Read with BonusRead with Bonus

Chapter

CLARA

Admiration

Clara sat opposite Kaeso and watched as he cleaned and whetted his machete. Most of her Death Cliff companions slumbered nearby, taking advantage of well-deserved rest. The edges of the blade Kaeso sharpened paralleled his wit and skill. Mesmerized, Clara admired his focus and failed to notice her mouth forming his name until she heard it aloud.

"Kaeso."

When he looked at her, his expression changed, as if surprised to see her sitting instead of sleeping. A faint sizzling sound popped in the air between them. "Hm?"

She blinked as embarrassment washed over her. On the spot, she used her dumb slip of the tongue to her advantage.

"Your name. It is Kaeso. You did not have time to introduce yourself." Spooked, she glanced around. Where did that searing sound come from?

Kaeso smiled. "No, I did not and yes, that is my name." Resuming his task, he seemed to not register the unusual noise, or pretended not to notice it. "And your name is...?"

The heated gaze he aimed her way sent an unexpected thrill rampaging beneath the surface her skin and as it sank deeper her limbs turned to jelly. She hugged herself to both relish the sensation and keep from toppling sideways. "Clara."

Kaeso paused for a moment as his forehead wrinkled. Why was that? He continued tending to the blade.

Clara watched his taut forearm muscles contract with each swipe of the stone across the tapered metal edge. "That sword, I have never seen anything like it."

"It is a machete. I met some men from twentieth-century Earth about thirty years ago. Spent the evening drinking with them before they tried to rob me," he said.

"And were they successful?"

"No, they were not." The corner of his lips teased a smirk.

Clara tilted her head. "Did you behead them?"

He slowed the rock to a stop. "It was tempting, but no I did not. Instead, I robbed them after tying them all to a tree." With great pride, he displayed the machete for her to view in the soft candle glow. "And I have had this on my back ever since." He stowed the now razor-sharp steel and worked the smaller knives next.

Any other man maintaining his weapons would be as fascinating. Mm, hm. Sure. She could tell herself that all day and it would still constitute a lie.

A sudden thought occurred to her. "Your coat-"

He shook his head. "Keep it."

"I will return it to you." She needed him to know, and she was far too exhausted to make sense of it. He peered up at her with a tender smile.

Kaeso resembled no one she ever met. He showed up in her life only half a day ago, yet she had complete trust in him. And it was not because he was the most beautiful man ever created, an appreciation which stirred something curious within for a fleeting moment. Clara could not tell if she was locked away for too long to remember such excitement or if it was a new, avarice response. Picking a pebble from the ground next to her feet, she rolled it between her fingers; a feeble try to fixate elsewhere, but her auditory senses thirsted for the tranquil security promised in his words. "Where are you from? On Earth, I mean."

"Rome," he told her. Finished, Kaeso began putting the weapons away. "But that was ages ago. I hail from Fresia now and free slaves in my spare time."

"Spare time?" Clara blinked, but detected the sparkle of humor in his soulful eyes. "Oh, I see." Crimson flashed across her cheeks, and she cleared her throat. "I am from southern Spain. It seems like so long ago. Like you, I do not wish to reminisce about those days."

"Indeed, it no longer matters."

"Then, how long have you been in Altyria?"

Kaeso shrugged. "A millennium, give or take a few decades."

Clara stopped rolling the piece of gravel and let it fall from her grip. "You have been here for one thousand years?"

"Yes," Kaeso said, trying to hide his amusement, and she caught that too.

She shook her head in disbelief, but kept asking questions. If he wanted her to stop he would say so, right? "What made you decide to free slaves?"

Kaeso frowned, and she almost retracted the question until he spoke. "I freed a slave in the south a few years ago. I cannot even describe what-"

She leaned forward. "And you do not have to."

"Right," Kaeso scrunched his brow and dropped his head. "Sorry." He met her gaze with an apologetic one of his own. Clara offered a forgiving nod and gestured for him to continue, which he did. "And I kept doing it. It felt right, freeing people from captivity."

A lock of hair fell into his face, and she resisted the urge to extend her hand and brush it back. The desire to trace the contours of his face with her fingertips ballooned, and she could not stop hanging on his every word. He enthralled her, and the gravitational pull to him alarmed her rational predilection. She wished to swaddle herself in the sensual, velvety tone of his voice, but could not bear the somber discussion. To change the subject, she gestured over to BadAss. "How did you tame him so quickly?"

Kaeso dug into his pouch nearby and pulled out a small chunk of dried meat. BadAss's nose detected the savory aroma, and his ears perked up. "Slave masters starve these dogs to keep them vicious." He tossed the snack to BadAss, who caught it and chewed. "Feed a dog properly, and you will have the best friend nature designed it to be."

Until this moment, Kaeso seemed unreal; like a unicorn. He was not a standard, handsome, one-dimensional prince or a primitive, socially inept warrior. He carried a code of ethics. A conscience that defined and differentiated between right and wrong. He respected life without relying on brute strength or abject cruelty to exert control. This was a man of honor.

On Earth, honorable men avoided her. Far from a lady, Clara was a spoiled troublemaker with an insatiable alcohol addiction. She spent over a month drying out and repenting those sins in that slave camp dungeon. Uncertain anymore if God existed, she sought resolution from anything that would listen in her darkest hours.

With her father absent most of her life, Clara's nursemaid raised her. Lord Morillo would return to their far-from-humble abode in southern Spain for a few days at a time, followed by weeks or even months of traveling. He never loved her, and he blamed her for the death of her mother, who died after contracting an incurable illness hours after giving birth. Forever wishing for a mother she would never know and love from a father she never received broke off a piece of Clara's heart every day. Her rapacious cruelty and unreasonable demands of a staff she verbally and physically abused in a perpetual drunken haze resulted in a loneliness she preferred above all else.

It was ironic then that through torture and humiliation, Death Cliff cured her selfish and sadistic ways. Albeit it irked her that it took being stripped of everything and everyone she ever knew to find her humanity. The forced sobriety cleansed her mind and soul, allowing her to appreciate the small things she had in Altyria, which as sad as it was, amounted to little more than a cave in hell. The friends she made helped restore her faith in people through comfort and solidarity so that one day, after escaping, she could move forward and leave the past behind.

The man sitting in front of her made that possible.

Clara sighed, knotted up inside, and her inner emotions took it as a challenge to plow through her resolve. Her death slave history weighed in all at once. The gates opened, flooding her mind with countless memories of beating and raping followed by the escape, the running, and fearing for safety every single minute. Five years of misery led to this moment where she sat.

Free.

Tears welled, and she looked at the ceiling. She could not cry. She was stronger than that. She would never break.

Her throat tightened, and her chin quivered. "I do not know how I can ever repay you."

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter