In the morning when she woke, Talia found Prince Mikhail and Ilya already awake and packed. They stood by the horses watching the Volus Pass. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and went to join them.
In the distance, a small troop of perhaps 30 or so soldiers under the banner of Unaria was steadily advancing toward them. There was no wagon or cage among them.
"Princess Talia of Vezda, today, by the terms of the Treaty of Fronov you agree to surrender yourself to Emperor Grigori the First of Unaria, so that you may be executed for your part in the Vezdan-Unarian Conflict," Prince Mikhail greeted her.
"Yes, yes. Good morning, Prince Mikhail," she replied. "I suppose you'll want my sword."
"You will surrender your sword and agree to a search of your person," he continued as though he did not hear her.
"I'm sorry... did you say... a search of my 'person'? What person would that be?" She snapped.
"Uh, well, that..." Ilya interrupted. "You must understand... a formality... it will be brief, but it must... we will have to search your... your... self... to ascertain that you are not hiding any..." His words trailed off into uncomfortable silence as Talia's eyebrows seemed to rise higher with every word spoken.
"I refuse," she stated. "You will not put your hands on me."
"We will do it now, in view of the escort troop, because if we do not, those men will," Mikhail growled.
"No," Talia snapped.
"Uhh... Princess... the uhh... the escort troop is made up of volunteers," Ilya stuttered. "These men are soldiers, veterans of the conflict between our lands, and I would wager no few amount of those men would be quite pleased to see the Vezdan ruler suffer for what they've endured. In fact-"
"You are a prisoner of the Empire and shall do as we say," Mikhail interrupted, taking a step toward her. "Your sword... or shall I remove it myself?"
Talia swallowed hard and unbuckled her sword belt. She tossed it to the ground where it was quickly retrieved by Ilya.
"Hold up your arms," Prince Mikhail ordered.
Slowly, she raised her hands- high enough that the approaching soldiers could see. She nodded her head to Prince Mikhail, indicating that she would comply. His expression was cold, dark eyes that expressed nothing stared unblinkingly into her own. She waited, steeling herself for the horrible moment when he'd reach toward her with those large hands and--
"Ilya," Prince Mikhail snapped. "What are you waiting for?"
"M-me?" Ilya jumped. "A-are you certain you want me to-"
The prince only had to frown, and Ilya hurried forward.
"Of course! Of course, yes. Sorry. Princess, if you could open your mouth, and stick your tongue out," Ilya asked.
As she did, Ilya grabbed her chin, turning her face this way and that as he examined the inside of her mouth, and then swept his hands quickly down her sides and then, between her legs.
"Alright," he nodded, taking a step back.
Talia could feel the heat from the burn in her cheeks. No one, not even her lady in waiting, had ever dared to put hands on her legs or thighs, and Ilya did so with the air of someone performing a slightly unpleasant but completely ordinary chore. Worse still, Prince Mikhail's unreadable eyes continued to stare into her own, his jaw clenching as Ilya's hands swept down her body. That he did not touch her himself did not surprise her.
"Kneel down," Mikhail growled.
Talia scowled at him, but immediately felt Ilya's hand on her shoulder, gently but forcefully pushing her down into a kneeling position.
"Now wait there," the prince commanded.
While she watched, he marched toward the Pass and met with the leader of the escort troop some distance off.
"The troop leader will have to make report, and the Prince will discuss the planned route-- all very normal sort of business," Ilya explained as though he sensed her anxiety. "Once they're finished with that, they'll come to you, and the Prince will make some sort of formal statement concerning your surrender and execution. You should remain kneeling until he tells you to stand. It looks better that way... a posture that signals your defeat and submission to the Empire. You understand, of course. It will go much better for all of us over the next few days if you would try to do exactly what our Prince says. If you argue or challenge him in any way in front of the men, he'll have to punish you. He cannot show mercy or patience. He is our Emperor's brother. If he allows you, a prisoner, to disrespect him on his own land, it is akin to admitting that he is weak and without pride in his blood. Understand that he will not allow it. Our men are already aggrieved that your execution will not be public. They are hoping that you will do something that earns you a good beating, if not worse treatment. They will be watching carefully for it."
"The Treaty clearly states--" she began.
"The Treaty clearly states that you will die in seven days and face no ill treatment before that, yes I know," he interrupted. "The pity of it is that after seven days, there won't be anyone who would have a reason to complain that the Treaty wasn't strictly followed. So once again, I advise that you do exactly as he says. He is honorable and will see to it that you are not mistreated, unless you make it too difficult for him to do that."
