The Dark Lord's Lady

The Dark Lord’s Lady

Chapter two: In Which it is Established That Our Two Main Focuses Are Not Morning People


The pale morning light streaming in from the windows caused Sophorim to wince in discomfort and wonder what madness caused him to be up at such an unnatural hour. He was stiff and sore and why in blazes was he sleeping in a—

Ah.

Mid-stretch, he happened to glance down and see her. He blinked stupidly at the woman sleeping on the bed next to his chair. Now the details of his somewhat hasty and possibly ill-advised visit to the mortal realm came rushing back. Well, he hadn’t much of a choice, had he? Simply put, he’d wanted her. Just as simply, Sophorim made a habit of getting what he wanted. So when he saw someone trying to take what he wanted, he’d interfered and set things right again.

Had he not done so, he would never have found out how much lovelier she made the morning. She had relaxed from his imposed sleep spell but yet remained deeply asleep. She lay in a sprawl across the bed, which didn’t look very comfortable to him. One arm lay on the pillow next to her head, a loosely curled fist almost lost in the spill of her hair. Her other arm stretched out behind her, as she was currently twisted about on her side with her legs drawn up. The fabric of her shift had ridden up until the neck of the garment covered her chin, which was tucked in as she slept. Briefly, he wondered if he should straighten her limbs out, but the way she was curled up gave him an idea.

The drain on his power the night before had been very considerable and he remained dog-tired. In fact, crawling into bed next to the woman was very tempting. Now that he thought of it, he didn’t have to go to the trouble of relocating to his own room and bed, now did he?

This one will do just fine, he decided as he leaned down to pull aside the blanket. Why not? For four-hundred years or so it was my bed, so one more morning in it will be like old times. Well, he thought as he paused to regard the sleeping woman, maybe not quite the same. He smirked down at her, considering what sort of fuss she’d raise when they woke up again. Whatever she did, he was positive he could handle it. He tugged on the blanket, freeing it from under her arm. When she twitched he froze, curious to see if she would wake up after all. She grumbled something under her breath, huffing lightly and threw out her arms, a frown fleeting across her face.

He chuckled and straightened up. “It appears I am rebuffed.”

He was also fully awake and he recalled he had a great deal of work to do. He wryly regarded his newest acquisition as he brushed himself off. After years of study, months of meditation, the days it’d taken preparing the spell itself and at last, a thankfully short search, he’d still been forced to hurry. Despite the absence of the foul mood he’d been in the night before, it remained his dearest wish that the revenant be a long time at its task. He also hoped the creature had retained enough of a sense of awareness to realize why it was being punished in the first place, but he’d never made a human revenant before, so he hadn’t the faintest clue if it would. At least the woman was where she was supposed to be and most importantly, unharmed.

At the door he paused for a last look into the room. Her chest rose and fell with each soft breath as she slept peacefully. He shook himself, turning away with the assurance he’d have plenty of time later to view her. Now was not the time to be mooning over his lovely, young… hm. Mistress, perhaps? That hardly sounded right. What exactly could he call a human he’d stolen for the purpose of bearing his children? Whatever he was to call her, he had to see to her proper lodging and comforts. He shut the door behind him gently and turned the key in the lock, to ensure she stayed put if she rose before his return.

Sophorim assumed the scowling expression his staff was most familiar with. During his long years of rule, it had proven to be the one which caused the highest level of anxiety and apprehension amongst his subjects, thereby giving weight to his every utterance and alacrity to their movements as they frantically dove to obey.


***


Finished with his morning repast of last night’s roast, Rowl hurried up the stairs leading to the nearly empty wing which held Lord Sophorim’s personal chambers. The day had just begun after all and he had his duties as the Lord’s valet, which he took very seriously. He was fairly early, so he planned on haunting his Lord’s sitting room and sketching up a few ideas while he awaited the eventual loud cursing which always heralded Lord Sophorim’s return to wakefulness. So, when he saw His Lordship heading towards the Main Hall with a fair amount of purpose in his stride, he felt he could not be blamed for freezing mid-step and not dropping to his knee immediately. When Lord Sophorim saw him, he beckoned him to follow with a grunt and a peremptory snapping of his fingers.

