tent had a spectacular vista of the bay, one of only a few raised up on a hill above the others, and it was by far the largest of the tents on the Leothine side of the camp. This only compounded his importance. High-ranked and much respected it seemed. She had guessed it long before of course, for who else would be afforded the honour of killing the Crown Prince of Azura?

The Leoth let go of her hand as they reached the entrance to the tent, lifting the covering and stepping inside, where he held it open for her to enter.  When Fara didn't move he made an impatient sound and motioned her forward with his head.

'Come,' he commanded. 'You will sleep here.'

Her heart was beating dangerously fast, instinct willing her to run, panic causing her to freeze.  With a silent breath and a prayer upwards, Fara stepped through the opening and into the Leothine's tent. He let the fabric drop behind her closing out the rest of the camp and strode across the surprisingly well-furnished space to a low table atop which sat a large metal apparatus.

The tent was low-lit, light coming from oil-filled torches as well as a contained fire burning in a circular grate in the centre which crackled upwards, pushing smoke out of a hole in the roof. To the right of the fire, on a tall but narrow table, sat a plentiful arrangement of bread and fruit, as well as something meaty and hot that even from this range, turned her empty stomach. Animal or human, she wondered. On the opposite side of the fire was a large steel basin filled with steaming water and a familiar and welcoming scent - rose flower oil perhaps - and just beyond that, partially curtained off, was a very large very comfortable-looking pallet covered in an array of soft fabrics, furs, and cushions. More than anything she wanted to go to it and sleep away this newest nightmare.

As the Leothine reached the metal apparatus, he began to remove his weapons, starting with the small daggers packed into in the straps around his calves. He unsheathed them and slotted them into place on the contraption, which she soon realised was constructed for the sole purpose of displaying weapons. But of course, it was. Next, he bent down and pulled a long, thin, blade from an insert on his black strapped sandal, sliding it too into its bespoke spot on the unit.

He used his teeth then to loosen the two thick leather straps around his wrists, before hooking them to the trestle to slot the two small but thick daggers into place on either side of the display. She noted how he touched his every item as he set it down, tender almost, like one would touch a lover, before moving onto the next. She noticed too how his claws were no longer the elongated weapons of war they had been as he'd wrapped his hands around the Zybar's neck, or as he'd sliced them across Galyn's throat. They were now much shorter and more contained, but still pitch black with a sharp, slightly hooked end.

So the nails and teeth did elongate in battle. She'd thought it a mere myth. Like the myth that their spine cracked apart during battle to reveal hideous spikes of bone as strong as stone, like the myth that their skulls peeled back at will to reveal black poisonous flesh that could kill a human with one touch, like their ability to paralyse their mates with one bite as they bred with them.  She shuddered at the thought of these also being true, a fine ripple of sweat breaking out over her body. And she was to sleep here with this... monster.

Lastly, she watched as he removed the two gigantic blackswords fixed to the straps of leather which crisscrossed his back. Glinting ornaments of death made from carved Leoth steel, they took pride of place on his warrior's body. He set them down like he would a babe, gently and with care, each crisscrossing the other and doubling as a sort of locking device for the entire macabre collection. He hit something and she heard the sound of a locking mechanism shifting and clicking into place. Weapons locked away. Secure. Out of reach.

As he turned around she was not quick enough, dropping her eyes only after he caught her observing him with disdain.

He was moving now. Back across the tent toward her. Two long strides brought him before her once again.

'Look at me,' he ordered after a moment of deafening silence with her staring at his gigantic booted feet. His voice had that now familiar edge to it. A commanders tone.  A leader of armies.  Of wars. A bringer of death.

Fara took another deep breath.  She longed to lick her tongue across her dry lips. To drink cold soothing water down into her throat.  To douse the hot acrid fear that turned over in her stomach.

