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marysuevirusTitle: Bound
Chapter One: The Pleasure of Your Company
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch. but very, very AU. in fact, this is a sex slave universe. yup. i went there.
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and some violence, possibly some language. also some non-con in laters chapters. also, did i mention the loads of sex? and the lack of morals? and the sex slaves?
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,![[livejournal.com profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
Author's Notes: you know, Daz and i are dangerous together and we should just have a disclaimer that covers both of us. we cooked this idea up a year or so ago, actually. it is a slave verse, but i think not like any we've seen before. we've decided that this is set roughly in the 1200s, in a version of England (and the world) that is without the influence of religion. because of this, the practice of training, selling, and buying sex slaves is something that occurs with great frequency. there are other layers to the story, but i won't give them away here. just know its filled with sex and slaves and sexy sex slaves and... yeah. you get the picture.
Bound - Index Link
~*~
The Great Hall was bursting with people from all of the best families, all garbed in every color under the sun. It was a veritable parade of peacocks strutting proudly about the place as if they were the ones who owned all of this opulence. But then, it was always like this when Lord Stark held a gala event. He hated these things with a passion that matched none other, but he had his orders. His king had made it clear that he was to be present. To watch and learn. To spy.
There were times when he hated being the king's most trusted spy and advisor. It meant being made to suffer through such events as this. And there were no events more tedious than those given by Lord Stark.
As if being conjured by mere thought alone, the owner of the hall they were presently all squeezed into and the organizer of said event came into view. Anthony Stark was loud, brash, and as obnoxious as they came. It was a widely held opinion that he drank too much and rumor had it that he chased after any woman who caught his eye. This rumor persisted despite the fact that he'd been happily chasing the same woman for several years now. But what many people didn't know about Lord Stark was that he was one of the smartest men in the kingdom. When he spoke, the king listened. And there were few times when Lord Anthony Stark was ever wrong.
The man in question stood within a circle of men and women, all dressed in their finest attire. Their finest generally paled next to Stark's daily wear. For this evening's festivities, the man was clad in a rich, vibrant red tunic shot through with threads of gold. More gold bordered the neck and hem of the tunic. A thick belt of black leather rested at his waist. His breeches were black, his hose white. Pinned to his chest was a brooch of deep red rubies surrounded by gold. A pair of rings, both in gold, winked from his hands. It was a simply put together outfit that made the others look like overstuffed peacocks.
A quick glance to the side showed him that Phoebe Sinclair was standing off to the side and at a short distance from Stark. She was with him, but it was only obvious to someone with a well trained eye that she was reserved and aloof. Distant. Stark either hadn't noticed or simply didn't care.
Like Lord Stark, Mistress Sinclair was garbed in various shades of red and gold. Her gown was of satin, the red of it slightly lighter in color than Stark's tunic. Her shoulders were bared and a strip of sheer fabric spanned the tops of her breasts, allowing one a lovely view of their voluptuous curves. The top edge of the sheer material was lined with pale gold lace that looked as if it had been spun by spiders. The delicate lace also served as straps for the extravagant gown. Each arm was adorned by thin gold chains that hung from the lace, drops made of rubies and diamonds hanging from the chains to add an eye-catching touch of elegance. The cinch at her waist was a darker shade of red, one that matched Stark's tunic exactly, with accents of gold thread and more of the delicate lace decorating it. Slits that ran the length of the gown's skirt showed a pale gold petticoat beneath the red material.
Phoebe Sinclair could have come from one of the noble houses. She was gifted with poise and intelligence, as well as an uncanny ability to know when to play up her assets and when to remain in the background. She might have had a much different life, might have been with a much different man, had fate not dealt her a cruel blow. She'd lost her parents at a young age and had given herself over to one of the more reputable training houses. She'd become a courtesan and had moved through the parties of Lord Stark's peers with ease. She'd risen up from nothing to become one of the most successful courtesans in the city. She'd reached the point where she could have the pick of any man she wanted. Somehow, she'd caught Lord Stark's eye and, after much playing of cat and mouse, she'd fallen prey to the man's charms.
One might not have thought she was with Stark at all given the distance she kept from him and the seemingly cold manner with which she regarded him. But all one needed to do was glance at the necklace at her throat to see that he'd laid claim to her. It was a simple design, one that Stark had created himself. A large, single round ruby was set into a gold circle. Smaller, rectangular shaped rubies radiated outward around it like flower petals or the beams that one sometimes saw shining from the light of a candle. Mistress Sinclair belonged to Lord Anthony Stark and both parties seemed pleased with that arrangement.
A low murmur went up among Stark's party goers as the evening's guest of honor cut a path through the milling crowd. He watched the man come with a steady gaze, taking note of everything and everyone around him with the trained eye of a long time spy. For all intents and purposes, Thor Odinson gave the appearance of visiting their fair city in order to establish deeper diplomatic ties to his nation's neighbors to the south. The man's meeting with the king had been all broad smiles and sweeping bows and well spoken words delivered with a clever tongue. But there was something not quite right about the man and his reasons for a sudden visit when their two kingdoms had had few dealings before.
A quick glance around the hall showed that nearly every eye in the place was trained to their guest. The men's eyes were tight with masculine distrust. The women's eyes were bright with speculation and hunger. A small group of Odinson's retainers followed him, each one dressed in fine garb and carrying weapons meant to end a man's life. These retainers were warriors, including the lone female who accompanied him. She looked fiercest of them all, one hand resting always on the hilt of the sword at her side.
Based on the small group of warriors with Odinson and the careful speech he'd delivered to the king, it was obvious that he was visiting for reasons other than mere diplomacy.
"My lords and ladies!" Stark called out, drawing all attention to his way. The small group of minstrels in the corner fell silent so that the man's voice could carry throughout the room. The floor immediately surrounding Stark cleared to allowed one and all an unobstructed view of their host and those immediately around him. "Allow me to present unto you our guest of honor for the evening, Thor Odinson! He's come to visit our humble city from the cold lands in the north. Make him and his friends feel welcome."
A celebratory cheer went up, the sound becoming like a roar as it echoed back and forth off the stone walls of the hall. There was a light smattering of clapping that quickly died out. Thor and his small group of retainers stopped next to Stark and the two men made a show of clasping hands in friendship.
Stark made a show of motioning his guest behind the master's table and to a seat of honor right next to Stark's. The two men sat, their retainers moving to take their places at the table. Mistress Sinclair settled into a chair next to Stark, her serene gaze drifting over the assembled revelers almost absently. He knew it for the ploy it was. She was keeping an eye on the party, looking for trouble. She only broke off to look away when a liveried servant rushed forward to pour mead for the lord and his guests.
"My comrades and I wish to thank you for your hospitality, Lord Stark," Thor proclaimed, his voice booming loudly around the enclosed space. He was a big man with a big voice that sounded warm and welcoming. Chances were very good that it could also be harsh and cold when he needed it to be. It was an impressive voice. The big man picked up his tankard and raised it high into the air. "A toast. To new friends and alliances. And to Lord Stark for being a generous host."
A cheer rose up from the crowd as those with tankards lifted them high in answer to Thor's toast. That act seemed to signify that it was time for the invited guests to take their places at the long trestle tables that were set up specifically for them. He watched the colorful peacocks float toward the tables in small groups. Only a moment later, he felt the presence of another person standing beside him. A glance to his right showed him that Phillip had joined him. "Avoiding the crowd?" he asked with a hint of humor coloring his words.
"You know how much I dislike these things," the man told him, expression suggesting he was unimpressed with Stark's extravagant show.
"I've known you for many years, Phillip. Of course I know how much you dislike these things. Which is precisely why you make a good spy," he chuckled at the reminder.
"Is that why you're skulking in the shadows, Nicholas? Spying on everyone?" Phillip asked lightly. Had anyone else posed such a question, he would have given them a fearsome snarl. Because it was Phillip, he only smiled and nodded his head toward the main table.
"There's more going on here than a mere diplomatic visit. Odinson and his warriors are here for a specific reason." Nicholas didn't need to look to know that Phillip's gaze was locked on their five guests.
"Do you never get tired of the paranoia, Nicholas?" Phillip asked, but continued before he could answer. "I agree with you. He's here for a reason that he has not yet revealed to us. And something tells me he won't reveal it until he's very much ready to do so. We can only wait and bide our time."
"This is why you've always been my best spy. And my most favorite," Nicholas said and turned to look at Phillip. The man was wearing his finest tunic and hose. The material used to make his tunic was the color of the sky on a bright summer day, accents of white and silver stitched at the hem, neckline and cuffs. His hose were black. "Where's Miriam gotten to? I'm surprised you allow the girl out of your sight."
"She detests these things as much as I do. Had it not been such an important event, she and I would have spent a quiet evening at home. Sadly, I couldn't miss Lord Stark's gathering, so Miriam was forced to attend with me. She is presently hiding out with the other slaves." There was a touch of temper in his voice at the last of his words. It was no secret that Phillip hated the circumstances surrounding his relationship with Miriam. Nicholas hated them, too, but there was nothing he could do about them. And he'd been trying since the first day he'd brought Miriam to Phillip's home. The bloody laws were nigh unto set in stone.
"I apologize. I know how trying these things are for you. But I'm pleased to see you here. I have no better or capable spy in my stable. I trust you will be able to discover the secrets that no one wants to really share."
"If there are any to be had, you know I'll find them," Phillip agreed softly. Nicholas watched as his gaze slid off to the side. Seconds later, his shoulders tensed. He let his gaze shift in the same direction as Phillip's to see what had him on edge. He was gifted with the sight of Phillip's most hated enemy and he had to hide his smile behind a cough.
Mary Magdelaine Quinn stood not far from their corner, deep in conversation with an older gentleman of standing. His hair was iron grey and his clothes were impeccable despite being stretched across a generous belly. The woman was smiling prettily at him, giving the appearance of hanging on his every word. Nicholas had fought with her husband's brother some years ago, and had seen him struck down in the heat of battle. A promise had been made as the man lay dying that Nicholas would do his best to look after the man's family. Which was how Madam Quinn had come to be Phillip's most hated enemy.
"Tell me you aren't hiding from her," Nicholas teased, letting some humor show in his voice. Phillip shook himself before turning to shoot a glare his way. That look told Nicholas all he needed to know and it took every last bit of his will power not to throw his head back and laugh. "Surely you aren't afraid of a mere woman."
"That is no mere woman, as well you know," Phillip remarked. "She's a nosy busy body and she's done her damnedest to shove her daughter at me with every opportunity. Not more than ten minutes past, she was plying those same tricks upon me in the hopes that she could convince me to change my mind about her girl."
"Alexis Quinn is a respectable young woman. And an attractive one, at that," Nicholas told him, motioning with one hand toward the woman in question. Alexis Quinn was young and attractive and Nicholas had seen many an eye turn her way this night. For the party, she was clad in a scarlet dress that made her black hair seem all the darker. Emerald green eyes sparkled brightly in the flickering flames of candles and hearth fires.
The style of her gown was a little modest for someone of her age, but Nicholas had heard that Madam Quinn was... stuffy. While most women showed the curve of their shoulders and breasts, Alexis' shoulders remained covered. And her breasts were only hinted at by the smallest amount of cleavage showing over the top of her gown. The waist cinch paired with it was black, accented with metallic thread of red that caught the light and flashed like jewels. Phillip could do worse than Alexis Quinn. Of course, that would mean being tied to the harridan that called herself the girl's mother. "Not that I ever wish to meddle in your affairs, old friend, but do you not want and heir?"
Phillip shot him a sour look. Nicholas held up his hands in mock surrender, silently promising not to broach the subject again. For now, at least. Before he could say anything more, Phillip broke the silence. "I see Stark has invited the very best from the kingdom to this gathering."
Once again, Nicholas let his gaze slide around the interior of the Great Hall. Nearly everyone was seated, giving him an unobstructed view of every single face present. He saw Dukes and Duchesses, Marquesses and Marchionesses, Earls and Countesses, Viscounts and Viscountesses, and Barons and Baronesses. It appeared as if Lord Stark had managed to bring together almost the whole country's peerage. The king had obviously declined the invitation, though it wouldn't be beyond Stark to intentionally not invite their monarch.
