The Prince's Pet (6 page)

I bathed in the pool alone,
while Ellys stood at the door waiting. There were no women here at the moment,
though he said the handmaidens and concubines slept and bathed here. I would be
welcome to do so too, at my master’s discretion.

"Ellys," I asked him,
breathless, as I tried to keep up on the way back to the Prince's rooms.

"Hmm?"

"Why will none of the
slaves talk to me?" I asked.

He paused for a moment to let me
catch up as we reached the top of the spiral staircase. He shot a sideways look
at me. "They do not understand you."

"No-" I sighed.
"They won’t even look at me. They don't let me help. They act like they're
scared of me."

He shrugged as though this
should be obvious. "They see the way you are dressed. You have a golden
collar."

"What does that mean?"

"You are above them. A
prized slave. An exotic pet. You do not soil your hands with manual labor or
toil in the kitchens. You are the Prince's companion. They are being properly
respectful. Or perhaps envious. Or both."

"Oh." I didn't
entirely understand, but I accepted his explanation.

"Give it time," he
said. "You may find friends among them."

We arrived, and stood by the
door. "I will have the clothing sent up to your master’s chambers later.
In future, you must ring the bell for anything else you need. Rather than
rushing off by yourself without permission."

"I will." I nodded,
duly chagrined. "Thank you, Ellys."

I could have sworn he blushed.

He opened the door and I walked
in before him, stopping short when I saw prince Issander. He was sitting at his
breakfast, leaning one arm on the table. He looked at me as he bit into a piece
of fruit and I felt my stomach clench. He did not look happy.

I felt Ellys behind me, his hand
coming to rest on my shoulder. “I found this one roaming the temple, Highness.”
He said, bowing from the waist.

Issander said something in
Cimbrai, dismissing him.

I felt the slight squeeze of his
hand before the eunuch backed out and closed the door behind him. I was left
standing, looking down at the floor and trying to be contrite.

“So,” he finally said. “What
exactly did you think you were doing? Trying to find a way out? Or were you
reporting to the queen?”

“No!” I exclaimed. I swallowed
hard. “I’m sorry my Lord. I didn’t know what to do and I wanted to bathe and
dress. I only found the temple by accident. I do not know my way around the
palace.”

“I did not tell you to leave.”

“I know, my Prince.” I looked
up, meeting his eyes. “But you didn’t tell me what you wanted me to do. You
have not provided instructions, nor food or clothing.” I found myself raising
my voice, my temper rising and my words coming in a rush even as I cursed
myself inwardly. “In fact, you said you don’t want to keep me at all. What does
it matter to you what I do, if you are going to toss me out anyway?”

I knew I’d gone too far before
I’d finished speaking. I had probably made his decision for him. Who would want
a disobedient slave who would raise her voice to her master? But at the same
time, I had a small amount of pride still left to me, and I was frustrated to
my core. On some level, it felt good to let him know it.

He stood up, and my eyes
remained locked on his as he raised to his full height in front of me. I could
see the controlled anger in the way he stood, his hands balling into fists then
flexing, his jaw tensed.

“Well then.” He said, as he
swiftly grabbed hold of my wrist. I gasped and struggled instinctively against
his grip but he held me easily. His voice was a low growl. “If I was undecided
before, I claim you now. It will be a pleasure to teach you the discipline you
so sorely require.”

He pulled me after him. Shocked,
I stumbled along as he took me to the bedroom. My eyes widened in alarm - was
he going to violate me here and now?

“No - please!” I struggled
uselessly in his iron grip. He didn’t answer. But he didn’t throw me on the bed
- instead yanking me roughly toward him as he sat on one of the soft couches.
He unbalanced me, tossing me easily across his lap and pushing me down.

I balked at the undignified
position, kicking and trying to pull away. Issander grunted and captured both
of my hands in one of his, holding them still. With my legs up off the ground I
had no leverage and no chance of getting away.

