War Prize Ch. 02

He held her still, his eyes boring into hers. She saw him watching, assessing whether she could calm herself down. She saw him evaluate whether it was safe to let her go. She closed her eyes, pressing his hands to her even as she attempted to pull away from him. He was impassive, observing her silently as the water started to cool while it continued drenching them both.

After a long, long moment, the General broke the silence. "I know you have questions. You want answers. Steel yourself, Essie. If you can steel yourself, I can explain."

She dropped her hands from his wrists, and forced her eyes open. He relaxed his grip enough to allow her to nod. When she looked at him, she saw compassion and concern, and it confused her. He slipped his hands onto her shoulders, pausing there, and then gliding further down to grasp her upper arms.

"Let's get out of here before the hot water completely runs out," he said.

He let go of her long enough to shut the water off and lead her to the door. He wrapped her in his own thick robe, which was far too large and fit like a blanket. He found a towel for himself and then escorted her back to the cot. She sat heavily on it but didn't fail to notice that he attached the chain to one of the foot posts.

He walked past her, to the cordoned off area that housed his bed. When he returned, he was wearing a brown undershirt and shorts. He carried two mugs full of steaming liquid with the aroma of warm spices. He handed her a mug and she took it automatically. She'd moved to the center of the cot and crossed her legs at the ankle. She slouched with her elbows on her knees, staring down into the mug. During the interlude of silence that passed between them, there was a soft whirring and she felt her manacles reforming, reminding her of her captivity.

The General sat sideways on the cot, close enough that his knee almost touched hers. He drank deeply from the mug, while she continued to stare into the swirling brown liquid and watch wisps of steam rise.

"Drink, Essie," he said. "You're going to need your voice."

She shook her head. 'Fuck you,' she thought.

"Look at me," he commanded, and reflexively, she did.

When their eyes met, she saw the concern was tempered now, with determination and wariness. She sat up straighter, gripping the mug.

'Throw it in his face? Smash his face?' She clamped her mouth closed determined not to speak, and to keep her teeth from chattering. She tossed her head, widened her eyes, a show of bravado in the face of her deepest fears.

"You have questions, I know. I will not answer unless you speak. He told me that you'd refuse to speak. Honestly, I didn't believe someone could, for as long as you have. He told me that I'd need to convince you to talk."

As he prattled on, her eyes had narrowed.

"So, Elspeth," he said.

She almost dropped the mug. A cry of anguish erupted from her, and one of her hands flew back to cover her mouth.

"Yes." He nodded. "Yes, Elspeth, he told me your name. Your real name. Correct? That no one else knew?"

Her eyes had widened, her eyebrows pinned to her hairline, her breath coming in choking gulps, and an involuntary shiver.

Names, names are so important. She had guarded hers as closely has He had guarded His. Her parents, of course knew, but they were gone from her life. A brother, not seen in over a year prior to the invasion. And Him. The sum total of people who knew her as Elspeth. Now this man, this enemy who claimed her as his property.

The General shifted on the cot, sliding incrementally closer to her, and taking another long sip from his drink.

When he put the drink down, he continued. "He told me a lot about you. He described you in great detail. So I would know who to look for. So I could figure out which attributes to select, when it came time for my reward. He told me about training you, how he'd met you. He said you would try to escape, that you had to try, and that I should wait until you had. He told me that you would likely not believe what I have to say, and that when the time came, to call you by your name. Elspeth. It's beautiful. So unusual. It suits you."

He paused. He drank again, and gestured for her to do the same. She took a tentative sip, and the liquid was warm and soothing. She contemplated pouring it out onto his lap. His soft words and steel tone were worrying at the edges of her defenses. His mix of concern and command were hammering her shields thin. His implacable certainty that she would acquiesce to him wore a hole in her armor and proved him right.

He spoke again, "Elspeth, I can guess what you want to know. But I will not answer unless you ask."

She met his eye again. It was hearing her name, her own, true name, from this man's lips that broke her. When she raised the mug again her hands shook so badly that he reached out to steady her.

