Anwyl woke to a flurry of movement in her small sleeping cubicle. Mistress Bior's sharp screech cut through the fog of sleepiness and dragged her from her bed. "Get up, girl! Not a moment to spare."

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stumbled past Mistress Bior, searching for the basin of water to wash her face.

"What are you doing?" Mistress Bior snatched the bowl of water before Anwyl could dunk her hands in it.

"W-washing my face?" Anwyl yawned, oblivious to how frantic Mistress Bior was becoming.

A wave of freezing water hit her in the face and soaked the front of her night dress. The white gown turned see-through in an instant, and Anwyl found herself quite awake now. "What did you do that for?" Her voice lowered, and she clenched her teeth to keep in further disrespectful and unladylike words.

"Prince Aamon has requested your presence in his room for fittings." Mistress Bior glared at her. "You have no time to do anything except tame that rat's nest." She pointed a trembling, bony finger at Anwyl's raven black locks.

Anwyl rushed to the tiny mirror mounted over the vacant place where the wash basin belonged. Her curls were in disarray. One side was flattened to the side of her head while the other stuck up at all angles. With a gasp, she snatched up the brush sitting on the table beside the basin's pedestal. She tugged it through the tangles, biting her lip when it caught on snarls in her curls. Giving up, she grabbed a ribbon from the drawer in the table and wrestled her waist-length hair into an over-the-shoulder braid, fastening it at the end with a ribbon.

Mistress Bior stood watching her, silent for once. She seemed just as startled by the flurry of movement as Anwyl was by Aamon's summons. She slowed and turned to face Mistress Bior. "Well?" She raised a brow. "Will it do?"

Shaking off the daze, Mistress Bior wrinkled her nose. "It'll have to. You have five minutes to get to his chambers." Her gaze raked over Anwyl's state of dress.

Anwyl glanced down, and for the first time, it sunk in that she might as well be naked thanks to the damp front of her gown. She sucked in a sharp breath and turned to look for a more suitable gown. Mistress Bior's bony fingers closed over her wrist. "We haven't the time. His majesty will care more about your punctuality than your modesty, anyway. Do you want him upset?"

The girl froze and pondered this. Do I? Even knowing that it could cost me my shot at freedom? She huffed and spun about. No. "Fine. Let's go then!"

***

Anwyl stood in the center of Aamon's room, shivering even as her cheeks heated up. The air in the chamber had a nip to it, and the chilly water dampening her nightgown froze her skin. The prince's eyes lingered on her frame as the seamstress approached to take measurements. She caught his gaze with hers and held it, lifting her chin and refusing to look away.

"I see Mistress Bior failed to wake you in time." He settled onto the bed and stared at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, shooting him a frosty glare. "An oversight, I'm sure."

He raised a brow, his gaze dropping to her chest. "Perhaps. I can have words with her if you like."

For the first time since coming here, she actually felt some relief and didn't question what he wanted in return. "That would be appreciated."

Aamon cast her a brief smile.

"Why am I here?" She decided moving on from the previous topic would be best.

"You're here because she is taking your measurements."

She narrowed her eyes when she saw the corner of his mouth tilt up. "I know that. But why?"

He propped his back up against one of the bed's posters with a lazy smirk. "I don't have to tell you that. And you're in no position to demand."

She glowered at him. "Please tell me why, Your Highness," she ground out.

He shot her a smile that asked if that was the best she could do. The seamstress moved from taking her measurements to fiddling with different colors and types of cloth, which she placed against Anwyl's skin and then switched out.

Anwyl exhaled softly. "What do I have to do for the information?"

"At the moment, you have to put up with Mistress Paska's administrations." Something predatory lurked in his gaze, and she shivered.

"And then you'll tell me?"

He chuckled. "No."

"Then what do you want in exchange for an answer? And why is so difficult to answer a simple question?"

"What do I want in exchange? I want you to spend some time with me this evening."

She bit her lip. "Spend time how?"

The seamstress had a large stack of colors and fabrics in her approved pile by now, and Anwyl gave the heap a skeptical glance. What could he want these for? And why is he having me fitted for clothing made of cloth like this?

Aamon dismissed the seamstress with a wave. "Pick the colors and cloths you think will most suit her. See me with the designs and for your pay for this tomorrow afternoon."

The seamstress silently packed everything away and scurried out of the room.

Anwyl swallowed hard, and the door behind her slammed shut with an ominous boom. The sound echoed through the large chamber, and she resisted the urge to jump. Aamon stalked toward her slowly, his gaze darkening. She bit her lip.

