Slaves Choice 1

"Choose Slave, whom you would service."

I dared not lift my head, though I peeked at lord Ravarin through my hair, trying not to display shock. His rage was fine today as he stood ringed in Guards, glaring from the dais to those bound and bloody before him. He pushed one Guard aside, to better sneer down at those upstarts his wrath had conquered.

"My lord," Chambers humbled from a knee, "Beaten these are, but still -"

"You question?"

Chambers paled, abasing himself lower. "Never, Grand Ravarin, though I do remind -"

Our lord nodded and a Guard kicked Chambers viciously enough to send him sprawling.

"I can suffer no greater insult than these curs field," lord Ravarin growled, "Seeking my death in my own hall. Like pays like, Advisor. Best you remind yourself of your position before me, and find silence."

Chambers cowered, scuttling back on all fours, removing himself from the lord's notice. Thus settled, Ravarin's attention turned again to me. His hand beckoned, an unheard of gesture, and I froze. I did not look so high as his face, but set my head to the side in slave's puzzlement. What had I done to draw his notice?

He took another step from the dais, hand outstretched. "Come."

Anger threaded his voice, and no confusion was worth drawing his ire. I bowed my head to the floor and rolled my eyes up, gauging him as I moved to my knees, waiting for a rebuke that did not come. I set my feet under me, keeping my head low, and took a single step towards him. The hand still beckoned and I moved, hands clasped at lower back, slave's vulnerability before him that owned me.

I would have dropped to knees before him, but his hand moved to my neck, stilling abasement. Fear widened my eyes, shock muttering from those gathered in the hall, and I shivered. Not to kneel to him meant death. I had done nothing wrong that I knew of, I did not dare!

His hand was warm, the fingers hard as they traced the inked flesh of my neck, a liberty he had never taken. I could but shake beneath his hand, dumbfounded by this turn of events. He guided me towards his prisoners, drawing me beside him as though to inspect them. The Guards kicked and shoved the lot to spill on the floor, bound and gagged. One of them was already dead, all of them still bleeding from the battle that had so enraged Ravarin.

The lord laughed, tossing back his head in harsh joy. "You'll not be entertaining that one." He made a shooing gesture that ordered the corpse removed, grinning over the bloody trail as it was dragged from the hall.

Those bound before us, making noises of pain and protest, were of status enough to meet the lord's stare, all of them royals in their own lands. One shook violently of horror, likely preferring the rack to the touch of a slave, which was entirely Ravarin's intent. I did not know why I had been noticed, but to refuse his will was to welcome the dungeon, if not death.

He moved his hand from my neck, down my arm as though petting a cat, then swept invitation at those crumbled at his feet. "Select your cur, Slave, and make best use of it."

I bowed my head, still unsure, but dared to meet their eyes. Most of them would not look at me, as befitted their former status, any slave existing beneath their notice. Revulsion marked several faces, twisting with pain to make them ugly as they recoiled, not wishing to be sullied by even my glance. I drew confidence from this, and took one step towards them. More murmurs from the assembled court, but no rebuke from him behind me.

As I had served the lord five years, a house girl often is his presence, I felt I knew his mind in this, and chose to take my time. I moved with small steps and allowed myself a careful perusal of each male. Fine clothes were torn and bloodied, their glittering armor in shamble behind them, their weapons tossed aside as debris. I studied each, bending my head just a bit, as though they were the slaves and I a purchaser.

He laughed behind me, deep and full, and my skin flushed with his pleasure. I had guessed right.

"A better thought strikes me, Slave."

I turned and dropped instantly, head to floor before him, but felt no fear now. The hall held silence, save for a groan behind me, met with a kick from the Guard. Ravarin resumed his throne and chuckled with vile merriment.

"I intended to simply degrade a royal in your bed, but now I think of a better punishment. They shall all know the untrained touch of house women, but one ... " he threw back his head and chortled amusement, "One shall be your servant til his days end."

Gasps and nervous laughter greeted this pronouncement. I knelt in shock and forgot to breathe for a moment. Slaves did not have slaves, it was unheard of. To so lower a royal ... was simply not done. The lord was enraged indeed to decree such a thing.

One of the men began to struggle violently, screaming rage around his gag, kicking and thrusting his body despite the rain of blows from Guards surrounding him.

