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Chapter Text

The house looked modest in size, and although you wouldn’t go as far to say that it was run-down, there hadn’t been any special effort to properly maintain the street-facing facade, giving it the same unassuming look as its neighbours. The everyday passerby wouldn’t give it a backwards glance.

Forseti retrieved from the pocket of his cloak, a piece of paper with an address written in elegant script. He checked it once, looked at the iron number plate, and with a confirmatory nod, slipped his hand back in his pocket and swapped the note for a paper envelope, bearing an elaborate seal in a forest green. He then looked up and down the quiet street once before he rapped smartly on the plain wood.

A few moments later the door opened a crack, and a balding, round face peered at him through the few inches of space in the doorway.

“Hello?” The voice was gruff, wary.

“You are known as Drian?”

“Who’s asking?”

“We have recently been in correspondence,” Forseti held out the envelope. “I trust this is satisfactory?”

The man snatched the envelope through the door and turned his back to it. Forseti could see him reading the contents in the shadows of the house.

The door was opened wide 10 seconds later, a grin taking up the whole half of Drian’s face. Perhaps the smile was meant to be hospitable, but it reminded Forseti a little too much of the carved squashes he had seen on Midguard, a popular way of decorating for one of their quaint autumnal holidays, or so he had heard.

“My apologies sir,” Drian’s tone had turned servile, if not simpering, “I have to consider the safety of those I house here. I’m sure you are aware of those crazed revolutionaries who oppose the trade.”

While he was speaking he had led the visitor through a door into what Forseti assumed was the heart of the house. Emerging from the dimly-lit foyer, he was momentarily blinded by the bright colours of the room; every surface seemed to be adorned in glitter and gilt, a faux luxury tackiness that was common occurrence in places like Elmside.

“Of course,” Forseti nodded, and let his cloak be taken by a scantily-clad brunette, bowing her head subserviently and fluttering her lashes up at him.

“Was there anything else you wanted sir?” Her voice reminded him of a female slave he had purchased on behalf of his master some 150 years ago, and he had to train himself to keep the polite smile on his face, despite the knee-jerk need to wince at the grating high-pitch.

He relayed his denial and she nodded and stepped away, presumably to hang up his cloak somewhere.

“We have the pick of suitable girls here,” Drian said, leading the way to a pair of golden leather sofas, “—it was a girl you wanted?”

“A woman, yes.”

“Ah, yes, yes, a woman. Do sit down, refreshments will be served while I make preparations.”

Drian disappeared through a door on the right and Forseti was left to sink into the seat, the cushions sagging underneath him. Already he was feeling doubts about the expedition. Drian was like any other pimp he had met, and if they were all like the one that had taken his cloak, they would be unsuitable. His master tended to go for the bolshy types, but after a recent run where none of the women brought to him lasted a month, it was time for a change.

“I’m so terribly bored,” the king had pouted a few days ago, lounging on the chaise, “Go and find me someone new to play with.”

And so Forseti had sought out a new house to make a deal with (Not one in Elmside, as far as his master was concerned they were all cheap whores), a letter of interest was sent and now here he was, finding a new pet for the king.

Presently the door that Drian had exited was opened and a young woman stepped out, bearing a silver tray with glasses and a bottle. She bobbed a curtsy as she entered, then set the tray down on a dark wood coffee table and went about pouring the drink, a rich red wine into the two glasses.

Forseti studied her as she went about the work. The tight short purple dress she wore didn’t leave much for the imagination. Pale, hair tied up in a bun and showing off her unadorned neck. When she was done she took up position in the corner of the room, hands clasped in front.

Forseti turned away from her when Drian returned, setting his portly self down on the adjacent sofa.

“We are ready.”

And so it began.

Forseti watched as one by one, the women entered through the door, walked in a circle then waited in front of him as he asked some questions. What’s your name? (“Don’t give me her if her name is something ridiculous. I can’t perform if I have that to moan that every night,” his master had said.) What do you like to do in your free time? Why do you want to serve the king?

They were all the same. All the same simpering smiles. The same skimpy outfit. The same sycophantic rhetoric about how much they adored the king and would do absolutely anything for him.

Forseti took a tentative sip of the wine and grimaced. Just as he thought. An old trick. Ply the client with strong wine and drive a hard bargain. He waved over the slave in the corner.

“Sir?”

“You couldn’t get me a cup of tea could you?”

“Yes sir, of course,” she nodded and went out.

“Would you like to see one of the girls closer?” asked Drian, who had been scrutinising Forseti’s reaction to the line-up.

“No need. I can see perfectly well from here.”

“Of course,” Drian replied, though his smile was strained.

The woman returned a few minutes later with the silver tray, this time holding a china tea set with a burgundy and gold chevron pattern.

“What’s your name?” Forseti asked as she delicately poured the tea.

“Sylubelle, sir.” Pretty, if not a little whimsical.

“How long have you been here?” 

“300 years sir.” A long time, but some of them did start young. There were no laws against it, the poor sods. Though most of them were at least 16 before they started any carnal activities.

“So you are experienced?”

“Yes sir. I have been doing this a long time.”

He decided to press further, seeing that the tea was poured as she was straightening up the tray to ready her return to her post.

“If you were to serve the king, would you be willing?”

She looked up at this line of inquiry and Forseti noted her eyes, a pale shade of grey.

“Of course, but I do not believe I would have the honour.”

“You may well do.”

The woman named Sylubelle nodded. “Would that be all sir?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She bowed her head and retreated with the tray.

Drian, who had been watching the exchange with keen interest, asked,

“Anything you like?”

“There may well be,” Forseti replied, taking a sip of his tea, “To confirm, they are all for sale?”

“Yes,” Drian’s smile was magnanimous, “One in particular has caught your eye?”

“Let us discuss after the show.” Tea first. Business later.

—

The house had visits from the servants of rich households weekly. It had visits most nights, but those patrons could either only afford an infrequent visit, or else they were only passing through and weren’t looking for a committed companion. Always, when the servants came, the pleasure slaves would make a special effort to be chosen—the life of a pampered mistress was far more desirable than being kept as a whore of the house. The only other thing better was to be freed, but even though some of them established long relationships with the regular patrons, efforts to cajole them into giving them their freedom were made in vain.

There had been one that managed to escape, Mnemosyne, and when she sensed her patron, the son of a diplomat (“Oh he is such a conceited bore but he’s not too shabby in bed I suppose.”) was cooling on her, she started selling off the numerous expensive pieces of jewellery on the black market to earn enough money to secure her freedom. (Actually, any gifts exchanged rightly belonged to Drian, as the slaves did to him, but there was no way in Hel they were going to let him have them, hiding them under floorboards and in pillowcases and cutting holes in the heels of their shoes to fit something inside. One girl even held a pair of diamond earrings in her mouth for the duration of an inspection.)

Mnemosyne had sold the jewels bit by bit, and after six months, dumped a sack of gold coins on the table, keeping a tight fist on another sack behind her back. (No point escaping if you didn’t have the funds to get very far.)

“I’m leaving now. There’s 1000 gold coins in that bag. You’d never get that much for me, I’m already 2500 now.”

Drian looked between the bag of coins and the kitchen knife that Mnemosyne was brandishing. Silently he pulled the bag of coins closer to him.

That was a hundred years ago and no-one had managed to pull off the same feat. Certainly not Sylbie, who wasn’t lucky enough to get the gifts that the other girls had, she was only a domestic slave, and so had not the chance for personal relations with the patrons. Hers was a tedious, wearisome existence. But it couldn’t last forever.

“Just one more day,” she repeated like a mantra, as she had done for the past 10000 days, wriggling out of the tight dress she had been forced to wear.

“I know you’re not what they want, but it’s for show. To get the customer excited,” Drian had insisted.

It was over now, so she could return to her faithful cotton dress that didn’t itch and gave her more coverage than the skimpy purple number. She sat on the edge of the thin mattress and listened to the excited chatter.

“I am going to be the king’s new favourite! So long!”

“I’m sure he was looking at me!”

“Beatrice, he was only looking at you ‘cause you make that face like a duck.”

“Oh shut up, Selena.” A stiletto went flying across the room.

Sylbie smiled in spite of herself. They should be finishing up by now—the money always took a little while to sort out—and then the lucky person would be whisked away to a life of glitz and glamour. They had earned it, whoever they were.

The friendly banter in the room stopped when Drian walked in, smile triumphant, Everyone turned to him, waiting for their name to be called.

The tense silence was broken by the single utterance,

“Sylubelle.”

“Sylbie,” one of the girls muttered, “What they want Sylbie for.”

Perhaps the client wanted another drink. That must be it. The chatter resumed as Sylbie obediently walked over to Drian. He caught her by the arm when she got close enough and proceeded to drag her out of the door and through the corridors of the house.

“Come on girl, lucky day for us, look lively!”

“Master?”

“You’ve been chosen, well done.”

“Me master?”

“Who else am I talking to? Don’t let the king know you’re daft for norn’s sake,” Drian huffed as they hurried down the stairs.

“But...doesn’t the king want a pleasure slave? I’m not...”

“Yeah I know that but he doesn’t have to now does he?”

“B-but...”

“You just keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you. You’ve seen the other girls often enough. You know how it goes. And don’t you think of refusing, I’ll make sure you’re out on the street before sundown, do you hear?” The last part was said in a hissed whisper before they returned to the room where the king’s servant was waiting, cradling a what must be cold by now, teacup.

“Ah, there you are. Are you ready Sylubelle?” His smile was kindly.

Sylbie gave an obedient nod, but Drian, who had apparently only noticed her clothing now in the light of the room, had other ideas.

“Why did you change you stupid girl! The gentleman doesn’t want you like that! Go and put back on that—“

The servant waved his hand dismissively.

“No, no, this is fine. Does she have a cloak? The king will not be pleased if his new pet is delivered...unwell.”

“Of course, of course,” Drian replied, smile nearly splitting his face in two.

Chapter Text

Thee ride back to the capital took two hours. Sylbie, dressed in a brown cloak taken from one of the other girls, seated in front of Forseti on his horse.

“Have you ever ridden before?”

At the shake of her head he replied,

“Well it’s quite easy you see. Just hold on to the reins, don’t pull out any of his hairs mind. Who knows, the king may teach you one day.”

This was very unlikely to happen, but Forseti thought it best to say something comforting, as the woman had taken on a somber demeanour since she was brought down to come with him.

“The king...will he be good to me?”

So that was it. He supposed she must have heard some of the rumours about the King’s nefarious activities. Half of them didn’t have an ounce of truth, but his master was rather fond of stirring up the hysteria that surrounded him. It amused him to pick the stories which were the most horrifying and make sure that they were whispered throughout the kingdom.

“I have heard tell in the kitchens they are saying I morphed into a wolf, chased my last whore out the palace, and ate her for dinner!” The king barked a laugh. “The thing these servants come up with. It’s all very funny, isn’t it Forseti?”

“Hilarious, sire.”

The king wasn’t fond of people putting paid to the rumours, it harmed his reputation (“What blasted reputation?” Forseti would say, but only very quietly.), however the poor girl looked absolutely petrified, so he decided it was the right thing to abate her fears.

“His majesty is a strict master, though he isn’t unkind. If you do as you are told, are honest, he will treat you well. If he is pleased with your service,” he added as an afterthought.

Sylbie nodded. “Yes, I will try my best to serve him.”

The rest of the ride was passed in silence. When they arrived at the palace, Sylbie had no time to stop and marvel at its magnificence, for the king’s man quickly whisked her through corridors and up winding stairs. They must have gone some sort of back way for the few people they encountered looked to be servants.

Eventually, the corridors changed from the drab plain stone to plush carpeted floors and walls decorated in filigree patterned wallpaper and heavy brocade curtains framing golden windows. She was taken through a pair of elaborately embossed doors and there they stopped.

“The cloak. Quickly.” Sylbie hurriedly unfastened it and placed it in his waiting hands.

He stepped back and looked her over for a moment in thought, then reached to the back of her head to take the pins from her hair, letting it spring loose over her shoulders.

“Don’t speak until spoken to. Don’t instigate anything, he’ll take the lead. Do what he says, quickly, without question.”

With these last ominous words of advice, Sylbie was left alone, to await her fate.

—

The king, when Forseti eventually found him, was playing tennis. It had come as a surprise, 50 years ago, when his majesty announced his intention to introduce the Midgardian past-time to the royal court after one of his frequent ventures to the realm. Most Midgardian customs were looked on with superior disdain, something that would satisfy mere mortals was not fit for Asgardian royalty, but no-one was about to point out this hypocrisy to the king.

If it could be called playing tennis, for the king’s preferred version of the game did not involve scoring points against an opponent as per the usual rules, but to thwack the racket with a tremendous force and send the ball careening across the field. As far as it could get before encountering any obstacle that was. The healers had to be called in more than once for unfortunate individuals caught in the line of fire.

Forseti arrived just as the ball was sent flying away, to the cheers from the courtiers who had come to watch.

“Good show your majesty!” “Well done your majesty!” If the king felt he was not getting enough deserved attention, he would go into a what, in the politest terms, could only be described as a strop. It was a fate that everyone made steps to avoid.

Forseti stepped between the gaggle of simpering ladies that seemed to follow the king wherever he went, all overzealous waving of their hand fans and elaborate coiffures (One could remember when they were fawning over the king’s brother), and approached the king.

He grinned at Forseti, tossing and catching a ball in the air. “Ah! Forseti! Come for a game have you?”

Forseti gave a quick bow.

“As it please you sire. I have secured what you asked of me.”

“Have you. Where is she then?” The king made a great show of looking about him theatrically, “Is she some kind of sorceress that has mastered the art of invisibility?”

“In your chambers, sire.”

The king huffed a short breath. “After my game. I’ve not finished my fun here.”

—

Sylbie had not moved from her position since the king’s valet had left. The ride had not done any favours to her back, which was still aching from a punishment she’d endured three days ago. 

She would have liked somewhere to bathe, to wash away the dirt of her former home, but she had not been directed to any washroom facilities, and she was loath to go searching for them. So she remained where she was, eyes fixed on the door, studying the twisted vines and snakes wrought in silver, trying to distract herself from the growing fear in the pit of her stomach.

It was her fault. When the man had asked if she would like to serve the king, she had stupidly thought he meant as a domestic servant. She didn’t think he meant that she would go to warm his bed. It wouldn’t be too bad, she tried to console herself, the servant had said as much, she needed to only behave herself, do as the king wished. Whatever, he wanted... No, that just made her feel worse. He couldn’t treat her too badly though, slaves had some rights. Not a lot, but some. A few. Hardly any. He was the king. He could do whatever he wished and no-one would bat an eyelid.

Eventually, when her thoughts had worked her into a state of permanent fright, and she felt as if she would be kept on her own forever, left to wither away in the room, a voice from behind her brought her out of her stupor, causing her to jump about ten feet in the air. 

“Well, you’re certainly different.”

Sylbie whirled around, took in the dark green attire, the raven black hair, the terrifying, captivating smirk, and dropped to a curtsy, keeping her eyes trained on his polished boots. The seconds passed agonisingly slow, as the boots stepped towards her, and she prayed that her knees didn’t give way.

“You may rise.”

Sylbie took herself as gracefully as she could out of the curtsy, but her head remained pointed towards the floor.

“Chin up,” a finger was placed underneath her chin, the knuckle digging in, “I want to see you.”

She let him guide her head as he desired, and was face to face with a vision of sculpted marble. Sylbie had heard tales of the king's good looks, and although she knew that power affects people’s perception, she was prepared at least, for someone quite handsome. She hadn’t expected him to be breathtakingly gorgeous. Fearing that her reaction would be improper, she averted her gaze and settled it upon a spot past his shoulder, of the black tassels of the curtain ties.

“Did I say you could look away? Look at me.”

The finger under her chin had lowered when she raised her head, but now, he grabbed her whole chin with his hand, and again, it was not painful, but she felt as if he could make it so easily. Her eyes met his, that sacred connection between slave and master, and in the blue of his gaze, the beat of her heart increased tenfold. She may have died right there on the spot from the intensity of it.

A sweet reprieve was granted when he moved his gaze downwards, brushing his thumb against her lips, tenderly, almost in the caress of a lover. She had kissed before at least. That wouldn’t be so bad. At least he hadn’t taken her over the nearest surface and ploughed his way in, as happened with the girls of the house. She was reminded that he still could, when his thumb moved down her neck and pressed into the hollow, causing a shiver to crawl up her spine. Whether he was pleased or angered by her reaction she did not know, for his expression remained imperceptible.

As his touch moved lower, a terrible smile on his face, she shuddered. Her body moved in one giant shake, a culmination of all the tiny trembles she had made a concerted effort to conceal.

“My, you are sensitive.”

Yes, Sylbie thought, that smile was decidedly wicked.

His hands fell away from where they had caressed her body and he stepped back, looking her up and down.

“What are you wearing?”

“My former master was kind enough to gift me these garments.”

The king raised an eyebrow. “Well, I will be kind enough to have you wear something else. I do not have my slaves wear rags.”

Sylbie dreaded what else he would have her wear, but outwardly, she nodded demurely.

“Yes master.”

He grinned at that, and moved to the chaise in the middle of the room, like the rest of the furniture, this midnight blue (she was surprised it wasn’t green) and blackened silver ornament would be enough to feed an entire family for a year. 

The next moment had him reach into his trousers and ended with her choking upon him, before he raged at her.

“You insolent whore! How dare you?! Were you trained by a simpleton?! Were you even trained at all?!”

Sylbie, who was sobbing at this point, in fear and in shame, shook her head feebly, the begging apologies stuck in her throat.

“You haven’t,” he said flatly, comprehending her wordless shame.

A green mist and his clothes returned to their former pristine state. If she wasn’t so in shock she would have marvelled at his command of magic but she could only stay stock still as he knelt by her.

Seeing him sink down to her level, Sylbie tried her best to press herself into the carpet, folding herself so her face was touching the floor. She couldn’t be higher than the king.

“Ah ah, sit up.”

His hand went to her back and directed her upwards. “There we are now, breathe.” Sylbie thought it would be impossible for her to take another breath, but the hand on her back was oddly comforting, rubbing in small circles, as was the tenderness of his voice. “That’s it, that’s a good girl. There we are now, there there. Good girl.” The praise sent a thrill of something down her spine, but she was still too terrified to comprehend what.

When the worst of her sobs had abated, he again took her chin in his hand and again she was forced to look right at him.

“Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions and you will answer them truthfully. Do you understand?”

Sylbie nodded eagerly. Perhaps she wouldn’t be punished after all.

“Good.”

He moved behind her and placed both hands upon her, moving them up and down her sides.

“Did you lie to my valet? You told him you were trained?”

His fingers became claws, digging into her at her hesitation. “I only have so much patience pet.”

“He asked me if I had experience, but I—I thought he meant...”

His grip softened and he rubbed gently at the place where his nails had dug in.

“And your former master? What did he tell you? Did he promise you a cut?”

“He told me I had to go. Or he would leave me in the streets I—please...” Sylbie dissolved into loud sobs and cringed away from him.

He caught her by the shoulders, holding her upright in place.

“You are going to stop this crying. I am your master now. You will do as I say. Do you have experience, sexual, at all?”

“ I...” It was hard not to get distracted by the feel of his hands upon her, feeling her through the dress. He stirred such feelings inside her but she carried on to tell him the story of the farm boy from 500 years hence. They had never gone past kissing and the king seemed to relish in this fact.

“So you are a true virgin. Pure. Untouched. Untainted.” He accentuated his words with kisses at her neck.

“You like that? You like how I make you feel pet?”

“Yes...”

“Yes...what?”

“Yes...master.”

“Good girl.”

“It’s been a long while since I’ve had a virgin,” he continued talking more to himself, “Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. None of the experienced whores are this sensitive. You have yet to fall prey to irritating habits. I could teach you. I did pay 10,000 gold for you. Of course, that money is forfeit to the crown, but even so...letting you go would be such a waste...”

His hands travelled between her thighs and when he finished there again was that captivating, beautiful, no, very, very wicked smile.

 “Oh, I will give you your pleasure, don’t you fret. I would never leave my pet so deprived. Not for too long anyway, But for now, you can leave. I don’t need you hanging around my chambers all day.”

Sylbie shakily got to her feet, bowed her head and backed out the door, the king watching her intently all the while. When she eventually arrived in the hallway, she leaned against the wall, letting out a deep breath. She had survived her first encounter with the king. Now she only need survive the rest of it.

Chapter Text

Sylbie stood for a moment, closing her eyes against the golden grandeur of the hallway, in an attempt to settle the loud buzz in her head, thoughts flying at her from all corners of her mind.

 “Madam?”

She jumped, and opened her eyes to a man looking at her with concern. He was without a helmet, but judging from his armour, he must be one of the einjerhar soldiers. She supposed it was not good form to be loitering outside the king’s chambers, even if it was for half a second.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I was—“

“I’ve come to escort you to your chambers madam.”

She nodded in vague assent. Her chambers? Of course, she wouldn’t be sharing with the king. Apparently Elinna’s whisperings that he kept his bedslaves chained to the foot of his bed were thankfully false.

She was still half dazed as the soldier led her through the gilded halls, talking her through twists and turns. The route must be convoluted so she didn’t escape.

Finally, they stopped.

“Your chambers, madam.”

Sylbie stood a while in the doorway, staring in awe at the sitting room, furnished in tones of cream and pink. It wasn’t as grand as the king’s chambers but they far outshone her former accommodation. 

“Madam? Are they not satisfactory?”

Satisfactory? He wanted to know if they were satisfactory? These chambers were fit for a princess, hardly a lowly slave such as herself.

“No, no, it’s fine. I—

“If that will be all madam?”

She nodded dumbly, and the soldier went away, shutting the door behind her and leaving her to explore what would apparently be her home, for whoever knows long. Her thoughts strayed a little, to the rumours that the king had a new favourite every week, and nothing was heard of the old ones after that. But it wouldn’t do to think upon things like that. This was going to be her life now, may as well get used to it. 

At least she would be able to spend her last days in luxury. Alongside the sitting room, was a bedroom with a white wood four poster bed, and a wardrobe that housed about four fine gowns and slips to go under them. The bathroom was large, with a shower and marble basin and tubs. All very grand and splendid, the perfect gilded cage. 

What she loved most was the bright window that overlooked the gardens. They were absolutely vast, full of flowers and fountains and statues; spectacular, to say the least. A lifetime ago, she had run and played in gardens half as grand as these.

It took a knock at the door to pull her away from the view. She rushed to open it, but not before it was slammed open, and a young woman, dressed in a uniform of green and dark grey, dark brown hair pulled up into a bun, brushed past her, and slammed a tray of food down on the table.

She came and went so quickly that Slybie stood bewildered beside the door for a full minute after the woman left. 

What was she meant to do?

Was the food for her? Well it must be, it was in her room after all. Her room, ha, how could such a splendid place be hers? 

On further inspection, the meal couldn’t possibly be hers, it looked far too rich. Cold meats and cheeses and grapes and soft bread. Perhaps the king would be dining with her? No, how ridiculous, it was fairly obvious what her function was to be in regards to the king and it wasn’t going to be eating lunch with him. 

After a couple more minutes of deliberation, her hunger won out to her anxiety and she ate the meal, savouring every slow bite. Being unused to the amount of food, Sylbie could only manage about half of it.

An hour later, the same maid appeared again to collect the tray. She looked at it and sniffed in a way that Sylbie felt she was passing some sort of judgement.

“Did I—, I’m sorry.”

“Not up to me what you eat,” the maid said sulkily, took the tray and flounced out the door.

