Chapter 11: Unseen Scars

The air was still, carrying the faint scent of jasmine through the open balcony doors. Lao Ma sat at her writing desk, the brush gliding effortlessly across parchment. The room around her was quiet, untouched by the chaos that had once threatened to consume her world. Outside, past the flowing silk curtains, the kingdom stretched below, bathed in soft light—a reflection of the order she had carefully maintained since Ming Tzu's death.

No one questioned her rule. Everyone believed her husband was too sick to lead, never suspecting the truth. It was better this way. Peace was fragile, and sometimes, keeping it meant letting people believe what they needed to.

Her hand paused over the parchment.

Xena.

She had such high hopes for her. There was a fire in that woman, something rare, something powerful. If only Xena could let go of the hatred that fueled her, if she could stop trying to force her will upon the world and instead embrace the strength that came with love, she would be unstoppable. Not as a conqueror, but as something far greater.

But Borias...

Lao Ma closed her eyes briefly. He had always been torn between two paths. She could see the man he wanted to be, the good he was capable of. But Xena had a hold on him, one he could never break. With her by his side, he was never free to follow his better nature. She had watched them together, watched the way Xena pulled him into her storms, and knew that as long as they were bound to each other, Borias would never fully change.

Her fingers tightened around the brush before she set it aside. Outside, the wind blew, rustling the trees in the courtyard. The world was always moving, always changing, yet Xena remained the same. Lao Ma could only hope that one day, she would realize the truth before it was too late.

The sound of their hurried footsteps echoed against the trees as Gabrielle and Lila ran, their breaths ragged, their bodies trembling from exhaustion and terror. The world around them was nothing but dark shapes and shifting shadows.

Lila tripped over a root, barely catching herself before falling. Gabrielle grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward with a tight grip. They couldn't stop. Not yet. Not until they were sure no one was chasing them.

Finally, when they couldn't run anymore, they collapsed behind a thick cluster of bushes. Lila doubled over, gasping for breath, her hands shaking violently as she clutched at the fabric over her chest. Gabrielle remained standing, her back pressed against the rough bark of a tree, staring blankly ahead.

Lila turned to her. "Gabrielle—" Her voice cracked. She tried again. "Gabrielle, what just—"

Her whole body shook with sobs before she could finish. She dropped to her knees, hands covering her face. Everything crashed into her at once—the screams, the fear, the way those men had laughed. She felt sick. Her stomach twisted painfully as if she might vomit.

"I just stood there," Lila cried. "I didn't do anything! I—"

Gabrielle knelt beside her, her hands gripping Lila's arms. "You couldn't have done anything," she said. "You would've—" Her throat closed up before she could say it. They both knew what would've happened to Lila if she had tried to stop them.

Lila lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen, but when she finally looked at Gabrielle, her breath caught in her throat.

There was something in Gabrielle's face, something Lila had never seen before. A coldness. A darkness in her eyes that didn't belong there. Gabrielle, the one who always looked for the best in people, the one who always believed in goodness, looked like a stranger.

Lila's sobs quieted. She understood, more than ever, that Gabrielle needed her right now. Lila reached for her, but Gabrielle jerked back. "I'm fine," Gabrielle muttered, wiping at her face as if that would erase what had happened. Lila didn't believe that for a second.

Ignoring Gabrielle's weak attempt to pull away, Lila wrapped her arms around her. Gabrielle stiffened, shaking her head. "Lila, I said I'm fine."

But Lila didn't let go. She held her tighter, resting her chin on Gabrielle's shoulder. "No, you're not," she whispered. Gabrielle sucked in a breath, her body trembling against Lila's. Then, as if something inside her shattered, she let out a quiet, broken sob.

Lila held her tighter. "I'm so sorry," she choked out. "I just stood there, I—I didn't help you, I—"

Gabrielle shook her head violently. "No, Lila, I should've protected you, I should've—" Her words dissolved into more sobs.

Lila held on, refusing to let go. "There was nothing you could do," she whispered. "Nothing either of us could do." She squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears spilling over. "But we got out. That's what matters."

