Outside the tent, Daniel Keller stood rooted to the stone, paralyzed by a sickening agony.
The ghosts of the sounds he had just endured still echoed in his skull. He had heard every agonizing second. The ragged, shallow panting. The slick, wet friction of her own fingers. The choked, desperate sobs begging for Count Thomas... and then, the dead, terrifying silence that followed.
Daniel rested his armored forehead against the icy pommel of his Oathblade, fighting a war inside his own chest. The sworn knight screamed at him to hold his post, to honor his vows to the Lion of the North. But the feral, raw instinct of a man—fueled by the painful, heavy ache straining against his breeches—howled for him to rip the tent flap open. A depraved whisper clawed at his mind: Go in. Beg her to let you finish what she started.
The silence stretched, heavy as lead in his lungs.
"Daniel."
The voice bled through the canvas. It was ragged, hoarse, utterly exhausted. Yet, it still carried the crushing, untouchable authority of the Imperial Countess.
Daniel flinched. He dragged a jagged breath into his lungs, ruthlessly shoving his arousal down, and reached for the canvas. His steel-gauntleted fingers visibly trembled as he pushed the flap aside.
The air inside hit him like a physical blow. It was suffocatingly hot, saturated with the heavy, intoxicating musk of female arousal that bypassed his lungs and went straight into his blood.
Helene knelt on the fur rug. Her heavy cloak was shoved carelessly aside, her bare legs tucked beneath her. Her dark hair was a wild, sweat-dampened mess, her porcelain skin flushed with a feverish, unnatural heat. Her emerald eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but beneath the wetness burned a cold, terrifying resolve.
She looked up at him. The knight held his breath, waiting for her command.
Then, her lips parted and shaped words that gutted him completely:
"Send Kaspar in."
Daniel stopped breathing. A glacial spike drove straight through his chest, freezing the blood in his veins.
He stared at her, his jaw entirely slack. His lips parted, but his vocal cords refused to work. Kaspar? That absolute scum? The filthy street dog who had mentally stripped her bare just hours ago?
"My Lady… you said…"
"Send Kaspar in."
Helene repeated. The words were a guillotine dropping. Her gaze pinned him to the spot, icy and absolute, though a terrifying, feral desperation fractured the edges of her eyes.
"Take Rurik to the cave entrance. Stand watch. No one comes near this tent. That is a direct order."
Daniel staggered back. It felt as though she had taken his Oathblade and plunged it into his stomach.
His gauntleted fists clenched until the leather groaned. He wanted to roar. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her not to throw herself to a feral dog. I am your sword! I swore to protect your body and your honor! Why him? Why that filthy bastard?
But the crushing weight of his knightly oath broke his spine. Slowly, he bowed his head.
"As you command… My Lady."
Daniel's voice shattered into a hoarse whisper. He turned and stumbled out of the tent, looking like a corpse stripped of its soul. He dragged his devouring jealousy away from the only warmth he had ever wanted, but was never allowed to touch.
He walked toward the dying campfire like a man marching to the gallows.
Kaspar was lounging against a rock, lazily spinning a hunting dagger between his calloused fingers.
Daniel stopped. He stared down at the mercenary. At the smug, filthy grin. At the man utterly devoid of honor. Bile burned the back of Daniel's throat.
"Get up."
Daniel growled. The words felt like ground glass in his mouth.
"The Lady requires you. In her tent."
The spinning dagger stopped dead.
Kaspar's dark eyes flashed with the sudden, violent hunger of a starving wolf catching the scent of blood.
"Huh?"
Kaspar raised a scarred eyebrow, feigning shock, but a filthy, triumphant smirk was already carving its way across his face. He sniffed the air theatrically.
"Me? She wants fucking me? What happened to hacking my hands off, Sir Knight?"
"Just go."
Daniel snarled, his voice completely hollowed out.
"Do not keep the Imperial Countess waiting."
He spun around. He couldn't stomach that bastard's victorious grin for another microsecond. The broken knight marched mechanically toward the cave entrance, seeking the absolute darkest shadows to bury his humiliation and the furious, hot tears welling behind his eyes.
Kaspar let out a low, gravelly chuckle. He sheathed his dagger with a metallic snick, rose lazily to his feet, and dusted off his trousers. He sauntered toward the tent, his gait oozing with predatory confidence.
He pushed the canvas aside. The street dog slipped into the dark, heat-soaked sanctuary of the Imperial Countess.
The flap fell shut behind him.
Outside, the campsite plunged into a crushing, suffocating silence. There was only the hiss of the dying embers, the heavy, retreating clank of Daniel's armor...
...and the black abyss deep in the belly of the cavern, which continued to writhe and scuttle, growing hungrier by the second.