She could see the grand gray stone castle with an iron imposing gate. She shivered at the sight of the house crest, a dragon holding an O with a small line inside it. She couldn't read well, being the daughter of a peasant, but she understood THETAS under the dragon well enough. Her heartbeat increased rapidly in her chest, knowing that of all the places, she was here. Even the dragon now intimidated her. It had great wings like a bat, and the black iron scales were so detailed, it looked as if it would come to life and swallow her whole. She gulped and put her head down, in case she offended the ornate statue.
K.R. Saw this out the corner of his eye and the small twinge of pity for the frail, frightened girl grew a bit more. There was no way she would make it here; they would eat her alive as their new toy. This was especially true if Master's teenage cousin Lady Beatrix found her first. She was especially cruel and loved to whip the servants until they couldn't stand.
They went into the service entrance and fear ripped through the rest of the new slaves. The older servants were no better. Those that tended the courtyard bowed low, fearing the whip on K.R.'s side, knowing that it could be the lash for them as well if he felt disrespected. Thankfully for them, his mood was too sour to do anything but walk his horse to the holding area and hitch it up, before presenting the new servants to the noble lord.
They walked silently, holding tears, and not looking to meet the eyes of their new master… who wasn't there. She was blessed she thought, she would not meet the gaze of any nobles tonight, for this was the last night of the New Year's Feast that was held for 3 days, under the gates of the castle, to solidify ties. Or so she thought.
Without warning or reason, she was yanked by the chains, falling over into the dirt, then given the lash with something wooden for falling. It didn't bleed, but it would bruise her back later. The mark of a slave would never be removed, however, even though the chains were being reeled into a large loop for reuse. The thick cuffs around her wrists would mark all to see that she was in servitude.
"Look at this one, she's already useless!" Spat the maid with the long spoon that struck her.
There was a loud scream, followed by gasps, and any servant that was close enough, scrambled back to the kitchen. Master's guest was a visiting noble, and had been offended by a servant being clumsy. She was timid, and spilled his drink on his pants. The girl was killed on the spot, and dragged away to a place in the lower basement called the Cells by the other servants.
"We need another server for Master." Said a male servant, panting profusely. He had seen it all, how the Master so swiftly dispatched the maid with his bare hands and ordered her to be removed without thought. She was new, but there was no mercy. To him, she was merely a maid who overstepped her place by being incompetent. The others that came in before him also relayed the same message, along with clear protests that they would not go…. but eyes shifted to the new ones. Specifically, Samira.
"At least she's easy on the eyes," She scoffed. "Lord Remington just had a girl removed, so you're in luck, you get to serve Master's table, new blood." She said coldly, yanking her up and pushing her into the kitchens.
Some of the girls looked jealous, while the men looked at her with pity. She didn't know what to make out of all of it. It was true that the Master was brutal, but he was also ruggedly handsome. Years of conquest and battle had made him male perfection, but most, if they knew any better, wouldn't stare. To gain his attention was never a good thing, and here she was, being pushed into a small stone room with dim sconce light, to put on a dress that barely fit.
It was too loose and draped over her shoulders a bit. It had no sleeves, so it showed her chainless shackles on her wrists like silver bracelets. The plain white dress had no adornments, and it was slightly tinged the slightest brown. Any noble would instantly know she was a slave with a throwaway dress on, but she didn't care. This was probably the most elegant dress she had ever been in. That someone would throw this to the servants to wear at parties amazed Samira. This alone was at least a gold piece.
She was smacked on her backside with the wooden spoon for slacking; daydreaming was for the nobles. "By the Ten…. You won't last an hour out there… but I'm not goin', and neither is my daughter, now hurry up!" She shoved a large silver platter in her hand, and pushed her slightly. She didn't know where to go or who to serve…. no one had even told her what Master looked like.
She could only guess that it was the men who sat at the largest, and most ornate table. There were 3. The Great Lords of the country of Nameer. To the left was the ruler of the southern state of Ferngreen, to the West, the coastal shores of Blacksand and the North, that encompassed the east as well, was the cold land she called home, Hemlock.