Rowl fell in behind him, though not without the despairing thought that His Lordship was ever ill-tempered in the mornings, although he wisely kept that to himself. He also pinched himself surreptitiously, because the elf lord had beheaded others for far less than forgetting to bow to him and it wasn’t like him not to notice. As he hurried to keep up with the long-legged stride of his Lord, one particular reason for his distraction and less than sanguine mood suddenly came to him. While Rowl was not privy to the details in the least, he knew that something had gone wrong with his Lord’s plans when Lord Sophorim had burst from his tower door, a naked and completely unconscious mortal woman in his arms. It had been, all in all, a rather dramatic scene which had the castle abuzz with speculation well into the small hours. As everyone in the castle knew, his Lordship was most likely displeased with having had to act before the rooms and appointments were entirely ready. Therefore, Rowl reasoned, the small matter of his past months’ work might be welcome news. At the very least, a little cheering news now may help in warding off a few beheadings later.

Right. Proceed with caution, he reminded himself. Nervously, Rowl raked his claws through the coxcomb of black hair atop his head and cleared his throat in his most obsequious manner. When he saw throat-clearing wasn’t working he tried meekly, “Er, my Lord?”

“Hm?” Rowl was not surprised by the dark expression turned to him at last.

“If it pleases you Lord, I have several items of clothing ready for the young lady.”

Lord Sophorim stopped abruptly and Rowl fell to one knee just in case he had just remembered Rowl’s failure to bow earlier. “You do? Already?”

He lifted his gaze from His Lordship’s boots to his face, gauging his mood. He brightened when interest, rather than murderous intent was all he saw. “Most certainly. Creating a lady’s wardrobe has been a dream of mine, you know,” he added slyly.

Lord Sophorim snorted, his mood visibly improved upon hearing of one thing going his way already this morning. He proceeded down the hallway at a slower pace and casting a rather cocky grin back at Rowl over his shoulder said, “You do realize Rowl, that most males are thinking of ways to undress women. You, in fact, seem to have it backwards.”

“Your pardon Lord, but I cannot ignore my higher calling as a valet and tailor,” Rowl sniffed. “In truth, I was beginning to despair of ever getting more of a challenge than stitching your Lordship’s leathers.”

“I almost imagine that comment borders on an admonishment.”

“It was not intended as such, Your Grace,” Rowl assured him, but at the same time thought, but surely your guilt at possessing such a fearfully drab wardrobe made it one. Over the past few years, since his Lord had offhandedly confided his plans to his goblin valet, Rowl had feverishly been drawing one design after another. As the time when Lord Sophorim would bring a mortal back to the castle had grown nearer, even Rowl had to admit to himself that he had driven the weaverfolk to distraction with requests for finer cloth when it came time to finally create the gowns. He was fairly certain no one anticipated the arrival of the human more than he. Well, he admitted to himself, with the single exception of His Lordship.

His musing was interrupted when Lord Sophorim suddenly commanded, “Bring what you have to the main audience chamber and when you are done, meet me in the storerooms.”

Rowl’s heart fairly leapt from his scaly green breast at those long awaited words. “It will be done immediately!” He dropped to the floor in a deep bow and added, “Thank you, Your Majesty!”

Lord Sophorim rolled his eyes and growled, “Oh, don’t rub it in, damn you. You know I hate that ‘Your Majesty’ shit.”


***


Sabbath woke up confused. At first she had laid in bed, letting her awareness return gradually with her eyes closed, trying to place a sense of wrongness which had slowly filtered into her consciousness. A slight headache pooling behind her eyes pressured her to simply try to return to sleep, but the sense of dislocation had stepped in and told her there was something wrong and now she was awake.

The strangeness seemed present in everything and made her nervous about opening her eyes. Her pillow felt wrong for one thing. Also, the blankets wrapped warmly around her didn’t smell like fabric softener, which was very odd because she had just done the laundry the other day. She remembered the drive to the laundromat very clearly, because she’d had to make a trip to the bank to withdraw ten dollars. She hadn’t had enough change on her to finish drying her blankets and comforter. Traffic had been bad… wait a minute. There was another thing, in fact. She couldn’t hear the drone of traffic passing the apartment. Northwyck was a busy street and her little walk-up apartment was just off it, so why couldn’t she hear cars? There’s no way my cheap-ass landlord had installed sound-proofed windows while I was at work last night, so what the hell?

There was nothing for it, she had to open her eyes. Sabbath blinked at the ceiling thinking, Wha… The ceiling was white, in much the same way her own was. However it lacked that same claustrophobic closeness she was used to. Instead of seeing the familiar, cracked old plaster held together indifferently with several coats of paint, pristine white plaster crossed with dark wooden beams arched high above her.

