The walk back to camp was a blur of cold night air and anger. Althea stumbled over roots and stones, but Catria didn't slow. The knight's grip on her arm was like iron—unyielding and unforgiving.
"Let me go," Althea hissed through clenched teeth, jerking against the hold.
Catria didn't respond, her movements quick and precise as she dragged Althea back toward the camp. The knight's silence was suffocating, each footstep falling with a heavy, unbroken rhythm, as if each stride were a lesson in the futility of resistance. Her focus was dead ahead, every step sharp and deliberate. Her silence only stoked the fury building in Althea's chest—fury that simmered, shifted, and slowly turned into something else entirely.
Something hotter.
"Stop ignoring me!" Althea twisted, thrashing against the arm that held her, but it was like fighting against stone. She kicked, but Catria's grip only tightened, her hold unyielding.
Finally, Catria spoke, her voice low and steady. "Don't do that again."
Althea's heart leapt at the cold finality in her tone, and the dare slipped from her lips before she could stop herself. "Or what?" Her voice was a taunt, the words sharp with defiance.
The knight halted, turning Althea to face her. The firelight cast shadows over her features, sharpening the hard line of her jaw, the dangerous glint in her eyes. For a heartbeat, they stood in silence, the tension between them thick and charged.
A dangerous flicker of excitement twisted low in Althea's belly, hot and unwelcome. She wanted to defy her—wanted to see just how far Catria would go.
But the knight was already moving.
In one swift, measured motion, Catria stepped behind her and yanked the tether rope from where it dangled at the saddle. The rope uncoiled with a hiss, heavy and unforgiving in her hands.
Catria's hand moved, her grip shifting from Althea's waist to her wrist, and she leaned in close, her words a low murmur that sent a shiver down Althea's spine. "You think I won't do it?"
The calm in her voice was more terrifying than any threat, a quiet promise of consequences that made Althea's pulse race. A flicker of something dangerously close to excitement twisted in her chest, and she held Catria's gaze, her own voice dropping to a whisper. "I think you don't have it in you."
In one swift motion, Catria twisted her arm behind her back, pinning it there with enough force to make Althea gasp. The pain wasn't intense, but it was enough to send a spark of adrenaline through her veins, sharp and electric. Catria's hold was practiced, inescapable, and the press of her body against Althea's back left no room for doubt.
Catria leaned closer, her breath warm against the edge of Althea's ear. "Is that what you think?" Her tone was deadly soft, edged with a restraint that felt like it was hanging by a thread.
Althea swallowed, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her chest. She struggled, twisting against the grip, but the knight's hold only tightened, the rope of tension between them pulling taut. "If you're trying to scare me, you'll have to try harder," she spat, her voice laced with reckless challenge.
Catria's only response was a dark, unreadable silence, and Althea could feel the heat radiating off her, could sense the storm brewing beneath that mask of calm. It was maddening, infuriating, and yet—
Althea's heart skipped a beat. Althea's body betrayed her, leaning into the restraint even as her mind screamed to rebel. Every nerve was on fire, torn between pulling away and letting herself be bound tighter.
"You've pushed me enough today." Catria's voice was low—too controlled, too calm. It made something in Althea's chest tighten painfully. "Now, you're going to learn." Catria's jaw tensed, a flicker of something dangerous flashing in her gaze before her expression returned to its mask of cool, unyielding control.
Althea smirked, arching a brow even as her heart thundered against her ribs. "Am I?" she taunted, arms pinned behind her. "Because from where I'm standing, you're all talk."
Catria's lips quirked into the faintest of smiles—cold, calculated, and just a little dangerous. "You think so?" Her grip on Althea's wrists tightened, her thumb brushing over her pulse point, feeling the wild beat beneath her skin. "Maybe you're not as fearless as you think, princess."
A spark shot down Althea's spine, sharp and electric.
The rope looped around her wrists in an instant, binding them together with the kind of practiced efficiency that left no room for resistance.
Althea sucked in a sharp breath, her pulse thrumming wildly beneath her skin. The rope wasn't tight enough to hurt, but the pressure was inescapable—unyielding, just like Catria.
