The first rays of morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting the opulent bedroom in a soft golden glow. Lysandra sat on the edge of the massive bed, her fingers methodically buttoning her plain gray dress. Behind her, the silk sheets rustled.
"Stay."
The unexpected gentleness in Theron Blackwood's voice made her pause. This wasn't his usual commanding tone, the voice that could make guild masters tremble and trade rivals concede. There was something different, almost... tender.
Lysandra kept her eyes fixed on the polished floor. "The household will be waking soon. Maeve expects me to have the morning duties completed before…"
"Let someone else handle it." His hand reached for hers, the gesture so uncharacteristic that she couldn't help but turn to face him.
What she saw confused her. The hard lines of his face seemed softer, his calculating eyes now filled with something resembling vulnerability. Theron Blackwood, the ruthless merchant politician, looked... besotted.
She shuddered, as she recalled what had transpired between them hours earlier. He had come to her drunk and demanding, taking what he considered his right. But last night, in her desperation, she had silently called out, not to any specific deity, but to the darkness, to anyone who might listen. And in that moment, as he forced himself upon her, something had shifted. A warm sensation had bloomed within her core, spreading through her body like honey dissolving in hot tea.
"There's something different about you," Theron murmured, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I never noticed before how..."
Lysandra rose quickly, smoothing her skirts. "I need to go before Lady Ravenna sends someone looking for me."
His face darkened at the mention of his wife. "Ravenna doesn't concern herself with servants unless they've displeased her. Stay. I want to talk."
The hungry look in his eyes had transformed into something more unsettling, a need that went beyond the physical. It frightened her more than his usual callous disregard.
"I... I can't." She retreated toward the door, watching as indecision played across his features, a man clearly struggling against an unfamiliar compulsion.
In the safety of the dimly lit hallway, Lysandra pressed her back against the cold stone wall, her heart pounding. She tried to make sense of what had happened. Theron's behavior was unprecedented. The man who barely remembered the names of his servants now looked at her with fascination, even longing.
"Lysandra?" A familiar voice whispered from the shadows. Saren appeared, her hazel eyes wide with concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Are you alright?"
"I'm... I'm not sure." Her voice trembled as she took Saren's offered hand. "Something strange happened last night."
Saren glanced at Theron's closed door, then back at Lysandra. "Did he hurt you? More than usual, I mean?"
"No, not that." Lysandra lowered her voice further. "He changed. During... during the act. It was as if something passed between us, and now he's different, softer, almost entranced."
Saren's expression shifted from concern to alarm. "Come. Let's get to the kitchens before anyone sees us talking. Maeve is already in a foul mood."
As they hurried through the servants' passage, Lysandra couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had changed within her.
Throughout the morning, Lysandra moved mechanically through her duties, unable to focus on anything but the strange encounter. Twice she noticed Theron watching her from doorways, his eyes following her movements with an intensity that made the other servants whisper.
"He's never paid attention to anyone like that," an older maid muttered. "Except maybe Lady Ravenna in the early days."
By midday, rumors were spreading through the household. Lysandra's stomach knotted with anxiety as she carried linens to the upper floor. Turning a corner, she nearly collided with Lady Ravenna herself.
"Careful, girl," Ravenna said coldly, her gray eyes narrowing as she studied Lysandra's face. "You're the one my husband summoned last night, aren't you?"
Lysandra cursed and kept her gaze lowered. "Yes, my lady."
"Look at me."
Reluctantly, Lysandra raised her eyes. Ravenna was beautiful in a severe way, tall and elegant, with dark hair arranged in an intricate style. But today, there was something calculating in her assessment.
"How curious," Ravenna murmured. "Theron has been acting strangely all morning. Distracted, preoccupied." She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Whatever game you think you're playing, girl, remember your place. Servants who draw too much attention rarely fare well in this household."
After Ravenna swept away, lysandra sagged against the wall, trembling. What was happening to her? Had the goddess truly answered her desperate prayer?