After ascertaining that there were no chores to do — the rooms were scrupulously clean, she looked in the wardrobe again. The gowns were very grand; one of them a light pink, the fabric soft and silky, others a beautiful brocade with the most gorgeous floral details woven in the design. Even the purple gown looked luxurious, a far cry from anything she had worn in the brothel. Sometimes one of the girls would get a dress from a client and would proudly parade around in it, but they were never as beautiful as these. 

Now, Sylbie took one of the fine gowns from the wardrobe, and held it up to her body, twirling in the mirror with it. Then she saw a scruffy skinny girl playing around in a fine lady’s dress and hastily put it back.

The cupboard under the bathroom mirror revealed several cosmetic products. She had half a mind to organise them, but in what way? So she left them be.

In the sitting room the sofa was as plush as it looked and what a treat it was to have a holovision all to herself. Sometimes the girls would crowd around the small set in the bedroom in the mornings to watch what Selena referred to as  “old people’s programmes” normally about antiques brought from Midgard. She flicked through the channels, not being able to fix on anything. 

At about half-past six (judging from the ornate clock on the mantelpiece), there was once again a knock on the door.  Sylbie opened it, expecting the same maid, and was surprised by an older woman carrying a tray of food in one hand and a bag in the other.

“Oh, you didn’t need to get up madam,” she said, “Just tell us that you are ready for us to come in.” She set the tray down on the table. “My name’s Ginevra, and I am one of your maids here at the palace. Sylubelle, is that right?”

“Yes.”

She gave a smile. 

“I’m going to sort some things out in the bathroom for you now. I have brought some things to do your make-up.” Ginevra held up the bag.  

“Is...is the king expecting me soon?”

“In a couple of hours. No need to rush.” With that, Ginevra disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Sylbie alone with some buttered fish which was delicious, but did nothing to ease her already queasy stomach. There was also a small white pill in a pot that left Sylbie with no doubts about what it was.

It was maybe 30 minutes later when Ginevra reappeared. 

“Are you ready to bathe now? I will run the bath for you.”

“I—yes.” It wasn’t like she would have any say otherwise. The king would not like to be kept waiting, Sylbie imagined. The waters were warm and inviting, and would be a welcome comfort to soothe away the day's turmoils—if the day had already ended—it had not, and almost resignedly she got out of the tub and put on the nightgown and robe that were waiting for her.

Ginevra had her sit down on the plush stool that was hidden underneath the vanity and Sylbie waited as all manners of products were applied, hoping that it wouldn’t turn out too unflattering. If the king wanted a painted whore, that was what he was going to get.

The end result was something far nicer. Somehow, Ginevra had managed to transform Sylbie’s thin, wearied face to something respectable, almost as if her skin was glowing, her hair falling in soft waves down her shoulders. And Ginevra’s kindly face smiling at her in the glass. 

“There, you’re ready.”

–

It was a different guard that took her to the king, again through the winding passage ways. He was silent throughout their walk and it only added to her apprehension, the walls foreboding and watchful, the sconces casting eerie shadows.

The robe she wore was a thick silk of deep navy embroidered with delicate pink blossoms, and she was glad of its weight, for the sheerness of the nightgown she wore underneath left her feeling rather exposed. Which was probably the point. She fastened the sash even tighter around her, as if it would serve as some sort of protection. 

The king was sitting on his chaise when she entered, so she went to drop to her knees, but he stood up and left her in a half-curtsy, head down.

“Uh-uh,” he chastised, lifting her chin with one hand, “eyes up.” 

Sylbie struggled to obey him, finding herself once again trapped by his gaze. He looked even more dangerous in the half light, a snake waiting to pounce. And those eyes, the blue was absolutely mesmerising.  

“There we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it, Sylubelle?”

He must have learned her name from his valet. 

“You do look much better now,” he mused, tracing a finger from her temple down to her cheek.

She trembled, partly in fear, partly in anticipation of what was to come. And then he moved down further still, under the neckline of her robe to trace along her collarbone. She let out a small sigh that didn’t go unmissed, and he smirked at her, in that unnerving yet captivating way.

She ended up on her knees before him.

“Can you stand up?”  He asked, when they were finished.

It was a command, not a question, and Sylbie got shakily to her legs.

“Goodnight.” He turned his back to her, retreating to his desk. 

Wait, was that it? Was he not going to do...something more? But when the king proceeded not to acknowledge her at all, carrying on with looking at some letters, or whatever it was on his desk, she took the hint and left, curtsying, although she wasn’t sure if it was really necessary. Really, she felt foolish, and wondered if the king was secretly laughing at her. 

Sylbie did not sleep well that night. The bed was luxuriously soft, and on an ordinary day she would have fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. But the day had been so long and tumultuous that she could not get her thoughts straight and tossed and turned until she groggily made her way to the bathroom and promptly threw up into the toilet.

Chapter Text

Sylbie ended up falling asleep in the early hours of the morning, and woke to a room bright and welcoming in the sunshine.

Wearing last night’s robe, she made her way to the main room to be greeted with a bowl of porridge. That, and a plate of colourful fruits. The porridge was lukewarm, but there were worse things than cold porridge. And this one was deliciously creamy. It seemed that in the palace they could even make porridge fit for a king. And the fruits! They were so sweet and succulent, the juices refreshing on her tongue.

She made sure to finish it, seeing the maid’s reaction to the lunch before. Though it settled heavy on her stomach, and she dreaded being summoned only to embarrass herself terribly in front of the king.

When she had eaten, and waited a few long anxious minutes after to be summoned somewhere at the king’s behest, the door was pushed open, and Sylbie leapt to her feet, ready to greet the stranger.

It was the same maid as the day before, pointedly averting her gaze as she cleared away the breakfast tray.

“Thank you,” Sylbie said quietly, uneasy with the heavy silence in the room.

The maid stilled and turned her head towards her, so while she had her attention Sylbie continued.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. About the lunch? I hope you didn’t get in trouble for it?” It would be truly terrible for someone else to be punished for her mistake.

The maid grew pale , “No, no, I didn’t get in trouble. I — um, have a good day madam,” she bobbed a quick curtsy and all but ran out of the door.

“Have a good day,” Sylbie called to the retreating form.

Seeing that she would not be called upon to perform any duties, Sylbie switched on the holovision for want of something to do.

Showing was the morning’s council session. Well of course the king wouldn’t call upon you now, Sylbie chided herself, he is too busy with the affairs of the kingdom to have time for bedslaves.

The private debates were not shown of course, but one could get a glimpse into how the monarch was leading the kingdom. In earlier days, Sylbie had watched them faithfully every morning, to see if there would be some drastic bill to stop slavery and allow her to see her family again. As she had gotten older she had wised up, and saw that was never going to happen.

Today, the topic of debate was the floods in the western countries. It was oddly disconcerting to see the king in action, discussing the affairs of the kingdom, knowing how she was on her knees before him the night before, and would be tonight, or on her back, or in any other way he wished to take her.

It was a role that any Asgardian would dream of. And she was so very lucky to be in the position she was. So very lucky indeed.

Then she was searching for a tissue to wipe away her tears.

—

When the evening came, and Ginevra returned to help her prepare, Sylbie took a deep breath and fixed a polite smile on her face.

“Oh, you’re still in your nightclothes?”

“Yes. Was I meant to wear something else?” The sinking pit of anxiety that had formed in her stomach as the evening drew in only grew in size.

“The dresses in the wardrobe,” Ginevra smiled warmly, “Didn’t Lucy help you?”

Lucy, she guessed, was the other maid. She shook her head.

Ginevra tutted. “Typical. She’s stubborn, that one. I’ll have a word with her.”

“Oh no! Please don’t. She has been good to me. Please don’t let her get into trouble on my account.”

“Oh not at all dear. Just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Oh yes. I am, very much so,” Sylbie lied, twisting her hands behind her back.

—

Her time with the king was much like the night before, on her knees again. It wasn’t that bad, the carpet was soft beneath her. She could be bruising her knees on the cold, hard ground. And even if it was more for the king’s benefit than hers, at least she could too enjoy the luxuries of the plush flooring.

Sylbie fell onto her hands, gasping, trying her best not to flinch when the king knelt down before her. His hands came to her throat and she froze. She still was not entirely sure of the temperament of the king. He could strangle her and no one would care.

He didn’t. Instead, he began to massage her throat with his hands.

“Shh,” he cooed, “There there, that’s a good girl. You’ve done so well.”

There was a fluttering of something in her stomach that she couldn’t place. A desire to tear herself away from his grasp.

She didn’t of course, and as she knelt, hands in her lap, his fingers travelled down her neck to feel her through the thin nightgown. His touch was far too fleeting however and as he drew his fingers away, Sylbie whined at the loss.

“Shh, pet. All in good time,” he said, smoothing her hair with his hand.

And there again was that wicked, wonderful smile.

Chapter Text

The second night had been a fragmented nightmare of the king strangling her to death...and then she had woken, her body slick with sweat.

She entered the other room as breakfast was being served.

Fresh fruits, and scrambled eggs on toast. 

At the house Sylbie was afforded one egg on Blessing Days perhaps. If she wasn’t being punished for something or the other.

“Thank you,” she said to Lucy, who was setting up the table, “Did—did you have a good sleep?”

Lucy jumped, almost spilling the pot of tea, looked over at Sylbie and nodded.

Later, when she came to clear up, (there wasn’t much to do—Sylbie having already neatly put things back on the tray), the maid stood awkwardly in the doorway for a couple of moments, before saying:

“Would you like me to help you dress?”

“Oh, um, well, if it’s not too much trouble…”

Sylbie pondered over the pretty gowns, and looked over at Lucy who was standing in the corner, obviously expecting her to pick one out. How was she meant to choose? She never had the luxury of choice before.

“Which one should I... which one do you think would please the king?”

Lucy shrugged.

That wasn’t quite the answer Sylbie was looking for. But perhaps Lucy had no indication of the king’s preference. 

Perhaps he did not have a preference.

She had assumed he would care somewhat about what she wore, and he had made that comment about her dress when she first arrived. Or maybe he had no expectations unless she was right in front of him. And then, his expectations didn’t seem to have anything to do with her clothing.

In the end, she decided on the gown of pink taffeta. Ruffled and gorgeous, and making Sylbie feel every inch the fraud. It probably didn’t matter which she chose. These dresses must have been selected by the king in the first place, or else they wouldn’t be there.

Besides, Lucy was starting to look very uncomfortable, standing there, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“Do you need help with it?”

“No. I think I will be okay.”

“I can go?”

“Yes?”

Lucy couldn’t have left quick enough.

She was back a second later to fetch the tray.

And so followed another day of sitting around, and rearranging the cosmetics in the bathroom cabinet, and watching holovision, and staring out of the window at the beautiful gardens in an attempt to break the monotony.

When the evening came, it was not Ginevra who appeared. A new woman. Tall and dark and confident.

“Hello madam, I am Eshilda. Ginevra has her day off on Wednesdays and Thursdays. You have me, lucky you! You will look the most spectacular! This time, the king will be so wowed that you might even last a month!”

There again, was that ever largening pit of anxiety in Sylbie’s stomach.

“I am joking of course! But the king will be so pleased to see you when we are done.”

The king was pleased. At least, when she rose out of her curtsy, he smiled. And it wasn’t that conniving smirk he used often either. It was—or, at least, it seemed to Sylbie—to be something genuinely benevolent. And even if it wasn’t...well, not much she could do about that. She smiled back, hoping that was what he wanted.

“Pet, come here.”

She did as she was told, and once she was in front of him, went to sink to her knees, but he took her by the arm and had her lie down on the chaise.

She braced herself. This was it. No going back now. She watched, frozen, as the king undid the silken knot of her dark green robe, fingers dancing over her skin.

Sylbie shuddered.

She had known it was coming, but now, to be on the edge of it, where there was no possibility of going back…

His hands moved to her wrists, and he took them and placed them above her head. Then, using one hand to pin her there, he undid his trousers.

Sylbie tensed, awaiting for him to claim her, but he only wanted her mouth. He teased her after, his hands at her throat, commanding her to look in his eyes. At one point his lips were at her neck, but it was over before it began, and she was left yearning for more. 

She whined as he pulled away, fool that she was.

The king rose, and pulled her into a sitting position.

“Well, run along now, there’s a good girl.”

Chapter Text

Her third night had Sylbie lying awake, thoughts consumed with the king and their time together. Normally she was so exhausted when going to bed, she would sleep as long as she was able. Now, she had so much extra energy from doing nothing all day, and her evenings with the king were so...stimulating, that it was near impossible to go to sleep right away. 

She got up to look at herself in the mirror, feeling at the place

Watching the images of the council chambers that morning, she could see that the king was not in a good mood. It was the fault of one of the councillors, who had made the grave error of suggesting that the heavy rains causing the flooding were to do with growing tensions between Alfheim.

“So what exactly are you saying Betram,” the king intoned, voice rising in volume, “Are you saying that it is some curse set out by the Elves?”

“Well,” it seemed that Betram was unaware that he had somehow misstepped, for he carried on affably, “It does seem that recent...disputes might be a contributory factor.”

The creases of anger were evident on the king’s face. 

“Contributory?”

“Well, perhaps they are dissatisfied with how talks have been handled so far.”

“Then what exactly is it you're saying?!” the king seethed, voice rising in volume, “That I am incapable of holding good relationships with our neighbouring lands?”

Finally, the councillor realised he had somehow erred, “Well no, no no. That is not what I’m saying. Only…”

“I would suggest you say no more.”

“Sire,” Another council member was brave enough to speak up. “The rains are not unseasonal for this time of year…”

Sylbie dreaded facing the brunt of his ire later that evening. It was the way things went. Too many times she had to take care of the girls when a customer had used them as their personal punching bag for their own misfortune.

To calm herself, she switched off the holovision to look outside, hoping seeing the gardens would soothe her somehow.

The streets in Hovell were a dreary wash of greys and browns, contrasted with the gaudy colours Drian had the girls wear. The gardens of the palace on the other hand were a brilliant oil painting of blues and yellows and pinks and if the courtiers wore bright tones theirselves, it only added to the magnificence of the spectacle.

Sylbie could be content if she were to have her last days with this sort of view.

When Eshilda came to do her makeup, the patch where the king had suckled on her neck had darkened considerably.

“Oh yes, the king will mark you, he likes it on you. Only his marks though.”

Sylbie nodded as if she were only making small talk.

The cuts of the whip on her back were healing, albeit slowly, and hopefully he wouldn't see them. But what if he wanted to add marks like that of his own? No, best not to think of that.

—

She wondered if it would be tonight that he would take her. He seemed calm. But one could never tell with the king.

After making use of her mouth, the king had once again pressed his fingers between her legs, touch possessive yet gentle, as if a caress of a lover, and not an owner. To her shame Sylbie bucked her hips toward him. He did not reprimand her, as she feared. And to her shame, she found herself moaning at his touch, like some kind of wanton whore

Once again, he teased her until she almost begged, yearning for more.

Sylbie could have wailed in frustration.

She expected him to take her then.

He didn’t.

—

The next morning was punctuated with the arrival of a new maid. She was wearing the same green uniform as the others, and had the same dark hair and wide mouth as Lucy.

Unlike Lucy, this new maid seemed to take to her duties with great enthusiasm, her words bouncing around the room as she talked.

“I’m Amy! What would you like to wear today? What about this one? This looks nice!” 

Although the lilac dress picked out wouldn’t be one of Sylbie’s first choices, she felt that she could not say a word in protest. The maid then insisted on styling her hair, causing Sylbie to ask,

“The king will be seeing me this morning?”

“No,” the maid paused with the brush in her hand, “I don’t think so. Eager to get back to him, eh?” she grinned. 

“...Yes, I—I suppose so,” Sylbie replied, twisting her hands in her lap.

When the king did not take her that night. Sylbie started to have her doubts.

Perhaps he had another slave? It was perfectly within his rights of course, but she got the impression he was not like that.

The king, sat on his chaise, met her gaze with a cool demeanour.

“What is it? Spit it out.”

“Do I —” she took a deep breath from where she knelt on the floor, “Do I not please you master?”

“Please me? What makes you think I’m not pleased? Do I not use that pretty mouth of yours well?”

Sylbie’s cheeks coloured. 

“But you have—you haven’t…”

“Oh. I haven’t fucked you? Is that it? That your complaint?” He rose, eyes a fire, to look down upon her, “You want me to take you, down here on this floor like some common whore? Rip your dress off—pin you to the wall? Is that what you want? Because,” he crouched down to her level and took her by the throat, “I will. You will take what I give and you will like it.”

“I—I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m sorry I—“ she wept.

He softened, taking his hand from her neck.

“Don’t cry. Shh, I am very pleased with you, do I not tell you enough?”

“Yes master,” Sylbie agreed hastily.

And then, the king had the audacity to smirk, when she was in such a state.

“Well which is it? Do I or do I not tell you?”

“You do master, I just, I want you to—” she stopped herself before she could say anything dreadfully improper. Although it was clear they had gone past the need for propriety now. “Please don’t send me back.”

The king’s expression changed to one of puzzlement. “Back? Why would I send you back?” He paused, his gaze moving to the right to catch a stray thought. “Not that there is any back for you to go to...”

“But...don’t you— don’t you get rid of them after a week?”

He laughed, a real honest laugh, that did not sound belittling, but as if he were truly amused.

“Oh pet, my sweet girl. Why on earth would I get rid of you? I’ve barely gotten to know you. I ask only that you do as you're told. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Yes master. Of course.”

Chapter Text

The next evening, he had her sit in his lap while he played with her, reprimanding her for pursing her lips to conceal her sounds. He made her beg thrice before he brought her to completion.

When the moment had passed Sylbie was shocked to find that she had dug her nails into the king’s hand, leaving marks.

“Master…”

“It’s just a scratch pet,” he said dismissively, his hand travelling up and down her back.

His nail caught upon one of the whipping marks through her robe, causing her to flinch and whimper.

“Sylubelle,” his voice was hard, “stand up.”

She did as she was told, although it had her wringing her hands in anxiety. Then the robe was slipped from her shoulders with a controlled gentleness.

No, oh no, no no no.

There was a great rip, and the cool of the night upon her back.

“What’s this?” His finger traced into one of the cuts then pressed into it, hard.

She thought that she had seen the king’s anger before, when he shouted at that councillor the other day. That was nothing to this. His anger was uncomfortable, his ire, terrifying.

“Who did this to you?” His voice shook with his emotion, rippling through to her back, “Was it your former master? “

“Yes.”

It would not do to hide the truth now.

“What was it? Five lashes? Ten?”

“Twenty,” she answered, her voice pitifully small.

“Twenty.” The number hung in the air, echoing her shame around the room.

Twenty lashes? Did you commit some heinous crime then? Is that what I have? A disobedient whore?” His finger drove into one of the cuts again and Sylbie whimpered, holding back a sob, “Is it? Well, what did you do?”

“I...I broke a vase.”

“A vase? So you’re clumsy then? Did you trip and fall? Is that what happened? Tell me.”

“Yes, very clumsy.”

His fingers came to her neck, though they did not exert pressure.

“Do not ever lie to me.” The hand dropped away.

So she told him, eyes fixated on the plush emerald carpet as she spoke. She told the king, her master, of how the vase was positioned up high and though she was given a ladder, (an old rickety one that she was afraid would break at any moment ) she would still have to lean and stretch to reach it. How she had lost her balance and then it would have been either her or the vase.

“So you saved yourself, rather than the master’s property. Good, I’m glad you’re not a fool.”

Sylbie kept quiet. It did not matter what the king thought of her. Fool or not, it made no difference. Surely, now he knew of her infraction, of her disobedience, he would see how much her value was diminished.

He traced lines on her back with her finger, supposedly where the marks were, though his touch was gentle, 

“So, it was expensive and he lashed out in anger. How much? Twenty gold? Two hundred?”

“No master. The vase was the value of a silver coin.”

The king stopped, and his voice again became dangerously soft.

“Twenty lashes. Twenty lashes for a silver coin. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to leave him to rot in my prison? Rip the limbs from his sockets? Slowly let out the blood from his body so that he begs for death?”

Sylbie shook at the gruesome images the king painted in her mind. She had never wished anything quite so horrifying on another, but sometimes, when her old master came down with sickness, she would wish it lasted just a little longer. It was a horrible thought to have, she was truly wicked. And now, the king…

“I—I don’t know.”

His hands were upon her back. 

“Stay still.”

Sylbie’s eyes widened in surprise as she felt the king’s seidr mist over her back. She had experienced healers in the before times, when she was a child. It had been so long ago. How the place would throb, tingling with an itchiness in response to the magic. This magic had a slight chill to it.

Then it was over.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Sylubelle, turn round.”

She did so of course, and was accosted by her master's penetrating gaze, looking her up and down. Oh, of course, the king would not use his seidr on a lowly slave for nothing. She was expecting it soon enough anyway. It was just a shame it had not happened earlier, when she was feeling the after effects of her pleasure. It wouldn’t have been so bad then.

May as well get it over with.

What she did not expect was for him to pick up her robe off the floor and dress her in it, fastening it tight around her body. And then he was asking her if she was alright getting back to her rooms on her own.

She nodded. She never was truly alone. The guard was always there.

She was soon learning not to make any expectations where the king was concerned. 

Especially when his next action was to lean down and leave a kiss upon her forehead.

“I’m sorry pet. I’ve rather...lost the mood.”

–

Treading back through the winding passages, Sylbie couldn’t help but think over what had just transpired. She had expected the king to be angry when he discovered the cuts. And he was…

But not at her it seemed. And the kiss! It did not seem in the king’s nature to be so affectionate. But she still wasn’t entirely sure what his true nature was.

Perhaps she would not be here long enough to discover it.

“Madam.”

She was brought out of her thoughts by the voice of the guard. She lifted her head to see that they had arrived back at her chambers. She thought she had a sense of the route by now, but she was so distracted that she had hardly noticed the walk.

“Oh...thank you. Goodnight.”

The soldier inclined his head respectfully.

“Goodnight madam.”

Chapter Text

In the morning, Lucy was back it seemed, but although a simple “Good Morning” was offered and returned, no further conversation was had. And Lucy was giving her a very strange look, leaving Sylbie to wonder what had happened.

When two guards came shortly after breakfast and asked her to follow them, her mind was cast into further doubt.

Perhaps they were going to get rid of her after all.

Oh well, she tried to console herself. If she was going to leave, at least she needn’t bother learning all the rooms and corridors of this wretched palace..

They eventually arrived at...the healers room? It looked to be that way, what with the crisp white beds and the various machines that Sylbie knew nothing of, though she recognised some of the equipment from the medic ward in the place she had spent her childhood.

A dour faced woman greeted them, wearing a dress of a cool blue cotton weave, greying hair pulled back in a tight bun,

“Ah, she’s arrived. Thank you boys, you may go.”

She directed Sylbie to sit on a bed, then pressed her fingers around her face.

“So tell me, how are you finding it here in the palace?” When Sylbie didn’t immediately respond, she continued, “What, are you mute? Has the king cut out your tongue?”

At that, Sylbie managed to find her voice. “No. The king... has been kind to me.”

The healer clucked, and Sylbie wondered if she had somehow spoken out of turn.

“Perhaps after this, you will not find him so kind.”

In the continuing hours. Sylbie found herself subjected to every test that could have possibly been done to a person. She was poked and prodded and scanned. The healer would look at charts and hum to herself.

She ran her fingers down Sylbie’s arm. 

“This has been broken.”

“Yes, twice.” Sylbie recalled vividly how difficult it was to manage her chores with a broken arm.

And then she inserted a tiny chip into her arm.

“That will solve one problem.”

