This settled the turmoil in her stomach. At least if they thought her home was in ruins, they would stay to the south a while longer.
Being back in the game, even with her chained to the ceiling and being presented as a trophy, kept her alive.
She ached for information on her own home as well as theirs. She craved the words and ignorant ramblings these men went on with. And even through the haze of her pain and rumbling stomach, it was one more thing keeping her from curling up and allowing her flames to consume her.
Exhale the fire, sister.
During the next meeting, Nyssa was given a job. To walk the room in a scantly clad dress and serve wine. She'd had to use all her restraint that day as the men grabbed at her or slapped her ass when she would bend to pour the wine.
That night, she'd shaken and cried so severely, she nearly set the entire place on fire.
The Noble only brought her into the meetings while the wife was away, and that day was no different. She was given another sheer dress. This one was a blue color that hung over her breasts and tied at the waist. It, at least, looked as though it hadn't been worn.
She wondered if there were new guests at the meeting.
Once she was dressed, the wife's favored Porter, Quinn, came for her. He’d been halfway decent to her, and even though he still grabbed her relentlessly, at least he never spat in her face or made crude remarks to her as the others did. They seemed to pick on him as well, calling him a uniq and shouting at him for being soft.
That morning, though, he brought her bread and a small drink of water.
Nyssa stared at Quinn. "What—“
"It was all I could do," he cut in.
Despite how hungry she was, she broke off a small piece and then stashed the remainder beneath the scratchy dress she'd been using as a blanket. The staleness tasted like the greatest delicacy she'd ever put in her mouth. And the water... The water was life itself. As dirty as it may have been, the wash of it down her dry throat made her chest cave.
"Thank you," she said to him.
But Quinn only gave her a nod. He removed the shackle from her ankle and placed the familiar ones around her wrists.
The new man that the Noble had been so proud to present her to the day before was back.
The man was a Commander of what she was told was their finest legion— he had smelled her hair the day before in their meeting. The Noble had asked what the Commander thought of her and if she would please the Prince. Nyssa had stood her ground firm, ignored the man walking around her. He'd said her hair needed to be brightened but that the rest of her seemed to be coming along.
A great burly man, he continuously pushed out his chest as though trying to make himself look more prominent. His tawny hair was cut short, a kept beard and mustache wrapping neatly on his face. Bechmen was speaking with him when she and Quinn entered the room. Together, the pair turned in her direction, and brows lifted on the man's face.
"Very good, Commander Luka," Bechmen said in a drawl, smile quirking on his lips. "This dress was a grand choice. Maid—“ he snapped his fingers, and another servant came to his side, bowing before him “—You'll tell my wife to find more fabrics in this color from the traders and send word for more on the ships from home. We'll need to wrap our Princess in such a color to present to the Prince." He turned and clapped Luka on his shoulder. "One of your late mistress's dresses, I presume?"
"It was," Luka answered, his gaze shifting so predatorily over Nyssa that she couldn't help the squirm in her knees.
Bechmen snapped his fingers at Quinn. "Porter, remove her shackles today," he insisted. "She'll not be escaping anywhere under our watch."
Moving her wrists as she wanted felt of a luxury she didn't know she would ever crave. She rubbed her wrists and stood in the corner while the men settled, and then she started pouring their wine as the minutes were brought forth.
With the shackles off and the freedom to move about the room, she started to feel more comfortable. Unlike other times, the men were not ogling at her as possessively. Apparently, they were getting used to the Noble parading his little spoil around, no matter how sheer and revealing her dress might be.
The familiarity of her eyes darting from each person who spoke to the next… Watching the brushes of their fingers across the glasses… The cut of their eyes and raise of their brows when another would speak…
This.
This she could do.
This she knew.
She poured each of them the wine and then held at the back of the room opposite Bechmen. She had a good vantage point and was able to see both he and Luka. She watched from over the shoulder of the one that had pinched her breast the day before as she wished not to allow him to watch her the entire time.
Luka seemed to pay more attention to her than the rest of the room, presumably because he was the newest of the group, and she assumed because she was wearing a dress given by him. She wasn't sure what game he was playing at or if the Noble had bartered something with him, but she intended to find out.
They spoke of the usual. So much of the same that it was easier for her to pick up the noted movements of each person, remembering what they'd done at the meeting before and using it to her advantage.
