My Lord

By L. B. Shimaira

"You try to comfort yourself with visions of events that didn't happen, but that doesn't mean that what did happen left no scars."

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After losing hearth and home, Meya attempts to escape the traumatic memories by travelling east. In 13th century Tristanja, however, it’s not safe to be alone.

A local slave trader catches wind of the kinless woman and abducts her in the dead of night. Beaten and abused, the now meek Meya is sold to Lord Deminas. He's known to be cruel, yet becomes strangely protective of his new chambermaid, punishing anyone who dares hurt her. After cutting her to drink her blood, he even uses his own to heal her wounds.

Meya and her paramour wonder if Deminas' dark secret is why servants regularly vanish, including the lord's previous chambermaids. However, the two women quickly learn that Lord Deminas isn't the only danger lurking in the castle's shadows.

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MY LORD is a queer, slow-burn erotic gothic horror novel about rediscovering yourself after trauma—with kinky, blood-drinking immortals and polyamory.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. B. Shimaira
• Release date: Oct 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9789198618747

L. B. Shimaira

L.B. Shimaira is from the Netherlands, born in 1989, married and a mother. She has a Bachelor of Applied Science degree and currently works as a research technician, where she helps develop vaccines.She considers herself a horror addict, having been into the genre since she was a little kid. As she often finds horror too predictable, she enjoys trying to make her works full of surprises.The majority of her works are inspired by her own dreams and nightmares, giving them a vivid sense of realism. She's autistic, struggled with depression as a teen, and received therapy for PTSD in 2019.She is polyamorous and currently identifies as pan grey-asexual idemromantic. She uses both she/her and they/them pronouns. Thinking about her own gender too much can give her quite the headache—especially since feelings fluctuate—so the term quoigender fits her best, though she's fine calling herself female. As there are a lot of labels, it's often easier to simply say she's queer.Polyamory tends to sneak into her works, even if just a notion, and LGBTQ+ characters are always present in her novels.On Wattpad, she shares some of her work. The first part of her horror novel They call him Lucius was featured by Wattpad itself for 3 years (2014-2017), and a paranormal thriller she co-wrote with the user Godhand under the name G.S. Lucent was featured for Halloween of 2019. She has won several user-run awards on the platform.In May 2020, she joined the Wattpad Stars and remained a star until it disbanded at the end of 2022. She continued her Wattpad journey as a Wattpad Creator.Gurt Dog Press welcomed her as a proofreader at the start of 2021, and she helped them out until they closed at the end of January, 2023. She will also proofread for friends when spoons permit.

Book preview

Content Notes

The story you’re about to read is written in UK English. Any mention of frown or frowning is meant to indicate furrowing of the brows.

My Lord contains abduction, off-page and non-graphic sexual abuse (rape is condemned and sexual abusers are killed), explicit sexual content (consent is emphasised), kink (wax play, knife and blood play, primal play, bondage, and mention of spanking and breath play), graphic violence, gore, death, vampirism, cannibalism, and illness (pneumonia).

It deals with PTSD and features queer, polyamorous characters.

Music

If you wish to listen to music selected specifically for this book, you can find the My Lord Spotify playlist via MyLord.Shimaira.com or by searching Shimaira on Spotify.

Free eBook & Signed Bookplate

For anyone with a physical copy of this book, be sure to check MyLord.Shimaira.com to see if there’s currently a free eBook copy and/or signed bookplate available for you.

Image descriptions

The eBook comes with two variations of the cover.

Image description of the cover featuring Meya:

The background is that of a dungeon in grey and blueish hues.

In the upper part of the cover, it reads ‘L. B. Shimaira’ and below that ‘My Lord’. The title lettering appears in a silver metallic font with red and purple blood dripping from the bottom.

In the lower half of the cover, a naked white woman with wavy red hair is seated on her knees, facing right. She has her hands clasped together in front of her, and blood is spilling from them into a chalice by her knees. Her eyes are closed, and her chin is slightly turned up.

The floor around her is covered in red blood that slowly changes to purple as it runs off-screen towards the viewer. To the left of her, on the wall, are shackles.