Gabrielle didn't respond. She only clung to Lila as though letting go would make everything real again. Her breaths came in uneven gasps, her fingers digging into the fabric of Lila's dress. It wasn't just fear she was choking on—it was rage. A deep, twisting fury that made her stomach churn. She had never felt anything like it before. It scared her almost as much as what had just happened.

Lila pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing damp strands of hair from her sister's face. Gabrielle's eyes were still glazed, her expression unreadable beneath the streaks of dirt and tears. Gabrielle had always been warm. Gentle. Full of light. But now?

Lila swallowed hard. "Gabrielle," she said softly, searching her face. "What are you thinking?"

Gabrielle's jaw clenched. Her gaze dropped to the ground, her hands balling into fists. "I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know what to do, I don't know where to go, I don't—" She exhaled shakily, her breath catching in her throat.

Lila's fingers tightened around her wrists. "We'll figure it out," she promised. "Together."

Gabrielle finally met her eyes. Lila braced herself for another refusal, another weak claim that she was fine. But instead, Gabrielle let out a trembling breath and nodded.

They sat there, pressed against each other, listening for any sound of pursuit. None came. Gabrielle wiped at her face, pulling herself together. "We need to keep moving."

Lila nodded, but before she could stand, Gabrielle hesitated. Her fingers trembled as she reached for Lila's hand again, gripping it tightly.

"Thank you," Gabrielle whispered.

Lila didn't say anything. She only squeezed back. She hesitated for a moment before pulling away. Without a word, she reached down and tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of her skirt. Gabrielle watched, confused, as Lila stood and moved towards the riverbank. The faint moonlight reflected off the rippling water as Lila crouched, dipping the fabric into the cool stream.

When she returned, Gabrielle frowned. "What are you doing?"

Lila didn't answer. She knelt in front of her sister, wringing out the cloth before gently taking Gabrielle's hand. The damp fabric touched her skin, and Gabrielle immediately jerked away.

"Stop," Gabrielle said, her voice hoarse. "Nothing happened."

Lila's jaw tightened. "It did."

Gabrielle shook her head, but Lila wasn't listening. She grabbed Gabrielle's hand again, firmer this time, and pressed the cloth against it. She moved slowly, wiping over her sister's fingers, her wrist, then up along her forearm. The places he had grabbed her.

Gabrielle's breath caught, her body stiffening under the touch. She wanted to pull away, to stop this, to pretend it wasn't necessary—but she couldn't.

Lila continued with an unreadable expression. She wiped over Gabrielle's shoulders, her arms, the exposed skin of her collarbone. Then lower. The back of her neck. The places where he had been. Her hands trembled slightly, but she didn't stop.

Gabrielle sat frozen, her hands gripping her knees so tightly her knuckles turned white. She felt the damp cloth move across her skin, felt the careful, gentle strokes as Lila tried to erase what had happened, tried to take it away in a way neither of them could. Tears filled Gabrielle's eyes. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let them fall.

But Lila saw. She didn't say anything—she just kept going, wiping away every touch, every violation, as though she could wash it all from existence. A single tear slipped down Gabrielle's cheek, followed by another. Then another.

Lila's own tears fell silently as she worked, her lips pressed together, her body shaking from the weight of it all. When she finally finished, she threw the cloth aside as if it burned her hands, unable to stand the feel of it any longer.

Gabrielle inhaled sharply, her hands shaking. "Lila..."

Lila shook her head. "I had to," she whispered. Gabrielle said nothing. She just stared at her sister through blurry eyes, feeling something inside her crack, something she wasn't sure she could ever put back together. Neither of them spoke after that. They just sat there, side by side, as the night stretched on.

The scent of smoke still clung to them as Xena and her army rode into camp, their horses kicking up dust as they slowed to a halt. The echoes of the raid still lingered in the air—the heat of battle, the rush of victory, the weight of everything taken. Men dismounted, their armor streaked with sweat and soot, but their spirits were high. Laughter rumbled near the fires, hands clapped against shoulders, and stolen goods were unloaded, sorted, and counted.

Xena jumped down from her horse, moving with ease and intent. The moment her boots hit the ground, the men straightened, their attention shifting to her. She could feel their eyes, waiting for the final word.

She stepped up onto an overturned crate near the center of camp, lifting her chin as she looked out over them.

