The study is exactly what I'd expect. Bookshelves lining the walls, a massive desk of dark wood, tall windows overlooking the gardens, and there, behind the desk, sits Primsyn.
She's dressed formally today, her hair once again pulled back. A deep gray jacket over a crisp white shirt; she looks every inch the wealthy widow, the head of household, the woman who owns me.
"Oliver, sit." She gestures to a chair across from her desk.
I remain standing. "I'd rather not."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "That wasn't a request."
"And I'm not a dog who sits on command."
For a long moment, we stare at each other. I can see the calculation in her gaze, weighing whether this is worth fighting over. Finally, she waves a dismissive hand.
"Fine. Stand if it makes you feel better." She pulls out a document from a drawer. "We need to discuss the terms of your...service."
"You mean the terms of my enslavement."
"If you prefer." She slides the document across the desk toward me. "These outline what will be expected of you. Your duties, your schedule, the consequences for disobedience."
I don't touch the paper. "I can't read your language."
"Of course." She leans back in her chair. "Then I'll explain. You will be available for milking each evening, after sunset. I will come to your chamber for the…sessions. And you will cooperate fully or face punishment."
My hands clench. "What kind of punishment?"
"That depends on the severity of your disobedience. Reduced rations. Confinement. Physical discipline if necessary."
"You mean beatings."
"I prefer not to use such crude methods," she says evenly. "But I will if you force my hand."
"So you'll torture me if I don't let you use me for food. Got it."
Her jaw tightens. "You're being deliberately obtuse. This is not torture, Oliver. This is survival. My survival. Without regular feeding, I'll weaken, sicken, eventually die. I need what you can provide."
"Then you should have thought of that before your people started hunting mine."
"I didn't make the rules!" For the first time, real emotion splits through her composure. "I didn't create the world we live in. I'm simply trying to survive in it, same as you."
"Except you have all the power and I have none."
She stands abruptly, her palms flat on the desk. "You think I wanted this? You think I enjoy having to keep sentient beings for nutrition? I don't. But what choice do I have? Starve? Die? Let my household fall into ruin?"
"You could fight to change things."
"One person can't change an entire society."
"Then you're a coward."
She moves so fast I don’t see it coming, only feel the aftermath. I hear a sharp crack as her palm meets my cheek, and pain streaks across my face.
Silence hangs in the air between us.
Primsyn's eyes flash, turning cold and hard as ice. When she speaks, her voice is deadly quiet.
"Get out."
"What?"