It didn't escape him that he knew all these people, intimately, in ways that no one else would ever know them. He'd been his King's man almost before he'd become a man, trained in the art of espionage by his father, who had served king and country before him. Unlike his father, however, Nicholas had been careful not to leave innocent children in his wake. And he'd been careful to keep his affairs to little more than single night things. It was the only way he could think of to keep safe any woman he fancied. Enemies had power over you when they held control over something or someone you loved.
Phillip's soft huff of laughter beside him pulled him away from his thoughts to see what struck the man as funny. An inquisitive gaze sent his companion's way saw Phillip carefully motioning to a scene taking place in the background. A young couple was being tugged from one of the hidden alcoves one found behind the grand tapestries hanging on the walls. They'd been designed exactly for such assignations and, for a moment, Nicholas failed to see what the fuss was about. Then he took note of the feminine half of the young couple and everything suddenly made sense to him.
Elsa Jones was reported to be a shy, retiring lass who had no head on her shoulders when it came to the world around her. Whispered rumors suggested she spent all of her time with her head in the clouds. When it became apparent to her father that she was disinclined to leave her fantasy world, he and his wife had gone out and bought her a slave from one of the higher class establishments in the hopes that a few sexual encounters would show her what she was meant to do with her life. Further word suggested that the plan had backfired almost immediately because Elsa had become enamored of her paramour and wanted no one else to fill her bed.
Even across the distance, Nicholas could see that Elsa's sire was busy chastising the girl for her outlandish behavior. Not everyone condoned the nation's favorite hobby. There were those who thought that such overt shows of sexuality were a sin and against the true nature of mankind. Most people discarded that notion as nothing more than a prudish mentality. But Elsa's father seemed the kind of man who at least felt that one should not flaunt one's assets before a gathering of one's titled peers.
Elsa's dark hair was tousled, escaping the prim bun it had been forced into for the evening's gala. But her eyes sparkled with mischief and the bodice of her pale blue gown was too loose to hide what she and her paramour had been doing behind that tapestry. From what Nicholas could tell, the girl was busy ignoring her father, all of her attention turned directly toward the young man at her side.
Steven Rogers was a prime specimen of man, the kind of specimen that the rich sought out for pleasure purposes. He was easy on the eyes and of muscular build. Put a sword in the man's hand and Nicholas was sure he would drive the enemy away on sheer looks alone. But the boy wasn't very interested in making war. He'd been sent to the slave houses at an early age after the death of his parents. He'd spent most of his life in one or another, learning the art of his craft. He was not ashamed of his lot in life, but he was careful not to flaunt himself before the rest of the world. It was a rare trait in one who had grown up in the slave houses. He and Elsa seemed to be a good match.
Rogers wore a tunic in the same blue as Elsa but unlike the other men present, he wore no hose. Nicholas was sure that the man was wearing the mark of his owner's house under the tails of the tunic, as was customary for any slave at one of these gatherings. The man didn't seem ill at ease. In fact, it looked as if he wanted to put himself between Elsa and her father. It was a shame Nicholas hadn't been able to get his hands on the boy before he'd gone into the slave houses because it looked as if he'd have made an excellent soldier.
After a little more conversation, Lady Elsa straightened her gown and strode away from her father. Rogers remained at her side. She never once looked back at her father, who was left standing beside the tapestry to stew in his own anger.
Soon, with exception of a few select people, the trestle tables were filled to bursting with Stark's guests. When the last soul was seated, Stark rose from his seat and lifted his hands in a call for silence. Even the minstrels in the corner set their instruments aside in order to give the man the quiet he asked for. "My friends, we are all here to make welcome our honored guest from the north. Thor Odinson is heir to his father's throne, a prince among us lowly nobles."
A soft round of chuckles rose up at that. Not a soul at that table would ever believe Stark was a lowly noble. There had often been speculation amongst some circles that the man was trying to take over the throne. Nicholas had seen nothing to indicate such a coup might happen, but it was always amusing to hear the twitter pates gossip and consider.
"As is fitting for a visitor of such importance and stature, we lowly nobles wish to offer a gift to our gracious guest," Stark told the room just before clapping his hands together twice. From his corner, Nicholas watched as the doors at the far end opened slowly to reveal a group of barely clad women. As if there had been a predesignated signal, the minstrels began playing a lively tune that saw the women on the outer edges of the group break away to twirl and dance in a suggestive manner. The core of the group moved forward, the dancing wenches following after them.
As the group closed in on the main table where Stark and his guest were seated, the core group began breaking apart, slaves falling back to form a pair of lines as a trio kept on toward the table. All of these slaves were dressed in white, save one. She was a petite girl with golden brown hair that had been left to flow long and loose around her shoulders. She wore a kirtle in deep, dark blue that was both sheer and opaque. There was just enough solid material to hide her feminine charms but not so much as to make her seem fully clothed. A cinch of red held the kirtle close to her body and kept her from exposing every inch of skin. The slits on the sides showed bare legs with each step.
The girl's escort stopped her just short of the table and, as one, the three of them dipped into a deep curtsey. When the two escorts rose into a standing position, the girl remained in a in the position of subservience. Stark motioned to the girl, then turned toward Thor. The northman was frowning, forehead furrowed as he tried to decipher the meaning of the entire thing. "What is this?" the man asked, turning to look at Stark.
"A gift. This is Astrid. She's yours, my lord. To do with as you please," Stark told him. That earned him a quizzical look. Stark took a moment to consider the best way to answer that question. "Our nation has a long standing tradition of gifting our new friends with a slave. Consider it a token of our newly formed alliance."
"You give me a wench?" Odinson asked.
"We give you a girl trained in the arts of pleasure, Thor Odinson of the North." The voice didn't belong to Stark. It was a woman's voice, low and sultry with knowledge and power. Mistress Sinclair rose from her seat on Stark's other side and turned to face their guest. When Thor's attention shifted to her, she smiled and dipped her head as a sign of respect. Then she drifted away from the table, the red of her skirts floating around her as she rounded the end of the table. It was slightly surprising that she stepped into the center clearing, taking up a position just to the left and behind the girl.
The room held its collective breath as one hand rose from beside her. She raised it up high enough to stroke bejeweled fingers through Astrid's hair, leaned forward just a bit so she could whisper a few words in the girl's ear. Even from his darkened corner, Nicholas saw the way the girl simply relaxed into Mistress Sinclair's touch and he imagined that the girl's eyes had closed. Then the taller woman's free hand lifted from her side, high enough that she could stroke her fingers across one of Astrid's breasts.
The soft gasp of unrestrained pleasure was loud in the silent hall. Astrid melted into Mistress Sinclair's touch, the tension in her body unraveling under that single, minor caress. "You Northmen take slaves when you raid. That is the way of your culture. In our culture, we have servants who clean our homes and do the more mundane chores. And then we have slaves like Astrid. Women and men who are sold into slavery or find they have no other choice. These people are trained in the arts of pleasuring any and all who seek out their services."
She stroked a hand down the girl's front, touch bold and deliberate. Thor's gaze followed her wandering hand, only to return to the girl's face the moment she let go a moan of need and hunger. Mistress Sinclair leaned in toward Astrid again and whispered something to the girl. Astrid struggled to right herself so she could stare up at Stark's honored guest for a moment or two. Then her gaze turned to Mistress Sinclair and something passed silently between them. Eventually, the taller woman lifted a hand and motioned toward the table. At her silent instruction, Astrid lifted the front panel of her kirtle and carefully made her way around the end of the trestle table until she stood at Thor's side. "A gift to you, my lord. A young woman with hearty appetites and much instruction in the art of serving a man who will keep your bed warm for many nights to come."
For a moment or two, the room remained silent as it waited to see how Odinson would react to this news. He studied the young woman at his side for a second or two, eyes gleaming with interest. And then he offered her his tankard of mead. She offered him a hesitant smile before taking the mug and sipping the heady drink. The room exploded with a thunderous roar.
"I see Stark found a way to get the girl some place safe," Phillip commented lightly. Nicholas snorted at the man's resourcefulness.
"Stark always finds a way to accomplish whatever he sets his mind to. It is what makes him so valuable to the empire," Nicholas replied. But he had to admit that Stark had done something many had deemed impossible. He'd found a way to steal Astrid Pedersen away from a man who had shown interest in the girl. A man who would have sorely abused her in ways Nicholas cared not to think about. Chances were good Astrid would have been overlooked, had she not had ties to Stark's family. Her parents had once served at Stark's ancestral home, here in this very castle. They had been forced to leave and sell their only daughter into slavery when Anthony Stark had gone missing on some insane adventure to heathen lands and had been thought dead. He'd been forced to fight to settle things when he'd returned and had been unable to help Astrid out of the slave houses. Until recently.
It was a gamble to place her with a visiting dignitary, because there was no way of knowing if his ploy would succeed. Nicholas had found out every last bit of information on Thor Odinson he'd been able to dig up, so he knew that the man was a very accomplished warrior. But a knife to the back could kill an accomplished warrior as easily as it could an untrained, untried soldier without a single callus on his hands. But it was obvious Stark was doing what he could for the girl.
"He reminds me of someone I know," Phillip remarked casually. Nicholas turned a smile toward him. "Yet again, you've dragged me out into the middle of a mess I've no desire to be involved in. I thought I made it clear to you, years ago, that I've retired from the spying game. And yet, you have me wrapped up in this latest mess. Someplace I wish not to be."
"Phillip, you know you are my best man. There is no one I would trust to do this more than you," Nicholas told him quietly.
"You've always been my friend, Nicholas. Even when I was little more than one of the many faces in His Majesty's army. I've never regretted my decisions. But I want a life of peace and relaxation now. Not one of spying. I'm done with my games."
Nicholas studied him a moment. Phillip wore, as he always did, the bland expression that proved a perfect mask for a spy. It kept everything inside, gave nothing away, and often times made the person looking upon it if Phillip was paying any attention at all. Nicholas had known him long enough to see through the mask, though, to the emotions stirring underneath. Nicholas smiled at him. "You'd rather spend time locked away behind the doors of your manor home than amongst your peers. What has that girl done to you, Phillip?"
"Most likely exactly what you intended her to do, Nicholas," Phillip returned, reminding him of the fact that she was there because of Nicholas' interference. "If you did not insist upon using Miriam for your spy games, I don't believe we would ever leave the house."
Nicholas snorted. "Spare me talk of your sex life, Phillip. You know I'm not interested. And you know that Miriam is the only one who can go places where we cannot. If there is information to be found, she will be the one to bring it to me this night."
"I'm most certain such platitudes will keep Miriam warm when she drifts off to sleep later this evening. Let us hope that she doesn't overhear anything as upsetting as the last time you asked her to play spy games for you. It took me a sennight to chase away the dreams."
"Would the promise of a paid vacation ease your conscience?" Nicholas asked. Phillip shot him a look that told him without words and with much eloquence just how little that idea appealed to him. Nicholas chuffed a laugh. "I didn't think it would. Rest easy, Phillip. I only need Miriam's abilities for this night. Come the morrow, you can make your excuses and be on your way back to your own manor. And there you can hide away with Miriam until the sun goes black."
"Until you need us again."
~*~*~*~*~
The room was large and spacious, well appointed with comfortable furniture and decorated with exquisite skill and taste. Several chaise lounges in both deep and pale greens were scattered around the room with plush arm chairs. Pillows covered in greens and golds had been deposited on every chair, every lounge, every available surface. There were even large ones on the floor to act as places to sit. Expensive tapestries hid the stone walls and elaborate candle stands of wrought iron held beeswax tapers in white. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth and deep, dark wood tables held platters of foods. There were pitchers of drinks and tankards for everyone. It was a very beautiful room.
It still felt like a prison.
Miriam took a moment to look out the lead glass window though there was nothing to see. It was full dark out and the small courtyard she knew the window looked down into was cast in shadows. In the daylight hours, one could see the small garden that had been planted there, bright with small shrubs and brilliant blossoms. She wished she could see the garden just now, as it would prove a distraction to her current surroundings. The slave room. A prison.
She was here because Lord Fury and her Lord Coulson had asked her to spy for them. She wasn't sure what they were looking for by way of information, but she was more than positive that it had something to do with the newly arrived Thor Odinson, prince of the northern lands. So far, her attempts at discovering anything of use had gotten her little more than talk of Lady Wick's gout and how Lord Fielding liked to pretend he was still off on a crusade by riding his slave girls like horses. The images she'd gotten off that bit of conversation would haunt her for weeks to come.