Below her is the text: the transcended, book 1.

Image description of the cover featuring Lord Deminas:

The background is that of a dungeon in grey and blueish hues.

In the upper part of the cover, it reads ‘L. B. Shimaira’ and below that ‘My Lord’. The title lettering appears in a silver metallic font with red and purple blood dripping from the bottom.

In the lower half of the cover, a white man is standing on his knees, facing the viewer. He's wearing dark leather leggings and is topless, his long black hair cascading over his muscular shoulders. His hands are outstretched to the side with his wrists chained, the chains going off-page left and right. He's smirking deviously and his chest is covered with cuts that bleed purple. The floor around him is covered with purple blood.

Below him is the text: the transcended, book 1.

The front page of the eBook also features line-art of Meya in the same position as that of the cover: a naked woman with wavy hair seated on her knees, facing right. She has her hands clasped together in front of her, and blood is spilling from them into a chalice by her knees. Her eyes are closed, and her chin is slightly turned up.

To all who have suffered.

Be kind to yourself—you are worthy of love.

Prologue

Empty eye sockets stared back at Meya, the stench of decay wafting towards her on a warm breeze. Bile rose in the back of her throat, and she looked away whilst covering her mouth and nose with her sleeve. Flies buzzed around the decapitated head, their maggots feasting on the remaining flesh.

Oh gods, she thought, they weren’t lying back in town.

With trepidation, she hurried along the road lined with rotting heads and incomplete bodies of—what she’d been told—raiders and enemy soldiers.

She shuddered, suppressing memories that threatened to resurface, and her stomach roiled as the foul odour intensified. Gaze turned to the ground, she tried to focus on the path.

Soon it’ll stop and all will be well, Meya told herself.

She swallowed and her eyes shot up for a moment. There were four more bodies before the macabre deterrent came to an end. She was about to avert her gaze again when she noticed the last corpse was fresher. A morbid fascination took hold of her, and she scrutinised the impaled head as she passed, slowing down a little, only to quickly regret it as her meagre breakfast threatened to come up.

If the stench alone wasn’t abhorrent enough, the sight was. Meya gagged and sprinted away. She shook her head in an attempt to rid the memory, but she couldn’t unsee the many bugs crawling in and out of the festering orifices. The skin had been a rotting mess, but despite that and the fact that the birds had already made off with the eyes, she could still tell that the eyelids had been cut off.

I wonder if they did that before or after killing them…

Her upset stomach not appreciating the exertion, she slowed down. She swallowed and took a deep breath, thankful the wind was coming from the east—away from the dead. For a moment, she contemplated if she should continue down the road or head back to the town she’d just left. She’d spent a good month there and it hadn’t been too bad a place.

No. I need to get farther away. I should be able to go one or two more towns before I must settle again for the winter. She straightened, gritted her teeth, and repositioned her knapsack. Fuelled with renewed determination, she continued her journey east.

Part One

Autumn, 1239

The wheel turns and seasons shift.

Autumn leaves fall, portending the end.

But seeds carry the promise of new life.

Description below image

Image description: line-art of Meya seated on her knees facing right. Her left hand is on her left knee, while her right arm is folded across her chest. She’s turned slightly away from the viewer, causing her wavy hair to mostly obscure her face.

The word autumn is written across the image.

This line-art is featured as a chapter header for all chapters within this part.

Chapter 1

Heart pounding in her throat and covered in sweat, Meya’s eyes shot open. Panting, she looked around the small, dark room.

Relax, she told herself. It’s the middle of the night. You’re in a village, safe, far away from wars or raids. Still, her gut was telling her something was off.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She didn’t recall waking from a nightmare, but she figured that was what was troubling her.

Memories of events that had transpired a year ago flooded her mind, and she shook her head in an attempt to erase them. There are no raiders, and there’s no fire. She groaned and dropped back onto the mattress, the straw inside rustling. You’re safe. Stop worrying.

The more she tried to comfort herself, the stronger the gut feeling became. Wide awake, she stared into the dark. She thought back to what had happened at her family’s inn.

