[ollie] Apollo, make my arrows fly true.

[duke]

At least it’s not the middle of summer. Sebastian thought to himself, as he strolled leisurely towards the battle practice yards. He was dressed casually: tight brown leggings, cream over tunic with gold trimming and a loose white shirt underneath along with his tan boots.
As always, he was the image of rugged male handsomeness; with his unfashionably dark complexion that made his turquoise eyes smoulder underneath his smooth black eyebrows. His dark hair was also unfashionably short; but Sebastian preferred to see where he was going and see his target when he was fighting; rather than have to tie it back with a leather thong like some other men did. He was a maverick, a rogue, and a charmer. His smile disarmed both men and women alike, and his prowess as a lover was something of a scandalous gossip amongst the other nobles. He was exotic and fascinating, egocentric and sulky, moody and exciting.

Reaching the practice grounds, Sebastian casually stripped off his tunic and threw it absently at a waiting servant that had tailed him from the main castle. He began to stretch, enjoying the feeling of the lukewarm sunlight on his back and the cool breeze that buffered his shirt against the hard muscles of his torso. Annoyed by the itchy feeling of the cloth against his skin, he also took off his shirt and gave it to the patiently waiting servant.

Having served in military combat, the Duke was by no means an unscarred boy, and at nearing the age of twenty-five; his bachelor status made him a desirable option. A large scar marred his otherwise silky olive skin that showed he had been stabbed through the shoulder at some point; an old wound that meant he had had to train himself again to fight with his non-dominant hand (his right).

Today, it was archery practice first, and then possibly short sword. He had no need to try his luck with a greatsword again; especially after his embarrassing failure after his injury several years before. Running a hand through his short hair, Sebastian sighed to himself and stalked to the armoury where he paused for a while before selecting a heavy compound bow and several practice weapons. He suddenly wished that he had a partner to practice with; a feeling that was uncommon for this lone ranger Casanova.
Sighing once more, he slowly moved to walk back to the archery range, noting with only a vague amount of interest that there were the occasional noble bystanders littered around the area. Some were boasting of their efforts in the war, or their alleged prowess with a sword, and others (specifically one or two ladies) were there only to spy upon the handsome courtly men who sparred before them. Sebastian winked at a particularly pretty one, wondering briefly he had had her before and then dismissed the thought. He placed his bow down on the ground, resting it against one of his powerfully sculpted thighs (years of horse riding would do that to you) and began to loosen his muscles once again; although this time, it was mainly for the bystanders benefit rather than his own, although he kept a serious and calm expression plastered across his painfully handsome face.

[ollie]

lore was free. free from her chains, from rian—at least temporarily—and thus the first place she was headed was the armory. regina was known for fantastic weaponry, and she was hopeful when she entered the room. it was huge, and practically lovely; excitement ran through her as she searched for the right one, just the right one she’d been looking for. she’d been told her axe had been sold to a weapon’s country, and hopefully this was the right one. rooting through the axes, she froze as her hands wrapped around the worn hilt of a heavy, powerful axe. it was engraved with a battle scene, and she grinned as she looked upon it, the blood that was set into the artful grooves. it was such a beautiful display; an creation of art that no common craftsman could mimic. she pulled it out, the weight of it settling her muscles familiarly. she’d found it. her beast of a weapon.

she had gone straight to the dummy range, all of them set up in a way that one would have to go from one to the next, down a changing line. carefully she studied it, pushing her hair out of her face, and after rubbing her hands together she picked up her axe with both hands and charged. with sixteen years of experience, she began, raising it with such lucid ease it could easily be as habitual as scratching her nose. excitement trilled in her veins and she let out a battle cry without realizing it, slicing half the dummy clean off the rest. she charged the line with ease and skill, but once she’d gotten to the sixth, her lack of practice was already getting to her, once hard-worked muscles aching from the exertion. finally, after the tenth, she stopped, practically panting from the work. it was almost embarrassing, more humiliation from her lack of work (in her standards) coloring her cheeks than how much work she’d put into. for an hour, she relaxed, drinking water and somewhat freeloading, before finally putting away her axe (in a hiding place, naturally, for safe keeping) and moving for her next practice.