She held her head low, as low as one could while walking to make sure she didn't offend any of these powerful men. They ruled almost all the land of this continent, and it would be most unwise to raise their ire. She became nervous, she didn't know these men, or how much power they had. However, she could guess. If she did understand fully, she would have been dead a while ago.
She made sure not to stumble, even though she had no idea why the other maid was killed, she wasn't dumb. She guessed since it was at the dinner table when she died, she must have spilled something. She swayed her hips unknowingly to the music, attracting attention to herself. The nobles were all either amused, or repulsed by her uncourtly actions, but they would let Master decide her fate. That she wasn't at least scolded so far was beyond them.
Her graceful gate and shy demeanor caught the attention of the Master. Her white dress against her pale, but slightly toasted skin reminded him of a dessert. Her scent did as well… she smelled as sweet as fresh strawberries on harvest day, though she wore no perfume or oils he could detect. He didn't know it, but the other Lords noticed his interest in the girl as she walked nearly quiet as a mouse.
"She is a beauty isn't she, Lord of Death? As pretty as a maid in rags." Joked the West Lord of Blacksand. His portly belly bounced with his robust laugh of jesting. It made the necklaces that adorned his thick neck jingle, and he almost lost his wig. He was the bravest of the Lords, some would say, as he always had a great laugh at making jokes toward the Lord of the North and east, also nicknamed the Lord of Death.
He was given a glare that would silence any other, even make them beg for mercy, but it only slowed him down. He wiped a tear from his eye, satisfied that he showed the Southern Lord that he held a higher status than him. He held a grumble, clutching his cutlery ever so tightly in frustration. Lord Thetas was never too fond of him, but allowed him to live thus far because he didn't feel like the hassle of a long war when he already had so much to run. They were here for peace after all, and if anything, the Lord of Death was to pick a bride.
None of the women so far had interested him. They smelled too sweet, and looked too longingly. He wanted someone who would be his and his alone, not shared amongst the courts. He could tell this maid was innocent by the way she acted alone. She served their food with the grace of a lady, but he frowned at seeing her shackles. She was a slave.
Dust beneath his feet.
He thought to himself that he did not need this girl, but by the Ten, he most assuredly did. She awakened something within him that he had not felt until now. She had gained his attention, and infatuation. The other nobles in the room suddenly seemed less appealing. He averted his gaze off the slave directly, and coldly took the meal before him. She dared not look at him, speak to him, or raise her gaze anywhere other than what she was doing, however, this actually interested him more.
She was docile as a doe, and a voice he anticipated to hear. "What is your name slave?" He said, glaring at the iron shackles on her small wrists. All slaves held these cuffs, to let others know of their status, as well as who they belong. She belonged to him already, but he wanted her in a different way. He wanted her for more than a possession.
"I'm Samira, Master." She stuttered shyly. Samira was mortified that she somehow got Master's attention, even though she did everything she could to appear her station. She shook holding the now empty tray. Her heart beat as fast as a cornered mouse, for indeed she honestly was. He was a lion in mortal's clothing. She flinched upon feeling his large hand gently pin a bit of hair behind her ear, but it tingled a bit as well.
She did the unthinkable by accident, and looked him in the eyes. They were the most beautiful blue with a hint of gray. They looked like the sky on an overcast day, and his face was cleanly shaven, and perfectly chiseled. His raven black hair was well managed, and put in a low bun because of its length, though he preferred it loose. He looked like he was only in his early 20's, but she figured he could be older since he had so many accomplishments. His pink lips were in a thin line, and she panicked. She looked down, realizing her mistake, and closed her eyes, expecting to die like the last girl. But no death came, she just stood there with her head tilted towards the floor.
"Bring us drinks." He commanded softly, which made the other nobles stop their boisterous conversations to look at who captivated the interest of the Lord of Death. Surely it was the noble women at his table, not some lowly slave. Any other servant would have died, why did he show her mercy? Did he know her? Quiet chatter and gossip arose from the scene that laid before them, but she stood there, as if she were processing what he had said. Why was she still there?