I woke up in the middle of the night then, too. If I hadn’t gone out to the latrine… She closed her eyes as she remembered the fire, the screams of her loved ones, the raiders. Her eyes snapped open. No. I won’t think about that. She sat up straight and combed her fingers through her red locks.

The sound of a door creaking, followed by several sets of footsteps, made her freeze. She held her breath as she listened intently.

There were whispering voices of men down the hall, followed by that of the innkeeper.

Meya got up, grabbed her robe off the floor and put it on. She sat back on the edge of the bed for a moment but then rushed to the door to ensure it was locked, only to scold herself soon after. They’re probably just travellers arriving late at the inn. Stop worrying already!

Yet her instincts were telling her something different. Her sandals were right next to the door and she slid them on, hoping to calm the anxiety bubbling up in the pit of her stomach, but it didn’t help. She felt her way towards a small table, the unfamiliar furniture hidden by the darkness. Her fingers found a heavy jug still half-filled with water and she grabbed it, holding it close to her chest. Better safe than sorry. She felt silly for standing in the dark like that, in what was probably the middle of the night, holding the piece of pottery, whilst her head thumped from anxiety.

The footsteps halted at her door and her breath hitched. A slam echoed through the room. Meya yelped and dropped the jug, the contents splashing all over her legs and feet. A second slam and the door gave in. She stumbled away from the blinding lamplight that flooded into the room until her back was against the wall.

Four men and a woman blocked the only way out. The innkeeper held the lantern up, her face neutral. Yes, that’s her. She handed the lamp to one of the men in exchange for some coin and left.

What? Confused, Meya watched her go, adrenaline flooding her system.

The men approached, and Meya backed away as she scanned her surroundings for a possible weapon. Not seeing anything in range to help her fight, she attempted to flee instead. She ducked for the bed, but the room was too small and the men too fast. One of them grabbed her arms and pushed her down, whilst another approached with a length of rope. With her heart pounding in her throat, she kicked and screamed, but the men easily overpowered her.

No! Let me go! She struggled in vain. I’ve done nothing wrong, please! She continued to plead as they bound her hands and feet. Let me go! A dirty cloth was forced into her mouth to silence her screams.

She’s a feisty one, the man behind her jeered.

Meya cussed into the gag and bucked, but the two holding her by the arms just laughed, unfazed.

The man holding the lamp came forward. Don’t worry. He grabbed her roughly by the hair. The market isn’t until a few days from now.

Dread churned her stomach. Market?

He turned her head left and right to get a better look at her. I’m certain I’ll have her docile by then.

Meya wanted to spit in his face. Clay-brained sard! Fire burned in her green eyes. I’m not some animal for you to tame.

She’ll fetch us some good coin, that’s certain. He tugged at her hair, causing her to wince. Docile or not.

They dragged Meya outside to a large, barred carriage drawn by two horses. One of the men unlocked and opened the door whilst another practically threw her inside. She landed roughly with a grunt, bumping her head against the leg of a boy dressed in rags. The door slammed shut, the loud noise making Meya cringe. She looked up and counted seven other people in the carriage, all bound and some gagged. Judging from their appearance, most had been poor or even homeless.

There must be some mistake. Confusion and fear made her mind spin. Why did they take me? I haven’t stolen anything. I paid the innkeep. They wouldn’t know about the raider, right? A cold shiver went up her spine. That was far away from here and almost a year ago, so no. Surely that’s not it. But then, why?

Shuddering, she curled up as the carriage started to move.

~*~

The morning sun stood low on the horizon when the carriage finally halted, though there was no town to be seen. The man who had carried the lantern earlier unlocked the door and entered, a sack in hand. The three other men stood close behind him, one of them bearing a large jug.

Alright, time for some breakfast. He began to remove the gags from those who had one.

As soon as Meya’s was gone, she spoke up. I demand to know wh—

He growled and slapped her across the face. "It seems you still need to learn your place, slave."

Meya spat at his feet. I’m no slave! Nor am I some thief! I don’t know why you—

Another slap. Silence! He crouched down in front of her. You’re a slave now because I say so. You’ve got no friends or kin in these lands to claim otherwise.

