The tinkling of the delicate chains around their ankles sounded as they walked across the stone floor, their bare feet slapping with each step. Candles flickered above them, the vaulted ceilings of the throne room swallowing majority of the light. There were a few stained glass windows distanced equally across the hallway, allowing sunlight to filter in throughout the day, leaving beautiful patchwork patterns of light on the floor.
They stopped abruptly in front of the throne, lined and spaced evenly in front of it.
There were ten girls in all, each dressed in an identical loose black dress made of itchy fabric that left their shoulders bare. It was little more than a piece of cloth, crudely sewn to cover the most essential areas, the hemline stopping a few inches from the ground.
Soft hair that had once been lovingly brushed and plaited was now dirty and limp, hanging down the shoulders and backs of the girls as a sort of curtain, a last line of defense from what lay ahead of them.
One by one, each girl was looked over and greeted and a chain of sorts placed around their neck. Some were simple wrought iron, others were more decorative.
Each girl was forced to bow before their new employer and then taken away, out the wooden doors or through the curtains behind. They would probably never see each other again.
Not that it mattered. They were bound to each other only in fear, not in companionship.
Finally, there was only the last girl left.
She was the smallest of the girls, the most delicate, but there was a fierceness about her.
Her jade green eyes stared ahead, observing everything around her with a cold indifference. Unlike the other girls, she stood with her spine completely straight and her shoulders back regally, like a girl who had never bowed to anyone in her life. She stood completely still, hands clasped tightly in front of her as though the heavy metal chains did not bother her and were there of her own choice.
Across the room, a boy who was nearly a man, stood up from his chair. Thick leather boots thudded across the stone as he crossed to the last girl, stopping just out of her line of sight. He eyed her mild curiosity, her face seeming vaguely familiar to him.
She stood patiently but if one looked closely they could see how white her knuckles were from clenching and unclenching her fists and the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead.
The King inclined his head at the girl, dark eyes raking over her pale form with obvious interest. Certainly more interest than he had for the other girls. His mouth formed into a secretive grin and he turned toward his son. The older man let out a dark chuckle before standing from his throne and crossing to the girl, beckoning for his son to stand next to him.
The Prince obeyed, approaching the girl like a hunter would a frightened doe, afraid to scare her.
Father and son stood in sharp contrast. Where the father's hair was dark curls, the son's was a shock of silver white, dark, sinister eyes compared to a bright crimson. Though their heights were almost equal, they emanated different auras; the father one of pure power and control while the son seemed generally disinterested but there was sincerity in his relaxed pose.
"She's yours," the King said, his dark eyes staring straight into defiant jade orbs.
The white haired youth turned to his father in shock. "Mine? Shouldn't you give her to Wes, father?" he asked in confusion.
The Prince had spent his life in the shadow of his elder brother, which was fine by him. It gave him more freedom to do as he desired, to live without the constant scrutiny of the court. He had no responsibilities, no real duties to speak of. The prince relished his life.
Some said the younger prince was selfish, looking out only for himself instead of for his kingdom.
But the white haired youth didn't give a damn what the court thought. At least he was honest about his motives and desires.
The father shook his head, dark curls tumbling slightly over the edge of his crown. He broke into a sinister smile. "Wes already has too many servants for my taste, and with his engagement so close we should be wary of any slave . . . involvement."
The girl shuddered slightly at the King's words but her face remained a mast of perfect calm. She knew exactly what he meant by involvement.
The younger man nodded, casting a wary glance toward the girl. He had noticed her pale form shudder and he felt a wave of sympathy for her. She was probably terrified out of her mind. "I'll find a place for her," he said reluctantly after a moment.
The King looked at the small girl for a moment before speaking. "You should bow before your new master," he said with an arrogant tilt of his chin.
The girl did not move, instead staring straight ahead.
Suddenly, the King's hand struck her hard in the face and she reared back, but she did not fall to the floor.
"I said bow!" he shouted, his voice reverberating throughout the room.
Tears formed around the girls eyes as the copper taste of blood entered her mouth.
Meanwhile, the white haired prince glanced between the girl and his father uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The violent display towards such a fragile young girl disturbed him, especially when it was at the hands of his own father. But the prince knew better than to voice his opinions.
Slowly, the girl's right hand fluttered up, bending at the wrist while her right foot moved in a wide arc on the floor. Her head bowed at an angle while her body sank into an effortless and graceful curtsy.
This was not the simple bow that most servants and slaves offered. This was a trained mark of devotion and loyalty, a mark of giving one's entire self to another. She was committing her body and soul to his service.
This respect was lost on the King, but the boy recognized it for what it was and he felt his heart race.
When her lithe form straightened back up, the prince coughed uncomfortably and the older man flexed his hand, relishing the feeling of striking the insolent girl.
