Momir and the Widow

Momir looked at the striped creature next to him, feelings a mixture of apprehension and thrill. What was she up to?
She reached out and took his wrist, leading him towards the door. He hesitated, and she dug her claws in until he winced and allowed himself to be led. They crossed the gallery and stopped before the enormous doors. Beside him, the widow reached up and ran her fingers slowly over the division down the center of the seal. Looking at her, he could swear her expression was almost wistful. Her hand fell slowly to her side and they waited, together. Several moments of silence were ended by a faint whisper as the doors swung noiselessly inward on unseen hinges.

Within was a chamber of stark opulence. The granite walls had been carved in panels of relief foliage and polished to a gleam. In places, liquid silver had been poured down the walls and allowed to cool as it ran, before also being polished to a brilliant finish. The floor was a complex diamond mosaic of granite, onyx, and alabaster. Across from the door, on a raised dais with a lush carpet running to it, sat the emperor's throne, such as it was. A smooth concave lens shape, like a seashell, it was constructed of finely-woven black iron, padded with layer on layer of crimson velvet and exotic animal skins, cushioned with pillows, it reminded him more of the nest the widow had put together than a traditional throne.
As strange as it was, it was only fitting for the emperor himself. Every stranger had a different story of seeing the nigh-legendary mage walking the streets of his domain, and each one featured a wildly different description of the man himself, but Momir could plainly see the truth before him: Six feet tall, perhaps just over, he wore his black hair plated in a complex braid down the back of his neck and draped over his shoulder. His skin was as pale as any he had ever seen, possibly perfect if it were not for the angry red sigils carved carefully into his face and arms, runes of arcane power no doubt. The emperor wore neither shirt nor crown, for what need did he have for such formalities in the heart of his own home? His physique was as perfect as one must expect of a man who traded in flesh, both magically and commercially. Doubtless he had access to services easily rivaling those for sale in the pit below.

Momir's eye caught movement, and looking reflexively he caught a vanishing glimpse of a sleek black-and-orange form slipping out of sight behind a decorative angle in the wall. Before he could consider the relevance of this, he felt his captor release his hand, and turned to see her rushing towards the throne. She reached the stairs and fell into a deferential crouch, head lowered almost to touch the carpeted stair before her. He was uncertain how to react. The widow spoke suddenly, in hushed, rapid words that caught the emperor's attention. His reply was curt, abrupt, in the same tongue, together with a sharp shake of the head. The widow looked up, silence reigned for a moment, before continuing. Her tone suggested disappointment, and a hint of wounded pride. She gestured back towards Momir, without looking in his direction, and the emperor turned to look at the man.

"Come here, boy." His tone was smooth as silk, but commanding. Momir stepped hastily forward, and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, where he made an awkward bow, then decided perhaps kneeling was the best way to proceed.
The emperor looked him over for a minute, then addressed the widow again in her foreign tongue. They conversed for several moments before Momir heard another word he could understand. "What is your name, boy?"

"Momir Oridune. A merchant, my... your... imperial majesty" Momir finished awkwardly, and made another bow to compensate.

"Just 'lord' is fine. I am not much interested in titles and ceremony. Do you understand your situation, merchant Momir?"

Momir blanched, beginning to feel ill. "I have been marked for death, im---my lord. I beseech you, if you would be so indulgent as to hear me out, I can explain my actions. It was never my intention to commit a crime against your state, I was merely trying to offer the charity of food and shelter to a pitiful wretch of a woman... I..." He trailed off, his momentum gone. He looked up quickly to see the emperor looking down on him with a frightening look of amusement.

"It seems you do not. Many visitors misunderstand, so it is excusable in your case--A crime committed against my economy does not require the offender to forfeit their life. The forfeit is freedom. You belong to her now." He pointed casually at the widow. "Generally, my pets see fit to eat their possessions, they are always hungry after all. But you seem to have caught her fancy. Her name is Rabbit, I assume she has not managed to make that clear yet."

