Lion Head Mesa lacrimosus

pharaoh looked up from where he had bent coolly over the former beauty's low bed. she reeked of dried blood and the dusty bitterness of mixed herbs. nyra. "i had always expected it," the falcon murmured in response.
there was a long pause. the roman did not speak and nor did pharaoh, until, dripping from his lips as a polite venom; "you lay with maggie that evening, did you not?"
the eyes that fell to the soldier's face were cruel. they burned through crowfeather's herbal lotions and leafy remedies, by which he might not scar. he would not scar.
"they have lost their vassal state. their outpost. and i am not a fighting sort, roman."
pharaoh lifted himself gracefully up, away from maggie. "she will be scarred. ruined for the sort of company i wished to entertain here. i will reward her of course, but i feel that perhaps her final lover might do the same."