He hated her, hated her with everything in him.
He stood watching her warily where she lounged, legs crossed, tapping a white quill against her thigh. The motion made him nervous, as he knew it was meant to, and that knowledge made him angry. But not angry enough to overpower the fear. He fidgeted, watching the half-not-smile curving her lips fearfully. "What do you want?"
She laughed at his impatience, and he flushed. She leaned back and flicked the quill against her lips in what might have been a thoughtless gestures. "Want? Why, Kartane. Can't your mother talk to her son without it being some sort of scheme?" The mocking in her voice on "mother" and "son" was hardly veiled at all. Kartane tasted bile and bit back disgust, face flaming with shame.
"Why, mother," he said, as coolly as he could manage. "What a thing to say. You and I both know that it's always some sort of scheme with you."
The anger flashed and was gone as she forced a laugh. "Insolent boy. I ought to have you shaved." Her eyes glinted as she swept the quill across her desk and stood up, her hand caressing the wood with familiar, sensual cruelty. He shivered.
"Then who would play with you?" he shot back, viciously.
"There are many pretty boys in Hayll," she drawled languidly. "Perhaps I'll bring Daemon back…you'd like that, wouldn't you, dear?"
Kartane choked and swallowed hard. "You wouldn't dare," he forced out. "He'd kill you."
Dorothea's eyes glinted, smiling her cold, cold smile. "You think so?" Her voice was casual, careless. "Perhaps I'll let him speak to you, first. I know you've yearned for a conversation."
Kartane's knees wobbled and he snatched at the nearest table before he crumpled, his teeth chattering once before he clenched them. "Bitch," he spat.
Dorothea smiled and tsked, pausing to adjust some flowers in a vase on her blackwood desk. "Oh, Kartane. Such language. And about your mother."
He said nothing, gritting his teeth. Dorothea looked at him and laughed. "So you are learning to keep your thoughts to yourself? Good…now, if only you could manage without making it look like you've swallowed a stone."
"Perhaps if I had one of your witches to play with I'd be more pliable," Kartane said, as sweetly as he could.
Dorothea seemed unperturbed. "They wouldn't be to your liking. All far too old for your tastes, dearest."
Kartane turned around and focused on the cabinet, face heating.
"You're not ashamed, are you? Silly boy. I do hope you're not embarrassed by your desires…like mother, like son, you see?"
Stubbornly, "I am not ashamed."
The quill brushed across the back of his neck. "Good…shame is a mark of a weak male. Weak males have no need for their…" She waved the quill languidly toward his groin and he twitched away, face tightening. He thought of Daemon, briefly.
"Don't even try, you whore," he snapped, voice trembling only slightly.
Dorothea laughed, but he could hear the note of anger in it. "Be careful, now. Perhaps I won't shave you. I'll just fit a Ring for you. They're very effective."
Kartane shuddered. "I'd rather be shaved."
The quill brushed across his neck like a knife, her other hand moving to his crotch. "As you wish, Kartane, dear. You have a fancy for the Brotherhood?"
Kartane shuddered and said nothing.
Dorothea tightened her hand around his neck, the quill tickling his eye. "Say it, dear. Tell me what you are."
He let out a shuddery breath and snapped, bitterly, "I am your whore, mother."
Kartane could feel her smile as she nibbled his earlobe, her breath hot. His skin rippled with disgust and he tensed under her roaming hands. "That's right. And don't forget it."