"You fought well tonight," she said, her voice carrying over the din. "We took what was ours, and we left behind a lesson they'll never forget."

The warriors cheered, fists pumping in the air. Some still carried the masks she had given them, their monstrous faces now streaked with the grime of battle. They had done exactly as she ordered—swift, efficient, ruthless.

She let the noise settle before continuing. "You held formation. You followed orders. That's why we won. And that's why we'll keep winning." Her gaze swept over them, sharp as steel. "This is what it means to be part of my army. Strength. Discipline. No hesitation. No weakness."

Another round of cheers erupted, but Xena barely acknowledged it. She was watching them, assessing them. Looking for one face in particular.

When she spotted him—standing just off to the side, arms crossed, his mask tucked under his arm—her eyes darkened.

"Dismissed," she called, stepping down.

As the men scattered, Xena didn't hesitate. She walked straight towards him, her presence commanding enough that the other soldiers instinctively cleared a path.

"You," she said sharply, her voice like the crack of a whip.

The soldier turned, a smirk barely hidden beneath the layer of grime on his face. "Commander?"

"Inside my tent. Now."

The amusement in his eyes flickered, just for a second. He hesitated—just long enough for Xena to take a step closer.

"Move," she ordered.

The smirk disappeared. Without another word, he turned and walked towards her tent. Xena caught Borias' eye across the camp. He had been watching. She jerked her head, signaling for him to follow. Borias pushed off from where he had been leaning and fell in step behind them.

The moment the flap of the tent closed, the tension thickened. The soldier straightened, his hands resting casually on his belt. He had the air of someone who thought he was about to be praised, not condemned.

Borias folded his arms, glancing between Xena and the man. "What's this about?" Xena didn't answer immediately. She walked slowly to the center of the tent, her back to them for a moment before turning sharply, her eyes cold.

"You assaulted a girl tonight," she said, her voice steady, but there was a deadly edge to it.

The soldier blinked, then scoffed. "Is that what this is about?" He shrugged. "She was just a villager. Who cares? You said take what we wanted. I took what I wanted."

Xena's jaw clenched so hard it ached. Borias' brows creased, his expression unreadable. "What did he do?"

Xena took a step closer, her hands curling into fists. "He pinned her down, forced himself on her—" Borias' face darkened, his stance adjusting slightly.

"—and when she fought back, he hit her."

The soldier exhaled, rolling his shoulders like it was nothing. "She'll get over it."

Xena's control snapped. She moved so fast the soldier barely had time to react before her fist connected with his gut. He doubled over with a strangled gasp, but she didn't give him time to recover. Her knee slammed up into his face, sending him crashing backward onto the ground.

He groaned, dazed, but Xena wasn't finished. She stepped over him, grabbing the front of his armor, yanking him up just enough to meet her gaze. "You think I'd let that slide?" Her voice was low, lethal.

The soldier coughed, blood trickling from his nose, but he still had the audacity to chuckle. "Since when do you care about some village whore?" Xena drove her fist into his face so hard his head snapped back against the dirt.

Borias finally stepped forward, his tone sharp. "Who was the girl?" Xena didn't take her eyes off the soldier, who was now groaning on the ground, barely able to lift his head. Then, finally, she answered.

"Gabrielle."

Borias froze. "The two sisters?" Xena nodded.

The breath he had just taken seemed to leave him all at once. He stared at Xena, as if waiting for her to say she was lying. But she wasn't. His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. The shock in his eyes quickly turned to something darker.

The soldier, barely conscious, let out a low laugh. The soldier, barely conscious, let out a low laugh. "You act like it's something unnatural." Borias' head snapped towards him.

The soldier spit blood onto the ground, smirking despite his injuries. "It happens everywhere. Every village. Always has, always will." He chuckled. "People act outraged, but they all know. Sooner or later, every girl learns the way of the world."

Borias' breath caught, the soldier's words poisoning his mind, dragging him somewhere darker, somewhere he couldn't escape.

He saw Lexa—not as she was now, an infant safe in his arms, but older, barely a woman, Gabrielle's age. She stood in the dirt, her small hands trembling at her sides, tears spilling down her cheeks as she begged, her voice hoarse from screaming. She tried to fight, to push him away, but the man was stronger, his grip unyielding as he twisted her wrists behind her back and forced her to her knees.