she paused as she watched a man stride across the grass. he was completely different than the rest, which piqued her interest—dark skin, light eyes, uncommon short hair. she swallowed hard, stepping back into the shadows as she watched him silently, staying out of the way and out of sight. considering the fact that she was blonder than the human embodiment of the sun could possibly be, it was somewhat difficult, especially due to her striking face. women of her country were known to be beautiful; lore even especially so. her breath caught in her throat, oddly enough, as sebastien took off his shirt; her eyes were quickly downcast and she moved quickly, hating the idea that she had found herself attracted to a man. she’d given up the idea of marriage and definitely sex long ago—a warrior couldn’t get pregnant if they really promised themselves to their caste.

lore continued on, chin held high and eyes turned away from the stranger. as she went, two women—probably eying the pickings, so to speak—stepped in her way. she stopped, narrowing her eyes, and moved to step around them. they sidestepped, again interrupting her way, and the left giggled as the other grinned mischievously. what insipid creatures. “lore adreias, warrior princess,” the right one said mockingly, spitting the title with disgust. lore said nothing, watching them with narrowed eyes. “what, couldn’t fight yourself out of your spot? that’s because women aren’t supposed to be warriors. dirty, disgusting warriors are not what we are made to be—though i suppose we are intended to eventually lie on your back. i hear that’s your new job.”

lore’s patience was stretched thin, but she said nothing. she took another step to the other side, and again these two twin imbeciles stepped in her way. she clenched her jaw, watching them, waiting for the next jab. “what, no words? oh, right, you’re not supposed to speak. you’re just a whoring slave,” the bold one sneered again and the left giggled like a little girl. now, lore’s patience had worn so thin there were holes, and without any other words, she spat between them. they leapt out of the way, squealing with surprise, and she pushed past them, not turning to see their response. she had very little patience for estrogen-charged drama; back at home, they’d been much more mature than to resort to calling each other whores. half of them had decided to become celibate for the rest of their life—and while lore could easily be impregnated by one of her attackers, she’d sworn off sex at that point on. it was such a crude act; and the idea that she did it willingly, maybe even happily… it disgusted her. as much as the fact that she’d been remotely interested in the man she’d seen. it made her feel weak; vulnerable to her own feelings. and that was something she was not.

having planned on using another weapon, lore took her axe from the spot she’d put it in, going back to the dummies. new ones had just been put up, and with savored, delicious anger, she charged forward and hacked off the sack head with a smooth, passionate swoop.

[duke]

Having stretched out his muscles to his full contentment, Sebastian reached down to pick up his heavy bow from where it was resting against his thigh and silently adjusted the quiver on his back so that the practice arrows were in easy reach. He stretched the string of the bow, feeling his muscles bunch up from the strain and sighed happily to himself: this quite self-torture was something that he highly enjoyed, especially as it also improved his skills as a marksman. Since proper swordfighting was now denied to him, he had turned his attentions to honing his ability with a bow and occasionally a crossbow. Watching the bolts fly true was something that gave him immense pleasure.

'Lore Adreias, warrior princess,’ Sebastian absently pricked up his attention at the unfamiliar name. He was sure that he knew all of the noble women in the castle, in the Biblical sense and also by name or face, but this seemed... different. He turned his head slightly, pretending to be getting a better look at the target that lay at about the midrange of the bow. He nocked the arrow and then quietly loosened it, watching it fly to land off centre by about four or five inches. Normally he would curse himself for such clumsiness with his marksmanship, but the gossip he was overhearing was much too juicy. ’...Aren’t supposed to be warriors. Dirty, disgusting warriors are not what we are made to be—though I suppose we are intended to eventually lie on your back. I hear that’s your new job’ Now Sebastian was definitely intrigued, and he turned his head so that he could get a proper look at this woman they were talking about.

His jaw dropped slightly, and he found himself having to catch his breath. She was like a celestial body, a creature that had descended from the sky and had been chained to the mortal ground with suffering and war. It was at once breath taking and heart breaking. Abstractly, he found himself giving her a once-over with his trained and practised eye, noticing that she was a hardened woman. He vaguely remember seeing her brutally attack the dummies that lay close by, but he had dismissed when he had chosen to become the centre of attention for the simpering ladies that were now verbally abusing her. He felt a little shame that he had paraded like a peacock for such nonsensical women, but also a little jealous that she had taken the spotlight away from him.

’You’re just a whoring slave.’