The only reprieve was when lunch was brought to her in the room.

She could not eat much of it. She hadn’t really an appetite, and it came with prawns. Sylbie did not care for prawns.

The afternoon was quite gone when the king’s valet appeared. She had not seen him since he had brought her to the palace. But there was no time to talk with him now, for the curtain was pulled across the bed and she was quite shut out of their conversation.

They did not take long to be joined by the king (The click of his boots gave away his gait though she could not see him.) She waited in a great deal of anxietywhile they supposedly discussed her fate. For surely it was to decide whether her existence in the king’s presence was allowed to continue.

The curtain was drawn across. The three of them were looking down at her expectantly.

She made to get up.

The healer clicked her tongue.

“Sit down girl. You need rest.”

Stuck between the command of the healer and disrespect to her master, the king no less. What was she to do? She couldn’t say sitting down, that would be suicide, if she wasn’t dead already. But if she got up she would be disobeying the instructions of the healer to rest. But the healer’s words must be less than those of the king. Although who was it that had commanded the healer to look at her? The king, surely—

It was the king who made up her mind for her. He walked towards the bed, and scooped her up into his arms with a scream of surprise from her end. She had no time to think of the compromising position she was in, when in a flash of green, she was transported to her bedroom.

She could not fight against him if she tried. The sensation of being pulled from one place to another left her feeling quite sick, even as he was tucking her into bed, like some sort of handmaiden.

“Rest now, pet.”

“But,” Sylbie struggled to sit up, “Don’t you need anything from me?”

A firm yet gentle hand on her shoulders pushed her down into the pillow.

“I need you to rest.”

“I am well,” Sylbie protested, “I am able to serve you.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Pet, there is one person in this room who has heard Amaya’s report on your health, and one who hasn’t. If you do not listen to me and rest, I will tie you to this bed, and believe me, you will not find it pleasant.”

That had her grow pale at such a thought, and she meekly settled down. But the healer’s work was hanging over her like a dark cloud. Healers were expensive. Extra costs required extra duties.

The king’s brow creased frowned and he let out a long drawn sigh;

“What is it. pet?”

“What do I owe you? The bill for the healer?”

He grinned, as if mocking her.

“Nothing pet, you haven’t any money.”

Sylbie’s cheeks heated,

“I mean, extra duties. It is an extra expense to my master. It is my responsibility to make sure he does not suffer for my needs.”

He caught her in the cool blue of his gaze and she shrank back. She had spoken out of turn. She should have listened to the valet and kept quiet.

“I don’t know what abominable lies you have been fed in your sad little life but I will tell you now: It’s my responsibility as your master to make sure you’re safe and well. Not to make you suffer out of some perverted pleasure. There will be no qualms about expense or some other sycophantic drivel. You will rest.”

At his words her stomach decided to make itself known, growling its way through the quiet of the room.

His half smile then was warm. 

“If you are hungry I will have them bring you food. But rest now pet.”

Chapter Text

The promised food did arrive, about a half hour after the king’s departure. And along with it, Ginevra, who gave her a kindly smile.

“Would you like me to draw you a bath madam?”

“No,” Sylbie replied, conscious of her master’s instructions. Bathing had not been mentioned. “I think I will go straight to bed afterwards.”

“Of course. I’ll tell Amy to run one in the morning if you are too tired for it now?”

“Oh yes please. If you would.”

Sylbie was quite capable of running her own bath but that was not how things were done here it seemed. 

No prawns this time, thankfully. Sylbie devoured the meal, some kind of stew with potatoes and meat in all of five minutes, then dove back under the covers. She did not want to risk the consequences of disobeying the king.

But although she was near exhausted, she found sleep hard to come by. The new chip in her arm told her she would be staying here for the foreseeable future. But what would her future entail? If she stayed here in the palace she would live in luxury, that was for sure.

But how much luxury could she have if she was a slave? The king had healed her and provided for her comfort, even told her that it was his duty to do so. But she hadn’t been able to hear the report on her own health. How was she to know she wouldn’t soon die from some terrible disease?

And when eventually he grew bored of her, what would happen then? Nobody heard about the former pleasure slaves of the king. They were all quite forgotten.

A howl of a wolf rang out through the night, piercing through Sylbie’s thoughts. For now, she would be grateful for the comfort and safety she was afforded, and take things one day at a time.

After breakfast (and a bath) the next day, she had a visitor.

The king’s valet. Forseti was his name, if she recalled correctly,

“Madam,” he gave a small inclination of his head, “We were wondering if there would be any way to make your stay more comfortable?”

More comfortable? Was she not comfortable enough already? She looked around the room, at the opulent furnishings.

“Actually there is one thing…”

“Speak it. I will see what we can do.”

“May I be permitted to have a book?” Anything to stave off the boredom of being cooped up in her room all day. The holovision provided entertainment, yes, but now her days were not occupied by menial tasks, she needed something to feed her mind. 

“A book? Of course, there are plenty in the library if you would like to have a browse? But was there not anything more you wanted?”

Sylbie shook her head. “No. The library? How would I get there?”

“The normal way. Ask the guard to show you.”

“The guard?” Sylbie looked towards the door, “Do you mean the one outside my room?”

Forseti’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Madam. You have ventured outside your chambers since your arrival in the palace, have you not?”

“Well I, yesterday I went to the healers—“

“I mean, besides the healers—or to see the king?” Forseti added hastily.

Sylbie shook her head, 

“No sir.”

“Madam, you are free to walk the palace as you please. With an escort of course.”

“But...the guard?”

Though Forseti’s tone remained gentle, his words made her feel incredibly foolish.

“A presence is maintained outside your chambers for your protection madam. Would you like to go to the library now ? Merlon can take you.”

—

The library was as grand as the rest of the palace — scores of books on many different levels, the upper mezzanines overlooking the ground floor. Walls with painted murals, depicting all the wonders of the seven realms. The ceiling a glass dome that revealed the midday sky — a perfect day of pale blue and white fluffy clouds drifting slowly across. 

In truth, Sylbie would have liked to spend a while here. If it were not for the fact that the library was full of courtiers. Sylbie could feel their eyes on her. Judging. She did not belong here, amongst this grandeur. She was a lowly slave. No, a whore. The king’s whore.

She hurriedly selected a book from the first set of shelves she came to  and left.

—

The sanctuary of her chambers had been disturbed. The king was in the bedroom, looking through the dresses in the wardrobe. The room seemed to have shrunk in size since she left, his presence filling every corner.

“Your majesty.” She quickly dropped to a curtsy, holding the book against her chest.

He turned to regard her, a sly grin on his face.

“My my. You do that very well. I wonder what other positions you can hold?”

Sylbie felt her cheeks colour at his implications, not daring to lift her head to meet his eyes.

“Come here,” he beckoned her with a single finger.

She obeyed.

“Pet, is this all the clothes you have?”

Did he not know? Was he not the one who decided her wardrobe?

“These were here when I arrived.”

“You will need new ones. But for now,” he traced her collarbone, voice low and sultry, “These will have to do.”

A hand went under her chin, making her hold his gaze. She was torn between the desire to look away and to obey the king and maintain contact.

“Forseti tells me you have been spending a lot of time in your room?”

“Yes master,” she spoke softly, trying to ignore his thumb brushing over her lips.

“But you went to the library today?”

“Yes master.”

“Good, good. And what is this?” He took the book from her, the grip on it had loosened in the few seconds he had come close, “You like poetry do you?”

Sylbie nodded, the tiniest movement of her head.

“Sylubelle,” he stepped away and led her to sit on the sofa, “Read to me.”

So she did, trying to speak in a clear and steady voice, despite the king’s attentions on her.

Sylbie paused in her recital, fixated on his touch.

“I didn’t say you could stop Pet,” he chided, his hot breath on her ear.

Sylbie swallowed and continued, even when his administrations continued. She was soon moved to his lap and the book was soon forgotten, falling from her fingers to the floor.

She ended up on her knees before him. When he finished, hisfingers reached to trace her chin in a gentle caress.

“Such a good girl.”

Next he was by her door, clothing immaculate, fully composed, no signs of their tussle. Looking so much like a king. What a silly thing for her to think, that she had any such power. No, everything here was his. Her rooms, her clothes, her food. Even her body was not her own. And when he eventually took her it would only be what he was owed.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

Chapter Text

The afternoon passed slowly.

When Lucy arrived with lunch, Sylbie was still lying languidly on the couch, recovering from the after effects of the king’s attentions. The young maid gave no comment as to her appearance, which she was grateful for.

She picked at the salad, freshened herself up in the bathroom, and spent a while gazing out the window at the gardens below. She attempted to read some more of the poetry, but she could take in barely more than a line before she thought of the king’s touch and his affect on her, so she hastily put it down.

Dinner was served with succulent roast beef and potatoes, and a small flagon of wine.

Oh.

Sylbie eyed the jug warily but did not touch it. If it was to be tonight she wanted to be aware of herself as they committed the act. She yet owned her own mind at least. 

But as the evening wore on her nerves got the better of her and she downed a glass as Ginevra was running the bath. Well, why shouldn’t she enjoy herself? There was after all, that small part of her mind that was excited to see the king again. Excitement at how he could make her feel. And Forseti was right, he hadn’t been unkind, not really.

It wasn’t as if she could say no.

The nightgown she wore seemed to be made of spun gold that glowed in the light. Yet the sheerness of the material almost made her feel like a puff of air could send her floating away. The robe she wore on top was another one of thick silk, dark and decorated with serpents twisting around vines and mauve carnations. She fastened the sash tight around her, as if it would serve as any protection from the serpent that wrapped itself around her soul.

This time, he led her to his bedroom. It was as grand as the rest of it, the same tones of dark wood, black and silver with touches of green throughout. 

Sylbie turned her gaze to the fire, crackling in the hearth, watching the flames flicker and sway.

“Sylubelle.”

She turned obediently at the sound of her name.

He was smiling at her. It made something flutter in her chest. Maybe it would not be so bad after all.

Then he was in front of her, untying the carefully tightened knot on her gown, and slipping it over her shoulders. Sylbie trembled, partly in fear, partly in desire.

He pressed his hand against her cheek, gently caressing the skin with his thumb.

“Shh pet,” he said softly, “It will feel good.”

Sylbie nodded in spite of herself, and smiled up at him. Maybe she could pretend that they were lovers on their wedding night after a happy courtship.

He slipped the straps from her shoulders, the nightdress falling in a pool at her feet and she was naked before him.

Instinctively, she crossed her arms in front to cover herself, but he took her wrists and moved her limbs to her side,

“No.”

His fingertips danced upon the milky-white skin of her stomach, moving lower to the apex of her thighs, and pressing there firmly for just a second.

She shuddered.

“You are gorgeous pet, you know that?” 

She bowed her head demurely,

“Thank you master.”

“Will you go to the bed?”

This was it. No going back now.

Sylbie wasn’t quite sure what to do, so she simply lay atop the covers waiting for him, watching him as he undressed. She had half expected him to use his seidr to remove the clothes all at once, but there was something about watching him unfasten every button and tie that added to the tension, her heartbeat quickening, throbbing against her chest.

—

It was like some kind of delirious dream. The girls had often fantasised aloud about some lord who would whisk them away to a life of luxury, and here she was, in the grandest home on the planet, underneath the most powerful man in all the realms.

A vision in sculpted marble.

Her master, the King.

Her master, Loki.

Loki.

“Say my name,” he had commanded her.

It felt like breaking a taboo. And in truth it was, addressing your master by name was a punishable offence. If she hadn’t been put in such a compromising position, she doubt she would have acquiesced to his commands, even if he was the king. The rules of what she could and could not do as a slave were so ingrained into her very being, that even thinking of his name in her head felt wrong somehow.

She felt wrong. Never in her life had she imagined she could feel something so strongly. Whatever it was that had her now trembling in the king’s bed—she wanted more. He slipped out of her, still holding himself above her, looking at her with that beautiful face of his, and she let out a whimper at the loss.

His hand stroked her cheek.

“That feel good, pet? Sylubelle?”

She nodded obediently. It didn’t just feel good. It felt absolutely wonderful. She could see now, what a luxury it was to serve the king. To know such pleasure.

He smiled at her then, and she found herself relaxing. His smiles, he must use them to disarm his enemies. They were mesmerising.

“Well done. You did so well. Pet I am so pleased.” His praise sent a soothing warmth through her body, tingles through her chest.

He clothed himself with his seidr this time, then helped her into her slip, making her feel like an invalid, and he, her maid. But oh! What a way to think of the king! It was entirely undignified and not befitting of his status. She should be clothing herself on her own, and hurrying out of his sight. As she moved to make sure the nightdress was on properly, a sharp jolt went between her legs, causing her to wince in pain.

The king paused.

“Pet, are you in pain?”

Sylbie quickly shook her head. Now that she thought about it, she did feel sore, but no need to bother the king about it. It was a trivial matter, really.

He sighed, and with a wave of her hand, the lamps in the room lit, illuminating the space with an orange glow.

There, the dark wet patch on the sheets was evidence of her trauma. She stared at it blankly. That wasn’t right, was it?

And then, a hand to her chin made her lift her head to him. His voice dangerously soft.

“I told you, never lie to me. Do you understand?”

She nodded quickly.

“I will ask again. Are you in pain?”

“Yes master, a little.” Putting things into perspective, it was only a little pain.

His eyes narrowed but he released her chin and went through a door on the far side of the room. She had thought it might be the bathroom, but seeing into it now at the rows of books and shelves of bottles she realised it must be where he kept his supplies.

He returned with a bottle of cloudy green liquid, instructing her to drink.

She complied. It tasted somehow floral and a little sharp, but not entirely unpleasant.

“Fascinating.” At his words she blinked up at her master.

“I could have given you poison right now, and you would take it, wouldn’t you?”

She shook her head, 

“No master.”

He raised a brow,

“No. You would disobey me then?” 

“Because I do not believe you would give me poison,” she said quietly.

“Oh really, why’s that? I am your master, I am the king. I could make your life so hellish you would beg the Norns to save you.”

“Yes, but...you haven’t. You have been kind.”

He looked at her strangely for a long moment.

“Mmm. In any case, I think we should wait a few days before trying again. You weren't properly prepared. I’m used to more... experienced women you see.”

Sylbie nodded. Was the king… apologising? She could not tell. Of course, if he were really sorry he would let her go. But he was the king. Things were different for him. And he had paid for her, why shouldn’t he use her in the manner he was accustomed?

“So there we have it,” He was dressing her now in the robe, having made her stand up, “I will think upon our predicament, and you will rest, and eat, and you will let me know at once if you feel unwell.”

“Yes master.”

He left a chaste kiss on her forehead that gave her momentary bliss.

“Go on, go along now pet.”

—

She did not go to bed immediately but spent a while under the shower, watching the water roll into the drain, for a long time staring at it after it had run clear, all traces of bodily fluids gone.

She thought of how different things would be if it were someone of her choosing to lose her maidenhood to, how she had dreamed that one day she would be swept off her feet. Not necessarily by a king, or even a prince, but a good honest man that loved her. It was a foolish fancy, but it gave her hope. Now it was impossible. Even if the king did send her away—and now that he had got what he wanted, why should he not? He would likely get bored of her in a few days. And then, where could she go? What happened to the ones he dismissed?

To be set free would be a wonderful thing… it would have, but now things had changed irretrievably. Things would never be the same again.

With those thoughts in mind, she cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Text

The house was as gaudy as Foresti remembered it. And now he had a chance to see it without Drian’s deliberately distracting entertainment, he was able to get a better look at the state of disrepair it was in. The bright wallpaper was peeling and yellowed, with spots near the ceiling blackened by mould. Unsuitable living conditions. Yet another offence to put on the slaver’s ever growing list.

The study he had commandeered was comfortable enough. If it were not for the tankards littering the place and the desk covered with papers that had yet to be sorted through. All evidence in the case. 

He sat down on the upholstered chair and regarded the woman sitting on the other side of the desk. The skimpy black nightgown she was wearing showed a generous amount of cleavage, dark hair piled up in curls above her head, face painted heavily with rouge. She seemed to be interested in picking the dirt out of her nails, and jumped in her seat when Forseti addressed her.

“What’s your name?”

“Selena.”

“Okay Selena, I have a few questions to ask you about your master.”

“Oh, so that's what it was! Did think it was a funny place to meet, the study and all—no bed.”

Foresti paused,

“The guards, did they not tell you the purpose of our meeting?

“Well they did say you wanted to ask a few questions, but that could mean anything,” she shrugged, “Listen, will this take very long? When your men gonna go and let us open for business?”

“I am meant to be asking the questions here—”

“—Oh, sorry your lordship.”

“—But do not be concerned. If you are in need of any food or necessities just ask one of the guards and it will be procured for you.”

“Yeah, but what about the customers?”

“There will be no customers. Did you have a particular concern you wanted to share?”

“It’s just that there was a nice gentleman supposed to be coming today. Would bring me the raspberry pastries, you know with the almonds on top?”

“We can get you your pastries.”

Selena’s face brightened.

“Oh, really?! Thank you, you’re ever so sweet. So go on then, what you want to ask?”

“I want to know how Drian treated you? Did he use excessive punishment?”

Selena looked expectedly alarmed by the tone of the question, but composed herself with a nervous smile and answered,

“Well he’d er, make us go without food, you know, if we didn’t please the customers enough. And er he’d give us extra chores for the girls with the worst performance. That sort of thing. It was really about how much money you get out of the customer, you know...er, um, what else you wanna know?”

“I see. And what about corporal punishment? Did he physically hit you, or put the whip on you?”

“Well he couldn’t whack us too hard could he? The gentleman and ladies might see it and they won’t be happy,” She frowned, “Didn’t stop them from throwing us around though. It was Sylbie got the brunt of it. You know, the house slave? Is she alright? Haven’t heard nothing since you took her away.”

“I assure you she is well,” Forseti answered calmly.

“It’s just that she has never lain with a man, and I can’t help thinking there been some misunderstanding like.”

The corners of Forseti’s mouth lifted. 

“I can assure you that no harm has come to her.”

Harm to him would be more likely. The king had been incensed at his blunder.

“She’s not trained Forseti. She’s like a pathetic little mouse.”

“Would you like me to take her away sire?”

“No. Why would you do that? She’s mine.”

When he learned of the whip marks, Forseti felt sure he was facing a reprimand for his oversight, but the king seemed more interested in the wellbeing of his new slave. Sylubelle was now the most protected woman on the planet. It came with the territory.

“And your relation with your former master,” Forseti continued, “Were you ever intimate with him?”

“Well I don’t see how that’s any of your business sir.” There was a slight tremble now in her shoulders, her fists clenched.

Forseti’s tone became stern.

“This is a very serious matter. Your master is currently in prison, facing grave charges. I would advise you to cooperate.”

“Well...everyone does it...I, he made me…” she bowed her head, gaze fixed on a spot on the desk.

“How often?”

“Once a month I guess...couple of times...depends.”

“Thank you Selena,” Foresti smiled kindly, “Your help is much appreciated.”

She shrugged, and wiped her face with her arm, 

“S’alright.”

“Do you know if your master was ever intimate with Sylubelle?”

She shook her head,

“Don’t think so. He did beat her something awful though.”

“Yes, so you have said.”

“Yeah, and well Petra reckons—Petra, she’s good at numbers she went to school and everything yeah—she reckons it was when master didn’t make as much. That’s when it was worse. Talk to her.”

“Thank you Selena, that will be all. You may go.”

Selena didn’t move.

“Am I gonna be getting those pastries now?”

—

Sylbie slept long, woken by Lucy throwing the curtains aside.

The maid looked guiltily at her blinking in the morning light.

“Sorry madam, did I wake you?”

“No, no, I was already awake,” Sylbie lied. In a previous life she had to wake at the crack of dawn, and she could not help feeling guilty in this case. But the king did say to rest, so surely she was just following his orders.

Sylbie watched the holovision live broadcast of the council meetings again that morning.

She did feel better after a good night’s sleep and was now only a little sore. A pity that she could not distract herself with work like she used to, but she could absorb herself into the morning’s debate instead.

They were once again discussing the floods in the western territories. It seemed that the situation was not improving and there was stronger belief in involvement from the elves. The king did not shout at anyone this time, but he did not seem too happy with how things were proceeding.

She prepared herself for the worst when the guard entered the room after lunch to inform her that she was being summoned by the king. He had said she would rest, but she supposed she was naive enough to believe him. He was the god of lies after all.

“Bring the book.”

—

She stood in the doorway of the king’s chambers for a moment, stooped in a curtsy, clutching the book to her chest. She felt somehow ashamed at seeing the king in this condition. She had neither her hair styled nor her makeup done. Before coming here she had not minded about these things. In truth, she did daydream a little about playing dress-up, but it wasn’t something she could afford to do in her station. Now she was feeling embarrassed without such cosmetic procedures.

The king did not seem bothered by this, and beckoned her to come sit on his lap at his desk.

“Read to me.”

She did, trying to concentrate on the words on the page, and not of the position she was in and what had happened the last time. Her cheeks heated at the thought of the king’s hands on her and how readily she had come undone. It was shameful really.

This time he seemed to have no such inclinations, and was more concerned with the papers he held in his hands—notes from this morning’s session, it appeared. It could not be too comfortable reading in that position with his arms around her, and Sylubelle couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing here. He couldn’t be looking at the notes and listening to her, surely. Especially when they involved serious matter such as—

“You’re meant to be reading the book Sylubelle. You would have known what was said if you were at the meeting this morning.”

Her face reddened and she returned to looking at the pages of the book.

“I...I did see the meeting this morning master,” she admitted. It was not a crime to watch the king. But it felt in that moment as if she was divulging a secret.

“That’s funny pet, I did not see you there.”

“I watch it on the holovision master.”

“The holovision? Why do that when you can view it from the gallery? Or is it such an effort for you to get there?”

“I’m allowed to go?”

“Pet,” he put the paper down to look at her, “Pet, you have been told, you are permitted to leave the room. I won’t chain you to the bed. Unless of course,” his fingertips brushed along her sides, just barely skimming the fabric of her dress, “that’s what you want?”

She thought of when he had grasped her hands and held them there and how she felt almost safe in his hold. How afterwards she imagined how she may feel if he trapped her like that and attended to that place between her legs. How undone would she be then? What other devious ways did the king know to bend her to his will? 

“I want to please you master,” she replied honestly.

He grinned,

“I’m sure you do.”

He was teasing her. Most certainly.

“Master, may I speak freely?”

The king let out a short laugh, and she quieted and stared at the desk.

“Forgive me Pet. You amuse me, asking permission for every little thing.

You can speak how you like.”

He could say that, but it wasn’t true. She was a slave and therefore she could be punished for anything she said. Too often Drian had slapped her round the face for supposed cheek. And now the stakes were even higher. Offending your master was one thing. Offending the king was a whole other game.

He wrapped his arms tighter around her and stroked her head, speaking very gently,

“Shh. It’s okay pet. What was it you wanted to say?

“What if… what if the guard led me somewhere that was not permitted?”

“Then the guard would be duly reprimanded. You’re not going to be punished for others’ mistakes pet. I want you to understand, look at me, no look at me,” he lifted her head up and once again that sacred eye connection was made,  “You’re mine now. And I will take care of you, do you understand?”

She nodded.

“No pet, I need you to say it.”

“Yes master, I understand.”

“So,” he adjusted her in his lap and laid out the papers for her to see, “what do you think of today’s meeting?”

“I think...the western countries are not used to rain.”

“Yes, very astute of you.”

Sylbie blushed.

“Are relations bad between the elves?“

“They could be better...”

