Aelindra winced as Darian's hands guided her into the carriage, her body still tender from the flogging. His touch lingered, fingers brushing against her skin with a gentleness that made her breath catch. For a moment, their eyes met – a flash of concern in his, a flicker of gratitude in hers.

The carriage creaked as she settled onto the hard wooden bench. Outside, hoofbeats signaled Darian mounting his steed. Orders were barked, metal clinked against metal as the convoy readied itself.

With a lurch, they were moving. Aelindra's fingers unconsciously reached for the collar around her neck, its weight a constant reminder of her new reality. Through the small window, she caught glimpses of a sullen populace watching their departure. The air felt heavy with unspoken tension, and she couldn't shake the feeling that this journey was the beginning of something far larger than herself.

Aelindra's heart raced, a mix of trepidation and exhilaration coursing through her veins. The familiar cobblestone streets gave way to dirt roads, then to winding forest paths. She pressed her face against the small window, drinking in every new sight with wide-eyed wonder.

Towering trees stretched towards the sky, their canopies casting dappled shadows across the convoy. Birdsong, so different from the market cries she knew, filled the air. A deer, startled by their approach, bounded gracefully into the undergrowth. Aelindra gasped softly, marveling at its fluid movement.

Hours passed, the scenery slowly changing. Rolling hills emerged from the forests, dotted with wildflowers in hues she'd never imagined. Despite the ache in her body and the weight of the collar, Aelindra felt a spark of joy. This world, so vast and beautiful, was more than she'd ever dreamed. Yet a nagging fear persisted – where were they going, and what awaited her at journey's end?

The sudden stop jolted Aelindra from her reverie. Darian's face appeared at the carriage window, his expression a mix of authority and something softer she couldn't quite place.

"We're making camp," he said, voice low. "I need you to unload the cooking supplies and start preparing dinner for the men." His eyes flicked to the collar, then back to her face. "Can you manage that?"

Aelindra nodded, scrambling to her feet. As she stepped out, the forest air hit her – rich with pine and earth. She stumbled slightly, legs stiff from the long ride.

Grth... grth... grth... Pots and pans clanked as she retrieved them from the wagon. The camp buzzed with activity – tents being raised, horses picketed. Aelindra's hands shook slightly as she built a fire, hyperaware of the soldiers' gazes on her. Still, there was comfort in the familiar motions of cooking.

Aelindra's skin prickled under the weight of their stares. She kept her head down, focusing on the task at hand, but couldn't shake the feeling of being hunted. The church guards were the worst – their eyes raked over her body, hungry and cruel. One licked his lips, murmuring something to his companion that made them both chuckle darkly.

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Darian's men were... different. Their gazes held a mix of familiarity and newfound curiosity. Old Gareth nodded respectfully as he passed, but even he couldn't help a lingering look at her collar. Young Tomas, who she'd known since he was a stableboy, blushed furiously when their eyes met.

Steam rose from the cooking pot, carrying the scent of herbs through the camp. Aelindra stirred, her movements deliberate, trying to ignore the way her dress clung to her still-tender back. She hummed softly, an old elven lullaby, finding solace in the melody. But even that small comfort was short-lived as a church guard growled, "Quiet, knife-ear." The slur cut deep, reminding her of just how precarious her position truly was.

The wooden ladle clattered against the pot as Aelindra flinched, the church guard's hand leaving a stinging imprint on her backside. A yelp escaped her lips before she could stifle it, her cheeks burning with humiliation and fear.

"Oi! What's the matter, elf? Can't take a little appreciation?" The guard's laughter died in his throat as a shadow fell over him. Darian loomed, his face a mask of cold fury.

"Remove your hand from my property," Darian growled, voice low and dangerous. The camp fell silent, all eyes on the confrontation. "You were charged with guarding her, not groping her. Touch her again, and you'll lose that hand."

The guard sputtered, caught between defiance and self-preservation. Aelindra trembled, torn between gratitude for Darian's intervention and fear of the repercussions. She could feel the tension crackling in the air, knew that one wrong move could spark violence. Her fingers unconsciously went to her collar, seeking some form of comfort in its cold, unyielding presence.

The Inquisitor's boots crunched on the gravel as he strode into the tense scene, his lips curled into a sneer. "Lord Darian," he drawled, voice dripping with mock concern, "surely you're not suggesting this... creature... deserves special treatment?"

Darian's jaw clenched, but he held his ground. "This isn't about special treatment, Inquisitor. It's about maintaining order and discipline among your men."

The Inquisitor circled Aelindra like a predator, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Oh? And here I thought your... attachment... to this elf might be clouding your judgment." He reached out, fingers brushing Aelindra's collar. She shuddered, fighting the urge to recoil.

"Remember your place, Lord Darian," the Inquisitor hissed. "The King may have spared her life, but she remains a potential threat. Perhaps a reminder of her status is in order?" His hand tightened on Aelindra's shoulder, making her whimper softly.

Darian's fists clenched, his face contorting with barely contained rage as he took a menacing step towards the Inquisitor. The air crackled with tension, everyone holding their breath, waiting for the powder keg to explode.

Suddenly, a twig snapped in the darkness beyond the camp's edge. Heads whipped around, searching for the source. In that moment of distraction, a whisper of air was the only warning.

Thwack! An arrow materialized in the throat of the nearest church zealot. His eyes went wide with shock, hands clawing uselessly at the shaft protruding from his neck. Gurgling, he crumpled to the ground in a spray of crimson.

Chaos erupted. Shouts of alarm filled the air as more arrows hissed from the shadows. Aelindra froze, paralyzed by fear and confusion, her mind reeling. Who was attacking? Why now? The camp dissolved into pandemonium around her.