Her arms tightened around her torso as he came to a halt before her. His chest almost brushed her arms, and she quivered while waiting for an answer.

"No one has ever cared about you, have they?" His voice stayed soft and low, and he reached out to play with a curl that had escaped her braid.

She fought the urge to turn and run. His actions made little sense to her at this point. "I'm a slave, Your Highness. No one cares about slaves."

"Not no one. I do," he murmured.

Anwyl stared at him. Her body tensed, but her heart wanted to plead with him to promise he meant it. She forced her body to relax, but she remained silent, not giving in to her heart's demands.

"I could give you everything, Anwyl. I want to. Will you let me?" His breath fanned across her face.

She shivered and shut her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Let me show you what it means to have a man worship you." His words held quiet intensity.

"You want me?" Her eyes flew open. "As in...?"

A laugh rumbled through his chest. "Is that so difficult to believe?"

"Isn't it..." She trembled and stopped speaking when his hands settled on her hips. "I barely know you."

"Do you believe I am a man of my word?"

She frowned, her hands coming up to rest against his chest as an extra barrier between them. He pressed closer anyway, reminding her that the barrier was flimsy at best. "I don't know you well enough to know."

"Get to know me, then." His breath ghosted past her ear, and his lips brushed her earlobe.

She inhaled sharply, pulling away from him. Tingles shot down her spine, and she thought she'd never wanted to take someone up on something so badly. Her body felt like it would burn away to nothing, and she ached to know what it would be like to have someone show her she was worth something. That she was more than just a slave. "Get to know you how?"

"You could start tonight. Dinner here on the terrace?" He waved to a set of double doors with intricately scrolling metal work in the shape of waving tree branches and gently budding blooms.

Her eyes swept over the raised metalworking. "Tonight?"

"Have you anything else to do? A session with Mistress Bior, perhaps?"

Her gaze snapped back to him, and her eyes widened. "No, no! I haven't got anything else to do. What time?"

He glanced at the hourglass on the desk. "At ten."

She nodded, rubbing her arms and suddenly eager to escape. "I will be here. What should I wear?"

His gaze traveled down her body. "Not that if you don't want me to take what you're not prepared to offer."

For the second time, she felt her cheeks warming, but this time, the rest of her body also warmed. "O-of course. I shall bear that in mind. Good day, Prince Aamon." Anwyl turned and staggered toward the door.

He grabbed her wrist as she attempted to fled, and his strong arm reeled her in until her back pressed against his chest. Laughter spilled from his lips. "Running, are you? I didn't mean to frighten you, but perhaps now you better understand how much I want from you right now."

She quailed in his grasp, and her voice shook. "I u-understand. May I g-go?"

Aamon spun her around and pressed a brief kiss to her lips. It was just a brush of his lips against hers, but she froze, staring up at him with wide eyes. He let go of her and backed off with a deep breath. "I'll see you at dinner."

Anwyl stared a moment longer, her fingers inching up to press against her lips where his had touched hers. That was surprising. Surprisingly pleasant... And he's more impulsive than I thought he was. Speechless, she spun on her heel and fled the room.

***

Seanan clenched his teeth, bracing himself against the stab of pain that shot through his heart and stole his breath away. He knew the exact moment when she made her decision. It hadn't even taken much work to convince her.

Is she truly so starved for love that she'd accept his offer? He knew the answer of course. Yes. Even though you could offer her everything she truly needs and craves, she will run straight into the trap he has laid. He stared up at the darkening sky, which was spitting rain now, and then hurried out of the rain into his cozy cottage.

He wanted to cry or slam a fist into the wall in that moment, but he did neither of those things. "This is necessary," he whispered to himself. "She has to go through this for things to work out." But it didn't mean that it didn't hurt to know what she would go through.

Well, at least you can be grateful that you get to be there for her for some of the journey. And you can be even more thankful that in the end, she will be saved from the disaster she herself will create. He busied himself with breakfast, continuing to encourage himself with that thought whenever he felt discouraged. It will work out exactly as it should. His long, strong fingers kneaded the dough for the bread he'd decided should go with supper later in the day, and he allowed his mind to replay the meeting between the two of them.

She was everything he'd known she would be. Beautiful physically, and in some ways, beautiful inside too. But broken. So very broken. She had a long path ahead of her, and though he wished it could be otherwise, he knew that her destiny was set just as his was, and the two of them would do what it was ordained that they should. With that in mind, he put thoughts of her out of his mind and focused on running through the list of injuries and necessary treatments for the patients who sustained injuries back at the Hall. The work and the thought for others soothed him, and he quickly let go of the stress over the situation and left it to fate. After all, thinking about what she was going to do would only hurt, and it wouldn't stop her from making the mistakes she had to make.

