The man who entered the stronghold and slammed the door behind him was the last person Kelsie expected to see there. As he pulled his black hood away from his face, she could see he was staring at her, his eyes glinting with the same ruthless hunger as the others. Some of the mercenaries, who were hunched drunkenly over a deck of poker cards at the table at the far end of the chamber, paused their game to avert their eyes expectantly onto him. Kelsie saw one mercenary pocket a large wad of money as he gazed at her, licking his lips triumphantly. A scrawny girl, barely more than Kelsie's age with thick and tousled brunette hair tinted by the flicker of the blood-red candles, called out to the man in a slurred but determined voice.

“Can we finish her yet, sir?” Her breath stunk of stale lager.

“All in good time, Lilah. You’ve already had a go at her, haven’t you?” The man replied, looking Kelsie up and down disdainfully. Her ornate silver breastplate was now battered and scratched, and fresh cuts painted her cheeks.

Lilah let out a snarling laugh. “Aye, sir, I did.”

“And what did I tell you about not touching her before I got back?” The man snapped. “I don't want her dead, girl. I just need her barely alive. At least Nikos listens to me. Well done, Nikos. I couldn’t be prouder of you, son.” he continued, clapping the sharpshooter sitting across the room from Lilah on the back endearingly.

“He will never be your son.” Kelsie rasped. Each word sliced her parched throat. “I know your son. He’s a much better man than you’ll ever be.”