Rokath allowed me a nibble of freedom with each passing day I obeyed his rules. So far, my plan to earn his trust was working, though at a much slower pace than I wanted. Especially after he punished me for speaking his name aloud in front of the soldiers. My blood still heated at the memory of it all, and I cursed myself and the Fates for making him my fucking mate yet again.

I wouldn’t do it again, though. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction again.

When we stopped that evening, I finally worked up the nerve to ask for some different clothes. Rokath, Rapp, and I strode toward the black tents and the command center after handing off our mounts to be cared for. Every evening unfolded in this way, and I knew I had to ask then, before they disappeared for their nightly reports.

“If I’m going to be riding with the army, I might as well look like I belong. Besides, riding in dresses is nearly impossible, even with the pants you found me,” I announced, keeping my voice strong.

The two males stopped walking. Rokath’s heavy regard fell over me.

“She has a point,” Rapp agreed, flicking his tongue over the rings in his lip.

“Thank you,” I huffed, planting my hands on my hips.

Rokath slashed his attention between Rapp and me, then ran a hand over his bare head. “There is a clothier not far from here. I will take you before our meeting.”

Why does everything have to be a battle with him?

“I could say the same of you, little imposter.”

Ignoring his mental words, I shot him a sarcastic, saccharine smile. “Thank you, master.”

Rapp pressed his lips together and took a half-step back, trying to hide his amusement. Rokath, on the other hand, offered me a wicked, feral grin that sent ice shattering through my veins. He never smiled, and this wasn’t one offered with pleasantries. This was one that screamed that he did, in fact, own me, and would remind me of it at every given opportunity. “Call me that again, Assyria. I love hearing you surrender to me. All I can picture is you on your knees for me, that smart mouth open and waiting for my cock.”

His words melted the ice in me and replaced it with hot need. My core throbbed at the picture he painted.

Just the bond, just the bond.

“Never,” I shot back, my voice steadier than I anticipated.

“We’ll see,” he grumbled, and I hated that he could sense the lust dripping from me. At least, like our hatred, it went both ways. He hadn’t come after he punished me, and since the bond wouldn’t let us seek pleasure without each other, I knew he had to be aching for it.

Rapp cleared his throat, reminding us both he was still present. “I’ll gather the officers while you drop Assyria off,” he said, then excused himself.

Our sudden aloneness heightened the tension between us, and Rokath shifted almost imperceptibly toward me. My breath caught in my throat as his burgundy eyes blazed, reflecting my dilated pupils back to me.

“Come,” he said, breaking our trance. Blinking, I returned to myself, then quickly followed him in the opposite direction. The center of camp was abuzz with activity, males coming and going and weaving their way through the chaos. Spices filled the air, wafting from dozens of fires where meat roasted and vegetables cooked.

“Stay close,” Rokath warned, and I jogged to catch up, lengthening my stride. Grem and Zeec, my constant companions these days, had no trouble keeping up with their master’s pace. I was no different than them in Rokath’s eyes—just a pretty pet to order about to make himself feel more powerful.

After a few sharp turns, we arrived at a deep red tent, a bustle of males hurrying in and out of it. They all paused to salute the Halálhívó as we approached. Rokath ignored them and led me inside. To the left, a few males worked on a long table arranged with various items of clothing, while on the right, another group polished and sharpened weapons. We went directly to the one in the rear, where a leather clad male chatted with two others, swapping items.

“Halálhívó,” the three greeted him with a closed-fisted salute.

“How can I help you?” the one behind the table asked. He shooed the two away, and they were more than amenable to leaving. I hung back, waiting for Rokath to do whatever it was that he planned on doing.

“My fallen is in need of leather armor,” he stated. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. To everyone besides Rokath and Rapp, I was the fallen. No name, just like Rokath. No worth other than my womb.

Exactly as it had always been. Why should I have expected anything different?

The male glanced past him to me. “Aye, a wise decision, Your Glory. I can make something from scratch for her or refit some of the smaller clothing we have.”

“Use new hides and fabrics,” Rokath told him. This time, I had to smother my surprise. I figured he wouldn’t give me anything that might serve his precious army better than me.

“Yes, sir,” the male said.

“I must attend the nightly meeting. I assume that you don’t need me to remain?” Rokath groused.

“No, sir,” he replied. “It will take me a few hours to make, but she should have something before retiring for the evening.”

“Good.” Rokath rumbled in that authoritative way of his. “Stay,” he told his hounds, and they both planted in place in the middle of the tent. No one would go in or out without their knowing.

He focused on me, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a hard line. Into my mind, he growled, “This is an opportunity for you to earn a sliver of trust. Have the clothes made and return to my tent. You may stop for food along your way back. Nowhere else.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” I shot back.

He left a grunt in his wake as he departed. Returning my attention to the clothier, I stepped forward. “What do you need me to do?”

“Come around here, I have a private room where I can take your measurements,” he said, sweeping his arm out and indicating I should walk behind the table and past him. With a quick glance around the room, I did. The males’ working speed had slowed, no doubt listening to the exchange, and more than one watched surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye.

Could I blame them? I was likely the only female they’d seen for months with how strict Rokath was with his rules.

We slipped into a back room, where piles of unused fabric rested on even more tables. “Do you unpack all of this every day?” I asked him.

“Aye,” he replied, shuffling through a few layers before pulling out ones he wanted. “With an army this size, we work hours every night repairing everything from tents and clothing to weapons and shoes. Some ride in the wagons so they can continue the work throughout the day.”

From around his neck, he pulled a long strip of flexible fabric with evenly spaced marks along it. “Please hold out your arms like this.” He demonstrated the stance, and I mirrored it, arms stretching straight to the side, and standing tall with my chin held high.

The clothier made quick work of my torso and height, noting the numbers on a slip of parchment beside his pile of fabric. “Halálhívó’s chosen, if you wouldn’t mind tucking your skirts between your legs as tight as you can, I can get a more accurate measurement of your legs.”

My cheeks flamed, though not out of modesty. That title was what the males used to refer to me when they were trying to be respectful. I’d overheard it on more than one occasion now—along with the not so nice terms. To hide my embarrassment, I quickly arranged my dress like he requested. Without touching me, he finished his work, then stepped back, attention sweeping over me, but not in a lecherous way. “Would you like full sleeves, short sleeves, or none?”

“Umm,” I started, too shocked that he had asked for my opinion to be able to form more words than that.