They rought her to him in quite the state, blood on her lip, dirt smudged across her face, hair tangled from the struggle. She kicked and thrashed the whole way, screaming so fiercely it startled even the seasoned guards. One had a bite mark on his forearm, teeth still imprinted like a savage warning. Another limped from a well-placed heel to the groin. They called her mad, wild, cursed under their breath as they threw her to the ground before him. A gift, they said. A reward for the general.

Maximus stood above her like a statue carved from war and sorrow, but she didn’t cower.

Instead, she looked up at him through narrowed eyes, chest heaving from the fight, hatred rolling off her in waves. If she had a dagger, she’d have driven it into his chest without hesitation.

He had seen a thousand faces broken by fear, but not hers. Not this woman. She stared at him like he was the villain of her story, like she’d rather die than belong to any man, especially him.

She didn’t bow. Didn’t weep. Didn’t beg.

“Your name,” Maximus said at last, his voice gravel-low, heavy with the calm of a man who’d seen too much.

She didn’t answer. Her jaw clenched.

A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes. “You bite soldiers but lose your tongue before a general?”