Laela woke at dawn, as she had everyday in her eighteen years, at the foot of her mistress's bed. Mistress and half-sister. Laela had been born a month before Lady Daenehra, but to a slave instead of their father's noble wife and that had made all the difference in their lives.
While her spoiled mistress slept, Laela rose swiftly, dressed, braided her hair and slipped worn sandals over her feet. She headed to the kitchens, to prepare her lady's breakfast, passing through the central atrium. At this hour, she would have expected it to be empty of the family, but the young lord was present.
Her half brother, Lord Jacemond, lounged in a pool of sunlight, idly flicking through a book. He was a handsome young man, his eyes the crystal green of spring waters, his shoulder-length hair beaten silver. Handsome, rich, powerful because he was now head of the family after their father's recent death - and spiteful.
His face lit up with a smile when he saw Laela and he imperiously beckoned her forwards. "A sweet sight for sore eyes, little sister," he said. He might have sounded kind if he was anyone else but their shared childhood had long made Laela wary of his games. "Sit, sit."
"I was just about to fetch Lady Dae's breakfast-" Laela began. Bastard-born as she was, she never dared call Lord Jace or Lady Dae brother and sister.
"Dae can wait." He leaned forward and cupped Laela's chin in his hands, studying her as thoughtfully as though she were a precious jeweled miniature. Laela had her slave mother's nut-brown skin and thick black hair, but her eyes were the glass green of House Mallaeron.
Seeming satisfied with whatever he saw, he pinched her cheek and dropped her chin. "Today is an important day," he said. "We have a suitor for our sister's hand."
Laela, not seeing how it had anything to do with her, folded her hands in her lap and waited. Daenehra was eighteen, she would be expected to marry a great lord soon and bear his heirs - and she would have no choice in her marriage, considering their brother's temperament.
When her father was alive, Laela had hoped that he would free her when she came of age, perhaps settle her to some trade in the capital - a weaver or seamstress - or marry her off to a merchant or a respected clerk in his employ. With their father's death, she expected that she would toil the rest of her life away in her brother's house, attending to his bride and children when the time came.
But Jace seemed to have other plans. "I have a good mind to add you to her dowry," he said idly. "A beautiful and fertile young wench, a sister whom a man might bed in a manner he would dare not his wife." His smile was sharp as she absorbed his meaning.
"Lord Jace," she swallowed hard, "I've been good, I've served you faithfully-"
"Yes," he said, stroking her cheek, "You have been a good girl. And beautiful... or have you?" He toyed the ties at her shoulder that held her linen smock in place.
"Please-" she said, biting her lip, a sickening in the pit of her belly. Slaves passed by the atrium, their heads bent, seemingly intent on their duties but she knew that the whispers of her shame would soon spread like wildfire. "It's not right, I'm your sister-"
"And I'm your master. Stand up, girl." He'd untied her dress and now he tugged it away from her grasping hands. "Now."
When she rose, tears beading unwillingly in her eyes, the smock slipped off her shoulders.
"Over there." Lord Jace pointed to a patch of sunlight and leaned back against his cushions, clearly enjoying himself. She moved blindly, her naked body gleaming like bronze in the sunlight, her thick braid swinging against her back. "Nahuel!"
A clerk melted out of the shadows and bowed to her brother.
"Measure her," he was bidden.
I am asleep, Laela told herself, I am asleep and this is some hideous dream. Mercifully, the clerk was silent and swift about his work, measuring her breasts, her hips, her waist, her height, the thickness of her arms and legs and noting them in a small book. He bid her open her mouth so he might check her teeth, she was nothing but chattel to him.
Slaves brought her brother his morning meal - flatbread with dates and olives, apples and honey, rashers of bacon and a cool pitcher of melon juice. Lady Daenehra wandered out at some time, her silvery hair loose down her back, draped in an embroidered bed-robe.
"They told me you needed Laela," she sniffed, sitting down next to her brother and helping herself to the meal. "You can't steal my maid on a whim, lord of the family or not."
Jace put his hand over hers in pacification. "I will buy you a better maid," he soothed, "Laelorian, a docile girl trained in all the arts to make you look your most beautiful. You will need it if you are to be a bride."
Daenehra's eyes lit up. Marriage might be unknown but it was better than chafing under her older brother's reign. "A bride? What is he like?" she cooed. She pointedly ignored her naked half-sister, being measured like an animal in the corner, and continued to chat animatedly with her brother.
When Nahuel was done measuring her, he bowed and moved away to lurk in the shadows. Laela remained standing awkwardly, not daring to move until she was given leave. She saw a young slave, who had often begged her for kisses, smirk as he passed by. His eyes lingered on her exposed breasts and slit and all she could do was blush and hang her head low. He would know now that she was no better than him, even though her father had been free and noble.
Lord Jace must have noticed her hide her face for he snapped his fingers at the passing slave. "What's your name, boy?"