The lord laughed again. "Take that one to the pit. Let him learn the house amusements."

The man screamed and fought as he was dragged from the hall, his ire earning him a chain that made him free for any slave's abuse. The others stilled their protest with horror, not wanting to join their fellow's fate. I dared peek up through my hair and the lord gestured me to my feet, again sweeping unheard of invitation. I bowed thrice and then rose, turning back to my task, scared and thrilled with it.

I had first thought to choose the most handsome, as such an opportunity would never grace me again. I looked the lot over more carefully now, judging not by face or pleasing form. Three were a good deal older, one much too young, another gone fat from laziness. That left six, though one of these was hunched around a gut wound that likely wouldn't heal.

I let myself frown, looking over the rest as best I could. Two more I set aside for the hatred in their eyes. A night of pleasure I could stand, but not days on end of such loathing. I did not shiver under their disgust, as they were now even lower than I, and I served the lord's will this day. That alone almost betrayed pride in me, though I did not dare reveal it.

The last three happened to be laying together and I moved before them, peering down with speculation, gaze flicking from one to another. Ravarin made some move behind me and the Guards jerked the trio to their knees, kicking them to slave's rest, much to the amusement of the hall. Thus displayed, legs apart, chest forward, heads meek, they had to look up from their tangled hair.

Only one now met my gaze, as he had the entire time I appraised him. His face held nothing, not hate or revulsion, or even the sadist's lust I might have expected. His eyes were cool, green as new leaves, his hair black as pitch, sharp against skin paler than the other royals. His face was pleasant, more handsome than most, through bruised at the temple. I let my gaze fall again to the other two, and found their quivering indignation distasteful. I would not be shackled thus.

I looked long into those glittering eyes, and slowly nodded my head. As he was royal, I should have bowed, did not dare touch him, but today he was an animal, just as I was. Something flashed in his eyes, widening them with emotion I had no name for. He made no sound as he was yanked to his feet and I still met his eyes. His lack of hatred was his undoing, that cool regard alone making him the best choice.

I turned slowly and dropped to kneel to lord Ravarin, lowering my head to the stone, drawing my hands forward to cross my wrists on the floor palms up, slave's acknowledgment.

The lord was still highly amused. "Get ye gone, Slave. Enjoy your cur. It will see to your chores come morn ... has it any strength left."

I blushed at that and the hall filled with ribald laughter. I bowed thrice before shambling backwards for the doorway. Two Guards dragged the royal after me, and I waited in the ante court for them to proceed, as to walk before them would have earned a beating. I was not fool enough to think I held any favor from the lord, though I still puzzled over his choice of me.

I followed the Guards through the keep, considering the other house girls I had sat among, and looked for any reason I would stand out. None of us were ugly, or we would not have been in evidence. I had no striking feature to have drawn the lord's eye, was in fact the plainest that had been present. I hid a smile then, thinking that exactly the reason. My face was fairer than Imra's, but her curves were more lush, my leaner form setting me the lowest that morn.

The Guard stepped into a small cell, chasing out the slave sleeping there. They shoved the royal to the floor and he made no protest, laying where he fell. One Guard stared at me and I kept my gaze at his feet, dropping to a knee as befit his rank. The other was staring at the royal, drawing his blade and cutting partially through the bonds at his feet.

"To damage that of the Lord's is to find yourself beneath the whip. Move accordingly." Then both Guards left, closing the door.

I tilted my head to stare at the male before me, still unmoving, his verdant eyes staring back. I frowned at him, at a loss. Were he anything else but set at my feet, I would have been sure of myself.

I tried to think, deciding first that he couldn't be comfortable where he lay, and let that spur me. Habit abased me, lowering my head to him, as I moved on my knees to close the distance between us. I sat at slave's rest, cocked my head in puzzlement, and awaited his permission.

Amusement filled his eyes, softening his face, and he very carefully inclined his head. I leaned forward, avoiding his skin, and began working the knot of the gag, closing my eyes in concentration to the simple task. It did not seem real to me, that this royal awaited my direction, but I knew the lord well enough to understand the insult. He may change his mind later, but until that time this male was ... mine. It was beyond thinking.

