The Prince's Pet (4 page)

I
walked through the doorway,
keeping my head down and squeezing past the prince, careful not to touch him.
He took a final look out into the hallway, checking in both directions before
closing the door and locking it from the inside.

I stood looking around in awe.
This room was almost as large as my family home had been. There was a round
dining table and four chairs of fine carved wood. A fire crackled in a hearth,
fronted by a stuffed chair and a long divan. The windows were dark, draped in
heavy red curtains.

The soft glow of lantern light
filled the room and made a cozy atmosphere. Intricately woven tapestries hung
on the walls and thick patterned rugs lay on the floor. A short hallway
branched off from this main room, but I couldn't see what was down there.

I turned back and saw the prince
was looking at me. His gaze traveled up my body and lingered on my scarcely
covered chest for a moment. He met my eyes unashamed, and I felt my face begin
to burn. I folded my arms in front of me, shielding my breasts.

Prince Issander cleared his throat,
and I felt pressure from the chain pulling at my collar. I jumped as if
scolded, and moved my arms away, clasping my hands before me and bowing my head
in a submissive pose. But he only stepped close, and reached out to unclasp the
chain.

As he stood in front of me I
noticed again how tall he was, my head only reaching to his shoulders. I felt
tiny and fragile next to him, and I tensed as he worked the clasp, trembling.

He smelled of horse and sweat
and leather, and warm skin. It was not unpleasant. And I couldn't help but
notice the way the muscles of his arms flexed and moved, and his dark hair fell
in front of his face. It was dark, but streaked with lighter brown so that it
was impossible to describe the color.

He seemed to take his time – or
maybe it only felt that way. When he was done he took the chain away. I raised
my hand unconsciously to touch the collar that rested against my skin. It felt
lighter now. But why had he unchained me? Was he going to send me away after
all? I looked up, ready to ask, but stopped short. He was gazing at me
shrewdly, searching my face. He had a look in his eye that was wholly
unfamiliar – like curiosity mixed with... what? Desire?

He turned away, and I let out
the breath I'd been holding.

“Eat.” He said, pointing to the
side-table where a large bowl of fruit sat. Somehow I'd missed it before, but
at the sight of it now my stomach let out a growl. “Go on.” He said,
impatiently.

I didn’t need to be told again -
practically running to the bowl and taking an apple. I bit into it with relish,
and in several huge mouthfuls the apple was down to its core. I started on some
of the other fruit – it was small and brown and shriveled but as I bit into it
I found it was surprisingly rich and sweet. I made a sound of pleasure as I
chewed, forgetting to be modest as I brought piece after piece to my mouth.

“I will have something more
substantial brought up.” The prince said, pulling on a chain by the door. He
sat at the small round table, pushing aside a pile of papers and stretching his
long legs out before him. As I ate, he continued to watch me.

There was a knock at the door,
and Issander stood and opened it. A young boy stood without, standing at
attention. He wore an iron collar. I stood with my back to the side-table, still
chewing on fruit. The slave boy was about fifteen, and very curious about what
was going on in the room behind Issander.

“I will take my meal in my rooms
tonight.” The prince said, leaning slightly to capture the boy’s attention as
he noticed his eyes drift to look over his shoulder at the room beyond. “A
double portion. I have worked up an appetite today.”

“Yes Highness,” the slave
answered. He bowed, and skittered off.

Issander thumbed through the
pile of letters and notes that sat on the dining table. “Ah,” he said. “The
worst part of my position.”

“What is it, my Lord?” I asked.

“Oh, invitations to this dance
or that. Requests to join hunting parties. People asking for favors, promising
a boon in return. Thinly veiled bribery.
Politics
. It bores me.

If he were to sit the throne
after his father’s death, as I supposed he must, there would only be more of
that to look forward to.

I said nothing, shuffling my
feet and fidgeting endlessly, wringing my fingers together. I didn't know what
to do. I was afraid. Afraid of this man, afraid of what might come next. Of
what he might do to me, or what might happen if he sent me away. I contained my
despair as best I could, but it was building up inside me and turning to
nervous energy.

