So alluring.
He crushed the thought, buried it deep where it could not touch him. Foolish. Dangerous.
With a rough motion he reached for the knot at the back of her head. The gag pulled tight between her lips, the cloth damp from her breath. His claws worked the rope loose, and then he drew the wad of linen from her mouth.
He expected the rush to come immediately—the curses, the venom, the screams she'd surely been holding back. Perhaps even a desperate attempt to spit in his face.
But nothing came.
She was silent.
The cold night wind caught her hair, tossed it wild across her face, but she did not speak, did not waste the moment. She simply stood there, bound and unbroken, her eyes steady on his.
And that silence spoke more than any words could. It was restraint. It was self-control sharper than steel.
She was waiting.
For him.
At last, he spoke.
"You're wondering what will happen to you," he said quietly, his voice low, cutting through the wind like a blade.
She shivered, a tremor rippling through her body in the thin nightgown. But she didn't answer. Didn't nod. Didn't lower her gaze.
Her silence was its own weapon—more powerful than words.
Rakhal studied her in the moonlight, the flicker of emotion breaking through her control for only an instant. Fear, raw and human, flashed in her eyes. But it was gone almost as quickly as he caught it, smothered by sheer will. By the same iron strength that had steadied her on the battlefield, the same that now held her together in ropes and shadows.
Impressive.
He let the thought linger a moment, then drew in a slow breath, the mask over his face shifting with it.
His gaze narrowed, the shadows stirring faintly at his shoulders.
"You're mine now," he declared, his voice low but edged with iron. The words seemed to settle in the cold air between them, unshakable, undeniable.
Her eyes widened just slightly, but she didn't flinch, didn't look away.
"None in the Varak stronghold will touch you," he went on, the promise a growl beneath his mask. "But if you want to live, you will do exactly as I command."
The wind whipped around them, carrying his words into the dark. Bound and shivering, she stood silent, but he could feel the weight of her defiance, as sharp and present as the fear she buried deep.
"And what, exactly, do you demand of me?"
At last, she spoke. Her voice was muffled by the cold, raw from the gag's bite, but her tone was smooth, steady, sure. It caught him off guard. Again.
Rakhal had never seen a human with such composure. Then again, he had never stood this close to one—not like this.
"You will…" He let the silence stretch, savoring the weight of it, "…marry a prince of the Varak."
The words hung there, stark and unyielding. Even to his own ears, they sounded strange. Such unions were rare among his people—viewed with suspicion, even revulsion by most clans. The elders spoke of such marriages in hushed tones—necessary sacrifices for the survival of the clan. Yet now, he was proposing exactly that.
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted in disbelief, a sharp breath spilling into the night.
Before she could speak, he continued, his tone flat, resolute.
"A symbolic union. An alliance between orcs and humans. A way to end this war once and for all."
