That day, so long ago, I was both joyful and filled with fear. I was finally rid of the old Lord, whose perversions should not even be mentioned, but in turn I had a new Master, one who I knew little about. I did not know if he was light- or heavy-handed with his slaves. I did not know his habits in bed, and so was unsure how to pleasure him well, and if he didn't get what he wanted I feared for my health.
I needn't have worried, but I didn't know that then.
Master was leading me through the halls of the palace as easily as I might have wandered the slave quarters of the old castle, where I had lived with the Lord, but this place was much larger and the halls were filled with twists and turns I was sure I would never remember. I kept my eyes to the floor, watching the smooth stones pass beneath my bare feet, only occasionally daring to glance up at his back. It was a fine sight, when I did. He was in no way the worn down old man I was used to serving. Briefly, I let myself hope that his more pleasant looks came with a more pleasant personality, though I doubted this was the truth from the way he had received his 'gift'. He was hardly gracious when I was passed over to him.
Those thoughts fled my mind as soon as I heard the creak of a door. I glanced up, just in time to see him disappear, and darted through as well before it could swing closed again. He was standing in the middle of the elegant, if sparsely decorated, bedchamber we had entered, and for a moment he looked small and lost in its vastness. When he turned to face me I quickly looked back at my feet, the picture of a meek, obedient slave. "What am I to do with you?"
"The obvious?" I bit my tongue almost as soon as the words left me, but it was too late.
I was surprised, and more than a little curious, when he laughed quietly rather than delivering the blow I had expected. "He did say you had a smart mouth." The first thing I noted was that his voice was far more pleasant now than it had been before, when he spoke to my old master. The second, that he had still made no move to hit me. "I'm surprised they haven't removed you of your tongue yet."
Perhaps it was too bold, even with his reaction, but I couldn't help my words. "Oh, he would have, if he hadn't known he would also be removing me of my greatest talent." I looked up through my lashes, a little fearful, and licked my lips in a way that might have been seductive, if he had actually been looking at me.
"Oh?" I watched one eyebrow arch elegantly. He really was extremely attractive, in a lanky, not-quite-grown sort of way. Like he had the potential to be a beauty among men, and it just wasn't quite reached yet. Either way, it was better than the old Lord by far.
"Would you like me to give you reason not to cut out my tongue?" I smiled, taking the few steps to stand before him and slowly sinking to my knees. It was far from my place, but I didn't care. He could hit me, if he liked, but that was nothing. A brief glance up showed him watching me with only the faintest hint of interest, and I returned my attention to the laces of his breeches, satisfied that there was no punch coming.
My fingers were dark against his comparatively pale skin, and even for his people he was pale. I thought then, that I would never adjust to this world of moon-white people. I thought a lot of things, then. Like that I knew what he wanted from me. And what I thought he wanted from me then, at least what certain parts of his body quite obviously wanted from me, was what I was about to give him.
As I leaned in, hot breath teasing over his hip as my head dipped, strong fingers threaded through my hair. I had to restrain a flinch. He hadn't seemed like a hair puller, but I might have been wrong, and so I didn't give him reason to tug. His hands tightened in my hair before I could get any further, though, and I froze.
"You're only a child." His voice was a low rumble from above, he sounded almost horrified and definitely concerned.
"That seems to be part of the appeal." Men took enjoyment from younger girls, had taken enjoyment from me when I was younger. It seemed a silly thing to worry over.
"I'm not among those it appeals to," he said firmly, and I could almost hear the frown in his voice. "What are you? Twelve?"
"Thirteen," I frowned, studying the inside of his pale thigh rather than look up at him. "Not so much younger than yourself, My Lord."
His fingers slid from my hair, astonishingly careful not to pull the braided locks, and tilted my face up gently. "Three years is a world of difference, child," he said, with all the arrogance of the young. How he would regret those words in later years, when our worlds were closer and farther apart than ever.
"Owner and slave is a world of difference, Master," I pointed out quietly. "What is wrong or astonishing in your world is nothing special in mine." I wondered how he would react if someone forced him to kneel before them, for their pleasure. If it would be nothing special if a whip came crashing down on his back for the slightest infraction. He would be horrified, I was sure, just as he was horrified now.
