Rose and Steel

He had the makings of a seasoned hunter, but she was no ordinary prey.

The chittering of squirrels and bounding of wild hares in the underbrush quickly ceased, and she was left alone to wade through the lake's sun-spangled shallows, all too aware of the man’s movement in her periphery as he continued to prowl through the overgrown tangle of brambles. It was her assumption that he hoped to eke out a better vantage point, and the small clearing grew still with his careful approach, save for the trill of distant birdsong and the shiver of leaves whenever the humid air swept through and rattled them.

"Do you truly intend to ambush a young woman while she's bathing?" Her voice cut cleanly through the surrounding quiet, and she was close enough to see him tense as the question was posed to him, likely taken aback by the realization that he had been spotted in spite of all of his efforts to remain undetected- as though such a thing should not have even been possible.

For several long moments, neither of them spoke. She imagined he was weighing his options, and wondered how long it might be before he inevitably resigned himself to his failure. Until he forfeited the hunt, just as all those that had come before him had done, and made for a hasty retreat home empty-handed. She was surprised when he instead emerged from the cover of the trees with his arms raised in a show of wordless surrender. That surprise then became intrigue, and she turned toward the embankment so that she could face him directly.
Her first thought was that he looked quite unusual. Staggeringly tall. Taller than any man she had seen before. Lean but powerfully-built, with broad, sweeping shoulders and the physique of someone who had devoted most of their life to the task of honing themselves to physical perfection. When she allowed herself the momentary indulgence of imagining what he might look like beneath his clothes, it inspired visions of polished stone chiseled by someone with discerning taste and deft, masterful hands. But it was his eyes that set him apart. Slanted and keen and lambent gold, bright and clear enough to strike a sharp contrast against the deep swarthiness of his complexion. There was something else there too. Something insatiable and achingly familiar that both exhilarated and bewildered her.

"Well?” she asked. “Isn't this when you're supposed to offer some manner of apology for your rudeness?"

Still, he remained silent, and appraised her with critical eyes. For all of his vigilance there was also a distinct absence of fear, and she dissolved abruptly into a flurry of girlish laughter as she canted her head and took her bottom lip briefly between her teeth. As admirable as his bravado might have been, it was obvious he was faced with a manner of prey he had never encountered before, and she could see that he had not yet given any thought as to how he might approach her.

"You aren't entirely sure what to think, are you?" she taunted, splashing childishly at the blue-green water with one hand in a bid to fill the prolonged silence. "You're wondering if there really is any truth to the stories. Am I fae? Am I a witch? Something in between? Do I truly lure young girls back to my lair so that I might feast upon their innocence and steal their youthfulness for myself?" For the briefest moment, something in his eyes changed, and she recognized it immediately for what it was. Hate.

She knew what those wretched villagers said about her. She had been persecuted countless times in as many years. Anything strange or exceptional frightened them. Any deviation that threatened the mundanity of their sad, unextraordinary lives was perceived as a threat. Her lengths of silver hair, for instance. Iridescent and as luminous as starlight where it tumbled, wild and unkempt, to her hips. Or her eyes. Large and upturned and an otherworldly shade of blue-violet that was made only more startling by the deep bronze of her skin. Points of vanity for herself, but marks of a monster to the ignorant few who were so quick to vilify her. And he was no different.

"I'm not here to entertain your games, witch." The man’s voice was low and husky with impatience, and his attention remained fixed intently on her, the way an apex predator might study its quarry before it pounced. Yet he made no move to approach her. Only slowed to a halt a few feet from shore and lowered his arms, until one rested naturally by his side, and the other set a hand loosely atop the pommel of the sword sheathed at his waist. A deadly looking crossbow hung from his right shoulder.
"Oh, but I'm so much fun to play with." There was a certain lilt in her voice to accompany the undercurrent of amusement, and she waded through the water toward him, pausing only when he reached for the bow and trained it on her with steady, practiced hands.

"Not another step,” he warned, loading a bolt and recocking the string with practiced finesse. Her smile widened, but she complied, moving only to wring the lake water from the ends of her hair.

"Are you really so frightened of an unarmed girl?" She taunted, unashamed of her own nakedness as she stood there before him, bare and glistening and partly silhouetted by the warm sunlight where it angled through the trees. He remained unfazed.
She had expected his eyes to wander. To devour the sight of her with lecherous intent the way others were wont to do. "You strike me as a man who has hunted his fair share of dangerous beasts. Do I really pose so much of a threat? Like this?" And she gestured vaguely to herself, as though to indicate her state of undress.
All at once, his expression darkened with equal parts distrust and steely resolve. "You may be accustomed to the company of fools ..." He spoke with an iciness that perfectly matched his cold eyes and hard, uncompromising features. "Unfortunately for you, I am not one of them." There was a pause, during which he reasserted his grip upon the bow's tock and trigger. "Now, before you test my patience further, I expect you to return to shore slowly and dress. Depending on how painless you make this, I may or may not allow you to accompany me back to Idralis bound, but not gagged. The choice is yours."
She bristled and narrowed her eyes derisively as all of her playfulness from before quickly vanished, only to be replaced by a thin, sardonic smile.
"Very well." She willed her voice to remain light, despite her growing vexation with the man's arrogance, and waded obediently back through the shallows until her feet found the mossy shoreline and she could lift herself from the water. Even standing at her full height on level ground, she only reached his chin. But his size did not intimidate her.
"How brave of you to come alone. I would have thought a Prince of the capitol at least would have warranted an escort by-"
"Dress."

His command brooked no argument, but even exuding the air of authority that he did, she saw his jaw work and his grip tighten, and an opportunity presented itself. She strode forward slowly, closing the space between them and coming to a halt just before the point of the loaded bolt could find purchase against her chest. She leaned forward a little further, as though daring him to shoot, and she watched as his brow arched in silent inquiry. But he did not pull the trigger. Then she lifted one hand and gently pushed the crossbow aside. Her slender arms rose to slither across the breadth of his shoulders and around the back of his neck, until she could press her body to his. Mold the softness of herself to the solidity of him. Standing on tip-toe, she could just brush the shapeliness of his bottom lip with hers. Teasing and featherlight. With it, she felt his resistance falter and his posture relax, but the hunger in his eyes intensified as he watched her. Still calm and unyielding. But as she moved in to kiss him, she realized her mistake too late, and he buried his calloused fingers within the silk of her hair to yank her head back with a ruthlessness she did not anticipate.
"You're as predictable as she said you would be, Ilara." And he leveled her with a grim, humorless smile.

Her mind reeled and her eyes went wide with horror. There was only one person he could have been referring to. Only one way this man could have known her true name. Only one who could have told him of her vulnerability to the enchanted collar of cold iron and star sapphires she felt him deftly - and with certain finality - clasp about her throat. But why him? What could he have possibly offered in exchange for such knowledge? What would have been worth that sacrifice?

Blinking up at him in hazy disbelief, she had only a few seconds to register his intent before he'd hauled her up and slung her over his shoulder.
"I gave you a choice, witch. Remember that."