[/i] Sebastian snorted at this petty and childish comment, making a mental note to avoid these women in the future if they approached him. One of them seemed vaguely pretty, but the cold edge to her eyes made her seem far too common for his liking. He was about to make a comment in defence of the beautiful angel that stood fuming before them, wanting to come to chivalrous aid so that he would have an excuse to talk to her when suddenly a thought struck him: she was a slave. She shouldn't have acted that way, and she should know that she would get reprimanded for it. All at once, he sighed and grimaced inwardly before stalking over to the two women that she had left behind, who now stood like offended chickens, squawking and clucking and ruffling their clothes. Trying to be serious, he approached them with a courtly bow, having slung his bow over his shoulder so that it was out of the way.

”Ladies, are you all right?” Both of them seemed gobsmacked for a moment before they began to blush furiously and curtseying, bobbing up and down like an apple floating in a bucket of water. They both began outraged arguments at once, calling Lore a whore and a slave, a wench and a seductress, a disgusting piece of femininity that ought to be rid of in the presence of real women. Sebastian was beginning to regret that he had come over her and silenced them with a wave of his hand and a disarming smile. ”You poor darlings. Tell me, whose slave is she? I’ll make sure that she’s punished well and truly.” He had purposefully raised his voice a little, and the innuendo that he laced into the words was unmistakeable, making the women even more ruffled out of envy.”She's Prince Rian’s, your grace.” The uglier of the two muttered sulkily, her eyes shooting pure daggers at the now hacking-and-slashing slave.

Sebastian suddenly remembered something about a new slave that had arrived for Rian not long ago, a present from some other country. He couldn’t remember the exact details; but nor did he want to. Bored of this silly conversation with the two women, he bowed seriously and then turned on his heel to stalk languidly towards Lore. He paused as he watched her, impressed at the skill with which she wielded an axe – more than a little jealous that she still retained the ability to use her muscles in that way. Since his injury, he had been unable to swing a greatsword properly and it still irked him mightily despite his now grudgingly accepted skill with a bow.

”Your highness. A word?” He raised his voice enough so that she would hear him, but not enough that the lazy nobles that looked on would hear him. His tone was not sarcastic or mocking, but appropriate for a Duke to a Princess – respectful but not submissive.
[/blockquote][/justify][/size]

[ollie]

lore, out of the corner of her eye, saw the man come towards her. she swallowed hard, taking in a gulp of air, and as she exhaled, chopped off half a dummy with age-old skill. blowing her hair out of her face, she turned to look at him, her breath coming up short in her throat. she cleared it, pushing her pale hair out of her face, for once self-conscious about her garb. her stomach was bare, as typical, her skirt loose and basically a wrap, covering her lower half and otherwise just marring the view in the front, the sides of her thighs bare and visible, slowly tanning. she was barefooted as always, the band of material around her chest traditional as the rest of her outfit. unfortunately, everyone seemed to think it meant that was how slaves dressed—slaves dressed in rags, not vibrant, patterned material like what she was wearing. but she didn’t feel it was necessary to fight that.

“what kind of word?” she asked, looking at him curiously. it bothered her still that he… well, that he bothered her. she hated the fact that his body made her feel self-conscious, that she wanted to be witty. but she didn’t. she didn’t want to impress him, because he was obviously some virile sex-addict like half the men around here. again, the memories of war surfaced and goose bumps covered her body—with new vigor she leapt at the dummies, swinging the axe over her shoulder before bringing it down in a diagonal swoop. she sighed, swallowing hard before looking back at him, pale blue eyes seeming to harden as she met his.

“you’ve been in war, haven’t you? have you fought against silian soldiers?” she asked, looking at his scar. the most appealing factor of him was the mark—it meant he was strong, bold, a warrior at heart as much as she. but still, the fact that she was a warrior meant that she could no more than respect him, and it twisted her stomach that she both couldn’t and that she wanted to. more than respect him, that is. she wet her lips nervously, shifting on her feet, feeling antsy for once in her life. she hated this so much, the fact that he was so goddamned effortless. but still, she wanted to know if he’d fought against the same men she had, had the same blood on her hands. but he’d been able to escape. she, on the other hand, had been locked in a room full of a horde of men and until she could fight no more they’d taken all the dignity she had left. it still sickened her, and she’d never been so glad before to be in the hands of a new master—to be in the misogynistic prince rian’s control meant that she wouldn’t be touched by him, not chained down by a drunken old man.