I felt his other hand on my
thigh, and cried out again as he raised my skirt, throwing it over my back. I
felt the cool air on my skin, and the blush rise to my face as he looked down
at me.

My thighs, hips and ass were
completely exposed for him to see. The position recalled the one or two
occasions when I had been spanked by my mother as a rebellious child - but this
felt completely different. Tears burned my eyes as I writhed and struggled.

“Be
still
.” He commanded.
“Or it will only hurt more.” He punctuated the words with a sharp slap.

I cried out in shock but it took
a moment for the pain to truly register. It began to burn like fire radiating
outward, and my tears finally began to fall.

“Please, my Lord,” I begged. “I
am sorry. You don’t have to punish me.”

“Yes,” he growled, “I do. Now be
silent.” And he brought his hand down and struck me again, across the other
cheek and harder this time.

I clenched my thighs and moved
my hips in an effort to quell the stinging. Suddenly I felt his hand on me, and
I flinched - but he didn’t hit me this time. Instead he began to rub. I bit my
lip as the pain flared on my sensitive skin, but as he circled and massaged my
flesh it quickly began to feel better. His massaging was taking the sting away.

But no sooner had I started to
relax than he spanked me again, the sharp
whack
resonating in the
chamber. I wailed, jerking in his grip, and fought hard not to tense up and
struggle.

His legs were hard under me,
thick with muscle, and I suddenly I became aware of the evidence of his
arousal, pressing into my stomach from below.

He was
enjoying
this. It
excited him.

The realization shocked me, and
I managed to remain quiet through the next two blows, though the tears
continued to run down my face. But there was a strange warmth in my belly and a
fluttering like little thrills running through my body.

My breath came quickly and my
nipples hardened against the fabric of my dress. I was overly sensitive, every
movement of cloth or skin on my flesh making me shiver. Between spankings as he
rubbed the pain away, I wondered at the sensations. Then I was distracted once
more by the next blow.

He gave me several more, each
harder than the last. Then he laid his hand on me again and once more began to
slowly circle over my skin. I was still sniffling, my sobs having died away -
and again his warm, soft hands eased the pain, leaving only a throbbing and a
dull burning. When he moved, I tensed up, waiting for more punishment. But he
bent over me and spoke, instead.

“One day I will rule this
kingdom. I will not have it said that I can not rule one slave. Next time you
raise your voice to me, it will be the whip. You are only lucky I had no such
equipment in my chambers.”

I sensed the punishment was
over, and closed my eyes in relief. “Yes my...” I took a shuddering breath.
“Yes... Master.”

He stood me up, my legs shaking
a little as he steadied me. I looked down at the floor, knowing my face was
tear-streaked and my eyes red. The Prince moved away for a moment and came back
with a length of cloth. I gasped as I realized what he was about to do.

Silently he took hold of my
wrists again and held them together just as he had during the punishment. Then
he swiftly wound the cloth around them, binding them tightly together.

My shaking grew more pronounced.
Bound, I was even more helpless – even the illusion of control was completely
gone. I had spent a lot of time in the last few months with my hands tied, or
roped to other people so that I couldn't escape. Given a choice between this
and another spanking, I would have chosen the pain.

Without a word he led me to the
bed. I recalled his arousal in reaction to punishing me and I swallowed hard,
afraid of what might come next. But he only bade me stand by the foot of the
bed and wrapped the ends of cloth around the bedpost.

He pressed up against me as he
worked, securing my wrists to the wood. “I know what you are thinking.” He said
quietly, moving close and speaking in my ear. “And I assure you... I will have
you -
all of you
- in my own time.”

Another strange thrill passed
through me, and I caught my breath, remaining perfectly still.

After a moment he stepped back
and examined his handiwork. “Now I am leaving,” he said. “And since I clearly
cannot trust you while I am gone, I will leave you restrained. If you behave
yourself, next time I may give you the length of your chain.”

He left me breathless, with my
skin burning under my dress and my knees weak.

