Even if they had never met her personally, everyone in Coheed at least knew of Magda Ivanova. Ambassador from Nevermere. Wife of Rian Cyrilson. And, if one thought to ask Leander Calderson, someone who would make for a useful friend indeed.

Alas, people rarely asked him much of anything. It was their loss.

Most men in Coheed looked at Magda Ivanova and saw only a conquest for which the consequences of discovery would be dire. She was untouchable and therefore all the more desirable. Although he considered himself rather more intelligent than most of his peers, Leander was not immune to the allure of an attractive woman. Like many around him, his eyes found the curves of her body and the sway of her hips every time she strode past him, and more than once, he had imagined what lay hidden beneath her clothing. Never had he thought that the opportunity to personally discover whether expectations matched reality would fall so readily in his lap. It almost made him forget why he had followed her in the first place.

Either she did not mind an audience for bathing or she thought she was alone, and though he couldn’t determine which was the case, Leander couldn’t argue with the outcome. Hidden in the shadow of a tree, he paused as she reached for the ties of her dress. The urge to stay in place, to watch and secretly indulge his reawakened desires, intensified, but the longer he lingered, the more likely that any attempts at approach would be met with suspicion, or worse, hostility. After all, Nevermerean females still had shame; they wanted privacy for moments like these, where they would shed their many layers of clothing.

However… a few more moments wouldn’t hurt. Just long enough to glimpse the flesh that she would hide when he revealed himself. Who could blame him for skulking? After all, Leander was only a man.

And a man had needs.

The laces of her bodice loosened, and the outer shell of Magda’s slipped downward, catching on her hips. It was absurd really how perfectly she’d been built for seduction, both in form and function. After a tug, the outer layer of her dress fell and pooled at her feet. Magda stepped out of it, turning to lay it on a rock before shedding her outer chemise. The silken slip she left on—not that it would matter much. With bare feet and the thin garment dancing about her knees, Magda waded down into the water.

Immediately the slip of a dress clung—nearly translucent against her skin from where the water soaked it through. After one last look around, Magda took a breath and submerged herself in the crystal clear waters of the river. She stayed there for a moment in the cold quiet. The current rushed past her, threatening to take her with it had she not dug her feet into the sandy bottom. When her lungs started to burn, Magda surfaced with a gasp, tossing back her wet hair.

Brushing water from her face, she looked about the clearing once more, gaze lazily scanning the shore as the river ran past her.

Absentmindedly, Leander had lightly rested a hand against the tree behind which he hid, and as his gaze followed her dress down the curves of her body, his fingers tightened on the wood and lamented that they could not touch something softer. Had he the ability to undress her himself, he would have impatiently removed the slip to admire the treasure underneath. However, the way the silk clung to her frame in all the right places, hinting at what he wanted while still leaving just enough for the imagination, had him rethinking that impulse. When she bent over to set aside her clothing, the slip that had so skillfully accentuated her chest now did the same to her hips, and the way it rode up her slender thighs—

Her disappearance beneath the surface came as a much-needed respite. He let out a ragged exhale and tried to gain control of the aching need that had fled south. The Chieftain had claimed her as his own. If she discovered Leander even watching her, no doubt he would face the wrath of— Utterly tantalizing, Magda rose from under the waves, and his mouth went dry. If the silken slip had teased him before, now it tortured him. How he envied her dress for the way that it hugged her curves and the water that streamed down her body for the way it could roam everywhere he longed to touch.

But he couldn’t hold her, not without repercussions that he did not want to weather, so when her eyes idly scanned their surroundings, he held his breath and did not move from his hiding place. The beginnings of an idea had emerged, however. A way to approach her without immediately garnering suspicion. Hopefully.

If Magda sank beneath the surface again or turned away such that she wouldn’t notice his approach, Leander would move from behind his tree. It didn’t take much to look like a man in need of a bath. Adjusting himself slightly in an attempt to hide his interest, he would make his way toward the shore while looking for all the world a clueless Coheedsman who had no intention of stumbling upon the sight he had found.

