Bound

Lyn

"Wake up," a voice said rudely, breaking through the blank emptiness in his head.

"Go away…" Hector groaned without opening his eyes, turning around in his bed. It was still too early, blast it!

"Wake up," the voice insisted. "Your morning feast is ready."

"Go away," he repeated in a growl, burying his face into the pillow to drown it out. He desperately longed to go back to sleep, but whoever it is wouldn't let him.

"Hurry up or their Royal Highnesses will be displeased," the voice taunted, and he sprang up angrily.

"Leave me alone, you hear!" he snapped. "I don't—" He drifted off in mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. Now that he was actually awake he could see the speaker. And what he saw did not make him happy.

"You…you're that, er…servant," he said roughly, trying to remember. Being still somewhat asleep, he could not quite recall her name. But what he did know was that he did not like her at all, from the top of her green-haired head to the tip of her gaudily decorated shoes.

Her eyes suddenly flared up dangerously, and his sluggish, groggy brain barely registered his catastrophic mistake before she exclaimed angrily, "Servant? Ha! Ha! How typical, o glorious Ostian Prince, one of great intelligence! No, for your information, Almighty Lycian Lordling1, I am but a lowly slave to the Lady Fiora, not fit to even tread upon her shadows." Her speech positively dripped with sarcasm, and he had enough consciousness to sense that, at least.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it, then?" he shot back, managing to sound just as mocking as her. Yesterday's events came flooding back to him, unwelcome and hellish as the devil himself. Oh yes, he remembered her now, the one Lady Fiora introduced as her servant. Her name was…Lana? Something to that effect. Well, he did not like her cocky stance and expression yesterday (or rather, he felt that he would have, had he been paying attention), and he had no reason to like it today, especially when she – a servant, slave, whatever – talked back so rudely to him. A prince, to say the least. "Would you like me to appoint you to a position in the Ostian Court, Lana?" Second mistake. If looks can kill, Hector would have died at least a dozen times already.

"Lana? Lana!" she crowed, catching him by surprise. At her derisive laugh his famed short temper flickered to life, but before he could say anything in his own defense, she cut him off, glaring spitefully at him. "My name is Lyn. Get it right," she snapped. "And no, I don't want to be a part of your noble court, no thanks for the offer," she added nastily. Hector groaned inwardly. Their argument was going nowhere. He was just wasting time and energy, and he didn't have a lot to spare, especially so early in the morning with an empty stomach. Perhaps it was better if the servants remained quiet and timid, rather than open and malicious. It certainly made his life easier. Somewhat.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," he said. "Why are you here?" Whatever she was here for, he just wanted to get it over with. And plus, it was plain that she didn't want to be here. And it wasn't like he enjoyed her company anyway.

"I told you," Lyn said edgily, her eyebrow arching irritably. "Your morning feast is ready. Your parents are waiting for you." He growled, still not liking her tone.

"Tell them I don't feel well," he said, pulling the sheets back on himself again. Which was a good thing, because Lyn's expression had just gone from sour to fuming.

"You lords are all the same!" she exclaimed unexpectedly, causing him to look up in surprise. "Do this, do that. Self-centered, nagging, and egotistic! Yes, Your Highness, I will do as you ask!" She stormed out of the room in quite a hurry, leaving him to stare after her, open-mouthed. What had he done wrong now? She was a slave—what was the big deal?

He was about to fall asleep when a sudden bang at the door woke him up for the second time this morning. A dread sort of feeling filled his stomach, and sure enough, there she was, standing in his room, looking angrier than ever.

"They didn't want you to miss your precious breakfast, so here it is," she said, snapping the food-filled tray onto the night table beside him. "Enjoy your food."

He peered at it closely—eggs, bacon, bread, butter, and milk. Nothing out of the ordinary. Lyn snorted, sensing his thoughts. "I didn't poison it, if that's what you're thinking."

"Considering that it's you," Hector retorted, hiding his embarrassment at being caught so easily, "I wouldn't be surprised if it had been." Her green eyes flashed again, and this time, he knew that he had made a definite mistake.

"I am a Sacaen," she snapped, her eyes glaring with a fierce pride. "We Sacaens are nothing like you nobles, craven and spineless. We are righteous and honest. We would never to something so cowardly as to poison someone's food." He scowled, then coughed, covering up his anger at her insult.

"All right, all right, fine. I get your point!" Hector cried, throwing his hands into the air. He had had enough—he just wanted her out now. "Go away and let me eat in peace!"

She glared at him. "I wish. Their Royal Highnesses and Lady Fiora wants me to serve you exclusively." Hector's eyebrows knitted together. Knowing his parents, they were after something.

"Do you happen know why?" he mumbled between bites of his bread. There was a brief pause.

"Lady Fiora wants me to find favor with the prince," she said finally, in a disgusted tone. He almost spat his milk out.

"What!"

"Not that kind of favor, dolt," she said crossly, reading his thoughts once again. Then she smirked. "You know, for a prince, you're kind of crude." It was his turn to glare.

"Thanks," he replied sarcastically, spearing his eggs with his fork. "I get that a lot." She smiled maliciously in return, and his scowl deepened. Oh, how he wished that he was back a day, when he did not have an annoying shadow glowering down at him as he ate his breakfast. He began to eat quicker, figuring that once he was done, she would go away and do whatever slaves do around here, and he would be free from her for the rest of the day. But not quite so…

"I thought it was breakfast-only!" came Hector's protest. And sure enough, there Lyn stood, in front of him, her face as almost red as in the prince.

