Alexios

  The carriage rocks steadily along the road as the sound of horse hooves get muffled under the hum of cicadas. The sun is pale bruise on the horizon now and the countryside begins to reveal itself with its swaying grasses and flowering vines curling around fence posts. The faint silhouettes of workers are making their way back to the quarters before night fully falls.

  Across from me, he sits small in the corner with his hands folded tightly in his lap as his eyes keep flitting to the window as if he is trying to drink in every new sight before the night swallows them.

  Gods, those molten amber eyes of his. The tiefling caught my attention in one of the libraries of Baldur’s Gate and it felt as if my heart cried out for him in that moment.

  “You are very quiet, Arun,” I say, my voice low. I let that name linger on my tongue for a bit. It’s mine to call him now. The name I gave him, after the beautiful red of his skin and the way he seems to hold the last light of the sunset within him.

  A stray black curl of hair falls over his eye and I have to stop myself from pushing it back.

  Arun is just… breathtaking.

  He glances at me and a faint smile tries to mask his nervousness.

  “It’s just… it’s a new place. A new continent. It’s… a lot to take in.”

  The admission is almost fragile, as if he fears I’ll be upset by how he feels. I lean back in the seat, studying him for a while. His shoulders are quite tense, his tail curled near his thigh like he’s trying to anchor himself to something.

  When I first saw him tucked between shelves with a book too heavy for his lap in the library, he looked more like a cornered bird. Now, even after weeks of shared glances, quiet words and a few stolen kisses here and there, it seems he still carries that same timid and skittish air.

  “Well, you’ll definitely find my lands different,” I say finally, letting a faint warmth touch my tone. “The air here is much heavier and the nights are louder with those damn cicadas, but you will be safe. Much safer than where I found you.”

  I try to bring him some peace with my words, but he doesn’t quite meet my eyes just yet.

  “You’ve already done so much for him,” he says softly. “More than I could ever repay.”

  The corners of my mouth lift.

  “You know I’m not looking for payment, Arun. That’s not what this is about.”

  The lantern outside the carriage flickers as we round the bend and the plantation finally comes into view. The manor with its pale stone walls and shuttered windows sprawls across the land, surrounded by rows of dark-leafed plants stretching far into the distance. My servants wait at the steps, the lamplights catching on the brass of their buttons.

  I glance back at him, catching that flicker of hesitation in his eyes again.

  “When we arrive, you’ll be shown to your room. You’ll have you own space, your own privacy and if you wish to join me later for wine… I would love that very much.

  A faint deepening of colors tints his cheeks and it pleases me more than I’d like to admit.

  “I’d like that a lot,” he says quietly.

  The horses eventually slow, their hooves crunching on the gravel. The air smells heavily of the rich scent of soil. I step out first, boots striking the gravel, and offer my hand to Arun. He hesitates on the carriage step before placing his smaller, warm fingers into mine.

  The servants keep their heads bowed, but I see the quick flickers of confusion as they notice the tiefling at my side. They were not expecting another arrival, especially someone under my personal escort. An older servant glances at me for an explanation but quickly catches herself.

  “Welcome home, Master,” the servant says smoothly, though I can hear the faint shift in town. “Shall we have the servant shown to-”

  “He’s not a servant,” I cut in, my voice even but final. “He’s with me. The room in the east wing will serve as his quarters and see that a bath is drawn for him.”

  There’s the slightest hesitation before the servant bows again.

  “At once, sir.”

  As we walk up the stairs, I feel Arun’s tail brush lightly against my leg. Likely still from nerves, but maybe a subconscious reach for some reassurance. I can’t tell right now. The lamplights play over his features, catching the fine curve of his jaw and I want nothing more than to press a kiss to his cheek.

  Maybe later when his nerves aren’t quite jittery.

  Inside the manor, the air is much cooler and the scent of polished wood and burning oil invades my nose.

  This is my home. Well, our home now.

  He belongs here, not wasting away in some nook of a library.

  The echo of our steps follows us down the marble-floored entryway. The high ceilings are supported by beautiful dark beams, edges carved with curling patterns of leaves and thorns. The chandelier above sways faintly with the movement of the air. Arun’s eyes lift to take it all in and I catch the way his lips part slightly in awe.

