The Prince's Pet Read online

  Atshye had come around behind me, perhaps in case I had trouble getting up. She stood tall beside me with her hands folded serenely over her stomach. “Raise your eyes, foolish girl!” she told me in Thessian, without prompting. “Behold your new master.”

  I lifted my chin and faced him, looking into his eyes. At any other time his expression might have been comical. He looked bemused - staring at me with one eyebrow raised and my chain held before him, dangling from his hand as though he didn’t know what to do with it.

  Everyone was silent, the tension palpable. I didn’t know if I was expected to speak, but watching the Prince as he looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on the transparent cloth barely covering my chest, the strangest urge came over me: I wanted to do something to make him notice me. I wanted to please him.

  “I am most honored to serve you, my Prince.” I said. I didn’t know if he could understand me, but it was too complicated a sentiment for me to express in his language. Briefly, I considered kneeling again, but I didn’t think my exhausted legs could take it. I contented myself with bowing my head low, letting my hair fall to curtain my face.

  I looked up again when I heard Indari spit furious words. Cringing, I almost took a step back to avoid her glare.

  Atshye leaned into me, and grabbed my arm to prevent my retreat. Her nails dug into my flesh as she translated. “You will not speak before being spoken to!” She scolded, echoing the words of the queen. “No one cares what pleases you! You will not refer to yourself this way. You-”

  “Edanna!” The word cut through the womens’ admonitions. Enough. I looked up to see Issander take the chain firmly in his hand, closing his fist around it as though claiming it finally. He lowered his voice, but it was still a growl as he spoke to her in Cimbrai. His expression was dark and his lip curled in a snarl. As the queen stared at him indignantly, Atshye was kind enough to translate for me, speaking close to my ear. “Very well. She is mine. I will tell her what to do, not you!”

  He began to shorten the chain, curling it around his arm. I couldn’t help but notice how strong and well-defined that arm was, bulging against the cloth of his sleeve where it was uncovered by leather armor. I followed the leash, stepping closer to him until he held it with a few hand-spans between him and my collar. This close, I could smell him - it was the scent of dust and sweat, horse and smoke. And I could see how the muscle under his jaw tightened and twitched with irritation.

  I felt perversely grateful to him as he stepped in front of me, shielding me from the queen. He made a curt little bow, bade his mother farewell and turned, pulling me behind him. I shot a final look at Atshye. To her credit, she managed to signal a lot to me in a single glance. She looked dismal, the expression in her eyes one of regret and profound sorrow. I wished I could talk to her - to reassure her that I couldn’t blame her for her words or treatment. She had no more choice in this than I did.

  Prince Issander was silent as he stormed through the halls, leading me behind him. His stride was long and I struggled to keep up. I was weak and unsteady, and now my stomach was aching. It had been a long time since I'd eaten. I stumbled twice while we climbed the long spiral staircase, bracing myself against the steps with my hand and hurriedly rising to catch up.

  He didn't seem to notice, paying no attention to me. He was in his own world, fuming over the conversation with the queen. As we reached the top, my legs gave out and I sank to my knees on a thick red rug. "Please, my Lord!" I gasped as the leash went taut and tugged at my collar, pulling me off-balance.

  I let my indignation get the better of me and took hold of the chain, yanking it sharply back. The Prince stopped, noticing the pull.

  He turned, looming over me, and looked down at me as though just remembering I existed. My irritation quickly faded and I wanted to cry all over again as I identified the expression on his face: distaste.

  I wasn't sure I could face his anger. So I braced my hands on my knees and struggled to my feet, bowing my head. "This worthless girl is sorry. She is weak and undisciplined." I said quietly, using the manner of speech the raiders had made us adopt on our brief trip. I didn't know if he could understand me, but hoped my intent would come through.

  He grunted softly, and when he started walking again it was a little slower. I followed quietly a couple of steps behind him. The floor was carpeted here, the walls lined with oil lanterns casting a soft glow through the hallways. Finally we came to a door and he stopped, and turned to look at me as though wondering what to do next.

  He seemed to come to a decision, and he let go of my leash, letting it fall to the floor. "Go." He said, with a jerk of his head.

  I stopped in stunned silence. I didn't know my way around the massive palace. Where did he expect me to go? I remembered what Atshye had said: if he didn't accept me I would go back to auction - probably fated to end up in a pleasure-house somewhere. I couldn't just sneak out. I had a collar locked around my neck. The guards would instantly know what I was.

  "I don't need you." He said, seeing my uncertainty.

  In sudden panic, I dropped to kneel at his feet. I closed the short distance between us, crawling on my hands and knees, and grabbed his arm. "My Prince," I said, tears already spilling from my eyes. I was ashamed of myself even as it happened, but I felt my tenuous control slip through my grasp at that moment. "Please!" I pleaded. "They'll send me away. I... this girl has traveled so far already. She is lost and alone. If you cast her out she will be sold again." My breath hitched in a sob. "And I don't think I can take it."

  He cursed in Cimbrai - a particularly vulgar expression I'd heard from sailors on my journey over the sea. He pulled his arm out of my grip, holding it away as though I were diseased. So I grasped the hem of his shirt, pressing my face against it and letting the tears soak into the cloth. I was being far too bold, and was ashamed of myself for breaking down within minutes of meeting my new master. I would surely be beaten or otherwise cruelly punished. But in the moment, I was beyond caring.

  The Prince stepped backwards and I fell to my hands and knees on the floor. My hair fell forward and curtained my face, and tears fell, blooming into dark red spots on the carpet.

  "Stop!" He growled suddenly in Thessian. I jumped in fright and cringed, but it was enough to pull me together, and I wiped the back of a hand across my eyes and sat back on my haunches, keeping my head bowed.

  He bent slowly, and picked up my chain. I watched as he gathered the leash's length in his hands, and yanked roughly on my collar. "Come." He commanded, with a stern look. It seemed he could speak at least a little of my language. Perhaps he had understood my pleas. A tiny glimmer of hope sparked in my breast, but I made an effort to mentally push it down.

  I got to my feet as he opened the heavy door in front of us, using a key from his belt. He stood holding the door, and curtly gestured for me to enter.

  Chapter 3

  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 mo
ved 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.”