11. Dexari

Chapter 11

Dexari

Sloane licks her ruby lips with her small, pink tongue, and the sight nearly brings me to my knees. My spikes throb painfully, and I stifle a groan.

"I'm starved," she says.

I hold out a chair for her. "Then, sit. Please."

She walks across the room and takes a seat, and my fingers brush against her arms as she scoots the chair closer to the table. Even that brief contact sends shockwaves through my body.

I busy myself filling our plates. This gives me time to regain some semblance of composure. When I am done, I sit across from her. "It pleases me to see you wearing a robe."

"It's not like you gave me much choice," she retorts.

Her spirit, her defiance is delightful. I laugh, a deep, rumbling sound that seems to throw her off balance. Her irritation at my amusement is clear, an adorable furrow appearing between her brows.

I watch Sloane as she eats, admiring the way she savors each bite. She is guarded, yet there is a strength in her that impresses me. She is a fighter who refuses to be broken. Traits that are both admirable and dangerous.

"What's the point of all this?" she asks once she has had her fill. "Is this my last meal before being executed or something?"

Her directness catches me off guard. I respond to her question with one of my own. "Why did you kill my guard?"

The look she gives me is one of utter disbelief. "Do orcs not fight back when attacked?"

Her words hit me like a physical blow. "You were attacked by my guards?"

Sloane hesitates, seeming to reconsider her words. "Well, maybe ‘attacked' is too strong a word," she admits. "But they wanted to capture me, and I wasn't going to let that happen without a fight."

I lean back in my chair, processing this information. The scenario I had constructed in my mind based on Gorlag's report begins to crumble. I had assumed she was the aggressor when my guards found her.

"Tell me more," I say, my voice low and intense. "How did you end up here, and what exactly happened with my guards?"

She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "After I escaped from the slavers' ship in the spaceport, I hid out in the forest. That's where I stumbled over your guards. They surrounded me, and I fought back."

"Did you not consider that my guards may have been trying to save your life?" I ask, leaning forward slightly.

Sloane's eyes flash with irritation. "They had their weapons drawn. That doesn't exactly scream rescue to me."

"There are many dangers outside the kingdom's walls, dangers that could easily overwhelm the most capable warrior."

"I can take care of myself," she snaps, her chin lifting defiantly. "I've survived worse than your guards and your forest."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the hint of her past ordeals. Yet before I can inquire further, she continues speaking.

"Look, I didn't mean to kill your guard," she admits quietly. "I only wanted to wound him so he'd let me go."

"And yet, his wounds were fatal."

"I got lucky," she says. "Or unlucky. Depends on how you look at it."

I lean back in my chair. "After hearing your side of the story, I have decided on your punishment."

She visibly tenses, her eyes snapping back to mine. I can see the fear she is trying to hide, the way her breathing becomes faster and shallower as she waits for my verdict.

"Well? What have you decided?" She is ready to fight, even now. And that only makes me want her more.

"Your punishment will be one full cycle of the seasons spent in the dungeon," I declare. "Unless…"