  “This is Blackwood Manor,” I tell him, voice carrying easily in the open hall. “It has been in my possession for… longer that most of the staff have been alive, to be honest. Everything you saw on the way in is Blackwood Plantation.”

  The words are simple and factual, but there’s no mistaking the underlying note of pride. I lead him down the left-hand corridor as our footsteps get muffled by a long runner in a deep wine color.

  “These are the reception rooms,” I say as we pass open archways where firelight flickers over polished tables and heavy draperies. “To the right is my study. That’s where you will usually find me should you need anything. You are always welcome there. I keep a good assortment of books on hand too.”

  He glances up at me at the mention of books and a ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth.

  We take the broad staircase and I slow my pace for him without thinking, letting him walk beside me rather than trailing behind. The east wing is quiet this time of night, the only sound the faint hiss of the oil lamps along the walls.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll take you through the plantation,” I tell him. “It will be quieter in the morning. You’ll see the rows of medicinal crops and the garden. I think you will really like it here.”

  We stop before a door with a brass handle dulled from years of use. I push it open and warm lamplight spills over us.

  The room is spacious with its high ceiling and a pair of tall windows draped in heavy crimson fabric. Against one wall is a bed carved from dark wood, the post wound with delicate little leaf motifs. A writing desk sits beneath the window, its surface bare except for a vase of pale flowers. On the opposite side of the room, a few wide shelves hold an assortment on blank canvases, pigments and neatly stacked sketchbooks.

  “The space used to be an art room,” I tell him as I step further inside. My gaze lingers on the stool in the corner and I fight to keep the memories from flooding my mind. “My old mentor was quite the painter.”

  I stop there. His name is not one I wish to speak of tonight. Perhaps not ever. The memory is a weight that feels like it’s pressing in my chest.

  Arun moves to the shelves and I see his amber eyes widen. His fingertips hover just above the spines of the sketchbooks.

  “May I… use them?”

  I laugh gently and he glances back at me, a sweet smile warming his expression. There’s something light in his voice when he asks. It’s brighter than the caution he’s carried all evening and gods, I’m grateful for it.

  “These are yours now. The room and the tools. Use them as you please.”

  His tail flicks once, curling slightly at the tip.

  “Thank you… Alexios.”

  The way he says my name makes my heart flutter a bit. It’s so gentle and I just can’t get enough of his voice.

  “You should rest,” I say at last, stepping back toward the door. “Tomorrow, I’ll give you a tour of the plantation. The gardens will be worth seeing.”

  He nods, but his gaze keeps drifting back to the shelves, as if he’s already imagining himself here. I leave him to it, closing the door quietly behind me.

  I descend the staircase alone, my footsteps as gentle as they can be as I reach the lower hall. The lamplights flicker and that’s when I notice it.

  Dust along the baseboards. Smudges on the polished floor. Faint cobwebs clinging in the corner of the molding.

  My jaw tightens. I’m away for a few weeks and the servants think it’s okay to let the manor fall into disarray? Blackwood is mine and I will not fall into neglect.

  Punish them, Alexios.

  I hear her voice in my head as I continue to survey the hall, spotting more flaws as I go.

  My patron. My queen.

  Always watching.

  Always ready to feed my temper when it rises.

  I find one of the servants in the side hall, a young elven man in a plain linen shirt, arms full of kindling and his blond hair pulled up in a low bun.

  “You there,” I say sharply. “Why is my home in this condition? Dust in the halls, dirt in the corners. Have you all grown lazy while I was away?”

  He freezes, lowering his gaze.

  “Forgive me, Master. We… we were told you would not be back until tomorrow. Your arrival was earlier than expected an-”

  “What a poor fucking excuse,” I cut in, the words snapping like a whip. I can see the way his throat works as he swallows, the faint tremor in his hands.

  “You’ve had weeks,” I continue, stepping closer, my shadow falling over him. “If this is what I find in the entrance hall, I can only imagine the rest.”

  “Please,” he begins, but I don’t let him finish. My hand moves before I think, the crack of the slap echoing against the paneled walls. His head jerks to the side, and the kindling drops, scattering across the floor.

  He starts to kneel, reaching for the fallen wood, but I put a hand on his shoulder and press down just enough to make him still. My voice lowers, cold and deliberate.

  “You will come to my room tonight. Alone. We will address your neglect then.”