Rage and sorrow washed over her. She breathed heavily but held her tongue.

It’ll do you best to learn to behave if you wish to please your new owner.

She scoffed. And who might that be? You?

The man smiled maliciously. For the next few days, longer if no one buys you at the market.

Her face heated up until it matched the slaver’s handprint. Buy me? Do I look like livestock? Unhand me already! I—

A third slap. Better start listening soon. I can do this all day.

Meya gritted her teeth as she tried to regain her calm. I need to get out of here.

The man stared down at her for a bit before he was pleased with her lingering silence. He turned to ungag the last person. I have some bread here. He motioned for the man with the jug to enter. And some water. The jug was placed on the ground. I’ll untie two of you, and you must help your fellow to some food and drink. Am I clear?

Everyone aside from Meya nodded. The slaver noticed and grabbed a fistful of her hair, giving it a harsh yank.

You really are a—

Meya spat in his face without thinking. Oh, scite. Her eyes widened and her blood chilled in her veins. Why did I do that?

He released her hair and slowly wiped himself clean, a malicious glint in his eyes. Oh, you’ve done it now. He yanked her up by the collar of her robe. The moment she was on her feet, he punched her in the gut.

Meya buckled over, gasping for breath.

Let this be clear to every last one of you. I’m your master now until you’re sold to your new one. You will obey and respect your master. Understood?

Everyone nodded again, though Meya was still on her knees, gagging.

Good. He untied a boy and a young woman and handed them the sack of bread. Giving Meya one last look full of contempt, he left the carriage.

~*~

Sir, the boy asked through the bars.

One of the slaver’s henchmen turned around. What?

I need to pee.

The man snorted.

I… I need to go too, a woman said, followed by others stating the same.

Fine, give me a moment. He disappeared from sight only to return with the other men and the slaver.

We’ll let one of you out at a time. Don’t try anything funny, the slaver said, his eyes lingering on Meya.

Oh, I’m not going to try anything—I will escape. She gritted her teeth, another surge of anger washing over her.

When it was finally her turn, two of the men escorted her out. She walked behind a bush and glared at them. Do you mind giving a lady some privacy?

The men just smirked and kept staring at her.

Ruttish louts. She grunted, turned her back to them, and did her business. Once done and decent again, she didn’t even bother to look at the men—she sprinted away.

Angry voices were close behind her, but she kept running. Adrenaline fuelled her body as she shot through the forest. She tried to discern how close her captors were, but they’d stopped screaming. The only things she could hear were her frantic heartbeat and laboured breath. Her feet hurt from all the rocks and twigs poking through the thin leather of her sandals. She realised her speed was dropping as exhaustion began to claim her. She wanted to look behind her but was too afraid it would cause her to trip and fall.

Her side stung and her throat burned. Unable to keep her speed up any longer, she slowed down to a jog. Not five steps later, something tugged at her robe. The sudden loss of momentum caused her to lose her balance and she tumbled to the ground. The rough terrain cut and chafed her palms and knees, making her grunt in pain. She didn’t get the chance to get back to her feet as strong hands wrapped around her upper arms and hoisted her up. Her stomach churned as fear washed over her exhausted body. Panting, she looked up to see the two henchmen. Their faces were red, their chests rising and falling as fast as hers.

Oh, gods, no! Meya remained frozen in terror as the men dragged her back to the carriage. Damn, damn, damn! I need to get away! But her body was exhausted from her earlier sprint. She closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath and regain some strength. You can do this. You have to.

She allowed the men to lug her for a while, remaining limp in their grasp. With a sudden outburst, she tried to struggle free from their grip, but it was pointless. Their hold on her intensified, and she whimpered in pain.

I can’t escape. I need to escape. I can’t let them take me back and sell me into slavery. I’ve done nothing wrong! Yet terror struck her. But what if they know?

No, she tried to reason with herself. If they knew, they wouldn’t be selling me—they’d be hanging me. The thought wasn’t as comforting as she’d hoped.

