Zara mewled softly, her mind climbing back into consciousness. Lids fluttering, she looked about her, patchy colors swimming through her vision. She was in a dimly lit room with only a small oil lamp burning on a stand in one corner. Her body seemed to melt with relief into the relative softness of the cot beneath her. Sitting up, Zara attempted to make better sense of her new situation.
A fluffy quilt was tucked about her, and her shoulder was bandaged neatly where she had scraped it earlier. Sinking back down wearily, she felt a wash of something strangely akin to happiness. Tarsus must have brought her here. Perhaps for once she could sleep without terror.
When she next woke, she felt a warmth beside her. She could feel him just behind her, his nakedness cupping her body. She felt no fear as she turned to look at him. Tarsus lay sleeping, his head tucked against her shoulder blades. Watching him curiously as his chest slowly rose and fell, she wondered who he really was and where he came from. What past had brought him here? Was he Aenetian, or a spy from some far off country, wormed into Aleron's infrastructure, under the Emperor's very nose?
Her eyes strayed from his face, gentle—indeed, beautiful—in slumber, to the chair beside the bed, where his sword and dagger lay. She could kill him here, and escape wearing his clothes with a hood to shadow her face. They were similar enough in size; if she hurried, it could be easily done, now in the quiet of night. Her gaze turned again to his face. Something told her to trust him, and looking at him now, vulnerable and innocent in his sleep, she did not think she could bring herself to kill him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When Tarsus woke, he found himself in utter darkness, the light of the lamp snuffed. Stirring, he stiffened at the sensation of rope bound about his wrists and ankles. Heart quickening, he strained his ears into the blackness. He had been a fool. She had tied him and left him to be found, his treachery discovered, or she had secured him with the intention of killing him with his own dagger. After all, what true reason did she have to trust his intentions?
He bit back a cry as a voice spoke suddenly by his ear.
"Good morning, General," Zara whispered silkily. "You have been a bit foolish. It is unlike the great general I have heard of to let his guard down so easily." Tarsus gasped as a cool ribbon of steel snaked lazily over his throat.
"Please," he murmured hoarsely. "Let me speak."
"Speak?" she giggled. The slim dagger blade roamed down his chest and he shivered, feeling sick. "I intend to have you speak very much to me," Zara continued. "I want to know so many things about you!" Tarsus could make out the gleam of her smile as she bent over him, a chilling edge to her voice. "I will know all of your secrets, Milord, before I am done with you."
The dagger wandered over his belly, making his skin prickle. Choking, he froze for a moment with the horror of it: He had heard all the tales of her, become well versed in all the tidbits of information Valgath's spies had gathered about her. A part of him had secretly idolized her—the brilliant rebel warrior, wise, merciful. And here, in this unbearable dungeon, her beauty and spirit had captured him. What was to come was too much for him to bear.
The cold metal found the length of his shaft between his legs and fondled it as he shuddered. He could see her now, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, as she hovered over him, still naked.
"Where are you from, Tarsus?" she asked, the tip of the dagger tickling his balls.
"Valgath," he whispered. The dagger moved away and her hand suddenly grasped his cock roughly.
"Are you sure?" she questioned. "Who were your parents?"
For just a moment, he hesitated. Swiftly, Zara crawled up to straddle him and he gasped as he felt the warm wetness of her pussy rub over him.
"Now, you mustn't give me trouble," she chided. "Or I will have to do mean things to you." He jumped as the coldness of steel pressed against his nipples. She rolled her hips, slicking his cock with her juices. He felt himself begin to harden, fighting the sensation. He watched her in horror, her terrible beauty burned into his mind.
"My mother's name was Marnie—I did not know my father," he mumbled. He cried out in shock as she suddenly bent and fastened her warm mouth over his nipples, nipping and caressing until they were almost painful.
"I warned you," she growled ominously, and he arched his back, straining to sit up, terrified of what she might be about to do.
"My mother and I were simple people, we lived in the mountains, my mother was a healer, we were of peasant blood," Tarsus babbled, hoping to satisfy her. For a moment, Zara was silent. Tarsus could only hear his heart pounding in his ears, feel her moist lips pressed against his cock, his mind overwhelmed as fear vied with arousal. She gave a low chuckle—one that stilled his breath—and leaned in close. The dagger pricked his neck just below the jaw.
"And how might a simple peasant boy have come to be Aleron's greatest general—his golden boy?"
"I—I showed promise—" he stumbled. She laughed again.
"Did you now? I do love hearing you tell stories, General, but what I really need, unfortunately, is truth." He felt a slow trickle of blood creep down his throat as the blade dug in just a little deeper.
"My mother was a peasant named Melie," he gasped desperately. "I swear!"
"Ah..." Zara exhaled onto his neck, hissing in amusement. "Not Marnie, but Melie. That, darling, is the name I was looking for." Bending close, she licked his ear, trailed her lips down his neck. His back arched again, this time in pleasure.
"So, your father..." she prompted.
"No," he panted, shaking his head in refusal. "I did not know my father."
