A woman of the Rani did not beg.

It was a principle Lali had learned early in life, hammered home by the tales of valiant warriors and defiant maidens told around the hearth when night fell over the town of Almgard and she’d finished her many chores. A woman of the Rani, even when faced with death and dishonour at the hands of the savages always present about the kingdom’s borders, did not bend the knee and plead for release. She stood tall and defiant, shaming the barbarians with her courage so that the Triple-Headed God might witness it and be pleased. If ever some foul outsider dared to violate the Kingdom of Raniva’s borders and lay hands on her, Lali was certain she would do not less.

Of course, the reality of her situation didn’t match up to those old stories. Never in all those imaginings had she thought to see her home taken by invaders, its defenders broken with almost casual ease, and though she tried otherwise, Lali felt herself shiver. It was the kiss of the midwinter snows upon her naked, dusky figure, and the bite of the iron manacles clasping her wrists, ankles and throat, and the caress of the chains that bound her slithering across her skin, and nervousness, and terror, and the realization that she could do nothing to stop the soldiers from claiming her, and the panic rose in her soul volcanically to burst out in a muffled scream. “MMMPPPGGGHHH!”

“Easy there, girl,” one of her captors urged her. Like his three companions, he was clad in the armour and cloak of the Blue Legion, his face bearing the scars that suggested a long service under the Imperial banner, both gladius and long spear stained with the blood of her countrymen. “A pretty thing like you will make a pretty present, so just come along quietly and it’ll all go better for you, you hear?”

“MMMMPPGGGGHHH!” Lali screamed again, heart thundering at her breast. Men’s attentions were not unknown to her. Almgard was a trading centre that lay at the heart of Raniva’s western territories, a crossroads where so many of the Kingdom’s trade routes came together, which meant there were always travellers present to catch their first glimpse of the shopkeeper’s twenty-year-old daughter and marvel at her beauty. More than one man had seen her long dark hair, the fullness of her breasts and thighs, the dark eyes that glittered so impishly, and offered a bride-price right then and there. The Legionnaires hadn’t bothered with such courtesies. The cohort of Legate Skora, most feared and capable of the Empire’s commanders, had stolen a march on the Raniva on the eve of the Midwinter celebration and mounted an assault on Almgard before a warning could be sent back to the capital, leaving only the ill-prepared town militia to hold against the wrath of the Blue Legion. Even as their disciplined formations were leaving Almgard’s ragged defenders shattered in their wake and more were planting the Imperial banner over each of the towers that dotted the town’s stone walls, these four had come upon Lali in a darkened alley and fell upon her with all the pity of ravenous wolves. Her pleas went unanswered as she was thrown to the ground and secured with a set of heavy chains, her cries for mercy silenced by the strips of cloth cut from her dress and balled up into her mouth, before they went and tore the garment away completely. Now they were marching out into streets left deserted of townsfolk and Legionnaires alike, her every step rendered short and shuffling by the hobbling chains, and nothing but the prospect of new horrors waiting at her eventual destination. “Mmmpggh, mmmppppggghhhh!”

“Ain’t no call for that, girl,” the veteran chided her, gloved hands seizing her by the upper arms to push her along. “Never heard of the Legate mistreating his women, so there’s no need to raise a fuss. Just--”

“What in the name of the gods do you think you’re doing?!”

A man’s voice boomed, loud as a thunderclap in a great summer storm, and captive and captors alike turned to see a party of horsemen occupying the street behind them, Legion officers from their badges of rank. It was their leader who spoke, a tall man in his late forties, grey-haired and gaunt, blue eyes staring angrily down his long nose at the soldiers. “Present arms!” the veteran snapped to his fellows, and four spears lifted in salute, while a stray hand forced Lali down onto her knees. “Legate, we--”

“What do you think you are doing?” the grey-haired Legionary demanded once more. His fury had gone cold now, lethally so, and Lali could only watch as the brutes who’d sought to shame her took on the mien of recalcitrant schoolboys being hauled up in front of their long-suffering teacher. “You know my standing orders; no theft, no wanton slaughter of civilians, and certainly not… that. Do you have an explanation for this behaviour, soldier, or should I just string you all up from the nearest tree?”

“A gift for you, Legate!” the veteran protested.

The Legate did not bother to glance in Lali’s direction, instead offering his men a disgusted sneer. “A gift?”

“A present for you, sir, after all the good you’ve done for us,” the veteran all but begged as he desperately tried to fend off his commander’s anger. “We all know how much you like the ladies, and this one is a right beauty, and seeing as how it’s Midwinter, we thought--”

“You clearly didn’t, soldier!” the Legate snapped, and his escort stirred nervously upon their horses. “We’re here to punish the King of Raniva for such bestial practices, not engage in them ourselves. All four of you will report to Centurion Ventrius immediately and tell him you’ll be cleaning up after the bullock train. Needless to say, I will be having a word with your sergeant, and when we come into battle again, I expect you all to be fighting like men possessed. Now get out of my sight!”

Chastened, the four Legionnaires fled, and the Legate Skora coldly watched them go before dismounting and kneeling before the helpless young woman. “You have my sincerest apologies, my lady,” he said, reaching out with an astonishing gentleness and removing her gag. “Such behaviour is unbecoming of the Blue Legion, and I will do my utmost to ensure it never happens again in the future.”

Lali’s fears abated… but only slightly. “I won’t beg,” she whispered hoarsely, tears freezing on her cheeks as the cold winds picked up.

“A woman of the Rani never does,” Skora asserted. “What is your name?”

“L… Lali.”

Without hesitation, Skora draped his cloak over her chained and naked figure. “You are under my protection now, Lady Lali, and upon my honour, you will not come to harm. Do you have family here?”

“I do,” Lali said, tightening the garment about her as best as her chained wrists would allow.

“Then permit me to bring you to my tent while my bodyguard searches for them. You will be my guest, not a prisoner or hostage, and I will treat you with the hospitality and care that befits a lady.” The first hint of a smile emerged. “Fear not, I shall present you back to your loved ones within the hour.”

Perhaps there was a measure of honour to be found in these barbarians after all. Nodding, Lali let the Legate carry her up into the saddle of his horse, before he gave a series of sharp commands to his officers and bodyguards, sending them racing through Almgard’s streets. To be placed under an enemy’s care. Not the sort of Midwinter present I was expecting…