  I see him pale, his lips parting in a silent breath before he bows his head.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Good.” I step back, letting him gather the wood once more. “Make sure the rest of the house is cleaned before sunrise. I want no trace of dust when I walk these halls again.”

  “Yes, Master,” he repeats, voice tight.

  I turn away and the whisper of my patron curls through me warm with her approval. The fire in the hearth upstairs in Arun’s room will be crackling gently, but down here, I make certain that the servants remember that this is my house and my word is law.

  --

  An hour later, the manor is still, but I can hear the singing of insects humming outside. I sit in my study, the glow of the lamp pooling across the desk, papers spread before me. A bottle of red wine stands within reach and I can smell its rich scent mingling with that faint tang of parchment.

  Suddenly, I hear the soft tread of footsteps in the hall before a door creaks open. I stand from my desk with a sigh. I assume it’s probably another servant coming to piss me off.

  When I open the door, my annoyance is dimmed by a gentle presence. Arun stands there, framed by the dim light behind him, his hair a dark halo against the firelight. He looks faintly uncertain, like a boy caught somewhere he shouldn’t be.

  “Arun,” I say, rising slightly from my chair. “What are you doing wandering the halls at this hour?”

  His eyes flit to my face.

  “I… was trying to find your study,” he admits, his voice soft. “I think I took a wrong turn.”

  I lean against the door, studying him for a moment. He’s still barefoot from his bath, the hem of his loose shirt brushing against the tops of his thighs, his tail swaying faintly behind him.

  “I should have visited you earlier,” I say after a pause, my tone warmer now. “Forgive me. I said I would, and then other silly matters kept me.”

  My gaze drops to the papers on the desk before I dismiss them with a wave.

  He hesitates but then steps closer, glancing around as though he’s memorizing the space. His eyes linger on the tall windows with their thick drapes and the small fire burning low in the hearth.

  “It’s beautiful in here,” he says quietly. “It smells… like ink and leather.”

  A corner of my mouth lifts.

  “Well… that’s certainly an accurate description.”

  I move back into the study with Arun trailing behind me before gesturing toward the chair across from me.

  “Sit. If you’d like wine, I can pour some for us.”

  I see his posture relax ever so slightly as he crosses to the chair, curling one leg beneath him as he sits. His eyes catch the lamplight when he looks at me and a smile plays on his lips.

  I pour for both of us, sliding his glass across the desk.

  “To new places,” I say, my gaze holding his. “And to those who make them worth coming back to.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  His blush is almost hidden by the shadows, but I see it. He lowers his gaze, murmuring, “To new places.”

  I take a slow sip of wine, watching the firelight flicker across his face, before scrunching my face in disgust. This wine is horrible and I’m quite certain he thinks so too based on his pursed lips and raised eyebrows as he swallows his sip.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask after a moment. “You’ve had quite the long journey. I can have a few servants prepare us something small.”

  He hesitates a little, like he’s weighing whether he should even admit it or not.

  “Well… a little bit, yes.”

  “Then come,” I say, placing my glass back on the desk. “Let’s forget about this abhorrent wine. Remind me to yell at the gentleman who recommended it to me, will you?”

  That earns me a faint laugh and it pleases me more than I expected.

  I lead him down the quieter corridor past the main dining hall, choosing a more intimate space for us. The smaller dining area is lined with tall windows now curtained against the night.

  Eventually, the scent of lamb stew, herbs and warm bread drifts from the kitchen area.

  I gesture for him to sit beside me rather than across the table.

  “You can sit closer if you’d like,” I say simply, pulling out the chair next to mine. “The room’s warmer here by the fire.”

  He obeys, settling into the seat just as the first servant arrives with a silver platter, the rich aromas filling the air. Another follows with decanters of water and wine, their movements silent and precise.

  Arun’s gaze lingers on the bustle of activity, and after a moment he turns to me.

  “Can I help?”

  I look at him, certain I’ve heard wrong.

  “Help?”

  He nods, a small, earnest smile tugging at his lips.

  “With serving. I don’t mind.”

  I rest my hand lightly on the back of his chair, my voice leaving no room for debate.

  “No. That isn’t your place, Arun. You’re not a servant here.”

  “I don’t mind,” he says again, softer this time.

  “I do.”

  My tone is gentle, but there’s steel beneath it.

  “Your hands will not carry trays or pour wine for me. You’re here as my companion.”

  He looks down at his lap for a heartbeat before giving a small nod.

