The next morning, Aria woke up to the dull ache in her body. Beside her, Dante was gone. Only the chaotic traces of last night's passion remained, and the chill from the thin blanket. She let out a small groan, not from physical pain, but from a sudden emptiness. A special agent like her never thought she would be so utterly subdued. But the anger lasted only a moment, giving way to a more complex feeling.
Aria sat up, feeling every stiff muscle. She got out of bed, picking up her torn uniform. Dante's scent still lingered on the fabric, a strong, wild fragrance. She frowned, trying to push away the fervent images from last night. His touch, his possessive kiss, his lust-filled whispers – all etched themselves into her mind, completely contradicting the cold, rational nature she usually possessed.
She left the tent. The bright morning sun dispelled the darkness and somewhat the heaviness in her heart. The camp had returned to its usual rhythm; soldiers were busy with their tasks, the clang of metal and the neighing of horses echoed. No one looked at her strangely, as if nothing had happened last night. Or perhaps, for them, this was normal in the camp of a tyrannical general.
Aria headed straight to the medical area. The old military physician, who had once looked at her with contempt, now bowed. "Advisor, you have arrived. The soldiers are waiting for your treatment." His voice was filled with respect.
Throughout the day, Aria immersed herself in work. She bandaged wounds, prescribed remedies from local herbs, and instructed soldiers on hygiene to prevent infections. She skillfully used her modern medical knowledge, turning "absurdities" into miracles in the eyes of the ancient soldiers. She witnessed horrific wounds, deaths from simple causes that would have been treatable in the 21st century. The brutality of war was laid bare before her eyes.
As dusk fell, Aria returned to her tent, utterly exhausted. She had expected Dante to appear, but he didn't come. A feeling of both relief and a strange... emptiness. She was a special agent; she hated being controlled, hated being subdued. But after last night, a part of her yearned for his strength, his wildness.
Night came, and Aria lay on the straw, trying to fall asleep. Suddenly, a tall silhouette appeared at the tent entrance. It was Dante. He didn't enter, just stood there, silently watching her in the darkness. Moonlight streamed through the opening, outlining the strong features of his face.
"You did well," Dante said, his voice no longer carrying the roughness of last night, but a low warmth, holding a rare tenderness. "I received reports about what you did. Those soldiers, they will live."
Aria said nothing, just looked at him.
Dante took a step closer, his eyes locking with hers. "I know you are uncomfortable. But that will change." He raised his hand, a surprisingly gentle movement, stroking her cheek. "I will not force you anymore. But you must understand, Aria. You are mine. And I will take care of what belongs to me. Even if that means taming a stubborn soul like yours."
His touch was like an electric current. His words were no longer blatant threats, but a powerful promise mixed with an irresistible indulgence. Aria felt an invisible wall within her slowly crumble. She didn't know what kind of scheme this was from Dante, or if he truly intended to "take care" of her. But his eyes tonight carried a rare warmth she hadn't seen in him before. Was this the beginning of a more complex relationship, where cruelty gave way to sweetness, or merely a new trap set by the tyrannical general?