Wynn gets thrown into the dank cell. Her wounds stinging as they scrape against the stone. She pushes herself up to her feet, battered and dirty; her breath comes out in heaving gusts. Her plain grey dress is in tatters. It was the one she had on as the soldiers stormed her home. She feels adrenaline coursing through her, though she doesn't know where it's from. She hasn't eaten in so long, and her lips are parched from thirst. There still remains a hint of defiance though, flaring in her chest, fueled by rage. It is the one thing that hasn't been beaten out of her yet. Her rage. She spits at the feet of the guards that threw her in. The guards that serve the lord that she now belongs to. She was taken from her small village, forced to abandon her family and friends as the soldiers burned it down to cinders. Chained and dragged halfway across the continent to Alesia, they put her up for the first slave auction they could find. She heard the maids' whisper, saw their pitying looks. She hasn't heard a single thing about the mysterious lord who bought her. Apparently he is infamous; everyone was shocked when his name was called out at the bid. She supposed he wasn't a man known for his kindness. Though anyone who buys slaves rarely is. The guards give her a disgusted look and leave with a grunt. She is too weak to do anything other than crumble to the floor. How long has it been since she last ate? Her vision is blurring, and her hands are trembling. She doesn't know how long she can last. The guards come back and throw in a hard roll of bread. It takes all her willpower to eat calmly. Her gut churns from the moldy bread after so long spent empty, and she vomits. She can feel her strength slowly draining. She curls up in a dry corner, shivering. As the moon climbs through the sky, the guards throw in a bucket of water and a threadbare blanket. She takes careful sips from the water until she's satisfied and takes the blanket to the corner, curling up under it trying to conserve the nonexistent warmth. She closes her eyes and falls into the pit of nightmares that is sleep.
---
Her eyes snap open with a start; panicking, she tries to remember her surroundings. She realizes she's still in the cell. A wave of despair washes over her. She wraps her arms around her knees and rocks back and forth trying to calm herself. Images of the nightmare flash before her eyes. The flames and the screams haunt her still. She sucks in a sharp breath as someone comes into view through the bars of the cell and jumps to her feet, her head swimming from dizziness. She leans into the wall for support until it clears. She focuses on the stout woman standing outside her cell door. She was dressed in a maid's uniform, a black dress with a white apron. The maid unlocks the door and gestures for the guards to pull her out. As Wynn struggles against the guards, she says in a soothing tone, "It's okay now, deary; we're just going to clean you up. You are to meet the lord today." With a warm smile and a nod, she had Wynn dragged up the stairs of the dungeon. She struggles all the way up, kicking and scratching as dread fills her at the thought of meeting her new owner. They haul her up the stairs, and they pass various hallways, all elegantly constructed, with luxury flaunted in every corner. She stares in appalled fascination at the riches covering every inch of the manor. Not a spot of dust or wear on any of the artifacts lining the hallways. They arrive at a large bathroom, and Wynn stops struggling long enough to admire the rich wooden interior. There is a hot water bath already filled up in the clawfoot tub. The maid gestures for her to go in. She reluctantly slips off her tattered dress and slips under the water. She can instantly feel her sore muscles relax. She sighs and dunks her head under the water, coming back up and taking a deep breath. The maid scrubs her with scented soap until her skin is pink and raw. She washes her hair until it's dark and glossy and hands her a robe to dry up. She looks down at her wounds and sees they have scabbed over. Most are just scratches; the wood of the slave trade wagon was rough and splintered, but others she got from her multiple failed escape attempts when the soldiers would drag their knives over her skin, just enough to break it, since they can't sell damaged goods... well... too damaged. She dries up and follows the maid to the armoire, where a dozen dresses hang. The maid picks out a plain green dress with a modest neckline and long sleeves to cover the scars mapping Wynn's body. She feels grim pleasure at the thought that the lord might find her unfit because of her scars. The scars she received from the auction masters. She pushes the memories away and focuses on the maid's hand on her hair. The maid brushes out and braids her ink-black hair into a crown braid. She glances up at her reflection in the mirror as the woman puts products on her face. Wynn does not recognize the person looking back at her. She looks so gaunt, almost dead. That fire in her steely gray gaze remains, though, and that gives her strength to face this lord with her head held high. The dress is simple yet elegant. The makeup makes her appear less dead, but only so much can be done with products. Dark circles hang under her eyes, and her cheeks are sunken. She stifles a smirk. Wynn rises from the seat and looks at the maid. "What is your name?" she asks, hiding the nervousness in her voice. "Call me Elissa. Now on you go. The lord doesn't like to be kept waiting." Elissa smiles at her in the way she is starting to warm up to and ushers her out the door. They approach a huge set of double doors, and Elissa leans