#TeaserTuesday: Prisoners

 

“Heirs, slaves, or soldiers,” Ragnar repeated. “Is that all you produce over there? What about farmers? Blacksmiths? Craftsmen? The tents we raided up north were swimming in gold trinkets and fancy cups. Someone made those, didn’t they?”

“Those would be slaves.”

“Is that how it is, then? In your empire? You’re either at the top, or someone at the top owns you?”

Cassius turned his head as they walked, his gaze near-colorless in the shade of the pines, cutting and far too bold for that of a prisoner. After a long beat of eye contact—as if Ragnar was going to be the one to look away first—Cassius returned his gaze to the road and sighed. “Have you considered that’s the precise reason I allowed myself to be captured? The reason I’m helping your people?”

“Not my people, mate. You’re helping the Southerners.”

“Your prince is aligned with the Southern cause, though, is he not?”

“He’s not my prince.”

“No.” Cassius sent him another sideways glance. “What is it you call him? Your alpha? He’s your master.”

Ragnar bristled. He didn’t realize he’d growled until Cassius’s brows lifted in surprise; then, aware of the rumble in his chest, he pushed it louder, deeper.

Leif was his alpha. His master. But the intricacies of pack dynamics couldn’t be understood by anyone outside the pack, much less a Sel born into captivity. To Cassius, Ragnar’s submission to Leif’s authority, to his body, would resemble his own upbringing. A relationship between slave and slave-owner. He couldn’t begin to comprehend Ragnar’s relationship with Leif. Couldn’t conceive of—of the way—of the fact Leif didn’t see Ragnar as—

The shock of pain and pressure at his throat proved he’d tried to shift, and his growl choked off. He coughed, and thumped on his chest, his heart racing, his wolf whining and whimpering under his skin.

“Are you well?” Cassius asked.