She drained her mug. He took it from her hands and put both on the table, just out of her reach. She wound her hands together. She swallowed hard, and could not meet his eye.

"How?" she asked, her speech a rough low whisper. "Why?"

"How what?" he responded. "Why what?"

She swallowed again. She looked up at him, though her head remained down. Now her body was still, her every muscle tensed, fingers curled around each other. She sighed abruptly, and sat up straight.

She found his gaze. "How do you have the same tattoo as my Mate? How, or why did He tell you anything about me?" she croaked.

He nodded curtly. "Your Mate. Curran, though I don't know what you called him." She was nodding. "You called him Curran?" She shook her head. "Anyway, that man, Curran, your Mate. He was my half-brother."

She leaned away from him. "Your brother?"

"Yes."

"Was?"

"Yes."

"You killed him."

"Yes," the General answered.

"You killed your brother," she exclaimed, her voice strong and loud.

He was impassive. "I executed an enemy soldier."

"You killed him!"

"Yes."

"Your brother," she shouted.

"Yes." He answered as though that were the only logical response. As though it wasn't possible for there to have been any other outcome.

She stared at him. He stared back. A great rage boiled up in her. Her hand flew, and her punch landed square on his jaw. It snapped his head back and he recoiled. His hand moved and grazed her shoulder, like a reflex he'd barely been able to tame at the last second. He used the momentum of the movement to carry him into her, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist and drawing her close to him. She let loose a barrage of strikes onto his chest and shoulders. She screamed a litany of profanity and threats. She cried, incoherent and howling, even as she beat against his strength.

He wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, squeezing her to him in a vice grip that left her no room to swing with any effectiveness. He withstood the assault and she pushed into him. One hand pushed into his chest, away from her, and the other scratched at his neck and face. He pulled her closer, and wrapped his legs around her hips, digging his heels into her, and further constricting her movements. He managed to capture the hand that was clawing at him, and finally pinned her to him. She buried her forehead in his shoulder, screaming and wailing, tears streaming down her face.

His strength outlasted her fury, and soon enough she was spent. She slumped, shaking, and he held onto her. She shuddered, a last few sobs leaking out, and then crying quietly, rocking herself. He relaxed his grip minutely, letting go of her hand and moving one leg. She leaned on him, her mind spinning, too sad to remain so angry. Too angry to think.

She shook her head again, as though the truth was an errant insect she could banish with commotion. She pulled the sleeves of the overlarge robe over her fingers, and scrubbed her face. She wiped the snot from under her nose. She pulled her knees up under her chin, wrapped her arms around her shins, and coiled her spine over.

The General leaned back, keeping his arms and legs loose. She closed her eyes, unsuccessfully attempting to shut him out.

When she spoke, her words surprised her. "Curran was just there. He was always there, together with me. I didn't need to call Him anything. He called me. He beckoned, and I responded." She tilted her head, to look sideways at the General. "He liked silence. He liked testing my ability to express myself. He liked... He liked limiting my options." She sat up straighter, still hugging her legs. "You must understand this? As a way to control behavior?"

She hadn't meant it as criticism. She'd meant to explain the parameters of her life with this other man, to whom she had been devoted, who she had loved for so many years.

"How?" she started, faltering again. "I mean. You're his brother?"

She watched as a momentary confusion tripped across the General's face, as he reckoned with the way to tell the story.

"My father," he started, "Curran's father, was a traitor. To both our countries." He paused and she waited him out. He sighed. "My father sired me on the youngest daughter of our Defense Minister. She was barely old enough to consent. She hid her pregnancy, and by the time it was discovered, she had no options. She, I think, really believed that he loved her. She thought they would marry, that I would be the first in a large family. But her parents saw my father for who he was, and forbade the relationship. He nearly went to prison, but was allowed exile instead.

"He chose your country, because of the shared border, and the shared history and language. But he was supposed to spy for us. He was tasked with collecting information, and feeding your government false information. That was the price he was expected to pay, not just for what he did to my mother, but for a host of other... infractions."

