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“Be ready to run there if we get caught,” he says. “Don’t stop for anything. Just run.”
I nod.
“You should—”
“What’s this?” a man says as he approaches us. He scowls in our direction. “What regiment are you in?”
Markos gestures at me. “Brought a tart for Lord Aron to enjoy.”
The man’s eyes narrow as he looks at me, and I stick my boobs out and do my best to look enticing. He studies Markos and Kerren, and then frowns. “Who’s your commander?”
Kerren and Markos immediately close ranks, standing so close that the man can’t see me. “It’s Lord Aron, of course. Who else would we be commanded by?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. Have you partaken of nose spices?” When the men pause, he continues. “Are you drunk? Wounded? Because you do not look like any of the above to me, and while Lord Aron expects his soldiers to enjoy serving him, he also expects healthy men to be on the field at dawn. The whores are for nighttime.”
“Apologies, sir.” Kerren shifts his weight and gives me a shove.
Fuck. Now?
I glance around and duck my head, scooting away even as I hear the man continue to upbraid Kerren and Markos.
“For the last time, who is your commander?”
I wince, hating that I’m ru
Please don’t die, Markos. Please don’t die, Kerren, I silently chant. I won’t be able to stand it if everyone dies because of me. I’m so close. I’m approaching the center of the camp, and as men rouse themselves to move toward the fight, I discreetly head in the opposite direction.
“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice calls. “Hey, you. Tart. Stop.”
I pause, looking around. I think I see the tent in the distanc—
A man with a thick beard and bushy gray hair grabs my arm. He eyeballs me. “Who are you, sweet?”