A
fter a time my fear faded,
leaving me frustrated and weary. I stood, bound to the bedpost, for as long as
my legs could take it. Then reluctantly, I worked the bindings down the post
and sank to my knees. I pressed my forehead against the cool wood of the bed to
rest.

The room was dim and quiet, and
I had nothing to do but think on my situation. To my surprise, I was mostly
relieved. The Prince had acknowledged me and wanted to keep me. Then I scolded
myself. What was wrong with me, that I was
pleased
by this turn of
events?

Once more I thought of home, far
away across the sea, where things had been uncomplicated and routine. Now I
wished I could go back. If I could only go home, never again would I complain
of boredom or about the back-breaking farm work. But my home was burned and I
was lost, with no one to cling to except for my captor - my Master - and no way
out.

I thought of his parting words
to me, and shivered. The spanking had been bad enough. To be right there
exposed under the eyes of this stranger, who evidently took pleasure in hurting
me. I couldn’t bear to think of him running his hands over my whole body - of
holding me down and taking me - violating me. Would he hurt me then, for his
own pleasure?

It doesn’t matter.
I told
myself.
You're his property now. A slave. Stop wishing to go back. Stop
thinking as though you have any choice in this, and it will go easier for you.

I groaned, and shifted to ease
the aching in my thighs.

Sometime later, a pair of slaves
entered the chambers. I could hear them bustling about in the main rooms. Then
they came in to the bedroom.

The two women - one elderly, one
younger - hesitated for only the briefest moment when they saw me, then averted
their eyes and went about their business. They changed the bedding and lit the
lamps, walking a wide path around me as they did so. I hid my face against my
arms, ashamed to let them see me. Eventually they left without a word.

I must have dozed, resting
against the end of the bed. When I heard the heavy thud of a door again I
looked up, expecting more servants. My eyes were swollen and sore from crying,
and the light in the room had grown dim. I had to blink several times to clear
my vision. The Prince walked in and removed his sword belt, placing it on a
bench. He turned and looked down at me. I wanted to hide my face but resisted
the urge, though in some meager display of pride I refused to look at him.

“Are you well?” He asked, coming
over to me.

I nodded, silent. I knew I
should address him properly. But at that moment I couldn’t summon the will to
flatter him. I was exhausted and sore, and grieving for the loss of my old
life, and self.

He didn’t comment, reaching out
to carefully untie the cloth that held me bound to the bedpost. It took him a
minute to work the knots, and he cursed to himself as he fumbled with his own
handiwork.

My wrists fell and I rubbed them
sullenly, weakly flexing feeling back into my arms.

He extended a hand, and I stared
at it for a moment.

“Come. Up.” He said.

The last thing I wanted to do
right now was touch him. But he didn't move, and after a long moment I took the
offered hand and he helped me up. He was surprisingly solicitous, supporting me
as I stood for a moment while feeling crept back into my legs. As soon as I
felt steady, I let go of him. I still refused to meet his eyes, sulking like a
scolded child.

“I apologize for my initial
frustration with you,” the prince said, standing in front of me with his arms
crossed over his chest. “I was... well, I was taken aback by my father's gift –
which I thought came from the queen. I am not usually given to paranoia, but
this is a time of turmoil. I feared a plot. Do you understand?”

I nodded, though I wasn't sure.
Royal politics meant little to me.

He raised his brows, searching
my eyes earnestly. “I do not suspect you of anything nefarious. I think Indari
was merely amusing herself – a jest at my expense, and my father's.” He waved a
hand. “It's not important. But I am not sorry for punishing you. I won't
tolerate disobedience.”

I nodded again, and when he
stared at me silently I mumbled, “yes, Lord.” I did feel some small relief.
Perhaps things would be easier if he didn't think of me as a potential enemy,
or the tool of his enemy.

The matter over, he turned and
went to stand in the doorway. “I will bathe now.” He said. “Ring the bell and
call for water. I will give you a few minutes to collect yourself, then I'll
expect you in the bathing room.”