She did not recognize the Coheedsman. Though her heart skipped a beat in surprise, Magda did not let it show. Controlling her features was another of many skills at her disposal. Magda always looked as if she were one step ahead, and knew one more secret than you would be willing to tell. That was the look she wore now as she surfaced from the water, standing with it up to her waist despite how the wet silk clung to her chest and torso.

Magda didn’t know the Coheedsman’s intentions here, but they didn’t matter. The ring was her failsafe and protection. It guarded her in a way no shield or sword ever could. Just as she’d been forced her whole life to acquiesce to the wishes of lesser men, so too would powerful warriors bend to her will.

“Are you lost, Coheedsman?” Magda asked with a sinister smile, tilting her head to the side, acting as if she were entirely unaware to her state of undress.

As she looked at him, Leander, or at least the part of him that wasn’t fixated on her body, was reminded of a snake. Slender and elegant, she was shrewd enough to slither her way into the Chieftain’s marriage bed despite entering the kingdom only years before as a foreigner - which was less impressive when one considered the man in question, but nonetheless made her worthy of some amount of caution. In the intervening years, she had become a familiar sight around Gilead and, barring a few notable perspectives, seemed to have fully taken on the role as a Coheedswoman. Now, however, she smiled at him as only a foreign-born woman would: like a predator, with dark eyes full of secrets that enticed and intrigued.

In contrast, Leander slid easily into the role of unwitting prey. Easy to overlook, quick to be dismissed, and therefore underestimated.

“Not lost, Chieftess,” He greeted her, ripping his gaze away from her chest long enough to respectfully bow his head as if they had met under different circumstances. Woman though she was, Magda Ivanova whispered into the ears of more powerful men than he. With his hands folded strategically in front of him, ostensibly in some show of Nevermerean politeness like he’d seen soldiers perform time and time again, Leander continued, “I came to wash off the day’s grime, but I didn’t realize you would be here. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Magda, despite all her cleverness, saw exactly what Leander wanted her to see: prey. And she was the sort of predator that hunted for sport, not only for sustenance. She’d spent her life at the mercy of men but now, with a ring of power on her finger, they were entirely at hers.

But Magda was patient. She was happy to play with her food.

“I have no claim to this pool, Coheedsman,” Magda said with a pretty but sinister smile, “You’re welcome to it. I promise…I don’t bite.”

Equal parts alluring and dangerous and gorgeous, she smiled at him, and Leander was tempted - so tempted - to step forward and close the distance between the two of them. To shed his clothes as thoroughly as she’d shed hers and slip beneath the safety of the water. Had she been married to any other, had he been a weaker man he might have pressed his luck. But even Ozias couldn’t protect him from the ire of the Chieftain, as undeserving of the title as the older warrior might have thought him.

And besides, what huntress didn’t enjoy the chase?

“You might not bite, Chieftess,” Leander said with a smile far more sheepish than sinister. One shoulder rose and fell in a half shrug. “But your teeth aren’t the only ones I’m worried about. I think your husband would prefer I wait until you finish before bathing myself.”

“Hmmm…” the coquettish contemplative sound hummed through her smirking lips as she shamelessly sized up the man in front of her. He was slender—scrawny, even, by Coheed’s standards—but then again, Rian could have fallen into that category as well. And he was certainly not a man to be underestimated.

But Magda had set her mind on having a little fun—and she would have it.

“Suit yourself,” Magda said with an exaggerated sigh, “I’ll be but a moment, why don’t you have a seat…” She grinned, relishing the word as she stepped back further into the water, perfectly aware that she was putting on a show.

“What is your name, Coheedsman?”

Clearly assessing him, her gaze traveled the length of his body, and despite the image he attempted to portray, Leander stiffened slightly under her attention. How could he not, when she looked at him with that curl to her lips and glint in her dark eyes? Like she wanted to devour him.

With a sigh, she backed away from him, deeper into the pool. He watched as the water began to hide the curves on which his gaze had feasted with an insatiable appetite. Ever the temptress, she grinned at him, and he took a few steps closer - purely for the ease of holding a conversation, naturally - to the shore. In the eyes of some, looking was perhaps just as bad as touching, but…

“I’m in no rush,” Leander said graciously, accepting her invitation to take a seat. “And you were here first. Please, don’t hurry on my account.” In a lazy attempt to subtly conceal his interest, he settled with his legs loosely crossed in front of him and his arms resting lightly around his bent knees, even though he recognized the unspoken game that both of them had started to play. With a nod, he introduced himself. “Leander Calderson, Chieftess. A pleasure to meet you.”