“thank you, also, for saying your highness,” she said, eyes betraying genuineness, toes crinkling before straightening out again. “i haven’t hear that in a very long time. i’ve almost forgotten that respect is given to royalty, no matter where they are. unfortunately, i have no country to be proud of. it’s just another part of the silian mass.” she grimaced at the idea, clenching her fists at her sides.

the silian mass. the phrase was so perfect for how she thought of them—an ever-moving blob of politics and insipid ladies. she had gone through lessons about them, about their weaknesses, and if it weren’t for stamina she would have gotten out there alive and saved her country. did she obsess over it? think about it every day and night, wonder how she didn’t manage to do it? of course. she hated herself for it. she hated that she’d lost, even if it wasn’t her fault. she hated she couldn’t be divine, couldn’t be good enough to save the people she’d grown up next to. blank eyes raised and focused on him again, and she decided to stop reminiscing.

[duke]

Sebastian noted the languid ease with which she smote the dummies in front of her, sensing the anger that must be bubbling beneath the surface. She was a princess, probably one of the ones that he had heard about judging by the cornsilk colour of her hair and the pale blue of her eyes; a perfect complement to his dark brooding looks. They were both outsiders, at least looks wise, in this land of seething political intrigue and strife. He wondered absently if it was true what they were saying; was she a bedslave for Rian? Jealousy surged within him, making his heart hammer for a moment. He considered it for about a split second before he dismissed the idea, as he knew of Rian’s misogynistic lifestyle and suddenly felt more at ease with the beautiful creature. They were perfectly matched, at least in his mind – a demon with a bow standing alongside an angel with an axe.

’Have you fought against the Silian soldiers?’ Sebastian realised that he hadn’t been listening, too busy thinking about the beauty of the woman before him, and quickly came to attention. Although his expression stayed smooth, he felt the sudden urge to cover up the ugly scar that marred the front of his shoulder: it had become infected before being cauterized shut by one of the medics. The pain still haunted him; he had never experience anything like it. He noted with distaste that he was suddenly embarrassed about the wound, wanting to be perfect for her. But why? She was a slave. She was nothing – less than nothing, in fact.

“Yes, yes I did. I was a cavalryman.” Annoyingly, his voice sounded tight: he obviously wasn’t used to speaking about the subject and it clearly distressed him a little bit. He was mortified that he was even a little upset in front of Lore; she had obviously fought in the war as well. Goodness knows what had happened to her when she had been captured to become a slave – Sebastian certainly knew what he had done to the unwilling women and men that had been brought before his regiment. He looked away suddenly, unable to meet her gaze. Although he would deny it vehemently now, Sebastian knew that at the time he had enjoyed what he was doing. Bloodlust has mixed with his nymphomaniac tendencies, and although some of them were willing because of his handsomeness and tendency to pleasure them; the couple of women (and men) that he had forced himself upon had scarred his mind a little. Rape was distasteful and horrific, and he never wished to do it again.

“I’ve almost forgotten that respect is given to royalty, no matter where they are. Unfortunately, I have no country to be proud of. It’s just another part of the Silian mass.” Sebastian was surprised by the vehemence in her voice and the grimace which flashed across her otherwise perfect face. He felt the sudden urge to want to protect her, to hold her, and to tell her that everything was going to be all right.... and dismissed is not even a second later. This wasn’t a weak and simpering woman; she was a warrior, and a hardened one at that. He nodded slightly in understanding.

“People respect royalty, no matter how much they deny it.” Sebastian murmured, almost to himself. “I’m Sebastian, Duke of Avignon.” He held out his hand expectantly to take hers in his own and kiss it, the obvious and traditional introductory gesture. He didn’t even consider that she would refuse.

[/justify][/size]

[ollie]

cavalryman. she had a lot of respect for people that could work a horse and kill a man—she’d never been good at riding, and she glanced at his legs, expecting hard muscle. unfortunately for her, it was there, and she had to quickly look back up at his face to keep the goosebumps from coming. it seemed to bother him, the memory of being in the army—why, she couldn’t understand. a horrible fog seemed to have come over him, and for whatever reason, it stirred a hatred towards whatever feeling did this to him. and instantly, she hated herself for caring, for being remotely interested in how he felt. he was a soldier. just as inclined as the men that she’d met to rape, as bloodlust was a powerful thing that could overcome all men. and that was exactly why she hated them: they were all beasts, all monsters, though that made her no more interested in engaging in a relationship with her own sex. which made all of this difficult: no matter how much she hated them, men were as attractive as they’d always been.