Truth be told, she hated these functions. Lord Phillip hated these functions. It was one of many things they'd found they had in common. But Lord Fury had asked them both and she'd come to realize that not many people said no to Lord Fury. He was a frightening man when he wanted to be, and he had a vast amount of power that he used to make people do as he wished. Had she had her way, she and Phillip would be at their home, enjoying one another's company before the fire. In one way or another. A soft smile slipped over her face at the images that thought conjured up.
The smile didn't last long. A shrill voice broke into her thoughts and shattered the pleasant sensations she'd used to cloak herself. Miriam looked up to find that a single slave girl had attracted the attention of everyone in the room. She was positioned dramatically on one of the lounges with an appropriately unhappy expression on her face. "It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen in my life!"
"A real corpse?" another girl asked. Miriam allowed her glance to slide around the room, taking in the way most everyone seemed to be caught up in the story the first slave was telling. The room was predominantly women, though there were a few men scattered about. It wasn't anything unusual and no one seemed to realize she was there, so she turned her gaze back out the window, but she kept her attention focused on the slave's story.
"A real corpse. She looked as if someone had broken every bone in her body. And there was so much blood," the girl told her audience with a dramatic hitch in her voice. She even managed to look a little pale, though Miriam was willing to bet it was a well applied layer of make up and an expertly placed candle. "The poor dear, she was so white and pale."
"I heard tell that there've been several bodies found dumped around town. And without care about where they've been left. As if whoever is responsible doesn't care if they're caught or not." This was supplied by one of the slaves Miriam knew well. The girl belonged to Lord Williams, who was well known among his peers as a pompous, arrogant bastard with little care for anyone but himself. It would seem his slave had some of the same traits as he did. "I also know for a fact that the King's men don't even know about all of the bodies, yet."
"If the King's men don't know about them, how is it that you do?" the first girl asked. She was no one Miriam knew, but she'd seen the girl arrive with Lord Richards and his family.
"My master has been mapping the locations of the bodies based upon reports he's received from the people who have found them," the other girl said.
"I've heard that your master couldn't find his way between your thighs without the aid of his manservant. How is it he's capable of mapping out the placement of bodies?" the first girl sneered.
"Why does your master even own a sex slave? Its widely known that he doesn't care enough about his wife to..."
"We are not going to delve into this argument again, ladies," Peter, one of the few male slaves hanging about, interjected loudly. All eyes turned to him in surprise. He was not normally one to step between a pair of arguing women, but the look on his face said he didn't want to hear any fighting. "I think we should be more concerned that slaves appear to be disappearing and dying at the hands of some maniac."
"Disappearing?" someone asked, a hint of hesitance in their voice.
"Disappearing. I know for a fact that Lord Pym's household has lost a wench recently. As did Lord Rhodes' household," Peter confirmed. Miriam considered that for a moment. It was interesting because, the truth was, people rarely noticed if those like herself went missing. They rarely cared. But she had to think that Lord Fury knew of these instances. She had no doubt that he had information on all of the slaves who had gone missing and been found dead. As strange as it seemed, the man had a deep dislike of the slave trade and he'd never treated her with anything other than the kind of respect he showed Phillip.
"My master has concluded that Prince Odinson is responsible for the deaths. The first dead slave was found shortly after he arrived here," the second girl said knowingly. It sent a soft murmur through the gathered slaves as they considered what that might mean to them all. Miriam knew that each household would throw some kind of event for their visitor. And that would put him close to all of the slaves. If he was murdering slaves, it would be easy for him to pick and chose his victims. Miriam made a mental note to inform Lord Fury about this conversation, then turned her attention back to the discussion in the hopes she'd pick up more.
Miriam tuned out talk of dead slaves after that. She felt she'd gotten all the useful information she'd need to give to Lord Fury and let her gaze slide around the room. And she honestly didn't think that their visitor was responsible for any deaths. She'd been privy to conversation between Lord Fury and Phillip that suggested Thor Odinson was an honorable man. Anything that any of the gossip mongers had to say was little more than speculation at this point. A glance around the room suggested that the others were as tired of the talk of death as she was. Small groups were breaking off the main bunch and moving to different areas of the spacious room in order to converse with one another.
She watched as a pair of slaves drifted close to her position. At first, she wasn't sure if they were aware she was there. She had herself tucked into a corner, someplace where she was left mostly invisible to the others. But when she saw who they were, she felt for certain that they'd sought her out intentionally. "Lady Quinn has been making a fool of herself and her daughter again," one of them said.
"Oh? What has the woman done this time?" The question came from a second woman. Both of them had been at Madam Vespa's when Miriam had been sold to the wretched woman. Neither of them had particularly liked her. Miriam didn't like them, either, and had long ago forgotten their names. It was obvious, however, that they had not forgotten about Miriam because they'd stopped close to where she stood half hidden behind a tapestry.
"She's desperate to marry that daughter of hers off. I happened to pass her by as she was pleading her case to Lord Coulson," the first one replied. There was a hint of amusement in her voice that told Miriam she was intentionally being cruel. "It is rather pathetic, listening to a grown woman try to talk up her own child. Everyone knows that there isn't a soul in all the kingdom who would willingly wed Alexis Quinn."
"My master was discussing this subject just the other night over the evening meal. His wife seems quite certain that Lord Coulson is only a day or two away from giving Lady Quinn his answer. My mistress has heard from a reliable source that Lord Coulson quite fancies the Quinn girl, that he's been biding his time in order to spare his slave's tender feelings." The second girl's voice was sharp enough to sting, her words a barb that struck Miriam's heart. She tried to push the sudden sadness away, but it clung to her like a stubborn growth of ivy. She should leave and spare herself further idiocy. But to do so meant walking directly past the gossiping slaves. "My mistress is adamant that Lord Coulson has been quite smitten with the Quinn girl for years."
She knew that Lady Quinn had been after Phillip for years to marry her daughter. She also knew that he'd turned the woman down at every turn. In the privacy of his home, he'd confessed that he felt no desire to marry. He'd told Miriam that he felt no attraction for Alexis Quinn. Miriam had seen her a time or two and thought she was attractive enough. She'd never understood how he could claim such a thing. She had a few suspicions, but they were unsubstantiated and tucked away. They were painful to think about on the best of days. This was definitely not the best of days.
She tried to push it all away, all of the doubt and the fear and the hateful words of two women who only wanted to hurt her. It was easier said than done. Some part of her, innocent and childish though it was, had always thought that one day, Phillip would profess his undying love for her and everything would be perfect from that moment on. The majority of her, though, the part that had seen life through the eyes of an unwanted daughter, then a much abused slave in training, and then simply a slave, knew that such ideas were best left for children's stories because such things would never happen to her.
It was easier to pull back into herself, to try and pretend that the two women weren't there, intentionally making her life hell. She tried to fall back on thoughts that had always made her feel happy, tried to lose herself in thoughts of herself and Phillip during their nights together. But her tormentors were relentless. They continued to whisper about Phillip's eventual marriage to the Quinn girl and what would happen to any slaves residing in his house after that happened. She didn't want to think of the day he put her aside. She didn't want to be here in this room with such wicked, horrible people. She just wanted to leave and find some safe, quiet place to be by herself.
But there was no chance for her to seek solitude from the abuse because at that moment, the door to the room opened and allowed one of the newer girls to enter. Miriam had seen her before, at another event not too long ago, but she didn't know the girl's name or who owned her. Given that the girl was crying, her nose and eyes quite red, it was not something that Miriam felt was important to discover at the moment. She watched as one of the milling slave girls went to the crying girl's side and wrapped an arm around her. "Come now, Catherine. It cannot be as horrible as all that."
"It is," the crying girl wailed. The girl at her side guided her to an empty spot on one of the lounges and settled her down, taking a seat next to her. "I've told him. Before the presentation, when we were hidden away in one of the alcoves. He was buried deep inside of me, taking his pleasure, and I told him."
Catherine trailed off on a sob and buried her face in her hands. Her companion wrapped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her closer in an offer of emotional support for whatever had upset her. "What happened?"
"He told me that there was no way he'd ever let me keep a bastard in his house!" Catherine said, then started wailing again. "It doesn't matter that its his child growing inside of me. All that matters is he's a respectable gentleman and I'm little more than his slave. As far as he's concerned, the child can go to one of the houses as soon as it comes into the world."
"You shouldn't be surprised by his attitude, Catherine," the supportive girl replied softly. She stroked one hand down Catherine's arm in an attempt to soothe her battered senses. The girl sniffled and sobbed softly, ignoring the tears that rolled uninhibited down her cheeks. "I've never heard of a slave being allowed to keep her child. The babe is always shipped off to a slave house or to some family that cannot have children of their own. No high and mighty lord is going to allow his slave's bastard child to live in his home. His wife wouldn't stand for it. You know this."
"It still isn't fair!" Catherine wailed. Miriam closed her eyes. No. It wasn't fair. It was the way of the world she and these other women lived in and it wasn't bloody fair. She'd always wondered, secretly, what would happen if Phillip was to breed on her. She knew without his having to tell her that he did his best to prevent it. But it could happen. Miriam had watched free women walking the streets, their bellies ripe with child, wondering what it felt like to have a life growing within her. Some part of her had always wanted to be able to give Phillip a child. A son to carry on the Coulson name. A daughter to teach all of the womanly arts to and to dress in the most beautiful gowns. She knew it was a long shot, but it was something she wanted. "Its my child! I should be allowed to rear it!"
The strident words drew Miriam from her thoughts and the reasons behind them. There were things she was unwilling to admit to herself just yet. Maybe she never would because her situation was hopeless. She was a slave now and would be until the day she died. Nothing Phillip or Lord Fury could do would change that. As much as she wanted things to be different, she knew it would never happen. She should put aside the idea of ever giving Phillip a child, put aside all of her foolish dreams, and keep her head and feet firmly on the ground.
With the single stroke of the clock's hand, everything she'd seen and heard that evening fell down on top of her head and left her feeling emotionally wrung out. She needed away from these people with their snide, catty remarks. She needed away from sweet, young, innocent, naïve girls who thought that the world would be different for them. She needed away from the incessant wailing that set her head to pounding. She just needed to be gone from this place.
Seeing that the two gossiping twits were watching the crying girl and laughing at her sorrow, Miriam turned for the door. It was her intention to make quick her escape and find someplace quiet to hide out for a little while longer. But she stopped in her tracks, surprised to find a curious face peering in through the still open door. The pregnant girl must have forgotten to shut it after coming in. And the Miriam realized just which invited guest that face belonged to and something inside of her broke. She stalked across the floor, careful to keep her passing quiet, and stepped through the door so that her body blocked the interloper's view of the slaves private room. One hand pulled the door shut behind her.
"I believe you must be lost, Miss Quinn. There are no bachelors here for you to rope into wedding you. You should go back to the party and enjoy Lord Stark's hospitality," she told the girl in polite but firm tones.
For a moment, Alexis Quinn stared at her as if she hadn't understood a word that Miriam had spoken. Then she made a waving motion with her hand and glanced back at the door. "The party is boring and if my mother introduces me to one more ugly old man, I think I shall scream. Why is that girl crying?"
"Her reasons for crying are her own," Miriam replied tersely. It took every last bit of strength to hold back the sneer she wanted to deliver those words with. Why should Alexis Quinn care if a slave girl cried? It wasn't as if she was ever going to have to live the same life that Miriam and the others had to live.
"I heard her say she's with child. I was given to believe that women are generally happy when they discover there's a new life growing inside of them," Mistress Quinn said in a very offhand manner.
Something inside of Miriam snapped. Something that had been pulled thin and tight. She didn't think about what she was doing. She didn't even realize what she was doing. She just did, just wrapped one hand around the woman's arm and dragged her after her. Miss Quinn might have protested. Miriam couldn't be sure. What she was sure of was the way her fingers bit into the other woman's arm and the seething ball of rage lodged just behind her heart. She didn't stop or let go until she'd dragged the two of them out onto a small, isolated balcony. It was hidden behind a colorful tapestry and Miriam knew for a fact that very few people knew of its existence. It would be a perfect place to have a chat with young Miss Alexis Quinn.