The slaver had awaited their return to the carriage. His expression was one of anger, though his eyes betrayed that he was going to enjoy what was coming next. Still tried to run, eh?

Meya wanted to struggle, but the men’s tight grip on her arms hurt too much. Why don’t you just let me go? Please? she begged.

He shook his head. Oh no, no, no. He stepped towards her. Someone as pretty as you’ll do good at the market. His hands lowered to his belt, unsheathing a knife.

Meya’s eyes widened and she froze, not knowing what to do at the sight of the sharp weapon.

Still, you’d be worth more if you’d learn to behave. He turned his gaze to his men. Hold her tight.

No, no, no… Meya whimpered as they restrained her without mercy, to the point they would certainly leave big bruises. Please, no. Please, no…

Don’t move too much now. I’m going to teach you some manners.

Her eyes followed the knife. No, no, no… Please, no…

First lesson. When I tell you to do something or ask you something, you will answer with: yes, sir.

Her vocal cords refused to produce any sound. She kept her eyes locked on the blade in utter terror.

Do you understand?

She remained silent, so he punched her in the stomach with his free hand, though not as hard as he’d done previously. She buckled and gasped for breath, but the men continued to hold her firm.

It’s almost a shame to cut such beautiful skin. He lifted her robe, causing a fresh dose of adrenaline to flood her bloodstream.

Meya yelped and lashed out with her right leg. The slaver noticed just in time, ensuring she missed his crotch and instead struck his shin. He retaliated with another punch to her gut. As Meya gagged, saliva dripping to the ground, the slaver gestured for his third man to join them. He pointed to her legs and the man crouched down between the others, gripping her ankles tightly.

It’s really not hard. I’ll explain it to you again… He lifted her robe once more, but this time Meya couldn’t stop him. With her stomach and chest now bare, he brought the knife closer to her skin.

Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me…

Her muscles tried to get all flesh as far away from the cold metal as possible, but being restrained, it was of no use. Meya’s breath hitched the moment it touched her, yet her muscles remained tense—relaxing now would surely cause him to cut into her.

When spoken to, you’ll always reply with: yes, sir. Do you understand?

She didn’t answer, her head thumping and mouth dry.

The slaver put some pressure on the blade, causing a small, superficial cut on her abdomen. A constricted yelp freed itself from her throat.

Again. Do you understand?

She drew a sharp breath. Churlish, unmuzzled dog! Despite the pain and her desire to not get hurt again, her determination to not give in to the slaver was greater. I will not call you sir! She wanted to say it aloud but feared what would happen if she did.

Another shallow cut. Answer me.

Fuck you. She gritted her teeth, refusing to speak, though uncertainty set in. Would he kill—

A third cut, followed by another punch.

The world spun. If not for the men holding her, she would’ve fallen to the ground. I don’t think I can win this.

I told you I can do this all day. Now answer me: do you understand?

Scite… Is my dignity worth all this? He’s not going to stop. She wanted to cry, her stomach burning, blood trickling down into her underwear. With great reluctance, she yielded. Y-yes, s-sir.

That’s better. He took a step back so that he could have a better look at her. Are you going to behave now?

Now? For now, yes. Unbridled fury battled with her pain and fear. But the moment I get the chance… She swallowed, suppressing her emotions. Y-yes, s-sir. She kept her eyes on the ground, not wanting to see the smug grin on the slaver’s face—or for him to see any sign of defiance on hers.

No more escape attempts?

N-no, sir, she lied.

Very well. He stepped aside, allowing her robe to fall back down and cover the still-bleeding cuts. Throw her back in the carriage and tie her up.

They dragged her to the carriage, bound her limbs, and closed the door. Miserable and aching all over, Meya slid to the floor and cried in silence.

Chapter 2

The slaver stopped at two towns that day, picking up several more people to throw into the carriage. Meya stared at the others as the carriage moved over a rocky path, the sun low on the horizon.

You know… if we helped one another, we could get out of these bonds and try and break free, she suggested softly. We outnumber them. It would work.

Most of them didn’t respond, and the ones who did only shook their heads.