“I—I don’t think anyone can definitely say the cause of the rains as of yet. But if there is an opportunity to discuss things with the elves, and fairly consider concerns on both sides, then this may be the time.”

“Hmm...You may be right.”

His hands moved, grazing her hips and the inside of her thighs, stopping just short of her centre. The other hand rested against her knee. 

Her heart thumped against her chest.

“Are you still sore?”

She hesitated.

The hand on her knee became a claw.

“Remember what I said about lying. You don’t want me to punish you do you?”

“I am still a little sore master.”

“Okay then. Go along now. And I will see you tomorrow in the gallery. That’s an order.”

He left a kiss on her forehead and gently pushed her off his lap, leaving Sylbie once again in a state of utter bewilderment.

Chapter Text

In the morning she had Amy prepare her hair and makeup. It wouldn’t do to embarrass the king by looking unkempt. The maid had taken a lock of hair from each side and braided it, fastening it behind her head. The rest of it was left in loose waves. The makeup was simple - just the barest touch of rogue upon her cheeks, a light touch of shimmer around her eyes.

And then to speak to the guard—she was beginning to see the differences in their faces but she still could not tell who was who or how many guards were in rotation. 

“I—I would like to go to the council chambers—the balcony I mean. Where the audience can view.”

“Yes, madam.”

There was an awkward pause where it seemed as if the guard was waiting for her to make the first move.

“I do not know the way.”

The walk was more twists and turns through the castle, through grand hallways with vaulted ceilings, sweeping staircases and windows looking out to a world that was tantalisingly close, but devastatingly out of reach. Sylbie was starting to wonder if it wasn’t a deliberate maze meant to entrap her— she would not be able to escape if she tried.

The council chambers were even more imposing in person, the dark wood and yellow-orange lighting creating a somber effect. The doors that the guard and Sylbie had entered led to the balcony - wrapping around the room to overlook the council chambers below. Some of the council members were already present, sitting on the wooden benches, looking over notes and chatting amongst themselves. Her gaze travelled to the dias at the head of the room, and the golden throne atop it. 

It was empty for now, but in the next ten minutes the king would be sitting there, as he had been many a time. But he did not need a throne to impose his authority. She had seen it first hand.

The guard led her to the front of the balcony, to sit on one of the wooden chairs with dark blue cushioning that had been laid out for the courtiers who wanted to watch. She had been given prime position, directly opposite the throne.

She would have preferred somewhere a bit less conspicuous, perhaps a dusky corner, especially when the people who were already there started murmuring.

“This is not the parlour. Why is she pruning about here?”

“Oh her, is it? Don’t worry, they will be gone soon, silly tart.”

“It’s utterly shameful. Oh I know the king has his tastes, but really! This is a place of law.”

“I doubt she understands it. Those sorts of women have no education.”

Sylbie stood up, hands trembling, saying to the guard,

“I am an inconvenience here. Perhaps I should go somewhere else.”

“Madam, you must stay seated. It is due to start soon.”

“Yes…” Sylbie wrung her hands, “I do not wish my presence to make anyone uncomfortable.”

The guard frowned.

“Anyone who speaks ill of you does insult his majesty.”

He said the last part particularly loudly, and there was a lull in the conversation, punctuated only by mutters of discontent. Sylbie lowered back into her seat, both wishing hel would open up beneath her to swallow her inside, and also allowing herself a small smile at the guard’s defence of her.

The chatter picked up again without much fuss, and there were no more pointed comments, leaving Sylbie at least a little space to breathe. She felt the arms of her chair beneath her fingers, running her palms over the smooth walnut wood. It would be much better if she was back in her chambers and watching on the holovision. At least there she was safe. Or as safe as she could fool herself into believing—at any time she could be dragged out of there, and be dismissed from the palace. Or she could be taken and… and worse. It would not be worth thinking about. And not to forget that the chambers still belonged to the king, as did she.

Speaking of the king, the next silence in the council rooms was an altogether more decisive and sudden change, and everyone stood up, signifying his majesty’s arrival.

He looked so very regal in his garments and coat of black leather and green, that had not changed very much since his time as a prince. Sylbie, of course, had seen him in much less clothing. Her face heated at the thought, and she prayed he would not look up.

He did not, in fact he did not look up at all during the whole session.

Watching the king on the holovision was one thing, but seeing him in full action was another. The stoic calmness with which he carried himself; the dignity and humility he showed when someone brought up a differing opinion; the majestic arrogance when he addressed the room, proclaiming his word as law. And then the glint in his eye when he rounded on a councillor who had misstepped, becoming a serpent set on its prey.

Sylbie felt, after a particularly cutting tongue-lashing that lowered the temperature in the room considerably (‘Silvertongue’ was certainly apt), that if she had met him in this capacity she would have died right there and then on the spot. Perhaps it would be a better end than what was coming. Even if she did make it out of this place alive—and if she believed the courtiers’ comments it seemed her position was not expected to last very long—where would she go then? She had nothing.

When the session was over, she quickly made eye contact with her guard, who had been standing to attention at the end of the row, a silent plea for him to rescue her.

The walk back to her chambers was done in silence, but as they arrived at her door, she turned to him,

“What—what is your name?”

“Edmund, madam.”

“Edmund. Thank you.”

—

In the sanctuary of her chambers, Sylbie breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the door. Even though she hadn’t been a direct part of the debate, she may as well have been, with the way her heart thumped against her chest. Every word of a politician was scrutinised. For her, it was her very self that was scrutinised. Forseti had said she could go wherever she liked, but she couldn’t, not really. She was still very much trapped. Not by keys and locks, but by the judgement of everyone else in the palace.

She needed something to busy herself, before her thoughts consumed her, so headed towards the bedroom, to find something to clean. Or tidy, or at least rearrange..

There really was nothing to do, the room was spotless. So she sat down on the sofa in nervous defeat.

Holovision? No—she flicked through the channels anyway, but there was nothing that held her attention.

Reading? Well, there was the book, but she couldn’t look at it anymore, without thinking of him, and she wasn’t going to go to the library again, not after what had happened that morning.

Of course she wouldn’t be cleaning! That’s not what she did anymore. Stupid, stupid Sylubelle.

There was nothing for her to do but to look out of the window and dream of freedom.

Her boredom was paused when Amy brought her lunch.

“Amy, would you be able to fetch me something? Please?”

“Yes, of course madam. What would you like?”

“Could you go get me a book from the library? A fiction one. Something…optimistic.”

It was a rather vague instruction, and as she finished the beef stew Sylbie was beginning to wonder if she should have been more specific.

Amy returned just after with a well worn tome, a smile on her rounded face,

“This is one of my favourites. If you don’t mind me saying so madam.”

It was a child’s book, something she had read when she was 13, but it was a nostalgic comfort to her in the palace she wasn’t yet ready to call home. She spent the rest of the afternoon reading of princesses and towers and handsome knights that would come to the rescue.

—

“Pet.”

The king had crossed the room as soon as she entered, taken her by the shoulder, one hand circled around her waist. His hand moved from her shoulder, down the sleeves of her robes, a deep purple colour this time, and the heat in her body started to awake.

“I liked seeing you at the council today. What did you think?”

She hadn’t thought he had noticed her there.

“Sylubelle. I asked you a question.”

“I think—“ she was momentarily distracted by him undoing the knot that tied her robe together, “I think I would not like to stand up and talk in front of everyone.”

“There’s only a few dozen people,” He was now slipping her robe from her shoulders, revealing the delicate pink of her nightgown, “A hundred or so if you count those upstairs. Half of them don’t show up.”

“Is attendance not compulsory, master?”

He smiled, moving a pink strap down her arm to undress her further.

“They say they are sick. Some of them obviously have this most peculiar disease, in that it only affects them in the mornings. By the afternoon at tennis it is like they never were ill.”

Sylbie smiled at that, letting out a breath of joy.

“Do I amuse you pet?” 

—

After he had made her come undone the first time, he paused.

“How about next time at the council, you come just as you are now? That would give them something to talk about.”

Surely he wouldn’t mean? He couldn’t. He wasn’t that cruel. But she couldn’t quite tell with him, and the thought of him being able to humiliate her in any way he pleased had her shake in fear. She could imagine it now, everyone looking, laughing openly, being paraded around like some whore.

She already was some whore. A fairly rubbish one at that.

His hands came down on her shoulders firmly and she stilled. It was as if her body was hoping it could escape the predator bearing down on it by not showing  any sign of movement. Foolish, really.

He stroked a hand through her hair, cupping her chin, forcing her to look up at him. 

“It was a jest. You understand that don’t you?” His voice was gentle, anxious even, she would say, if she didn’t know better, “I would never dishonour you in such a way.”

Bit too late for that. But though she wasn’t quite sure he wouldn’t be cruel to her in other ways, she quickly agreed with him.

“Yes master, I understand.”

“Good girl,” he smiled, bending down to give her a kiss on the forehead. 

Such tenderness… it made her believe that she could survive this, although perhaps it was all part of his plan. She couldn’t be too sure. But it made her chest flutter all the same.

He inclined his head towards the chaise, “Go on. Lie down.”

Soon enough she was shouting his name in a strangled scream, and she had survived one more evening with her master.

Chapter Text

Sylbie woke up the next morning with a painful ache between her legs. She would wake up often feeling sore from having to do too much work in too little time, but never in that way. Is that what the girls felt each time after patrons? How did they manage it? How would she manage it? No wonder Elinna was quick to grab the spiced wine with breakfast in the morning. Cheap, filthy stuff. Sylbie could do with a whole barrel of wine now, no matter how foul.

She managed to stumble her way into the next room and onto the couch, and sat there thinking of how she was going to hide this from the king. She was used to masking her pain, but he was dangerously perceptive.

Yesterday, he knew that she was there in the council chambers even though she had never seen him look up. Just as well, for if he had, he probably would have hypnotised her to tumble headfirst from the upper floor—and that would have been a terrible way to go. The hurtful words from the courtiers were bad enough, but it wasn’t like she was expecting him to come save her—it wasn’t about her at all. It was all about him.

Luckily today was the weekend, so no council meeting, thank Valhalla. One more performance she didn’t mind missing.

In the bath that evening she could see the full extent of the damage, angry red bruises forming on the inside of her thighs. She took a large sip of the delicate floral wine and braced herself for a wretched evening, planting a smile upon her face.

She really was dumb for thinking she could fool the king.

“You could at least look more excited. Is anything the matter?”

Not a good start. But she could still save it.

“No master, I’m fine. I’m just… a little tired is all.” She smiled at him and prayed that he would quickly do what he wanted and then she could rest and possibly save enough strength for the next day.

He smiled back at her, but not in the sweet, gentle way he had before. He was the serpent, looking for his next meal. Ready to devour her whole.

“Pet, what did I say about lying?”

Her smile faltered. She couldn’t escape him. The room suddenly grew cold.

“You said never to lie to you.”

“I did. And what did you do just now?”

She felt like a child being reprimanded for stealing her brother’s toy or getting grass stains on a new gown.

“I lied, master.”

His smile grew wider and all the more terrifying.

“Very good. Now, the truth.”

She could not say it. She was just a vessel for his pleasure. Yes, he valued honesty but she couldn’t bother him with her problems. She was nothing, compared to him.

He held her chin in his hand and his next words came out with a biting harshness.

“Speak, or I will cut out your tongue.”

She believed he really would.

“It’s only the first few times it hurts, right? I’m sure I’ll get used to it. I mean, I—I’m fine. I’m ready to serve you master.”

The look on his face was one of pure contempt. Of course he didn’t care for her problems.

He released her saying,

“Lie on the bed.”

—

She would take cleaning a cockroach-infested bathroom over this. Laying there, completely nude and vulnerable while her master stalked towards her, in his white ruffled undershirt and dark trousers. Licking his lips hungrily, making a shudder run through her body when she thought of what he might do to her.

Then he gripped her ankles and moved her legs apart and she felt her lower body clench in preparation for him to strike.

He smiled unnervingly and bent his mouth down to her ankle, giving soft kisses up her leg, alternating between one and the other. She wasn’t sure what he expected her to do so she lay there, as still as she could, but when he reached the join of her knee she spasmed, kicking out reflexively.

There was a pause.

Oh Norns, oh Norns, oh Norns.

He lifted his head and smiled at her in his wicked way.

“Ticklish are we my sweet? Not to worry.”

He carried his journey up her legs and as he reached her thighs she began to shudder, as if her body knew something she did not.

Encountering a bruise, he pressed a finger firmly against it and she gritted her teeth, a hiss of pain escaping her lip.

He frowned at her, and she pursed her lips to silence herself. Then came the tickle of his seidr, taking the pain away.

“There we go, all better.”

He smiled then. She had not been sure the first night in his bed, when she called him kind. But now she was thinking she was right. For his smile was one of simple kindness. It did not make sense though, and she sat up, forgetting her promise to lay very still so as not to irritate him. The bruises had disappeared. But surely he wanted to keep those. They were his marks.

“What troubles you pet?” He asked, brushing her hair from her face.

He truly was the most confusing man.

“But— but you caused those marks?”

“Yes…you’re so very delicate pet. Like a little flower, and soon you will bloom,” his fingers tapped along her collar bone, “But I must say I’m disappointed. You mustn’t hide things from me. I’ll have to punish you for that later.”

And there was the stick.

“Don’t look too disappointed pet. It’s for your own good. But that’s for another time. Now my little flower is going to sing. Lay down again pet and spread your legs for me.”

He was looking every bit the wolf who had caught its prey

—

A whisper in her ear.

“What’s. My. Name?”

“Loki, Loki!”

Her vision was red and black and hot and dizzy for a moment, and then she was staring up at the canopy ceiling, her breath coming in loud and fast, well and truly spent. She had heard from the other girls, of how many times they could come in one night, making it into a competition — ten, even sometimes twenty times.

She could barely keep up with three.

“Was that good?”

Good? It was exhausting. But she felt a sense of elation that was as sweet as it was fearsome.

He laughed at her and she wished he wouldn’t mock her like that.

“You’ve done so well. I’m so proud.”

Proud? Of letting herself be reduced to such a state? What was there to be proud of? But she smiled at his praise all the same.

Then his gaze grew stern.

“Sylubelle, you must understand. You cannot hide things from me. If you are hurting you must tell me, do you understand?”

“Yes, master.”

“Good girl.”

She wouldn’t tell him how much she was hurting every day.

—

Whilst Selena had talked to Forseti as if she was trying to seduce him as a client, this woman seemed entirely apathetic to the whole situation. She was still in her nightclothes, a fluffy robe wrapped around her, dirty blonde hair pulled up into a lazy bun. She was cradling a cup of mead as she came in and when she slumped into the seat she banged the cup down, causing some of the liquid to slosh over the side and to the worn table underneath.

Forseti smiled politely.

“Petra, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, who’s asking?”

“My name is Forseti, I’m on the king’s business.”

She yawned. “Yeah, cool. Saw you before, when you came for the viewing.”

“Indeed.”

She simply stared at him, in a manner that was somewhat unnerving.

He coughed lightly. “I need to ask you some things concerning your relationship with your master, Drian. Did you have any sexual relations with him?”

There was silence while Petra took a long draught from the cup, seemingly savouring the liquid.

A pause.

“Do you need to hear the question agai—“

She waved her hand at him dismissively.

“Yeah he fucked me, probably every month and it was horrible, literally the worst. He tried to do me in the arse one time but I weren’t having that so what I did was—“

Petra stood up to dramatically re-enact the scene, taking her mug with her.

“He was drunk already so I got the thing from the door - you know, the thing to prop it open? Yeah, and then I went with my arm, like bang! On his head. He was fine the next day, slept it off. He didn’t remember, though part of me wishes he did.”

Strictly speaking, a slave causing battery against their owner had serious implications, but Forseti would pretend he did not hear that. Returning to her seat, Petra continued,

“You know he was diddling the sums right? I’ve seen all his files,” she gestured to the cabinet in the corner of the room, “Second draw down, the key is under the little fake cactus.” Forseti turned to where she gestured and made a mental note for later. “He even kept Gladys on the expenses after she went.”

“She was sold on? Or released?”

“Nah. She found herself with child, so she took something. Got it from the black market. Lady that comes to the house every now and then. Drian wouldn’t pay for the healer so what else could she do? And well I guess she was one of the unlucky ones. Then the next week he’s making us put a new vegetable garden in the back.”

Forseti stared. Then fixed a polite smile upon his face.

“Thank you Petra, it has been most enlightening. I will let you know if I have any more questions.”

“Sure. You’re best off starting by the turnips, if you wanted to know.”

Chapter Text

Amy had news when she brought in breakfast the next morning.

“Madam, you have an appointment with the Mistress of the Robes at 11am today.”

“The Mistress of the Robes?”

“Yes, you are to be measured for some new gowns. I bet you’re excited.”

“Er, yes, of course.”

The king had mentioned some new clothes, but Sylbie believed it meant she would find a couple of new dresses hanging in the wardrobe. Surely the king wouldn’t waste money on having things made up for her. But if it was his desire, all she could do was obey.

This time, when she left the room accompanied by a guard, she was determined to memorise the route.

Her chambers were tucked into a small alcove, the hallway in front occupied only by a small table with a vase of flowers and a little window to see the garden beyond. It was accessed by a narrow passage, then down two steps to the wider hallway. She never saw any courtiers around this part of the palace. She was tucked away, like a shameful secret.

To reach the king’s rooms she would go to the very end of this hallway and turn left. This time they turned left in the middle of the hallway, to a mezzanine floor, past a grand stairway, right, and then finally up a small flight of stairs onto a small corridor. There were few people about. Sylbie wasn’t sure if it was because she was in some back part of the palace, or that everyone was lying abed on Sunday morning. The servants would give a quick nod of their heads in greeting, but the courtiers would avert their eyes and keep away. Sylbie kept her head down, trying to make herself as small as possible.

They stopped at the third door and the guard knocked on the wood. It was opened by a woman about the king’s age, wearing an ornate gown in shocking pink. Her hair was dyed bright red, pinned into curls atop her head.

“Oh madam!” She grasped Sylbie by the hand, “Good morning to you my perfect princess. My name is Karnilla. Do come in and see what I have for you.” With that, she ushered Sylbie through the door and to a room where all manner of fabrics were laid out. Plain and printed, the finest silks and brocades, far higher quality than your standard material. But surely the king wasn’t to waste that sort of money on her.

“See anything you like?”

Sylbie nodded numbly. But she hoped Karnilla wasn’t expecting her to choose.

“Eshilda will take your measurements in the adjoining room, and then we can get started.”

She was glad to see the familiar face of her maid. The next room was the size of a small bedroom, although in the palace they would probably call it a closet. But it offered privacy which she was grateful for, having to be measured in her underclothes. And the measurements were nothing if not thorough, including the size of every finger.

When she went into the main room, the king was standing there, looking especially smug. Or was that how he always looked?

Naturally she dropped to a curtsy, until the king permitted her to stand and took her by the arm. He asked what Karnilla had asked earlier,

“See anything you like pet?”

She nodded.

“Which ones?”

Sylbie stared. Certainly if she had a gown made of any of these it would be too much. But the more she looked the more she was able to pick out some that were appealing. Luxurious brocades in off-white and champagne, with floral patterns woven in to the fabric. A collection of blues the shade of the summer sky, and of midnight indigo. But her opinion didn’t matter.

“Which ones do you like master?”

“Pet, you cannot answer a question with another question.”

And then he came very close to her ear and whispered,

“I like you wearing nothing at all.”

The king probably spent hours in the mirror practising his smirks.

In order to whittle down the choices, Karnilla would show each fabric in turn, and would either keep or remove it based on Sylbie’s reaction. At first Sylbie would look to the king to see what he thought—she would hate to pick something that he hated—but he soon chastised her for looking at him and said that even though he was the best thing to look at in this room she couldn’t have him as a fabric.

Sylbie blushed at that.

“But what if I pick something that displeases you master?”

“Don’t worry. If you do show in something unbecoming I will soon rectify the situation.”

She couldn’t look at him at all for the rest of the session.

So she looked at all the material, giving polite smiles and nods. Occasionally she would hesitate and Karnilla would take it away saying it was obvious Sylbie hated it. From there on she tried to keep her feelings less apparent.

In the end they settled on silks in shades of green and blue, patterned brocades again in blues and greens but also golds and silvers, several pieces of embroidered lace—for the finishing touches. The softest blue-grey wool, and leathers for her outerwear apparently, and breathable cottons for her undergarments and day-dresses, and a gossamer chiffon that caught all the colours of the light.

“Very good,” Karnilla said, “I will draw up some designs for you to look at.”

The king insisted on walking her back to her rooms, arm in arm. The return was much different. Lots of bows and a chorus of “Your majesty.” How on Asgard did he cope? Did he not go mad with it? He seemed to bask in the attention. And he wouldn’t let her thank him for the gowns either, insisting that he would spend his money how he saw fit and any fretting about the price would be considered treasonous. She half believed him.

When they reached her door she was expecting him to say goodbye, but he simply smiled at her.

“Oh pet, you haven’t forgotten about your punishment have you?”

—

She had been foolishly naive. The king was kind, yes, but he was her master. And he was entitled to punish her as he saw fit. She should be grateful of course, for all that he had given her, why shouldn’t he make full use of the rights that had been granted to him, as her lord and master.

His seidr whispered at the keyhole. Locked. No escape now. Her mouth went dry, head hollow, blood rushing at her ears. No Sylbie, get over it. You must endure.

He sat on the sofa and beckoned her towards him. She swiftly obeyed. Wouldn’t want to anger him further. To her confusion she was pulled onto his lap. At a time like this? She’d rather he get it over with. So then she could have time to herself, to come to terms with his betrayal.

“Sylubelle?”

“Yes master?”

“Do you know what you are being punished for?”

What an odd question. Drian had never asked. He had never cared. He had made reasons up half the time. But she remembered what the king had said the night before.

“I…I have been hiding things from you.” But she wasn’t meaning to. She did not expect him to care about such trivialities like her having a few bruises. And he was only going to add to them, so what was the point?

“Yes, for not speaking up when you were in pain. You mustn't hide things from me.”

Her confusion only grew when he took her over his knee, pushed her skirts up, and  pulled her underwear down. 

“Are you ready pet?”

She nodded, because she could hardly say no.

Five swift slaps to her behind and then he redressed her and soothed her

with spoken honey.

“There we are, good girl, it’s done. It’s over. You did so well for your first time.” 

It wasn’t over. For him, maybe, but not for her. He could go away now and do whatever he wanted, but she still had the agonising wait. Could he not afford her some mercy at least?

She did not notice the shaking of her hands until he took them in hers.

“Sylubelle, what is it? Tell me what troubles you?”

The kindness in his tone was a poison. He had told her before he would make her beg and now here she was.

“I…please don’t make me wait too long, I would like to heal before I serve you. Especially if they strike my legs, I may not—“

“What are you talking about?”

“Well if they hit my back it will be better than the legs, so that I may be able to serve you in the way that you like.”

There was a dead silence, the air cloying and thick. She wrung her hands together in her lap. His voice was a whisper, seething in rage,

“You think I am going to have you whipped?”

“I—I don’t know.” The words strangled themselves in her throat and died. 

“You think I would enjoy making you into more of a wreck than you already are?”

Then try as she might, she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. She didn’t know what he wanted. He said punishment, what did he expect her to think? How dare he be so cruel? Yet he was so kind as well. It was all too much. To be crying on the king, the shame of it all, only made her sob harder.

He cradled her like a little child. Shushing her and smoothing her hair and giving delicate kisses to her temples.

“Shh shh. There we are. You’re such a good girl, do you understand? Don’t cry pet.”

