He knew that those who let their hearts rule their heads lost the head in question, just as he knew that if he lost his head it would end on a pike somewhere, overlooking the usurper's victory feast.He knew that those who let their hearts rule their heads lost the head in question, just as he knew that if he lost his head it would end on a pike somewhere, overlooking the usurper's victory feast. Rhea was a slave, a mere toy to satisfy his every whim, and nothing more. The feelings that were causing her image to intrude upon him so often were most likely only generated by the fact that she had pleased and satisfied him the most of all of his slaves. She had always served well, except for the incident Ferone One-hand had set up for her with the poisoned needle, but even this was changing of late. She had recently become careless. She had permitted Gold-lily to become bruised, even though the elf had caused the bruises herself and inflicted worse on Rhea. This could almost be excused, perhaps with only light discipline since it was the result of Gold-lily refusing to accept her place as a slave. Then, she had not educated the elf in her new duties to her master. Gold-lily was resistant and obstinate and had nearly thrown him out of bed the last time he had summoned her. This too was almost excusable, since she had not spent more than a day and a half with the elf. Finally, there was the matter of that miserable priest. Rhea had never failed in a seduction before, and the Dark Lord did not like the look of the pattern that might be developing. But she had not lost her talent for pleasing him, as the languid feeling in his limbs reminded him. Her most recent performance, less than an hour ago, had more than adequately reassured him that she was still serviceable. The servants completed their tasks and bowed out of the door when he dismissed them. Left alone, with not even a guard or one of his hounds for company and protection, he stared blankly across the delicate crystal goblets, molded off of the delightful breasts of a long-sold slave, and the silver dishes. He reserved the gold plates for very formal occasions. A sigh escaped him as the empty chairs suddenly filled with ghosts of the past; most gone to their graves, but a select few still able to look at him each time he passed through the Hall of Skulls. One of the costs of building an empire is living with the ghosts of those who fell to make the construction possible, and I have indeed paid heavily. |