"You think this is a joke?" Catria murmured, her voice a low growl against the back of Althea's neck. The heat of her breath ghosted over Althea's skin, making her shiver despite herself.
Althea twisted against the bindings, testing them, but the rope only pulled tighter. "What are you doing?" she whispered, breathless.
"Teaching you a lesson."
Catria's hand pressed between her shoulder blades, forcing her to her knees before the fire. Althea's knees hit the dirt with a muted thud, the rope biting into her wrists as her weight shifted forward.
She should have felt humiliated—furious. But instead, all she felt was the searing heat of Catria's presence behind her, the maddening steadiness of the knight's control.
Althea's voice dropped, breathless but still laced with challenge. "Maybe I like a lesson. Or maybe…" Her gaze dropped to Catria's mouth, then back to her eyes. "Maybe I just want to see if you can keep up."
Catria leaned in, her lips brushing close to Althea's ear, her breath hot against her skin. "Be careful what you wish for," she murmured, the words a dark promise. "I'm not as gentle as you might hope."
Althea's heart skipped, her voice a whisper. "Who said I wanted gentle?"
A beat of silence stretched between them, taut and electric. Catria's fingers flexed against Althea's wrist, her eyes narrowing as if measuring the truth in Althea's words.
"Careful, princess," Catria warned, her voice barely more than a whisper, rough and laced with restraint. "You don't know what you're asking for."
Althea's lips curved into a smirk, her voice a soft taunt. "Then show me."
For a moment, she let her fingers trail down Althea's arm, her touch feather-light, almost tender. Althea's breath hitched, her skin prickling under the knight's deliberate touch, her mind spinning with the delicious thrill of being so close to Catria's tightly held restraint.
"I told you to stop pushing." Catria's voice was a quiet, dangerous murmur—like the calm before a storm.
Althea's chest heaved, her breaths shallow and fast. "I don't want to." she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Catria crouched beside her, close enough that Althea could feel the warmth of her body. One hand tangled in Althea's hair—not hard, just enough to hold her in place.
Catria's smile was slow, almost predatory. "You'll regret this," she murmured, but her hand lingered in Althea's hair, a grip that was both possessive and gentle. She tilted Althea's head towards her, daring.
"Try me." Althea breathed.
"You think I won't break you," Catria murmured.
The gentle pull of Catria's hand in her hair sent a shudder racing down Althea's spine. Her pulse roared in her ears, her skin prickling with every tiny shift of the knight's fingers.
"Then do it," Althea whispered, her voice raw with challenge. "Break me."
For a heartbeat, the air between them was razor-thin, charged with something neither dared name.
Catria's hand tightened in Althea's hair, just slightly—just enough to make her breath catch. The pressure wasn't painful, but it was inescapable. Controlled. Like everything about the knight.
Althea's pulse roared in her ears, a wild drumbeat against the stillness. The rope's coarse fibers pressed into Althea's wrists, a constant reminder of Catria's command, sending an illicit thrill down her spine with every tiny movement.
Then, slowly, Catria leaned closer, her lips brushing the curve of Althea's ear. "You'd be begging for mercy," she whispered, her voice low and dangerous—a promise wrapped in steel.
The words ignited a fire that shot through Althea's veins, sharp and all-consuming. A spark of something she didn't dare name.
And just when she thought she couldn't bear the tension any longer, Catria released her grip—smooth, calculated, leaving Althea breathless and trembling.
The absence of the knight's touch hit like a slap.
"No more games," Catria said, her voice cold and composed, as if the moment had meant nothing at all.
But Althea didn't move. Couldn't. The ropes around her wrists bit into her skin, but the ache only fanned the flames already burning low in her belly. Every shallow breath felt like a battle she was losing.
Catria turned away without looking back, her steps measured and precise, as if she was already done with the moment. But Althea knew—this wasn't over.
Not even close.
Catria stopped by her bedroll, reaching again for a coil of rope. The fibers hissed as the length unraveled in the knight's steady hands, and something deep in Althea's chest tightened.
