Kingdom in The Sand

The Vixen and The Lion

The heel to the jaw jarred consciousness back with the most unpleasant jolt and the man who hung from the makeshift camel's saddle woke to possibly the worst sight he could. At that moment, he'd have rather woken to his General Commander looking down at him. His lord and master would be a safer option.

Or possibly not, because his lord and master was blatantly in love with his lady and mistress, meaning he was liable to let his feelings for her overrun any protentional feelings of mercy.

But that was neither here nor there because his lady and mistress was the one who had just slammed her heeled foot into his jaw and was now peering down at him to check that he was awake.

Her striking, icy blue eyes studied him for a moment as he gazed back at her, dazed and confused, then she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, you're alive. That's a shame," she said before straightening and kicking off her high heel and replacing it with the slipper shoes she'd been travelling in. He looked around in confusion.

The last thing he remembered was a blazing pain in his thigh before he toppled from the back of the camel. Now it was dark and cold, the desert stretching around him and... he was back at the caravan.

How could he be back here?

The world began to come back into focus. He was on the sand which was starting to cool and Lady Marie-Fey was kneeling down by his wounded hip.

"Not a bad shot, considering the situation," she was said with mild interest. "The arrow has gone in from the back of the hip, down the thigh. I'm sure it will be infected soon, if not already. I doubt anyone would save it if they could, but the sepsis will kill you anyway. Of course, there's always the bleeding. The arrowing remaining in place is slowing the bleed currently but..."

She paused in her monologue... her monologue? He could understand her... hadn't it been well-noted that she couldn't speak his language...? He tried to lift his head to see her, and then the most impossible pain tore through him as she took hold of the arrow and wrenched it out again, the razor sharp edges of the weapon tearing back through his flesh with ease until she held it up for study.

He lay trembling on the ground, sweat pouring from his skin, feeling cold and sick and in shock of the woman who knelt at his side. This was the lady who was married to one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. The lady his lord was besotted with. She should have been the most beautiful, the most intelligent of the palace. He could see that, he believed that. He had seen her once before this journey, the day his lord had arrived after her poisoning. She had stood poised and striking before the hall.

He had been so impossibly impressed by that foreign lady.

But she wasn't supposed to just be attractive and clever. She should have been gentle, and demure. She should have been helpless in this moment.

Facing such betrayal, such bloodshed, such cruelty, she should have collapsed.

What she was doing instead, was striking him across the face when he reached for her and pressing the point of the arrow against his throat.

"Young man, stay still or I will add you to my death tally," she said coolly.

"How are you still alive?" he wheezed out.

"Disappointed?" she asked.

He paused for a moment, then swallowed. "No," he muttered.

She raised her eyebrow again then laughed. "An original form of flattery. I'm still going to tie you to one of the wagons when I leave and let you dry out in the sun." She pushed to her feet then suddenly clapped her hands together, like a little girl. "Oh!" she said, smiling down at him, "I have an even better idea! I'll tie you up and then leave a flask of water just out of reach. If you free yourself, you get water. If not, aww, poor dear."