Altansarnai frowned, but after some seconds his expression relaxed somewhat.His gaze drifted past Somadina, past the guards, past the flickering torches to Azul.
She sat motionless on the platform, her golden eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance.In the torchlight, her beauty was almost painful—it was no wonder the Great Khan had fallen so easily.
"The Akwaugo," Altansarnai said slowly."I've heard of her.Her reputation reaches even Kemet."
Somadina's smile tightened."My betrothed."
"Your betrothed."Altansarnai's lips curved."Then she must be skilled in hospitality.I would have her serve me."
The music skipped a beat, but servants looked away, pretending to be deaf.No one dared show they heard such a grave insult directed at Somadina.
Somadina's hands clenched at his sides.
He turned to her, and his voice was reasonable.
"Azul.The general requests your company.Will you...serve him?"
She beheld the mask he wore—the coward beneath it.She merely nodded and stood.He grabbed her hand, pulling her in.
"No," Somadina murmured, low enough that only she could hear."Reassure me."
She leaned close, her lips brushing his ear.
"The sooner I go," she whispered, "the sooner I return."
She walked down from the platform.
The hall watched her as she reached Altansarnai's side and knelt, taking the wine jug from the servant who had been attending him.
"General."An enchanting smile graced her lips."May I pour?"
Altansarnai's hand closed around her wrist.
She didn’t so much as flinch, letting him inspect her like merchandise.
"Pretty thing," he hissed."You're so cold.I wonder what it would take to make you warm."
She merely inclined her head, and he released her, allowing her to pour his wine—
A hand knocked the jug; cold liquid cascaded over her.
Azul froze, those watching gasping.She was suddenly drenched from head to toe, her fabrics clinging to her skin.
“Ah,” he pulled her, dragging his tongue up her neck.“Cold indeed.”
The hours crawled past; Azul remained kneeling, her dress drying, making her shiver as her body temperature dropped.
Altansarnai drank.He ate.He laughed at jokes that weren't funny and made comments that made the women around him flinch.His hand found its way to her again and again—her waist, her hips, her thighs—each touch lingering a moment too long, each squeeze a little too hard.
She bore it.
What else could she do?
Somadina watched from the platform; he too laughed and jested.But she saw the tension in his jaw, the white-knuckled grip on his wine cup.He didn't like this.But the weak could only concede to the strong.
Because the alliance mattered more than she did.
She didn’t blame him; perhaps in his shoes, she would’ve made the same decision.