Without a word, Catria knelt at her feet.
Althea's breath hitched. "What are you—"
"Quiet," Catria said, her voice low but unyielding.
The sound of it sent a sharp thrill through Althea, silencing whatever protest had been on the tip of her tongue.
Catria's hands were firm and practiced as she tugged Althea's boots from her feet, casting them aside. The cool air nipped at Althea's bare ankles, but the heat thrumming beneath her skin drowned out everything else.
The rope looped around her ankle—once, twice, three times—until it was snug but not painful. Just tight enough to remind her who was in control.
Althea shifted instinctively, testing the restraint, but Catria only gave the rope a sharp tug, making Althea's heart lurch in her chest.
"Stop fidgeting." Catria's voice was soft, but the warning beneath it was clear.
Althea's throat tightened, her skin prickling with the weight of Catria's control. The rope moved in smooth, practiced motions—looping, knotting, securing. Each movement deliberate, each shift a quiet declaration:
You're mine to restrain.
When both ankles were bound, Catria pulled the rope taut, trailing it toward her own bedroll. With a smooth, efficient motion, she staked the end into the ground, driving a piece of metal deep into the dirt with her boot.
Althea watched, breathless, as she tied the rope around the stake—taut and cruel, there to hold her in place. Enough to keep her tethered.
Catria stood slowly, brushing dirt from her gloves, her expression as calm and composed as ever. The sight of it—her measured control, her steady presence—made something twist deep in Althea's chest.
The knight stepped over Althea's legs and knelt beside her, close enough that the warmth of her body bled into Althea's skin. Close enough that Althea had to clench her jaw to keep from leaning into it.
Catria's fingers brushed Althea's cheek, almost absentmindedly, before trailing down her neck to the rope at her wrists. With the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times, she tightened the bindings just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind Althea they were there.
"Don't move," Catria murmured, her voice low and even. It wasn't a command; it was a fact. "Not unless you want to make things worse."
Althea's pulse thudded wildly in her throat, but she forced herself to meet the knight's gaze—storm-gray eyes cool and unflinching, steady as a blade drawn against the skin.
"And if I do?" Althea whispered, her voice catching on the edge of a breath. The words felt dangerous, even as they left her mouth. Reckless.
Catria smiled—just barely, just enough to send a shiver down Althea's spine. Slowly, she tilted Althea's face up toward her own. "You'd never be able to forget me."
The promise in those words burned hotter than the fire crackling beside them.
Catria stood without another word, stepping back toward her own bedroll. She gave the tether one last tug, the rope pulling tight between them, and then sank gracefully onto her blanket as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary.
Althea remained where she was, her heart hammering in her chest, her wrists aching against the bonds. The weight of the rope around her ankles kept her grounded—held her in place even as every nerve in her body screamed to move.
She tugged experimentally at the tether. It didn't give. Of course it didn't.
Catria glanced over, her expression unreadable in the dim light. "I said don't move."
Althea stilled, her breath catching in her throat. The way Catria said it—cool, measured, absolute—made it sound less like a command and more like a promise.
A promise that left Althea simmering in frustration and something dangerously close to want.
She shifted again, just enough to feel the slight resistance of the rope—just enough to remind herself that she was bound, tethered to the ground at the knight's whim. And gods, how that knowledge burned.
Catria's gaze flicked toward her, sharp and unwavering. "Sleep, princess. We leave at first light."
Althea didn't respond. She couldn't—not without giving away too much.
The fire crackled softly, casting long shadows across the camp. The rope lay heavy against her skin, a constant reminder of everything Catria had taken from her in that silent, unyielding way.
And the worst part?
Althea wasn't sure she wanted it back.
She lay still, her heart pounding in her chest, and closed her eyes. But sleep wouldn't come—not with her wrists bound so tightly, not with Catria's quiet control settling over her like a second skin.
She was already plotting her next move, picturing the moment Catria's composure would finally break. Each slow beat of her heart whispered a dare: how far would she go to see the knight unravel?