  “Alright, I understand.”

  I watch him for a moment longer before I reach for his plate, serving him myself from the platter nearest.

  “There,” I say, sliding it back in front of him. “If you wish to lift a finger tonight, it will only be to eat.”

  He smiles at me before turning to his plate. We eat in a comfortable quiet for a few moments as the fire crackles beside us and the scent of rosemary curling through the air. I watch as Arun takes small, measured bites. His gaze occasionally drifts to the curtained windows as though imagining what lies beyond them in the night.

  “It’s strange,” he says softly, breaking the silence. “I’ve never been this far from Faerun before. I don’t even know what’s out there.”

  I set my fork down, turning slightly toward him. “Fields. Gardens. Rows of plants you’ve likely never seen before, some of which only bloom in this swampy climate. You’ll see them tomorrow when we walk the grounds.”

  “Was it always like this?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer after a pause. “When I arrived with my old mentor, nothing was here at all. Just empty land and wild growth.”

  His curiosity is immediate. “So how did you start it?”

  I take another drink before answering, letting the pause stretch.

  “It’s a long story,” I say finally. “One for another time.”

  There’s a flicker of disappointment in his expression, but he hides it well.

  “Alright,” he says softly, returning to his meal.

  I watch him for a moment longer, the firelight reflecting in the amber of his eyes, before picking up my fork again. Some answers are best kept a secret… at least for now.

  We finish the meal at a slower pace, the fire burning low in the grate. The servants clear the table quietly, leaving behind only the faint scents of roasted herbs and warm bread.

  When the last of the wine is poured, I rise from my chair.

  “Come,” I say, resting my hand lightly on the back of his. “Get some fresh air with me, love.”

  He follows me through a side door and the air gets cooler as we step into a narrow hall that leads us out onto the veranda. The double doors open and the loud songs of insects surround us.

  The veranda stretches around the manor, its wooden floor still faintly warm from the day’s sun. Beyond the railing, the land falls away into dark rolling fields and somewhere in the distance, I can hear the faint howls of creatures roaming the woods.

  Arun steps to the edge, resting his hands on the railing. The breeze stirs his hair, carrying the earthy scent of the plantation at night.

  “It’s beautiful,” he says quietly.

  I move to stand beside him and I’m close enough that my sleeve brushes his.

  “You’ll see more of it in the light tomorrow, but honestly… this is the best part. At night, the land feels so peaceful when the world around it is sleeping.”

  He glances up at me, his expression soft in the moonlight.

  “I can see why you enjoy being here.”

  I study him for a moment, tracing the faint curve of his lips and the way the moonlight shines on his red skin.

  “I hope you will enjoy being here too. You deserve somewhere safe to call home.”

  For a long moment, we simply just stand there with the night air cool between us and the sounds of the plantation whispering in the dark.

  Eventually, I rest my hand against the small of his back and guide him gently toward the door.

  “You’ve had a long day, Arun. You should rest while you can.”

  He nods and follows me back inside, but when I glance at him from the corner of my eye, I can tell he isn’t just thinking about sleep.

  --

  The manor has gone quiet again by the time I walk Arun up to his room and retreat to my study once again. The fire has burned down and the scratch of my quill is the only sound in the room.

  I work until I hear movement somewhere above me. Soft footsteps and the creak of a floorboard. I set the quill aside and listen. It’s not the heavy tread of a servant on late duty. It’s lighter and much more careful.

  I rise again and make my way up the stairs without hurry. The hall is quite dim, lit only by a single wall sconce. Arun’s door is half-closed and the flow spilling from the crack is not from the hearth, but rather from a few lamps and candles.

  Pushing the door open a bit more, I see him seated at the desk, still in his loose nightshirt, his hair falling forward as he leans over a sketchbook. His tail sways lazily behind him, curling and uncurling in time with the strokes of his pencil. On the desk beside him, one of the jars of pigment is open, a brush laid carefully across it.

  He hasn’t noticed me yet. There’s a quiet focus in his expression, the kind that draws a person deeper into their work until the rest of the world ceases to matter. The lighting makes his skin glow softly and his features look calm and unguarded.

  I lean a shoulder against the doorframe.

  “You should be sleeping.”

  He startles slightly, turning in his chair.

