Far From Home One: The Warlord's Chosen-- A M/M Fantasy Romance

11- The Warlord's Tent

AMER—

We only stopped to rest a couple of times throughout the day, each for only a few minutes to relieve ourselves and water the horses, so by the time I was lifted to the earth by surprisingly gentle hands, my entire body was stiff and in pain. Almost 12 hours on horseback had left my ass nearly numb from the saddle's hard, unforgiving surface, and being in the Warlord's arms that entire time had made me on edge and clenched. Due to this, my muscles felt like jelly and I shook like a leaf.

The Warlord's oddly gentle, soothing hands led me over to a copse of trees, followed closely by Ravi. A few soldiers had set up a rest area, with a couple of large cushions, and a low to the ground table, with what looked like an assortment of nuts, dates, wine, and various fruits across its surface.

The Warlord led me to one of the cushions, carefully helping me to sit with my back against one of the trees. He murmured something with a soft chuckle, and I looked to Ravi, who blushed and smiled at me sweetly.

"He says your body is delicate like the finest lace," Ravi translated. The Warlord's fingers gently traced the lines around my mouth, but I pulled away and stared resolutely past him, my aching body rigid with my sudden anger.

How dare he mock me? How dare he take me from my home, my people, all those I love, uproot my entire life, and then mock the fact that I wasn't as used to the harsh demands of traveling for hours on end as he and his men were?

How dare he?

How had I managed to somehow attract a man who would mock me the same way my father loved to? Would I spend the rest of my life the way I had spent it up to now— being made to feel small, less-than, dirty and wrong? At least up until now, I'd had some small bit of freedom. I'd been able to escape to the libraries, to the kitchens, hide behind my books and my studies.

I'd had hope. Hope that one day, I could find love. Could be free of my father's far-reaching hands.

Freedom and hope were now things I must learn to live without. I wouldn't be able to hide from a master the same way I could from my father. He was now my duty, the one who owned my time and self— my life would revolve around him.

I could feel my cheeks heat as I saw Ravi and the Warlord exchange what I thought to be confused, maybe concerned looks, before the Warlord let out a tired sigh, a soft grunt, and moved away.

I refused to watch him go.

Ravi sat on the cushion set up across from mine. His eyes on me felt probing, and I violently shoved back the very sudden urge to break out into tears. I was so out of my element, so unsure how to act, what my new role was, and I was so damn sore, I wanted nothing more than to crawl somewhere dark and warm and curl into a ball.

"Did the Warlord's words cause offense, Warprize?"

My head shot up, glaring at the man across from me in barely-stifled rage.

"Oh, of course not," I hissed sarcastically. "I love being mocked as weak."

Ravi seemed taken aback by my vehemence, and he was silent for a time. His eyes never left me, though. Probing, confused, studying me.

I kept my eyes resolutely on anything but him, watching the soldiers around me shuffling around, setting up the camp, caring for their horses and wagons of supplies, setting up tents. Every time one passed, they made that odd salute— their fingers on their foreheads and then out towards me.

Should I not be helping? Setting up the Warlord's tent? Doing anything but sitting on a frustratingly comfortable cushion, surrounded by snacks I had yet to touch. It didn't escape my notice that my little corner of luxury was the first thing the soldiers had set up— before even caring for their horses and their own needs.