He didn't respond, and for long minutes we remained there. Me on my knees before him, staring up at his blank face, his hands on my jaw as he looked blindly into the distance. "Stand," he ordered, finally. I obeyed, and his hands slipped from my face to hang uselessly by his sides. "Mira? That is your name, isn't it?"
I nodded, wondering what he was thinking. My name didn't matter. I was a possession.
"Come. Sit." He moved across the room to sink onto an oversized bed, patting the space beside him. I followed, sitting hesitantly beside him and drawing my knees up to my chest, almost defensively. "How long have you been a slave?"
I frowned. His questions made no sense, but he seemed genuinely curious. "Four years." I had been captured, taken from the desert in a raid when I was young, and brought to the capital to be sold as exactly what I was now. A pleasure slave.
"And you have always been…?" He trailed off, brows furrowing.
"Yes." I shrugged thin shoulders. "Though only for two masters." And whatever guests they had felt like handing me off to, but I was sure he knew that.
He shrugged this off, as though uncomfortable with the topic. "You speak our language well for a slave."
I smiled faintly. That, at least, was something I was proud of. It was the only proof I had of my intelligence, in the end, that I could so easily pick up their language just by listening, though my accent was thick and at times unintelligible. "It still confuses me, sometimes."
"It confuses me sometimes as well." His grin was distinctly predatory, though I doubted he meant it to be. We fell silent after that, and when he shifted to lay back on the bed and closed his eyes I thought him sleeping. "Your master thinks to buy my friendship."
My gaze, which had been wandering the massive room, snapped back to him, startled. "Of course. Isn't there always a motive?" I knew these games, I watched them play around me and I had been a bartering chip once before.
"Yes. The question is, what does he think he stands to gain?"
"I wouldn't know. Masters don't share their plans with slaves, we're just the bribes they use to carry them out." I had relaxed, slowly, until my legs stretched out on the bed before me and my hands took my weight, sinking into the soft mattress.
"Of course." He hummed softly, and rolled on his side to face me. "You should sleep, it's late."
I only stared for long moments. This was entirely new. He was treating me as though I was a person, not a possession, someone to be taken care of and concerned for. "Where, sir?" I asked quietly, to keep the shock from my voice.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning. I looked for the recessed door to servant's quarters that had always led off of the old lord's chambers, but found none. "Here." I turned to stare at him, mouth opening and shutting multiple times, unable to finds words to protest this astounding order. A faint smile crossed his face, lighting up his eyes with amusement. "Don't look so horrified, Mira," he stressed my name, overly friendly and painfully detached all at once, "I don't need a slave."
"So you're going to sell me?" I bit my lip, hard. Who knew where I would end up if I was sold? Sale, I think, is the thing I feared most then. More than beatings, more than death, because if you're sold there could always be worse waiting at the hands of the next owner.
He shook his head slowly, "I won't have that on my conscience. Nor will I use you for…your intended purpose," his lip curled in disgust, and I only stared, "What I will do with you I'm not sure. But for now, you're safe. Go to sleep."
He watched me for awhile, while I simply sat and stared at him as if he had grown an extra head. "Sleeping usually involves lying down," he said finally, taking my wrist gently in one large hand and pulling me down on the bed beside him.
I didn't dare pull away like I wanted to, and so I lay there, frozen and watching him with wide eyes. The next move was up to him. Despite what he had said, I didn't quite believe that he wasn't going to make one, either. He chuckled softly, releasing my wrist and rolling off the bed. "Relax, please. I promise I'm not going to do anything." As if to demonstrate this he held his hands up and backed away from the bed, settling himself in a chair behind a desk half the room away.
"It's you're bed, Master," I said slowly, hardly trusting my voice not to betray my horror at this turn of events.
"Don't call me that," he frowned, "And you obviously need it more."
When he said nothing more I slowly lowered my head to the pillow, still watching him warily. I felt as though I was committing some horrible infraction that would find me beaten and barely alive by morning, but the softness of the mattress and silky texture were irresistible and despite my best efforts I was drifting towards sleep under the gaze of this strange new master, who treated me as though I were almost an equal.