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The Sublime Overlord of the Realm
He wasn't leaving. Most of the time, her haughty mannerisms would make the least commoner leave in absolute disgust when she chose to apply them. Of course, she was dealing with some sort of nobility in Rayond. He wasn't a simple man like Brown who would either react with anger or simply leave if she told him to. Instead he came nearer. From the doorway, he came in, his footfalls now more quiet, more deadly as he moved with his swordsman's grace. His dull eyes touched hers, a spark of life, of hate, deep within those plain orbs. She had made him angry.

While his voice come in louder than before, it was still a soft thing, a courtier tone even with its untapped anger. As he continued to speak, Een was left with mixed emotions. As he detached his coin purse in a fluid motion, her eyes broke with his for that small motion as if she was nervous he held a dagger instead, ready to plunge it into her chest. The purse itself was a generous size, but his words poisoned it. It would have been a goodly sum to give to those who have aided me, but... Her narrowed eyes glittered with thousands of venomous daggers all aimed at Rayond's plain, dull face. I am no whore. It would be obvious to both him and herself that the man had struck a chord within her. Her voice which had been chill before was now quiet, deadly ice, her words clipped by a tight jaw. Keep your purse. I want none of it.

This man would put her in a cart, carry her to it even. While it was true that her feet would probably heal much sooner with the skills of a professional, she would also have to brave more cold and blowing winds just to get to the professional healer he had mentioned, if it were true that there was one. However, there were still perhaps many miles of travel between this lonely outpost to the next. A cart was just horses and wheels, easy to get stuck in blizzard conditions like they were now. Brown's homely face appeared in her head, his plain features and his wild eyes full of fear and anger. She felt pity for him. His epic would end as Rayond's blade found his back. This was easy to conjecture. Rayond's face, so similar to that of his half brother, was even more forgettable even as it was even more difficult to read. It was just the tilt of his chin that denoted his pride, pride most likely for his station, his authority, and the control he had over others.

Een straightened her back, her pointed chin raised in stubborn defiance as her narrowed blue violet eyes found his openly. She might not be able to stand on her own nor move without some semblance of stiffness or pain, but she would be damned if she gave into such a fiend. I will not go with you. You have nothing of which I desire to tempt me to go with you. Her lute lay cradled in her lap, her fingers silent on its strings and body. The thought of the man reaching for her, cradling her against him as he carried her to a cart was unnerving. She did not wish him to touch her, nor any man regardless. Her scimitar lay on the floor with the rest of her belongings and her boots. A part of her wished she had the weapon nearer, but even she knew that she was not fit to wield it at this time.
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Frostbitten · Hiskarin Mountains

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