  “I… couldn’t,” he admits. “The paints were calling to me. I thought I’d just look, but then…”

  A sheepish smile ghosts across his lips.

  I step inside, glancing at the page in front of him. It’s a sketch of one of the tall windows from the veranda, the stars beyond rendered in quick, confident lines.

  “You’re very talented,” I say simply, and I mean it.

  His gaze drops to the page, embarrassed.

  “I’d love to see the finished piece when you are done,” I tell him.

  Before I step away, I rest a hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of him under the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. I lean down and press a slow kiss to his temple, then another to his cheek. Finally, my lips brush the corner of his mouth, lingering just long enough to hear a soft gasp.

  “Goodnight, Arun,” I murmur.

  I exit, casting one last glance at Arun. I catch him looking at me too. He blushes, a soft pink hue blooming beneath his already crimson skin.

  "My room is down the hall to the right. Black door with intricate little carvings. Knock if you need anything."

  As I make my way down the hall, the faint scent of paint and candlelight warmth cling to me as I walk the short distance to my own chambers. Inside, the fire is already lit, casting a steady glow across the carved bedposts and the dark drapery drawn tight against the night.

  I remove my tunic, resting them neatly over the chair by the hearth, and take a seat on the couch near the hearth. A rather fickle attempt and decompressing from a long journey, but it will have to do.

  The manor is quiet, save for the occasional groan from the wind. I’m considering pouring another glass of wine when three short knocks, hesitant but deliberate, sound at my door.

  Did you forget about the servant, Alexios? Too caught up with entertaining your pretty tiefling?

  I bite my tongue, not wishing to entertain her tonight. My attention falls back on the presence outside my door.

  “Enter,” I say, my tone calm but carrying the weight of command.

  The door opens slowly and the servant from earlier steps inside, head bowed. He keeps his eyes on the floor, his posture tense, the faint red mark from my slap earlier still visible against his cheek.

  “You said… to come tonight, Master,” he says quietly, voice low enough that it barely carries over the crackle of the fire.

  I study him for a moment from where I stand, one hand resting against the couch. The earlier irritation lingers under my skin, sharpened by the whisper of my patroness in the back of my mind.

  Remind him of his place.

  “Of course,” I respond finally, my voice smooth. “Close the door.”

  He obeys without question, the latch clicking softly into place.

  The servant closes the door quietly, the soft click of the latch seeming louder in the stillness. He stands there, shoulders drawn tight, hands clasped in front of him as though bracing for a blow.

  I let the silence stretch, my gaze fixed on him until he shifts under it. “You remember why I told you to come here tonight?” I ask.

  “Yes, Master,” he says, his voice low.

  I stand from the couch and cross the room at an unhurried pace until I’m close enough to see the nervous flicker in his blue eyes.

  “I could punish you,” I say, my tone even. “I really should.”

  My hand lifts, brushing the edge of his jaw with just the tips of my fingers as I continue speaking.

  “But there are other ways to teach obedience.”

  His breath catches and I see the faintest trace of confusion mingled with apprehension.

  “Tell me,” I murmur, my voice dipping lower. “Do you want me in that pretty mouth of yours?”

  He swallows hard, his gaze darting briefly toward the floor before lifting again. “If… if that’s what you want, Master.”

  I hold his gaze for a long moment, the fire casting a warm glow over the sharp planes of his face.

  “Good,” I say softly. “Then we’ll see how willing you truly are.”

  The fire throws long shadows across the room as I step in closer, my fingers catching in the servant’s shirt collar and tugging him forward until our bodies nearly touch. His breath is uneven and I can smell the faint scent of smoke from the kindling still clinging to him from earlier.

  “Take your shirt off,” I say, my voice low but leaving no room for hesitation.

  He obeys quickly, folding the garment over the back of the chair before I catch his wrist and pull him nearer to the bed. My hand slides to the back of his neck, my thumb pressing lightly against the warm skin there, guiding him down to his knees.

  “You’ll keep quiet,” I murmur, my tone edged with warning. “Arun is just down the hall. If he hears, I’ll make you regret it. Do you understand?”

  His eyes flicker in the firelight and nods nervously.

  I unfasten my trousers with deliberate slowness and watch his gaze follow my movements. When I free myself, his breaths grow heavier and my hand tangles in his hair as I lead him down to his knees. I hold him still for a moment before I guide him forward.

