Alexsi was pretty quiet through the whole thing. As soon as he realized his minister father had set this up, that she was from the tribe his battalion had been keeping at bay on the boarder. And that the ministry and capital were serious. He did the math. She would surely be married to one of the other commanders if he refused. He made eye contact with his best friend and fellow commander Andrey. He’d been a government steroid experiment and was huge. They’d been in military training together. Short of choosing him - almost all the rest would hurt her badly. So he kept his Slavic Soviet stoic face and demeanour as always. Counting down to when he could get her somewhere calmer and safer. The vulture surrounding them made him ill. The way people were talking like she was a thing. At least he had resources and pretty comfortable fancy housing back at his battalion. And his men loved and respected him. He just needed to get them out of this god awful place. He realized pretty quickly too that she was drugged. And the closer he got the more bruising under makeup became clear. This was not her choice. He knew he and Andrey were big. And she seemed really scared. But brave. He would do what he could for her. At the least it looked like she needed medical help. At the least it looked like she needed medical help. He didn’t want to return her to the same uncle and family that had essentially sold her off like this. She saw it as trafficking herself. There is no sex. He’s only kind to her.

Chapter 44: The Road to the Battalion

The Armored Chaika limousine hummed along the moonlit highway, its engine a low, steady growl that seemed to synchronize with the rhythm of Mila's shallow breathing. She lay across the back seat, wrapped in every blanket they could find, her face pale as the snow-dusted pines that flashed past the tinted windows. Andrey adjusted her pillow again, his enormous hands impossibly gentle as they slipped beneath her head, and this time, she didn't flinch.

That small victory sat heavy in Alexsi's chest as he watched them in the rearview mirror.

"She's stabilizing," Andrey said, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the engine. "Pulse is stronger. Color's coming back to her lips."

Alexsi nodded, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "The blood loss was significant, but not critical. We caught it in time."

"Thanks to you." Andrey's eyes met his in the mirror. "If you hadn't broken down that door—"

"Don't." Alexsi's voice was sharp, cutting through the sentiment. "We don't do that. We don't tally debts."

Andrey's mouth quirked into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Right. We don't do that."

Mila stirred, her eyelids fluttering. She made a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, and Alexsi felt his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"Where—" her voice came out in a croak. She swallowed, tried again. "Where are we going?"

"North," Alexsi said. "To my battalion's territory. It's the safest place I know."

She was quiet for a long moment, processing this. Then, with an effort that seemed to cost her dearly, she pushed herself up on one elbow. Andrey moved to help her, but she shook her head, a small, stubborn gesture that reminded Alexsi of a wounded animal refusing to show weakness.

"How far?"

"Three days by road. Maybe four, with the weather."

Mila's eyes drifted to the window, watching the darkness slide past. "And they won't follow us?"

"They won't even know you're gone until we're already there." Alexsi's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "My father thinks I'm taking you back to my quarters in the capital. I sent a message this morning saying we were staying for the ceremony formalities."

"What ceremonies?"

Alexsi's jaw tightened. He could feel Andrey's gaze on him, waiting to see how he'd handle this.

"The wedding night," he said. "My father arranged for a photographer to document the consummation. It's a political tradition—they want proof that the union was—"

"Consummated," Mila finished. Her voice was hollow. "Proof that I was properly fucked."

Andrey winced. "That's—"

"That's exactly what it is," Mila said flatly. "Don't dress it up in pretty words. I've been sold, bought, and delivered. The only difference is the wrapping paper."

Alexsi's hands tightened on the wheel until his knuckles went white. He could feel the rage building in his chest, a cold, burning fury that had nothing to do with the woman in the back seat and everything to do with the system that had put her there.

"You're not being delivered anywhere," he said. His voice was low, but it carried the weight of an oath. "When we reach my territory, you're free to leave. I'll give you papers, money, transport—whatever you need to go wherever you want."

Mila stared at him in the mirror. Her eyes, dark and wary, searched his face for the lie.

"And if I want to stay?"

Alexsi blinked. It was the last thing he expected her to say.

"Then you stay." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "But not as my wife. Not as a possession. As—"

"As what?" There was a challenge in her voice now, a spark of something that might have been defiance.

"As a guest," he said finally. "As someone under my protection."

Mila let out a shaky breath. She sank back into the blankets, her eyes closing for