"Excellent," the King boomed. He waved over two of his guards who each gripped the girl by the arm and escorted her out the door. "Take her to the Prince Soul's rooms, and have her cleaned up," he called after them.
An hour later, Soul found himself wandering back to his rooms, a tinge of apprehension on his mind. He ran a hand through his silver white hair in agitation as he leaned against the heavy wooden door that led to his chambers.
What was he going to do about this girl? She a responsibility, a liability, and Soul never really cared for those. He knew they were a trap, one he didn't want to get sucked into.
Soul had never really like the idea of slaves, feeling the whole idea was a bit inhumane. He knew that many members of his court kept slaves for different reasons; bodyguards, armies, labor, or anything else, but the Prince had always thought it better to have hired servants.
He turned the iron knob on the door, steeling his nerves for what could be on the other side of the door.
He hadn't prepared himself well enough.
The first thing that caught himself was pale gold. It was cascading everywhere, haloing across the furnishings of his bed. Strands tumbled across the crimson sheets, shimmering in the light from the setting sun.
Then he saw the face the waves were attached too.
It was thin and pale, but features that had once been soft were hard and blank now. Emerald eyes were clouded over and pale pink lips were pushed together in a thin line.
The fabric of her dress hung loosely, spreading around her while she sat on his bed silently, her gaze unflinching.
She looked like an angel fallen from grace, with her wings torn off; trapped on this Earth forever for a sin she did not commit.
Soul took a tentative step toward, drawn in by her unflinching gaze. He put his hand out in front of him. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly. While he didn't want to keep the girl, there was no point in being rude or frightening. She had probably been through enough already. He would have to find some purpose for her.
The shackles that were bound to her wrists and ankles looked tight and he could see angry red welts around the affected skin.
She didn't move at his words so he took another step forward.
As he got closer, a glint of red caught his eyes and he looked toward her ankle. Around her right ankle was a thin gold chain, interwoven with red rubies, the same red as his eyes. He reached out to touch it, but stopped himself when he saw her flinch.
There was a sort of familiarity, a wave of nostalgia that settled over him when he saw the chain, but he shook it off.
Instead, he pulled a key from his pocket, one that had been given to him by the slave master. "Do you know what this is?" he asked her.
She did not give him an answer, but her eyes zeroed in on the metal key and she shifted slightly.
She couldn't imagine what he was getting at. She was a slave now, it wouldn't matter who she was before this. He certainly didn't owe her anything, and she didn't expect anything from this perfect stranger who wasn't actually a stranger. She would know those ruby red eyes anywhere.
"It's a key," he said slowly. "The key to the locks on your shackles."
"I know what a key is, I'm not a fool."
The words rasped out of her throat as though she hadn't used her voice in a long time, but it held an authoritative air that surprised him. He chuckled slightly, amused by her bold statement. "Yes," he conceded with a grin. He took a seat next to her on his bed and she shied away from him slightly.
She looked like a cornered animal, and yet her eyes held the same defiance.
Soul looked at her quizzically, intrigued by this walking contradiction. A slave that held the regality of a princess. A girl who defied a king until he struck her, and then offered the most heart wrenching display of physical devotion he had ever seen.
That sort of grace didn't just happen. It was taught.
"May I know your name?" he asked after a moment of silence.
The fair haired girl looked at him and her hands gripped the fabric of her dress tightly. "It's Maka," she rasped.
"Where are you from, Maka?" he asked. He genuinely wanted to know now, with a name like that.
But here the girl surprised him. She shook her head forlornly and turned her gaze to her hands in her lap. "It doesn't matter anymore. I live here now."
Soul didn't speak for a moment, unsure of how to address the pain in the girl's voice. It was obvious that she didn't want to talk about her past, and he wasn't going to force her. Instead he reached forward swiftly, grabbing the shackle on her left wrist. He pressed the key into the lock and turned it and the metal shackle fell on the bed with a soft thud.
Maka let out a gasp and Soul reached for her other wrist, repeating his previous actions. When the second shackle followed suit the girl pulled her wrists to her chest, running her fingers over the scarred and damaged skin. Blood seeped from a cut near the edge of her palm where the metal had torn into the flesh, but she didn't notice.
There was a level of satisfaction that came with this act of kindness. While it was unconventional for a slave to roam about without some kind of binding, it was not unheard of and Soul felt that he owed the girl at least this. There was too much pain in her jade green eyes for his liking and he felt struck by memories from long ago. But this feeling he also brushed aside, sweeping it under the rug of his memories that should be long forgotten.
Maka looked at Soul with tear-stained eyes and a genuine smile on her kind face, uttering two soft words that made the Prince, who was inexperienced when it came to sincere gratitude, feel a stirring within his chest.
"Thank you."
A/N: I know, most of my Soul Eater fics are KiMa, but I still love SoMa, so here we are. This is an idea I've been toying around with for a while and I'm happily to finally be putting it down. thanks for reading!
-Wri