I worked the cloth free, careful not to snag his hair, drawing the cord from the royal's mouth. I winced at the blood on his lips, the angry lines boasting the gag's tightness over his skin. I sat back on my heels, frowning at him, examining his face again. He stared back at me, equally appraising, and I looked away, my face growing hot.

He made a sound of amusement. "You do not act the mistress here."

I flushed even more, wanting to draw away from him, but held still from practice. I could think of nothing to say that would not sound foolish. To draw attention to our disparate lives would insult his intelligence, so I remained silent, though I did glance back at him.

He made to sit up, still hindered, and I bit my lip with indecision. To help him meant touching, and that was ingrained in me as the worst insult. It was the lord's intention to punish this man, and I accepted that, but I could not adjust this quickly to such a strange happening.

He laughed, the warmth of it sliding along my skin like fine cloth, bringing a deeper flush. "I will take no slight from your hands."

I frowned at him, but nodded, finding only amusement in his expression. He was either good natured and resigned to his fate, or a very good liar. It was not my business to know, so I set the matter aside and moved to his feet, pulling at the rope the Guard had sawed at, having to bend and use my teeth to finish the work.

It took a moment to accomplish but a strand finally broke and I unwound the length and freed his ankles. He was then able to lever himself to sit and looked more content, still staring at me, a hint of curiosity lighting his amusement. I knelt and frowned at him, unsure, the taste of sweated leather on my tongue. Were I alone, I would have drawn water, but ... how was I to manage this? Perhaps I had drawn the lord's ire after all.

"Have you a name?"

I blinked, shock filling my face before I could recall it. A name? I stared at him as though he'd appeared by sorcery.

He laughed again, warmth filling his rich gaze. "Other servants must call you something."

I smiled shyly, amused that he hadn't said slave. Perhaps he was not so content in his new position. To elevate my status over him made his own place less detestable. I shook my head at myself, the entire morning too strange. I moved my hands to gesture behind him, at his wrists, and his grin became wider.

"You would not be a house girl without a tongue, and a mute would have signed such to me." I blushed and he laughed again, interest darkening his eyes. "Your silence bespeaks a slave's training. You were born such?"

I nodded, dropping my head. I could think of no reason for his question. Perhaps he was as uncomfortable as I was. For a royal to have any notice of a slave was beyond thinking.

He shifted a little, seeking some comfortable position on the cold floor, and cocked his head at me, a pose so like slave's puzzlement that I grinned. His mouth quirked again, and I blushed, looking away from his amusement.

"I will need my hands to see to your chores ... among other tasks."

I turned back to stare at him, eyes wide, and blushed harder. There was a flare of heat in his searching gaze that tugged something in my belly, warming already flushed skin. I moved around him, still careful not to touch, and set to working on the knots at his wrists.

I stared at his back, embarrassed and not sure why. I had been lusted after before, it was why I was a house girl and not in the pit. We often entertained the servants of visiting royals, those above slave status, or Guards low enough to enjoy a slave. But a royal ... such would never happen. I gave my head a shake, frowning at the unforgiving rope. Why had they not sawed this too? I got down closer to the floor to use my teeth.

"Are the girls of this hold not trusted with even dull blades? That seems foolish. One cannot set to task without tools."

I said nothing, my efforts hard at the rope, biting and pulling until I found some give. He started twisting his hands and I almost told him to stop, but bit my lip. He did manage to loosen them a bit more and I found enough purchase to untangle the cord, setting him free.

He made a sound of satisfaction, stretching his arms with a wince and rubbing the abused flesh, before paying similar attention to his ankles. The fine boots were scarred now, though his wrists had the worst of it, raw bleeding grooves in places.

I moved away from him, kneeling slave's rest and watching him through my hair. He examined his bruised flesh with a frown, testing the skin without evincing pain, as though the wounds were unimportant. To have fought to the hall in the center of our keep, he must be a skilled warrior, so he was very likely used to pain.

He looked up then, getting his knees under him, the movement bringing him closer. I nearly leaned away, finding more than just heat in his eyes, and shivered. His amusement became something far more masculine, a mix of lust and impending conquest that tightened my body in painful awareness. He lowered himself to all fours, bringing us nearer to eye level, and cocked his head at me again.

"I would know your name."