Ever so slightly, his lips curled upward in a smirk. A pleasure indeed.

Oh, Magda did not intent to hurry. She fully intended on taking her time. The witch liked to play with her food. Madness, which had been waiting in Magda like a dormant virus, was slowing awakening.

“Leander Calderson…” Magda repeated his name slowly, letting her tongue linger on every syllable as her voice wrapped around it like silk. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of you before, Leander. What a pity…” She arched her back so her hair submerged into the water before she surfaced again.

“So what is it you do, Leander Calderson?” Magda continued, stepping mostly out of the water to retrieve some lavender soap she’d stashed among her things, “Surely that day’s grime must have been gathered from something.”

Standing waist deep, Magda started to lather the soap on her body, hands slipping presentationally over her skin.

Oh, he liked that, the way his name sounded as she rolled it around on her tongue. As if tasting it.Leander, spoken in dulcet tones that led him to imagining how she might make his name sound in other contexts.

Yes, he liked that very much.

He found himself, however, less fond of the question she asked, reasonable though it was. The impulse to impress reared its ugly head, and despite initially casting it aside out of the desire to be forgettable, Leander reconsidered. How many warriors of Coheed had he seen shamelessly boasting, exaggerating tales of their own abilities? Modesty would make him stand out.

“I’m a man of many talents, Chieftess,” He equivocated, letting his eyes travel over her as she neared her pile of belongings - and, more importantly, him. How he wanted. “Today’s grime was gathered from sparring.” By which he meant that his opponents soundly beat him into the ground and called it sport.

But no matter. His attention trailed after her as she returned to the water, wishing that the hands with which she caressed her smooth skin belonged to him instead. “And you, Chieftess? How do you fill your days?”

Black gaze still fixed on Leander, Magda sank her soapy arms and torso into the water with a sigh. When she surfaced again, Magda drifted over to a rock and lifted her foot up to expose her leg. Once again, she ran the lavender soap over her skin, hands running up her slender calf up to her thigh; higher, higher until—

Magda dropped her leg back into the water and began to repeat the process with the other.

“Sparring…” She purred contemplatively, looking Leader up and down, “You seem rather an unconventional warrior. Though to be fair, I’ve been told I’m a rather unconventional witch.” At his question, Magda chuckled, the sound rippling through the air with dangerous mirth.

“By playing the part, Leander. By making myself useful and palatable; by keeping the peace and smoothing ruffled feathers. It’s not as violent as your sparring, Coheedsman, but at times equally as…” Magda lowered her leg into the water, contemplating her next word with delight, “Filthy.”

Magda’s fingers might have stopped trailing up her thigh, but Leander’s imagination continued further. As such thoughts only fanned the flames burning low in his core, he tightened the once-light grip of his left hand on his right forearm as if that would quell the desire to wrap his fingers around something else entirely. She knew, of course, exactly what she was doing, how she wound him tighter and tighter. The knowledge of their game glimmered in the dark of her gaze alongside the tantalizing promise of—

The women in Coheed didn’t often tease. Not like this, as if they had agency and power. It was intoxicating in an entirely unexpected way.

Unexpected and— “Unconventional,” He repeated thoughtfully, eyes on her as he dragged his attention back to the conversation at hand. Leander made a sound of agreement. They were alike in that way, and others, too, apparently, for they both had parts to play, hid parts of themselves to become more palatable in the eyes of those who would use them. One corner of his lip curled upward as she dropped both her leg and the final word after a momentary pause.

“You must have quite the skillful touch to soothe egos that bruise so easily,” Leander mused, for no one could question the fragile pride of Coheedsmen nor her success at stroking it. “Though I suppose an unconventional perspective and a willingness to get one’s hands dirty can lead to unique solutions that few others would consider.” A pause in which he shifted slightly, imagining the many ways she could use her hands. “And you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who lacks… creativity.”