"Oh, Lucia, I didn't know you were still here."
I whipped around, affecting an air of surprise at the sight of Marten's mop of floppy blonde hair catching the dimmed light of the study. Just a few weeks ago, I would have flushed redder than my locks if he'd seen me barefoot and dressed in nothing but a light skirt, dusting bookshelves like a servant.
"Hey, you." I grinned, pleased to see his cheeks color. "Just tidying up before calling it a day. I'm still adjusting to..." My hand gestured vaguely downward, brushing against the soft linen of my skirt. "...all this.
Marten had always been shy, prone to glancing away mid-conversation like the walls had something more interesting to say. But now his gaze locked onto mine as if his life depended on it, afraid to let his eyes stray on my bare chest.
It was a refreshing change. Most men I encountered these days had no such shame, their eyes roving greedily over the skin I'd been forced to expose. But Marten's awkward respect warmed my heart in a way I hadn't foreseen.
"Sure..." Marten swallowed before continuing. "Sorry about the other apprentices by the way."
I tilted my head, surprised. "It's no big deal. Can't expect people to treat me the same."
"No, it is a big deal," he insisted, his voice gaining a rare intensity. "They're being pricks during lectures because they're jealous. You're smarter than them, and they know it."
The years spent studying for a place in the Magisterium after the Imperial Exam had consumed my youth, leaving little room for relationships. But Cassander's ever-present arousal, seeping into my mind, had awakened a new awareness in me.
Marten's simple compliment, paired with the boyish conviction in his gaze, sparked a flicker of something that I was eagerly leaning into.
"Thanks, that's so nice of you to say." I pointed at the bundle of supplies he was carrying. "What's all that?"
"Just some stuff Master Otto wants me to put back into the workshop." Catching the controlled envy on my face, he added. "Want to see?"
"Really?" Access to the workshop was strictly forbidden to newer apprentices, but Marten had our teacher's complete trust.
"Yeah," he was emboldened by his academic achievements. "Don't worry, it's alright. Everyone else's already left."
"Lead the way then!" I replied, injecting just enough giddy excitement into my voice to put him at ease.
Trailing close behind, I watched as he fumbled with the heavy wooden door, the bundle of supplies wobbling precariously in his arms. He pressed his knee against the wall for balance, one hand awkwardly reaching for the key dangling from his belt.
"Here," I said, stepping forward to steady the load before it spilled, flashing a quick smile. "Let me help you."
The door made no noise as it rotated on the oiled brass hinges. The room was dark and smelled of metal and grease, but as Marten lit a series of lamps, a collection of slaving gear revealed itself. It would have put the cell in which Otto had ritually bounded me, back in the dungeon, to shame.
Rows and rows of steel collars were lined on shelves, some covered in a thick layer of dust. Next to them were the bronze and golden circlets reserved for the more high-class clientele. Finally, I spotted a pile of black silk ribbon placed under a locked glass display, which sent a shiver up my spine.
"Wow," I let out as Marten picked his stuff back from my hands before setting them down on a workbench covered in eclectic tools.
"I know, right?" he said, his voice bubbling with excitement. He turned toward me, his eyes bright as they searched my face for a reaction. "It's a bummer you can't use your powers anymore, but once you've got enough theory under your belt, you'll be able to work here too." He hesitated, his expression softening. "I'm so glad Master Otto took you back in despite everything that happened to you."
His words hit like a blow, and I felt the warmth that had begun to blossom in my chest drain away. Images of the humiliating acts Cassander had me perform to earn my place in the laboratoire back flashed in my mind. Master Otto's leering gaze, his sickening taste on my tongue. I pushed the memory down, forcing myself to stay composed.
Despite how endearing, even charming, Marten's genuine interest in me was, at the end of the day, he was training to become a Contract Mage. In Corméliane, someone as kind as him still took part in the despicable practice of slavery. This was all I needed to focus back on my task rather than enjoy the simple companionship.
He spent the next few minutes eagerly showing me around the workshop, his enthusiasm spilling over as he explained the different workstations and how they were used to weave Contracts into collars. His hands moved, full of animation, as he spoke, his voice bright and earnest, though it faltered when we reached a small stash of leather leashes tucked into one corner.
His cheeks flushed a deep red, and he mumbled, "These are... less important," quickly moving on.
I let a slight smile tug at the corners of my lips but didn't comment. I had a more pressing goal.
"What about those?" I pointed at the rows and rows of steel collars. "I didn't know Master Otto had such a backlog of Contracts."
"Oh, no," he said, his tone brightening again. "He buys the collars in bulk. We treat them to make them inert, but they just sit there until we have a client who needs a new binding."
"Inert?" I repeated, tilting my head. I had solid notions of how the actual Contract spells had to be worded. Still, I knew very little of their actual practical application.
"Well..." His cheeks were burning up. "You know how you can't really wear... normal clothing?"
I grinned, straightening my back a little. "I think I noticed, yes."
He cleared his throat. "Every slave contract leaves margins and specific wording so that some items can still be worn with the proper combination of rituals. That's what we call inert."
I raised my wrists, shooting him an inquisitive gaze as my silver bracelets shone in the oil lamp glow.
"Yes, exactly like those," he continued, his tone becoming thoroughly professional, almost detached as if reciting a lecture. "The same goes for your ribbon." He pointed his chin at the collars. "We process the collars as soon as they are delivered. That way, when a client places an order, we can just do the Contract rituals."
I murmured an acknowledgment, ensuring that my face displayed the necessary respectful awe before pretending to come up with a brilliant idea.
"I could try one on!" I exclaimed, my bright smile trying its best to drown out his doubts.
"What?" He began, but I had already picked up an unassuming steel collar and shoved it in his hands.
"Put it on me," I urged, my tone light and playful. "It could be fun."
My hands gathered my hair into a single lock, that I held up to give him access to my neck. But of course, with my arms raised like that, my modest chest found itself thrust up right at poor Marten.
For the first time today, he faltered, his eyes landing on my breasts as he timidly stepped toward me.
"I'm not sure it's a good idea."