When they were alone and Miriam released her arm, she saw the white marks left behind by her tight grip and felt a sense of panic wash through her. She'd never before done anything like that, but she'd known other slaves who had overstepped their bounds and they'd been severely punished. Miriam worried that she'd just sealed her fate. But Miss Quinn didn't seem to notice the finger shaped prints on her arm. Instead, she struck a pose that any proper young woman would never dream of striking and gave Miriam a look. "I don't understand why the girl is upset. I thought a child was something to be happy about."
Miriam blinked at her. Was this some kind of act? Was Miss Quinn serious? She looked to be of an age with Miriam so surely she had some knowledge of the world. It was unkind of her to treat other people's problems as some kind of joke. A rush of emotions flooded into her, coalesced into a tight ball of anger and hatred. The words of her tormentors came back to her. This was the woman who was supposed to be replacing her in Phillip's bed. This was the woman who would get to have his children. This was the woman who would get to have his love. "A sex slave isn't allowed to keep her child. It doesn't matter if the child's father is of noble blood. She cannot keep it. The babe will go to one of the houses for training or it will go to a couple without children."
A look of confusion passed over the other woman's face, followed swiftly by anger. "That's barbaric! Why would someone do that? What danger does a child pose?"
"What lady of the house would want her husband's brat around?" Miriam asked tartly. It was all she could do to keep the growing rage at bay.
"I would never send a child away from its mother's breast," Miss Quinn proclaimed sincerely. Miriam stared at her. The woman couldn't be serious. She just couldn't be. Why would she want the evidence of her husband's obviously philandering in her home? This had to be some kind of sick joke. Maybe the woman had been told to seek Miriam out by her mother. Madam Quinn had seen Miriam's face often enough during her visits to Phillip's home. She could have very easily pointed Miriam out to Alexis and then sent her daughter off on a mission to test Miriam's mettle. To see what kind of opposition she'd be. What kind of resistance she'd put up.
"Lies do not become ladies," Miriam snapped.
Alexis Quinn looked as if she had been slapped. "I'm sorry. I don't think I've ever met you before. Have I done something to offend you, my lady?"
Miriam felt her eyes go round as saucers. Had the woman just mocked her? Surely she had because everyone knew simply by looking at Miriam that she was a sexual slave. Her attire was designed specifically for just such a purpose. Okay. Maybe her gown was less revealing than some of the other women wore. But it was still blatantly obvious that she was a slave. "That is neither funny, nor polite."
Miss Quinn peered at her as if trying to figure her out. Was it possible that the woman had no idea she was a slave? It seemed unlikely. Miriam knew first hand what Madam Quinn's opinions on the slave class was. She had no doubt gone on at length with her daughter about such people. Surely Miss Quinn had to know what she was doing here. "I mean no disrespect, my lady."
"Stop that!" Miriam snarled, turning a dark glare her way. The other woman almost took a step back, but caught herself and remained in place. The look of confusion she'd been wearing melted away into something less kind.
"Forgive me for insulting you, my lady. It wasn't my intention," Miss Quinn responded with forced politeness. Then she sighed and slouched as much as she was able within the confines of her cinch. "I don't spend much time at these things so my knowledge of etiquette is almost non-existent. Of course my mother has tried to teach me proper manners, but I tend not to pay attention. I would rather be doing... other things."
Miriam stared, disbelieving. Was it possible? Did this girl really not know that Miriam was a slave? Did she really not know what a slave's life was like? If so, how was such a thing possible? Miriam had heard Madam Quinn prattle on at length about just how lowly the sexual slaves were in comparison to the servants who cleaned their homes and cooked for them. She'd heard a few rumors that none of the sexual slaves were allowed in Madam Quinn's home. If the rumors were true, then Miriam supposed it was entirely possible that Alexis Quinn really didn't know anything.
"You really are that naïve, aren't you?" Miriam asked.
"I beg your pardon?" Miss Quinn demanded. She looked as confused as she sounded. Miriam couldn't help it. She shook her head and laughed.
"You know nothing of the world you live in. How is it you've survived all these years and not managed to learn anything?"
"I know quite a deal, thank you very much!" the woman snapped peevishly.
"Really? If so, why do you think that that girl's owner will allow her to keep any child she bears? He won't want a bastard around. And I can guarantee you his wife won't want that babe in her home, either."
"Decent human compassion," Miss Quinn said, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
Miriam laughed. She couldn't help herself. The girl was naïve if she thought that people had anything like human compassion. Once the laughter started, it wouldn't stop. There was so much bottled up inside of her and it needed a way out. There was anger and fear and confusion and things she daren't name. All of it tumbled and roiled about her brain, leaving her in a fog of apprehension and mistrust. She was staring at the woman who could possible alter the course of her life and said woman seemingly didn't know anything at all. Miriam had to wonder if Miss Quinn even knew who Miriam was. This whole evening had had her teetering on the edge and she had reached the point where she either cried or she laughed.
Laughter seemed preferable.
"So naïve. Go back to your mother and hide behind her skirts, Miss Quinn. You very obviously know nothing of the world and I pity the poor soul you are forced to wed. Go on, child. Run along. This is a place for adults. Not the likes of you."
Miss Quinn stared at her for several long seconds, the pleasant silence of the darkness pressing in around them. For just a moment, it looked as if she would break out into tears. But her chin firmed up and her head tipped back, just a bit. With shoulders straight, she glared a hole through Miriam. Then she turned and marched off the balcony as if she was a bloody queen.
When she was gone and Miriam was sure she was alone, she sagged against the balcony and let the tension ease out of her. She hated these functions with every fiber of her being. She hated the looks of condescension from high born ladies. She hated the theatrics that happened among the slaves. And she hated looking at Alexis Quinn and imaging her with Phillip, naked in his bed. She hated it all. She wanted nothing more than to go to Phillip and demand they go home immediately. She knew that wasn't to happen, though.
And she needed time to herself before she faced Phillip again. She was fairly certain he had no intention of marrying Alexis Quinn. But if he did...
She needed time to calm her mind and soothe her soul. Because if the gossip was true, Miriam was sure that her life would be over.
~*~*~*~*~
Alexis made it almost all the way back to the Great Hall before she needed to stop and pull herself together. Her encounter with the other woman had left her rattled. She knew well enough that showing up at her mother's side in such a state would prompt a very lengthy session of questioning. That was something she wished to avoid at all costs.
The thought of the other girl laughing at her saw her temper rising again and she muttered a few curses she'd learned from her uncle before he'd gone off to fight for king and country. How dare the woman call her naïve! Perhaps Alexis didn't quite understand the way things worked, but that didn't make her any less educated than anyone else. She'd asked her mother once about the pleasure slaves and had gotten a curt comment reminding her that ladies didn't ask such questions. So she'd gone to her brothers in the hopes that they would answer her questions. And it had quickly become obvious that her mother had forbade them from giving Alexis any information at all.
A bark of masculine laughter drew her from her thoughts. A few more sounds, deep groans that she thought might be pain, saw her sneaking closer to the corner just before her. Silent feet got her there, a skill she'd picked up from her brothers, and saw her peering around the corner. A couple was entwined a few paces up the corridor. The woman had brilliant red hair and wore a black gown that accentuated her pale skin. The cinch was black, as well, accented only by hints of dark red. Her hands had found their way up under the edge of her partner's tunic and the movements they made suggested she was touching him intimately. For a second, she fought with herself, her mother's voice ringing in her head that she shouldn't be watching such displays. But she pushed it away and continued to peek.
His head rested on her shoulder, his face hidden against her throat. Her eyes were closed, mouth parted ever so slightly. His hands rested on the swell of her hips, fingers curled into the material of her skirts. "We really shouldn't, Natasha. What if someone catches us?" the man asked, voice low and ragged and filled with hunger. The sound of it stirred something in Alexis, forcing her to bite her lip in order to remain silent.
"Since when do you care about convention, Clinton?" the woman asked. There was an accent in her voice, one Alexis had not heard before. She puzzled over it, wondering if this woman had come with Prince Odinson's party. But she seemed to know her companion well enough to suggest that she was not so new here.
He lifted his head far enough to give her a sly smile. "Never. You know that. But I thought you might want to preserve your reputation. You are a fine lady, after all." Finished speaking, he leaned in to trail kisses across her cheek. His mouth stopped when it was pressed against hers, his body inching forward to cover hers. She hummed in appreciation and allowed her hands to slide up into his hair. When she'd removed them from under his tunic, Alexis couldn't say.
Their mouths remained locked for several minutes. When they finally broke apart, it was to pull air into their lungs. She looked up at him with a knowing smile. "A fine lady. What a good jest. We both know this for the lie it is." Her chuckle was deep and throaty, a husky sound that saw him closing his eyes. He apparently enjoyed the sound of her laugh a great deal.
The woman pushed him back far enough to tug the bottom hem of his tunic up. Alexis was surprised to find that he wore nothing beneath it and he... Oh, my.
The woman's hand curled around him and stroked gently. He gave his own throaty groan and planted a hand on the stone wall beside her. "Natasha."
"Come on, Clinton. Don't play shy with me now. We'll both know it for the ruse it is. Everyone is enjoying the disgusting show of Lord Stark's wealth. We're alone here. You can do to me as you like," she purred.
When her hand pulled forward this time, her grip tightened enough to tug him forward. He hissed his response. Alexis didn't think it was in pain because moments later, he was hiking the length of her skirts up to her waist. There were no more words spoken. When he had his partner's skirts pulled up fully, she put her hands on his shoulders and leapt up. Her legs wrapped around his waist and urged him closer. One of her hands slid between them seconds before his hips pressed forward. She hissed and withdrew her hand, then returned it to his shoulder.
There was a single moment of perfect stillness. The two of them stared one another in the eye. And then he lunged forward. Her back hit the stone wall with a sound that carried to where Alexis stood. Alexis was sure the woman would wear marks of this encounter come the morning. His hands were planted on the wall to either side of her head, fingers spread wide. Alexis could see his hips shifting, driving in and pulling back out over and over. For her part, the woman pulled her partner closer to her and delivered kisses to his mouth. At the same time, her hips rolled against his.
The silence pressed in on around her, so absolute that she could hear the sounds of their flesh slapping as they came together again and again. She could hear the faint moans and groans that slipped up their throats. Could hear the wet sounds of their bodies meeting and their mouths meshing. Those sounds were odd. And yet... They were highly arousing.
Alexis was no shy virgin. Well, she was a virgin. But she was a learned virgin. She'd spoken with some less than savory characters and found out a great deal about the act of giving pleasure. So she had a working knowledge of how it was supposed to go. But this was the first time she'd ever seen it happen and... It was nothing like what she was expecting. Nor was she expecting the odd sensations that filled her body watching the two of them.
A kind of tight heat seemed to be coiling low in her belly and her breasts felt as if they'd shatter apart with a single touch of a finger. The couple broke apart for air and she watched as the woman called Natasha tossed her head back and let go a throaty laugh. Something about the sound saw Alexis shifting in place. Her arm brushed the tender peak of her nipple and sent ripples of pleasure rolling through her. She found herself biting her lip to keep from giving her position away.
It went on like that for what seemed an age. There were deep sounds that seemed to come from the very core of the couple. There were wetter, meatier sounds that she came to realize were purely because of their actions. There were sensations that left Alexis breathless and eager for what she suspected was the actual sex act. It was a vulgar and beautiful dance. It was something Alexis thought she might enjoy.
In the midst of the couple's pleasure, she was jolted back to reality by the echoing voice of the young woman she'd met earlier. The one that had called her naïve. That word grated against her conscience, made her feel like she had to do something about it and prove the other woman wrong. And she had to admit, it looked as if the erotic dance the couple down the hall was doing was highly enjoyable.
Well, then. That settled it. She needed to have sex to prove to the other woman she wasn't naïve at all. Decision made, she settled back to watch the couple some more. Specifically, to watch the male half of the couple some more. He was quite handsome and, if the expression on his partner's face was anything to go by, quite skilled in the arts of lovemaking. He'd be perfect to teach her the ways of erotic pleasure.
All she had to do was find out who he was and where she could find him. And do it without her mother finding out. Oh, yes. That should be easy as pie.
~*~
Chapter One: The Pleasure of Your Company
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch. but very, very AU. in fact, this is a sex slave universe. yup. i went there.
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and some violence, possibly some language. also some non-con in laters chapters. also, did i mention the loads of sex? and the lack of morals? and the sex slaves?
