Day :

All of me belonged to him.
Words I never fully understood nor have I wanted to find out.
I was his plaything.
He was my owner.
Nothing more.
So I told myself.
So how?
How did I desire this inhuman man?
Was it those beautifully structured lips or his long black hair?
It could have even been those chocolate brown eyes of his.
Those eyes that looked at me strangely -- as if I was something new.

~Samantha

She was getting use to life among the bandits. Since Tristan publicly made his claim on her the men left her alone. Sure she talked to Gracie whenever she was free of duties, but Samantha was growing lonely.

Her nights however were anything but lonely except these last few days. Tristan and his band were off, gone somewhere.

She spent her days completing her assigned duties and writing in her notebook.

One day, she sat on the grass away from the others, but still close enough to pick up on pieces of conversations. The sound of horses coming made her look up from the page she had been writing on. Right away her eyes found him. Always the last one, he rode a black stallion. As the little ground came to a halt, each men climbed from their beasts.

She watched them. Silently wondering if they could act with manners instead of the roughest exterior they had. Some of the men embraced their loved ones. While others headed in the direction of the mess hall. Then there he was, standing there. His eyes found hers the second she set her gaze on him. The corners of his mouth lifted upward which caused Samamtha to roll her eyes and return to her writing.

It wasn't long before she heard his voice, loud and clear.

"My people. It seem our so-call king," he paused as laughter filled the air, which brought Samantha's gaze up to him once more.

What was so funny anyway? She wondered why these people hated her father so much. Her father did everything for his people. Sure they had a hard life living out here in the wilderness,  but they had chosen to live away from the kingdom. Right?

In Tristan's right hand, she noticed a papery parchment. Curiosity spiked in her as her eyes settled on the piece of paper. She recognized the royal red ribbon tied around the center of the thin skin.

"He has sent his word of his promises," Tristan said with a face twisted in disgust.

The man, known as Matthew, spoke above the muttering group, "Well read it, Tristan. We all are eager to heard what the coward has to say." There was a ring of sarcasm in his tone.

"A'right," Tristan said with a smile. He untied the ribbon, allowing it to fall the the ground. Unrolling the paper, he began reading over the words.

Samantha rose to her feet. Her book forgotten. It's from him. My father. She stepped forward,  and then took another step. Before long she was walking toward Tristan. He must be requesting my immediate return.

The crowd urged their leader to reveal the contents of the letter. Tristan looked up. A twinkle of amusement in his voice. "Our so-called king sent his gratitude for ridden himself of his unwelcomed charge and he has send us fifty pounds in silver as thanks. But you all know, we got a lot more than that."

The group of unruly people busted into fits of laughter. Some clasping their neighbors on the backs. Other cheered at the bags of goods that was brought forth. By this time, Samantha made her way toward Tristan. Ripping the parchment from his hand, she yelled, "Lies! My father would never sell me to the likes of you."

The people looked in the direction of the princess. Some even stepped away not sure what would happen. An astonished look formed on Tristan's face, but the look only stayed a second. Looking at her, he studied her face. Her eyes were watery and the slight trembling of her bottom lip had him guessing the inner turmoil occurring within her.

"How do I know you didn't write this yourself?"

"I can't write in cursive, Princess," said Tristan with a seldom expression.

She shook her head. "You can get anyone to write this for you."

Tristan untied the small brown bag resting against his right hip. He didn't take his eyes from Samantha as he did so. Dropping the bag into his left palm, he extended his hand. "Fifty pounds. All of it is there if you want to count."

Samantha shook her head again.  "Lies," she whispered staring at the bag. "Lies!" She hit his extended hand, causing the money to drop to the floor. Turning, she started to run.

One of the men went to grab her, only to be stopped by Tristan,  who shook his head once. He watched her go until she disappeared into the house. Bending over, Tristan scooped up the bag of money and retired it to his hip.

Meanwhile, Samantha ran all the way to her room with the letter clutched to her chest. Once in her room, she threw herself onto her bed. Angry tears rolled down her face. Debelief clouded her mind.

She cried for a few minutes. Sitting up, she brought the letter up so she could read it. In the note, it said everything that Tristan had said. The writing looked like her father's, but she she wasn't sure.

She'd only seen her father's handwriting about twice in her life. Yet, she heard and read of people who were skilled in the art of copy writing. Once upon a time, she thought she would become a copy writer just to spite her father's dreams for her.

No. This letter wasn't written by her father, she thought.  Tristan was tricking her. He had someone wrote this letter in her father's name, and she wasn't going to make that bandit pay. One way or another.