His nostrils flare. "Understood,Mistress." He makes the title sound like a curse.
I allow myself a small smile. "Good. Youcanlearn. Corvask, take him to the bathing chamber. I'll join you shortly."
Corvask gestures to two household guards, both Lactari built like stone walls. They flank Oliver, not touching him but making their presence known. Oliver's gaze darts between them, calculating. I can practically see him measuring distances, weighing odds.
"Don't," I say quietly. "You'll only hurt yourself, and I'd prefer you intact."
"For milking," he says flatly.
"Yes."
Something flashes across his face. Humiliation? Arousal? Both? His hands curl into fists, the shackles clinking softly.
"This way," Corvask says, his tone brooking no argument.
Oliver follows, because what choice does he have? I watch him go, admiring the rigid set of his shoulders, the way he holds himself like a warrior even in chains.
This one will be a challenge. And I look forward to it.
I giveOliver time to bathe while I change from my auction attire into something more comfortable. A loose tunic and fitted trousers, both in deep charcoal. I leave my hair down, an unusual choice for me, but I want something different. I want to feel different,bedifferent, not made of stone.
But Oliver doesn't look at me like I'm made of stone. He looks at me like I'm real, dangerous, something to be destroyed. It's intoxicating.
I make my way to the bathing chamber, my bare feet silent on the cool floors. The sound of splashing water reaches me before I enter. Corvask stands outside the door, ever the proper steward.
"He's been...resistant," Corvask says diplomatically.
"Has he hurt anyone?"
"No, Madam. Mostly curses and threats."
"Let me speak with him alone."
Corvask's blue eyes widen. "Madam, I don't think that's wise. He's not properly trained yet. He could be dangerous."
"I'm well aware." I gesture for him to step aside. "Wait outside. I'll call if I need assistance."
He looks like he wants to argue but knows better. With a stiff bow, he moves down the corridor, taking the guards with him.
I push open the door.
The bathing chamber is one of the larger ones, with a sunken pool of heated water in the center and shelves lined with soaps and oils. Steam rises in lazy curls, fogging the mirrors. And there, kneeling in the water at the far end of the pool, with hisback to me, is Oliver. His hands rest on the edge with his head lowered to his chest.
The shackles are gone. His wrists are raw and red where the metal had bitten into skin. Water sluices down his back, tracing the lines of muscle, the curve of his spine. He's taller than I'd estimated, broader through the shoulders. A hunter's body, lean and powerful.
He must sense my presence because his shoulders tense, but he doesn't turn around.
"Get out," he says.
"This is my household. I go where I please."
"Then I'll get out."
"Stay." One word, but I put command behind it.
He freezes, water lapping at his waist. Slowly, so slowly, he stands and turns to face me.
I've seen naked males before. My household has more than several. But none of them look like this. None of them make my breath catch in my throat.