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.Author's Notes: you know, Daz and i are dangerous together and we should just have a disclaimer that covers both of us. we cooked this idea up a year or so ago, actually. it is a slave verse, but i think not like any we've seen before. we've decided that this is set roughly in the 1200s, in a version of England (and the world) that is without the influence of religion. because of this, the practice of training, selling, and buying sex slaves is something that occurs with great frequency. there are other layers to the story, but i won't give them away here. just know its filled with sex and slaves and sexy sex slaves and... yeah. you get the picture.
Bound - Index Link
~*~
The Great Hall was bursting with people from all of the best families, all garbed in every color under the sun. It was a veritable parade of peacocks strutting proudly about the place as if they were the ones who owned all of this opulence. But then, it was always like this when Lord Stark held a gala event. He hated these things with a passion that matched none other, but he had his orders. His king had made it clear that he was to be present. To watch and learn. To spy.
There were times when he hated being the king's most trusted spy and advisor. It meant being made to suffer through such events as this. And there were no events more tedious than those given by Lord Stark.
As if being conjured by mere thought alone, the owner of the hall they were presently all squeezed into and the organizer of said event came into view. Anthony Stark was loud, brash, and as obnoxious as they came. It was a widely held opinion that he drank too much and rumor had it that he chased after any woman who caught his eye. This rumor persisted despite the fact that he'd been happily chasing the same woman for several years now. But what many people didn't know about Lord Stark was that he was one of the smartest men in the kingdom. When he spoke, the king listened. And there were few times when Lord Anthony Stark was ever wrong.
The man in question stood within a circle of men and women, all dressed in their finest attire. Their finest generally paled next to Stark's daily wear. For this evening's festivities, the man was clad in a rich, vibrant red tunic shot through with threads of gold. More gold bordered the neck and hem of the tunic. A thick belt of black leather rested at his waist. His breeches were black, his hose white. Pinned to his chest was a brooch of deep red rubies surrounded by gold. A pair of rings, both in gold, winked from his hands. It was a simply put together outfit that made the others look like overstuffed peacocks.
A quick glance to the side showed him that Phoebe Sinclair was standing off to the side and at a short distance from Stark. She was with him, but it was only obvious to someone with a well trained eye that she was reserved and aloof. Distant. Stark either hadn't noticed or simply didn't care.
Like Lord Stark, Mistress Sinclair was garbed in various shades of red and gold. Her gown was of satin, the red of it slightly lighter in color than Stark's tunic. Her shoulders were bared and a strip of sheer fabric spanned the tops of her breasts, allowing one a lovely view of their voluptuous curves. The top edge of the sheer material was lined with pale gold lace that looked as if it had been spun by spiders. The delicate lace also served as straps for the extravagant gown. Each arm was adorned by thin gold chains that hung from the lace, drops made of rubies and diamonds hanging from the chains to add an eye-catching touch of elegance. The cinch at her waist was a darker shade of red, one that matched Stark's tunic exactly, with accents of gold thread and more of the delicate lace decorating it. Slits that ran the length of the gown's skirt showed a pale gold petticoat beneath the red material.
Phoebe Sinclair could have come from one of the noble houses. She was gifted with poise and intelligence, as well as an uncanny ability to know when to play up her assets and when to remain in the background. She might have had a much different life, might have been with a much different man, had fate not dealt her a cruel blow. She'd lost her parents at a young age and had given herself over to one of the more reputable training houses. She'd become a courtesan and had moved through the parties of Lord Stark's peers with ease. She'd risen up from nothing to become one of the most successful courtesans in the city. She'd reached the point where she could have the pick of any man she wanted. Somehow, she'd caught Lord Stark's eye and, after much playing of cat and mouse, she'd fallen prey to the man's charms.
One might not have thought she was with Stark at all given the distance she kept from him and the seemingly cold manner with which she regarded him. But all one needed to do was glance at the necklace at her throat to see that he'd laid claim to her. It was a simple design, one that Stark had created himself. A large, single round ruby was set into a gold circle. Smaller, rectangular shaped rubies radiated outward around it like flower petals or the beams that one sometimes saw shining from the light of a candle. Mistress Sinclair belonged to Lord Anthony Stark and both parties seemed pleased with that arrangement.
A low murmur went up among Stark's party goers as the evening's guest of honor cut a path through the milling crowd. He watched the man come with a steady gaze, taking note of everything and everyone around him with the trained eye of a long time spy. For all intents and purposes, Thor Odinson gave the appearance of visiting their fair city in order to establish deeper diplomatic ties to his nation's neighbors to the south. The man's meeting with the king had been all broad smiles and sweeping bows and well spoken words delivered with a clever tongue. But there was something not quite right about the man and his reasons for a sudden visit when their two kingdoms had had few dealings before.
A quick glance around the hall showed that nearly every eye in the place was trained to their guest. The men's eyes were tight with masculine distrust. The women's eyes were bright with speculation and hunger. A small group of Odinson's retainers followed him, each one dressed in fine garb and carrying weapons meant to end a man's life. These retainers were warriors, including the lone female who accompanied him. She looked fiercest of them all, one hand resting always on the hilt of the sword at her side.
Based on the small group of warriors with Odinson and the careful speech he'd delivered to the king, it was obvious that he was visiting for reasons other than mere diplomacy.
"My lords and ladies!" Stark called out, drawing all attention to his way. The small group of minstrels in the corner fell silent so that the man's voice could carry throughout the room. The floor immediately surrounding Stark cleared to allowed one and all an unobstructed view of their host and those immediately around him. "Allow me to present unto you our guest of honor for the evening, Thor Odinson! He's come to visit our humble city from the cold lands in the north. Make him and his friends feel welcome."
A celebratory cheer went up, the sound becoming like a roar as it echoed back and forth off the stone walls of the hall. There was a light smattering of clapping that quickly died out. Thor and his small group of retainers stopped next to Stark and the two men made a show of clasping hands in friendship.
Stark made a show of motioning his guest behind the master's table and to a seat of honor right next to Stark's. The two men sat, their retainers moving to take their places at the table. Mistress Sinclair settled into a chair next to Stark, her serene gaze drifting over the assembled revelers almost absently. He knew it for the ploy it was. She was keeping an eye on the party, looking for trouble. She only broke off to look away when a liveried servant rushed forward to pour mead for the lord and his guests.
"My comrades and I wish to thank you for your hospitality, Lord Stark," Thor proclaimed, his voice booming loudly around the enclosed space. He was a big man with a big voice that sounded warm and welcoming. Chances were very good that it could also be harsh and cold when he needed it to be. It was an impressive voice. The big man picked up his tankard and raised it high into the air. "A toast. To new friends and alliances. And to Lord Stark for being a generous host."
A cheer rose up from the crowd as those with tankards lifted them high in answer to Thor's toast. That act seemed to signify that it was time for the invited guests to take their places at the long trestle tables that were set up specifically for them. He watched the colorful peacocks float toward the tables in small groups. Only a moment later, he felt the presence of another person standing beside him. A glance to his right showed him that Phillip had joined him. "Avoiding the crowd?" he asked with a hint of humor coloring his words.
"You know how much I dislike these things," the man told him, expression suggesting he was unimpressed with Stark's extravagant show.
"I've known you for many years, Phillip. Of course I know how much you dislike these things. Which is precisely why you make a good spy," he chuckled at the reminder.
"Is that why you're skulking in the shadows, Nicholas? Spying on everyone?" Phillip asked lightly. Had anyone else posed such a question, he would have given them a fearsome snarl. Because it was Phillip, he only smiled and nodded his head toward the main table.
"There's more going on here than a mere diplomatic visit. Odinson and his warriors are here for a specific reason." Nicholas didn't need to look to know that Phillip's gaze was locked on their five guests.
"Do you never get tired of the paranoia, Nicholas?" Phillip asked, but continued before he could answer. "I agree with you. He's here for a reason that he has not yet revealed to us. And something tells me he won't reveal it until he's very much ready to do so. We can only wait and bide our time."
"This is why you've always been my best spy. And my most favorite," Nicholas said and turned to look at Phillip. The man was wearing his finest tunic and hose. The material used to make his tunic was the color of the sky on a bright summer day, accents of white and silver stitched at the hem, neckline and cuffs. His hose were black. "Where's Miriam gotten to? I'm surprised you allow the girl out of your sight."
"She detests these things as much as I do. Had it not been such an important event, she and I would have spent a quiet evening at home. Sadly, I couldn't miss Lord Stark's gathering, so Miriam was forced to attend with me. She is presently hiding out with the other slaves." There was a touch of temper in his voice at the last of his words. It was no secret that Phillip hated the circumstances surrounding his relationship with Miriam. Nicholas hated them, too, but there was nothing he could do about them. And he'd been trying since the first day he'd brought Miriam to Phillip's home. The bloody laws were nigh unto set in stone.
"I apologize. I know how trying these things are for you. But I'm pleased to see you here. I have no better or capable spy in my stable. I trust you will be able to discover the secrets that no one wants to really share."
"If there are any to be had, you know I'll find them," Phillip agreed softly. Nicholas watched as his gaze slid off to the side. Seconds later, his shoulders tensed. He let his gaze shift in the same direction as Phillip's to see what had him on edge. He was gifted with the sight of Phillip's most hated enemy and he had to hide his smile behind a cough.
Mary Magdelaine Quinn stood not far from their corner, deep in conversation with an older gentleman of standing. His hair was iron grey and his clothes were impeccable despite being stretched across a generous belly. The woman was smiling prettily at him, giving the appearance of hanging on his every word. Nicholas had fought with her husband's brother some years ago, and had seen him struck down in the heat of battle. A promise had been made as the man lay dying that Nicholas would do his best to look after the man's family. Which was how Madam Quinn had come to be Phillip's most hated enemy.
"Tell me you aren't hiding from her," Nicholas teased, letting some humor show in his voice. Phillip shook himself before turning to shoot a glare his way. That look told Nicholas all he needed to know and it took every last bit of his will power not to throw his head back and laugh. "Surely you aren't afraid of a mere woman."
"That is no mere woman, as well you know," Phillip remarked. "She's a nosy busy body and she's done her damnedest to shove her daughter at me with every opportunity. Not more than ten minutes past, she was plying those same tricks upon me in the hopes that she could convince me to change my mind about her girl."
"Alexis Quinn is a respectable young woman. And an attractive one, at that," Nicholas told him, motioning with one hand toward the woman in question. Alexis Quinn was young and attractive and Nicholas had seen many an eye turn her way this night. For the party, she was clad in a scarlet dress that made her black hair seem all the darker. Emerald green eyes sparkled brightly in the flickering flames of candles and hearth fires.
The style of her gown was a little modest for someone of her age, but Nicholas had heard that Madam Quinn was... stuffy. While most women showed the curve of their shoulders and breasts, Alexis' shoulders remained covered. And her breasts were only hinted at by the smallest amount of cleavage showing over the top of her gown. The waist cinch paired with it was black, accented with metallic thread of red that caught the light and flashed like jewels. Phillip could do worse than Alexis Quinn. Of course, that would mean being tied to the harridan that called herself the girl's mother. "Not that I ever wish to meddle in your affairs, old friend, but do you not want and heir?"
Phillip shot him a sour look. Nicholas held up his hands in mock surrender, silently promising not to broach the subject again. For now, at least. Before he could say anything more, Phillip broke the silence. "I see Stark has invited the very best from the kingdom to this gathering."
Once again, Nicholas let his gaze slide around the interior of the Great Hall. Nearly everyone was seated, giving him an unobstructed view of every single face present. He saw Dukes and Duchesses, Marquesses and Marchionesses, Earls and Countesses, Viscounts and Viscountesses, and Barons and Baronesses. It appeared as if Lord Stark had managed to bring together almost the whole country's peerage. The king had obviously declined the invitation, though it wouldn't be beyond Stark to intentionally not invite their monarch.
It didn't escape him that he knew all these people, intimately, in ways that no one else would ever know them. He'd been his King's man almost before he'd become a man, trained in the art of espionage by his father, who had served king and country before him. Unlike his father, however, Nicholas had been careful not to leave innocent children in his wake. And he'd been careful to keep his affairs to little more than single night things. It was the only way he could think of to keep safe any woman he fancied. Enemies had power over you when they held control over something or someone you loved.