The General glanced down, closing his eyes briefly. When he looked at her, he said, "He lied. He lied to your government. Well, he told your government the truth about what we had asked of him. But he lied to us about what he was doing. He gave both governments false information, and revealed real secrets he was supposed to keep. The only thing he did was enrich himself."

She remembered Him mentioning a scandal in His family. She remembered Him being proud of the fact that He had gotten a government post despite His family name, rather than because of it.

"One of the stipulations was that every year he would return, for a debriefing. My mother arranged that visits with her and me be part of that. When I was twelve, she got pregnant again, and died giving birth. My grandparents raised me, and I took their name. He was allowed to continue the visits, and when I was sixteen, he took me to get the tattoo. He lied about my age. Did Curran ever explain the symbols to you?"

She shook her head. She hadn't asked. She didn't ask much of Him.

The General nodded. "It was so long ago now. It doesn't matter. That was the last time I saw him. When I was much older, beginning my career, I heard a rumor that he had another family. But I'd never met Curran, or even knew his name. When he was captured."

She stifled a sob, rocking and twisting her arms around her legs.

"When he was captured, one of the interrogators saw the tattoo he had. He'd been under my command for a while, and had seen mine at some point. He found me. You noticed the resemblance right away, I could tell. So, we noticed it in each other." He laughed. "Curran wound up being a valuable resource for us. But." He shrugged. "It's war.

"Would it mean anything if I said he d—"

She cut him off. "No. It wouldn't. I hate you. I hate all of you and I fucking hate every last one of the shortsighted idiots who thought a war was a good idea. All of them. Why?" She glared at him again, shouting. "Why? Why do men resort to shooting and killing and for what? What good has come of it?"

He didn't answer. She knew he wouldn't. What soldier would disavow the war he'd just won? He sat there, unmoving, while she wiped off her face again. Then he stood and walked around the table, picking up the chest harness that he'd again taken off of her.

"Get up," he said, not unkindly.

She stayed where she was, her head bowed and her arms crossed tightly around her waist. When he came back to the cot, he repeated his command, and she continued to ignore him.

He reached down and yanked on the chain attached to her collar. He dragged her off the cot and held the chain up until she looked at him. Without his order, she unwrapped the robe and let it fall off of her. She raised her hands over her head and barely noticed when he locked her forearm restraints together. He passed the harness around behind her tugging it over her ribs until it settled in its place. He pushed the two loops over her breasts and took much longer than he needed to position them correctly. The loops clicked together, once again locking the restraint in place.

He reached up and guided her hands back down, leaving them locked together. He attached the chain to the sternum bar of the harness. Then he pulled up some slack and attached the chain to her forearm cuffs. He gathered the chain in one hand. With the other he stroked her breast, rolling his palm up from underneath, and teasing until the nipple was erect. She tried to step away from him, but he hooked a finger from his other hand around the lower band of the harness, and pulled her back. He held her there while he handled her, his stare fixed on what his hand was doing, and seemingly oblivious to her glare.

"What do you want me for?" she asked suddenly.

"What?" he responded.

"You want to have me to use? You want to chain me to your bed? Lock me in your house to service you? You want to rape me and convince yourself that I enjoyed it? You want to show me off to your friends, to show them what a reward you got for destroying another country? Add me to a list of conquests and concubines? Couldn't you have had anyone? Couldn't you have turned the offer down?"

She felt nearly hysterical, her speech was fast and she knew she wasn't making sense, wasn't actually saying what she was trying to. His touch was driving her to distraction. He was infuriating, and arousing in more than one way. She wanted to hate him, and she almost allowed herself to hate Him.

The General stopped his movement, but left his hand settled on her breast.

His words were stunning, but his tone was solemn. "He gave you to me. Don't you understand that? He knew what his fate was. He bequeathed you to me. He asked me to protect you. He extracted my promise, that I would protect you, that I would take care of you. In exchange for what he told us. Your safety was worth that much to him. He gave you to me. He told me exactly how to find you. How to make you mine."

"I chose Him, too," she said. "He didn't just buy me at an auction. I was never His property."