How bewildering. I’m not in my home.

Now, the fact that the sun was streaming in on the wrong side of her from the wrong sort of windows was perfectly well-explained. She stared at the tall, narrow windows, watching dust motes dance in the reassuring light of an otherwise normal sunny morning. It was morning, wasn’t it? Her brow wrinkled a bit in consternation. The slightly ruddy sunlight wasn’t even very low on the wall, which might indicate the time was just after sunrise… or just before sunset.

Didn’t she have class today? Shit! Sabbath threw the blankets back and surged upwards. Explanations could come later. She had Geology with Dr. Burgess at nine a.m., if she hadn’t already missed it.

Once her blankets were thrown off, she looked down and noticed she was wearing an unfamiliar and very short item of clothing. “Oh no… someone’s got some ‘splainin’ to do,” she growled to herself.

To top that off, a quick scan of the room showed her that her own clothes were nowhere in evidence. With nothing to change into, she looked around the room again. From the white plaster and wooden beams, to the dark burgundy rugs on the highly polished wooden floor, it appeared she had somehow managed to check into a really high class bed and breakfast. There was a kind of canopy over her bed and very expensive although …and here she wrinkled her nose in distaste, very dusty, deep maroon velvet drapes hung from it. There was a very nice looking tapestry on the wall across from her, but the battle it depicted didn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d hang in a bedroom. She squinted at it curiously thinking, Now I think of it, don’t the people fighting look kinda weird? Their skin was too white maybe, or their eyes were too large. It didn’t seem to follow any style for it to be a reproduction of a famous piece, so it was just… odd.

Ok, so this is some weird bed and breakfast I’m in and I have no idea how I got here, but one thing’s certain. I gotta get the fuck out before they give me the bill. That thought foremost in mind, she began getting out of bed. Just as her thighs slid to the edge, she heard a clatter. It wasn’t distant, in fact it was getting louder. Sabbath began to panic. She looked wildly around for somewhere to hide, but there was no bathroom to duck into. She couldn’t pretend to be in the shower and unavailable for a perusal of the bill. Damn it, she was a college student who didn’t ask to be checked into some fancy place without any way to pay for it! She only had like… what? Eighty bucks in her account now?

She heard the door latch begin to jiggle as whoever was on the other side tried the door. She reflected that it could possibly be someone who was bringing her breakfast, as she was already enjoying the ‘bed’ part of the bed and breakfast. In any case, the bill might show up with breakfast. With no choices available, she flung herself back under the covers and turned her head away from the door. She would feign sleep while they brought in the food and once they left, she would see about getting the hell out of Dodge.

The door opened and Sabbath thought, I’m sleeping and whoever you are, you’re the kind of maid who is discreet. Upon seeing the guest still all conked out, you’re the kind of maid who will just flit off to your other duties, having seen to my breakfast being delivered.

Sabbath heard the clinking getting closer and stop next to her bed. Sabbath remembered to keep her breathing nice and steady, doing an admirable job of pretending in her opinion. She could smell something good and all of a sudden, she realized she was ravenously hungry. Well, before she headed for the hills, surely a little nosh wasn’t out of the question. Now all the maid had to do was set the damned tray down and for God’s sake leave.

But damn the woman, she wasn’t cooperating and Sabbath realized that yes, this was her morning from hell. What the hell’s the problem, she wondered. There’s a table next to the bed and surely she can set the tray down there, right? She had to concentrate on not tensing in apprehension and then when she heard the tray finally settle down, she twitched. The maid paused next to her bed and Sabbath realized she might have seen her flinching. Damn it. As nice as this place seems, it’s terribly creepy isn’t it? I mean, it’s as quiet as the grave!

As quiet as it was, Sabbath became very nervous when she heard harsh breathing near her ear. How rude! What the hell is with the service industry these days? Another reason to tense up occurred to her. The breathing didn’t sound very feminine did it? What if some guy was breathing in her ear? Maybe she could get out of paying by raising hell with the management? The breathing on her ear stopped and she was relieved to hear the maid or whoever step back.

The gravelly voice surprised her into opening her eyes as she heard the person mutter under their breath, “Hmph, kind of pasty but I guess there’s no accountin’ for taste.”

That cuts it, Sabbath decided as she suddenly sat up and turned to face her critic.

And the scornful comeback she had been formulating instantly died in her throat.


