Hadrius.

River did not know the extent of power in which his name held. The simple murmur of that word set both men and women apart from, avoiding the girl much like a plague. As though his name had been branded across her forehead, each place she walked the women scattered from her path like dry leaves.

Something was terribly wrong with their reaction, River realizes, yet no one dared tell her the reason.

Twice she tried approaching two girls, bent over a cauldron stirring thick chunks of stew for the men's dinner. One girl glanced up, as though sensing an unwanted presence, then her eyes widened to saucers and she scurried away. The other simply hunched over the pot and played pretend, feigning she was not there.

It unnerved River, their reactions. Something bitter and hot swirled in her belly each time she stepped out of his tent. Not that she minded for isolation had always been her preference, still...

River blows out a breath of exhaustion, lifting up the final piece of cloth from the clean bucket and wringing it hard. After the women had shunned her, she was forced to launder his clothes by the stream's end, away from the rest. It was silent as she worked, the sloshing sounds and river trickling the only comfort that surrounded.

The sun had begun to set in the near distance, casting slants of orange here and purple there. A low mist begins to spread across the horizon, rolling thickly along with her ankles, the scent of rain is heady. River blows another breath of slight frustration as she hauls the heavy basket back towards the camp.

Though Hadrius and her lived beneath the same roof, there was never any contact between them. Either he did not see her or chose to ignore her. He had no curiosity about her, no sense of her as a person distinct from himself. He woke early before she ever did and returned late at night with another Lycan woman in hand. She did not see him during dinner when slaves would set drinks and foods before the large ruckus men.

She was invisible except in the room. In fact, she was not sure how visible she was there, except as a collection of body parts. He did not look at her once, and for that River was ever grateful. She did mind being overlooked, it allowed her to move about like a ghost.

True worry, however, would come when he did pay attention -- a simple slip-on her part, maybe not do her chores on time, step on his path, snore too loud... Hence River strived to remain as inconsequential as a speck of dust.

During the one week period of living with him, River had come to learn of the creature named Hadrius - though most of her knowledge formed itself from the occasional slip of gossip as she passed behind the women's kitchen or men who sat around the table far too drunk to control the running of their tongues.

Hadrius.

He was probably the most beautiful man alive, as he was certainly the most violent, but that was the problem. How do you separate a tiger's beauty from its ferocity? Or a cheetah's elegance from the speed of its attack? Hadrius was like that—the beauty and the terror were two sides of a single coin.

Setting his clothes up to hang by the ropes, she makes her way back into the tent and considers having a quick bath as she reeked with exhaustion and saline sweat. Her thoughts, however, are quickly disrupted by the rasping knocks on the door.

River hesitates.

"It's me," Amaya's voice echoes on the opposite end, "dinner's about to be served."

River's shoulders slump in vague relief as she approaches the door. Her smile is tight at the corners, intent wary stare lingering on the girl's face. Amaya seems exhausted with dark crescent shading just beneath her eyes. The effects did not deter her pale, delicate beauty. "Hi," she smiles mildly and they walk side by side in silence towards the great hall.

The night passes on in a light drag. River, having grown accustomed to her duties of ensuring goblets did not empty themselves of wine, drifted from one loud man to another, intent on keeping her distance as she bent over swiftly to pour the wine then straighten. Yet, despite her nimble and agile movements, it was never enough. A stray sidelong glance at her neck, the surreptitious touch of a large calloused hand groping her ass -- the first time it happened, River almost hit the man across the face with the wooden jug. But Amaya had witnessed the situation and was quick to pull her away before the surge of anger blinded her.

"Numb yourself to it," she whispered, "block it out."

Much as she tried, River could not. But she did learn to avoid the men who lewdly touched her with such openness. The night was abuzz was jostling, gesticulating, excited creatures who spoke of plunder and looting and killing and claiming. All on their way back to their Kingdom.

There was one man in particular that River loathed with a burning passion. Myron. One of the heavy-duty warriors; a large burly vicious-looking bald-headed man. His own slave was a small petite girl who constantly flinched and spent her days alone, hidden in the shadows of the world. River had crossed her path before, catching brief glimpses of a blooming bruise on her delicate cheekbone, finger marks wrapped around her slender neck- and one time, two missing front teeth.

The sight sparked a rage in her so hot, it nearly scalded the earth she walked on. He was a man she disliked - personally disliked- though for no better reason than that the glances he directed at her were bolder, more crudely appreciative, than the other men's. He never said anything, of course - he wouldn't have dared - but he stared at her breasts as she bent over him and made little smacking noises with his lips as if he were looking forward to the wine she was about to pour.

Once dinner was complete and all the tables wiped clean, River made her way tiredly to the tent. Her body cried for sleep, her skin hot and sleek with sweat and the smell of roast beef clung to her hair like a nest. No, she needed to shower.

It would be far too late to have one outside, by the slave's corner. And dangerous as well. River steps into the tent, her eyes immediately slanting towards the small door which opened into a personal bathroom. His bathroom.

She gnawed on the flesh of her inner cheek in contemplation. It would be fine if she had a quick shower before he arrived. The contemplation was short-lived as she hurriedly stripped and beelined for the bathroom, it was of medium size, lit by two candles and smelling vaguely of herbs - thyme and rosemary and sandalwood. A large wooden bucket is set against one corner, a stool with hardened bar soap, a rough cloth and stone.

Hastily, River sets off scrubbing her body clean. The scent of soap is fresh to her senses and she sighs in appreciation whilst roughly washing her hair, then skin raw and finally using the stone to clean the heels of her feet and nails. A slight shuddering breath escapes her as she rinses off with the cold water, a sudden violent tremble ribboning down her spine as she finishes off.

Stepping away, she wrings her hair and opens the door, still naked, rushing for the small towel set across the divan.

Just then, footsteps approached from beyond the door.

River froze.

No sooner had she made it across the room than the doorknob twisted and pushed open. Time seems to slow then, her standing naked and dripping wet on the corner as Hadrius's form appears, behind him another woman.

Their gazes lock.