All your hope evaporates as they pull farther and farther away. This is it—this transfer is your opportunity to escape and get back to your people.
But you need to know what they’re saying. And leave it to the Commander to thwart you at every single attempt you make to gain the smallest ground.
How will you make your escape without knowing their plan?
You yank hard against your chains while you think it over. The irons clank loudly but don’t give way. Of course not. It’s no use.
At all.
You feel completely helpless.
You need to know what’s happening. This could be your only chance to find your blade and escape. You mustn’t lose hope.
You must get it back.
And you will get it back.
You focus your eyes on the Commander, studying his body and face for any sign of some indication. Something. Anything.
And you must admit that it’s a rather fine physique—the fiend. In all of your military training, the study of elves was always rather curious to you, mainly because they don’t even exist in your part of the world. As far as you know, they don’t venture outside of Lierthien, their homeland. You wonder if they’re all as beautiful as he is.
Shaking your head of all that nonsense, you focus back on your subjects. Other than that, the Commander is composed and calm. There isn’t a single giveaway on his stoic face.
And then you see it.
The tiny muscle at his sharp jaw flexes once in irritation as they speak.
You release your breath, defeat consuming you. What are you even thinking, y/n?
It’s still not helpful. It could be anything at this point.
But you let out a half-hearted laugh as you watch that little muscle tighten again in his chiseled jaw.
Ha!
You must appreciate the little wins, right?
Anything that irritates him is fine by you. You smile and dig into your breakfast, happily stuffing your face with a hunk of bread and cheese with salted meat. Your appetite has returned with full force.
Escape is near. The air is thick with opportunity. You can feel it within your reach.
You’re about to go in for thirds when another long shadow covers your table.
Glancing up, you notice the mild glare of disapproval on the Commander’s face.
“If you’re wise, you will not try anything on your journey…the path is perilous without a guide,” he says.
You drop the hunk of bread that’s in your hand onto your plate. “Afraid the rest of your Sherinden guardsmen are so inept that they’ll let me escape?” It’s a lie, of course; the Sherinden Guard are highly skilled warriors. And most impressive and even harder to kill.
But you can’t help the insult. Maybe you’ll miss insulting him—just a little.
He ignores it. “You’re in capable hands with Captain Stanlas,” he rasps.
You stiffen your back at his words. “I’d rather be free than in anyone’s hands, Commander, let alone a prisoner to my mortal enemy.”
He leans down, placing both his hands on the edge of the old wooden table. His face is directly in front of yours as he stares at you. The powerful force in his soulful gaze is disarming and makes your breath hitch.
And your heart does that shameful thing again, beating so frantically that you’re afraid it will fly out of your chest and abandon you completely.
“What do you know of freedom when you’ve been fed nothing but lies for most of your life?” he asks without any malice in his voice.
Anger rushes through your veins. What is he talking about? You shift in your seat. “You’re the liar. You won’t get away with this. Sherinde will be crushed under our might.”
You know he wants to say more. You can see it so clearly there, concealed in his eyes, but he rises. “Good journey,” he says, but the words fill you with much dread as he strides away. You follow all his movements across the room until he disappears around the bend of the archway.
You release the shaky breath you were holding in and smooth out your dress. You try to ignore your trembling fingers and clasp your hands together.
Jabbing him will be the only thing you miss about the Commander.
The feeling confuses you, but perhaps you became just slightly attached to taunting him.
Yes, that was indeed the case. It has absolutely nothing to do with the way your entire body reacts to him.
Nothing. At. All.
You shake your head at the lies you tell yourself.
As a distraction, you begin making guesses about the number of men that will be escorting you. They may take turns watching over you in various shifts.
Of course, none will be as stringent as the Commander. Of that, you’re certain. He seems to have it out for you. Plus, he has that special finger-to-neck trick he uses. Admittedly, you’re powerless against it.
Well, good riddance to him.
Escape will be much easier without him around.
As you mull it over, perhaps you shouldn’t have thrown the bar of soap at his head. And perhaps he shouldn’t have taken you prisoner. There.
This is all his fault.
You polish off the rest of your breakfast until you can’t stuff yourself with anymore.
The sound of heavy footfalls and yelling makes you jerk your head to the entryway of the mess hall.
A young red-haired guardsman sprints in, wielding his sword above his head. “We’re under attaaaack!” His bone-chilling cry echoes off the solid stone walls.
Next -Commander Story Chapter 19
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