Oris did not get any sleep that night for fear that she might sleep off and miss the perfect opportunity to alert someone of her miraculous awakening. She had already mapped out how the conversation would go and knew to remain apathetic to any and all persuasion that she'd be faced with.

She flexed her fingers and balled them, over and over again as she waited and soon the sun's rays started trickling into the room. They were soft at first, little splotches of light that managed to peek out from behind the horizon the the sky was aflame with color, oranges and red in vivid streaks.

That had been her first sunrise in days. It's appearance somehow made the twelve hours she had stayed awake worthwhile.

Groggily but with a smile, she pulled herself up into a seating position, too tired to do anything other than lean her upper body against the headboard. The exhaustion she felt now had probably wiped away any other expression from her face.

Oris was sure that whatever sparkle had been in her eye yesterday had long since vanished. She was sure that she looked the part of someone who had truly just woken up from days of slumber but she wondered if she had overdone it. She hadn't been this tired when her eyes had first opened.

Today was the deadline the physician had given, someone had to come check on her and see if it was time to throw her body out and pretend she never existed. Or did she have to walk out and find them?

Just as she was mustering up the strength to drag herself out of bed and do just that, the door to the room was pushed open.

Tristan, Marcka and an old man who had to have been Father, filed into the room, all with varying degrees of worry display on their features.

That all changed when Oris held their gazes. For a moment she didn't speak, deciding to let the guilt the men felt fester. There were so many things she could do: burst into tears at the sight of her kidnappers; start screaming in fear, afraid of what they would do to her; crawl to the so-called Father and beg him to save her.

Oris chose the most regal option and cleared her throat, not taking her eyes off her visitors. "I need water," the words came out scratchy but she chose not to mind—it was hard not to when it resulted in the priest wincing. She could tell that he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Too bad Mother Earth didn't deal with sinners dressed in dark green cassocks. That was the job of Aluta, female god of livestock and worship.

"You're awake," Marcka stated as Tristan walked to the table. He looked both surprised, satisfied and disappointed. Oris couldn't tell whether he wanted her dead or not so she ignored him and turned to the quivering priest.

"Who are you?"

"Where am I?" she asked again, just to sound realistic. She figured that a captive would want to know where they were being held. It made locating where they were taken from easier.

"I am Father Jones, priest of MaryHills convent, where you are at the moment," he said slowly as though he was afraid of letting any important information slip. He didn't mention the former name of the state or the current name of the fiefdom. Oris had to stop her eyes from rolling. Despite you shaking so much you still don't want to risk me leaving. What a typical man.

"I take it you're their employer?" Once she asked the question, the man's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He didn't like the title she had given him, she could see. Like in his mind he had labeled what he had done—giving two men money to get a girl—something else entirely.

He was not as old as she had imagined but it was clear that he was not as limber as he once was. It was also clear that he was someone who knew right from wrong and had advocated for many to do the former. For him to stoop this low meant that Sister Eve meant more to him than a place in paradise. Maybe she was actually his daughter, a forbidden one since celibacy was a requirement for priesthood.

"Yes," he said finally.

Oris nodded and turned to face the window. To admit such a thing meant that he was prepared to not turn back even if death was a consequence. Somehow his situation and hers two years ago felt strangely similar.

"I never knew," she started, her brows furrowing as her mind travelled to a place farther than this room, a place where her abandoned castle sat, "that priests bought slaves."

"I—" Father Jones tried, but even without looking Oris knew that he would not defend himself. He couldn't, not when it was true.

"It's not like that," Tristan cut in defensively, now by her side with the cup of water in his hand. He held it towards her but she didn't take it.

"It's not like that," she repeated slowly, testing the weight of the words on her tongue. "You took me from my home and my brother and you brought me here. Wasn't it just because I am an orphan and you think no one cares?"

Oris chuckled quietly and ran her thumb over the strip of bandage that went under her chin. "You're wrong though, the gods are always watching."

"That's enough!" Marcka snapped and stepped in front of the priest as though the action would shield the man from her words. It wouldn't, of course. Oris knew that. That was the point.

She wanted to let them know that them having her body didn't mean that they had her cooperation. All she needed to ruin their plan was open her mouth and tell the royal envoy that she was a replacement for the true beauty of the fiefdom.

She needed appeasement for he troubles and she was going to get it.

"Didn't you ask about our sister—" Tristan started, ever the mediator between Oris and Marcka.

"I don't care about your sister," Oris hissed, suddenly feeling irritated. She blamed the lack of sleep. "What do you want from me? Do you want to sell my body for profits or use me yourselves?"

"You—!" the priest's finger trembled as he pointed at Oris and she smiled, a sickly sweet smile she hadn't smiled in a long time.

"Do you believe that I will kill myself before you get to try?" she said. It was the last line of her preplanned speech, a threat that she didn't plan on carrying out.

Father Jones lowered his arm, suddenly looking older and defeated as though what he had done was finally catching up to him. "You will not be harmed," he stressed. "We will not harm you."

Oris just kept her smile wide, her fingers still stroking her bandages, her actions alone pointing out the obvious. You already have.

"That was an accident," Tristan said.

"I could have died," was Oris' curt reply.

"And thank Fate you didn't," Father Jones looked like he was about to burst into a string of songs to praise a god so Oris cleared her throat again, just in time to stop him.

"You say you will not harm me so why then did you capture me?"

"To be the emperor's bride," Marcka said, then there was silence.

It was an expecting silence.

Oris supposed that they were waiting for a reaction, disbelief, joy, tears maybe. She would give them none of that.

She took her hand off her face and snatched the cup from Tristan, only speaking when all of its contents had passed her lips. "I'm not interested."

"But you would never starve a day in your life again, all of your needs would be taken care of," one of them started. She didn't care which, already annoyed by the incredulity in their tone.

Deep down she already knew that she had decided to surrender herself to them but no one said she had to make it easy. The brothers and the priest had messed up her and Rodholf's plans so she would let them suffer a few days of anxiety as punishment. It was the least they could do.

Wanting to be left alone and knowing that nothing more was left to be said, Oris straightened up against the headboard and shifted her gaze away from the men. "Marcka, Tristan, Father Jones, I'm feeling a bit under the weather. I would like some space."

They shared a glance and left, probably to think up new ways to get Oris to agree. After all, you couldn't send an unwilling beauty to the emperor, it was as good as a death sentence for the fief.

"So what if I agree?" Oris asked herself playfully, blocking off streams of light with her hand then parting her fingers to let them through. "Who is to say that I won't slit my throat in the carriage out of frustration?"

When her thoughts drifted to the imperial harem where weapons were banned and confiscated upon entry, she suddenly couldn't breathe. She would be living right under the nose of her greatest enemy yet she had no way of protecting herself. She wondered if she would even have a sure way to kill him if she was given the opportunity. Would she have the courage to?

The once dull throb beneath her skull sharpened to a sting and Oris scolded herself.

Why think about this now? she thought glumly and placed a hand on her forehead. I haven't even agreed yet.

~