“people respect royalty, no matter how much they deny it.” lore felt like walking away at that moment—of course they did, because that was exactly what those simple-minded bitches had been doing. she snorted, eyes shifting away from him, wishing he had a little more insight than that. “i’m sebastien, duke of avignon.” she was, admittedly, surprised when he held his hand out to her, eyebrows raising almost instantly. was he really reaching out his hand to kiss hers? the last time someone had done that was… never, really. while she was a princess, born and bred, her people weren’t heavily interested in formalities: “your grace” or “your highness” were more of mocking phrases rather than real ones used by the subjects. she had learned to use a bow alongside her future knights, learned to ride a horse with the rest of her generation, and her job as royalty only really came into effect when it came to marrying—she could decide to never marry, unlike the typical woman, who had to birth at least one child during their lifespan as a woman—and war. she would have led her country to battle, as queen, would be able to savor the delicious sound of slicing the head off their enemy’s commander. it was their country’s custom for queen or, occasionally, the king, to hold their enemy’s lonely head by the hair and enter the enemy’s land still holding it; to only let it go when finding the country’s palace, releasing it on the steps. she’d always wanted to do it, such a flamboyant show, since she was an adolescent studying country customs.

so she wasn’t refusing, just shocked at the idea of giving her hand to someone for a kiss on the knuckles. but, having always been curious to the gesture, she slipped her comparatively smaller, feminine hand in his much larger, rougher one. her mother had always made her cover her hands in oils and lotions every night, even sometimes in the mornings, to keep her skin from peeling—“a warrior princess mustn’t forget she is still a girl, and that a girl is supposed to be physically soft. a soft hand is the sign of a young woman, and while you may be a warrior, a rough hand is the sign of a man, not his wife.” her mother had never regretted marrying and having children until a daughter was born; four boys before her, her mother had been out of the warrior business for a long time, and her husband, the king-by-default (as their people referred to him) had led the army to war whenever necessary.

she’d felt men’s hands before, but not in such a way—in prayer, brushed fingers, even been held back from attacking, but never in such a trusting way. she could think of hundreds of way he could hurt her, even kill her, in this contact; she hardly thought he was the kind of man that would do such a thing, as he didn’t come across as a sneak, but of course she didn’t voice such. “honestly, no one has ever kissed my hand. it’s not a gesture we use in our country, tyr.” it had been named after an old norse god of single combat, victory, and glory, depicted as a one-handed man almost always dressed as a warrior. it was a suitable name; despite the fact they were a matriarchal society, they were not as interested in bloodshed as glory, despite their showy ways in battle. “i’m lore adreias, former heir of tyr… now slave.” her name was somewhat famed, as most names of their royalty had been, and still was; the beauty of tyrian women was almost famed, each generation becoming more and more splendid. her mother had been one hell of a legend in her day, and since lore had turned fourteen, suitors had come and gone, none remotely considered. none had been quite as handsome as sebastien, to her recognition—none had such an effect on her. she wondered how such an effective person could have been hidden away; but then again, her accent and the fact that she’d never heard of him reminded her now that tyr was such an isolated country, which had helped it so many times during war. unfortunately, their lack of local countries had also ended up with a lack of allies in the silian war, which had ultimately crushed them, due to the fact that they’d had such a larger army.

lore glanced up, catching the eyes of the women that had stepped in front of her earlier. their eyes were narrowed, jealousy putting fire in their gaze. jealousy. jealous that he’s kissing my hand, or that he doesn’t think i’m an imbecile? she looked away from them, back at sebastien, honestly studying him now.

[/justify][/size]

[duke]

Sebastian was relieved when the angel put her hand in his, letting his calloused large fingers wrap gently around hers before bending down slightly to brush his smooth lips against her knuckles. It barely lasted a moment before he politely squeezed it (for probably a second or two longer than he should have) and released it. He was acutely aware of the work-worthy and yet soft skin he had felt beneath him, and also the buzz that had rocketed through his nerves when he had kissed her. The feeling, at least for him, was at once both sensuous and undyingly platonic. Desire shot through him before he brushed the feelings away with great difficulty, inwardly cursing himself at the distraction.