***


The storerooms were an utter disaster. Rowl had not been kept waiting long when Lord Sophorim had appeared and the trunks were opened. Upon seeing the damage to the clothing stored within, Lord Sophorim’s mood had taken a dangerous plunge and Rowl was beside himself. More than half of Lady Hycera’s gowns had been reduced to scraps long ago due to a combination of sloppy storage and the depredations of vermin. Rowl was certain he’d be held culpable but luckily, a maid pointed out the job had been the responsibility of the previous Quartermaster, who was already long dead. Not that that would make much difference, Rowl shuddered, since His Lordship is a highly accomplished necromancer.

That it had been the clothing of the Lord’s cherished Lady Mother which had been ruined certainly didn’t bode well for the old goblin’s bones. He’d seen the fleeting look of sorrow immediately replaced by fury when the Lord had first surveyed the damage. Now the only hope the old corpse had rested entirely on Rowl’s narrow shoulders. That was, unless the last chest held a surprise.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rowl saw another guard manhandling the last chest out to the newly appointed lady’s maids cowering behind the morning’s disappointments.

“Seems an awful lot of fuss for a brood mare, don’t it, ladies?” Surely the idiot had wanted to impress the fairly attractive goblinesses, but Rowl cringed. Obviously the guard was unaware that his Lord was kneeling in front of the chests, a handful of ruined silks streaming from his clenched fist. The guard’s comment was not met with the laughter he’d apparently expected. In fact, Rowl was certain he could hear dust settling in the silence following the suicidally stupid remark.

Rowl, the maids and the other guards began to edge towards the door as Lord Sophorim rose to his feet with a positively thunderous look on his face. The guard gasped, yellow eyes wide in fear, doubtlessly recognizing that expression as he turned an interesting shade of puce.

His own terror at the sudden aura of impending violence in the air notwithstanding, Rowl grabbed the elbow of a shivering maid in each hand and began guiding them out the door. As he ducked out of the room and began closing the door behind him, he saw his Lord taking slow, measured steps towards the soon-to-be ex-guard. The elf lord hissed, “Was that supposed to be wit you were trying for?”

The thick wood didn’t block the shrieking of the guard or the flashes of green light escaping the seam between the floor and the door. It certainly didn’t block the oppressive feel of magic being worked and Rowl just found himself wishing Lord Sophorim would have simply beheaded the fool. The magic was so close the goblins waiting outside the storerooms had to fight to stand and Rowl couldn’t find it in himself to blame the new maid, Blecha, for fainting. He wanted nothing more than to slink back to his rooms and hide under several bolts of cloth. When the screams died away to a sickening, bubbly gurgling noise, Rowl was relieved to note even a guard or two swayed on their feet along with him.

Eventually the sense of magic working faded and the door opened to reveal a still very furious Lord Sophorim. His manner entirely glacial now, he raked each retainer and guard with his glare and asked quietly, “Tell me, has this euphemism,” and here even the guards flinched as he spat that word out, “attained a certain level of popularity amongst the staff?”

Rowl almost breathed a sigh of relief when their Lord at last appeared satisfied with the slight headshakes and strained denials of all present.

“Very well,” he snarled as he stepped back, opening the door wider. “You two,” he pointed out two shaking guards from the group, “take this garbage down to the gardens and tell them they have a new helper.”

When the two guards reappeared, dragging the slightly twitching former guard between them, Rowl felt a cold finger of terror stroking down his spine at the sight of him. Whatever had been done to him had caused blood to seep from his ears, nose and the corners of his eyes. Shocked, Rowl wished again for a simple beheading. One, because he had never been so close while Lord Sophorim had worked magic and he would be a long time shaking off the effects. Two, because not only was the goblin held between the guards now an ex-guard, he was also an ex-goblin, it seemed. He still breathed and there was the faintest ghost of awareness in his eyes, but Rowl could sense the absence of sentience, as if his soul itself had been drained from him.

After the shuffling creature had been led away, Lord Sophorim addressed them again saying softly, “Henceforth, I trust the only place the words ‘brood mare’ will be spoken is in the stables. Might I assume you are all clear on this?”

It turned out that no one had missed Lord Sophorim’s message. Of course, His Lordship never dealt in subtleties.