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. What a pathetic mess she was. 

“Are you in pain?”

“No master.”

“Good. You understand it’s for your own good.”

“Yes master.”

The king was kind to her. All those horrible things she had thought about him. She was a terrible person. What did she matter, compared to him?

Chapter Text

When she visited him that evening he was lounging over one side of the chaise and patted the empty spot by his legs. Sylbie sat down cautiously, to be handed a small book, bound in dark tanned leather. 

“Will you read to me again pet?”

The language in the book was old-fashioned and unfamiliar, but Sylbie knew the stories. Childhood tales of monsters stealing you from your bed if you misbehaved, the story of the life-giving apples, fables of heroes. Did the king have a nostalgic attachment to them? She looked over at him to see his reaction and he was staring at the ceiling, his eyes closed.

“Eyes on the page pet.”

Sylbie wondered at how he could perceive her and bowed her head again concentrating on the page. At least this time he was keeping his hands to himself. Perhaps tonight she would get off lightly.

No sooner had her mind spoken the thought was the king determined to go against her hopes. It was not simply reading a book, but a trial against the king’s administrations, wanting her to squirm, wanting her to beg.

He chastised her at one point, when a lapse in concentration caused her to stop reading. But the king soon forgot the book himself, when he took her right there on the chaise, hands around her throat. 

She looked into his eyes and saw galaxies.

The world escaped her for a moment, chasing that exquisite high. 

Then the moment was gone and he was climbing off of her. She was truly alone.

—

She did feel sore the next day but there was a measure of cloudy green liquid in a small crystal bottle served with her breakfast. The pain lessened considerably upon consumption.

Sylbie’s attendance in the council chambers played entirely differently to how they had last week. The courtiers were on her the moment she arrived.

“Good morning madam.”

“May I say you look beautiful today madam.”

“You look as splendid as always, madam.”

“Are you coming to watch the tennis today madam? You may sit with me."                                                                                                                                            

“No, no, sit with me in the parlour and take tea.”

“The parlour? We will go to the alcove in the library and overlook the gardens.”

She almost preferred it when they were ignoring her and giggled behind their hands. There were still some that glowered at her, and through the sycophantic simperings Sylbie caught a waspish comment,

“She thinks she’s in the theatre. Not like she’s going to understand what they’re talking about, but you cannot blame these types. It’s the education, see.”

At least they were being honest. 

When she found her seat—at the front, of course— she was greeted by her neighbour, a lady in a teal dress, who introduced herself as Ronia. 

“Ladies, this is Sylubelle. Don’t you think that’s such a pretty name?”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“We are so glad you have come to court. Aren’t we, ladies?”

More murmurs of agreement.

“Fiora was telling us that just last night she was given an apple. By her long time sweetheart. Thought he would never ask. Isn’t that just delightful?”

“Yes, how lovely,” Sylbie replied. She would have to watch herself here, a misstep could end in severe punishment.

The giving of apples wasn’t just any ordinary fruit for eating. It was understood as a proposal of marriage. One would take an apple and decorate it - for the common folk it would mean sticking it with red currants and tying bows with a ribbon, but Sylbie had seen apples carved from wood and painted brightly, and ones made of fabric and finished with delicate embroidery, even an apple of solid gold.

Fiora was describing hers now. It was crafted from oak, its surface decorated with silver leaves and trailing branches, flowers with centres of rubies and sapphires. A perfect fit for a lady at court.

The girls at the house had tried to use apples to trick their patrons into marriage. They would decorate them with sewing scraps and secrete them among the sheets. It never worked but at least there was something to work towards, some fleeting hope of escape.

Beatrice had once stuck an apple with dress pins and decorated it with lace from worn undergarments. She had paraded around with it loftily,

“Oh thank you my lady, you are so kind! I will marry you at once!”

It was snatched away from her by one of the other girls, followed by a mild scuffle, which ended in everyone falling to the floor in fits of giggles. Selena had retrieved the apple from where it had rolled under a bed and waved it triumphantly.

“Beatrice, I am flattered. Yes, I do, I do, I do.”

Sylbie smiled at the memories, outwardly it was a polite smile at Fiora’s story of her engagement.

“We have it in time for the harvest festival now, we can go together as an engaged couple. I have already picked out outfits for the two of us.”

Like the other girls she had dreamed of an apple to take from her wretched life. But it would always be just a silly little dream.

–

When the council session was over and they made it safely out into to the hall, the guard spoke,

“Forgive me madam, you were whisked away quite quickly and I thought it would be better if you stayed put. Or otherwise cause a scene.”

“No, it’s no bother.”

It wasn’t Merlon’s fault how they behaved, besides she wasn’t sure how the stark change in the courtiers’ behaviour came about. At least now she might make some friends.

“Can we go a different route? I’d like to see more of the palace.”

The guard agreed and led her through a different part of the palace. She was hoping to see further glimpses of the garden, but it was more elaborately ornate wallpaper and high ceilings and gilded doorways. Until they reached a large window that looked over a strange field, painted with white lines, a net strung up in the middle.

“That is the tennis court madam.”

“Oh, yes.”

There had been a holovision serial on tennis once, but she did not recall it in great detail. She would ask the guard about it — better to make herself a fool in front of him than anyone else. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know how the game works.”

“I do not know enough myself to teach you madam. I think the king makes his own rules,” Merlon remarked offhandedly, then hastily corrected himself, “I mean to say he is very skilled with it.”

“You have not played?”

“No madam.”

“Would I be able to go out and watch a game sometime?”

“You’d have to ask the king madam.”

She was certainly not going to. So she would put any further thoughts of tennis out of her mind for now.

After lunch, Karnilla came to her chambers with a sketchbook full of designs. The styles akin to what the ladies at court wore, long dresses with embroidered embellishments, frilled and flowing hems. No armour though, it would not be fitting for a slave. 

“I think these will fit you wonderfully, my darling.”

“What does the king think?”

“Oh him. Well if he does not like my work he would not have asked me. And I will have a hard time making you look ugly.”

Sylbie ignored the latter comment for now, it did not seem like feigned flattery but she was not altogether sure on Karnilla’s assessment of her. And how could she speak of the king so flippantly? Did she not fear him as her sovereign? 

In the end she approved all of the designs. They were all far too beautiful than she deserved and she was not prepared to insult by refusing any of them. 

“We’ll have some made up in time for the harvest festival. You will look wonderful of course!”

Chapter Text

The next few days consisted of more smiling politely at the words of the fawning courtiers and waiting around until she was summoned.  Yes, Sylbie had been told she could venture outside her room but she was only brave enough to go to the library to fetch another book - one she would not share, something she could lose her mind in and not think about the world for a few minutes. 

This one was of familiar tales from her childhood that she imagined being spoken to her in a warm, gentle voice. For a time she was transported to a place of safety and comfort. But it was not to last and when she closed the book and came back to reality she wiped the corner of her eye with her sleeve.

The evenings were altogether easier as she only had to deal with one person; yet more difficult, as the one person was the king.

He would use her roughly one night, hands a fist in her hair, pulling it tight. Then the next, he would tease her with soft touches, whispering words of praise.

What a vexing, impossible man! Why could he not be all cruel or all kind, certainly it would be less taxing on her. What had she done for such a punishment? She would rather he put her over his knee again, so she felt something rather than this terrible hunger.

The king had so many faces it was impossible to keep up with them all.

The face at the council was impatient and caustic and reserved. The upcoming harvest festival brought concerns about how the revelry might be managed. Last year’s celebrations had resulted in fights breaking out and there were several complaints about damage to property. Of course they could not prevent people from celebrating but perhaps they might be able to temper the crowds with increased military presence on the streets? That was one such suggestion.

—

That night was marked with an unsuspecting question.

“Your old master, Drian. Did he ever touch you? Did he ever have his way with you?”

This made her pause. He knew the answer already surely? Perhaps it was only for the sake of his ego.

“No master.”

“Good. Good.” A touch to her hair to smooth it with his fingers. His hands had hardly wandered this evening. Maybe she would be left off early and go to bed.

“The name Gladys. Does it mean anything to you?”

Sylbie stiffened. She hadn’t thought she would hear that name in a long time. Gladys was always ready to give a gentle touch, her warm hands a comfort in the disquiet of their life. They were so very cold in death. Her own hand was clutched tightly around the king’s arm. She removed it quickly and apologised. 

The king said nothing, not a prompt for her to answer the question verbally, not an admonishment for pinching his arm. She looked up at him to see his features creased in a frown.

“Master?”

He didn’t look at her.

“Not for you to worry about pet.”

“Is anything the matter? What’s happened?”

He grabbed her wrist tightly.

“Pet, I said nothing to you to worry about, do you understand? Don’t make me say it a third time.” The threat was clear, his hand cupping her face. 

“Yes, your majesty.”

His gaze softened, his touch growing tender.

“Your concern is most charming pet. Just be a good girl and don’t talk back at me.” 

It was the same as being told not to talk at all. It confirmed Sylbie’s earlier thoughts; she couldn’t truly relax around him. Especially now he had produced a length of black rope and was flexing it in his hands.

“Undress and get on the bed. Go on.”

—

Bliss. The most bliss she ever felt, the world a perfect paradise. 

And then absolutely terrible, a loss she couldn’t describe.

She was crying. Sobbing even. Exhausted.

The king was cradling her, rocking her against him.

“Oh pet, sweet, it’s okay, it’s alright. Shh shh I know.”

Did he? She didn’t know at all. She felt wonderful and awful at the same time. She wanted him near and to call her a good girl. She wanted him to stay away and leave her alone.

“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she was apologising. But she had failed somehow. She was crying all over him when she was meant to serve him. She must give him something, show she was still worthy of his affection. She reached for him.

“Stop it.” He grabbed her wrists, stilling her movement. His grip was not so tight, and she could perhaps wriggle free, (though Valhalla knows what he would say if she acted up in such a way), but his voice had such a commanding tone to it that all thoughts of escape were banished from her mind. 

“Come on, arms above your head.” She obeyed numbly, but when he slipped her nightgown over her head, she panicked. He should not do this, why was he playing at being a maid? She was meant to serve him.

“No master I can do it. I can do it.” She tore away from him to fix herself, smoothing the gown out, and reaching for her robe on the floor. It was clear he wanted to put her away again in her cage before the next play time. That’s how it was and how it had been for the past few weeks so why now was she feeling so terrible? And somehow the robe was inside out. And she was crying and she didn’t know, she just didn’t know.

“Sylubelle stop. Stop.“

A gentle voice and a firm touch. She let him take the robe from her hands and put it on for her, guiding her arms into the sleeves and tying the sash around her waist. Using his thumb to wipe away her tears and smooth her hair and call her a good girl, and she needed it more than the pleasure he had just given her.

“I forgot to say thank you. For the clothes you are having made.”

“You have not seen them yet. What if you hate them?”

In retrospect there was something teasing in his tone, but in the state she was now her brain did not register it.

“Anything you give me I will cherish, master, I’m sure. I didn’t want you to think I was ungrateful . And I’m sorry for probing you about Gladys, I just — I had not thought about her in a long time, and you surprised me, you are much too kind to me, and you give me far more than I deserve, I don’t—“

A finger to her lips.

“No more pet. Be still.”

He was fully dressed now himself, and scooped her up in his arms. She clung to him, praying that he wouldn’t drop her in an act of malice — as it was he had to pry her fingers off of him when he deposited her in a chair by the unlit fire. 

“Stay here and be good, I will be back soon.”                                                                                              

So saying he disappeared with a blink of his seidr, leaving her alone to stare at the empty grate. Sylbie hugged her knees to her chest, studying the indentations of the rope on her wrists. Though the marks were red and defined, they did not hurt. What did was the feeling of loss that gnawed at her stomach.

He returned after several hours, or a few minutes— holding a tea tray with a silver pot steaming. He poured the tea into the fine china cup, decorated with a border of delicate blue flowers.

“Drink.”

She wasn’t sure if tea was really what she needed right now, but she would not dare disobey him, and sipped the hot beverage slowly under his watchful gaze. He had taken the other chair, languishing in it idly, and she wondered how he could make her feel so wonderful and yet so terrible and also how he could be so handsome?

A smirk graced his lips.

“My pet, you are staring so much I would think you are hankering for something. I should have you punished for your impertinence.”

Sylbie looked away hurriedly and stared resolutely at her tea cup. His threat was most likely hollow but she dare not risk it. The tea was helping. It was far more refined than the regular brew she had at the house, floral notes that soothed and warmed her body. She was feeling much more relaxed, only now she was feeling embarrassed about her earlier behaviour. Crying all over the king. She must not make a habit of it.

—

Sylbie’s second experience of teleportation had her feeling no more amenable to that particular way of travel— it was convenient, yes, if only her head did not swim and she didn’t have to lean on the king for support. When the room had righted itself she stepped away from him, cautious of what he might do next. Soon he would stop being kind and exercise his rights as her master.

He stripped the covers back.

“Go on, into bed.” 

She obeyed, lying on her back with her head on the pillow, waiting for further instruction. The covers were pulled over her firmly. The king never once held a reputation for being predictable. But Sylbie would like at least an understanding of the chaos, for the sake of her own mortality. It was not right that her master was waiting on her as a servant.

“But, master, I—“

A finger to her lips. 

“Shh. I want you to rest pet.” A smile and a tender kiss to her forehead that melted her insides. “Goodnight Sylubelle.” 

“Goodnight Loki.”

She did not realise that she had called him by his name until the morning.

Chapter Text

There was more “Good morning” and flattery from the courtiers when she entered the viewing gallery. Sylbie smiled politely at each in turn, wishing she was watching in the comfort of her own chambers. Last night, she had lain there ramrod straight after the king had left, in case it was some kind of trick and he was waiting for her to put her guard down before he pounced. In the end her tiredness won out and she slept fitfully until the morning.

She jumped into the bath first thing, to wash off the aftermath of sex, studying her body for new bruises and marks that accumulated on her. Remembering with a sense of embarrassment how she had begged for him to touch her. How she had liked it. How even now, washing the soapy suds off her body she imagined his hands on her. 

She wanted to sit and do nothing, as the whores did at Elmside. She doubted anyone was concerned about their political education. Besides, what use was it to the king? She only needed to smile prettily and let him spend inside her . . . and cry all over him. Oh norns, she was getting far too comfortable. She must watch herself very carefully from now on. He may hold his kindness over her like a debt, and expect all manner of things from her. Things that he had not already taken.

It was Karnilla who came to her rescue, a knight in bright purple, pulling her from the crowd.

“Oh Sylubelle save me,” Karnilla said as they found their seats, “Ronia has been wittering on about tea for the last ten minutes, I do not know how much longer I can last.”

Ronia frowned in response.

“It is a most interesting and refined subject, do not mock me.”

Karnilla rolled her eyes.

“Great you can talk to my husband about that. You two are so boring. He was moaning dreadfully last night, his best blend of sleeptime tea had been taken just as he brewed a pot. A snake slithered in and took it away.”

Sylbie’s stomach dropped. 

“A snake?” Surely she couldn’t mean . . ?

“Yes, a pretty black one with a wicked temperament.”

“Ignore her,” Ronia put in, “There can’t have been an actual snake. You must come and sit with us in the parlour Sylubelle. You can taste the tea I got from Midgard. It’s from a place called China.”

When the king arrived she wanted to go to him immediately. Watching him on the holovision in years past, she had not understood how he incited such a fervour in some of his subjects. A certain excitement surrounding him must be expected, he was the sovereign after all, but never had she known such a pull towards another. The king and her. . . perhaps this was her ticket to freedom . . . No. She must reign in her wild imaginings. She was a slave, and could be disposed of in a second.

Still she could look. And touch. And enjoy things while they lasted.

—

When the session was over, Karnilla led her through the castle for another fitting.

“Just a few pieces to start, but you will have them in time for the harvest festival. I do hope you like them.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“Don’t be polite on my account. I can handle the criticism.”

“Oh, but I would be grateful for anything.”

“Just as well I am here. We can’t have you wearing just anything.”

They passed by a window and Sylbie was able to glimpse a different view of the garden than before. The running water of a fountain could be heard.

“The gardens are beautiful this time of year no? I mean, they are beautiful at all times. Just you wait. In a couple of weeks the leaves will start to turn, and at sunset the garden glows.”

The dresses were beautiful, silks in various shades of blue that she had seen before, draped elegantly over her form as if she was a wave risen from the sea. Karnilla fussed around her as she stood on the stool, pinning the fabric to fit better, making various exclamations about how wonderful she looked.

“Ronia is right, you must come join us for a more social meeting in the parlour sometime. Or if you’re not comfortable, my rooms are in the east wing. We could share lunch.”

It would be nice to be away from prying eyes.

“I would like to. I mean if I am permitted.”

“Of course darling. I cannot think any reason why not, and if the king does refuse tell him that if he does wish for you to be confined so, then confined you will be. You cannot even reach his bedchamber,” Karnilla winked.

As if she would ever have the nerve.

—

Her meeting with the king that evening was a complete contrast to the night before. There was no teasing, no making her beg, just telling her to strip and lay on the bed. 

No talk of her being a good girl or indeed, any more sordid whispers in her ear. Just the sound of skin against skin and their breathy moans as he chased his own release. It was much as she deserved. Retribution, for her shameful behaviour last night. 

He finished with a grunt and rolled off of her. She was left feeling used and bruised with no satisfaction. But why should he give her anything? He was her master not her lover. They did not share a room nor dine together. She was just something to pass the time until she was discarded.

She looked over at his terrible beautiful face. He was smirking in that way of his. How cruel of him to wear a face like an angel when he was nothing like one.

A finger to her lips, and his other hand, travelling lower…

Three times she reached her peak, the third forced upon her, his hands gripping her wrists above her head. In her daze she stared at him, and found herself wishing he would kiss her. Though he would use his mouth all over her body and leave little pecks to her forehead he had not yet properly kissed her. Well why should he? She was just a lowly bedslave and not a very good one. But he did smile very nicely. Except now he was frowning.

“What troubles you pet?”

“Last night.”

His hand was now slowly stroking the side of her body, feeling her ribs.

“Did you not enjoy it? You looked like you did.” 

“No I —“ That wasn’t the problem. Or it was. 

“You didn’t? That’s a shame. We don’t have to do it again.” But he sounded disappointed. She couldn’t have that. If she explained it to him surely he would understand.

“I acted in a way that’s not suitable.”

“Unsuitable? So you should be punished?”

Punishment was taking it a bit far.

“No master.”

“Then it wasn’t unsuitable.”

“But—“

His hand held her chin,

“You listen to me. I will decide what is or isn’t unsuitable. You are my slave. I own you. I am responsible for you. You will take what I give you. Whether it’s shoving myself down your throat or giving you the finest dresses money can buy, or me holding you whilst you weep, or taking you in the arse on the bathroom floor. You will take all I will give you and I will give you everything you deserve.”

Chapter Text

The east wing of the palace was much the same as any other part, in that the gilded halls made Sylbie feel wildly inferior and also helplessly lost. She didn’t know if Edmund was so much a guard as he was a guide. She did feel safer with him beside her, still somewhat wary of the courtiers. There was a definite increase in activity within the palace as the harvest festival neared, and Sylbie was conscious of getting in the way. But when they encountered a servant scrubbing the hardwood floors it was them who apologised and moved out the way for her. 

And it was Edmund who rapped on the door as if her poor knuckles couldn't handle the force of the hit. As if such coddling of her would counteract the king’s own treatment of her. He was not violent — his promises that he would not discipline her in a brutal manner held firm — but he did like to leave a mark. Sylbie would find new bruises and red spots on her each time she bathed. 

Karnilla was not plagued with such worries regarding her position within the palace, throwing open the door with a bright smile on her face.

“Darling, hello!”

Sylbie was grabbed by the hand and they were ushered in. It was somewhat comforting to see Edmund was as startled as she was, but as a professional he quickly composed himself and stood to attention at the side of the room. 

Then being sat down on a plush grey sofa, decorated with cushions of bright pink and teal, and having a familiar looking teacup being pushed towards her with a knowing smile.

Sylbie rested her hands politely in her lap, waiting for it to cool.

Karnilla, in a chair the same bright teal as the cushions, had immediately pushed a sweet made of pink layered wafer in her mouth upon seating, chewing and swallowing before talking to Sylbie.

“It’s called Empress Grey. If my husband was here he would be able to describe it in varied and flowery terms. But he is not, so you will have to put up with my amateur estimation; It tastes nice. Sort of orangey.”

Sylbie nodded, careful of her response. She did not think Karnilla would be unkind, and she had so far shattered her naive and perhaps uncharitable expectations of what ladies at court would be like, but she did not forget that she was her superior. It would do Karnilla no harm if she mistreated a slave, even if she did belong to the king.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. I was worried I had scared you off.”

She didn’t want to tell her she had been working up the courage to ask the king. Karnilla would think her a silly fool. The king might think so already, saying as much when she sought permission to visit Karnilla. 

“Why? Do you need to be carried?”

“I was only wondering if it would please you, your majesty.”

He smiled widely at that.

“You please me greatly, pet.”

And once again Sylbie felt a sense of elation at the praise he gave her. He continued,

“You could have the whole run of the palace, it is no matter to me. All I care is that you’re ready and waiting for me to fuck you. That’s all you’re here for.”

Sylbie could only stare. She was already acutely aware of her position, but to speak in such plain terms, he could be so cruel at times. And his vulgarity would never cease to amaze her. Well, he was not the god of predictable sensibility now was he? 

“I am not upset that you didnt come,” Karnilla said, thinking that Sylbie’s tense expression was due to her remark just now, not knowing that she was thinking on her earlier conversation with the king.

“You are kind to invite me,” Sylbie replied to reassure her.

“I’m only being selfish and I am getting in before everyone pounces.”

Pounces? Were the howls she sometimes heard at night really the courtiers moving about?

“Oh yes, they will be clamouring at the door for you. All to eat out of the king’s hand. You are his favourite of course. First one to be seen in the council chambers mind you, I do not see what is so exciting about the place.”

“The king asked me to come,” Sylbie defended, forgetting her earlier promise not to draw Karnilla’s ire.

Mercifully, she took it in good faith and laughed,

“Every day? Are you sure he won’t let you off skipping every now and then?”

“I like to serve the king.”

Another laugh.

“I’m sure you do.”

Sylbie realised what her response implied and answered hurriedly,

“He is kind to me.”

“Yes, I think to you he would be. But do not say as much out loud. He has his reputation to think of after all.” 

—

When Eshilda came to get her ready that evening, Sylbie asked her if she would be able to bring her some embroidery hoops and thread. The maid nodded and promised to procure them, then asked if there was anything else she required. To which Sylbie shook her head, glad at last to have done something proactive.

It was the first thing that she could think of when Karnilla asked her what she liked doing in her spare time. Reading was the other, and now Sylbie would spend the daytime going back and forth between the library; she had become comfortable enough to carry herself between there and her bedroom, but she did not venture much further.

“I like a good book too, but surely there must be something else. And do not say the king, that is already evident!” Karnilla teased.

Sylbie blushed, and spent a few moments in quiet thought, trying to think of a suitable hobby. In truth she had none, accustomed to centuries of work and little time to play. In a way she was growing to miss her old role. Not Drian’s treatment of her, Loki was proving himself to be a far preferable master, but she yearned for those little menial tasks that filled the hours, to stop her thinking too much. The work had been far more than she could bear at times, but there were the rare moments she could spend quietly alone, mending holes in stockings and fixing the patches in the girls’ dresses. And when she had a chance she would make pictures of flowers or animals on spare scraps of fabric, to present to the girls on their name days. Mnemosyne had been given the likeness of a deer on a scrap from a bedsheet that had become too worn, that she treasured as if it was a fine jewel. 