He wasn’t sure why he felt this way about her. Her, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her, more royal than he and of a higher birthright. Her, a slave. The feeling made his stomach twist slightly, although no emotion was betrayed on his chiselled face. Already he could feel the burning glare of the jealous ladies in his back, and he could only imagine the gossip that would be circulated at this. Perhaps he could just shrug it off – he was, afterall, a known womaniser and a proud one at that. It annoyed him, however, that he didn’t want to do such a thing. He wanted this slave, and he wanted her badly. Not just physically, but in a way that he hadn’t experience in a long time. He wanted her emotionally.

Sebastian felt a little foolish for getting so infatuated so quickly over a woman who quite clearly could slice off his head before he even had a chance to say goodbye. “Honestly, no-one has even kissed my hand. It’s not a gesture that we use in our country, Tyr.

[/color] He seemed shocked to hear this, and it showed plainly on his face and his mouth dropped a little. Suddenly, Lore seemed a little alien to him and almost barbaric in her sensibilities. One had to remember that these warrior regions often ignore the niceties of high society. Instead of showing his feeling of slight disgust, he instead smiled charmingly at her and nodded his head slightly. “Then I hope, your highness, that it was a pleasurable first experience.” What a silver tongue he had.

He noted that her accent also seemed quite alien; a sharp contrast to the fluid vowels that he had adopted from his homeland (think French) and the soft consonants. It had been said that Sebastian’s voice was like liquid chocolate, and just as satisfying. A known orator, he wasn’t one to shy away from the limelight or to stutter his way around a sentence; but this woman was making him want to fling his hands up in the air in infuriation in wanting to impress her so greatly. He wanted to be witty and charming, a dazzling gentleman, to make her feel like she was worth something emotionally rather than in monetary value.

Sebastian made a mental not to talk to Rian about Lore and see if they come could to some sort of arrangement about her ownership. Goodness knows that the Duke would make a far better man to be chained to; although it was unlikely that the prince was interested in her romantically as Sebastian was. For a moment, he was lost in a daydream. And then abruptly he was pulled back to the present by Lore’s introduction of herself.

”I’m Lore Adreias, former heir of Tyr ... now slave.”[/i] Sebastian winced slightly and then hated himself for it; not wanting the beautiful creature to think that he was somehow ashamed of her, or was pitying her. On the contrary; his respect for her was doubled by the hardships that she was sure to have endured as both a prisoner of war and now as a slave to one of the most powerful men in the country; changing hands casually between different masters as they eventually grew tired of her or wished to use her for financial or political gain. Who was her previous owner? Sebastian vaguely remembered hearing gossip about it from one his more regular companions, but dismissed the thought as he grew bored of trying to sift through his memories for the information.

Instead, he turned his bright turquoise gaze to her own and stared earnestly into her eyes. “You realise then, your highness, that as a slave you no longer can afford to be so rude to nobles.” His expression was very apologetic, and he looked highly embarrassed to even be attempting to reprimand her in even the slightest; although his voice did not quiver and it’s smooth dark tones were edged with warning. ”I heard what they were saying to you, and I would have done worse if it were to me. However....” Sebastian glanced at the squawking women, who immediately began preening as soon as they saw his sights set upon them. “You should be punished for such unruly behaviour.” Returning his gaze to Lore, his flirtatious innuendo was once again unmistakeable beneath the firm surface of his chastise.
[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[ollie]

lore was vaguely thinking of how impossibly good it felt to have his lips against her knuckles, without trying. it was such a foreign feeling, but certainly one she enjoyed, particularly because having such respect from such a handsome face was a nice idea. he winced when she spoke last and she dismissed it, not caring much why he winced, if only to have him around. and then she realized it, that she was infatuated with him, even if only for his beauty, and instantly loathed herself for it—how superficial she was being, interested only for the physical aspects of love or whatever this was. she vaguely listened to what he said, caught up in her shallowness, and snorted at his statement of respect. as if she would ever respect these peacocks!