His breath fanned across my cheek, soft as butterflies, hot as a teasing lick. I swallowed roughly, wanting badly to pull away, to scuttle backwards, but there was naught at my back but the straw pallet, very likely the royal's goal. I licked my lips carefully and shivered.

He leaned further, bringing his mouth a finger's breadth from my lips. "I would also discover your reason for choosing me amongst the others."

His voice was low, soft, for my ears alone. His breath was hot, quivering over my skin, stirring my blood in places long ignored. I felt a trapped animal, wanting both away, and closer still. I had never touched a royal. Never tasted flesh not made to serve.

I licked my lips again and his gaze dropped to my mouth, something harsh tightening his features. I did move then, a half fall onto my back, edging away until I had crawled onto the pallet, the rough straw gouging my skin where it was disturbed. He followed me, still on hands and knees, stalking as the kitchen cats. I could go no further but climb the wall, and he did not stop until his limbs made a prison about me, still not touching but barring escape. I looked up at him, fear and other things widening my eyes, making my breath a pant from parted lips.

He lowered his head, eyes flicking from my mouth to meet my gaze, his face so very close I had trouble focusing. "I would have your name," he whispered, teasing heat across my skin.

I gasped, my hands clutching cloth and straw, and moved to him, frowning as he pulled away. He chuckled huskily, the sound curling in my belly like molten heat, and slowly shook his head.

"Your name."

I sighed, feeling some annoyance, and let myself show it. Only a royal would find desire a game. I had to clear my throat, swallow carefully, and wonder how my voice would sound. The last word I recalled was three days ago. I turned my face away from him, looking to the door and frowning. "Sha."

He made a sound of disgust, pushing to his knees to set his hands on hips. "Sha," he repeated with disbelief, actually scowling. "For your hair?"

I nodded, not looking at the dirty straw of the pallet, nearly the same muddy blonde, so like the graying stalks bound to make brooms. I would have rather a mouse's coloring, than the sheaf of the sha, as the hearth brushes were called. The wise woman attending my mother had been a kitchen wench, and thought it clever to name me so.

The royal shook his head, anger chasing the lust in his eyes. "I blame thee not to hold in silence, if that be the best use this house finds thee. Set me a task mistress, and I shall carve pardon for thy ill use."

That brought my head back to him, my mouth falling open. His anger ... on my behalf? Twas surely a jest. I searched his face, staring earnestly down at me, truly incensed. "I ... understand ye not."

His eyes narrowed with menace, full lips now a sneer. "Your lord sees fit to make me slave of a slave, and I would know why, mistress. Why I from the others, why I to suffer this indignity?"

I turned my face away from him, closing my eyes to his rage. "I saw no hate in yen eyes," I whispered. "Did He shackle me thus, I crave no hate fen the days."

The breath sighed out of him, and I turned back, watching the anger seep away, slumping his shoulders. He smiled again, verdant eyes alight, and nodded to himself. "So I thought, but would be sure. I barked the least of us." He cocked his head at me again, drawing a grin. "Have you a task to set my hands?"

I frowned then, moving my head to puzzlement, and he made a disapproving sound. He lowered himself over me, holding his weight on one hand, the other hovering at my cheek, his nearness chasing my head back. I just stared at him, those mercurial eyes gleaming lust again, and gasped a hard breath.

He chuckled, moving that hand so close to my skin that I felt the heat of him. "Does your tongue not move to answer, I shall find my own."

His fingers lowered then, brushing my jaw, and I shuddered. Soft pleasure prickled my skin beneath his touch. He drew his hand down my neck, tracing the inked scar that marked me as much a part of this hold as the stone walls. He moved lower still, pressing the coarse cloth with just fingertips, then cupping trembling flesh, catching my breath.

He chuckled low, dropping his body to pin mine, the hard length of him pulsing against my belly. "A fine task indeed mistress, that I gratefully accept."

His lips sought mine, warm and insistent, and I met him with a moan. A hard tongue begged entrance, hot and quick, as his hands pulled at the woolen top, raising the material to find my skin. I writhed, his palms brushing my nipples, mouth savaging mine, and moved my hands to the front of his breeches. He lifted just enough, nuzzling down my throat, as I tugged at the cords that held his lust trapped. He caught at my hands impatiently, drawing my arms up to pull the wool over my head and toss it aside.