“And what sort of things do you like to embroider?” Karnilla asked,

“Nothing nowadays, I do not have any materials.”

“Ask the maids, they will be able to get you some. The king would not deny you mere trifles. He is having you a whole new wardrobe after all. It’s almost ready by the way, you will love it.”

—

Three days before blessing day, there was a knock on the door. Sylbie opened it to two servants carrying a large wooden box. They set it down, bowed and left.

She opened it up to spools of fine quality embroidery thread, different sized hoops, a large roll of cotton fabric,  as well as two books of patterns.

Could the king do anything modestly? By the reams of thread in different colours it’s as if he expected her to remake all the hangings in the castle.

When she had settled herself with some practice stitches he appeared in her room, dressed in white midgardian clothes — shorts and a t-shirt. He was clutching a little green ball, tossing it up in the air.

Sylbie was so taken aback by his odd attire that she forgot all proper protocol and just stared at him for a while. When she remembered herself she jumped up hurriedly.

“Master!”

He laughed and sat in a chair, beckoning her towards him.

“Come here pet.”

 She knelt down before him, expecting he wanted her to service him. But the king had other ideas.

“No, here,” he said, pulling her up into his lap.

Sylbie sat rigidly still, not daring to move and risk provoking his contrary temperament. This position was far too familiar, and he knew it, a sly little smile gracing his lips as he played with his green ball atop the table.

“Thank you for my gifts master.”

“Gifts?”

“The embroidery thread and the hoops and the fabric.”

“Oh…yes.”  They were of no consequence. Mere trifles to him. Sylbie was no more important than the ball.

“This is a tennis ball,” he said, picking it up to show her closely, “They are looking for it now in the field. I have made out that it was lost in the bushes, but really I put the ball in my pocket.”

“But isn’t that unfair?”

“I decide what’s fair. You’re meant to say that’s a very clever trick Loki, well done.”

“Yes it is master, you are very clever,” she said quickly.

He laughed.

“Oh pet, you are too good.” His head bent down towards her ear, “My good girl aren’t you?”

There was that tightening in her chest and the familiar tingle, especially when his hand stroked her leg through her skirts, squeezing her thigh.

“Later, pet. I want you to read to me now.”

Chapter Text

She was in the king’s bathroom.

In the king’s bathroom, in a bath full of hot soapy water, being washed by the king.

Only a few moments earlier he had been claiming her roughly from behind on his bed, breaching her last virgin entrance. He had admonished her when she whined at the intrusion.

“Don’t make such a fuss, pet.”

Now he was such tenderness that she sat there in transfixed silence for a while at the absurdity of the situation.

Then she remembered her place.

“I can do it master, it’s okay.”

She tried to take the flannel from him, but he pinned her wrist to the side of the tub with his other hand,

“Stop it, or I will put you over my knee.”

Sylbie nodded meekly and he released her hand. She imagined that it would be some excuse to touch and tease her again, but he was somehow methodical in his actions. She couldn’t imagine him being a nurse.

“What are you thinking pet?”

“How many times you have done this before master.”

“How many times do you think, pet?”

“I know you have had many partners master.”

He grinned. 

“How many?”

“W-what?”

“How many people do you think I’ve fucked?”

Now he was teasing.

“I don’t know, a lot…more than me.”

Loki smiled. “You are funny pet. And do you think I gave baths to all of them ?”

“I don’t know master.”

A long silence.

“My mother made me attend the sick bay to take care of the patients. The king must know the works of his servants to rule them.”

“Is that where you learned healing magic?”

“I learned many things in the medical wing,” he replied, but did not elaborate. “Do you still feel sore?”

“A little.”

“A little? That won’t do.”

—

When he tucked her in bed he kissed her forehead, and told her he was so pleased with her and she wanted to know if he did it to make it all that much worse when he would be unkind.

—

Several crates arrived the next day. Sylbie cautiously lifted the lid of one to see inside a white box. And inside that, silk as blue as the sky. It was as beautiful as she remembered. Soft as clouds in her hands. When she held it up to her and twirled, giddy like a girl, it floated so wonderfully. 

It was too much. Too fine for her. She put it hastily back.

Lucy looked at the unopened boxes when she came with lunch.

“Do you need help unpacking madam?”

“No, I think I will be fine.”

After the dishes had been cleared away Karnilla came sauntering in, gown a vivid green. She immediately  went to the boxes and began pulling out gowns, lifting them up as if to admire her handiwork.

“So what do you think? Do they fit? If there’s any alterations needed tell me now so we can get them done soon as.”

“I—I think they are fine…”

“You think? They are either good or they are not.”

“I….I haven’t tried them.”

“You have not tried them?! Goodness me, what have you been doing? We didn’t make them to dress the furniture!! Come on come on!”  Karnilla hurried her up off of the sofa, thrusting the gown she had been holding into Sylbie’s unsuspecting arms.

“Where is the maid?” She marched to the door, “You, go and fetch one of Sylubelle’s maids. Quick quick,” Karnilla made a shooing motion with her hands, “time is of the essence.”

“I am not permitted to leave my post ma’am,” said Edmund.

“Well you are decidedly useless aren’t you? “She turned back inside the room, “Wait there darling, I will be five minutes.”

She left Sylbie standing in the room quite at a loss. It wouldn’t hurt to look at the rest of the dresses would it? She opened up the boxes and began pulling out the clothes. Some of them were extremely fine like the sky dress, and a golden brocade that seemed to shine out of the box, others in dyed linens, simpler cuts for day dresses. Then was the underwear and nightgowns that she hoped Karnilla did not want a demonstration of.

Karnilla returned in ten minutes with Lucy in tow who stared agog at all the gowns, apparently in awe as much as Sylbie was.

Karnilla immediately took charge, thrusting pieces at them for Sylbie to try, all but locking them in the bedroom until she was dressed properly in the garments. And what garments they were, each dress a wonder, the first time she looked in the mirror all together overjoyed that she could wear something so fine, but also not deserving of it.

However Lucy smiled at her shyly and said, “You look beautiful in it madam.”

And Karnilla was a great confidence booster.

Each time she would clap her hands, and say how lovely Sylbie looked, providing commentary on what kind of occasion each gown would be suitable for. This one for picnics in the garden, and this at the parlour and this for a cruise along the river. 

“Picnic?” Sylbie couldn’t help looking wistfully out of the window. The garden was sprinkled with tones of burnt orange, red and gold, which only added to her ever growing wonder of the place.

“Yes. Why don’t you ask the king, while the weather is still fine. I’m sure he’ll oblige.”

“Thank you, I will bear that in mind,” Sylbie replied, knowing she would never be so bold.

Chapter Text

The audience chamber was packed, the courtiers giving her vapid smiles and “Good Morning” and “How wonderful you look today madam”. She was wearing a new gown of course, this one a jewel toned dark blue silk, with sleeves that ballooned out, tapering at the wrists.

Amy had chattered excitedly as she helped her to dress, wearing her own uniform of burnt orange, with embroidered fruits around the collar. It seemed she had her own party planned and was telling Sylbie of how Lucy had gone early to the market to score the crustiest bread and choicest cut of pork for their meal.

Sylbie tried to share her enthusiasm and nodded vaguely but she had slept poorly, feeling at odds with herself. The soft bed that she had slept alone in for weeks now seemed suddenly too big for her. It was ridiculous of course, but when the king had bid her goodnight the day before, she felt as if she had been banished to her room. What did she expect him to do, stay close and embrace her?

Her tiredness had been her own foolishness so she smiled to the courtiers in turn, and tried to return compliments, looking over her shoulder for the comforting presence of Edmund who was hovering nearby.

The king arrived dressed in full regalia of his armour complete with horned helmet. He looked so very regal, although she was glad he had not been wearing it when she first met him, else she would have passed away, right there on the spot. Everyone bowed as he entered, uprighting themselves once he was seated on the throne.

A word with Forseti who was at the side of the throne, a nod, and Blessing Day began. 

Sylbie watched as one by one, carefully selected people of Asgard approached the king, and asked for a blessing. A favour, money to buy a cow so as to have milk, medicines for sick relatives, food as their crops had been spoiled in the flooding. 

And there was always one, but perhaps two or three, five was the most Sylbie remembered, but her father had told her once there were nine, who asked for an apple.

Apples of Idunn could not be bought from the market or grown. They were cultivated in a protected place. From one tree. 

Everyone tasted the apple twice in their lifetime. As a babe on their name day they were given a drop of juice, and then once on their sixteenth birthday they were given one single slice of apple. It was the Asgardian born right of long life.

But the apples could also act as a medicine, the most powerful medicine in the land.

How could you decide who lived and who died? It was the burden of the king.

Blessing Day, occurring periodically throughout the year to coincide with other celebrations, had been founded a millennia ago, by King Odin, as a way for the king to give back to the people. Or, as Petra had put it, a way to boost his public profile.

Anyone could ask for a blessing by writing to the palace. Sylbie had once been given a new doll from her parents on her seventh birthday. However, instead of wearing the purple dress she had wanted, this doll was clothed in yellow. She had been incensed and wrote to King Odin, imploring him that she must get a new doll immediately with the right colour dress. When she tried to give the letter to the post horse to deliver, her mother had laughed and laughed, but she had stitched a new dress for the doll.

In later years there were less frivolous things she could have asked for. After the tragedy she wrote to the palace begging for assistance in the face of destitution. Nothing had come of it, and then once she was a slave she had been forbidden to write. Slaves could ask for nothing of course.

But what now would she ask for? She had everything she could have needed for her comfort. He would take delight in humiliating her. But no, she mustn’t think such uncharitable thoughts of him. Last night he had been most kind, holding her, asking if she was in pain. Calling her a good girl.

Of course that was after he had teased her mercilessly, withholding her pleasure until she was in tears. It was awful, euphoric. He was cruel, addicting.

“You like being called a good girl don’t you. And you like being tied up? Don’t be shy now, we’re going to have a lot of fun, you and me.”

It was cruel of him to make her go away, he could have held her a little longer at least.

“Cake?” 

Such thoughts were interrupted by someone approaching from behind.

It was Ronia, carrying a little honey cake in her hand on a linen napkin.

“Thank you,” Sylbie took the proffered good, looking at the direction Ronia had come from to see a row of tables laid out at the side of the room, holding drinks and nibbles.

Ronia turned to the man beside her, adjusting his cloak at the shoulders, fixing the material underneath the gold clasps.

“Teirn sweetie,” her hand rested on his chest, “Would you go pop along and get some drinks. One for yourself as well.”

“Yes mistress.” 

“I can get some for myself, it’s no trouble—“

“Oh don’t think of it, he’ll have my head if he saw me giving you orders,” she nodded toward the king, “besides I have my own one to boss about, he’s ever so good.”She looked towards where Teirn was making his way through the crowd, sighing dreamily. “He’s beautiful isn’t he?”

At a loss of what else to do, Sylbie nodded politely in agreement.

“You don’t have to look so enthusiastic Sylubelle, we all know your thoughts are consumed by a greater man.”

Were all the ladies of court set to tease her about her affections so openly?

“I er—I—I don’t…” 

“You’re too cute.”

Sylbie bowed her head, and looked at the ceremony still ongoing, careful not to look directly at the king lest he meet her eye and see the emotions clearly on her face.

Teirn returned momentarily with the drinks, giving a slight bow as he handed them out in turn.

“Mistress, madam.”

“Vigna is returning,” he said a moment after.

The name must have meant something to Ronia, for she replied,

“You will keep out of her way this time, won’t you.”

They sipped together in silence, watching as someone asked for silk to make a dress for their daughters coming of age day. Money to hire a carpenter for repairs on their roof.

It was difficult to concentrate fully as she was half listening to the whispers going around the room about this Vigna. She must be important somehow, but it would be speaking out of turn for Sylbie to find out how.

“How long is this supposed to last? Did you see the list?”

“No mistress. But this time of year is not normally too long.”

Sylbie did hope so. The king usually saw around fifty to a hundred people, but there was a time when King Odin saw 300 for his jubilee.

She looked to Teirn. She wanted to talk to him in private, however if he was here with his mistress that would be impossible. He would understand, the trials of palace life, of servitude. His situation was much the same. She watched as his hand slipped into Ronia’s and grasped it tightly. No, it was completely different.  

She looked towards the king. How was it that she was freer than she had ever been, but so trapped. She knew exactly what she would ask of him, but he would never grant it. 

The event lasted only two hours and she was glad of it, ready to retire to her room before she would see him again.

Her afternoon at the embroidery hoop was interrupted by Forseti. He had brought with him the seating plan for the banquet the next afternoon, of the harvest festival.

“I thought it would be prudent to go over things beforehand, in case you had any questions.”

“Yes of course.” Sylbie didn’t want to admit that she had no idea she was to be attending the feast as a guest. ‘What else were all the fine gowns for Sylubelle, come on, use your brain!’

“But sir, surely there is a mistake, it says I am sitting beside the king.”

“No mistake, madam,” he said, not unkindly.

She nodded in comprehension, though anxiety had begun to stir in the pit of her stomach. A royal banquet, with the king, in front of everyone. Perhaps she would pretend ill and confine herself to her chambers. Then Loki would see through her ruse and come drag her out. Lady Sif, to be seated on her other side, would be far less perplexing, she hoped.

“And the prince, is he not coming?”

“Prince Thor is away. We do not know when he will return, perhaps by Yule.”

“Is it too far for him to travel?”

“The Prince is off-world. With a talking rabbit, so I hear.”

“A talking rabbit?”

“That is what the prince reports” replied Forseti, but as if he didn’t quite trust this information himself, “If that would be all?”

Sylbie nodded, and let him depart. She wanted to ask who Vigna was. But it could wait, she was likely just another courtier. 

It was Eshilda who answered her curiosity.

“Vigna? The Lady Vigna is a friend of the king.”

A friend. Oh. Well of course. She would not bother the king of course but he was set to bother her it seemed. He had her sit at the desk beside him, on a chair of her own, helping him put the royal seal on all the documents for the blessings. It was a strange clerical task for their nightly meetings, and she thought the king would have shunted such work off onto his servants, but she was somehow glad of the reprieve. The task was monotonous yet not altogether unwelcome, Sylbie had been aching for monotony for some time. Even without the king’s contrariness, simply navigating life at court was proving to be a challenge in itself. And this talk of Vigna…

“Pet, stop that.”

“Master?” She quickly put down the wooden handle, letting her hands rest in her lap.

“No, not that. That.” He put two fingers to her forehead. “Stop thinking.”

She blinked at him. He was going to reprimand her for thinking now? “But, I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are. You are sitting there, all tense, ruminating on something, I can tell. You will give way to headaches and melancholy.” He patted his thigh, and Sylbie took the hint to perch herself on his lap. Loki tutted, bringing her closer in an embrace. 

“All this thinking is not good for you,” he said, chin at her shoulder.

“But…I can’t help it.”

“I have a mind to put you over my knee and spank the thinking out of you. There is no need for it. You should not think, you should talk to me. What ails your pretty little head?” This was asked simultaneously with him massaging the crown of her head with his fingers, before running them through her hair. 

What ailed her mostly was the king himself, especially when he made vague threats of putting her over his knee, but that was nothing new, and there was something else today that had taken hold of her mind. If she knew he would read her so easily, she would have made a more concerted effort to appear neutral. 

“Who is Vigna?”

He obviously hadn’t been expecting that for he grasped her chin, bringing her head around to face him, gaze narrowed.

“Vigna? What’s brought this about?”

Perhaps it would have been better to just lie. 

“They were talking about her today. Eshilda says she is a friend of yours,” Sylbie replied, holding on to the edge of the desk to steady her nerves.

He smiled, letting go of her chin, running his thumb across her lips.

“There. She is a friend. You have your answer. Nothing to worry about, is there pet?”

She wasn’t worried, not really. The king was allowed to have friends. Only... 

“Is she a special friend, master?”

A sly grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Come, you’re not jealous, are you, pet?”

A pause.

“No master, just curious is all.”

He gave her a long look as if to decide whether she was lying or not. She wasn’t. At least, she didn’t think so. It was his right to have as many lovers as he wanted. No matter what she thought. Eventually he pursed his lips and tutted.

“There is a saying on Midgard: Curiosity killed the cat. You best be careful.” He didn’t elaborate on what exactly she should be careful of, which was as helpful as always. 

Then he set to completing the documents and it seemed Sylbie was no longer required for that work. When she tried to slide off his lap and onto her own chair he snaked an arm around her waist, holding her tight. She tried to help him again by reaching for the wooden handle, but he batted her hands away, tutting. So she sat there whilst the king worked and thought how inconceivable it was for her not to think if he didn’t give her anything to do. 

“You’re thinking again.”

“Yes.”

“About what?”

“You.”

“Good. You should be thinking of me always.” And his hand began to wander up her thigh.

Chapter Text

“Madam? If you are not well I can take you back to your chambers.”

Sylbie took her hand away from the wall which she had used to ground herself, and looked up at Merlon.

“No, that’s alright. I just need a moment.” She feigned a smile, straightening up. She was tempted to accept Merlon’s offer and spend a quiet evening alone, but a touch of nerves wouldn’t be enough to excuse her from the festivities she imagined.

They were in one of the palace’s many lavish corridors, just a few feet from the banquet hall, where she could already hear excited chatter. Feast days at the house meant waiting for Drian to pass out with drink - Mnemosyne would add shots to his ale - before dining on the wine and sweet breads they managed to smuggle in. As a child she remembered long formal dinners and dancing, spinning around with her father. She would beg to stay up past her bedtime and when she was finally ushered off to bed she would find a way to sneak down and spy on the festivities through the stair railings before being caught and scolded. The few parties she had enjoyed when she was of age she remembered carefree joy before everything changed. 

—

Sylbie took a deep breath as she entered the hall, feeling as if everyone was staring at her. She would pretend not to see them, focusing on her seat at the head table, though the walk seemed to stretch for yards in front of her. Now would be the time to make her escape. Turn back, tell Merlon she was feeling ill after all. But even if she did make it back to her rooms without causing too much of a commotion she would surely find the king in her bedroom demanding why she wasn’t where she should be. She could hardly say that she just didn’t feel like it.

When she finally arrived at the head table Karnilla rose from her seat to greet her, all royal blue silk. She was positioned three seats away from Sylbie, next to Forseti who sat on the king’s other side.

“Oh darling! You look wonderful. Doesn’t she honey?”

Forseti, who remained seated, smiled, bowing his head in greeting.

“Most charming.”

“Oh yes,” Karnilla enthused, straightening the gossamer cloak on Sylbie’s shoulders. Edged with golden lace, it matched the dress of golden brocade, fitted at the waist and coming to a full skirt down to the floor, the cloak flowing in a small train behind.

“Exquisite, such talent.” Karnilla spoke more to herself.

“You make beautiful things,” Sylbie said softly.

“Only for those deserving of it,” a pause, a devious smile, “and the king.”

Not knowing how best to respond to that remark, Sylbie merely smiled, bowed her head demurely, and took her seat, next to the Lady Sif.

She had seen the warriors three and Lady Sif in pictures of course, the news of their various campaigns reached even a dreary town like Hovell, but it was strange seeing them in person. Well it was strange seeing the king. It had been a mystifying few weeks to say the least. Like a dream she was not yet ready to let go of.

Sif was engrossed in conversation with Fandral when she arrived but when Sylbie sat down, she turned to her with a smile.

 “Hello.”

“Hello my lady.”

Fandral snorted.

“Ooh look Sif, you’re a lady!”

Sif shot him a glare, and made a movement under the table which Sylbie guessed was her stamping on his foot, for Fandral gave a howl of pain.

“Excuse my friend, he seems to have left his manners in the barn he was raised.”

“Manners?!” Fandral argued, “I’m the one that is being assaulted here!”

Sif pointedly ignored him. 

“But you are Sylubelle, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my lady,” Sylbie replied, not changing her way of address despite Fandral’s apparent amusement. He didn’t seem to be too upset by Sif’s attack,  now busy talking  to Volstagg in any case.

Sif only smiled.

“They did say you were very proper. It’s not a bad thing, we need someone with decency around here. I just hope we haven’t scared you off.”

“No, everyone has been kind.” She wouldn’t mention the spiteful remarks she heard in the council rooms, nor the stares she would still get. “The king treats me very well.“

“Does he indeed?” Sif’s smile was strange, as if she knew something Sylbie didn’t. 

She was thinking of how she could politely enquire about the king - Sif knew him from a young age after all, perhaps she could shed some light on his character- or was he always such an enigma? However she did not get the chance. There was a short fanfare, and a descent of hush upon the room. The king had arrived.

Everyone stood up to welcome him, bowing their heads as he found his seat. He came to stand next to her, looking astonishingly regal, wearing a sweeping fur lined cloak and golden circlet in place of his usual horned helmet. She couldn’t help but stare and he caught her eye, giving a smirk that had her look quickly at the ground.

 A servant presented the king with a cup of mead, which he drunk dry and threw the cup on the floor.

There was a cheer throughout the hall and the feast began, musicians striking up a lively tune.

Servants brought out numerous platters of food. Breads and cheeses and meats, silver tureens of stew, a whole pig with an apple in its mouth. It was a happy surprise to see Amy serving; she brought out a tray of sweets with strawberries, putting them right in front of Sylbie.

“Strawberry tarts. I’m sure you’ll like these,”she said with her usual cheeriness. Then a more solemn, “Oh, err, good evening your majesty, happy harvest day,” with a quick bob of a curtsy.

The king for his part seemed more bemused than anything, and when Amy had left he turned to Sylbie with that sly smile.

“She’s right. They are delicious.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Eat up.”

Then he turned to talk to Forseti, much to Sylbie’s relief, for this was the first meal she actually shared with the king and she didn’t know how much she could keep up polite conversation with him. Especially if he kept looking at her like that.

She took one of the recommended strawberry tarts and began nibbling at it with small bites. It was heavenly, the cream smooth and sweet, the strawberries fresh and juicy, the pastry case buttery and crisp. But hungry as she was - she had hardly eaten lunch - she was careful to pace herself, lest she look uncouth. 

Sif wanted to pick up where they had left off in the conversation.

“You are from the small town Hovell are you not? What’s it like? I’ve never been.”

There was a good reason someone like Sif had never been to Hovell. She tried to keep her answer diplomatic. 

“It’s very different from here. Not as exciting.”

“That I can believe. But here, it can be a bit much.” Sif gestured around her at the festivities, the entertainers who were doing a lively jig about the room. One of them juggling apples, another performing card tricks.  

“I grew up in the country,” Sif continued, “Near the Southdown forest.”

“I grew up in the country too.”

Sif, who up until this point was showing what could be described as polite interest, brightened considerably at this, leaning closer to Sylbie.

“You did? Oh no wonder you have any bit of sense. You must find this place a complete circus.”

“I’m used to it being busy.” Not quite as much as this, but there was enough chaos back at the house. This was just on a bigger scale. And with one person quite capable of causing chaos all on his own, without all the fuss of court.

“Yes, but you can’t help but yearn for the starry night sky and meadow grass can’t you? At least that is the way for me. I used to hunt with my brothers in Southdown…”

And then was some time of listening to Sif share about her childhood with her four brothers, Sylbie only giving vague responses when she was asked in turn about her own upbringing, offering the occasional murmur of agreement. It was going well, such that she forgot where she was, just two ladies making conversation, until a distinctive voice in her ear.

“Pet.” He spoke so softly but there was a weight to his tone that made her jump slightly, before she turned to look at him, trying not to shy away from his stare.

“Yes, your majesty?”

