Page 82 of Forcing Fate

“Pray tell, how did your dress get torn?” the Corporal asked, staring at me with intense green eyes.

“General Rafe tore it.”

Willhelm choked on his stew, and Rory slammed a hand on his back while surveying me with a worried look.

Sergeant Greyson tilted his head once more. “Context again, dear. You cannot state something like that without men’s minds going… places.”

Places the Healer had warned me about.

I licked my lips and met the Corporal’s cold eyes. He was dedicated to justice. He was first and foremost a law-keeper and I would have to be careful with the way I said things around him.

“I mounted a barrel of a horse, and to keep my dress from riding up too high, he tore it to the knee,” I explained.

Sergeant Greyson nodded to Corporal Bane as if to say, ‘See, all is well.’

“Please don’t go around telling people a man tore your dress,” Willhelm said, clearing his throat.

My shoulder lifted in response. They wanted me to tiptoe around to be sure I didn’t say the wrong thing. Why was I responsible for the way men thought? Corporal Bane was different. He was law enforcement, and I didn’t want to rile his sense of justice for no reason. Having to watch what I said simply because men were men. That, I didn’t like.

“She won’t have as hard of a time when she’s in uniform like the rest of them,” the Corporal said, shifting back on the bench.

“You think they’ll make her wear trousers?” Rory asked in disbelief.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

I leveled a glare at Corporal Bane, who in response cast me a bored leer.

“You’re far more distracting in a dress, and it makes you easier to single out.” He mimicked my one-armed shrug. “Take your sense of morality back to the school grounds if you quarrel with that.”

Willhelm made a thoughtful sound beside me. “You have a valid point, Bane. Yet, I can’t help but think that it would be more distracting if she was in men’s clothes.”

I fumed, feeling like a child among a group of mothers. “Do I get a say in this?”

“Nope.” Rory beamed at me, all honesty.

I heaved a sigh and stood, taking my tray with me. Willhelm watched me, his head tilted in silent question.

“I’ve grown weary of this conversation,” I explained and swung my leg over the bench.

I made my way to the corner table, still occupied by only one man, and sat down beside him. Willhelm frowned and said something to Corporal Bane, who then scrutinized the both of us with a harsh glare, crossing his arms.

“Friends of yours?” the bounty hunter rasped.

I slid my remaining bread bowl to him, with most of the meat still in it. “One is. The rest, I’m not sure.”

“Strategically speaking, it would be good to have a Corporal in your pocket.”

“I don’t think that Corporal would ever willingly be pocketed,” I scoffed.

He snorted as he took my food, watching their table.

“My name is Avyanna,” I offered.

“So the gossip says,” he said around a mouthful of stew.

I waited, but he didn’t offer his name. “Were the recruits right in saying you used to be a bounty hunter?”

His gaze slid to mine with a subtle glint of danger in his eye. I wondered if that was too personal a question and if I should have withheld it. He finally grunted in response before shifting his stare to a group of recruits getting rowdy. The young men, perhaps in their late teens, pushed and shoved in good humor, clearly more relaxed at the end of such a rough day.

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