Beneath the courageous exterior, Alessia was just a scared little girl struggling to mask her fear. But I could see right through her and knew that my words had more effect on her than she’d care to admit. I understood the game she was playing—the “courageous game,” a ploy to conceal her true emotions.
However, I’d been in the business long enough to tell apart real courage from the courage born out of necessity. Regardless, though, her spunk was admirable, especially as she held my gaze. She was so good at masking her fear that she could have fooled me into thinking she didn’t feel threatened by my words if her body hadn’t betrayed her.
The cold sweat that dampened her forehead, the way her breath hitched, and the gentle swelling of her chest all gave her away. Her body stiffened as she watched me toil with the knife to her throat, but the girl refused to break eye contact. Impressive.
I could feel her breath against my face, her body subtly trembling beneath the blade of my dagger. At this point, she knew I wasn’t to be messed with because there was no telling what I would do to her at any time. My words had struck the warning, and I was certain that she’d gotten the message.
My fingers slipped into her honey-blonde hair, and while caressing it, I hovered the blade over the lock in my grip. I heard a soft gasp leave her mouth when I sliced the blade through the lock in my hold, severing it from the rest of her hair. Her expression darkened, and her jaw tightened.
My lips curled into a deadly smirk as I ran the cut strands between my fingers, watching the hatred flicker in her eyes. But underneath that disdain and loathing, there was fear—the kind that came from knowing that I owned her life. Her throat wobbled as she swallowed hard, her eyes blinking rapidly, a testament to how much she struggled to stay composed.
I tucked the knife away, sheathing it back into his sheath, and a soft, almost imperceptible sigh of relief escaped her.
Her eyes dropped to the lock of her hair in my hold. “What do you intend to do with that? Black magic?” she asked, her tone laced with sarcasm.
She just wouldn’t let me see her fear; she wouldn’t submit. Alessia would be a tough nut to crack, but she would eventually.
“This…?” I looked at the hair strands in my hand. “This will be sent to your father. A little souvenir to help motivate him,” I replied, savoring the way she tried to suppress her reaction.
Her eyes narrowed, and her brows furrowed to form faint creases between them. Her lips parted as if to speak—to argue or say something witty—but in the end, she chose silence.
I brushed the back of my hand over her face, feeling the softness of her skin beneath mine. She trembled at my touch, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
“Sending a lock of my hair to my father will never scare him,” she said, her voice much calmer this time. But her eyes still held the same intensity as before, and the fire in her spirit burned just as bright.
“I know,” came my reply as I slipped the lock into my pocket, my gaze locked to hers. “But it’ll make him desperate. And do you know what desperate men do?” I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “They act irrationally and make silly mistakes.” I pulled away from her, a smirk playing on my lips.
She met my gaze—steady at first, and her stare didn’t break: bold, defiant. Yet, I saw right through it; I noticed the shift and the hesitation creeping in. The mask was slipping, taking with it her illusion of control. I watched uncertainty ripple beneath the surface—the doubt, the fear. She wasn’t the one pulling the strings here. She knew this to be the truth, especially after my little demonstration.
Alessia now realized that she wasn’t in control. I was, and I found comfort in the horror etched across her face.
My lips curled into a sly grin, a sense of triumph washing over me.