***

Anwyl wished she didn't have to deal with any further lectures from Mistress Bior. The woman was worse than a task master with a whip. Her words cut like knives, and Anwyl remembered her most recent biting remark. I can't believe Prince Aamon thought you worth a thing. You can't do anything right! She gritted her teeth and glared at the oaken door before her. Can't do anything right? I'll show her! I'm going to make sure I repay his kindness. He's done nothing but take care of me since I've been here. That old hag can go rot in a hole.

She rapped twice on the door before Aamon opened. The heavy door swung inward on well-greased hinges, and she stood facing him with wide eyes. He wore tight-fitting black trousers and a loose-fitting white shirt. The buttons had been left unfastened halfway down his chest. She averted her gaze from his chest.

"I'm glad you came."

She felt his gaze sweeping over her, and she shivered. Her dress covered her more appropriately than this morning's attire had, but his stare was just as intense. A blush inked her cheeks and the tips of her ears as she recalled the look in his eyes when she'd appeared at his door soaking wet earlier this morning at Mistress Bior's dictate. "I didn't really have a choice."

A chuckle reverberated from his throat. "You always have a choice, love."

"Maybe. But I don't choose the consequences of those choices." She glanced up to meet his dark eyes with her own blue ones.

He smirked. "No, I daresay none of us can. Come in." He stepped aside and motioned her inside with a bow.

She swallowed hard and took a tentative step into the room. Half expecting him to lock the door and have his way with her, she kept an eye on him as she edged further toward the balcony. He shut the door, and her muscles tensed, preparing her for flight to the adjacent room or the balcony. Of course, you won't outrun him, Ann. You should know that already. Besides, he's been nothing but a gentleman despite the looks he's given you. He's not going to hurt you or force you to do anything you don't want to. You're just here to have dinner with him.

Aamon didn't bolt the door, and she breathed a quiet sigh, her shoulders slumping. He swept past her, and in the process, he managed to lace his fingers through hers, pulling her with him toward the balcony. "I hope you're hungry. I didn't know what you'd like, so I had them bring a little of everything."

Her brain restarted, and her heart skipped a beat when his hand against hers registered. She swallowed the unusual feeling and followed him onto the balcony. What is he doing to me? How can I feel like this already? Then she wondered what this was. She couldn't understand the emotions running through her. None of the other slave boys had ever incited this sensation in her. There was a keen sense of want and of a painful need. But a need for what?

Anwyl's gaze fell on the table then. Candles cast the white tablecloth and the spread of food in a warm, inviting light. Her free hand flew to her throat. I've never seen so much food at once. A strong desire to taste everything overcame her, but she stood rooted to her spot beside Aamon. Is this really for me? Her gaze darted to Aamon to find that he was observing her with an unreadable expression.

"I..." She trailed off, her gaze going back to the food.

"The sooner you're seated, the sooner you can try it all." Aamon guided her to a chair with one hand on the small of her back.

The warmth from his fingers and palm seeped through the thin fabric of her cotton dress, and it ignited the feelings she'd buried earlier. She felt heat spreading through her entire body, suffusing her face and ears with blood. She collapsed into the chair when he removed his hand from her back. Her focus fixated on the food as she wrestled with her emotions and stuffed them back into the box.

Aamon settled into the chair across from her. He pulled the lid off the first few dishes, revealing a pasta dish with cream sauce, a fruit salad, and steamed vegetables. She inhaled the spicy, warm aroma of the vegetables and the tangy scent of the fruits. He smiled at her and motioned for her plate. At first, she blinked, unsure what to do. Then she realized he wanted to serve her a portion of the food, and she handed over her plate.

"You've never seen half of this food before, have you?"

She shook her head. "I didn't work in the kitchens or the dining hall."

"I see. And I suppose you've never had anyone pay you much attention?" He handed her a full plate of food.

Anwyl gingerly settled it in front of her. "Not really. Most men can't put up with my sharp tongue for long."

"This morning..." Aamon trailed off for a moment, filling his own plate. "My forwardness surprised you."

Anwyl's shoulders hunched. "Of course not, Your Highness."

"You needn't lie." He took a bite of the vegetables, clearly savoring the taste while he waited for her to give a truthful response.

She bit her lip, then decided that if he wanted the truth, she'd give it to him. "Truth be told? Yes, it did. What do you want me for, Your Highness? A spy? A mistress?"