His gaze was stern, but in his eyes, a twinkle of a smile.

“What are you doing?” Accusatory, but she couldn’t think that she had done anything wrong.

“I…I have been talking to Lady Sif.” Well, listening, to be absolutely truthful. She hoped he wasn’t going to pick her up on particulars.

He frowned at her plate.

“You’re not eating much, Sylubelle.”

She looked down at her plate too. He was right. She had picked her way through the tart while Sif was talking and nibbled at a few grapes.

“Oh, no… ”

Sif came to her rescue.

“Silly me, I was distracting her Loki.”

The king nodded, considering this line of defence. Then very calmly,

“Give me your plate.”

She did so and watched in silence as he filled it with meat and bread and potatoes and grapes and cheeses before setting it down in front of her.

“Go on pet, eat up.”

“But I… I’m not hungry.”

His hand on her knee. Not quite enough to be painful, but if he exerted his strength it would be sure to leave a bruise.

Then softly, right by her ear,

“Sylubelle…don’t lie.”

She nodded numbly, relieved when he removed his hand and turned back to his own plate, having his fill of tormenting her.

Sif said nothing to this exchange, thank the Norns.

“Do you spar Sylubelle?”

“No, not at all.” Of course she didn’t. It was banned for slaves to engage in any kind of combat training lest they rise up against their masters. Surely Sif knew this.

“Oh yes, of course not.” It seemed that Sif had remembered after all. “But you’re allowed to watch at least, watch as I beat Loki, again.”

This remark did not go unnoticed by the king.

“Excuse me, I do not recall you ever besting me in combat.”

“Ah, you forget Loki,” Fandral chimed in, “That time you were knocked flat on your back. But do not worry, I know the pressures of the crown have made you absent minded.”

The king scowled, grabbed a goblet from the table and hastily filled it from a jug, all but thrusting it in front of Sylbie’s face.

“Pet, try this. It comes from a particular variety of grape that I have cultivated in the royal garden.”

“Oh,” Sylbie said, taking the goblet cautiously, “thank you.”

She took a small sip to be polite. It was sweet, crisp. Pleasant. And…well, what did she know about wine?

“What about riding Sylbie?” Sif asked, “Do you ride?”

“I don’t know…I never really learned.”

“Loki is a skilled rider. He can teach you. Or I can, if he finds himself too busy.”

“Certainly I can teach you how to ride, but it won’t be a horse.”

There was a titter at this. Volstagg gave a booming laugh.

Sif rolled her eyes.

“Loki, you’re so bloody crude.”

Sylbie’s eyes widened and she gripped the table edge, worried that he would be having more jokes.

The king frowned a moment then clicked at one of the entertainers.

“You! Funny man! Show us your tricks.”

With a beaming smile the man acquiesced, performing a juggling performance with apples. Three, then four, them five, then, four, then three, then five.

Four, three, two, one, none.

The performance ended with a smattering of applause and the juggler presented an orange to Sylbie, holding it out with a smile. She hesitated, glancing at the king to gauge his reaction. 

He nodded once.

“Go on pet, take it.”

She had seen oranges before of course but she held it in her hand as if a precious jewel, staring in wonder for a moment, before trying to pierce it with her nail. The juices ran down into a small cut, causing her to wince at the sting.

“Give it here.”

The king took a knife and began to peel and segment the fruit, taking a piece and holding it up to her mouth.

“Open.”

She opened her mouth and he placed a segment on her tongue. It was juicy, sweet, and took only two bites before it slid easily down her throat.

“Good girl.”

He continued to feed her in this way and she let him, feeling markedly more relaxed than earlier. Besides, no one was now paying them much attention.

Many of the tables had been pushed back, for people to dance in the middle of the room. Holding hands in a group, or in an embrace with a partner, or simply spinning around on their own.

Karnilla, who seemed to have drunken a lot of the sweet wine was laughing and pulling a reluctant looking Forseti to his feet.

Fandral held out his hand to Sylbie.

A smile, not quite as wicked, full of mischief all the same.

“No.”

“Don’t get so precious Loki, I can hardly do anything on the dance floor.”

“The answer is no. She is not dancing tonight.”

Fandral shrugged.

“Suit yourself.”

The king kept a hand on her knee as if a tether to keep her in place. Regulated to only watching, Sylbie tried to enjoy herself all the same, but it was difficult to see everyone else get to dance around and be merry, what would be the harm in her joining in? But the king had forbade it, so she sat quietly, studying the wood of the table, and the remnants of her plate. She hasn’t finished everything, despite his earlier threat, so she took a grape and began to peel off the skin with her fingernails,  nibbling the little pieces.

She felt the king staring at her so she kept her head bowed, trying to make herself small. The touch on her knee grew gentler somewhat she felt, but he still did not remove his hand.

Karnilla tried to come to her rescue, her arms linked with friends.

“Loki, you are going to tie her to that chair, the poor thing. Let her dance with us ladies at least.”

The king pursed his lips as if in thought.

“Pet… I think you’re tired now.”

“But I’m not… yes master.”

“Why don’t you go to bed?”

“Come on ladies,” said Fiora, looking the most sober out of the group,”let’s go over here, much better room for dancing,” as she led them away.

Grateful for small mercies, Sylbie slowly got to her feet. The king’s words were an order, not a request. Not looking at him, she bobbed a quick curtsy, before turning around to find her guard.

He was there just near the wall where she left him, and gave her a quick nod. Poor Merlon, he must have been waiting forever in the corner. She couldn’t complain, at least she got to sit and eat. 

She hurried out of that room as quickly as possible, grateful that most seemed to be too absorbed in their own fun to pay her any mind. At the doorway she turned to look in the room again, gaze drawn to the king, sat on his own, hand clenched around a goblet, seemingly staring into nothing. His head lifted then and their gaze met. Quickly, she turned away.

The walk back to her chambers was done in silence. Merlon just a step behind her. It was peculiar how after weeks of getting lost she intuitively knew the way back. .

At the door she turned to Merlon, 

“If the king comes, tell him… tell him I am tired already and gone to bed.”

 Merlon opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think the better of it, and nodded.

“As you wish madam.”

She went to sleep feeling chastised like a little girl sent to bed early, and could not help but sob into her pillow.

Chapter Text

Sylbie was surprised to see Amy the next morning, chattering excitedly about the night before. She had managed to get herself up and out of bed before the maid came in, feeling very slovenly in her dressing gown, but not quite having the wherewithal to put on day clothes. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see her.

“Did you like the strawberry tart madam?” Amy asked as she set the table, “They are nice aren’t they? I only did set-up last night and wasn’t around for clean up, else I would have helped myself to some. After the guests had their fill of course.”

“It was delicous, thank you, Amy.”

“Good! It was supposed to be Lucy this morning but she is out of it completely, she only went and finished the whole bottle… I mean to say, Luisella cannot attend today, she has a touch of flu.”

Sylbie smiled to herself at the slip. At least Lucy had a better Harvest Day than her. “I hope she gets better. I heard that some sorrel greens is best when you’re… when you have flu.”

Amy nodded. “Do you need anything yourself madam? For flu or…?”

“No, no I’m fine.”

“You do look tired,” Amy said, not unsympathetically.

She must have looked awful for Amy to comment on it so brazenly. She next spoke sympathetically,

“I could get you something from the kitchens like.”

“But you’ve only just brought me breakfast.” And plenty of it. Did the king interpret her nervous eating last night as if she was somehow starving herself? Or maybe he was the wolf in that Midgardian story of the red cloaked girl, fattening her up…or was that the one with the house of sweetmeats?

Amy of course, was not privy to Sylbie’s internal monologue.

“Oh yes… but I meant something nice like, something a bit special, I’ll whip something up for you.”

“You cook?”

“Yes, I’m normally in the kitchens when I’m not here. I like it there, I have to listen to what Katla tells me mind, but we’ve got nice big ovens and plenty of…” She paused a moment, stuck in thought, “I could show you! Take you on a tour of the palace and such.”

“A tour?”

“Yes, I think it’ll be alright. How about you go and enjoy your breakfast and have a think on it.”

Sylbie moved to the table to eat at Amy’s invitation. She didn’t have much of an appetite but felt slightly ungrateful after all this trouble was made for her. And she didn’t want Amy to really think she was ill.  She was sure it would get back to the king somehow and he would make it out as if it were her fault. Amy was very sweet though, she wasn’t sure if a tour was strictly allowed, but what harm could it do?

—

“Are you not tired?“ Sylbie asked, as they walked out of her chambers, a guard she wasn't familiar with, Juergen was his name, following on quietly behind. She thought she would give the pink dress a try. Soft, like the colour of the early evening sky.

“Right as rain me! Now let’s see, where should we go first?”

If Sylbie thought Amy’s tour would give her a mental map of the palace, she was sorely mistaken. There did not seem to be any prior planning, Amy deciding on the next location from moment to moment. She brought them along hallways, and back down them, into some rooms, but past others, up stairs and down stairs. Chatting incessantly in practical terms about where they were, but in such a rapid-fire way that Sylbie would have no hope of keeping it all in her head. More confusion tactics, if she was thinking cynically, but she could hardly accuse Amy of working for the king. Not outside the scope of her duties as a servant that was. 

As they ventured away from the public facing rooms full of gilt and grandeur and more towards the plain looking areas of the servants quarters, the inkling Syblie had that this tour was not strictly permitted only grew stronger. She was certainly not ungrateful, it was much better to be up and about than moping in her rooms all day. And Amy’s bright mood seemed to be rubbing off on her. Or maybe it was because the servants did not pay her any mind and make comments like the courtiers, they were too busy with their own work. So much that Sylbie felt guilty of just standing around and had to fight the urge to pick up a brush herself and begin scrubbing. The servants would have plenty to say about that, for sure.

Though the route of the tour was unconventional — Sylbie wasn’t sure why she needed to see the servants’ bathrooms — it at least gave her the opportunity to see more of the palace.

They ended up in the kitchens, warm spacious rooms with big windows, and many people hard at work.

Amy led them to a wide low table, where a lady with braided hair in a bun on top of her head was pounding some dough.

“Amy, I hope you are not going to be causing a nuisance in my kitchen. Go and prepare some stock if you’re just going to stand around.”

“Oh no miss, I was just giving the Lady Sylbie a tour, I thought she would like to see the kitchens.”

“The lady…” the woman looked up and hastily bobbed a curtsy, rubbing her floury hands on the front of her apron, “Oh madam, if you are hungry you should have sent Bellamy down with a message. Was something not to your liking? What was it?” She patted the sides of her skirt, “We keep a list, and it won’t appear in your meals again, I promise—“

At that moment, Forseti came rushing through.

“Katla, cancel the loch fish. The Lady Olava will not eat it.”

Katla looked less than impressed.

“Oh she won’t, will she? Any other requests for her ladyship?”

“Yes,” Forseti said, producing a neatly folded piece of paper from his coat, passing it to Katla, “ I have here a list of approved foods for the lady.’ 

“I see…” Katla looked over the list with her nose turned up.

Amy snickered.

“Bellamy, now that is not helpful - what are you doing here?!” Forseti’s exclamation was of course directed to Sylbie.

Amy, ever the loyal servant, came to her rescue.

“I was bringing her on the tour sir. We’ve been all through the west wing and the servants bathrooms, I thought of going to the armoury next and then the sewers…”

“The sewers? Were you thinking of doing the dungeons as well?”

“No sir, but that’s a good idea, we better get a move on, if you want to see all the prisoners, there will be a lot to get through.”

Forseti stared blankly.

“It’s very kind of you Amy, but you should have fetched me. I can give the Lady Sylubelle a tour of the palace,” He smiled gently at Sylbie, “Come along dear, there is much to see.”

—

She was saddened to lose Amy, who was held back by Katla — “this bread is not going to knead itself you know”— but of course it was only fair that she got back to her usual work. Forseti was most certainly not a disagreeable companion; he was much more knowledgeable about the building than Amy, giving an informative yet succinct summary as they travelled from room to room, of course in the more public spaces. 

She found the public scrutiny was much less with Forseti about, he had this effortless grace about him that allowed him to traverse both the servants quarters and the hallways of the court. It was nice to feel more comfortable moving about the palace, but she could hardly ask him to be her personal escort each time she left her rooms. The only other time the whisperings were subdued was when she was arm in arm with the king, but he made her feel all the more exposed, so that wasn’t a preferable option either.

“Now we are moving into the royal quarters, the king’s personal rooms you know, and then opposite we have the rooms dedicated to the spouse of the monarch. Of course, they have not been occupied since…”

”Since the king’s mother died.”

Forseti gave a soft smile.

”Yes. The rooms are largely untouched since Queen Frigga resided there. The king requests that it is cleaned from time to time, the furnishings inspected for signs of age, but other than that, no one is to set foot inside.” 

“She is dearly missed…by the people as well I mean.”

”Yes…yes.”

They moved to the rooms set aside for foreign dignitaries, and a sitting room made for receiving such guests, which the late queen had apparently redecorated three times in ten years.

”Forseti, may I ask you something?”

”Anything at all my dear.”

”The king… does he not want a wife?”  

”Ah. No, not as such, but the kingdom wants an heir. He is well aware of his duty. That’s why—“

”But if it’s an heir that was wanting then surely—“ Sylbie quickly covered her mouth at her outburst, but Forseti didn’t let it go.

”Surely what madam?”

”It’s nothing, just a silly rumour.”

”Go on…” Sylbie could swear his smile was teasing, but it was much more good natured than the king’s.

”Well I thought that…” she could feel the blush rising to her cheeks, “the king and the prince Thor, um, in their youth they… they are very well travelled, that’s all.”

Forseti gave a soft chuckle. “Indeed. You are right that if an heir required only for either the king or the prince to be present in the making of the child, we would have quite the queue indeed.” He cleared his throat, “What a mess that would be to sort out. No, the child must be the king’s, or indeed the prince’s, legal heir, conceived and born within wedlock.”

”Or… could the king adopt?”

“He could, but I don’t believe that is the route the king is likely to take.”

They moved on to a separate corridor. 

“These are the rooms of Prince Thor. We keep them tidy for when he comes to visit.”

Sylbie nodded, looking politely in the doorway of the sitting room Forseti had opened. There was a cosiness to the room with the warm colours used in the furnishings, the midday sun giving a pleasant daytime glow, but still quite a chill in the air, as no fires had been lit.

Juergen noticed her wrap her arms around herself.

”Shall I fetch you a shawl madam?”

“I’m sure I’ll warm up soon enough,” she smiled politely, then turned to Forseti, ”Will he visit soon? The prince I mean.”

“We do not know, but we should expect him shortly before Yule. He will come home if only to play fool to his brother, more’s the pity. But let’s go somewhere else, can’t have you getting cold.”

”The kingdom will be most anxious for news of him. I hope he is well.”

“Quite well. Last I heard, Prince Thor was on some kind of party planet.”

”A party planet?”

”Yes, there is music and dancing almost every day, apparently. The Prince communicates most often with Lady Sif, so she would be the one to ask about his specific whereabouts, should you be curious.”        

”Yes, thank you.” Lady Sif had been kind, and Sylbie would not be sorry to find herself in her company again.

The corridor they were in now, all silver and green, Sylbie suspected who resided here before Forseti opened his mouth to confirm it.

”These are the rooms of the king, when he was still Prince Loki. He didn’t sleep here often though, mostly in a room you know well.”

”Where is that?”

”Why, he mostly slept where you live now.”

“I am in the king’s bedroom?”

“Yes, it is out of the way as you know, and as a prince, Loki liked his solitude.” That was true even now, Sylbie thought. “It is very safe. There are a number of wards affixed to it, hundreds of years old, so you won’t be in any danger.”

At least, no danger from external forces.

”The king does still use these rooms, to store his books, or as a laboratory.  Look,” Forseti nodded his head to a door that was ajar, “here is the king now.”

—

The king looked as he often did, as if he was having a private joke with himself.

“Hello pet. Why don’t you come inside?”

Sylbie followed obediently, and couldn’t help but stifle a yawn as she stepped over the threshold.

“Oh dear, Forseti’s not boring you is he?”

”No, not at all.”

”Did you not sleep well last night?”

“No worse than usual.”  

The king gave her a shrewd look, but made no further comment, leading her to a table with many dried ingredients and liquids in jars lining the back, as well as shelves stacked behind. Front and centre of the table, two small dishes, each containing a singular leaf.

The king opened a locked cabinet and brought out a tiny bottle, filled with a clear liquid.

“Do you know what this is pet?”

She shook her head.

“It’s melkram. Do you know what that is?”

“It’s poison,” Sylbie said softly. “The deadliest poison.”

“Yes. Just one drop sends the heart into stillness and even a touch of the liquid will eat away at your skin.”

She watched him warily. Surely he wouldn’t poison her? He set the tiny bottle down and picked up a flask of a translucent amber liquid. 

“I’ve been working on a sort of remedy. Of course, if the poison is ingested there is no hope. But…” he poured a little of the amber liquid on top of one of the leaves in its dish, “It could be effective in a topical form. Let’s see shall we?” The king gave her a smile that was as comforting as it was disarming.

With careful, precise movements, a singular drop of the melkram poison was added to each dish. The first leaf shrivelled up and fragmented into a charred husk, the second stayed as it was for some moments before it slowly broke apart.

“Very good sire,” Forseti praised.

The king said nothing, looking at the leaf intently, as if he was trying to burn it with his eyes. Then he blinked, as if snapping himself out of a trance, and carefully put the little bottle of poison back away, in the locked box, retrieving something else. Something in a square indigo bottle.

“Give me your hand.”

Sylbie hesitated. Maybe he was going to poison her after all. 

Even Forseti seemed concerned.

“Sire…”

Well she wasn’t going to make it easy for him and quickly put her hands behind her back.

The king scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Give me your hand. Now.”

Reluctantly, she held out her left hand. He grabbed it by the wrist and turned it palm up. He unplugged the stopper, and the most gorgeous scent wafted out of the open bottle. This wasn’t poison, it was perfume. A garden in spring.

He touched a drop to her wrist.

“That’s beautiful,” she breathed.

His lips didn’t move, but his eyes lit a smile, and this one was without malice.

“My mother wore the same perfume for almost a millennium. She would refuse to tell me the maker, claiming that a lady must have some secrets. I have replicated it here.”

He took her wrist, inhaling the scent. His expression grew stern.

“No. It’s not quite right… but for you I guess it’s fine.” A pause, and once more his face softened. “No, no, you need something sweeter.” He touched her fingers to his lips. “Good girl. So well done.”

Anytime she thought herself closer to understanding the king he would surprise her. 

He turned next to Forseti.

“I have something to discuss with my pet. Leave us. And send her guard back to her rooms. I will make sure she gets back safely.”

“Of course sire.” Forseti bowed and left the room, leaving her alone with the king.

Chapter Text

Left alone with the king, Sylbie saw his demeanour change to something more predatory, stalking towards her. She had a sudden urge to escape, but she knew that would be impossible. No point in even trying.

He took her to a sofa and sat her down, placing himself beside her and putting a leg over one of hers so as to keep her in place.

“Now pet, I have noticed of late you are having trouble abiding by the number one rule. Do you remember what that is?”

“To make sure I meet your needs master?”

“Oh pet, I have no complaints in that regard. No no, what I am talking about is your seemingly frequent compulsion to lie. I’m going to have to correct that.”

He manhandled her so she lay across his lap, one arm around her body, keeping her in place.

“I understand it is hard for you. So to lessen the severity of your punishment I am going to give you one more chance.”

What chance was it if he was just going to take what he wanted anyway?

“I am going to ask again: did you really sleep well?”

Oh. Well he shouldn’t be so concerned about that.

”I am waiting.”

“I… I had some trouble…”

“Good. See,  you can tell the truth. But don’t think I am letting you off too easily. You still have to be punished. After all, you did not do as you’re told, putting your arms behind your back like that.”

“But master…” she tried to squirm away.

“No, I gave you your chance. Now be quiet and take your punishment like a good girl. We’re doing ten this time.”

She burst into tears after the tenth hit, and how changed was the king in his demeanour, cradling her in his lap. 

“Shh, shh now. You did so well didn’t you pet? Such a good girl for me. Shh, shh, there we are, it’s better when you don’t lie to me pet.”

It came tumbling out of her,

“I just… I just wanted to dance.”

The king took a while to answer, rubbing circles in her back. The silence stretched painfully, and she looked closely at her fingernails, squeezing indents into her palms.

He took her hands in his, gently uncurling her fingers.

“I had an idea it would be overwhelming for you. You did seem quite highly strung last night.”

“Yes master. But I like.. I used to enjoy dancing.”

“I see… next time you can go dancing. But only if you behave, or I won’t let you go at all.”

“Yes master.”

He held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and she allowed herself to melt into him, to feel safe and secure.

“I think it's better if you lie down in your bed a bit.”’

She felt sick again at the teleport. But he smiled at her so sweetly.

“Can’t have you falling asleep on me tonight, especially with what I’ve got planned.”

—

Forseti came after lunch to continue the tour, leading her through the entry hall with the sweeping stairs, grand chandelier and windows three stories high. The front courtyard was not as beautiful as the gardens, but it still pleased Sylbie to look at it. The fountain was quite spectacular, and there were still carefully tended flowerbeds and potted shrubs she would like to look closer at if only she was given the opportunity. But she would not expect it and both Forseti and Amy had shown her so much already.

“I will not show you it all, but in these quarters you can find the armoury and the smithy. And look here, out of the window, there you can see the soldiers’ barracks.”

The soldiers were training outside, men and women together. Sylbie looked hard to see if there was someone she might recognise, but the faces were too far away for her to make out.                                                                      

“There are multiple training areas throughout the grounds, as well as inside rooms for private practice.”

”Places where the Lady Sif might train?”

“The Lady Sif is out riding today. Is there some message you wanted to convey to her?”

”Oh, nothing. Just if we happened to be passing, that’s all.”

“She is intending to spend the winter at court, so I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to ‘pass by’. Now, this way to the parlour.”

—

The parlour was a great room with small tables where courtiers were gathered, playing cards, gossiping, and enjoying drinks from the bar at the side of the room.

A string quartet played in the corner, and Sylbie watched them entranced, before Forseti led her to a table where Karnilla was sitting with Ronia and Teirn, whom Sylbie had met at Blessing Day.

They were deep in conversation when Sylbie approached, but Karnilla jumped up to greet them. She kissed Forseti on the cheek with a “Darling” before setting her sights on Sylbie;

“Oh let me see that dress on you. Gorgeous.” She clapped her hands together. “Simply wonderful. Why don’t you join us for a game?”

Sylbie was not as worried as she would have been two months ago, feeling more at ease each time she saw Karnilla, and as she went through the rules, Sylbie found that she did know this game. A fact that was apparent to Ronia, who each time she would play a card would consult with Teirn who was sitting next to her.

”Sylbie, I think you must have played this before, you are doing so well.”

“We did use to play it back at the house.”

“The house? Oh… well I’m glad you were given some recreation time there at least. In that case we won’t go easy on you, will we Teirn?”

”No mistress. But I fear I’m in need of practice.”

“I need the practice you mean. No need to be so polite, we are in the company of friends. Speak as you please.”

”Yes mistress. It’s only that if you keep relying on me you will never learn yourself.”

Ronia looked crestfallen. “I suppose you're right.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Karnilla said, in an attempt to cheer her up. “After a few more games," she added as an afterthought.

In the end, Forseti collected his win of cards in a neat pile, looking quite pleased with himself.

”That’s 437 to 429 I believe dear.”

Karnilla crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair.

“Don’t look too pleased with yourself. I am bound to hit a winning streak soon and then you will be sorry.”