Meya frowned. You’re all fine with this then? You don’t care that you’re going to be sold like cattle?

Don’t get yourself worked up, a man said. It’s not that bad. I was a slave before.

Worked up? She was ready to rage at the man but suppressed the desire and instead turned to face him. If you were a slave before, how did you end up here?

He sighed. My mistress and master got killed in a fire, along with some other servants. I’ve been on the road for a month now, looking for a new home.

Meya huffed. Did you ever consider doing so as a free man?

You clearly aren’t from around here. He gave her a woeful look. I’m all alone. No kin, nobody. Out here, that makes you an outsider, and people are reluctant to offer work to outsiders.

Blanching, Meya asked, You’re telling me people here are sold into slavery for no other reason than being alone? It’s not to pay off debts or as a punishment for thieves and the like? She swallowed the lump in her throat. If I’d known that customs here were so different, I would’ve stayed far away.

Don’t worry, miss, a young boy said. Really, it won’t be so bad. My grandpa told me so when we discussed selling me.

"Your grandpa sold you?" Meya couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

The boy nodded. We were starving. This way, my grandpa will be able to survive, and I will too.

It’s not always good, though, a young woman said. I fled from my mistress a few weeks ago. She used to beat me, even if I was doing my chores right. She sighed. I tried to get far enough away, but someone in town ratted me out. I just hope my new owner will be nicer.

A cold chill ran up Meya’s spine. And you still don’t want to try to escape?

Where would I go? I have no friends, no family—I’d be hunted down again the moment people spot me. I’d rather be a slave under someone’s protection than face the world alone. Her voice trembled and she cast her eyes down. The whole reason why I became a slave in the first place was because I was left all alone. I willingly went to that mean woman and offered her my servitude in exchange for a place to call home. I feared that if I didn’t, I’d be taken and sold somewhere far away to someone unknown. At least now I had some control. Muttering, she added, If only I’d known her outward niceness was but a façade.

Meya didn’t know what to say. These people all sound so desperate. After a moment of silence, she decided to ask again. "Then maybe, if no one else here wants to escape, someone can help untie me so I can try, at least?"

Don’t, the woman said. You won’t get out of the carriage, and even if you do, they’ll catch you again and beat you up.

That’s my problem then. Please, anyone?

No one offered.

Disheartened, Meya hung her head and sighed deeply.

~*~

The next day was spent on the road. The slaver seemed satisfied with the number of captives as they passed a village without stopping. They made a few stops to allow people to relieve themselves, but aside from that, they appeared to be making haste to reach their final destination. The sun had already disappeared below the horizon when the carriage came to a halt.

Meya looked outside, but clouds darkened the sky, making it hard to see the surroundings. Nevertheless, she could discern that they were still on the forest path. Maybe this is my chance.

She lay down and brought her ankles as close to her rear as she could, then she arched her back, allowing her tied hands to reach the ropes that bound her feet.

What are you doing? someone hissed. You’re going to get in trouble.

Shh, that’ll be my problem, not yours. She closed her eyes as she focused on moving the rope. The knot was on the front, but after a lot of tugging it was within reach of her fingers. Thank the gods!

She gritted her teeth as she worked frantically on undoing the knot. The moment the ropes loosened, she smiled. She plucked them off and tried to get her still-bound hands to her front. After several painful attempts—her wrists burning from where the rope had bitten into her flesh—she gave up with a sigh.

Well, at least I can try to make a run for it. It’ll have to do.

When the door opened, Meya’s heart quickened and a cold sweat coated her skin. She swallowed as she tried to decide how and when to flee.

Two men entered the carriage and, to her shock, came to get her. They pulled her up by the arms and dragged her out, not noticing the lack of rope around her ankles.

Perhaps this can work to my advantage? She tried to suppress the terrible sense of doom that came over her. They’re not going to kill you. You’re going to be alright. You’re going to escape.

She allowed the men to carry her into the woods, her mind set on running the moment the opportunity arrived. A small clearing came into view, illuminated by a lantern hanging from a low tree branch. The slaver stood in the light, a sinister grin on his face. Her stomach turned and it took her a lot of effort not to try and run already. The men threw her to the ground, and she groaned as she landed on her knees in the damp soil.