Her breath came in shallow, broken gasps, her body thrashing, desperate to break free, but there was nowhere to go. The fear in her eyes—his daughter's eyes—was unbearable.

"Please... stop..."

The man only laughed. Lexa screamed, her voice breaking, but no one came.

Borias' chest tightened until it hurt, his ribs pressing in on his lungs, the weight of it suffocating. He wanted to tear the image from his mind, rip it out before it consumed him, but he couldn't. He saw her small frame pinned beneath a monster, her tear-streaked face pressed into the dirt as she kicked and clawed, but it wasn't enough.

And then, he saw the worst thing of all.

The moment she stopped fighting.

The moment her body went still.

The moment she gave up.

A sickness crawled up his throat, but it wasn't just nausea—it was rage, cold and violent, twisting deep inside him.

"Sooner or later, every girl learns the way of the world."

The soldier's voice pulled him back, but the anger didn't fade. His hands shook at his sides, his pulse roaring in his ears as his vision blurred with fury.

Borias snapped.

Before Xena could move, Borias was on him. His boot slammed into the soldier's ribs, sending him rolling across the tent floor. He coughed violently, trying to crawl away, but Borias grabbed him by the back of his armor and hauled him up, throwing him against one of the wooden support beams.

"You touched her?" Borias' voice was low, dangerous.

The soldier wheezed, barely able to speak. "She wasn't—"

Borias didn't let him finish. His fist drove into his stomach, then his ribs, then his jaw. He wasn't holding back. The sound of bone cracking filled the tent. The soldier collapsed to the ground in a heap, groaning in agony. Xena watched, at first confused.

Borias had never been soft, but there had been restraint, a sense of control that she had come to resent. He had spent too long trying to change, to prove that he wasn't just a warlord, that he could be better. She had seen him pull back before, hesitate when he shouldn't, but not now. This was different. This was him—the man she had once conquered beside, the one who had fought without hesitation, without mercy, without weakness.

Her Borias.

A slow smirk pulled at her lips. He turned back to Xena, his voice sharp. "He dies."

Xena met his gaze, silent for a moment. Then, she nodded once. The soldier whimpered, trying to lift his head, but Borias didn't give him the chance. His blade was out in an instant.

And when it came down, it was over. Borias exhaled, shaking off the blood as he stepped back. Xena stood there, watching the body in silence. Then, without a word, she turned and walked out of the tent. The night was still burning around them, but for the first time in hours, Xena felt something settle. She had no regrets.

Gabrielle's legs ached with every step, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Not until she was sure.

The dirt road leading into the village was uneven, the path dimly lit by the lanterns hanging outside small wooden houses. It was late, the air heavy with the quiet hum of a place already settling into the night. But ahead, just past the town square, a warm glow flickered through the windows of the local tavern—the only place still buzzing with life.

Lila's grip tightened around Gabrielle's hand. "Do you think…?"

Gabrielle didn't answer. She could barely think past the pounding in her chest.

As they stepped inside, the murmur of familiar voices hit them first. The moment their eyes adjusted to the candlelight, Gabrielle's breath caught.

People from Potidaea.

Villagers huddled together near the fireplace, talking in hushed voices. Some were bandaging wounds, others clutching whatever belongings they had managed to save. And then—someone noticed them.

"Gabrielle? Lila?"

An older woman rushed towards them, her face streaked with soot, but her eyes filled with relief.

Lila gasped. "Daphne!"

Daphne wrapped them in a tight hug, and before Gabrielle could react, more villagers were gathering around them. Arms embraced them, voices overlapping.

"You made it out—thank the gods!"
"We thought we lost you!"
"We were so worried!"

Lila clung to every hug, her face buried against their shoulders. Gabrielle held them back just as tightly, but her eyes kept scanning the room. Waiting. Searching.

They weren't here. Not their mother. Not their father. Her throat burned, but she forced herself to smile when Daphne cupped her face, her rough hands warm and comforting.

"We'll find them," Daphne said softly. "Maybe they're just... somewhere else." Gabrielle nodded, but the words felt hollow.

