3 Embarrasmen (1/2)

The cut men sound frightening. In my head, I am imagining monstrous men with bits hacked off them. In reality, the soldiers deliver me to a small villa deep inside the sheriff's compound where I am greeted by two men with shaved heads. They wear white robes that are a far cry from the armor everyone else is wearing. They are not as rough or masculine as the soldiers. Their eyes hold a more gentle expression—not that I care about their expressions.

I have been packed into a cage, wheeled across more city than I knew existed, and taken into a fortified place from which escape is going to be exceptionally difficult. The orchards I stole from are at the very verge of the city. If you're smart you can sneak in and out. This is the heart of it. There is no coming and going here.

The soldiers open the cage, drag me out, and thrust me at the two robed fellows, both of whom are taller than any man I have seen before. They must be at least seven feet in height, the pair of them.

I am only 5′1. My mother was short, and growing up wild meant being stunted, so my father used to say. He was tall, but these men tower over me and would have towered over him too.

”I am Mattias,” the slightly taller one says. ”And this is Elias.”

Mattias has the face of a poet. I don't know which poet, but there's something elegant about him. Elias is even more finely built. They are very, very handsome men, but not in the way the soldiers might be considered handsome. They are handsome in an androgynous way, almost... pretty. Mattias has deep brown eyes and long dark lashes. Elias is fairer, with blue eyes, and I suspect he would have blond hair if he had any. His face is rounder than Mattias', which is long.

I find them much less intimidating than the soldiers, whose rough bodies, bearded faces, and guttural speech make me want to hide. I am glad that they are leaving now that Mattias and Elias are guiding me indoors.

”My name is Trissa.”

”How old are you, child?”

”My father told me I was ten, ten years ago. So twenty. Not a child.”

”That is how we refer to our charges,” Mattias says. ”We look after the girls brought to us, and ensure that they are ready for their new lives.”

”As fuck toys for some rich monster? Don't even bother. I'm going to escape as soon as I can. I'll never stop running.”

Mattias puts his hands on his hips and gives me a look that confuses me. It's not mean, but it is stern. It makes me feel like a petulant little brat, which is ridiculous because I'm a captive, and I have every right to be fuming with anger.

”Do we need the shackles for you?”