"I want you for much, much more. Of course, until you have your freedom, I can't make you more than a mistress. But that will be in name only if you do as asked. Why do you think Mistress Bior has been assigned to training you?"

"That wasn't just to see if I'd obey whatever I was told?"

Aamon chuckled, setting his silverware down. "If I wanted to test that, there are better ways. So, no."

"Then what is it for?"

"To train you for the job I want you for." He continued eating, letting her mind race about for a suitable response to that.

"The job you want me for?"

The moonlight poured over them, mingling with the splashes of candlelight around the balcony. She stared down at the shafts of light beaming across the flagstones, letting it distract her from the things that came to mind.

"I didn't buy you so you could remain a slave the rest of your life. I bought you to free you to help me. To be by my side as my Queen. If you do that, you'll have anything you could ever want." He leaned forward. "What do you think, Anwyl?"

She gulped, her fingers tightening on her silverware. No isn't an option anymore. I'd rather be on his side than a slave the rest of my life. Besides, he's not so bad. "I think I'd be a fool to say no." Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to respond anyway.

He reached across the table to stroke her cheek. "You don't need to fear me, you know. I'll take care of you."

Yes. So long as I obey, I will have everything I could ever want. Wife, mistress, or slave. It makes no difference in what I really am. It only changes what I have available to me. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. "I know that."

He pulled his fingers back and resumed eating.

Anwyl picked at her meal, knowing the night was far from over and his demands wouldn't end with what she had already agreed to. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He's never hurt me, and he seems sincere in saying he wants to offer me everything I could want. She smiled at him weakly when she caught him staring at her.

"Are you full already, love?"

She forced herself to eat a few more bites. "I'm sorry. I suppose I haven't got much of an appetite right now."

He frowned. "Are you feeling sick again?"

Shaking her head, Anwyl pushed back from the table to give herself some breathing room. "I just..." She rose, pacing to the balcony railing.

Her skirt fluttered around her ankles in the slight breeze, and her heart pounded in her chest. She felt him move up behind her, and then she found herself pulled back into a warm embrace and a hard chest. "You just what?"

She relaxed when he didn't sound angry. "I don't understand. How did you find out about me? Why me and not another slave? And if you want me to act as your wife, why aren't you freeing me now?"

He stayed silent for a long moment, his chest pressing against her back and his hands resting gently on her hips. After a long moment, he said, "I found out about you because I knew your Mistress. Why you and not another? Because after seeing you, I didn't want another. I won't free you immediately because I think your freedom and position will mean more to you if you work for it." He inhaled slowly. "You aren't a slave, Anwyl. Not in the traditional sense. But I want a woman who values what she's been given and knows she's worked hard to get it. Not some pampered airhead who thinks she's entitled to everything just because of who she is." His arms circled her waist, and his hands settled against her abdomen.

She toyed with his signet ring, pondering his words. So, he wants me to know I have value in and of myself. I suppose that's fair.

"A linar for your thoughts?"

She snickered. "Only a linar? You don't value my thoughts on this very highly, do you?"

Laughter rumbled through his chest. "You could ask for anything, and so long as you stick to the agreement, you could have it."

"The agreement?" She leaned her head back against his shoulder.

"Be mine."

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Anything I want?"

"Anything."

Guilt churned in her stomach as she contemplated the situation. If she said yes, it would only be because of her own selfish desires, not because she particularly cared for Aamon. But then, she reminded herself, he is using me too in his own way. I doubt that he truly loves me or wants me just for me. No, he isn't that sort of man. Unless my gut is wrong on this. But it rarely is... Her eyes fluttered shut.He wants me for what I can offer him. A pretty body and a sharp mind. Her teeth worried at her lower lip.

Aamon's lips brushed her earlobe. "If you don't hurry up and answer, I might assume you're going to play games with me."

"And what if I am?" Her voice was almost caught away by the wind.

"I don't mind games, but before you start one, you should know I always win." His breath ghosted over her neck. Then his lips pressed there too.

Goosebumps fanned across her skin. "What if you meet your match in me?"

"I won't." His lips traveled down her neck to the juncture between her neck and shoulder. "So, what do you say?"

She whimpered when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder where the gown, which was slightly too large for her, had slipped down. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Now, now..." He spun her to face him, his eyes roaming over her face, which she could feel heating up under his ministrations. "What did we say about choices?"

"I always have one."

"And?" He tilted her chin up and pressed his forehead to hers.

"I can't determine the outcome or the consequences."

"So, do you have a choice?" His lips mocked her, brushing but not meeting her mouth as he continued to tease her.

"Y-yes."

"And what is that choice?"

"I'll do as you ask," she whispered.