into her like she's fussing with her dress and whispers sharply, "He is as ruthless as he is powerful. So be careful and don't make him angry. You must remember that you are just a slave here, so think and act accordingly." Wynn shivers at her words but grits her teeth. "I will not break," she thinks to herself; "I will be strong," as Elissa leads them to the doors. The guards pause and gesture for the guards posted in front of it to open the doors. The doors swing open, revealing a large ballroom. The ceilings reach high, and huge chandeliers hang at different intervals. The polished marble floor gleams in the sunlight streaming through the large arched windows. A mural paints the ceiling in acts of violence and passion. A huge fireplace roars at the far wall of the room. Her eyes skip over all that and hone in on the man standing at one of the windows facing away from them. As they step in, he turns, and she realizes with a start that he is not a man but a boy. He looks not much older than her 17 years, a young man at best. She was so shocked by this fact that it took her a moment to notice he started speaking. Wynn shakes herself out of her initial shock and studies the lord. He is tall with a lean frame, though it looks like it's hiding a lot of strength. He has his dark hair neatly tied at his nape, and his brow is furrowed, lips pursed, as he speaks quietly to Elissa. He barely glanced at Wynn the whole time, and that unnerved her. Why wasn't he interested in his new acquisition? Most owners would have had her on her knees by now. As if he heard her thoughts, he glances up, and she is struck by his eyes. Such soulful green eyes—they appear to be hiding many secrets yet still looking kind. It's a shame they're attached to a terrible man. They're too beautiful for that. He looks her up and down and purses his lips even tighter. Wynn stifles a smirk at his dissatisfied expression. He stands with his hands behind his back, leaning forward slightly like he's waiting for an offering. She simply blinks at him. He seems to brace himself and starts speaking to her. "I hear you aren't from around here, so allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Aneirin Lir Artorius. I rule over the southern district of Alesia." He has a low, melodious voice. She doesn't say anything in response, and he furrows his brow. "Do you have a name?" he asks slowly as if he's speaking to a child. Wynn blinks for a moment, confused. She expected him to sneer, yell, or drag her to his bedroom, not ask her name. Maybe he wants a name to yell when he calls for her. She shivers at the thought. Wynn swallows hard and steels herself. "Wynn," she says in a surprisingly steady voice, "Wynn Rainier." He stares at her for a moment, his expression closed. Wynn fiddles with a loose string on her sleeve, uncomfortable from his intense gaze, and shifts slightly. He abruptly looks away and tells Elissa to take her to the Swan Room—whatever that is. "Make sure she's comfortable and well fed. She looks like she's about to fly away if you blow too hard," he says with a final glance at her before striding purposefully out of the room through a door on the side. Wynn flushes in anger. How dare he? Did he expect her to be glowing after being orphaned, stolen, and sold in the span of a month? She doesn't notice as Elissa leads her out of the "Great Room," as she called it. "The Great Room lies on the west wing of the manor. Your rooms will be located in the east wing," she continued speaking as she led her through a maze of hallways. Wynn gave up trying to memorize the way soon enough. The manor seems to be built of an intricate maze of stone hallways with an eerily similar decor throughout. Every hallway they turn to seems like a copy of the one before, down to the number of doors on each side. It shouldn't have been this unsettling, but some feeling was nudging at her. It doesn't feel right. Elissa stops in front of a white door, the only white one so far, and tells the guards to wait outside as she pulls Wynn in. Swan room fits its name, with white walls, a cream four-poster bed, and a bunch of elegant white furniture dotted throughout. There is an armoire in front of the bed with a vanity. A balcony spans the far wall with a sitting area next to it. Wynn tries the balcony door and finds it locked. The glass is likely strengthened Umayyad glass as well. Elissa gave her a knowing look and opened a door next to the armoire. Wynn grits her teeth and heads to the door Elissa held open. She finds a bathroom with a clawfoot tub and cream marble floors. She looks at Elissa and says, "Is that all?" She just wanted some time to think. Why would the lord give her such comfortable rooms? Not just comfortable but...opulent. It felt as if she was a guest rather than the slave he bought. Elissa gives her sympathetic smile and says, "Call me if you need anything." As she moves to leave, Wynn grabs her and says, "You told me he was ruthless and dangerous. Then why is he doing this? Is it a trick? Getting me to let down my guard so I'm easier to break?" Elissa looks stunned for a moment, then smiles sympathetically. "Oh deary, no one knows how the master thinks. I rarely think he himself does," she says, the last part almost to herself, and shakes her head, "but ruthlessness comes in many forms, my dear. And I'm afraid his is the most dangerous kind." She says, being frustratingly vague, and pats Wynn on the arm before leaving and closing the door behind her. Wynn stands in the silence of the room for a moment, at a loss for what to think or do. This is almost worse than him abusing her. The not knowing what's going to come. That will surely destroy her.