Phillip's soft huff of laughter beside him pulled him away from his thoughts to see what struck the man as funny. An inquisitive gaze sent his companion's way saw Phillip carefully motioning to a scene taking place in the background. A young couple was being tugged from one of the hidden alcoves one found behind the grand tapestries hanging on the walls. They'd been designed exactly for such assignations and, for a moment, Nicholas failed to see what the fuss was about. Then he took note of the feminine half of the young couple and everything suddenly made sense to him.
Elsa Jones was reported to be a shy, retiring lass who had no head on her shoulders when it came to the world around her. Whispered rumors suggested she spent all of her time with her head in the clouds. When it became apparent to her father that she was disinclined to leave her fantasy world, he and his wife had gone out and bought her a slave from one of the higher class establishments in the hopes that a few sexual encounters would show her what she was meant to do with her life. Further word suggested that the plan had backfired almost immediately because Elsa had become enamored of her paramour and wanted no one else to fill her bed.
Even across the distance, Nicholas could see that Elsa's sire was busy chastising the girl for her outlandish behavior. Not everyone condoned the nation's favorite hobby. There were those who thought that such overt shows of sexuality were a sin and against the true nature of mankind. Most people discarded that notion as nothing more than a prudish mentality. But Elsa's father seemed the kind of man who at least felt that one should not flaunt one's assets before a gathering of one's titled peers.
Elsa's dark hair was tousled, escaping the prim bun it had been forced into for the evening's gala. But her eyes sparkled with mischief and the bodice of her pale blue gown was too loose to hide what she and her paramour had been doing behind that tapestry. From what Nicholas could tell, the girl was busy ignoring her father, all of her attention turned directly toward the young man at her side.
Steven Rogers was a prime specimen of man, the kind of specimen that the rich sought out for pleasure purposes. He was easy on the eyes and of muscular build. Put a sword in the man's hand and Nicholas was sure he would drive the enemy away on sheer looks alone. But the boy wasn't very interested in making war. He'd been sent to the slave houses at an early age after the death of his parents. He'd spent most of his life in one or another, learning the art of his craft. He was not ashamed of his lot in life, but he was careful not to flaunt himself before the rest of the world. It was a rare trait in one who had grown up in the slave houses. He and Elsa seemed to be a good match.
Rogers wore a tunic in the same blue as Elsa but unlike the other men present, he wore no hose. Nicholas was sure that the man was wearing the mark of his owner's house under the tails of the tunic, as was customary for any slave at one of these gatherings. The man didn't seem ill at ease. In fact, it looked as if he wanted to put himself between Elsa and her father. It was a shame Nicholas hadn't been able to get his hands on the boy before he'd gone into the slave houses because it looked as if he'd have made an excellent soldier.
After a little more conversation, Lady Elsa straightened her gown and strode away from her father. Rogers remained at her side. She never once looked back at her father, who was left standing beside the tapestry to stew in his own anger.
Soon, with exception of a few select people, the trestle tables were filled to bursting with Stark's guests. When the last soul was seated, Stark rose from his seat and lifted his hands in a call for silence. Even the minstrels in the corner set their instruments aside in order to give the man the quiet he asked for. "My friends, we are all here to make welcome our honored guest from the north. Thor Odinson is heir to his father's throne, a prince among us lowly nobles."
A soft round of chuckles rose up at that. Not a soul at that table would ever believe Stark was a lowly noble. There had often been speculation amongst some circles that the man was trying to take over the throne. Nicholas had seen nothing to indicate such a coup might happen, but it was always amusing to hear the twitter pates gossip and consider.
"As is fitting for a visitor of such importance and stature, we lowly nobles wish to offer a gift to our gracious guest," Stark told the room just before clapping his hands together twice. From his corner, Nicholas watched as the doors at the far end opened slowly to reveal a group of barely clad women. As if there had been a predesignated signal, the minstrels began playing a lively tune that saw the women on the outer edges of the group break away to twirl and dance in a suggestive manner. The core of the group moved forward, the dancing wenches following after them.
As the group closed in on the main table where Stark and his guest were seated, the core group began breaking apart, slaves falling back to form a pair of lines as a trio kept on toward the table. All of these slaves were dressed in white, save one. She was a petite girl with golden brown hair that had been left to flow long and loose around her shoulders. She wore a kirtle in deep, dark blue that was both sheer and opaque. There was just enough solid material to hide her feminine charms but not so much as to make her seem fully clothed. A cinch of red held the kirtle close to her body and kept her from exposing every inch of skin. The slits on the sides showed bare legs with each step.
The girl's escort stopped her just short of the table and, as one, the three of them dipped into a deep curtsey. When the two escorts rose into a standing position, the girl remained in a in the position of subservience. Stark motioned to the girl, then turned toward Thor. The northman was frowning, forehead furrowed as he tried to decipher the meaning of the entire thing. "What is this?" the man asked, turning to look at Stark.
"A gift. This is Astrid. She's yours, my lord. To do with as you please," Stark told him. That earned him a quizzical look. Stark took a moment to consider the best way to answer that question. "Our nation has a long standing tradition of gifting our new friends with a slave. Consider it a token of our newly formed alliance."
"You give me a wench?" Odinson asked.
"We give you a girl trained in the arts of pleasure, Thor Odinson of the North." The voice didn't belong to Stark. It was a woman's voice, low and sultry with knowledge and power. Mistress Sinclair rose from her seat on Stark's other side and turned to face their guest. When Thor's attention shifted to her, she smiled and dipped her head as a sign of respect. Then she drifted away from the table, the red of her skirts floating around her as she rounded the end of the table. It was slightly surprising that she stepped into the center clearing, taking up a position just to the left and behind the girl.
The room held its collective breath as one hand rose from beside her. She raised it up high enough to stroke bejeweled fingers through Astrid's hair, leaned forward just a bit so she could whisper a few words in the girl's ear. Even from his darkened corner, Nicholas saw the way the girl simply relaxed into Mistress Sinclair's touch and he imagined that the girl's eyes had closed. Then the taller woman's free hand lifted from her side, high enough that she could stroke her fingers across one of Astrid's breasts.
The soft gasp of unrestrained pleasure was loud in the silent hall. Astrid melted into Mistress Sinclair's touch, the tension in her body unraveling under that single, minor caress. "You Northmen take slaves when you raid. That is the way of your culture. In our culture, we have servants who clean our homes and do the more mundane chores. And then we have slaves like Astrid. Women and men who are sold into slavery or find they have no other choice. These people are trained in the arts of pleasuring any and all who seek out their services."
She stroked a hand down the girl's front, touch bold and deliberate. Thor's gaze followed her wandering hand, only to return to the girl's face the moment she let go a moan of need and hunger. Mistress Sinclair leaned in toward Astrid again and whispered something to the girl. Astrid struggled to right herself so she could stare up at Stark's honored guest for a moment or two. Then her gaze turned to Mistress Sinclair and something passed silently between them. Eventually, the taller woman lifted a hand and motioned toward the table. At her silent instruction, Astrid lifted the front panel of her kirtle and carefully made her way around the end of the trestle table until she stood at Thor's side. "A gift to you, my lord. A young woman with hearty appetites and much instruction in the art of serving a man who will keep your bed warm for many nights to come."
For a moment or two, the room remained silent as it waited to see how Odinson would react to this news. He studied the young woman at his side for a second or two, eyes gleaming with interest. And then he offered her his tankard of mead. She offered him a hesitant smile before taking the mug and sipping the heady drink. The room exploded with a thunderous roar.
"I see Stark found a way to get the girl some place safe," Phillip commented lightly. Nicholas snorted at the man's resourcefulness.
"Stark always finds a way to accomplish whatever he sets his mind to. It is what makes him so valuable to the empire," Nicholas replied. But he had to admit that Stark had done something many had deemed impossible. He'd found a way to steal Astrid Pedersen away from a man who had shown interest in the girl. A man who would have sorely abused her in ways Nicholas cared not to think about. Chances were good Astrid would have been overlooked, had she not had ties to Stark's family. Her parents had once served at Stark's ancestral home, here in this very castle. They had been forced to leave and sell their only daughter into slavery when Anthony Stark had gone missing on some insane adventure to heathen lands and had been thought dead. He'd been forced to fight to settle things when he'd returned and had been unable to help Astrid out of the slave houses. Until recently.
It was a gamble to place her with a visiting dignitary, because there was no way of knowing if his ploy would succeed. Nicholas had found out every last bit of information on Thor Odinson he'd been able to dig up, so he knew that the man was a very accomplished warrior. But a knife to the back could kill an accomplished warrior as easily as it could an untrained, untried soldier without a single callus on his hands. But it was obvious Stark was doing what he could for the girl.
"He reminds me of someone I know," Phillip remarked casually. Nicholas turned a smile toward him. "Yet again, you've dragged me out into the middle of a mess I've no desire to be involved in. I thought I made it clear to you, years ago, that I've retired from the spying game. And yet, you have me wrapped up in this latest mess. Someplace I wish not to be."
"Phillip, you know you are my best man. There is no one I would trust to do this more than you," Nicholas told him quietly.
"You've always been my friend, Nicholas. Even when I was little more than one of the many faces in His Majesty's army. I've never regretted my decisions. But I want a life of peace and relaxation now. Not one of spying. I'm done with my games."
Nicholas studied him a moment. Phillip wore, as he always did, the bland expression that proved a perfect mask for a spy. It kept everything inside, gave nothing away, and often times made the person looking upon it if Phillip was paying any attention at all. Nicholas had known him long enough to see through the mask, though, to the emotions stirring underneath. Nicholas smiled at him. "You'd rather spend time locked away behind the doors of your manor home than amongst your peers. What has that girl done to you, Phillip?"
"Most likely exactly what you intended her to do, Nicholas," Phillip returned, reminding him of the fact that she was there because of Nicholas' interference. "If you did not insist upon using Miriam for your spy games, I don't believe we would ever leave the house."
Nicholas snorted. "Spare me talk of your sex life, Phillip. You know I'm not interested. And you know that Miriam is the only one who can go places where we cannot. If there is information to be found, she will be the one to bring it to me this night."
"I'm most certain such platitudes will keep Miriam warm when she drifts off to sleep later this evening. Let us hope that she doesn't overhear anything as upsetting as the last time you asked her to play spy games for you. It took me a sennight to chase away the dreams."
"Would the promise of a paid vacation ease your conscience?" Nicholas asked. Phillip shot him a look that told him without words and with much eloquence just how little that idea appealed to him. Nicholas chuffed a laugh. "I didn't think it would. Rest easy, Phillip. I only need Miriam's abilities for this night. Come the morrow, you can make your excuses and be on your way back to your own manor. And there you can hide away with Miriam until the sun goes black."
"Until you need us again."
~*~*~*~*~
The room was large and spacious, well appointed with comfortable furniture and decorated with exquisite skill and taste. Several chaise lounges in both deep and pale greens were scattered around the room with plush arm chairs. Pillows covered in greens and golds had been deposited on every chair, every lounge, every available surface. There were even large ones on the floor to act as places to sit. Expensive tapestries hid the stone walls and elaborate candle stands of wrought iron held beeswax tapers in white. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth and deep, dark wood tables held platters of foods. There were pitchers of drinks and tankards for everyone. It was a very beautiful room.
It still felt like a prison.
Miriam took a moment to look out the lead glass window though there was nothing to see. It was full dark out and the small courtyard she knew the window looked down into was cast in shadows. In the daylight hours, one could see the small garden that had been planted there, bright with small shrubs and brilliant blossoms. She wished she could see the garden just now, as it would prove a distraction to her current surroundings. The slave room. A prison.
She was here because Lord Fury and her Lord Coulson had asked her to spy for them. She wasn't sure what they were looking for by way of information, but she was more than positive that it had something to do with the newly arrived Thor Odinson, prince of the northern lands. So far, her attempts at discovering anything of use had gotten her little more than talk of Lady Wick's gout and how Lord Fielding liked to pretend he was still off on a crusade by riding his slave girls like horses. The images she'd gotten off that bit of conversation would haunt her for weeks to come.
Truth be told, she hated these functions. Lord Phillip hated these functions. It was one of many things they'd found they had in common. But Lord Fury had asked them both and she'd come to realize that not many people said no to Lord Fury. He was a frightening man when he wanted to be, and he had a vast amount of power that he used to make people do as he wished. Had she had her way, she and Phillip would be at their home, enjoying one another's company before the fire. In one way or another. A soft smile slipped over her face at the images that thought conjured up.