Slowly, she raised her head to meet his eyes.  Something shimmered across his gaze, a crackling, like lightning, clouding his eyes so that it appeared his mind and soul were whisked out of his body and taken elsewhere for a few brief moments.  In those moments she felt brave enough to stare, noticing that his eyes were not the dark pits of black she had sworn they were, in fact, they were not black at all. They were a very deep, very rich, shade of purple. A darkened violet with the faintest hint of black hovering on the outer edges. When they refocused on her once more however, the black ebbed further inwards eclipsing the lighter section near the centre. He narrowed his gaze on her ever so slightly, confused, angry, she did not know.

'You have eaten?' He asked. 'You were fed with the other slaves.' They sounded like questions but his odd, clipped, accent made it sound like he did not require an answer.

Yes, just before I was taken to be brutalised by those you fight alongside, I was given a slave's feast. The bread was as dry as sand-soaked bone and the water as vile as the hot piss of your Varveh.

'I was.' She replied when it was clear he desired a response.

He grunted in approval, or in what she took to be approval.

'You will help yourself to the food here should you require further nourishment,' he swept his hand towards the table of offerings. 'You will drink water and not leothine wine, and you will not leave the tent without my permission — you will understand this.'

His tone was hard and cold and he spoke only in commands. She presumed it to be how he spoke to his men. Or his Varveh. She stared back at him but said nothing in reply, biting down on the inside of her mouth to prevent herself from saying what was in her heart.  When he gave her an expectant look she merely stared back harder. Just like she would not show him gratitude for his intervention back at the slave camp, she would neither thank him for the offer of food. Food which was certainly stolen from her own people and her own lands. She would not acknowledge his command to stay in the tent either. She wanted her hairpin back and as soon as he left for the next fight tomorrow she would go back and retrieve it.

With another of his impatient growls, he left her and moved across to the serving table where he lifted a handful of whatever the black steaming bowl contained and lifted it to his mouth. He tilted his head back and shovelled it inside and began to chew, his throat and teeth working hard at breaking down whatever it was. As he devoured it and licked his tongue over his mouth hungrily, her own filled with saliva and her stomach tightened in need. He licked his fingers into his mouth and turned his head to meet her eye while he sucked them clean.

Her stomach quivered once more. She watched him repeat this with another handful of dead meat, before dropping her eyes from him and staring at the ground of the tent. He ate loudly for a few minutes as Fara tried to contain the roiling unease of her stomach before she heard him moving again. Fearfully, she flicked her eyes back up. He had abandoned the food and was now at the basin.  She watched as he dipped in both of his hands and proceeded to wash his face and mouth clean.

He stood up straight and turned to face her again and once more she dropped her eyes from him. How well her repulsion aided her new lowly position, she thought humourlessly. When he spoke again his voice was softer than she'd ever heard it.

'Come here,' he said.

She glanced up again, her gaze flitting to the basin of water and then back to him.  A Princess of Azura and Calate washing the blood of her people from their conqueror.  By the gods what kind of punishment was this? Was her soul truly this lost to them?  Obey.  Survive.  Avenge.   He was going to take her body.  Bathing him would be nothing compared with that when the time came, which may well be this moonrise. This was but pride. Cleansing the leoth would be easy measured against him using her for his vile pleasures. She could bear this. Then with the solicitude of a princess, she would await her fate. Hadn't many more suffered much worse for this horror she had caused? The noblest of kings, pierced through the heart and left to die in the dirt, her husband, butchered and devoured in the room where he entered the world, the old woman on the road, beaten and marched to her death.

Yes. Fara could and would bear this. For Azura.

As she considered all the Leoth spoke again, this time all trace of softness gone from his voice.

'Do not make me command you again,' he ordered.

Fara hardened, but his low impatient growl spurred her forward. She took a few tentative steps across the tent to him, stopping half a leoth stride away.  She could feel the heat of the bath and smell the rose flower oil, but the scent of him cut through it all.

Foreign. Strange. And something distinctly apart. He conjured thoughts of a rain-soaked forest, of air green and fresh after a warm spring rain, of plants and earth and living things. It was far more pleasant to her senses than the Zybarian stench, she decided.

'Remove my clothing,' the Leoth ordered. 'Then your own. You will bathe with me.'