Soon, he pushed the papers away
with a sigh. “It is impossible to concentrate with you standing there.”

“I am sorry, my Lord.” I said.

“I want you to look at me.” He
said abruptly. “Stop looking at the floor when I am present. I prefer for you
to meet my eyes.”

I obeyed, my eyes flicking up.
It made me even more uncomfortable. I couldn’t retreat into myself if I was
making an effort to look at my master. I was vulnerable, less able to hide.

Again, he looked me up and down.
I hated the way he did that. But I'm his property, I told myself. He can look
at me all he likes. I had better get used to it. I could practically feel his
eyes on me, boring right through the thin material of my gown.

It was cruel to clothe me like
this, I decided, leaving me no modesty at all. I knew my nipples were visible
through the material, dark shadows showing through the gossamer fabric. I
fought hard to resist the urge to shield my breasts again.

“I am unused to seeing women
unveiled.” He said. “Apart from commoners and slaves.”

“I
am
a slave, my Lord.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But you...
you have noble features.”

I wasn't sure what that meant,
but it felt like a compliment. My face burned even hotter and I shifted my feet
anxiously. “Thank you, my Lord,” I mumbled.

He shrugged and looked away,
pouring a drink. He upended it and drank, taking great swallows.

I suddenly became aware of
another need – one that was becoming more urgent by the second. “M... Master?”
I asked, my voice little more than a whisper. I cringed as I said it, afraid of
his punishment for my speaking out of turn.

“What is it?” He snapped,
thumping down his flagon. “Speak up.”

He seemed irritated, and I was
sorry I had to ask. But I gathered my courage and raised my chin slightly.
“I... this slave needs to go... to use the facilities, my Lord.”

It took him a moment to
understand. “The privy? He asked. I nodded, blushing furiously.

He pointed vaguely in the
direction of the room, down the short passage. “You have free rein of my
chambers. Go where you wish, so long as you come when I call you. And don’t ask
me every time you need a piss.” He growled.

I made a quick curtsey, my leg
showing indecorously through the slit in the side of my dress. The gown was not
made for curtseying, that was for sure. I darted out of the room.

When I came back out, feeling
much better, I saw that slaves had arrived with the meal.

The prince let them in and bade
them set food on the table, not missing the curious way they searched the rooms
with their eyes. I stood peeking around the corner of the passage, hiding myself
from their prying eyes. I had had quite enough of being looked at for the time
being.

There was steaming meat and
baked vegetables, bowls of rice, flat-bread and honey, and a jug of ale. Prince
Issander had the boy put more fuel on the fire before leaving, and began to
unbuckle his armor.

“Do... do you want me to help
you, my Lord?” I asked, eager to prove my usefulness.

He only made a short laugh. “I
have managed without assistance for my entire life. I don't think I've lost the
touch in the space of an hour.”

I hung my head, resigned.
Perhaps he took pity on me, because as he divested himself of the heavy leather
he looked up. “You can hang my armor. Then sit and eat.”

Grateful to have something to
occupy myself, I gathered up the leather pieces and hung them carefully on
their stand. The prince was down to his linen shirt, the collar hastily pulled
loose, and dark gray trousers. I wanted to look anywhere but at him.

He sat once more and started on
the food. Holding meat in his fingers he tore chunks from it with his teeth.

I slowly sat in the chair
opposite him. For a moment I stared down at my plate, not knowing what to do
when faced with such bounty.

"How long since you've had
a decent meal?” He said, exasperated. “Eat."

I picked up a slice of meat,
holding it delicately between index finger and thumb, and staring as the juice
dripped off it. Then, I brought it to my mouth and took a small bite. It was
tender and delicious. I stuffed the rest of the piece in my mouth and chewed. A
great tide of relief washed over me. For a moment I closed my eyes in bliss.
When I looked back at Prince Issander, I saw a look of satisfaction cross his
face, and what might have been an almost-smile.

I mimicked him as we ate in
silence, watching him pick up food in his fingers and use his bread to mop up
the juices.

