The girl paused and gave a short nod: humor was acceptable, but not necessarily appreciated. Another pause: she was “Ireena” now, rather than “Miss Markovik”. Why did that elicit joy? Why did his smile feel genuine?
Her breath hitched in her throat at the louche angle his smile now took; would she be taken again so shortly? The pressure his gaze followed coaxed the breath out of her in shuddering bursts, eager and fearful both.
A startled squeak burst from the girl as the door opened and another entered; she scrambled to yank a sheet from the ample bedclothes available and had managed to cover herself shortly enough.
“Oh, ah, hello. It’s. . .it’s good to meet you Lynn.”
Hesitantly, Ireena emerged from the bed, aches wracking through her as she predicted. His cum still lingered on her thighs, in addition to the myriad other marks he had laid upon her; the sheet could only cover so much. One last look to Niklaus marked her exit, a glance to confirm he was allowing her to take the sheet and to take in the aching familiarity of him. A flare of want spiked through her at the hunger in his gaze.
Lynn gave a somnolent nod of vague acknowledgement and led her with a glassy-eyed mien, one that belied her keenness in navigating the darkened mass of corridors. Or at least they seemed as such to Ireena at this stage; she supposed she’d begin to grow familiar with them as the nights wore on. She would have to, to increase her odds of escape. The chill nipped at her form, heedless of the meager barrier the sheet offered.
After enough puttering to make her suspect the chosen route was a needless tease, they came upon a door that—given the lack of light—Ireena could not know was indeed rather close to Niklaus’. Only Lynn’s stopping at the door revealed it to be different than any of the other identical ones that dotted the corridors.
This room seemed to take far more influence from the sensibilities of Niklaus’ bed than the rest of his quarters: opulence was the raison d'etre, far and away crossing into garish ostentation.
Burgundy paint covered the walls, laced with images of thin fennel flowers inscribed in delicate gold leaf. Dark wood panel molding broke the surface up into rectangular segments; the relatively plain wainscotting at the bottom third seemed to be the only place in the room the eye could rest. Two doors and an unlit slate fireplace rested, tucked away behind the excess of armoires and dressers and desks.
Not a single surface was unladen with baubles, no furniture free of gilded curls sprouting filigree like madness from every edge and corner. The useless trinkets—ormolu music boxes, porcelain eggs and statuettes, jewelry caskets netted with gold—burdened the room to the point where the business of dressing and writing and reading would become cumbersome. It was not built with actual habitation in mind.
She had to admit, the bed held an appeal, at least. Four posters of ebony rose nearly to the heights of the lofty ceiling, nigh-black wood carved to resemble the gentle slope of a tapering tree, branching into a web of elegantly-curved twigs to rim the edges of the roof. Imbued into the wood of these “trees” was a series of bronze vines, dotted with the pleasantly-rounded leaves of new spring growth and buzzing with the occasional bee or hummingbird or butterfly. Thick bombazine the color of dark charcoal hung within the posts, another spot of merciful plainness, though that was likely more a matter of function than taste—dark, plain cloth blocked the most light. The mirror imbued into the roof of the canopy held far less of an appeal—she could think of no uses for it beyond the lurid, and for that one risked death each night should it fall. Keeping in theme, the bedspread was a plush red damask, dark gray sheets that shone of silk peeking from underneath. And upon this nest of fabrics lay a single apron, white as eggshells.
“This to be my uniform?” The incredulity could not be hidden from Ireena’s voice. For a moment, she had thought that there had been a mistake, that the other portions were missing and that she’d be given a uniform similar to Lynn’s. No, her role here had been made abundantly clear. It seemed that Baron Niklaus either did not wish to assign her other tasks, or did not appreciate the impracticality of said garment for the more practical jobs.
“Yes, miss. I’ll leave you to it.” Lynn replied, voice nearly without affect—it would take the keenest ear to detect that faint wry note. The servant stepped out of the room, gracious enough to not force Ireena through the farce of being dressed like the outfit necessitated it.
Quick glances into the adjoining rooms revealed a sitting room or parlor of sorts and a bathing chamber, both in line with the design sensibilities of the bedroom. She kept her glances brief, not willing to risk further retribution than she already would; much as she wanted to bathe and brush her hair, making the Baron wait would hardly work in her favor. The search for tools and hiding places would come later.
An idea sprung to Ireena in the silence of the suite; rather than wear solely the apron, she tied the sheet she had been allowed in a makeshift toga. The apron was then simply placed over it.
It would be sophomoric, to flout the spirit of the “law” and think that adherence to the letter may protect her. Her intent was not to avoid the act or the punishment—though both would be a pleasant bonus—but to gauge his own adherence to the role of lawgiver. Would he hold himself as strictly to his words as he held her? The uniform was still being worn, after all.
It was quite the state she made, bedraggled and swathed in the sheet. The top of her chest was still readily visible, one of her thighs, but it was better than the mere slip of an apron. There wasn’t even time to brush the wild mess her hair had become.
A lazy, singular eyebrow rose from Lynne as Ireena exited, imbued with a weary pleasure, one that knew full well this would end badly, that to fight it would be futile, and that all she could do was try to take what leisure she could out of the inevitable scene. It was a very eloquent rise, bolstered by what Ireena believed was the faintest hint of a smile.
The pair marched silently through the halls, fear rising in Ireena as she once more approached that cavernous dining hall and the creature that inhabited it.
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