Flanked by the mercenaries is a female about a foot shorter than I am, with her back to me. A black braid secured with a leather strap hangs down one side. At the commotion of the crowd, she turns to face me, and a few wisps of those inky locks tumble over her sun-kissed cheeks. There’s no hunger in the rosiness of her complexion or the curves of her body beneath the dark folds of fabric that cover her. Her face is unmarked and vibrant with good health, her natural beauty shining through as she stands before me. A smattering of freckles stands out over her nose and under her sooty lashes as
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