—

There was a serious look on Forseti’s face as Sylbie was led back to her room.

“Madam. I have to tell you that in two days time the Lady Olava is coming to visit. She is coming as a personal guest of the king.”

”She is the king’s…friend?”

”The hope is, they will become close in time. Now, whilst Lady Olava is visiting, the king expects you to remain in your rooms. Out of respect to the lady.”

Sylbie knew immediately what he was implying and nodded her head in acquiescence.

”Yes, of course.”

It was unlikely that any lady was truly naive to the king’s habits, but if they did not see his whore, it was easier to ignore it. Of course, that did not explain what would happen once the king started courting proper. And then, if he were to take a wife, what would happen then? Surely, she would then be cast aside.

Forseti mistook the troubled look on her face.

”Please do not be wholly concerned madam. You will still be attended upon, and the guard will be outside your door as always. Should you wish for something, only ask and it will be procured. It is only that the king will not visit you in this time.”

“He will not?” This was news. Sylbie was sure the king would delight in teasing her about the impending visit.

“Yes. The king prefers to keep himself chaste whilst entertaining the idea of courtship.”

Chaste? That did not sound like the king at all. But perhaps his definition was rather loose. She would not ask Forseti exactly what that meant. Nor the king. She had far too much self preservation for that.

”Yes, I understand.”

There was something else, however. Something she needed to know, for her own sanity.

”If the king… if he does start courting, what would happen then?”

Forseti gave a smile.

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about all that.”

Sylbie did worry, but she didn’t press him to elaborate. She didn't want to let on how much it troubled her, the thought of being pushed away.

Chapter Text

He undid the knot on her robe, pulling it off her shoulders gently and letting it fall to the floor.

“Arms up.” 

She did as told and he pulled the nightgown over her head, letting that fall on the floor also.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, caressing her body. He took his chin in her hand and ran his thumb over her lips, looking into her eyes as he did so.

So close he was. If only he would kiss her. 

But the moment was gone.

He led her to the wall, and turned her to face it, putting his hands over hers to guide them into position, palms flat to the wall.

“Stay looking at the wall. Don’t move your head.”

Curious though she was, she did as she was told, finding patterns in the wallpaper, fighting the urge to see what was going on behind her. He was being very quiet. Another one of his tricks? 

Then she felt it. A cold touch to her shoulder blades. Tracing her spine, her lower back, her sides. Feeling the softness of her belly. As they explored her body, she gasped at the sensation, and chanced a look down to see his hands were blue. 

Sylbie turned her head to see a glimpse of his changed appearance.

Immediately he grabbed the back of her head, nails digging into her scalp, making her face the wall again.

”I told you not to look,” he said harshly.

She cowered, and the hand became soft, smoothly caressing her hair, pressing soft kisses on the back of her head.

”Just…don’t. You musn’t look. You can’t. Please.”

Sylbie didn't dare move. Never had the king sounded like this, so small. Never had the king been so hesitant, so unsure. Although the urge to see his expression now burned her, she knew the danger she was in .

His touch was gentle, yet cold, so cold, and she whimpered, at one point jumping in shock.

She grasped onto the hand that had snaked around her waist, holding her still.

”Shh shh,” he kissed her temple, cold kisses to distract her, “just a bit longer, can you do that for me?”

She nodded, hesitantly.

“Yes, master.”

He pressed another cold kiss to her neck, and pressed his body to hers, trapping her against the wall. His touch exploring, hesitant. Sylbie could not get quite comfortable with the coldness, but she was finding that she could just about bear it. Until it became too much and she yelped, trying to get away. He immediately withdrew, and the arm went around her waist. A strong arm. Warm.

As she closed her eyes, the tears began to fall. Sylbie felt she may have fallen had the king not had his arm around her, keeping her upright.

”Pet?”

In a moment she was being lifted in his arms and carried to the chaise. He sat down, keeping his arms wrapped around her, cradling her close.

”There’s a good girl,” He comforted, “Such a good girl for your king.”

She didn’t know what possessed her to do it, all she knew was that the king’s eyes were so very blue, and his lips, oh they were so…

Then she kissed him, fully on the lips.

She broke the kiss within the moment she started it. It was a second of foolish impulse. A lapse of judgement that would certainly have dire consequences for her.

The king was very still. His expression, unreadable.

Surely, he must cast her away now?

But in the next moment he was pulling the back of her head towards him and kissing her back, so much deeper, so that she could hardly breathe. Then he was pushing her back onto the chaise and fumbling with his clothes. Kissing every part of her, and pinning her down with his hands around her wrists.

“Who do you belong to?”

”You, master.”

”Who?”

”You master, you, my king.”

”Who is your master ?”

”You are, you…Loki.”

He smiled. So brilliantly, so wickedly. So beautifully.

—

This time, he seemed to produce the teapot out of thin air.              

It was warming and soothing and slightly sleep inducing. She wondered if he had somehow mixed some of his potions into it.

She was pulled onto his lap again, with more kisses pressed into her hairline. When she had drained the cup, he refilled it, and she was amazed to see the tea was still piping hot.

When he poured her a third cup, she protested.

“But, I don’t need anymore…”

He frowned.

“You need to drink up, pet.”

“But master, I will need to relieve myself!” She didn’t see why he was so strict about it.

“Then you can use my bathroom. But you need to drink the tea. I need to ensure that you don’t get…” he trailed off.  “… I need to look after you.”

After this cup she excused herself and when she returned to the room he brought her into his arms again.

“You’re not still…you’re not cold are you?”

“No, master.” She was perhaps a little too warm.

His features relaxed.

“Good. That’s very good.” 

Then his voice seemed to go quiet and unsure again,

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m not hurt, master.”

“Well of course not. Now off you go.”

He sent her off with a goodnight kiss to her forehead.

—

The first day of Lady Olava’s visit passed as a normal day.  Lucy came and brought her breakfast as normal. She had returned to her normal duties the day before and flushed when Sylbie expressed how nice it was to see her well again.

She did not visit the council chambers, as had become her custom, but she could still watch it on the holovision, so there was not too much change there.

Sylbie used up the rest of the hours as she normally did. Reading and sewing and looking out of the window. It was a pity her door was shut - Not locked of course, Forseti had done his best to reassure her that should she need to - “A sudden fire in your chambers, perhaps, madam,” (Okay, that wasn’t reassuring) She could make her exit - But as she had never really gone that far before, save for the recent tours, the restriction was not too hard to bear.

The evenings were the most difficult.

She was brought her dinner and Eshilda prepared her bath for her with all the sweet fragrances, but afterwards when she was dried and dressed in her nightgown (a more comfortable one this time rather than the sheer pieces the king seemed to favour) there was none of the prettying. No applying makeup or fixing her hair to prepare her to visit the king. 

It felt strange to spend an evening alone. Hadn’t she wanted to get away from the king? To be able to relax and not worry about doing the wrong thing? However, now she could spend her evening as she pleased she found herself missing him.

Silly. The king wasn’t one to be missed. He was one to be served.

—

As she was breakfasting the next morning - a very late breakfast. It was after all, her time off - She overhead some giggling from the garden, and a voice exclaim,

“Your majesty, you are so scandalous.”

Then there was the voice of the king saying something else.

Sylbie was very tempted to go to the window, but she did not want to think of herself spying on them. What would be worse, was if they would look up and spot her. Even so, she kept herself very still at the thought of the king somehow having the ability to see through walls and notice her. 

She didn’t move until she was sure they had gone, letting out a long breath. At the window, the garden was as it had always been, with no sign of the king and his companion.

The next incident happened at lunchtime when Lucy was clearing up the dishes. There were more giggles but the other person was not the king. A lady’s voice. Someone she didn’t recognise. 

It seemed however, that Lucy knew who the speaker was, for she looked slightly startled for a moment, before quickly making her excuses and leaving.

She asked Ginevra about it later.

“Hard to see without the lady myself, but judging from Lucy’s reaction I would say that is Vigna Merladottir.”

“Yes, I heard that she had come to court.”

“That is right madam, Lady Vigna just arrived this morning.”

Then Ginevra looked as if she was to say something else before she thought the better of it and shook her head.

“We have this new orange blossom bubble bath my lady, if you would like to try it.”

—

On the third day, Karnilla visited late morning, a pack of cards in her hand, sitting herself down at the small table Sylbie used for her meals.

“It seems you have a certain eye for cards, at least more than Ronia.” She began shuffling the deck and nodded to the chair opposite. “Although, come to think of it, that isn’t hard. But, I need someone to practice with and Fiora would only tell on me.”

Sylbie was seated now. “Tell on you?

“Yes, to my husband. That’s the whole point of this. You are going to help me practice. And then we can best him.”

Karnilla finished the shuffling and began to dole out the cards, face down.

Sylbie picked up her hand. It was not good odds.

“Perhaps Lady Olava would like to play,” Sylbie asked, after a few rounds.

Karnilla huffed at this.

“I have never seen such a dull creature, and she doesn’t even like the king.”

“Oh, does that matter?”

“What? Do not let the king hear you say that,” Karnilla laughed. “He will take umbrage you know.” She paused a bit to look over her hand before putting a card down in the middle of the table, “But well, the king himself does not like her, and that’s the important bit.”

“Does he often not like them?”

“You, my lady, are getting far too frank.” She looked a bit stern and Sylbie was worried that she had overstepped before it went into a sly smile and it was a relief that the frown was only in jest after all. “He liked Vigna I suppose, but that was some time ago. Now hurry up and draw, or are you ready to forfeit?”

—

Late afternoon, Forseti visited, asking if she needed anything.

“Anything at all madam. The king would like to know if you are keeping well?”

“Yes, I’m very comfortable, thank you.”

Forseti nodded. Then produced a deck of cards from his pocket.

”I wondered if you would like another game? You seemed to do so well when we were in the parlour.”

Chapter Text

On the fifth morning the king strode into Sylbie’s rooms, pulled her up from the sofa and kissed her. 

She wanted to say,

”What about Lady Olava?” But what came out was,

“I missed you.“

He smiled at that.

There was the rustle of fabric as they felt each other through their clothes. He pressed his lips to whatever bare piece of skin he could find, and when he had enough of trying to figure out how to undo her laces, she helped him to gather up her skirts as he took her against the wall.

He was hard and warm, and it did not take him long to spend.

However he was not yet done and took her to the bed.  Sometime between there and  the wall he decided he had enough of clothes and she found they were both naked as he took her again, with her head upon the pillow. 

She had come five times when he decided they had enough, bringing her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Get washed up, we are going to the garden.”

“Yes ma—the garden?!”

“Yes. Do not sit there with your mouth agape, pet. It is not very flattering.”

—

She was dressed in a warm dark cloak, worn upon the king’s insistence and on her feet were sturdy leather boots, the right thing for walking along the garden’s neatly trimmed grass paths, arm in arm with the king. There were few leaves on the ground for the gardeners had already done their daily work of collecting them into neat piles, but it had rained earlier, the path marked with puddles the king steered them around.

He did not speak for the first couple of minutes, and Sylbie was glad for the moment’s silence. It allowed her to delight in the simple joy of the garden, feeling the soft ground beneath her feet, inhaling the crisp autumn air. Bathing her face in the sunlight. 

“Happy?” The king asked, as they moved away from the manicured hedges and neat flowerbeds blooming with the purple and orange flowers of autumn.  

”Yes master,” she said honestly.

“Good. My happy girl.” He led her onwards.

There was something in his words, or perhaps in his voice, or perhaps they were one and the same, that made her chest swell with pride, her heart fluttering with joy.

The rock garden used different levels and formations to give it character, with colour being provided through the use of shrubs and mosses. In addition were the ponds where fish swam in colours of red and gold.

The king allowed her to stop a while and look at the fish as they swam under the bridge. If she thought about it deeply she would have realised the king was paying a lot of attention to her, to realise she wanted to stop and look. But that was far from her mind right now. 

Presently they came across a garden waterfall that had been cut out of the rock,  flowing in different streams from above before they came together in a great pool, lined with stone. The rock formed different ledges along the sides of the waterfall, upon which stood statues of different gods and goddesses, some that were still alive today, and some that had already gone on to Valhalla. There was one of the king, next to his brother, in full armour and regalia.

“My grandfather, King Bor had this made as a commemoration.” The king pointed to a female statue about a third way down from the top. “Do you see that one of Queen Lanana? That one had to be remade. It was archery practice and my brother decided it was a good idea to shoot an arrow right at the statue. Of course he tried to put the blame on me, as if it was one of my tricks. But you know pet, I would never do such a thing.”

Sylbie wasn’t quite sure how to respond. It seemed that the king was joking, but he could be in complete seriousness. 

“I would need to have been there to be able to properly assess the situation. Prince Thor is not here to give his side of the story, after all.”

The king laughed. “Very diplomatic pet, there will be a place for you on my council yet. In the end, my mother saw it fit to punish us both.”

The garden was even more beautiful walking through it. It gave her the opportunities to see parts of it she couldn’t quite see from the place. Like the fantastical fountain that consisted of six ponds, and stone fish spouting the water around mermaids.

And the king was so open and generous, allowing her to stop and admire as they went along. It was almost as if she was being courted by him, as Lady Olava had been.

“Master, does no one else come out to the garden?”

“When you are king, you can have places closed off as you please.”

Here was a man used to having everything how he pleased. And he did seem very pleased with himself, grinning in such a way. Then, although it was only one time, and very brief, when the king smiled at her so softly and it seemed that everything was going to be alright.

They came across a stone wall, a few steps away from the path, and overhanging the wall, branches of a tree laden with golden apples. Some of them had fallen to the ground and had been left to rot. There was a wooden gate that Sylbie started to head toward, but the king pulled her away.

”Nothing to see there, come.”

As he ushered her past she tried to look back to see more of this secret part of the garden, but he scolded her.

“Stop staring, Sylubelle.”

She sensed the danger — the impatience in his tone, the way he gripped her hand a little tighter, and submitted, letting herself be dragged along. They passed a wooded area that Sylbie would have liked to explore further, but he rushed them past.

The king’s sour mood seemed to linger, and Sylbie was worried things were ruined completely, but eventually he slowed to a more gentle pace, and allowed her to stop and study the flower beds once more as they headed back around towards the palace.

There were some fruit trees — plums, pears, and red apples, but the ground around the trees was clear, the fallen fruit having been collected.

They were almost at the door.

“Why don't the gardeners collect the golden apples?”

“Pet, do not ask questions.”

His tone was a warning, and ordinarily she would stop, but Sylbie had become emboldened by his kind attention.

“They collect all the other fruit,” she said, as they came through the door.

Her hand, which had been grasped in the king’s all throughout the garden, was dropped as if it burned.

“You are not to come out again.”

—

For the first time in weeks, Sylbie felt completely at ease. She had even started to enjoy herself with the king.

Now she had ruined it. It was her own fault for not keeping her mouth shut. 

He didn’t ask to see her that evening and she spent a long time thinking about what would happen to her now. What sort of new master or mistress she would have.

She hardly slept a wink that night. Worried if she fell asleep she would wake up to find herself not in the very comfortable bed she had been accustomed to, but in some place in the middle of nowhere, at the king’s pleasure.

In the morning she turned on the holovision to see the council chambers. She could have visited now Olava was gone, but there would be no point. He was getting rid of her anyway.

A knock on the door. 

Here were the guards, come to toss her out.

“Come in,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

In walked not two guards, but two servants. One carried a large vase in blue and white porcelain and in the vase were many flowers that she recognised from the garden yesterday. The other servant was carrying a stool, and behind him walked Forseti.

She had assumed he was away, she had not seen him since the second day of Olava’s visit, when he had come to play cards.

“Put it there,” he ordered the servants, directing them to a corner. The stool was put down, and the vase carefully placed on top.

“From the king madam,” Forseti turned to address her.

“Yes, I….” She looked at the gorgeous arrangement, in oranges and purples and felt very silly. All those uncharitable thoughts of the king getting rid of her. 

“Please tell the king how very grateful I am.”

”Of course madam, but you could also tell him yourself. This evening, when you go to him.”

—

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the sofa in the middle of the day. But what with the fraught night she had, and then the relief of having built up everything in her head it had been easy for her to just close her eyes.

“Hello, pet.”

She woke up with a start, the king standing over her.

”Sorry, I didn’t see — I didn’t see you come in.”

He nodded.

”No matter.” The king sat down, book in hand, patting his knee. “Come sit here pet, there’s a good girl.”

He read something about snakes, swallowing mice. Or was it midgardians? At one point Sylbie was almost sure that a midgardian had been mentioned. She did try to listen to the story, but his voice, it was just so…. rich and warm, like honey, like hot chocolate.

She only closed her eyes for a second, next she knew, the king was tucking her into bed.

“That’s it, rest. I won’t ask for you tonight, I can see how tired you are.”

No. He was dismissing her, sending her away. Trying to be a maid. She attempte to sit up, although it was a pointless struggle against his strength.

“But master, don’t you need me?”

He smiled at that.

“Why of course, pet. But you need to rest until dinner and make sure you eat it properly or else I will make so red your backside, that you cannot walk.”

Chapter Text

The king stuck good to his promise and did not call on her that evening. His other promise about reddening her backside - luckily she didn't need to find that one out. 

The woman who appeared at her door the next day was strawberry blonde and beautiful, in a stylishly cut dress of vivid green. Sylbie had seen the stranger from afar in the viewing chamber that morning.

“Well aren't you exciting,” said the woman, inviting herself in. “I’m Vigna Merladottir.”

Sylbie knew this. Karnilla had put a quiet word in her ear when they had spotted Vigna that morning. But she just smiled politely at the intruder.

“Hello, I’m Sylubelle.”

“Oh yes, I know that.” Vigna smiled with lots of shiny white teeth. “You’re a funny little thing, aren't you. But you know how it is with Loki, expect the unexpected.”

Sylbie did not reply, only smiled politely in acknowledgment of her words and watched as Vigna flounced about the room.

“This looks the same as it has in years,” she said, gesturing to the room at large. “He is not one for redecoration, Loki. Likes to dress up his whores all the same.”

Sylbie was started slightly by the use of such crude language. She had somewhat grown used to it from the king, but Vigna was a lady. And as a lady, Sylbie couldn't say anything against her. She just tried not to let it show how the words affected her. 

Vigna's hands ran over the surfaces in the room, before she made a bee-line for the partly finished embroidery hoop and picked it up, rubbing the thread between her fingers.

“We should be friends, don't you think?”

“If you would like that.”

 A laugh.

“Oh, you are just too cute. Silly Sylubelle.” Another big smile. “I’ll see you around.” 

With that, she flounced out.

—

The king didn't see her again that evening and again she fretted. Had he grown tired of her after all?

The following day she went in search of him (along with her escort Edmund of course). She found in his potions room and he looked very amused to see her.

“Pet.”

“I realised, I didn’t thank you properly for the flowers.”

“Oh, is that all?” He nodded at Edmund, “Wait outside.” He beckoned her forwards, “Come here.”

On the table he was working from was a pile of red flowers, with a pile of red petals, a pile of the dark blue centre, and another pile for the rest of the parts from the flowers he had already processed.

He passed a flower to her.

“Take off the petals, and put them in that pile there, that’s a good girl.”

She did as she was bid, smelling the sweet delicate fragrance as she did so, and watched as he took the knife to remove the dark blue stamen.

“I will not have you using the knife pet,” he said, seeing her look. “Next flower, take off the petals. Go on.”

They worked together in silence, the king making no further remarks, no sly little quips or teasing. Sylbie pondered on his comment about the knife. Was it due to the law, that no slaves should possess weapons, or did he fear she might hurt herself? She had paused in her work as she pondered this; when she felt the king’s eyes on her. She did her best to ignore him, focusing intently on the flowers, not looking up until each petal had been plucked.

When each flower had been properly dissected, he had her use a pestle and mortar to crush the stamens. He was watching her as she did and having him stare made her clumsy in her movements, so he tutted and took it from her, crushing the stamens himself. When they had become a paste he transferred it to a little bottle with a cork stopper. 

Sylbie watched on, curiously.

“What is it for, master?”

He was writing a little label for the bottle and did not answer until he was done.

“Depends on what I want to make. But I normally use this one for a sedative.”

“And the flowers?”

He looked at the red pile on the bench.

“Ah, well, wouldn’t you like to know?”

—

That night he slipped a silk blindfold over her eyes and tied her wrists and ankles with silk ties.

“Such a good girl. Let Loki take care of you.”

When it was over he dressed her and pressed kisses to her hair, giving continual praise.

“Such a good, precious girl.”

A bowl of stew was placed before her, along with a chunk of bread.

She found in that moment she couldn't bear to have him so far from her, even when he stood a little away from the table she stretched out her hands to him.

“You are needy pet.”

“I don’t mean to be.”

She ate stew sat on his lap, with him dipping the bread and feeding her piece by piece.

–

Over a week later she came to him and he was at his desk, looking over a document. She had often seen him at his desk that week,. It had been a busy time in the council chambers, discussing the growing threat of Alfheim. Sylbie could see his growing tiredness of the situation with the way his ire would sometimes come out in biting remarks in the council chambers, but mercifully, she had not yet been subject to his anger.

The viewing platform would be full. After one small altercation with another group of courtiers and fuss about where they were sitting, Ronia had taken to getting there early and staking out the seats.  One day, she had roped Teirn into laying across a row of seats, touching head to head, a spectacle that looked, “Really quite ridiculous.” according to Karnilla, who had arrived at the same time as Sylbie. 

Although she would see Vigna on the viewing platform, the lady had become attached to another group of courtiers and hadn’t bothered Sylbie, since she had invited herself into her chambers.

What happened to “being friends” she wondered, but she couldn’t honestly say she wasn't relieved.

Fiora would come rushing in a minute to, often claiming she was up late, planning things for her upcoming nuptials.

“So I just thought, if we tie ribbons on the chairs in shades of blue and purple...”

“Ooh!” Ronia clapped her hands “That would look lovely! You could put flowers on the end of each row.”

“Yes! Karnilla, what colour should I have my gown? Blue? Or purple? Or pink! I could have pink, wouldn’t that be wonderful.”

“It would be wonderful if you could be quiet for a moment, it’s about to start.”

Fiora looked aggrieved.  “Oh, do you not want to make my gown? Fine, I will find someone else.”

“Yes, I will make you your gown. Now will you two hush!”

The discussion in the council chambers was in stark contrast to Fiora’s happy planning. The king would sit there and sulk and scheme, and nod sombrely..

In the evenings she would sit by his feet or in his lap as he read through documents. He would use her mouth and another time she sat in his lap and his hand would slip into her undergarments, as she squirmed. But his hands did not linger, and she was left aching afterwards, fighting the urge to explore herself.

This time he beckoned her over and had her kneel. Both hands in her hair to hold her in place as she gagged upon him.

Afterwards she sat on his lap and he showed her the document. It was a writ of execution, wanting his seal.

The fate of Mersina Kadridottir had been discussed that day in the council chambers.  Mersina was notorious for travelling to Midgard and stirring up trouble in the realm. The prince Thor had to be sent down to fetch her back.

It all happened about two years ago and caused such a great scandal. It was gossiped  about with much enthusiasm at the house.

“I heard it was her many lovers, one was a mafia boss and she pitted them against another.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It's true! Says right here!” Selina tapped the newspaper knowingly.

“Oh that old rag. Should only believe half of what's in there, for sure.”

Sylbie watched entranced as the king signed the orders for execution. First his signature, penned with an elaborate flourish, then the seal, the red wax pressed with a golden signet ring he kept in his draw. 

How did he cope with having so much power? To have someone’s life in his hands?