“Ho, Commander, you want a cup?” Keg asks, breaking the stare-off I didn’t realize I was having with Rip.

The commander shakes his head. “Not right now.” Black eyes flick back to me, and he lifts his hand, motioning for me to walk.

I start forward, and Rip matches my stride. Instead of leading me, he walks on my left, not going faster or slower, our steps in sync. I’m all too cognizant of the sharp tips of his spikes on his arms, careful not to get too close. Every time his arm swings, I tuck mine in a little bit closer to my body.

Rip notices, and a black brow arches up at me. “Nervous?”

“Careful,” I correct, looking straight ahead.

As we walk, I note that the camp is roused now, nearly all of the tents already broken down, horses fed and packed, the army readying to get back into formation for another long day of marching.

The other soldiers, no matter their age or bulk, seem to scatter out of our way when they see Rip coming. Every single one of them tilts their head in respect.

I dart a look at him out of the corner of my eye. “What will you and Osrik do to them?”

“Who?”

“Those two soldiers.”

He shrugs, shoulder lifting. “Don’t be concerned about them.”

My teeth grind ever so slightly. “Their comments were directed at me, so I am concerned. Besides, you told me that you trust your soldiers implicitly.”

“I do.”

I shake my head with a frustrated sigh. “You can’t claim to trust your soldiers and then turn around and punish or kill them for a few passing comments spoken to a prisoner.”

Rip stops walking suddenly, making me draw up short. We turn at the same time, facing each other amidst the busy camp. The snow has turned to slosh at our feet, the air cloying with newly doused fires and a heavy, wet chill that sticks to my lungs.

The commander studies me with an unreadable expression. “You’re defending them?”

I bristle at his tone. I don’t like that it’s incredulous, that he thinks me so petty.

“I’m not defending their crude remarks. But you’re the self-proclaimed monster, not me. I don’t want their punishment on my conscience,” I say, because I have enough blood on my hands. I don’t need to add more. “If you need to flex your authority or prove me right about your earlier ‘implicit trust’ statement, leave me out of it. You can hardly blame your soldiers for speaking ill of me. I’m the enemy. Your prisoner,” I remind him.

For the life of me, I can’t think of why I’m reminding him of that. Seems like a bad idea, to be honest. And yet, there’s just something about this male that stokes my anger.

For so long, I’ve swallowed my own tongue. I’ve tamped down every emotion, careful to ride every tide in the hopes that I don’t become submerged. So these reactions, these unbridled retorts, surprise even me. I have no idea where it’s coming from, but it leaves me feeling flustered.

“Allow me to set some things straight,” Rip says, cutting off my train of thought. “I’m not having those soldiers punished, least of all killed. Osrik will be doing exactly what was stated—he’ll be teaching them a lesson.”

“And what does this lesson include?”

“Latrine duty, mostly. Until they remember how to behave as befitting of a royal soldier serving in King Ravinger’s army.”

I blink at him. “Oh.” That’s not what I was expecting.

Our little chat is going uninterrupted, but not unobserved. All of the passing soldiers give us a wide berth, but I feel them darting glances our way, though no one gets too close. We’re in an untouchable circle, like one of the old fairy rings that used to dot across Orea long ago.

“Let me make one last thing clear,” Rip says, taking a step toward me. I’ve noticed that this is a tactic of his. To unnerve me, intimidate me with his nearness. I want to back up, but I also don’t want to give him the satisfaction. So instead, I plant my feet and tip up my chin.

“Just because those men acted crude and discordant, does not mean I don’t trust them. What I said before is still true. They would not touch a single hair on your head, unless I ordered them to. You are safe from every single soldier here.” He pauses, making sure I take in what he’s saying. “Unfortunately, basic manners are not included in that. Fortunately, Osrik is well-versed in setting untoward behavior straight.”

I think of the man’s scowl and massive size. “I’ll bet he is.”

Rip cuts me a look. “Now that we have that out of the way and your conscience has been spared of guilt, would you like to tell me why Osrik reported to me this morning that you were acting suspicious last night?”

Shit.

Tags: Raven Kennedy The Plated Prisoner Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net