I glanced at him briefly,
gritting my teeth and feeling my face flush. “Yes, Lord.” I murmured, and he
strode out of the room.

The
girls came quickly, bringing steaming water in huge jugs and heavy pails. This
time, I tried to stay out of their way.

I went to the large mirror in
the prince's bedchamber as I waited for the slaves to be done. I looked a mess.
Truth be told, I didn’t much care, but I put a cursory effort into
straightening my hair, combing through it with my fingers.

I breathed deeply several times,
trying to find any semblance of inner calm, and prepare myself for what was to
come. What new humiliation would he have in store for me? It would be bad
enough, having to bathe him. To see him, naked – to touch him.

Still, I must please him
.
I didn't want to be punished again.

My face must have been bright
red as I entered the bathing room, my hands fumbling as I closed the door
behind me.

Issander stood facing me, on the
other side of the room, near a pair of long wooden benches. "Well," he
said, "I admit it will be nice to have someone to bathe me after a long
day." His tone was light, as though he was making an effort to be friendly
or casual.

The last thing I felt was
casual. I struggled to keep my composure despite the fluttering in my breast.
"Aye, my Lord."

"Are you familiar with our
bathing customs?" He asked.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep
my focus on the immediate moment and not the thought of undressing him and
looking at his naked body. "No, my Prince.” At home, a bath was a bucket
of cold water poured over your head - or if you were lucky, a lukewarm tub
rolled in from outside and set by the fire. “If you will instruct me only once,
I am a fast learner."

He waved a hand dismissively.
"I know the methods are different in your country.” He began tugging off
his leather gloves, leaving them on the bench. “Well... there's something to be
said for a blank slate."

I smoothed the skirt of my shift
to busy my hands, remembering the way he’d touched my naked skin. Thinking
about the way I would soon be touching
his
skin - and seeing him even
more exposed than he had seen me. Would he seem less intimidating? Somehow, I
doubted it.

He sat down on the closest bench
and beckoned me over. "The boots." He said, pointing.

I moved to obey, sinking to my
knees before his bench, and hesitantly started to untie the laces of his right
boot. The leather was soft and supple, but heavy when I lifted his foot to
remove it. Or perhaps that was just the weight of his leg. Carefully, I eased
the boots from his feet, taking care not to pull roughly.

I finished my task without
another word from him, and put the shoes aside, sitting back on my haunches and
waiting for instructions.

He stood and gestured for me to
rise. "Now the rest." He said, standing still and waiting for me.

Again I swallowed hard, and had
to force my leaden feet to obey as I moved close to him. I was standing so
close I imagined I could feel the heat radiating off his body - and again it
reminded me of my punishment - of laying across his lap with his hands on me.

I had to reach up to loosen the
laces, and made a conscious effort to breathe as I worked. I was very aware of
him looking down at me, watching. I slipped my fingers under the hem of his
shirt, biting my lip as I inadvertently brushed his skin.

I raised the shirt, noticing the
slight pain as my shift rose up and the cloth slid against the tender skin of
my buttocks. I tried to be graceful, but he was so tall I couldn't reach to
pull the shirt over his head. I was standing on the tip of my toes with the
shirt in my hands, at the point where his face was covered, but I couldn't
reach to get it higher.

"My Lord," I pleaded,
mortified. I made one final effort, cursing myself, and stepped so close that I
accidentally leaned against him. I abruptly lost my balance, and landed hard
back on the flats of my feet.

My skin was still against his,
my breasts pressed against his hard chest with only my dress between us, and
now I really could feel his warmth. I cursed myself for my clumsiness and was
about to let go and give up, when to my surprise he gave a small amused laugh,
and moved to help me.

He wrested the shirt from my
hands and pulled it off in one smooth movement. "Perhaps I should get you
a stool to stand on next time?" He said.

I wondered if he was jesting -
somehow I couldn't imagine this sincere and intense man making a joke. Was he
trying to make me feel better? Trying to get me to warm to him?

