Trouble in Paradise.

Over the next several weeks, the Blade spent most of her days as the Captain's dutiful, silent, intimidating bodyguard, and most nights as his wanton, lewd, cum-obsessed, ass-fucking whore.

But as the war continued, she had noticed that he had started to lose interest in her. At first, she had attributed it to his duties, seeing as how much work his superiors had dumped on him. Her suspicions that they were most likely hoping to bury him in paperwork and tedium to slow his rise in the ranks, were mostly confirmed when she was spying on them, without his permission. She had offered to help him with that by using her skills, but he shook his head. It would have been obvious if they started waking up dead, who it was that had killed them, and who could have given them that order. She nodded, hearing the logic of his argument, and also not hearing that she couldn't create opportunities for them to back off of him some other way.

When the superior that seemed to have it in for the Captain, had a problem with their sword and it 'accidentally' stabbed them in the stomach as they tripped down the stairs, she had assumed that he would be so happy to have such a good servant, that he would reward her all through the night, but instead he was furious. As punishment, he had her moved to a room at the other end of the fort, and did not acknowledge her existence at all. For the first few days, she bore it in repentant silence, but when she saw him talking to a young light-skinned female prisoner, who had been granted some freedom in exchange for her service to the fort, about an opportunity to enter into his own personal service, her heart about tore itself in half in her chest.

That night, the Blade loomed over the harlot, sleeping peacefully in the slightly comfortable but formerly secured room she shared with others, her fingers silently tapping against the grip of her knife. Her eyes and blood were as cold as ice, as she looked upon the bitch who thought she could steal the Captain away from her.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that she had to be captured and tormented, to earn her place with him, and all this skank had to do was be standing around when he was upset? And she couldn't do anything more than cook, clean, and fuck him. She didn't have the decades of training needed to slip a knife between ribs and vanish without a trace. What other use could she have for him? Not only that, a fresh supply of his desire-enhancing herb was already en route here. That belonged to her. She deserved it. No one else did.

So great was her fury and jealousy, that she was about to do what she once believed would have been impossible for her.

The knife was drawn from it's sheath soundlessly, and it trembled in her hand. Should she be wrathful, and make her suffer before ending her? Should she be cruel, and just ruin that pretty little face of hers, so she could live on, ugly and unwanted? Or should she be merciful, and just let her slip into the endless sleep painlessly? In any case, she wouldn't be a problem for her anymore.

And he would suffer as well. If he thought she could be so easily replaced, he thought wrong. Any woman he talked to would be eliminated, until he had no other choice but to forgive her and take her back.

Her decision made, she raised up her arm, heart and resolve set to deal with her rival. But as she gripped the knife tighter and swallowed hard, she felt something around her throat shift slightly, and froze in place, tears welling in her eyes. Overwhelmed by shame, guilt, and regret, her fingers went limp. The knife clattered loudly on the floor, and the prisoners awoke with a start. The only thing they saw was a corner of a cloak disappearing behind the door, and if they strained their ears, the softest sobbing.

As expected, she had been summoned to an interrogation room the next evening. The thick stone walls threatened to crush her, but not as much as the Captain's unreadable expression, as he blinked at her from across the table. Her eyes were downcast, and she wriggled uncomfortably in her seat.

"You forgot something last night," he said finally, putting her knife onto the table and sliding it over to her. Her eyes darted to it, and she met his eyes for a moment, and she shrunk back down into herself, unable to withstand the look in them.

Leaning back, he took in a deep breath. "I should be thanking you," he continued casually. "Because when she gave it to me, not knowing who it was that could have attacked them, she said that she would do anything. Anything. That I asked, if I could guarantee her safety. And unlike you, she seems like she'd be more receptive to my methods and actually listen to my orders. Therefore..."

Standing up, he strode purposefully behind her. A chill ran up her spine as she felt his fingers move swiftly at her neck. A tiny but heavy weight was suddenly gone from her and she swallowed hard. In the corner of her vision, she saw her dear collar, the symbol of her oppression and **** service, get casually tossed to the corner of the room. Discarded.

Putting a heavy hand on her shoulder, the Captain told her firmly. "You have one day to get as far away from this place as you can. After that, all the soldiers here have orders to kill you on sight." His hand started to slip away, when he felt strong but clammy fingers latch on to them tightly.

"...n...n...no..." she stammered, terrified to her core. "I, I don't want to go... I don't... want to leave...," and in the smallest, silentest voice that only she could hear, she added "...you..."

Wrenching his hand free, he marched straight to the door, and grabbed at the handle. "But I have no reason to keep you," he replied, an angry growl nestled in his throat. Pulling the door open a crack, enough to let fresh air in, he told her coldly, "You have nothing that I want from you, nor anything you can give me, except trouble. Now, get. Out."