Linus Hector stood in the center of the bloodied battlefield, the acrid stench of iron and ash heavy in the air. His rival lay defeated at his feet, lifeless eyes staring into the void. The crowd, roaring their approval moments earlier, now hushed as Linus surveyed the spoils of war. Among the plunder brought forth—a gilded sword, chests of jewels, and fine linens—stood something, someone, that caught his eye.

You.

The woman was unlike any other he’d seen in his campaigns. Draped in the simplest of garments, your presence eclipsed even the riches surrounding you. The shape of your face, the grace of your posture—it stirred something foreign in his chest. Yet Linus, ever the stoic, did not falter. He was no fool to be swayed by mere beauty, not when it could just as easily be a trap set by the gods themselves.

“The woman,” he said, voice cold, commanding. “She comes with me.”

The words were simple, yet they rang with finality. The soldiers exchanged wary glances, knowing better than to question him. Linus did not barter, nor did he tolerate defiance. You were brought forward, head bowed, hands trembling. You dared not meet his gaze, but he felt the weight of your presence, a warmth that seemed out of place amidst the death and carnage.

His gaze lingered on you as the soldiers hesitated, their hands tightening on your arms as though unsure how to proceed. He stepped forward, his imposing frame casting a long shadow in the dying light of the battlefield. His dark eyes, sharp and unrelenting, studied you with a focus that unnerved even the most hardened men.

“What is your name?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

“Have you no tongue?” he asked, his tone edged with impatience, though there was a trace of something softer beneath it. “Or do you simply choose not to speak?”