Given the weather-worn exterior and the fact that their fight was supposed to be a mere pretense, Letho expected a rather mellow strike from Roscar. That was probably the reason why the punch caught him completely off guard and unprepared, the muscles of his abdomen rather loose instead flexed in order to dampen the impact. So while the attack itself was rather harmless, the element of surprise was genuine and in a flash the Corone Marshal was sprawled in the dry dirt. Myrhia screamed at this outcome, her wide-eyed concern playing an essential part in the whole charade as she bounded to Letho’s fallen form.

“Oh my god! Letho, are you alright?” she asked, trying to help him up. Roscar’s victorious bawl came like insult to injury, and while Letho appreciated the acting, the fact that Myrhia was addressed as a whore nearly made him give the old man a taste of real battle. There was no vileness behind those words, of course, but there was a difference between playing a role and an overkill. So when he got up and dusted of – the redhead’s tiny hands aiding him in this process – the frown on his face was not something he put on just for show. Unluckily for his anger – and luckily for their mission – a pair of workers was eager to give a helping hand at dealing with Roscar, capturing the rebellious man and taking him away. Maybe one of them read Letho’s frown and the emotions behind it because the demon punched the gray-haired man straight in the jaw. Letho grinned. It was a double victory. The insurgents swallowed the bait and Roscar got popped in the jaw.

“Yeah, I’m good. He’s quite spry for a graybeard.” the Marshal said, watching as the two potential saboteurs disappeared behind the corner of a half-built house, dragging Roscar fiercely. “We should get back to the construction site. It’s up to him now.”

“Is he’s going to be alright?” Myrhia asked, seriously worried as they started walking forward and away from the prison complex. It would be too obvious if they just returned the way they came.

“I don’t know. But he’s the only one we could use as a double agent.” Letho spoke, leading the way in a random direction, then taking two right turns and setting them on a route back to their site. “I wouldn’t worry too much about Roscar. He seems like he’s been around the block a couple of times. I think he knows how to handle himself behind enemy lines. He’ll play his part and we have to play ours, which means doing some actual work around here.”

He was serious about the work too. As soon as the pair returned to the unfinished prison, Letho took off first his weapons holster from his back, then his overcoat and his dark green shirt which left him in a sleeveless linen undershirt that hid little of his bulk. He hated having idle hands, even if he was supposed to have just that while being a foreman. But instead of sitting on his ass and shouting orders, the Corone Marshal accepted the manual labor with no scruples whatsoever. Carrying wooden beams, large building stones, working shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the workers and issuing strict orders when orders were due. Needless to say, Myrhia was rather overjoyed by this, seeing her man flex and stretch and sweat, especially once he took off his undershirt and was left in just his pants. He didn’t allow her to laze around and ogle though. Instead, she was the watermaiden, walking around with a large bucket and a spatula, preventing dehydration of the laborers. Still, her eyes seldom left Letho’s imposing figure and she walked with a permanent blush caused by a desire that the two of them get private quarters at the end of the day.

After what seemed like endless hours to Myrhia whose arms and shoulders ached from lumbering the heavy bucket, a sound of a distant bell resounded through the entire city in the making, declaring the end of another day. Despite a rather rough start, it has been a good day. Letho got acquainted with most of the workers, gaining their respect, becoming one of the guys just enough to share a laugh with them, but not so much that they wouldn’t take his orders seriously. However, the construction work was just half of the job that the Marshal did. His eyes were open all the time, singling out individuals that seemed suspicious, catching every glance and gesture that seemed out of place or seemed to have more then one meaning. So in the end, it was a rather fruitful day for Letho Ravenheart.

To Myrhia’s hidden joy, there was a secluded tent that was meant to be used by the foreman. Compared to the large rotund one where the workers slept, it seemed in a significantly better shape, though obviously meant for just one person. Behind it, patched up from what seemed like jagged wooden boards that were extra in the construction, was a makeshift outdoors shower with a tin container above filled with cool water. It was under the calm torrent of artificially created drops that Letho and Myrhia stood, both naked as the day they were born, washing down the sweat of each other’s bodies. Myrhia’s back were turned to the massive Marshal, her tiny form hunched slightly forward as he massaged her shoulders. Each time his fingers passed over the knots below her skin, she whimpered a little bit.

“Oh, that’s good. I forgot how hard it was working the entire day.” she said, closing her eyes and reveling in both the touch of his fingers and the myriad of cold drops.

“I kind of like it. It’s simple and yet fulfilling. Just seeing something growing one brick at the time...” he said, his thumb passing over her shoulder blade, eliciting another audible sigh. He loved her back, loved massaging it, caressing it, loved every scar on her pale skin. At first, she was too coy, too ashamed of this imperfection caused by the whips of her former slave master, but months of Letho’s constant reassuring eased her mind.

“Easy for you.” Myrhia retorted, rinsing her long, mahogany hair that fell over her modest chest. “Unlike you, I can’t like lift a live bull above my head without breaking a sweat.”

“And even if you could, what would you do with a bull?” he teased, nipping at her shoulder with his lips.

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.” she responded, her lips smiling widely at his intimate touch. She sighed and leant backwards, allowing him to envelop her with his muscular arms. “I wonder how’s Roscar doing.”