  The first touch of his mouth is tentative and I press my fingers more firmly against the back of his head.

  “Deeper,” I say quietly.

  He obeys and the warmth of him draws a low sound from my throat.

  The rhythm builds and my grip tightens in his hair, each movement slow but deliberate. Every so often, he glances up as if seeking approval and I reward him with a faint curl of my lips or a quiet, “Good boy.”

  When I pull him up from the floor, his lips are flushed, his breath quick. I turn him toward the bed, bending him forward so his palms press into the mattress. My hands skim his sides, then his hips, positioning him where I want him.

  “Remember,” I murmur, leaning close to his ear, “Quiet.”

  I don’t bother taking my time to prep him as my oiled fingers lazily work him open.

  The first thrust of my length makes him jolt and a muffled sound catches in his throat, but he bites it back quickly. I keep one hand firm at his hip and the other pressing between his shoulder blades, setting the pace. It’s slow at first, then gradually harder, the sound of our bodies moving together muted by the crackle of the fire.

  He shudders under me, muscles tightening as I drive into him, my breath warm against the side of his neck when I lean in to murmur praise and command in equal measure. His restraint pleases me and each stifled sound is swallowed down in obedience.

  --

  My orgasm comes fast, pulsing into him hotly as I choke back a moan. I pull back, letting him steady himself against the mattress. His breath is still uneven, his cheeks flushed from the heat and the effort of staying silent.

  I rest my hands on his hips a moment longer, my thumbs brushing over the faint marks I’ve left there.

  “You did well,” I murmur, my voice quieter now, almost approving.

  He glances over his shoulder, unsure if he’s allowed to move.

  “Stay,” I say, releasing him only to tug him upright. “You’ll sleep here tonight.”

  His eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his face, but he nods.

  “Yes, Master.”

  I guide him to the far side of the bed, gesturing for him to lie down. The fire still glows in the hearth, throwing shadows across the carved headboard, as I slide under the sheets beside him.

  He’s tense at first, but I pull him closer and his back presses against my chest. One arm loops around his waist, holding him in place as if he might think to slip away in the night.

  “Rest,” I murmur against the side of his neck. “Morning will come soon enough.”

  Down the hall, Arun sleeps in his own bed, unaware of who now shares mine. The fire burns low, the servant warm against me, when her voice coils into my mind once again.

  He has given you what you desire. Now… he will give me what I desire. End him. Drink for me.

  The command is sharp under the velvet of her sultry voice. My hand tightens at the servant’s waist. He shifts slightly, perhaps sensing something in my stillness.

  I turn him toward me, pressing my mouth to his without warning. The kiss is hot, hungry, almost… cruel. My teeth catch his lower lip and my tongue claims his until his breath turns ragged and the world beyond this moment fades for him. I keep him there, swallowing every sound, until his hands clutch desperately at my shoulders.

  When I break away, his eyes are unfocused, his lips slick and swollen. I hold his gaze, one hand sliding to the base of his skull while the other falls to his jaw.

  As he exhales, I strike. My grip on his jaw becomes iron, twisting sharply. The crack is muffled against the bedding, his body going limp in my hold.

  It’s time to drink, Alexios.

  I reach for the dagger in the bedside table’s drawer, the steel catching the firelight as I draw it free. With a practiced hand, I drag the blade along the side of his neck, parting the skin in a clean line. The scent of hot blood fills the air instantly.

  I lean down and seal my mouth over the wound. The first pull is deep with the rich taste as it slides down my throat and I drink until the warmth begins to cool.

  Well done, my love. You have always been such a… devout follower.

  When I finally lift my head, I wipe my mouth with the back of my wrist and lay him back against the bed as if he’s only sleeping. The taste is still quite sharp on my tongue, but I can feel that it has sated my queen.

  For now.

  As I sit on the edge of the bed, the servant’s lifeless body resting beside me, my mind is filled with images of Arun sleeping just down the hall, blissfully unaware of what has just been taken in the quiet of Blackwood Manor.

  This servant is not the first and will certainly not be the last.

  Before I can think of what to do next, instinct tugs me toward the hall.

  I ease the door open and step out, the cool air of the hallways brushing against my skin. My intention is simply to glance toward Arun’s room to be certain he’s asleep.

  But…

  He isn’t in bed.

