He clutches her jaw so tightly she gags, winces in pain. His lips twitch at the helpless whine he forces from her, but he is not yet satisfied. Hovering above her, he makes a big show of gathering the dehydrated saliva from the back of his throat. Petra’s pupils shrink into pinpricks. She thrashes and kicks as best she can, but Carolus, despite his fatigue, is still far stronger. When Siegfried spits violently in the open void of her mouth, Petra squeezes her eyes shut. But this displeases him. He shifts his hand down to the smooth expanse of her throat and it is through this new, ecstatic fear that he makes her look at him a little longer, his grip rendering her unable to neither breathe nor swallow. When he finally releases her, she can only gasp for air, his spit dribbling down her chin as she heaves, mingling with her own.

The two men do not laugh, nor do they say anything. They have been reassured through what they’ve just seen of their own total subordinacy. With a grimace, Siegfried remounts. As the group returns to their journey, Petra no longer fights when Carolus hoists her once more onto horseback. Siegfried allows himself a quick glance over his shoulder, but terminates it upon seeing the silent, strong tears dripping from the curvature of Petra’s jawline. Now the procession moves briskly. Noon turns into afternoon. Siegfried sings the same song again, this time in Petra’s language so that she can understand it and thus find insult in its triviality.