And when she swung astride her horse and her tunic lifted, exposing the seat of her body stocking stretched lovingly across her rounded arse, he could have pulled her off her horse, dragged her to the trees and covered her, if he wished.

And he wished.

But he did not.

However, when she looked over her shoulder at him atop his horse and her gaze was a dare before she set her moccasins into her steed’s sides and bolted forward in a graceful charge, he wished to accept her dare.

So he set his boots in his horse, Caelus.

And he chased after her.

53

The Discipline

G’Seph

Seventy-Five Miles Inside the Southern Border

WODELL

Seph’s delight at seeing his confederate, G’Fenn, and the four other priests with him that Seph knew were of The Rising instantly evaporated when his fellow priest was within reaching distance.

For he did indeed reach.

Doing so to strike Seph across his cheek in a slap so hard, Seph’s head jerked to the side.

When he whipped it forward, his eyes were narrowed, and his temper had sparked.

“What—?” he began.

But he got no further.

Fenn slapped him again.

And again.

Seph lifted an arm to ward off the blows, only for Fenn to swipe it away and slap him again.

Seph started to retreat, his cheek stinging with pain and heat, but Fenn followed him.

One of the priests with Fenn rounded Fenn’s side, caught Seph again raising his hand in an effort to protect himself, and he held Seph’s wrist steady, which held Seph’s body steady for Fenn to continue raining blows.

Seph jerked his head away, bending at the waist to escape, shouting, “Bloody stop!” only for Fenn to wrap his hand around Seph’s throat and pull him upright.

His fingers held fast…and tight, as his brother priest put his face to Seph’s.

“You fool,” he hissed.

Seph realized he couldn’t breathe.

He further realized he could not escape.

Fenn was taller than him, he had more weight to him, more muscle on his bones.

He was also younger.

But mostly, the hold he had on Seph made Seph fear that if he yanked away, he’d come without his throat.

“How does it feel?” Fenn asked. “To be ruled with an iron hand?”

Seph opened his mouth but no words came out.

And no breath went in.

He started gagging, lifting his free hand to the wrist at his throat, wrapping his fingers around in what he hoped was a beseeching manner.

“How does it feel, to meet a brother, an equal, and have him,” Fenn tossed Seph to his knees on the forest floor, his compatriot letting Seph’s wrist go, and Seph dragged in breath as Fenn finished, “bring you to your knees?”

“I—” Seph tried.