Druses groaned inwardly. Another Skiaphian village sacked, another pile of smoke rising into the sky. And now, of course, idiots one and two—Cassander and Eurymachus—were too busy drooling over their latest war prizes to remember they were in a war. Pathetic. They thought too much with their cocks and too little with their heads.

He barely had time to finish the thought when a woman was unceremoniously thrown at his feet. She landed hard, curling in on herself with a muffled sob. Tears streaked her dirt smeared cheeks, but before she could cry out, a harsh slap silenced her. Druses looked up sharply, his gaze landing on the soldier who had delivered her like a sack of grain.

“From Cassander,” the man muttered, wiping his hands on his tunic. “He also says you’re boring and need to loosen up. Try having some fun with the spoils.” He snorted and walked off without another word.

Druses scoffed under his breath. Stupid fucking Cassander.

He knelt down, lifting the woman gently despite the tension coiled in his muscles. She flinched with a soft whimper as he carried her, her body trembling with pain or fear—probably both. Back in his tent, he laid her down carefully, muttering as he reached for a thick wolf pelt to wrap around her frail frame.

“I don’t need women when I’m at war,” he grumbled, more to himself than to her. “Enyo says they’re distractions… and she’s right.”

He crouched beside her, his voice a shade softer now. “What’s your name, woman?”