"Good choice." His lips met hers, and he swept her into his arms.

She squeaked, clinging to his broad shoulders.

Aamon took the opportunity to deepen the kiss as he kicked open the balcony doors. "You do know what you've agreed to, don't you?" He released her lips long enough to make sure she understood.

Anwyl nodded, burying her face in his shoulder. Her heart pounded against her ribcage; breathing suddenly seemed like a chore. No one had ever touched her like this before, and the feelings his touch incited made her both frightened and exhilarated all at once. She wanted to shy away from his hooded gaze, but at the same time, she wanted to be even closer to him than she was now. "I don't understand what you're making me feel." She whimpered.

He chuckled, setting her down on the bed. "Lust, darling. Pure and simple. Better not to overthink things too much though. It'll just make you more frightened." He brushed his thumb over her lips. "And you are frightened, aren't you?"

Her gaze met his, and she trembled. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Why not, indeed?" He ran his fingers through her hair. "Do you think I'll hurt you more than necessary?"

Anwyl's pulse quickened, and her chest tightened. "You're human, so of course, you could."

"But do you think I will?"

Do I? I suppose I still fear that despite his gentle treatment so far. She looked away from him. "Does it matter?"

"I want you to feel I can be trusted. Even if you're scared and you don't understand why I'm doing things a certain way. Do you, Anwyl?"

Her gaze flew to his again, and she clenched the silky comforter in her hands. "I... N-not yet."

"Will you take a small step of faith with me tonight?"

Anwyl shivered, her grip tightening even further on the comforter. "A small step?"

"I won't take things all the way tonight, and it will stay that way until you feel you can trust me without reserve. But allow me to show you how pleasant this kind of thing can be." His fingers ran down her bare arms, skating over the short sleeves of her gown and down her forearms until they rested on her hands where they clutched the comforter. "Will you let me do that?"

Her grip on the comforter loosened a fraction. He's offering me just a taste. I can decide when or if we ever go all the way. I'm not trapped because he's going to let me have control. She bit her lip. "I-if I don't like it, you'll stop?"

"You only have to say the word."

She stared at him for a moment. "You mean it?"

"Of course." He grinned wolfishly. "But I doubt you'll really want me to stop."

Anwyl loosened her grip on the covers, her confidence returning. If I do this, I'll secure my ticket to freedom and the future I want to build. And once I have the ability to go anywhere and do anything I want, I'll finally be worthy of the offer Seanan made me. "Very well." She met his dark eyes with determination filling her. "I'll allow it."

He smirked. "I thought you'd say that."

***

Seanan's forehead smacked against the table where he'd been mixing potions. A dull ache spread through his chest as the moment of decision came and went. She'd chosen poorly. And in doing so, she'd played right into a trap. If it hurts now, he thought, clenching his fists on the table. Imagine how much more it will hurt when she finally gives him everything. Father, why must I bear such a burden? He exhaled slowly.

He had to bear it because no one else could or would. None of the townsfolk could. They had their own burdens and chains, and they didn't even realize it. She couldn't because bearing the burden's price would kill her. No, only he could bear it, and that meant suffering the pain of knowing all that lay ahead.

Forcing himself to sit back up, he fixed his mind on what was ahead. Beyond the pain and the despair that lay directly before him, there would be reward for this at the end. He would see her restored, and that itself would be priceless. To see her truly free and living life the way she was meant to would be the greatest treasure he could ask for.

True, at first, she wasn't going to believe she had her freedom. She'd try to run back into bondage, believing she was still responsible for the burden she'd born. But he would show her. Gradually, gently, he would be her guide just as he was meant to be. There would be times of pain, yes, but there would also be times of joy and laughter.

His heart squeezed, but this time, it was joy that caused the sensation. The recognition that there would be a good ending to this despite the path she was walking eased the pain of her decisions tonight. Rubbing his eyes, he rose and gathered up the mortar and pestle. Trudging to the sink, he rinsed them and left them to dry. Lugging the jars of herbs and ointment back to his pantry, he settled the precious salves onto the shelves and shut the door, locking it up.

For a moment, he stood in the lamplit interior of his two-room cottage and stared at the home that felt so empty. His heart ached with the need to see his task done and have his loved one safely here with him, protected from the taint of evil for so long as she chose to stay. But for now, it was not so.

He blinked and shook himself from the stupor of pain and hope. Shoulders hunched, he slowly shuffled to his bedroom. Once there, he just collapsed into bed, ignoring the usual routine of changing and removing his boots. Moments later, sleep dragged him down into the darkness of oblivion.