“you should be punished for such unruly behavior,” his words were so suave they were practically silken dessert, and she caught the innuendo without any help at all. her eyes narrowed instantly, all walls up, her face hardening. he was such a… such a… such a man! she felt repulsed that she would ever think such a man to be attractive, or any man at all, and quickly took a step back, eyes sharp and hard, emotion practically sparking off them. fury, disgust—the very sight of enragement. her stomach curled and she was easily detached from the situation, though her following words seethed and writhed with disgust and anger.

“i know that you have probably heard that i am now the royal bed slave, but i’d like to inform you that there is no chance in hell i will let anyone climb on me without chains and a fight. the only reason i’ve been placed in the prince’s care is that very few men find a chained woman attractive after raping her a few times, and when they do let her go, her first move is to strangle them. i hope to never leave the prince’s control, if only to have a duty that is not literally bending over or lying on my back for my master.” she hissed, only for him to hear. she was embarrassed, humiliated—the idea that he would consider her interested in having sex with him! he probably wanted to have her traded into his care—if care was the proper word for whatever the hell he planned to do. her mind quickly conjured up ideas of what he planned to do, and the fact that they were not remotely unappealing quickly reddened her face.

swallowing hard, somewhat nervous, she turned away from him, though she had not a clue where she was going. she just knew that she was walking, away from him, so she wouldn’t have to think about being pleasured by him. goosebumps covered her skin, and the worst part was they weren’t unappealing goosebumps—actually, all images that came to her mind were equally good, if not getting better by the moment.

( short, sorry. )

[duke]

Sebastian was wholly taken aback at the pure disgust and hatred in her eyes, and immediately he too was also on his guard. Although a perfect gentleman rogue, he was unused to such spine being showed to him by a servant, much less a slave, and much less a woman. He wondered briefly what had set her off so furiously, and dismissed the idea that it had been his vague flirtatious comments (who would be repulsed by such a thing? The thought was unnatural to him) and assumed that she must somehow have been offended by his comments. He was about to open his mouth and clarify what exactly he had said to make her so angry – surely she knew that she was a slave and as such, was subject to different rules now – when all of a sudden, she opened her lovely mouth and spat forth a monologue which was filled with venom.

“I know that you’ve probably heard that I am now the royal bedslave, but I’d like to inform you that there is no chance in hell I will let anyone climb on me without chains and a fight.” Sebastians eyebrows shot up in utter surprise: this woman was trying to justify herself? She was a slave! Her arrogance astounded him for a splitsecond, before he found himself overwhelmed with an intense feeling of guilt roiling around his stomach and he hated himself for it. He didn’t know this creature, and here he was, trying to defend his manlihood... if he could get a word in edgeways. “Very few men find a chained woman attractive after raping her a few times,”

[/i] Sebastian tried to pretend that he was surprised at the predicament she had obviously found herself in, and found that he couldn’t muster it. Sympathy? Yes. Surprise? No. Hell, he’d abused people sexually before, both men and women alike. “I hope to never leave the prince’s control, if only to have a duty that is not literally bending over or lying on my back for my master.”[/i]

The duke tried to not be mesmerised while she was hissing at him, like a beautiful wounded snake. But all he could think about was taking her hands in his own and calming her down, telling her that despite his past and his actions, that he would treat her with probably twice as much respect as Rian did and also with a better duty of care. He had sworn off of forcing women; hence his immaculate charm that never failed to win him a bedmate whenever he needed it. The venom and hate that had clouded his victims eyes was something that he would never forget, and he despised himself for ever doing that to another human being.

Suddenly, she was walking away. Sebastian was stunned for a moment, wondering why she would want to leave him after such a feisty monologue, before he found himself following her rapidly. Her temper had captured him. It had been a long time since a woman had been so honest with him, so open about her emotions, and so fiery in her predicament. Within moments he was in front of her, his bow lying forgotten on the ground meters behind them and his quiver lying awkwardly across his back. He found himself desiring this woman even more than previously, and found himself briefly picturing images of her clawing his back whilst he pleasured her, of screaming his name as she reached her pinnacle, biting him as he wrestled playfully to win pseudo-dominance over her. The thought created a stirring within him, but he pushed the feelings away.