---
Wynn watches the sun slip under the horizon through her balcony doors. Elissa told her she was expected to be present for dinner...on the same table as the lord. She shook her head. She still didn't understand his motives, and it's been gnawing at her the whole day. The only plausible reason at the moment was that he is a sadist and enjoys breaking his toys. She hoped she was wrong. She spun to the door as Elissa walked in with a swish of her maid's skirts. "We need to get you ready. Come on," she said briskly and pushed Wynn down onto the vanity chair. Elissa rummages through the armoire until she finds a dark lavender dress. She hastily pulls the dress over Wynn and cinches the built-in corset tight over her torso. Wynn sucks her stomach in, and by the time the maid is done, she struggles to breathe. "You'll get used to it, don't worry," Elissa mutters as she pushes Wynn down to the chair again, applying multiple products to her face. She lines her eyes with kohl and paints her lips with dark rouge. When she finishes putting her hair up in an elaborate updo, she hums in approval and pulls Wynn to the standing mirror. Wynn looks at her reflection in shock for the second time that day. The dress had slightly off-the-shoulder long sleeves and a lower neckline than the green dress. The bodice is cinched tight across her chest and waist, while the skirt fans out elegantly to the floor. It was simple, with no embroidery or designs, but it was the most beautiful dress she had ever donned. She blinks back the tears, the memories of her mother's smile flashing before her, and turns to Elissa. She forces a smile on her face and says, "Shall we?" Elissa hesitates for a beat but nods. "Of course, of course. We can't keep the lord waiting," she says, ushering Wynn out the door after handing her soft lavender slippers. They walk past hallway after hallway and down a set of stairs before reaching an elaborate dining room. The room was small—probably not the main dining hall—and warm even though the windows were open, letting in a soft breeze. At the center of the room is a dining table that seats at least seven, and sitting at the head was Lord Aneirin. He doesn't look up as they enter, staring at his empty plate as though lost in thought. Elissa clears her throat, and Lord Aneirin snaps to attention. His eyes roam over Wynn, and she shifts under his gaze. Why should his eyes be so intense? It makes her uneasy. The look lasted no longer than a second, but it felt like he had looked into her soul and sorted through her darkest secrets. He gestures to the table. "Sit. "Please," he says the last part as an afterthought. Wynn steels her spine and strides carefully towards the table. She picks a seat as far from him as possible and sits down. He stared at her, his gaze unreadable, and then said, "Come closer." Wynn swallows all the responses she had as she looks at Elissa. The maid is giving her a pointed look and shaking her head. Wynn sighs and walks over to a seat a few places down from his, and she was about to sit down when "Closer," he repeats. She grits her teeth but straightens and heads to the chair directly next to his. He wants closer? Then he'll get it. She takes a seat and looks around boredly. She hears Elissa stifle a gasp, and Wynn internally smirks. In Alesia, the seat next to the host or nobleman is reserved for a person of honor or spouse, and Alesians are very sensitive about their table manners. Wynn steals a look at Lord Aneirin and finds him looking at her with a flat expression on his face. "Good. Now let's begin. A friend of mine will be here shortly; let him in," he says to the servants as they come forward and start serving the food. Wynn was stunned by his unfazed response, but she quickly masked her emotions as the food arrived. Her mouth watered as plates upon plates of meats, fruit, vegetables, and desserts were spread on the table. She looks up to find the lord looking at her in that unreadable way again. "What?" she snaps before she could think, and Elissa definitely gasps this time. The servants faltered as they poured their wine. Lord Aneirin holds a hand over his cup and waves the servants away. He raises his eyes to her, and they are cold, so cold. She was wrong to think they were kind...no, these eyes were the eyes of a slave owner. Wynn swallows a flicker of fear rising in her chest. He takes a sip of his goblet and sets it down slowly, wiping his mouth with his thumb. He finds her gaze again and says, "Tread carefully. Your next words will decide whether you sleep in the dungeons tonight or not." His voice sent chills down her spine. She understood what Elissa meant now; underneath the facade of a noble lord is the dangerous