Thank you. Now, leave us.

Meya shuddered. She turned her head to watch the henchmen go. The slaver grabbed her by the hair and made her face him instead.

The village is just below the hill. You’re going to be sold there in the morning. His fingers traced her jawline, and she gritted her teeth. But for now, you’re still mine.

The moment he released her hair, she shot up and smashed her head into his chin, knocking him back. Quickly, she found her balance and made a run for it.

Moving through the dark with her hands tied behind her back was no easy feat. Unable to feel her way, overhanging branches smacked into her face. She could discern most of the trees and managed to avoid them, but she missed a protruding rock, which caught the toe of her sandal. With a yelp, she tripped and fell to the ground.

Dazed and groaning from the impact, it took her a moment to recollect herself. When she started to rise again, a foot pressed against her back, pushing her into the damp soil.

I thought you would’ve learnt from your first attempt.

Meya froze, fear seeping through every pore.

The slaver turned her over and punched her in the face before sitting down on her upper legs. Stars clouded her vision, and she needed to blink a few times to see clearly again. He’d taken the lantern with him in his pursuit; the light it gave from its spot on the ground illuminated the slaver’s menacing form. The moment the knife in his hand became visible, her chest tightened.

Now, you’re going to start behaving, or I’m going to have to make some more cuts in that pretty skin of yours. Do I make myself clear?

Unable to think properly, she nodded in the hopes of refraining from getting hurt more.

Good. His hands went down to loosen his trousers.

Meya’s breath caught in her throat. Panicking, she tried to get out from underneath the man, but he pressed the knife against her neck. Whimpering, she closed her eyes and stopped struggling. Her entire being focused solely on survival now, and with her hands still tied behind her back and the slaver holding the weapon, this meant she remained deathly still, praying it would all be over soon.

~*~

The market opened not long after sunrise. Meya sat in the carriage, hands and feet bound, eyes cast down. She could hear the people in the distance, the auctioneer’s voice booming above all of them. Finally, it was her turn. One of the slaver’s henchmen came in, removed the rope from her ankles, and escorted her to the auction area.

Briefly, she considered running again. But where would I go? Would there be anyone willing to help me, or would they join in hunting me down? She clenched her jaw, trying not to cry. The thought of being chased again—of being caught again—was too much, and she repressed the emotions. Breathe in… and out…

She looked up and saw the boy standing on the stage. It didn’t take long before he was sold to a wealthy-looking merchant.

Good for him. Hopefully his grandpa was right and he’ll be treated well.

The woman who had fled her former abusive mistress was next. After a brief back and forth of bids, she got claimed by a madam.

Meya swallowed. What if I get forced to work at a bordello? Would they allow me to do other tasks or would they—

A cold sweat broke out as she was shoved onto the stage. The slaver stood next to the auctioneer and she averted her eyes. Lumpish canker.

With trembling legs, she moved to the centre and anxiously scanned the crowd.

What must they think of me? She was all too conscious of her appearance—her face dirty, hair in tangles, robe tattered and stained with both mud and blood—not to mention her eye that was undoubtedly black. Would they know I got a beating? And if so, would that be a good or a bad thing? She swallowed and gritted her teeth. Please, let someone pick me who will treat me with decency.

She studied the faces of the bidders. To her great dismay, she realised it had come down to two people: the bordello madam, and some fancy-dressed man with a predatory look in his eyes. As the price went up and up, her heart sank.

My life is over. She shivered and it took all of her willpower to refrain from crying and falling to her knees.

Going once, going twi—

I’ll pay double that offer, a lightly tanned man in the front row called out. He looked up at Meya with a genuine smile.

Who is he? A cold chill ran up her spine. And why would he pay so much for me?

Sold! the auctioneer yelled.

The man walked to the side of the stage to pay the slaver the hefty sum owed.

The slaver smirked. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into. This one’s feisty.

I doubt there will be any trouble, he said as he glanced at Meya.

