Amara sighed as she hauled the bar tray to her shoulder and lowered the bodice of her gown. She frowned at her reflection in the servant's hall mirror. It was not the soft blue hue of her dress that displeased her, nor the black corset that pushed her ample bosom to the top of said gown. In the weeks since she had been sold to the tavern she had accustomed herself to the humiliation of being uncovered, it was the fact that tonight she had been instructed to "entertain" a certain guest. She tried not to sniffle as she pulled her wealth of black hair over her pale shoulders in and attempt to make her gown more decent, the smell of Ale overwhelmed her but she was determined not to cry. Her father had sold her to the tavern keeper only a month ago and since then the tavern keeper had slowly been preparing her for this night. "Tavern my aching arse," she thought darkly pasting on smile and pushing trough the tattered curtain into the main serving hall, "more like brothel."
The old man would have taken her himself had he not been saving her for this guest. He was of the warrior class and called Lord Barak, his name and his deeds often sent children scurrying in fear. It was whispered that he dabbled in the black arts and drank the blood of his lovers. So far he had chosen to stay at the tavern only to drink Ale, but the Innkeeper had other ideas. The other girls tittered and whispered, flashing her cheeky smiles, but she ignored them. Lord Barak had yet to arrive and until he did, Amara would serve beer and nothing else.
"What's a matter luv, impatient are we?"
The voice of Molly, one of the more favored ladies of the evening, called out through the crowd. Molly had made it her personal quest to make Amara's life miserable since her arrival. She was a buxom red head with more bosom then brain. She had a brash sort of nature that was only rivaled by her crudeness. She had no problem with her way of life, telling Amara again and again that a rough sort of life suited a rough sort girl. Tonight she sat with her skirt hiked in a young man's lap drinking ale and making jokes at the other girls expense. Amara decided to ignore her as she leaned over a table to gather an empty takard.
"Oooh, the duchess doesn't wanna speak to us commoners, but she'll be common enough before the end of the night!" The brawd laughter washed over as Molly's jeer hit home. She felt color stole up her cheeks and tears well to her eyes. Without comment she made a dash to the back door before the tears could fall. The sounds of laughter faded as the doors closed behind her and the arms of darkness seemed to comfort her in her humiliation. If she were not such a coward, she berated herself, she would run from this place and never look back. She tilted her face up to the bright full moon and sighed, the world was an unforgiving place. Even if she managed to escape, the woods were thick with thieves and unsavory persons and beyond that, a household would not accept a servant without proper referrals. She was damned by her class and situation to spread her legs to make her living or else find someone else who would buy her servitude. She blinked as the thought seemed to echo through her brain like the answer to a prayer. Better a whore to one than a whore to many. If she could convince one of the passing Lords to purchase her she could perhaps, after he finished with her, work her way into a serving position in his household. For that matter she could try and see if they would forgo the ‘finishing' with her and allow her just to serve. She dashed her tears back and turned to re-enter the tavern with her tray of drinks when a voice behind her stopped her.
"If you are looking to serve a drink girl, you can start here."
The voice was masculine and pitched like dark rich velvet. Amara turned around startled, sloshing the drinks with her action.
"Don't waste it girl, good Ale is hard to find in these area's, and so is fresh clothes for that matter."
She squinted into the darkness but could not make out a shape. "Who's there?"
"Not the monster under your bed," the man said stepping into the moonlight, "but close enough."
He was wore the dress of nobility, of that Amara was certain; his breeches were dark and close fit. His tunic was so finely woven that it seemed to float around him. He wore a dark hooded cape that was kept close by a wolf pendant whose eyes glowed with ruby fire, a fire that was matched by his own direct gaze. Amara's breath caught as she noted his finely chiseled features and his long gold hair, he couldn't be Barak. The local nobility were known for their dark coloring, but the fact was Amara had never seen a noble before so she wasn't quite sure. She realized belatedly that he had been witness to her fit of tears and perhaps was trying to distract her from them.
"You don't look like a monster to me," she smiled bringing the tray to him with out hesitancy.
He lifted one of the tankards giving her a little toast before downing its entire contents. "You must not have a wide association with them then."
She laughed, the sound seemed to startle them both for they took a moment to study each other.
"You are a little finely bred for a barmaid girl, and a little too well spoken. Who are you?"
"Amara, Lord, and I suppose the manners come with time. I'm new."
He grunted taking another tankard from her tray, "So you are." He removed a couple of coins from his waist coat but Amara held up her hand shaking her head.
"I can't take money from monsters Lord," she smiled, "Especially ones who give good compliments."
He arched a brow, "What will you tell your Master?"
Amara shrugged, "I'll tell him he drank them," she chuckled turning toward the door.
"Amara?"
"Yes my Lord?"
"I have a private room in this tavern and I enjoy my privacy, "he tossed the coins to her anyway, "See that you don't recall seeing me and I will return the favor."
Amara bowed her head, "As you wish it Lord, so shall it be." She could not help but feel a momentary sense of disappointment. She couldn't quite name what she was disappointed about but for some reason she didn't want to part company with him.
She had no sooner come through the door when the Inn Keeper grabbed her up by a handful of dark hair, "Who told you that you could have a break!"
"N-no one Sir rah," Amara stammered arching her back to ease the pulling on her hair.
"You are the most worthless slut I've ever had the displeasure of owning,"
He tossed Amara toward the floor causing her to drop the tankards. She scrambled to pick them up but she was not quick enough, with a back hand that busted her lip he knocked her down again. Rage surged through her as she watched him come toward her for a third time and she stood, her fists knotted, ready to defend herself.