ruler of Alesia's southern district. When she was a girl, the traders of her village would come from their travels through Alesia and recount their stories of wonder and art and culture, but every one of them also talked about the criminal underbelly that was the southern district. The Pits, they called it. She now understood what type of ruler it took to keep it under control. Wynn swallowed again, her palms slick with sweat. She won't let him see her fear. That was one thing in her control, the one thing that will always be hers: her emotions. She puts a calm mask over her features and leans back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. She can't provoke him—she's not that stupid; she rather likes her rooms—but she doesn't have to cower either. She raises an eyebrow at him but says nothing. He stares at her for a moment, sucks his front teeth, looks away, and starts cutting into his meal. Wynn lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, and the whole staff seems to do the same. The meal progresses in tense silence; even a pin drop could be heard. After long awkward moments, the doors to the dining room open, and in strolls a tall handsome man. He has long golden hair that reaches past his shoulders, and my eye catches on a scar that runs from his temple down to his jaw. He walks over to the seat across from me with a jovial grin and plops down with a sigh. "Well hello there, sweetheart, nice to meet you," he says, a lower-class lilt to his voice, as he picks an apple from a pile and bites into it with a crunch. He seems to be waiting for a response and when she stays silent, he turns to Lord Aneirin "She's one of the quiet ones, eh?" he says, but the lord just shakes his head before replying, "Trust me, it's better for everyone when she keeps her mouth shut." She narrows her eyes but doesn't reply; instead, she sets her fork down and gets up smoothly. "Excuse me," she mutters, walking out of the dining room. She can hear the guards falling into step behind her but doesn't complain. She's surprised the lord let her leave to begin with. She closes the door to her room behind her and leans against it with a sigh. She is already drained from the small interaction she had with him. How will she survive her days? She shakes her head. It doesn't matter how; she will survive. Whatever it takes. She heads to the armoire to look for nightclothes. She sighs when she finds only slinky nightgowns. "At least they're pretty if not comfortable," she mutters and pulls one out. She gets under the covers and braces herself for the nightmares.
---
Wynn walks the halls of the manor in silence, wandering around with the guards trailing behind her. Apparently they have been ordered to let her out but keep an eye on her. She was ecstatic when they didn't stop her as she opened the door. Now she can at least map the hallways and look for exits. Wynn doesn't know if the lord is just underestimating her or if he's so sure of his security that he knows she can't leave even if he gives her this small freedom. The thought bothers her, but she can't give up now. Hours pass and no-one calls for lunch, so Wynn doesn't ask either. She hasn't had breakfast either, and her stomach was in knots, but she's used to hunger. She will live. Night falls, and no one comes to collect her for dinner. Finally she decides they must have forgotten about her already or want her to starve, and an idea begins to form in her head. She cannot escape if she doesn't have her strength. She needs to take advantage of the meals she can get. She had learned earlier that day that it is fairly easy to distract her guards—though they didn't look happy about it—and soon enough she was slipping into the kitchens without their gaze weighing her down. Wynn sneaks in silently, years of sneaking around her village making her quick and light on her feet. She hasn't seen the lord all day, and she intends to keep it that way. She can't allow herself to be brought before him, especially for stealing food. The kitchens are large, with a large marble island in the center and smaller ones dotted around. The servants rush about stirring, kneading, and tasting food—plenty enough for a feast. The smell of spices and sweets fills her lungs, and her mouth waters. A maid rushes to the door, and Wynn quickly crouches behind one of the smaller islands. She takes a deep breath as the maid passes by and gets up, walking forward with her head bowed. She thanks herself for choosing a black unassuming dress that morning. She easily blends in with the other maids rushing around if someone doesn't look closely. She turns at a counter with a mound of fruit and slips a couple into the folds of her dress. She turns to