The Soldier poked the dying embers of the campfire with a stick. "I was a guard in the King's palace, some time ago. I was stationed there while you were still his mistress." The Vixen looked disapprovingly at the Soldier. "I find that term to be...distasteful. I prefered to be thought of as his paramore. What do you remember about me?" She looked down at her breasts, rising and falling with her breathing. "Besides the obvious, of course."
"You tortured and killed many of my friends. You tortured and killed many good men."
The faintest hint of a smile appeared on her face and for a moment she seemed almost to glow with the memory. "I have tortured and killed a great deal of men. Some bad, some good, no doubt. That is why I was so...fond of the King. He was always very generous with his soldiers. I had a free hand to choose my playthings from the Royal Army. I took the best and brightest, the bravest and strongest from his ranks, but he never seemed to mind." To emphasize her point, she stretched, her body straining against the confines of the leather. "No doubt he found the lives of a few thousand nameless, faceless soldiers a small price to pay for this."
"They were not nameless or faceless," the Soldier said, anger flaring in his voice.
"Not to you, of course," the Vixen agreed. "Nor to me, for that matter. Oh, I couldn't tell you what name went with what face, but I remember them in some way. Maybe by how long they lasted, or how quickly they broke. Maybe because they were handsome or muscular or by the way they screamed. Some I remember by the manner in which they died. Electrocution, burning, flaying, whipping. Many died on the wheel and the rack. Some particularly willful ones needed the saw before they begged. But I remember each one. Pleasant memories to help pass the time on long journeys like this." The Soldier stared at her, glad that his helmet hid the disgust on his face.