***


Rowl resolved to have a series of very stiff drinks in town later on, once he was done showing his work to Lord Sophorim. It was not even noon and he’d had enough shocks for the day. Now he had to worry over his Lord’s reaction to the results of last year’s hard work. He opened the trunk and pulled out the first gown. At his Lord’s contemplative look, Rowl stammered, “Of course, they’ll have to be adjusted, as I have no idea of the young woman’s measurements. But there are four dresses done and six more almost finished.”

“Measurements? Hm. Taking those should prove to be an interesting endeavor, as I doubt she’s ever seen a goblin before.”

“We could render her unconscious for the duration?” At Lord Sophorim’s sharp look, Rowl knew he was testing the already short bounds of his Lord’s patience. “It was merely a joke, my Lord,” he chuckled weakly.

Lord Sophorim didn’t look amused, but before he could comment, a piercing scream echoed faint and shrill from the castle’s upper levels. Lord Sophorim was gone before the last echoes faded and Rowl turned to shrug at his assistants, saying brightly, “Well, that answers whether or not she’s seen a goblin before, doesn’t it?”


***


Sabbath’s mouth dropped open as she tried to process the vision of horror. Said vision of horror stood about six feet away and stared blankly back at her from its yellow eyes. She could hear herself dragging in long, harsh gasps and told herself to stop panicking. No damned way that’s real, it’s just a very clever job with makeup, she told herself. That little voice of reason did not reassure the rest of her mind which was currently fixated on the swarthy, green patterned skin, yellow slit-pupiled eyes and bat ears. She glanced down, giving the thing a once over, and she saw a gray smock over which was an apron of all things and green banded legs ending in clawed feet. The thing’s hands were clawed too. A dry, raspy chuckle instantly drew her attention back to the thing’s face and when she saw the very real gaping maw full of pointed teeth, she immediately lost it.

Her first piercing shriek made the thing stagger back and grab its ears and she decided that anything that made it back off was a good thing, no matter how the sound bounced off the walls, echoing in the small room.

When she screamed again the thing stepped forward, looking angry and showing those fangs again. Sabbath did the only thing she could. She grabbed the tray next to her and snatched the knife from it. Then, with the thing’s next step forward, Sabbath flung the tray with all its contents at it. Determined not to freeze in dismay at the resounding crash the tray made or the food splattering on the creature and the wood floor, she jumped off the bed.

Surprised that she’d managed to keep her feet clear of the blankets and not stumble, Sabbath shifted her weight to the balls of her feet and trained her gaze on the thing, trying to assess its next move. So far, so good, she thought as she saw it still hadn’t moved. She raised the knife and glared at the scowling, breakfast-covered thing and in a high shrieky voice gasped, “Stay the fucking hell away from me! I don’t know what’s going on, but this is not funny!”

Realizing the loud crash of the tray on the floor might bring more things like the one in front of her, Sabbath backed up to a chair in the corner. Instead of coming after her, the thing dropped to its knees and started cleaning the mess. Dumbly, Sabbath watched its clawed fingers swiftly gathering dishes and scraping food back onto them. All the while it muttered and threw her dark looks.

Sabbath stared at it in bewilderment, because it seemed not in the least inclined to come after her. Granted, it was wearing an apron and yes, it had brought her breakfast but damn! It had viper eyes and a mouth which was an orthodontist’s nightmare! What the hell was she supposed to do? Nod calmly and eat her breakfast?

Still holding the knife up to ward off any possible advance, she saw the creature scowl darkly at her. It spoke again, the raspy voice sending shivers down her spine, “His Lordship, I’m sure, won’t find your foul language and stupidity funny either, chit.”

Sabbath ignored the insults and scowled back at the creature. She figured some questions might be in order, as the thing didn’t look like it was planning to come after her and eat her, after all. “Who’s ‘his Lordship?’, since I’m now willing to accept this is not a bed and breakfast?”

It snorted. “You’ll be finding out soon enough,” the creature chuckled darkly. “But he was the one that brought you here.”

“Then he and I are going to share some words.” Upon hearing her statement, the creature gave her a doubtful look and went back to muttering as it cleaned up.

Sabbath whined to herself, “This is the worst fucking morning ever.” Now the talk had stopped, the only thing Sabbath could hear now was her own whimpers and harsh breathing. She was shocked, yes, but was she really whimpering? God, do I really sound like that? It doesn’t really look like it’s going to kill and eat me, does it? She decided to concentrate on her breathing, because whatever came next, she resolved she would face it calmly. From the top of a chair, holding a bread knife. Yeah.