The tavern owner, a middle-aged woman with graying hair tied back in a loose bun, stepped forward. She was tired but kind, her expression soft as she looked over the weary survivors.

"Alright, everyone," she called out. "We're packed tight, so you'll have to share rooms. No arguments." There were no complaints. No one cared about space—not when they had nowhere else to go.

The woman pointed towards a staircase. "Get settled upstairs. There's stew in the kitchen—eat first, then rest. It's on the house."

Tears filled Daphne's eyes. "Bless you."

The owner shook her head. "Just doing what's right."

Lila turned to Gabrielle, her voice barely a whisper. "They're not here."

Gabrielle swallowed the lump in her throat. "I know." Lila took her hand again, squeezing it as they followed the others towards the rooms.

The room was small and cramped, barely enough space for the five women squeezed into it. The single bed was too small to fit them all, so extra blankets and pillows had been placed on the floor. The air inside was thick with exhaustion, sweat, and lingering smoke from the fires they had fled.

It didn't matter. They were alive.

Gabrielle lowered herself onto the floor, placing her small satchel beside her. She stretched her aching legs, pressing her back against the wooden frame of the bed. Lila sat near her, running a hand through her tangled hair, staring at nothing.

A woman named Selene, a former baker from Potidaea, let out a shaky sigh as she sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her bruised wrists. "They charged me everything I had to let me through," she muttered, voice hoarse. "Even took the locket my mother gave me."

Another woman, Pearlie, scoffed. She was older, with streaks of gray in her long hair, her face lined with both age and the weariness of the night. "You're lucky. They took my sister's bracelet… and then slapped me for not having more." She ran her fingers over the faint red mark on her cheek, her jaw tightening. "Filthy bastards."

A third woman, Callista, pulled a blanket tighter around her shoulders, shaking her head. "Cowards. They preyed on us because they knew we couldn't fight back." Her voice trembled with anger. "I don't understand. Why did this happen? Who would do this?"

Silence hung heavy in the room. No one spoke at first. Gabrielle's fingers curled against the fabric of her dress, her stomach twisting.

Selene frowned. "You think someone ordered it?"

Pearlie's expression hardened. "I know it." She hesitated, glancing at the others. "I recognized one of them." Gabrielle's breath caught in her throat.

Lila's head snapped up. "What?"

Pearlie nodded. "I've seen him before. Years ago. The last time our village was raided."

Callista paled. "Who was he?"

Pearlie shook her head. "I don't know his name. But I remember his face. Tall, broad, dark hair. Foreign accent." She swallowed. "He led them last time, too."

Selene shuddered. "Then this was planned. Not some random band of thieves."

Pearlie's jaw tightened. "This was a warlord's doing." Gabrielle couldn't breathe.

The room felt smaller, suffocating. The heat from the lantern on the table seemed too much, the weight of their words pressing against her chest. She needed air. Needed to be alone.

"I'm going to take a bath," Gabrielle said abruptly, pushing herself to her feet.

Lila blinked up at her. "Now?"

Gabrielle forced a weak chuckle, though her throat was tight. "I reek of smoke."

Lila hesitated, then nodded. "I'll wait up." Gabrielle didn't answer. She grabbed a fresh tunic from the bundle of clothes the tavern owner had left for them and slipped out the door before anyone could say another word.

The bathhouse was small, tucked away at the end of the hallway. The wooden tub was already filled, steam curling in the air, the scent of lavender soap faint but welcoming.

Gabrielle locked the door behind her, pressing her forehead against the rough wood. She wrapped her arms around herself, gripping her sides. Holding herself together. But her mind wouldn't stop.

"No need to be shy."
"You'll like it if you stop fighting."

Her breath caught. She didn't want to hear him. But she did. She did because he had been there, touching her, pressing against her, forcing his way into a part of her that had never been touched before.

Most girls her age were already married, already belonging to someone. She wasn't in a hurry for that. She had always liked the simpler things—waking up to the smell of her mother's baking, sitting by the river with Lila, helping her father in the fields, knowing she was safe.

She had never been with a man. Had never kissed one. Had never even wanted to. And now—now her first touch had been stolen from her in the dirt. The feeling of his fingers returned, violating, forcing her open, exploring her like she was nothing more than a thing to be used.