  He’s standing barefoot right there in the hallway with his sleep shirt hanging loose on his small frame. The candle sconce catches the warm tones of his skin and his amber eyes are fixed on me. For the briefest moment, I wonder if he has indeed heard something and if he’s piecing together what I’ve done.

  Then I feel it.

  The slow trickle of warmth down my neck.

  Blood.

  I glance down and see the smear across my chest and the faint trail that’s escaped my mouth.

  “It was an injury,” I tell him smoothly before he can even speak. My tone is low and meant to soothe. I expect him to press more and ask further questions, but he doesn’t.

  The look in his eyes isn’t fright or confusion. It’s… something else entirely. It’s curious in a way that pulls me in.

  Without a word, he drops to his knees in the middle of the hall. His gaze never leaves mine as he tilts his head back, mouth parting, tongue extending in silent offering.

  The sight steals the air from my chest and I feel the queen’s disbelief pulsing through my mind.

  I take a slow step toward him with the blood still warm on my skin. Suddenly, the night is heavy with possibility.

  I step closer, the floorboards faintly creaking under my weight. Arun doesn’t flinch or even look away. His tail coils loosely behind him and the tip twitches like a heartbeat.

  I crouch before him, the heat of his breath brushing against my chest. A droplet slides down from my jaw to my throat and his eyes follow it as though it’s the only thing in the world.

  “Careful,” I murmur, my voice low, dangerous. “You might not like what you taste.”

  He tilts his head slightly, almost a challenge.

  “Will you let me find out?”

  For a heartbeat, I just… study him. This sweet and shy creature I brought here, now kneeling before me in the dim hall, his tongue waiting for the remnants of another man’s life.

  My hand slides into his hair, guiding his head forward until the tip of his tongue touches the trail at the base of my throat. The first stroke is gentle, but the sound he makes causes something in me tighten. Such a soft and tender sound.

  I let him follow the path upward, his tongue warm against my skin as he licks away the streak along my jaw. When he reaches the corner of my mouth, I tilt my head down just enough for him to taste the last of it directly from my lips.

  The metallic tang mingles between us as his tongue brushes mine, the kiss slow and deliberate, pulling the taste deeper into him. His hands rest lightly on my thighs, steadying himself, though I can feel the faint tremor in his fingers.

  When I pull back, his pupils are wide and his breath is unsteady. A smear of red paints the corner of his mouth and I swipe it away with my thumb before pressing it back to his lips. He closes around it without hesitation, sucking the last trace away.

  “You are incredible,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I intended. “But you should go back to your room, Arun. Sleep.”

  He swallows, nodding, though his gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before he rises and pads silently down the hall.

  I watch him until his door closes, my queen’s laughter curling through my mind.

  I did not expect the boy to be so… interesting.

  I stand in the hall a moment longer, listening to the faint rustle of him settling back into bed. My jaw still tingles faintly where his tongue traced the last of the blood.

  Yes, Alexios. He is very enchanting, but you’ve left a mess behind. Clean it up before the sun rises.

  I turn back toward my room and the heavier heat of the room envelopes me again. The servant’s body lies where I left it, sprawled across the mattress, the cut at his neck dark and glistening. His eyes are half-lidded and his lips are still faintly parted from the kiss I gave him before the end.

  There’s never any sentiment in me when I follow her orders. There’s only the practical need to see the order complete and the matter finished. I strip the bed quickly, rolling the sheets around the body to keep the blood from dripping onto the floor. He’s not exactly light, but I hoist him over my shoulder without strain.

  The back stairs are silent at this hour, the stone cool under my bare feet. I take him out through the servant entrance and into the night. The air is thick with the scent of earth and herbs. The worker refuse pit lies beyond the stables, far enough from the main house that no one would notice until morning and besides, what remains will be ash by then.

  I set the bundle down, pulling the cloth back just long enough to glance at his face one last time. Then I douse him in lamp oil from the small tin kept there for the stable lamps. The flame catches instantly as it consumes the cloth, devouring it in moments.

  I watch until the fire begins to collapse inward and the skin blackens. Only when the bones begin to crack do I turn back toward the manor as the night wind tugs at my hair.

  Inside, the air is warm again and the fire in my room still alive. As I walk back to my room, I wonder if Arun is asleep or if he is lying awake, thinking of the taste I let him take.

  Either way, dawn will come soon.

  Tomorrow, the tour of Blackwood Plantation will begin.