Luckily, Sabbath found she didn’t have long to wait. Just as she was considering the insanity of dropping the knife and apologizing to the creature for her rudeness, because it really did look very put-out over having to clean up breakfast, the door flew open, narrowly missing hitting the creature’s rump. Almost afraid to see what might be bursting through the door now, Sabbath raised both the knife and her gaze.

Whatever she had been expecting, he wasn’t it. She gaped, feeling that she was well within her rights to do so. He was quite possibly the most attractive man she’d ever seen and whatever fears she’d had regarding the creature were forgotten as she studied this new development in her morning.

Well, at least the odd-looking people in the tapestry are explained, she thought. He looked so very like them it was almost as if he’d stepped down from the picture woven in the fabric. Long hair of the inkiest black fell in waves and curls down past his very broad shoulders. Dark eyebrows, currently lowered in a scowl, arched like graceful slashes of charcoal on the paper-white of his skin. He had large, canted eyes and Sabbath tried not to be obvious about staring, but there was something really odd about them aside from the shape. He had a knife’s blade of a nose and high cheekbones. Thin lips were currently pressed even thinner, leaving only a brief slash across his face. The sudden relaxing of the scowl, his fine eyebrows rising and thin lips quirking into amused annoyance caused her to gasp softly. If he is this handsome when irritated, he must be breathtaking when he smiles, she thought dimly.

He flicked an interested glance at Sabbath and then, as if shooting the breeze with monsters was an everyday thing for him, snapped, “Explain this mess.”

Wow, even his voice is heavenly! She almost missed the creature’s reply as she tried to stifle her hormonally driven thoughts.

“Your eternal pardon, oh gracious Lord, but it seems your guest ain’t a morning person, nor is she accustomed to the sight of goblins.”

Sabbath glared at the thing and ground her teeth angrily in lieu of any scathing remark. Not a morning person?! That thing has some nerve! She was very tempted to throw her knife at the damned thing and took back any and all thoughts about apologizing to it. Instead of concentrating on the ‘goblin’, she turned her attention back to the man who, very contrary to any image of hotel management she’d ever entertained, was not wearing a jacket and tie.

Of course, Sabbath remembered the thing had referred to him as the ‘Lord’ who had somehow brought her here. Even so, recollections of various members of the British Royals did indeed involve them wearing suits and such. This man’s clothing on the other hand seemed fairly archaic. Over some sort of black turtleneck shirt, he was wearing a strange loose-sleeved blue shirt which hung to mid-thigh over leather pants. Heavy-looking black leather boots came up to his knees and a belt at his waist held what looked like a sword. He also held some long spear-looking thing with a very wicked axe head. At least, despite the weaponry, he wasn’t as frightening-looking as the goblin.

Unable to help herself, she snuck another peek at his face. She almost dropped her knife as she realized he was looking her over and she suddenly remembered she was dressed in a very short nightgown. That half-lidded gaze heated her flesh but at the same time made her entirely too nervous. She didn’t know if anyone had ever looked at her with the same kind of hunger in his eyes.

Just as she was going to look away to hide what she felt was surely the reddest blush she’d ever had, he broke eye contact first, looking down at the goblin he nudged it with a boot and said, “Get to it then. Bring the next tray up to my sitting room as she still needs a meal.”

Well, he might be a little forward with his wandering gaze, she reasoned, but at least he keeps the important things in mind! Her stomach growled as if to lend its own comment and her eyes darted back to him in time to see him rest the spear thing against the wall. After he’d stepped aside to let the creature scuttle out of the room with the tray, he turned to study her again. She tugged at the hem of her gown and wondered if she should say something but he interrupted her thoughts with a beckoning gesture.

“If I am to show you around my home, you will be required to leave the dubious safety of your perch. As for the knife, I would appreciate it if you left it, as my tableware is hardly considered suitable for self-defense.”

She looked down at her bread knife and chuckled. “Well, you can hardly blame me. I mean, waking up to that- that thing…” She looked up from her knife to see him watching her closely. She shivered and asked miserably, “That wasn’t make-up, was it?”

“There is no artifice in Girfah’s appearance. She is one of many goblin servitors in residence at my castle.” He sounded almost cautious as he added, “I admit to having had some curiosity regarding your reaction upon seeing one for the first time.”

Sabbath gasped and in a horrified whisper asked, “Wait! That was a woman?” Another gasp came when he nodded and another idea struck her. “You mean there are more of them? That’s a lot of ugly to put up with in the morning, much less any hour of the day!”

