3. Willful Disobedience
A drian had never been to the washrooms. Such places as the lower levels of the palace were beneath him.
But Larkin had been throwing tantrums for days. He destroyed Adrian’s favorite office chair—easily replaced but annoying. When that, and the continued whining in his ear, didn’t work, he demolished a public sitting room and made a spectacle at one of his mother’s embroidery parties.
Adrian didn’t care about the damages, but his mother’s nagging about getting his untamed beast under control was horrendous.
So, he was lowering himself to fix his pet’s problem.
Everybody in the large, smelly, humid room bowed. Larkin made a scene, angrily voicing his displeasure in loud cries that echoed and hurt Adrian’s ears.
And then he landed on the shoulder of a slave. Her stained and dirty dress—if it could be called that—hung limply off her gaunt form. She was covered in grime, her nasty nest of hair hanging to cover her face as she bowed. Her wrists bled onto the concrete floor, the twitch of a finger causing another drop to fall. He couldn’t scent it over the burning chemicals and stink of sweat.
But he was furious that she was hurt.
He was furious that she was here.
“I gave orders for this slave not to be touched. Why, pray tell, is she bleeding?” The superior laundry maid—denoted by her uniform—only trembled. He folded his hands behind his back. “Why is she even down here? My orders were for her to join my staff.”
“Oh . . . um . . . well, I think . . .”
“Useless.” He sighed. “Your insolence will no longer be tolerated. You are fired. Leave the palace immediately.”
The maid lifted her head, shock written on her face.
Adrian turned on his heel, striding purposefully out. “Come, slave.”
Before they were out of the room, the murmurings began about his presence and why he’d intervened for a slave . It was well-known throughout the city, and likely farther, that he’d saved the disgusting wretch. Larkin’s antics, always written about in the papers, kept the situation at the forefront of people’s minds.
He’d put the female where she should have been from the start. That should please Larkin so he’d quit his fits.
And it would get his mother off his back.
In his apartments, Adrian sent for Javier and a physician before roughly shutting the curtains on his windows. The sun was rising past midmorning. The glare on the snow hurt his sensitive eyes.
Gods, he was so fucking tired.
But there was too much work for sleep to take precedence.
Turning to the slave dripping blood on his damn carpet, he began removing his outer jacket. Larkin nuzzled her cheek, making the little chirps normally only given to him . The slave tentatively stroked the hawk’s foot, and then his belly.
He wanted to snap that Larkin was his and demand the return to his shoulder. He wanted to order the slave not to touch what belonged to him .
But such orders would be futile.
Until the infatuation faded, Larkin would continue nursing it.
What did his pet see in her? She was disgustingly smelly, offending to the eye, and . . . hardly noticeable as female. Some of her characteristics even hinted that she was a strange kind of bastard—like the pointed ears and her freakish height. She was almost as tall as him for Moon Goddess’s sake!
And she was frail and fragile. The blood still slowly dripping on his carpet proved that. There was dried blood on her head, hinting at an old wound, and he wondered what she’d done to warrant such punishment, especially against his orders.
She must be as atrocious at work as she was in sight.
“Why are you hurt?”
Her gaze flicked to his shoes and then back to her own feet as she swallowed, clasping her hands tightly in front of her as she bowed her head as much as her collar allowed.
“Are you stupid or just insubordinate?” Adrian asked, toeing off his shoes and kicking them toward his tossed jacket. When she didn’t immediately answer, he stepped closer. Larkin ruffled his feathers as if in warning as she stiffened.
“I am neither, Your Highness.” Her voice was low and raspy, as if from disuse. She cleared her throat.
“Then answer my question.”
She remained silent.
“Who hurt you? Someone must pay for my bloody carpet.”
She only pursed her lips .
“Willful and disobedient,” Adrian muttered. “I’m willing to bet that is why you were being whipped the day Larkin demanded I take you. I’m also willing to bet it is why you have so many scars, and why you are hurt again .”
Showing no shame, she turned her head toward Larkin, smiling as he cooed in her ear. Adrian rolled his eyes at the display of affection.
At the knock on the door, he called, “Enter.” And when the physician stepped in, he motioned with his chin. “Treat her.”
“Again, sir?”
“I did not stutter.”
As the doctor set his bag down beside the slave, Adrian walked to the door to tell one of the attendants in the hall, “Get me a glass of spiked wine.” When he turned back to the room, a salve was being applied to the tortured skin under his slave’s manacle. “Take those damn things off.”
The doctor looked up sharply. “Your Highness . . .” Looking down at the manacle, he shook his head. “Only a slave trader has the key to remove such bonds. I can treat and bandage the cuts, but that is all.”
Adrian wanted to be angry that his wishes weren’t immediately carried out, but he knew what the doctor said was true.
“Fine.” He sighed, sitting near the window. The sunlight peeking around the heavy fabric made him itchy, but he didn’t move. “Continue.” He motioned, and then gladly accepted the blood-spiked wine his attendant delivered. Slowly sipping, he waited for the physician to finish, wondering where the fuck Javier was.
“That’s the best I can do. I fear if the slave continues to receive punishment, the wounds and scarring will only be worse. Medicine can only do so much, Your Highness.”
A wave of Adrian’s hand was the doctor’s dismissal.
Before he left, the slave said quietly, “Thank you. ”
Seconds later, Javier walked in.
“I told you to put her somewhere Larkin could get to her readily, not the godsdamn basements!”
Javier bowed apologetically. “I apologize, Your Highness. I honestly thought you were joking.”
Adrian lifted an eyebrow. “Unlikely. I would believe, however, that you were trying to piss off my pet.”
Javier hid a smirk, glancing at said pet, who glided from the slave’s shoulder and landed as the leopard. Curling his body around hers, he growled protectively.
“I’m trembling,” Javier deadpanned. “Honestly, Prince Adrian, why do you indulge this beast?” He gestured and ignored the responding hiss. “He’s a spoiled brat.”
“He has been by my side since I was ten, Javier, and has saved my life more than once, which you well know. I owe him much more than a slave.” He looked at her again as she stroked Larkin’s ears.
“I want her working for me.”
“Sir, with all due respect—”
“This is not a negotiation. Give her to Mrs. Hawthorne, as you should have from the start, and no more caustic chemicals.” He glanced at the slave’s red and raw hands, which she put behind her back. “She is not to be harmed. If she disobeys or is insolent, you will notify me.”
“As you wish.” Javier bowed.
“Clean her up as well and give her some decent clothes. She looks like a damn boy.”
“Sir, she is a slave.”
“I do not care. She is filthy and smells, and I find it offensive.”
Javier bowed again. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get out of my sight. I’m tired.”