She tried to discern who the man was and what her fate was going to be. Shoulder-length brown hair framed his face, his dark eyes warm. She guessed him to be in his mid-twenties, only slightly older than herself, and his muscular upper arms suggested that he did physical labour. The clothes he wore didn’t look fancy at all, but they were clean. If he has that much money, why doesn’t he dress better? Could he be some kind of thief? But what would a thief want with a slave?

The slaver motioned for her to come over. She reluctantly obeyed, her body still quivering slightly, and she refused to look at him.

Do you wish to keep the ropes on? the slaver asked.

The maybe-thief looked at Meya. No, you can remove them.

The slaver scoffed. I hope your stamina’s good. He then laughed, deep and loud, making Meya cringe. Though, I wouldn’t mind if she escapes—that way I’ll get to catch her—he yanked her towards him by her wrists—and sell her again!

The maybe-thief ignored the remark and simply waited in silence.

Meya closed her eyes tight—the proximity of the slaver caused her to tremble and her throat to constrict, sealing the whimper that had wanted out. He began to cut the ropes, standing too close as he did so, his presence paralysing her. The way she could feel his breath touching her… She gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the ground beneath her feet. The moment her hands were free, her eyes snapped open and she fought the urge to either run, or to break the guy’s nose and then run.

Come, the maybe-thief said, and he offered his hand.

She took a moment to consider her options and finally decided not to risk another beating—or a public lynching. It would’ve felt good to break his nose, though, she lamented. Deciding to give the strange man a shot, she took his hand. I’ll just escape later. I need to get away from this crowd first—from him.

The maybe-thief gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before shifting his grip to her arm to keep a better hold on her.

~*~

They’d both been silent the entire walk through town. Now, finally outside the city walls, the man decided to speak first.

My name’s Juris. I’m head of housekeeping at Castle Tristanja, home of Lord Deminas. He’ll be your new master.

The blood drained from Meya’s face. He’s a servant? I got sold to a lord? A chill went up her spine. Not just some lord… Lord Deminas. She thought of all the things she’d heard about him during her travels and shuddered.

I apologise; I don’t know your name. Would you mind telling me?

With a trembling voice, she replied, Meya.

Juris remained quiet, clearly debating on what to say next. Meya didn’t mind the silence; her mind was too jumbled to think clearly.

They walked for several minutes along a path between two pastures before Juris finally attempted conversation again.

Are you from around here?

Meya shook her head.

Lord Deminas is the ruler of these lands. Are you familiar with him? He glanced at her.

She swallowed, hesitant to speak. I saw the corpses of invaders—or, what was left of them—when I crossed the border. She took a deep breath. And I’ve heard some gossip, both here and when I was in the neighbouring lands.

Juris visibly cringed.

He must know the rumours. Does that mean they’re true or not?

Well, Lord Deminas came into power seven years ago after his father died defending Tristanja from invaders. Lord Deminas took revenge in a rather… bloody way. This seemed to be quite effective, though, as most attacks ceased five years ago while the last major battle was… Juris thought for a moment. Three years ago. Lord Deminas is not someone to underestimate nor someone to disrespect. As a servant of his, you’re to remember that well.

Meya nodded. I just hope he keeps his hands to himself.

Is there anything else you’d like to know? You must have a lot of questions.

Maybe later. She sighed. At least this guy seems nice. Would he chase me if I ran? Her body still ached all over. I don’t want to find out if this niceness is merely a façade. What if I run and he— She tensed up inside and suppressed the urge to cry. Gritting her teeth, she focused on walking. Left, right, left, right…

~*~

The journey continued in silence for several hours. The fields had changed into forest some time ago, and the sun had already passed its zenith, yet they still hadn’t reached the castle.

Why haven’t you tried to escape? Juris suddenly blurted out.

A surge of panic went through Meya and she looked at him, wary. Is that a serious question?

Yes, it is actually. His eyes were kind and curious, a very faint smile on his lips. There was nothing threatening about him and Meya relaxed a little.

Maybe I should tell him… She sighed. "I already tried escaping—several times. It seems