"And I would be dancing with joy if it only were!" Lyn shouted back. Her hands were curled into fists, and she was glaring spitefully up at him. He groaned despairingly.

"You mean, all day long?" he asked, a gloomy note creeping into his voice. Lyn snorted.

"Yes, how many times do I have to repeat myself?" she snapped. "And believe me, I did not beg for this, either."

"Blast it," he snarled, trudging his way toward the library, due for his history lessons. And Lyn followed him, making sure that she was a good distance behind him. Blast his parents, blast Lady Fiora who placed this…this burden upon him! Why won't they just leave him alone!

But maybe, Hector thought as he nearly tore the library doors open, maybe if I ignored her she'd be at least somewhat tolerable… Which was quite the wrong way to go, when dealing with the spitting hellcat, as he was soon about to find out. History lesson went like this:

Teacher: (lecturing Hector about the history of Ostia)

Hector: (feeling thirsty) Do you mind if I get a cup of water?

Teacher: Of course not. You there—(pointing at Lyn) Get His Highness a cup of water.

Lyn: (disdainfully) Of course, anything for your Royal Highness. (gets a goblet, deliberately pours slowly)

Hector: (dying with thirst) Hurry it up, will you?

Teacher: (glare) Your Highness, one of the virtues of a royalty is patience.

Hector: (shoots a glare at Lyn) Sorry. My apologies.

Lyn: (scathingly places the goblet in front of Hector) Here it is. (goes back to her corner)

Hector: (checking to make sure that there's no poison)

Teacher: (raising an eyebrow) Your Highness?

Hector: Sorry. (drinks)

Even getting something to drink was this difficult. Hector lived in constant fear of Lyn slipping some kind of poison into his food and drinks—after all, her hatred for nobles was evident; who was to stop her from poisoning him, even if she claimed to be a "honest Sacaen"? No one has ever directly said to his face that Sacaens were savage and vulgar, but from the way nobles talked of the plainspeople, it was apparent that they did not hold the nomads in their highest regards. And Hector thought, no smoke without a fire, right?

And if history lesson was bad enough, his combat training was worse. It was hard enough trying to concentrate on swinging a heavy hammer—his combat arts teacher, Oswin, thought him ready for hammers, which are much harder to control and use—without someone looking down at you and sneering at you when you made the slightest of mistakes. Especially for Hector, who was completely unused to being made fun of.

"Milord?" came Oswin's voice, breaking through his thoughts. "If you do not concentrate, you will lose your balance and fall." A heavy thud greeted his advice.

"Ow…" said Hector, trying to untangle himself from his hammer. Why did they make these blasted things so big and heavy? "Sorry—what?" Oswin sighed.

"Never mind," he said, lowering his own weapon. "Milord, I think it is enough for today." To Hector's joy.

"Thank you!" the prince cried in an undignified way. When Oswin gave him a queer look, and Hector, realizing his mistake, quickly corrected himself. "Uh, thank you for the lesson today. Good day, Lord Oswin." The knight nodded in satisfaction and exited the training grounds, and Hector threw down his hammer and sighed, frustrated.

He must be a perfectly mannered gentleman, patient, kind, calm, and wise. He knew that he was none of those things—unlike his late brother. But everyone expected him to be, ever since Uther had came to his untimely end in a particularly bloody battle. Everyone, including his parents, compared Hector with his brother, and clucked their all-knowing tongues whenever he stepped a toe out of the line. He told himself over and over again that he did not care about what others thought, but he wasn't so sure. When Uther was alive, Hector used looked up to him for guidance and wisdom—now he was growing to hate him, his shadow, the burden he placed on his two shoulders. Sometimes it was too much, and he wished that he were born a commoner, rather than a crown prince. Then people wouldn't care about winning his favors, or throw themselves at his feet, expecting him to shower them with gifts, or other honors, and he wouldn't have to act so stiff and be bound by the rules—

"Prince Hector," Lyn broke in, and Hector lost his train of thoughts for the second time. "It is nearly time for dinner feast." He looked up. In his moment of anger, her face looked cruel, twice as malicious as it did during his history lesson.

"I know!" he spat, and her expression twisted. But he didn't care right now, even though his voice was already harsh from their numerous clashes; he would almost be glad if they could have another argument, anything to distract him from his present thoughts—

"Hurry up and go in, then," she said dangerously, and spoke no more. Altogether unexpected, but he had no time to dwell upon it at the moment. Whirling around and without another word, he marched back into the castle. He did not see Lyn until the end of the dinner.

Author's Note: (bangs her head on the keyboard) asldfh;h'qwet...Awful. This chapter was terrible. Nevertheless, I enjoyed writing it. 8D;;; Sorry for the long no-update! (continues banging)

Lao Who Mai: Um...does that mean I should apologize for the predictability? 8D;;; Teehee. But I didn't want Lyn to be a nobility--sorta. Will be explained in later chapters. (evil laughter) So keep reading! (kidding.)

Miss Krux: Heehee. Thank you!

Wandering Cat: Waah! You don't like Hector at all and you're STILL reading it? I must strive to write better, in that case!

Lavender Raine: Thank you for your review! (feels special)

Reviews and constructive criticisms are always appreciated!