The General shrugged. "Well, you are mine. And yes. I want to do all those things. And many more you haven't even thought of."

He turned to walk to the area where his bed was. She stayed firm, unmoving.

"Come on," he said.

"I want to sleep here," she said, gesturing to the cot.

"No," he responded.

She stepped away from him, keeping her head down and refusing to look at him. In one swift movement he closed the distance and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing. She slumped there, not willing to expend the energy to fight. When he got to his bed, he tossed her down and she saw what looked like anger in his eyes.

He squatted down long enough to attach the chain to the bed, and then to a hook in the floor. He pulled another length of chain that was already attached to the bed, and affixed that to one of her ankles. She rolled onto her side and curled up, knees to elbows. She felt the mattress shifting as he got in the bed, felt the weight of the blanket and sheet settling over her. She felt his body heat behind her, but he didn't touch her.

She didn't sleep for a long time. She remembered Him, she thought about the many different turns her life had taken once she met Him. She recalled anything He had said about His family. She worried about what her life would be like when this man in the bed brought her to his home.

++~~++~~++~~++

In the morning she found that the General had curved himself around her while she slept. When she stirred, he moved also. He didn't use her as he had the other morning. The mattress shifted, she heard the familiar rustling of the man moving around in his room, getting dressed. She kept her eyes closed until the tugs at her ankle and wrists told her the chains had been unhooked. She sat up and they went to the bathroom.

She didn't argue or bargain, she spread her legs and he watched her piss. Then he did the same, aiming his stream so that her vulva was his backsplash. He didn't allow her to wash herself. When they made it back to the table, he got another bottle of that nutritional beverage and handed it to her.

"You have ten minutes. I have to leave and I'm going to be gone most of the day."

She drank some, not attempting to finish. She barely looked at him, but every time she glanced at him, his eyes were on her, greedy and searching. He counted off the time and took her back to his sleeping area. He arranged her so her arms were over her head, and her legs spread wide. He locked all the chains in place so that there was not too much tension, but she couldn't move or even roll over.

Once she was secured, he clambered onto the bed, laying partway on her, leaning on his elbow. His torso aligned with hers, and his legs fell between hers. He stroked her cheek, ran his thumb over her lips.

'This is when,' she thought. 'This is when he fucks me.'

But he didn't. He ran his fingers through her hair, and kissed her chin.

"Curran said you like bondage. That you like not being able to move."

She looked at him. 'Is there any secret He hasn't given up?' she thought.

She shook her head slightly. "I like ropes." She kicked her ankle so the chain rattled. "This stuff, chains, cuffs, collars. I never liked. He liked it."

The General contemplated her. "I like ropes. Better than this. But these are easier to adjust, and more secure." He traced a line down her chest. "But I like this too. There's such beauty in a woman laid out like this. Such." He spread his fingers out, his hand caressing her stomach and back up her side, tweaking each nipple. His hand searched, touching her, seemingly lost in the act of exploring her. His hand kept moving as he spoke, "Such possibility when she has no control." He sighed, his hand finally still, loosely around her throat. "I have a lot of equipment, at home."

He paused, appearing to choose his next words carefully. "Curran explained how he trained you. What his preferred methods were." A look of disgust flashed across his face. "Pain can be a powerful motivator. So can deprivation. But I prefer other methods. More enjoyable methods."

He pushed up, climbing down from the bed. "You'll learn, Elspeth, I'm similar to Curran in a lot of ways. But I'm different too. You hate me now. You hate everything I represent. Understand this. I don't care. It's immaterial to me if you hate me or love me. You're my responsibility, and I will take care of you."

He'd turned, reaching for a dress uniform coat, and slipping it on. When he looked at her again, he said, "I will take care of you. And you will earn it."

He picked up the blanket and tossed it over her. Then he left.

She laid there thinking about what he'd said and imagining the consequences. She still didn't quite believe that He had been as free with information as the General implied. Even though she couldn't doubt the fact of his knowledge. She chose to think that the information had been forced out of Him somehow. That their relationship was known, and that imperiling her had been used as a threat, rather than Him asking for her safety as a favor.