The smile didn't last long. A shrill voice broke into her thoughts and shattered the pleasant sensations she'd used to cloak herself. Miriam looked up to find that a single slave girl had attracted the attention of everyone in the room. She was positioned dramatically on one of the lounges with an appropriately unhappy expression on her face. "It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen in my life!"
"A real corpse?" another girl asked. Miriam allowed her glance to slide around the room, taking in the way most everyone seemed to be caught up in the story the first slave was telling. The room was predominantly women, though there were a few men scattered about. It wasn't anything unusual and no one seemed to realize she was there, so she turned her gaze back out the window, but she kept her attention focused on the slave's story.
"A real corpse. She looked as if someone had broken every bone in her body. And there was so much blood," the girl told her audience with a dramatic hitch in her voice. She even managed to look a little pale, though Miriam was willing to bet it was a well applied layer of make up and an expertly placed candle. "The poor dear, she was so white and pale."
"I heard tell that there've been several bodies found dumped around town. And without care about where they've been left. As if whoever is responsible doesn't care if they're caught or not." This was supplied by one of the slaves Miriam knew well. The girl belonged to Lord Williams, who was well known among his peers as a pompous, arrogant bastard with little care for anyone but himself. It would seem his slave had some of the same traits as he did. "I also know for a fact that the King's men don't even know about all of the bodies, yet."
"If the King's men don't know about them, how is it that you do?" the first girl asked. She was no one Miriam knew, but she'd seen the girl arrive with Lord Richards and his family.
"My master has been mapping the locations of the bodies based upon reports he's received from the people who have found them," the other girl said.
"I've heard that your master couldn't find his way between your thighs without the aid of his manservant. How is it he's capable of mapping out the placement of bodies?" the first girl sneered.
"Why does your master even own a sex slave? Its widely known that he doesn't care enough about his wife to..."
"We are not going to delve into this argument again, ladies," Peter, one of the few male slaves hanging about, interjected loudly. All eyes turned to him in surprise. He was not normally one to step between a pair of arguing women, but the look on his face said he didn't want to hear any fighting. "I think we should be more concerned that slaves appear to be disappearing and dying at the hands of some maniac."
"Disappearing?" someone asked, a hint of hesitance in their voice.
"Disappearing. I know for a fact that Lord Pym's household has lost a wench recently. As did Lord Rhodes' household," Peter confirmed. Miriam considered that for a moment. It was interesting because, the truth was, people rarely noticed if those like herself went missing. They rarely cared. But she had to think that Lord Fury knew of these instances. She had no doubt that he had information on all of the slaves who had gone missing and been found dead. As strange as it seemed, the man had a deep dislike of the slave trade and he'd never treated her with anything other than the kind of respect he showed Phillip.
"My master has concluded that Prince Odinson is responsible for the deaths. The first dead slave was found shortly after he arrived here," the second girl said knowingly. It sent a soft murmur through the gathered slaves as they considered what that might mean to them all. Miriam knew that each household would throw some kind of event for their visitor. And that would put him close to all of the slaves. If he was murdering slaves, it would be easy for him to pick and chose his victims. Miriam made a mental note to inform Lord Fury about this conversation, then turned her attention back to the discussion in the hopes she'd pick up more.
Miriam tuned out talk of dead slaves after that. She felt she'd gotten all the useful information she'd need to give to Lord Fury and let her gaze slide around the room. And she honestly didn't think that their visitor was responsible for any deaths. She'd been privy to conversation between Lord Fury and Phillip that suggested Thor Odinson was an honorable man. Anything that any of the gossip mongers had to say was little more than speculation at this point. A glance around the room suggested that the others were as tired of the talk of death as she was. Small groups were breaking off the main bunch and moving to different areas of the spacious room in order to converse with one another.
She watched as a pair of slaves drifted close to her position. At first, she wasn't sure if they were aware she was there. She had herself tucked into a corner, someplace where she was left mostly invisible to the others. But when she saw who they were, she felt for certain that they'd sought her out intentionally. "Lady Quinn has been making a fool of herself and her daughter again," one of them said.
"Oh? What has the woman done this time?" The question came from a second woman. Both of them had been at Madam Vespa's when Miriam had been sold to the wretched woman. Neither of them had particularly liked her. Miriam didn't like them, either, and had long ago forgotten their names. It was obvious, however, that they had not forgotten about Miriam because they'd stopped close to where she stood half hidden behind a tapestry.
"She's desperate to marry that daughter of hers off. I happened to pass her by as she was pleading her case to Lord Coulson," the first one replied. There was a hint of amusement in her voice that told Miriam she was intentionally being cruel. "It is rather pathetic, listening to a grown woman try to talk up her own child. Everyone knows that there isn't a soul in all the kingdom who would willingly wed Alexis Quinn."
"My master was discussing this subject just the other night over the evening meal. His wife seems quite certain that Lord Coulson is only a day or two away from giving Lady Quinn his answer. My mistress has heard from a reliable source that Lord Coulson quite fancies the Quinn girl, that he's been biding his time in order to spare his slave's tender feelings." The second girl's voice was sharp enough to sting, her words a barb that struck Miriam's heart. She tried to push the sudden sadness away, but it clung to her like a stubborn growth of ivy. She should leave and spare herself further idiocy. But to do so meant walking directly past the gossiping slaves. "My mistress is adamant that Lord Coulson has been quite smitten with the Quinn girl for years."
She knew that Lady Quinn had been after Phillip for years to marry her daughter. She also knew that he'd turned the woman down at every turn. In the privacy of his home, he'd confessed that he felt no desire to marry. He'd told Miriam that he felt no attraction for Alexis Quinn. Miriam had seen her a time or two and thought she was attractive enough. She'd never understood how he could claim such a thing. She had a few suspicions, but they were unsubstantiated and tucked away. They were painful to think about on the best of days. This was definitely not the best of days.
She tried to push it all away, all of the doubt and the fear and the hateful words of two women who only wanted to hurt her. It was easier said than done. Some part of her, innocent and childish though it was, had always thought that one day, Phillip would profess his undying love for her and everything would be perfect from that moment on. The majority of her, though, the part that had seen life through the eyes of an unwanted daughter, then a much abused slave in training, and then simply a slave, knew that such ideas were best left for children's stories because such things would never happen to her.
It was easier to pull back into herself, to try and pretend that the two women weren't there, intentionally making her life hell. She tried to fall back on thoughts that had always made her feel happy, tried to lose herself in thoughts of herself and Phillip during their nights together. But her tormentors were relentless. They continued to whisper about Phillip's eventual marriage to the Quinn girl and what would happen to any slaves residing in his house after that happened. She didn't want to think of the day he put her aside. She didn't want to be here in this room with such wicked, horrible people. She just wanted to leave and find some safe, quiet place to be by herself.
But there was no chance for her to seek solitude from the abuse because at that moment, the door to the room opened and allowed one of the newer girls to enter. Miriam had seen her before, at another event not too long ago, but she didn't know the girl's name or who owned her. Given that the girl was crying, her nose and eyes quite red, it was not something that Miriam felt was important to discover at the moment. She watched as one of the milling slave girls went to the crying girl's side and wrapped an arm around her. "Come now, Catherine. It cannot be as horrible as all that."
"It is," the crying girl wailed. The girl at her side guided her to an empty spot on one of the lounges and settled her down, taking a seat next to her. "I've told him. Before the presentation, when we were hidden away in one of the alcoves. He was buried deep inside of me, taking his pleasure, and I told him."
Catherine trailed off on a sob and buried her face in her hands. Her companion wrapped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her closer in an offer of emotional support for whatever had upset her. "What happened?"
"He told me that there was no way he'd ever let me keep a bastard in his house!" Catherine said, then started wailing again. "It doesn't matter that its his child growing inside of me. All that matters is he's a respectable gentleman and I'm little more than his slave. As far as he's concerned, the child can go to one of the houses as soon as it comes into the world."
"You shouldn't be surprised by his attitude, Catherine," the supportive girl replied softly. She stroked one hand down Catherine's arm in an attempt to soothe her battered senses. The girl sniffled and sobbed softly, ignoring the tears that rolled uninhibited down her cheeks. "I've never heard of a slave being allowed to keep her child. The babe is always shipped off to a slave house or to some family that cannot have children of their own. No high and mighty lord is going to allow his slave's bastard child to live in his home. His wife wouldn't stand for it. You know this."
"It still isn't fair!" Catherine wailed. Miriam closed her eyes. No. It wasn't fair. It was the way of the world she and these other women lived in and it wasn't bloody fair. She'd always wondered, secretly, what would happen if Phillip was to breed on her. She knew without his having to tell her that he did his best to prevent it. But it could happen. Miriam had watched free women walking the streets, their bellies ripe with child, wondering what it felt like to have a life growing within her. Some part of her had always wanted to be able to give Phillip a child. A son to carry on the Coulson name. A daughter to teach all of the womanly arts to and to dress in the most beautiful gowns. She knew it was a long shot, but it was something she wanted. "Its my child! I should be allowed to rear it!"
The strident words drew Miriam from her thoughts and the reasons behind them. There were things she was unwilling to admit to herself just yet. Maybe she never would because her situation was hopeless. She was a slave now and would be until the day she died. Nothing Phillip or Lord Fury could do would change that. As much as she wanted things to be different, she knew it would never happen. She should put aside the idea of ever giving Phillip a child, put aside all of her foolish dreams, and keep her head and feet firmly on the ground.
With the single stroke of the clock's hand, everything she'd seen and heard that evening fell down on top of her head and left her feeling emotionally wrung out. She needed away from these people with their snide, catty remarks. She needed away from sweet, young, innocent, naïve girls who thought that the world would be different for them. She needed away from the incessant wailing that set her head to pounding. She just needed to be gone from this place.
Seeing that the two gossiping twits were watching the crying girl and laughing at her sorrow, Miriam turned for the door. It was her intention to make quick her escape and find someplace quiet to hide out for a little while longer. But she stopped in her tracks, surprised to find a curious face peering in through the still open door. The pregnant girl must have forgotten to shut it after coming in. And the Miriam realized just which invited guest that face belonged to and something inside of her broke. She stalked across the floor, careful to keep her passing quiet, and stepped through the door so that her body blocked the interloper's view of the slaves private room. One hand pulled the door shut behind her.
"I believe you must be lost, Miss Quinn. There are no bachelors here for you to rope into wedding you. You should go back to the party and enjoy Lord Stark's hospitality," she told the girl in polite but firm tones.
For a moment, Alexis Quinn stared at her as if she hadn't understood a word that Miriam had spoken. Then she made a waving motion with her hand and glanced back at the door. "The party is boring and if my mother introduces me to one more ugly old man, I think I shall scream. Why is that girl crying?"
"Her reasons for crying are her own," Miriam replied tersely. It took every last bit of strength to hold back the sneer she wanted to deliver those words with. Why should Alexis Quinn care if a slave girl cried? It wasn't as if she was ever going to have to live the same life that Miriam and the others had to live.
"I heard her say she's with child. I was given to believe that women are generally happy when they discover there's a new life growing inside of them," Mistress Quinn said in a very offhand manner.
Something inside of Miriam snapped. Something that had been pulled thin and tight. She didn't think about what she was doing. She didn't even realize what she was doing. She just did, just wrapped one hand around the woman's arm and dragged her after her. Miss Quinn might have protested. Miriam couldn't be sure. What she was sure of was the way her fingers bit into the other woman's arm and the seething ball of rage lodged just behind her heart. She didn't stop or let go until she'd dragged the two of them out onto a small, isolated balcony. It was hidden behind a colorful tapestry and Miriam knew for a fact that very few people knew of its existence. It would be a perfect place to have a chat with young Miss Alexis Quinn.
When they were alone and Miriam released her arm, she saw the white marks left behind by her tight grip and felt a sense of panic wash through her. She'd never before done anything like that, but she'd known other slaves who had overstepped their bounds and they'd been severely punished. Miriam worried that she'd just sealed her fate. But Miss Quinn didn't seem to notice the finger shaped prints on her arm. Instead, she struck a pose that any proper young woman would never dream of striking and gave Miriam a look. "I don't understand why the girl is upset. I thought a child was something to be happy about."