“That's right - you do not eat
with your hands in Thessia, do you?” Issander asked around a mouthful of food.

I swallowed before shaking my
head. “No my Lord. We use a knife and fork.”

“Then you must think us
barbaric.” He gave a short, wry laugh.

“I am too hungry to make
judgments, my Lord.” I said truthfully. “If I had a fork I think I would have
ignored it.” I wondered how he knew that small fact about my homeland. And for
that matter, how he spoke my language so well.

As I ate I began to relax, my
stomach ceasing its cramping. The ale helped, too, its effects spreading warmth
through me.

"So," said the prince,
after a time. "What am I going to do with you?"

I looked up at him. What did he
mean?

"Was it the king or the
queen who bought you?" He asked.

I covered my mouth with my
fingers as I swallowed before speaking. I heard the note of surprise in my own
voice. "I... this slave does not know. The chief eunuch, Ellys, was the
one who paid her price."

He sat back, scratching his
chin. “Ellys. It was father, then. Why then, was the queen the one to hand you
over? Was it simply a way to poison the gift?”

I didn't answer, as the question
didn't seem directed at me.

He thought for a minute.
"Eh, no matter." He decided aloud. He looked at me, and I held his
gaze determinedly even though I trembled.

"What are you so afraid
of?" He asked.

I tried to think of the best way
to answer. "N... nothing, Master." I stammered, unconvincingly.

Suddenly, he slapped a hand
palm-down on the edge of the table, making me jump and let out a little yelp.
"You are not a good liar,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “So
stop trying. I will not punish you for honestly answering a question. The next
time you lie to me though, you will be forcing my hand."

“Yes, my prince.”

He relaxed his arms, leaning
back in the chair. "Are you sent to spy on me? Are you under Indari's
thumb? Or someone elses?"

I held his gaze, even though my
eyes were beginning to prickle with tears. “No." I said, squeaking out the
answer.

“Then I ask again. What is it
that you are afraid of?”

“You!” I exclaimed. Then I
swallowed hard, fearing I'd gone too far.

He barked a laugh. “After all
you must have been through, you fear
me
?” His face twisted in a grimace
and he cursed in Cimbrai. "A while ago you were begging me not to sell
you." He reminded me, reaching out for the jug and refilling both our
tankards. He pushed mine back toward me. "Why, if you are so afraid of
me?"

"Aye..." I said.
"I..." furrowing my brow in frustration, I corrected myself, "
this
slave
does fear being sold. She has no one left at home - raiders killed
her family. A horrible man bought her before Ellys took her away. Another owner
might be crueler than you... Master."

I feared I would be passed from
hand to hand until I was all used up. I was alone and vulnerable, and anxious
to cling to whoever would protect me. The small morsels of kindness I’d
received from Ellys and Atshye, as well as the Prince, were enough.

"And it helps that I have a
palace and a throne, yes?" He asked, tipping back his tankard to drink
deeply of the bitter liquid.

I gritted my teeth, blinking
several times as I fought to hold his gaze. This man was infuriating.

"This slave has been
treated well here." I said.

It wasn't a lie. Compared to my
treatment at the hands of the raiders, and some of the things I had seen happen
to other slaves, I had been treated well here.

I was somewhat ashamed of myself
for the thought, but the fact remained: this
was
a palace, where even the
slaves ate better than I had eaten at home on the farm. I was scared of losing
that for the unknown, which was almost sure to be worse.

"Stop."

"Master?"

"Stop talking like
that." He said, scowling. "You may be my property, but you are not a
dog. You are allowed to say 'me, I.'"

I sighed in relief and inclined
my head. "Thank you, Master. I have been treated well here, and
Atshye-"

"Ah." He rolled his
eyes, smirking. "Indari's pet. Yes."

"...She has been
kind." I finished.

"She gets away with too
much." The Prince retorted. "Don't expect me to be so lenient."

I fell silent, but couldn't help
the flicker of hope I felt at his words. "Does that mean you will keep
me?" I asked quietly.