I couldn’t let myself feel. Not yet. Not until the night was over.
With another determined breath and a sharp move, I reached over to where Dahr rested his head on my shoulder, his body still wrapped into me and grabbed him again, making him rise to gain his attention. The warrior blinked at me with soothed hunger, like a tiger who had snatched a gazelle and had just taken the first satisfying bite. I hoped this tiger was hungry, because it was going to be a long night. I would make sure of it.
“Do it again,” I ordered, biting my lip with newfound desire at the sight of his sweaty torso.
A minute later, Dahr’s erection demanded my attention.
I dropped to my knees and made sure my last night with Grannicus was a memorable one.
After spending the night buried inside me, Dahr let me sleep through the morning and left for training without waking me up. When I blinked myself awake, I found the dishevelled bedding that had been burnt with all our sins and Dahr’s pillow, with something atop it.
I shifted to the side and raised my head to discover a yellow rose waiting for me on his pillow. The bud looked freshly cut and left a sweet scent in the air when I picked it up. I threw myself back on my pillow as I held the rose to observe it. Just like with strawberries, I hadn’t seen roses since I was a teenager. If they hadn’t been a commodity before, they were now, an unnecessary excess of wealth and only the richest of the rich afforded a bouquet on special occasions.
As I watched the design of the petals, studying how the yellow lines floated into a darker colour to paint a river of orange at the crusted edges, I thought about the effect this flower would have had on me had I not discovered the letters. How happy I would have been to spend a night in Dahr’s arms, my needs sated and my body sore from flying over the edge so manytimes. How I would have giggled like a lunatic, probably jumped around this very tent, my sentiment of love blooming like this very rose.
How I felt empty, instead. Tricked. Betrayed and used.
How I hated my own body for doing the unspeakable. My tongue for tasting his cock. My pussy for begging him for more. My breasts for singing into his mouth. How I wished to be a statue, frozen in time and forgotten in a specific era, modelled by beauty and time, with no heart to break or thoughts to haunt me.
This rose meant nothing.
Dahr fucking me senseless last night while he shivered in my arms with need, meant nothing.
Karisha’s kind words, Mira’s sweet looks, even Markos’ reveals and Sylam’s encouragement. It was all part of my fight. And I needed the truth.
With newfound urge to turn the outcome of this day, I removed the covers and forced myself out of bed. I looked at the rose one more time. At the soft petals and the orange hues, a memory of the fire that burnt on Dahr’s back through that intricate tattoo I had studied so much. I pressed my lips on the petals, giving them a final kiss before I crumpled the flower in my palm. Saying goodbye to what could have been. And determined to do what I should have from the very beginning.
I did not call Mira to ask for help getting ready that day. I had dressed myself for the past twenty-six years, I knew what needed to be done and what flattered me most. Today was not a day to throw myself into luscious dresses and look the part.
Today, I wanted to look like one of them. And hoped that my plan was going to work.
Sporting the krasta and the srysha, I let my hair loose and only braided a side of it, barely enough to keep it out of my face, using the same fashion I had seen everyone around the camp resort to. Instead of the elegant shoes I had found in one ofthe drawers of my new wardrobe, I used the heavy-sole leather-bound flats I had initially walked around camp with.
When I finished dressing, I had a look in the mirror to study myself. I looked at my bare skin, which I had flashed around camp so many times I wasn’t even aware of my partial nakedness any longer. Deep purple marks resurfaced from my thighs when I turned to the side, my skirt slightly lifting to reveal fingernail marks that remained deeply embedded in my legs.
I didn’t even want to think about the marks he must have left on my ass, when he squeezed me against his body, time and time again as he pushed himself into my very essence. I hadn’t shied away from impaling my fingernails into his back when he brought me to the cusps of pleasure as well, so, on that matter, at least, we were equals.
That would be the last connection Dahr and I would ever share. It was another promise I made to myself when I got out of the tent with determined steps and a fully formed plan in mind. And I had just the person to exercise it with.
Walking through the camp and taking care to circle around Karisha’s tent, not wanting to be seen by either her or Mira, I directed my steps towards the tent that had presented the most interest to me for a while, hoping to find the woman that always carried a book with her. She had drawn my attention more times than I could count and every time our gazes crossed, she always acknowledged me with a smile. I planned to turn that smile into a full conversation today.
“Hello,” I immediately jumped at the opportunity to greet her as soon as I passed the woman’s tent. She was sitting on a small stool and used a tall wooden tool to froth some sort of substance in a bucket. “What are you doing?” I tried to ease my presence by her side and fake interest in her activity. Not that it wasn’t fascinating, but because I had other more important intentions on my mind.
“Making some butter,” she answered and offered me that pleasant smile all over again.
“That’s so interesting. How long do you have to do it for?” I carefully took a step towards her and inched myself closer, leaning in to see how the foam was slowly separating from the white liquid.
“Around an hour, hour and a half,” the woman replied with a deep sigh, giving me the perfect opportunity.
“Can I help?” I plastered on an excited smile and leaned down even more to watch how the circular movements created a constant swirl in the wooden bucket.
“Suit yourself,” the woman jutted her chin and pointed to another small stool. I received the invitation with thanks and grabbed the small stool to place it by the woman’s side, letting my body relax next to hers.
“My name is Milenora. But everyone calls me Nora,” I pressed a tight smile and turned to her, feeling slightly ashamed of myself that I was invading her privacy in such a way.
“I am Dyma,” she dipped her chin again, in introduction as her wrists continued to turn the wooden bar into the bucket and froth the milk. “How come you are not by the tribe lady’s side today?” she turned her attention to me, letting me see the curiosity in her hazel eyes while her hands worked their magic on the soon-to-be butter.
“Karisha is busy today,” I sustained Dyma’s questioning gaze and replied with confidence, not wanting to let her see the lie. “I thought I would try to help around the camp,” I smiled at her and I started sliding my gaze towards her shoulder, to something I hadn’t noticed before. She had a large burn mark that trailed from the side of her shoulder and down her inner arm. The first few layers of skin were crumpled together in a brutal gathering of reformed tissue, which looked absolutely gruelling and quitepainful. The skin was red and still irritated, as if the injury had happened recently.
