For one moment, Rastaban was struck by how beautiful Shanka was in the moonlight, the way a silvery halo glowed in her hair, and her smile was - gentle.
Rastaban’s grip on the hilt of his sword loosened, and he came to stand before her - over her, because she was small. He hadn’t realized how small she was, not with an army and dead men between them.
“You are bold,” he said, “to come this close to my camp.”
Shanka lifted her head and met his gaze, and if she were any other woman, he’d have leaned down for a kiss.
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