“Your reaction will not endear you to the help, you know.” He smirked and added, “Good help is very hard to find, but unfortunately finding attractive help is nigh impossible.” His snicker at her reaction was cut off when she began to sway on her perch.

The idea of so many more goblins populating his castle was unnerving… Wait, had he said this was a castle? Suddenly her field of vision was cut off by an immense swath of midnight blue fabric and she nearly fell back against the wall. She hadn’t even heard him cross the room and she wondered if she was blacking out, for certainly no one could cross over fifteen feet that quickly and silently. She looked up into his eyes and saw immediately why she’d had that sense of something odd when she’d first seen him.

“They’re… they’re orange,” she whispered. In a way, his eyes were just about as alien as the viper eyes of his servant. Although she had to admit calling them orange was somehow lacking, instead they were all the colors of fire. Sabbath started to slide down, his firm grip on her arms guiding her to sit on the chair. She stared up at him in confusion and asked, “How can they be orange?”

“I think…” his eyebrows rose as he looked down at her speculatively, “that any questions you might have would be better answered over breakfast.” He held out a hand, indicating she should rise.

Sabbath shrank back from him into the chair and plucked at the shift she wore. “Not like this…” She gestured down at her bare legs and looked up in time to see him running an appreciative gaze over them. She flushed in embarrassment and said, “I think if I’m going to leave this room I’m going to need something more substantial than a nightgown, please.”

In response, he stepped aside to an armoire a few feet away from her. He began flicking through a few articles of clothing and soon enough was holding out a red robe and eyeing her possibly to gauge if the garment fit. He held it out to her and she got up to take it, noting its length would barely exceed that of the brief little gown she currently wore. It felt nice though. As she rolled it between her fingers curiously, she found it appeared to be made of silk, but as thick as the fabric was, it weighed nearly half what she’d have expected. Sabbath began shrugging it over her shoulders and nearly lost her arms in the wide sleeves. When she wrapped the belt around her waist she saw that the robe wasn’t much longer than the shift. In fact, her voluminous sleeves fell nearly to her knees, several inches below the hemline.

She cocked an eyebrow at him and said wryly, “This is a beautiful robe, but—“

He interrupted her and said assuringly as he looked her over, “Though it has never looked lovelier—“

“Very smooth,” she tried stifling another blush and interjected, “but it seems a bit short.”

He waved her concerns aside and said, “I have servants searching for more suitable clothing for you. However, it has been a very long time since a lady has lived in my castle, so it might take some time.”

“About this ‘castle’ and ‘Lord’ bit, which reminds me!” She glared up at him and added, “I’m supposed to be very upset with you.”

“Indeed?” He snorted and gazed down at her imperiously. “I assure you that you are far better off in my possession than the predicament I found you in.”

“What does that mean?” She finished tying the robe’s sash and peered up at him suspiciously.

“I will explain eventually but for now, come. We are wasting time and your mood will surely improve with some food in you.”

He pulled her towards him and she tried to ignore the delicate glide of his fingers on her inner arm. She looked up and didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried that he seemed just as entranced at the sensation when he began stroking her arm almost absently as he scrutinized her. His other hand went to her shoulder to lift the hair caught under the collar of her robe. The sensation of his fingers brushing the back of her neck caused her to shiver, gooseflesh raising hair and causing her flesh to prickle. His hand was still on the nape of her neck, his other hand tightening his grasp on her arm and it was as if she suddenly came to her senses. She nervously glanced at the bed behind him and blushed again, shrugging his hand off her neck.

Sabbath knew by the darkening look in his eyes that he had seen her thoughtless glance at the bed and began to curse herself for an idiot. Nice one, Sabby, she thought in annoyance. What the hell kind of woman is he going to take me for now?

***

AN: What kind of woman indeed? Yes, I am leaving it here for now, but never fear! So far, I have about five more chapters finished and awaiting editing. I hope the different POVs didn’t mess with anyone? I was trying to break things up and make it a little more interesting.

In any case, I was really pleased with the great reviews I got for the original two chapters! Thus, determined that I should do a decent job I rewrote the prologue and first chapter. I also bought reference material! (Egasp!) Also, if anyone is curious about updates, I’ll be keeping track of them in my livejournal, which you can find on my aff author’s page. You’re more than welcome to either lurk or friend me, as I appreciate feedback in any form.