Black Moon Draw

"Battle-witches are rare. The knight-rulers of our realm are sent visions or dreams when a new one is to come," he explains with another charming smile. "The Shadow Knight has been eyeing my lands for many years. We are at peace, but I'd like to be ready."

What do I say to that? "I don't blame you," I reply awkwardly. I take a huge bite of bread and then a sip of wine. The bread is dry and hearty, the wine a little stronger than I'm used to.

The carriage jolts into movement and I rock back, catching myself on a pillow.

"His was recently killed," he adds. "I know he is looking for a new one."

"What happened to yours?" I ask.

"'Tis the fate for any battle-witch captured by an enemy. Deflowering and death. But mine died of old age since there has been no war in years."

"Deflower? You mean rape?"

"Rape or seduction. Most battle-witches are young like you and fall for a handsome knight who brings them flowers. I barter such services to any kingdom that needs it. It's how my coffers stay filled with gold and I stay on good terms with all."

He's a damn gigolo. Why am I not surprised?

"Why not just kill her?" I demand, not understanding the need to seduce a woman before lopping off her head.

He laughs, like I've asked the stupidest question on the planet. "Because your kind can't die! If I chop off your head, it'll grow back by tomorrow morning. But you can lose your powers, if you are no longer pure, which makes you vulnerable."

I lower the wine. Do I make a joke about it being too late to be pure and risk him beheading me to prove a point, or do I play along and hope I'm never challenged to prove I'm a battle-witch?

You wake up. That's what you do. I close my eyes and will myself out of this mess.

"They say if an ordinary man even kisses a battle-witch, his man parts will fall off. I have a certain immunity to such a fate," he adds.

Are these wacky rules made up by LF? Because they don't make much sense to me. Have these people ever chopped off the head of an alleged battle-witch to test their theory?

Opening my eyes, I'm not surprised to see I haven't been magically transported back to my home. I start eating again. I'm guessing sleeping with the fine specimen of a man before me is off the table as well, though I'd rather not sleep with a man-whore in the first place.