That next morning was supposed to be peaceful.
We had rebel prisoners bound and grumpy. We had a rising sun casting gold across the wrecked forest clearing. We had a plan for interrogation, paperwork, then maybe a hot bath and a full breakfast that didn't involve combat or nightgown humiliation.
But no. Because Gods love drama.
And Duke Alaric? Apparently decided that personal boundaries were a suggestion.
It started like this:
I walked to the river just behind the camp, hoping for one (1) moment of serenity and girlhood. I stripped out of my sticky, battle-worn clothes and slipped into the cold water.
Peace. Bubbles. A few birds chirping.
Then I heard it—footsteps.
Not quiet. Not polite. Just bold and bootless and sin-wrapped in authority.
"Alaric?" I shouted, half-submerged.
"I
