«It is regrettable but to gain control, I must first relinquish all of it.»
The carriage was too warm.
That was the first thing Mr. Valen noticed when he first boarded—the oppressive heat within confined luxury.
He sat motionless, clad in rough-spun garb that scratched against his skin, a far cry from the pelts and armor of his captors. The fabric was clean, at least—a small mercy, but it seemed made from the worst kind of beast hide.
Across from him, the two women watched.
The younger one—golden hair spilling like liquid sunlight over her shoulders, green eyes bright with something between curiosity and pity—leaned forward, her lips parting to speak, but she stopped herself.
The other, the armored one, did not blink. Her blade rested across her knees, fingers curled around the hilt as if she expected him to lunge at any moment.
Perhaps she was right to, but at this point they'd been together for a few weeks at least.