Her breath caught. Her stomach twisted violently, and before she could stop herself, she threw the washcloth across the room. It slapped against the wall before sliding to the floor. She dug her nails into her arms, pressing down hard enough to leave marks.

"Why me?"

The thought came sharp, sudden, unbearable. She had never hurt anyone. She had always tried to be the perfect daughter, the protective big sister, the helpful neighbor. She didn't steal, didn't lie, didn't deserve this.

"Why did this have to happen to me?"

Tears blurred her vision, but through them, she caught sight of her reflection again. Her own eyes looked foreign to her—swollen, haunted, hollow. She snatched the mirror off the wall and threw it. The glass shattered, fragments scattering across the floor.

Her chest heaved, her breath coming in quick, sharp bursts. She dug her fingers into her hair, gripping it so tightly that her scalp burned. She wanted to tear her skin off. To scrub until she was raw, to make it go away. But it wouldn't. It never would.

Gabrielle curled into herself, her arms wrapping around her knees as sob after sob ripped through her. She cried for her home, her parents, Lila—for herself. For the girl she had been before tonight. And the girl she would never be again.

Xena didn't spare another glance at the body. The soldier had been worthless in life, and in death, he was even less. She turned towards the entrance of the tent and called out, her voice sharp.

"Phelon!"

The flap rustled as Phelon stepped inside, his eyes immediately dropping to the lifeless heap on the floor. His expression barely changed. If he was surprised, he didn't show it.

"Get him out of my sight," Xena ordered.

Phelon nodded, grabbing the dead man by his armor and dragging him towards the exit without hesitation. The body left a trail of blood across the dirt floor, but Xena didn't care. As Phelon pulled the soldier into the open, the rest of the army turned to look.

Xena stepped out, her sharp gaze sweeping over them. "Look at him," she commanded, her voice cutting through the night. "This is what happens when you disobey my orders and make decisions on your own."

A heavy silence settled over the camp as the men stared, understanding exactly what kind of message she was sending. None of them would forget it. Then, as if she hadn't just given a death sentence minutes ago, Xena smirked. "Now, let's celebrate."

The tension shattered as a roar erupted through the camp. Wine skins were passed around generously, men clapping each other on the back, the rush of victory still thick in the air.

Xena took a long gulp of wine, the heat of it burning down her throat before she passed it to Borias. He met her gaze as he took his turn, swallowing deeply before pulling her into his arms.

His mouth was on hers before she could smirk again, his hands gripping her waist as he pressed against her, solid, wanting, claiming. The celebration carried on around them, but for a moment, there was only this—only them.

Still holding her close, Borias pulled away just enough to murmur against her lips. "You were right."

Xena arched a brow, tilting her head. "About what?"

He didn't hesitate. "Either we hunt, or we're hunted." His fingers curled around her hips, his voice firm. "And I never want my children to be hunted."

Something flickered in his eyes, something fierce and unwavering. "I'll fight by your side. Always."

Xena led Borias back to her tent, her fingers curled around the front of his armor, pulling him along without hesitation. The sounds of the camp carried on behind them—men shouting, laughing, drinking—but all of it faded the moment they stepped inside.

The tent was dim, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows against the fabric walls. The air was thick with the scent of smoke, sweat, and the lingering traces of wine. Xena barely had time to turn before Borias grabbed her, his hands firm on her waist as he shoved her against the wooden support beam.

His mouth was on hers in an instant, rough and wanting. There was no hesitation, no restraint—only hunger.

Xena smirked against his lips, tilting her head just enough to bite down on his lower lip before pushing him back. Borias stumbled a step, but he caught himself quickly, his eyes dark with something raw.

"You think you can just throw yourself at me and take what you want?" Xena taunted, her voice low, teasing.

Borias chuckled, the sound deep in his throat. "I think you like it when I do."

Xena's smirk widened, but before she could retort, he grabbed her again, lifting her clear off her feet as he carried her across the tent. Her back hit the table, sending maps and weapons tumbling to the floor, but she didn't care. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she yanked his head down, kissing him just as fiercely as he kissed her.

Borias' fingers found the straps of her armor, undoing them without hesitation. Xena leaned back, allowing it, watching him with sharp eyes as he worked. The moment her chest was naked, his mouth was on her skin, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her collarbone.