I grimaced and looked away.
"I am sorry, my Lord."

He ignored my apology and handed
me the shirt. I hurried to put it aside for laundering, grateful for an excuse
to remove myself from his presence for a brief moment. But I had to turn back,
and face the next task.

He looked at me with such a
straight expression. He might have been amused, or annoyed, or his mind might
have been elsewhere - I couldn't tell. It frustrated me. I went back to him,
and sank down to the floor again, forcing myself to start on the ties of his
leather armor.

The leather thong was stiff and
refused to budge. As I wrestled with it I continued cursing myself, which was a
good distraction really. I was just beginning to wonder if he would have to
help me again when the laces finally came loose and I was able to pull them
open.

Issander stood perfectly still
as I loosened the buckles on the armor, circling around him and kneeling to get
to those at his calves. Finally I had the unwieldy armor off and took it to
hang where he indicated.

He was clad only in dark green
cloth breeches. And it didn't look like he was about to spare me the duty of
undressing him. I was sure he was smirking now. Sure of it, even as I looked at
him, helplessly drinking in the sight.

He was hairless on the chest,
but a dark trail led from below his navel, to down underneath his waistband.
His chest was well-defined, his shoulders broad. He had several scars ranging
from faint to new - the only thing marring his beautiful dusky skin.

I didn't want to give him the
satisfaction of looking nervous or fumbling any more than I already had, so I
focused on keeping my face as neutral as his, and stilling my shaking hands.

I walked to him again and took a
moment to figure out the unfamiliar Cimbrite garment. I hadn’t exactly had any
experience undressing men, and his breeches were different than those worn in
Thessia - at least those I'd laundered at home.

Finally, I had unwrapped the
long belt and the garment was open. I averted my eyes as best I could, and
knelt to the side as I helped him step out of them.

But in the end, I couldn't help
my own damned curiosity. My eyes flicked up and I saw his nakedness. His
manhood was free, half-erect before my eyes.

My eyes widened and I swallowed
hard before quickly looking away. Were
all
men so... well-equipped? Of
course, I had nothing to compare to - unless you counted farm animals.

Then, of course, came the
intrusive thought - the memory - of his bulge pressing hard against my stomach,
while I writhed and groaned on his lap.

I gathered the clothes up from
the floor, aware of his nakedness on display right above me. I was sure he was
watching me, with that smirk on his face - amusing himself at my expense. My
face burned with intense heat as I busied myself with the laundry.

Did he enjoy my humiliation as
much as he had enjoyed my pain? I supposed that was his right, really. I was
his slave after all. But I still cursed myself for showing my ignorance and
naivete. If only I was some knowledgeable, jaded woman. Instead, I was a virgin
peasant girl from a foreign land.

When I turned back, he had
immersed himself in the steaming water, and was sitting back with his arms
resting lazily on the edge. Steam rose into the air, and as I approached I
could smell some floral fragrance in it. Rose, perhaps. The water was milky,
sparing me the sight of his naked lower half, for now.

There was a pile of soft cloths,
a brush, three small pots filled with different substances, and an empty vase
sitting on the floor next to the bath. I knelt down on the small, thick rug
that had been spread out, grateful for the reprieve for my knees. “What does my
Lord wish me to do now?” I asked.

He turned his head slowly toward
me, and I thought how strange it was to see him from this angle, at the same
height. I was surprised to discover that his eyes weren’t wholly brown - they
had a lovely green ring around the iris that hadn’t been visible until he was
close. And they were framed by long dark lashes that now blinked slowly at me.

“The jars are laid out in order,
left to right.” He said. “The left is for my hair. The next is for my body. The
other is for massage, which sometimes we do after.” He sat up, and cupped water
in his hands then scrubbed his face.

“Shall I wash your hair for you
then, my Prince?” I asked.

He nodded once, and I brought
the empty vase over to fill with water. Hesitantly, I moved close, and as he
tilted his head back I poured the water, using my hand to keep it from his face
as it sluiced over him.