“Don’t turn your back on me, your highness,” He began, his voice slightly husky. “The past doesn’t always have to be the present.” Sebastian hoped that she understood what he meant: that the rape and abuse that she had suffered at the hands of her previous masters would not have to occur again. He wasn’t implying that he would take of her mastership, but rather that not all sex was so... revolting. Sebastian found himself feeling disgusted by the actions of his fellow men; that they could turn such a lovely creature into a being of hate. Repulsed by their actions, he realised that he was wholly infatuated with Lore and that he wanted to do everything and anything in order to protect her from the humiliation and degradation that she had suffered.

“You’re singlehandedly the most beautiful, courageous and broken woman that I have ever come across.” Did he just say broken? Mentally slapping himself in the forehead for sounding so callous, he earnestly stared into her eyes, trying to project his feelings of nurturing and warmth. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to force her. Despite her slave status, he found himself respecting her far more than the docile and false women he had come across previously at the palace. “You don’t have to keep punishing yourself for the actions of others. It’s ridiculous, and you know it.” Suddenly he felt as though he were lecturing her: he was trying to be suave, but instead the blunt truth was just pouring out of him and he was mortified for it. He wanted to grab her in his arms and hold her, but knew that she would probably castrate him before he had even had a chance to touch her.
[/blockquote][/justify][/size]

[ollie]

lore had no idea where she was going. so she was somewhat relieved when he stepped in front of her. she took a step back, though moved no further, as she had no idea where to go considering the fact she’d never stepped foot on the royal grounds her whole life. she puzzled over it before he spoke, eyes meeting his without fear. “don’t turn your back on me, your highness. the past doesn’t always have to be the present.” before the memories could unfurl in her mind, she blocked them, focusing hard on him or anything other than the feeling in her gut. the feeling in his eyes made her redirect her own, watching a woman walk by, trying to focus on her ornate dress rather than him, as it stirred a feeling in her she hardly knew how to suppress and worked as the floodgates to both memories and ideas.

“you’re singlehandedly the most beautiful, courageous, and broken woman that i have ever come across.” broken. it looked as though he was trying to get something across, and her eyes quickly diverted from him, because she hardly wanted to have feelings pushed upon her or anything at all. she crossed her arms, wondering why broken was put in there. and of course, if he really thought she was beautiful. certainly, she’d heard a person calling her “the most beautiful woman in the world,” if only because that was the title they spread across the world for her the moment she turned thirteen and the first suitor stepped into tyr, but she’d never heard it be used with the word courageous. if anything, the trait was much more flattering to the woman in comparison to the physical trait, as it implied more heart than simple genetic luck.

“you don’t have to keep punishing yourself for the actions of others. it’s ridiculous, and you know it.” ridiculous. swearing off sex for the rest of her life was ridiculous?

she rolled her eyes, but instead of falling into her rant, spoke the first thought that came to mind. “you call me your highness, but do you really justify your actions by reminding yourself i’m a slave? that i’m less important than a war horse?” it was so enticing to begin explaining herself to him, but she decided now that she didn’t want to justify herself. she didn’t want to explain what it meant to her to be a warrior, that she would never stop. he should understand that—and if he didn’t, well he wasn’t worth the waste of breath. she swallowed her fear and stepped forward, closer to him, almost stepping back in shock when she felt the waves of warmth coming off his skin. she stood on her toes so she was almost his height, close enough to—she daresay—kiss him. “tell me that you look at me and are constantly thinking i am lower to you, and then i will consider listening to you. but if you can’t get past a petty title, as the prince can, then i can honestly tell you i’m very happy to be in the prince’s possession. if you can consider me an equal woman, if you don’t say your highness just as a game, then…”

then what? then she would go to bed with him? she didn’t even know what to say. out of words, out of an idea, she wet her lips and shifted on her feet uncomfortably before speaking, as the thought came to her head. “then i respect you. and then i don’t think you’re a loon for considering i should be… punished.” the last part was more babbling, her desire keeping up and getting control. the lust in her voice was almost unknown to her; she’d never heard her voice become so… hungry, like a beast that has been fasting for its entire life. it stirred something in her she hardly knew was there, and the challenging look on her face was fierce in a way she was unfamiliar with—one that her mother would have either been proud of or appalled by, she couldn’t decide which. licking her dry lips, she settled back down on the soles of her feet, eyes not moving from his.

“so what will it be, your grace?” the title slid from her lips like honey, an unpracticed phrase she’d picked up during her servitude and within the time she’d been in silus, having heard it being distributed through the nobles.

( it's good that jesse mccartney makes both me and my muse happy. )