Momir was without words. That now-familiar feeling of blended relief and horror came over him. He struggled to overcome his fear, afraid he might vomit on the emperor's rug. Eventually, he managed to stammer out a reply. "I... I... belong to... her? Wh-What does she want with me, my lord? Surely there must be a-a-a negotiation we might come to..."

The emperor shook his head slowly "I am sorry, merchant Momir. I cannot take her things away from her. She's already quite attached to you. She wants you to serve her as a surrogate of sorts, I suppose. I created her, and her sisters. Molded them from a pack of werewolves caught wandering too near my city. They were an experiment, an attempt to create an ideal diplomatic assassin, a wolf-in-concubine's-clothing, so to speak, but the experiment failed. In Rabbit's case, one of my mistakes was in her training. She was supposed to love the man I gifted her to, until her hunger overcame her and she devoured him whole, but she loves only me, with a single-minded obsession. Unfortunately for her, I have other lovers who interest me more. Since then they have proven to be singularly effective at enforcing the law here, and generally they do their job without complaint or mistake, but you seem to have reminded her of myself, in some manner."

The emperor stopped, and Momir realized he was to provide some input. "Of-of you, my lord? How..?"

He shrugged slowly. "I'm sure you would have a better idea of that than I would, I have no knowledge of or interest in your mating habits. I surmise that you must have a rather rough hand, though you don't look much like the type, by the bruises on her cheek." Seeing Momir's mind rushing to come up with an explanation, he forestalled the nervous merchant. "It is no point of contention for me, do not worry yourself. Rabbit and her sisters were conditioned as slaves. They thrive on abuse. I think, perhaps, you would do well to make a note of that. But be mindful: Though she may crave servitude, she will not forget that she is, in truth, the master. If you are clever and willing to adjust, I think you may come to find that being her pet is a far more desirable arrangement than being her dinner. She is a more than adequate lover as you have no doubt discovered, trained by my own hand in the carnal arts, and even though you cannot speak to her, if you pay attention she will let you know when to beat her and when to beg her. She may be a cannibal, and perhaps not as bright as I had hoped, but she is not unreasonable."

Momir had to digest this for a moment. What a strange fate. A death sentence turned slavery masquerading as violent dominance? He looked up carefully, and ventured to ask "And I shall serve her like this for how long, my lord?" The emperor only nodded meaningfully, and Momir murmured uneasily "...forever?"
He knew the question was already answered, however. He collected himself, drew a deep breath. "If I may trouble you with another question, my lord... What tongue is it that she speaks? And does she truly not understand my words?"

"A dialect of Bariaur, chosen for it's obscurity. Since you bring it up, it is only fair to tell you--She does not speak common, or any other language spoken within a hundred miles, and she never will. Should it happen that she picks up an even passing understanding of any local language, it would be unfortunate, for her usefulness to me would drop significantly. This in turn could have undesirable consequences for you. The widows' world is their lord, and their dinner, and it must remain simple for them to be more useful than troublesome. It may come that over time you pick up some understanding of her language, living as you will in close proximity with her. This is not nearly such a problem for me. However, everything that she will ever need to know about myself, her own history, and the world at large has already been explained to her, so I would politely request that you refrain from educating her in such matters. I'm sure she is eager to show you to your new home, was there anything else I can clarify for you before you go?"

Momir nodded to himself, and considered. "Yes my lord. If you would be so kind, could you perhaps ask her if I am to be allowed freedom to leave her--our home, for a walk or to find food, or the like?"

The emperor turned to her, and repeated Momir's question in Bariaur. Rabbit's reply was considered and then delivered, and relayed in time. "She says that will be acceptable if you feel the need, but only in the evenings while she is away at work, or in the day while she is sleeping. She expects you not to wake her with your comings and goings, and wishes your presence while she is awake and about the home. And Momir... don't let her catch you smelling like another woman. She will be most displeased with you." He smiled, and gestured dismissively at Rabbit. "I wish you good fortune in your new life, former merchant Momir."