Talia watched as Prince Mikahil spoke with the soldiers. Like him, most kept their hair long and tied back under their helmets. They still blackened their eyes with smudgestick, even though they were no longer at war. She noticed many of the men stealing looks at her, and she did not like what she saw in their eyes, even from a distance. Yet there was some comfort in seeing the thoughts of your enemies expressed so clearly on their faces. With Prince Mikhail, she could only guess at his thoughts, and she had guessed wrong before.
"I have heard you," she assured the aide.
"That is not the same as agreeing with me," he muttered dryly.
"I have heard you," she repeated.
She was given a new horse, and though her hands were not bound, she was not given reins. Her horse was tied to Prince Mikhail's steed, and she could only hold on to the saddle as they rode.
The first night of her captivity, she was surprised to discover that she would be given her own tent and allowed privacy but was only able to enjoy it long enough to wash her face and eat her evening meal. Not long afterwards, Prince Mikhail entered the tent without a word of warning or greeting and immediately crouched to sit in the farthest corner from her.
"Lie down," he ordered.
"What are you doing?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice calm.
"The treaty states that the Empire will do its part to prevent mistreatment of the prisoner by assigning her a guard," he reminded her.
"Yes, but you can guard my tent from the outside, can't you?" she asked.
"Lie down," he repeated.
"I can't sleep with someone watching me," she insisted.
"Then don't sleep," he growled.
"If I don't sleep, I might fall off the horse tomorrow."
"Then I will ride with you in front of me," he threatened.
She watched him for a moment, but nothing about his face or posture suggested he was anything but serious. Even crouched as he was, he was almost as tall as her while she stood. The image of being pressed against that massive body for hours and hours while riding suggested itself to her, and she shuddered in revulsion.
"If you remain the night in this tent with me, your men will assume that you... that we're..." she faltered, hesitant to suggest what should be obvious.
"Yes," he agreed.
Slowly, she lowered herself onto the cot and sat, crossing her arms as she studied that impassive face. She had already lost the war, and it made her desperate to win even a small battle, even one of wills. This was a battlefield she excelled upon; this was a fight she could win.
"Are you going to stare at me until the sun rises?" she wondered.
When he did not answer, she nodded her head slowly.
"So be it," she mumbled, and unclasped her cloak, allowing it to slip from her shoulders.
She snatched the cloth she'd used earlier to wash her face and wet it again with water from the bottle they'd provided. She turned slightly to the side, as though somewhat attempting to shield herself from his view, when in reality, she knew full well that the angle highlighted the curve of her hip to her waist and that the lantern light better shone on the skin of her exposed leg.
She began to stroke the cloth up and down her arm, gently cleaning herself.
"You'll forgive me, I hope," she murmured. "It is a habit of mine from childhood. I cannot lie down dirty from a day's travel."
He did not respond, but she could feel his eyes upon her. She forced herself to remain calm. This was a gamble. It would likely go either two ways, one of them, a horrifying outcome she feared to even imagine. The other, he would leave the tent. Talia had seen enough of his nature to stake everything on the latter.
"It is funny how people can be so changed over the years, is it not?" she asked lightly, switching the cloth from hand to hand. She began to stroke her other arm with long, slow, massaging movements. "I was once terrified of the dark, and you were frightened of-- how did you say it... indecency!"
She smiled to herself and glanced over her shoulder just in time to catch his eyes drifting down the line of her hip.
"I know what changed me," she continued, moving the cloth to her neck. "I discovered that there were far worse things to fear than the dark. I wonder... I wonder what changed you?"
She bent, exposed her leg almost fully, and with a languid but deliberate hand ran the damp cloth down the entire length of it, from thigh to ankle. It left a damp trail that glistened like sweat.
She watched his lips, waiting for that telltale sign of something suppressed, but it did not come.
He rose with violent speed to his feet and took one staggering step, and she could not contain the startled gasp that escaped her lips, nor the fear from her eyes-- and then he stumbled through the opening of the tent, slapping the cloth flap behind him as though he were slamming a door.
Princess Talia dropped her wet cloth and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. She had won this small battle-- he was defeated in this way, at least.
She almost smiled, but at that instant, Prince Mikhail burst into the tent. He carried two sticks in his hand. As she watched, he drove them both into the hard packed earth, flung his cloak over the stakes, and again crouched down. This time, concealed behind his hastily erected barrier.
"Thank you," she mumbled.
He did not respond.