Miriam blinked at her. Was this some kind of act? Was Miss Quinn serious? She looked to be of an age with Miriam so surely she had some knowledge of the world. It was unkind of her to treat other people's problems as some kind of joke. A rush of emotions flooded into her, coalesced into a tight ball of anger and hatred. The words of her tormentors came back to her. This was the woman who was supposed to be replacing her in Phillip's bed. This was the woman who would get to have his children. This was the woman who would get to have his love. "A sex slave isn't allowed to keep her child. It doesn't matter if the child's father is of noble blood. She cannot keep it. The babe will go to one of the houses for training or it will go to a couple without children."
A look of confusion passed over the other woman's face, followed swiftly by anger. "That's barbaric! Why would someone do that? What danger does a child pose?"
"What lady of the house would want her husband's brat around?" Miriam asked tartly. It was all she could do to keep the growing rage at bay.
"I would never send a child away from its mother's breast," Miss Quinn proclaimed sincerely. Miriam stared at her. The woman couldn't be serious. She just couldn't be. Why would she want the evidence of her husband's obviously philandering in her home? This had to be some kind of sick joke. Maybe the woman had been told to seek Miriam out by her mother. Madam Quinn had seen Miriam's face often enough during her visits to Phillip's home. She could have very easily pointed Miriam out to Alexis and then sent her daughter off on a mission to test Miriam's mettle. To see what kind of opposition she'd be. What kind of resistance she'd put up.
"Lies do not become ladies," Miriam snapped.
Alexis Quinn looked as if she had been slapped. "I'm sorry. I don't think I've ever met you before. Have I done something to offend you, my lady?"
Miriam felt her eyes go round as saucers. Had the woman just mocked her? Surely she had because everyone knew simply by looking at Miriam that she was a sexual slave. Her attire was designed specifically for just such a purpose. Okay. Maybe her gown was less revealing than some of the other women wore. But it was still blatantly obvious that she was a slave. "That is neither funny, nor polite."
Miss Quinn peered at her as if trying to figure her out. Was it possible that the woman had no idea she was a slave? It seemed unlikely. Miriam knew first hand what Madam Quinn's opinions on the slave class was. She had no doubt gone on at length with her daughter about such people. Surely Miss Quinn had to know what she was doing here. "I mean no disrespect, my lady."
"Stop that!" Miriam snarled, turning a dark glare her way. The other woman almost took a step back, but caught herself and remained in place. The look of confusion she'd been wearing melted away into something less kind.
"Forgive me for insulting you, my lady. It wasn't my intention," Miss Quinn responded with forced politeness. Then she sighed and slouched as much as she was able within the confines of her cinch. "I don't spend much time at these things so my knowledge of etiquette is almost non-existent. Of course my mother has tried to teach me proper manners, but I tend not to pay attention. I would rather be doing... other things."
Miriam stared, disbelieving. Was it possible? Did this girl really not know that Miriam was a slave? Did she really not know what a slave's life was like? If so, how was such a thing possible? Miriam had heard Madam Quinn prattle on at length about just how lowly the sexual slaves were in comparison to the servants who cleaned their homes and cooked for them. She'd heard a few rumors that none of the sexual slaves were allowed in Madam Quinn's home. If the rumors were true, then Miriam supposed it was entirely possible that Alexis Quinn really didn't know anything.
"You really are that naïve, aren't you?" Miriam asked.
"I beg your pardon?" Miss Quinn demanded. She looked as confused as she sounded. Miriam couldn't help it. She shook her head and laughed.
"You know nothing of the world you live in. How is it you've survived all these years and not managed to learn anything?"
"I know quite a deal, thank you very much!" the woman snapped peevishly.
"Really? If so, why do you think that that girl's owner will allow her to keep any child she bears? He won't want a bastard around. And I can guarantee you his wife won't want that babe in her home, either."
"Decent human compassion," Miss Quinn said, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
Miriam laughed. She couldn't help herself. The girl was naïve if she thought that people had anything like human compassion. Once the laughter started, it wouldn't stop. There was so much bottled up inside of her and it needed a way out. There was anger and fear and confusion and things she daren't name. All of it tumbled and roiled about her brain, leaving her in a fog of apprehension and mistrust. She was staring at the woman who could possible alter the course of her life and said woman seemingly didn't know anything at all. Miriam had to wonder if Miss Quinn even knew who Miriam was. This whole evening had had her teetering on the edge and she had reached the point where she either cried or she laughed.
Laughter seemed preferable.
"So naïve. Go back to your mother and hide behind her skirts, Miss Quinn. You very obviously know nothing of the world and I pity the poor soul you are forced to wed. Go on, child. Run along. This is a place for adults. Not the likes of you."
Miss Quinn stared at her for several long seconds, the pleasant silence of the darkness pressing in around them. For just a moment, it looked as if she would break out into tears. But her chin firmed up and her head tipped back, just a bit. With shoulders straight, she glared a hole through Miriam. Then she turned and marched off the balcony as if she was a bloody queen.
When she was gone and Miriam was sure she was alone, she sagged against the balcony and let the tension ease out of her. She hated these functions with every fiber of her being. She hated the looks of condescension from high born ladies. She hated the theatrics that happened among the slaves. And she hated looking at Alexis Quinn and imaging her with Phillip, naked in his bed. She hated it all. She wanted nothing more than to go to Phillip and demand they go home immediately. She knew that wasn't to happen, though.
And she needed time to herself before she faced Phillip again. She was fairly certain he had no intention of marrying Alexis Quinn. But if he did...
She needed time to calm her mind and soothe her soul. Because if the gossip was true, Miriam was sure that her life would be over.
~*~*~*~*~
Alexis made it almost all the way back to the Great Hall before she needed to stop and pull herself together. Her encounter with the other woman had left her rattled. She knew well enough that showing up at her mother's side in such a state would prompt a very lengthy session of questioning. That was something she wished to avoid at all costs.
The thought of the other girl laughing at her saw her temper rising again and she muttered a few curses she'd learned from her uncle before he'd gone off to fight for king and country. How dare the woman call her naïve! Perhaps Alexis didn't quite understand the way things worked, but that didn't make her any less educated than anyone else. She'd asked her mother once about the pleasure slaves and had gotten a curt comment reminding her that ladies didn't ask such questions. So she'd gone to her brothers in the hopes that they would answer her questions. And it had quickly become obvious that her mother had forbade them from giving Alexis any information at all.
A bark of masculine laughter drew her from her thoughts. A few more sounds, deep groans that she thought might be pain, saw her sneaking closer to the corner just before her. Silent feet got her there, a skill she'd picked up from her brothers, and saw her peering around the corner. A couple was entwined a few paces up the corridor. The woman had brilliant red hair and wore a black gown that accentuated her pale skin. The cinch was black, as well, accented only by hints of dark red. Her hands had found their way up under the edge of her partner's tunic and the movements they made suggested she was touching him intimately. For a second, she fought with herself, her mother's voice ringing in her head that she shouldn't be watching such displays. But she pushed it away and continued to peek.
His head rested on her shoulder, his face hidden against her throat. Her eyes were closed, mouth parted ever so slightly. His hands rested on the swell of her hips, fingers curled into the material of her skirts. "We really shouldn't, Natasha. What if someone catches us?" the man asked, voice low and ragged and filled with hunger. The sound of it stirred something in Alexis, forcing her to bite her lip in order to remain silent.
"Since when do you care about convention, Clinton?" the woman asked. There was an accent in her voice, one Alexis had not heard before. She puzzled over it, wondering if this woman had come with Prince Odinson's party. But she seemed to know her companion well enough to suggest that she was not so new here.
He lifted his head far enough to give her a sly smile. "Never. You know that. But I thought you might want to preserve your reputation. You are a fine lady, after all." Finished speaking, he leaned in to trail kisses across her cheek. His mouth stopped when it was pressed against hers, his body inching forward to cover hers. She hummed in appreciation and allowed her hands to slide up into his hair. When she'd removed them from under his tunic, Alexis couldn't say.
Their mouths remained locked for several minutes. When they finally broke apart, it was to pull air into their lungs. She looked up at him with a knowing smile. "A fine lady. What a good jest. We both know this for the lie it is." Her chuckle was deep and throaty, a husky sound that saw him closing his eyes. He apparently enjoyed the sound of her laugh a great deal.
The woman pushed him back far enough to tug the bottom hem of his tunic up. Alexis was surprised to find that he wore nothing beneath it and he... Oh, my.
The woman's hand curled around him and stroked gently. He gave his own throaty groan and planted a hand on the stone wall beside her. "Natasha."
"Come on, Clinton. Don't play shy with me now. We'll both know it for the ruse it is. Everyone is enjoying the disgusting show of Lord Stark's wealth. We're alone here. You can do to me as you like," she purred.
When her hand pulled forward this time, her grip tightened enough to tug him forward. He hissed his response. Alexis didn't think it was in pain because moments later, he was hiking the length of her skirts up to her waist. There were no more words spoken. When he had his partner's skirts pulled up fully, she put her hands on his shoulders and leapt up. Her legs wrapped around his waist and urged him closer. One of her hands slid between them seconds before his hips pressed forward. She hissed and withdrew her hand, then returned it to his shoulder.
There was a single moment of perfect stillness. The two of them stared one another in the eye. And then he lunged forward. Her back hit the stone wall with a sound that carried to where Alexis stood. Alexis was sure the woman would wear marks of this encounter come the morning. His hands were planted on the wall to either side of her head, fingers spread wide. Alexis could see his hips shifting, driving in and pulling back out over and over. For her part, the woman pulled her partner closer to her and delivered kisses to his mouth. At the same time, her hips rolled against his.
The silence pressed in on around her, so absolute that she could hear the sounds of their flesh slapping as they came together again and again. She could hear the faint moans and groans that slipped up their throats. Could hear the wet sounds of their bodies meeting and their mouths meshing. Those sounds were odd. And yet... They were highly arousing.
Alexis was no shy virgin. Well, she was a virgin. But she was a learned virgin. She'd spoken with some less than savory characters and found out a great deal about the act of giving pleasure. So she had a working knowledge of how it was supposed to go. But this was the first time she'd ever seen it happen and... It was nothing like what she was expecting. Nor was she expecting the odd sensations that filled her body watching the two of them.
A kind of tight heat seemed to be coiling low in her belly and her breasts felt as if they'd shatter apart with a single touch of a finger. The couple broke apart for air and she watched as the woman called Natasha tossed her head back and let go a throaty laugh. Something about the sound saw Alexis shifting in place. Her arm brushed the tender peak of her nipple and sent ripples of pleasure rolling through her. She found herself biting her lip to keep from giving her position away.
It went on like that for what seemed an age. There were deep sounds that seemed to come from the very core of the couple. There were wetter, meatier sounds that she came to realize were purely because of their actions. There were sensations that left Alexis breathless and eager for what she suspected was the actual sex act. It was a vulgar and beautiful dance. It was something Alexis thought she might enjoy.
In the midst of the couple's pleasure, she was jolted back to reality by the echoing voice of the young woman she'd met earlier. The one that had called her naïve. That word grated against her conscience, made her feel like she had to do something about it and prove the other woman wrong. And she had to admit, it looked as if the erotic dance the couple down the hall was doing was highly enjoyable.
Well, then. That settled it. She needed to have sex to prove to the other woman she wasn't naïve at all. Decision made, she settled back to watch the couple some more. Specifically, to watch the male half of the couple some more. He was quite handsome and, if the expression on his partner's face was anything to go by, quite skilled in the arts of lovemaking. He'd be perfect to teach her the ways of erotic pleasure.
All she had to do was find out who he was and where she could find him. And do it without her mother finding out. Oh, yes. That should be easy as pie.
~*~
![[identity profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-26 08:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-27 03:25 am (UTC)it pleases me that you enjoyed it. this wouldn't exist without you.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-26 06:11 pm (UTC)More soon me hopes? LOL
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-27 03:27 am (UTC)this chapter really only gives the barest mention of the way this world is structured. there is so much more to the whole concept. but i can't give it all away right at the beginning! because then there's no point in reading further. so i will be adding more world building stuff in as the story progresses.
i'm so glad you enjoyed, bb. thanks for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-27 01:52 am (UTC)Great start to a new adventure. Just the first installment and you've got the girls in a tangle I can't wait to see sorted out. I'm really intrigued by this AU.
Wonderful work!
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-27 03:28 am (UTC)you know how good i am at tangling up the plot! i take pride in that kind of thing. hopefully the rest of the story will live up to your expectations.
so glad you enjoyed and thanks for reading!