head back out of the kitchens when fingers wrap around her arms, spinning her around. "What do you think—" Elissa pauses and blinks at her. "You," she says, narrowing her eyes. Wynn tries to break out of the woman's grip, but she's surprisingly strong for her age. "Guards!" Elissa yells, and six guards rush to the kitchens, their hands on the hilts of their swords. "No, wait!" Wynn tries to struggle, but the guards twist her arms behind her painfully. She cries out as they kick the backs of her knees and knock her to the ground. She kicks out and manages to hit the guard behind her in the jaw. He curses and brings up the hilt of his sword, cracking her across the head. Black spots flash behind her eyes, and she loses her strength. They lift her up—half carrying her, half dragging her—out of the kitchens. She is dragged through hallways until they stop in the middle of one, and the guards around her stand at attention. She manages to lift her head, ignoring the sharp pain, and sees a guard walking towards them. He looks older than the others and the lord, maybe in his early forties. His uniform was different too, a richer red than the others and a few more adornments on the shoulders. "Captain," says the guard I kicked, with a fist to his chest—a salute in Alesia. Wynn notices the bruise blooming on his jaw with grim satisfaction. "What is this?" the man whom she assumes is the captain of the guard asks, a command in his gruff voice. "We found her in the kitchens, sir," the guard speaks. "She was found stealing food," he spits, his eyes looking at her with disgust. Wynn bares her teeth at him. The guard growls and steps towards her. "Stop," the captain says, his voice booming. "I'll take it from here. Get back to your posts, all of you!" he commands, and the guards hesitate for a second before putting their fists to their chests, turning on their heels, and walking away, their footsteps fading into the hall. The moment their grips let go of her, Wynn collapses to the floor. Through slitted eyes, she can see the captain's boots coming towards her. She feels herself being lifted off the ground before the darkness claims her.
---
Wynn opens her eyes slowly. They feel like they have been glued together, but slowly she manages to focus on her surroundings. Through her swimming head, she recognizes the room as a study. She turns her head slightly and jumps up when she sees Lord Aneirin and the captain standing over the leather sofa she lay on. She winces as her head pounds painfully, but she stays upright. She stares up at them defiantly. "What are you going to do to me now?" she asks, not showing a hint of her nervousness. "You're to address him as your lord," the captain says, stepping forward, but Lord Aneirin stops him with a flick of his hand. "What were you doing in the kitchens?" he asks instead, his voice low and smooth. "Stealing food," she answers without a hint of remorse. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and he asks, "Why? Was what you were provided with not to your satisfaction?" His eyes were hard shards as he spoke. Wynn looks at him incredulous. "Are you serious?" she says with an unbelieving laugh. "Do you find something funny?" His eyes are oh so cold.
"No, nothing is funny." She starts, her tone growing angrier. "You ask if what I have been provided with was not satisfactory to me? No, it was not," she continues, standing up, not wanting to tilt her neck to look at him as she spoke, but it didn't make much of a difference thanks to his towering height. His jaw tightens, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Wynn continues, "Because," she grits through her teeth, "I was given nothing to begin with. You left me to starve. So I took matters into my own hands," she sneers, her eyes flashing. The anger within her was a roaring thing; she had no idea from where it came, but she let it in, let it fuel her, and suddenly she couldn't feel the hunger gnawing at her or the pounding of her head anymore, just the rage. As fast as that clarity came, it was gone in a flash, leaving her drained. She looks up at the lord and finds his gaze unreadable. "Take her to her rooms," he says in a low voice, and Wynn glares at him as the captain steps forward and leads her out of the room. The lord walks out and gestures to a guard. "Tell the maids that Ms. Rainier is to have 3 meals a day and tea whenever she calls for it. If I hear she isn't being provided with those, the person will answer to me," he says and turns, holding Wynn's gaze for a moment before walking down the opposite hallway. The ordered guard salutes and rushes away. Wynn stands in place, her mind whirring. "Move," the captain growls and leads her back to her rooms.