Desdemona entered her tent, stalking toward the meeting table. A curved sword hung at her hip, finger bones and fangs were braided into her hair, but that wasn't what anyone looked at.
Nearly to a man, they watched her cleavage, or her tight abdomen, or her lengthy thighs. She wore very little clothing, mostly suede and buckles. A few straps in strategic locations that would never protect her during a fight. High heeled boots that were impractical for anything but looking good.
But she wasn't here for physical battle.
Desdemona smirked at her lieutenant; Lars was the only one not making eyes at her mostly bare body. He watched the men gathered around the table, the nobles who had come to negotiate with Desdemona's Devils. Judging by the heat of their stares, her ridiculously skimpy outfit had already given her the upper hand.
"I'm told you gentlemen are interested in a parlay." The mercenary leader sauntered around the table, making sure each step accentuated her sway, one foot in front of the other, shoulders back and chest out. Once at her place at the table, she crossed her arms and cocked her hip. "What have you brought me?"
Six pairs of eyes blinked at her, two of them returning her gaze. Both of them were middle-aged nobles, mostly gray, gaining soft tummies, their finery out of place amidst Desdemona's furs and leathers.
The one on the left spoke first, eyes dipping briefly. "We have gold, and gems-"
She laughed sharply, cutting him off, tossing her hair. "I have gold and gems. And silver, and coins aplenty. Your rivals are wealthy and eager for your lands. You'll need a better counter-offer." Desdemona checked her nails, squeezing her breasts together with the motion.
The noble on the right lowered his eyes completely, swallowed hard, then looked at Lars. "What could you possibly want?" His voice shook, and he swallowed several more times.
Her lieutenant crossed his arms, forming an imposing wall beside her. "That's not exactly how this works." His gruff words were almost too low to hear.
They stared at each other, at their seconds, then back at her. "We will give you any price you name."
Desdemona sighed, loud and exaggerated, disappointed that her little game was already over. It almost felt like getting dressed up was hardly worth her time.
Then she leaned forward to plant her hands on the table, wanting to draw the torture out a little longer. One of the young nobles audibly gulped at the sight of all her cleavage. "You sound a little desperate, offering me whatever I want straight out of the gate. It's like you've never negotiated before."
The other young man spoke, probably a second son in training for military command. "Neither of us can stand up to your Devils. We can barely fend off encroachment by the men who paid you."
She cocked her head, biting her lip. He had much to learn about command, especially about keeping his mouth shut. "But I didn't know that for sure." Desdemona stood straight and planted her hands on her hips. "You could have led me on, made me think the fight wouldn't be worth the lives of my men, and we could have come to a fair settlement." She pouted in false sympathy.
"Please. What can we do?" The man on the left clasped his hands together, falling to his knees. "What do you want?"
Desdemona laughed, throwing her head back, the sound filling the tent. Lars remained impassive, but she knew he wanted to laugh as well. Her favorite part was coming.
Her laugh went on and on, until the moment grew awkward. When the mercenary finally stopped, she looked at each of the men with a feral smile. "I just wanted you to entertain me while my best men sacked your keeps."
The young man sputtered, eyes goggled wide. "You tricked us? You...you were never going to turn away."
Desdemona blew him a kiss. "We're the Devils for a reason."