Xena gripped his hair, pulling his head back just enough to meet his gaze. "You're mine again," she murmured.

Borias smirked, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. "I never left." Xena pushed him back suddenly, flipping their positions with a sharp twist of her hips. Borias hit the cot, his arms sprawled out, but before he could react, Xena was on top of him, straddling him, pinning his wrists down beside his head.

"You talk too much," she murmured, her lips brushing against his ear.

Borias smirked up at her, his breath uneven. "Then shut me up."

Xena did.

The celebration outside continued, wine spilling, fires crackling, men boasting of their victory. Laughter and drunken shouts filled the camp, voices rising in triumph as they passed around another round of wine.

But inside the tent, Xena and Borias were claiming their own victory.

Xena's screams of pleasure melted into the sounds of the men outside, lost beneath the roars of celebration. Borias' moans, deep and guttural, were no different than the men toasting their conquest, their triumph echoing in the night. The pounding of fists against wooden tables, the clash of metal cups—it all became one, blending together in a symphony of dominance, satisfaction, and the rush of what they had won.

Neither of them slept much that night.

By late afternoon, Borias woke first, lying on his back, watching her. The torches had burned low, and the cool morning air seeped through the cracks in the tent, but Xena was still warm beside him, her body half-draped over his.

It had been a long time since they ended a night like this.

His gaze trailed over her, taking in every detail—the way her hair sprawled across the furs, the slow, steady rise of her chest, the relaxed way she slept, as if, for once, she had nothing to fight.

His fingers absentmindedly traced over the back of her arm as a thought settled deep in his chest. Solan. Lexa. Borias exhaled slowly, his voice barely above a murmur. "What do you think the kids are doing right now?"

Xena's eyes remained closed, but he knew she was awake now. She didn't answer right away, just stretched beneath the covers before speaking, her voice still rough with sleep. "Solan's probably running around, driving Doria mad."

Borias smirked faintly. "And Lexa?"

Xena opened her eyes, rolling onto her side to look at him. "Sleeping. Or crying. Either way, someone else is handling it."

Borias let out a quiet chuckle but shook his head. "That should be us." Xena didn't respond right away, just traced slow, lazy patterns over his chest, her fingers light against his skin.

Borias exhaled, his tone sharpening slightly. "We can't leave them with Doria forever, Xena. What's the plan? We bring them here, take them with us on the next raid?"

Xena's touch didn't stop, but something in her eyes changed—just for a second. She didn't want to answer that.

Borias caught it instantly. He sighed, dropping his head back against the pillow. "Figures."

Xena smirked, tilting her head slightly. "Don't tell me you're going soft again?"

Borias scoffed. "After last night?" He smirked. "I think I stayed hard just fine." She smirked, slow and knowing, before she pushed herself up, straddling him with ease. Borias exhaled, shaking his head, but he pulled her down onto him anyway. If Xena wanted to keep avoiding the conversation, he'd let her—for now.

But not forever.

While Xena rode him, her mind drifted—not to the pleasure, not to the moment, but to the figure she had seen walking through the fire. Had it been real? Or just a figment of her imagination?

The way the flames had parted around them, the way they moved—unnatural, unbothered by the destruction surrounding them. It wasn't possible. And yet, she had seen it. Borias noticed the change in her. The fire in her touch had dulled, her movements lacking their usual intent. She was here, but her mind was elsewhere.

Annoyance flared in him. He didn't like being ignored. With a sharp movement, he flipped her onto her back, taking control, forcing her to focus on him. Xena gasped, the distraction ripped away in an instant. Borias smirked. "If you're gonna use me, at least pretend to pay attention."

Xena smiled lustfully, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Then make me pay attention."

Most of the men were still passed out drunk, bodies sprawled around the camp, empty wine skins littering the ground. The remains of the night's celebration still clung to the air—stale alcohol, burnt wood, sweat.

But one man had not slept.

He sat in the shadows, his gaze fixed on Xena's tent, anger simmering with every moan, every cry of pleasure that seeped through the fabric walls. His grip tightened around the dagger at his hip, his knuckles white.

He had spent the night watching, listening, waiting.