She was right. I did. And the worst part? I want to do it again.
I pace the room after eating, trying to work off the restless energy coursing through me. My body feels different today, stronger somehow, like something in Primsyn's feeding awakened parts of me that were dormant. It doesn't make sense, but I can feel it in my muscles, in my blood.
With nothing to do but obsessively calculate how many hours left until nightfall, I think of her.
Stop it!
But I can't. She's everywhere, and it’s so fucking confusing.
I need to escape, to get out of here before this gets worse, before I start wanting things I have no right to want. But it’s hopeless. The word settles in my chest like a brick.
Around midday, the door unlocks again. I tense, expecting another servant, but it's Corvask who enters. He carries clothing over one arm, his expression as neutral as ever.
"Madam Primsyn has requested you join her for the midday meal," he announces.
I stare at him. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me correctly. She wishes for your presence at lunch." He sets the clothing on the bed. "Please dress appropriately. I'll return in ten minutes to escort you."
He leaves before I can protest.
I look at the clothes he brought. Nicer than the simple trousers I've been wearing: dark pants, a fitted shirt, even shoes. As if I were a guest.
What the hell is she playing at?
The clothes fit well, clearly tailored for someone my size. Did she have these made for me? How long has she been planning this?
Corvask returns exactly ten minutes later, his timing impeccable. He looks me over with an appraising eye and gives a small nod of approval.
"This way."
I follow him through corridors I haven't seen before, taking in every detail. Old habits. Even if escape seems impossible, I need to know the layout of this place.
We end up in a smaller dining room, intimate compared to what I imagine the formal dining hall looks like. Tall windows overlook the grounds. A table set for two. And standing by the window is Primsyn.
She's dressed formally today, her hair pulled back in that severe style, every inch the wealthy widow. But when she turns and sees me, relief or pleasure or both, flicker in her eyes.
"Oliver. Thank you for joining me."
"I had a choice?" I mutter.
A smile tugs at her lips. "You always have a choice. You could have refused to dress, refused to leave your room. I would have had to drag you here, and that would have been unpleasant for both of us." She gestures to the chair across from her. "Please."
I sit, wary and confused. Corvask bows and leaves, closing the door behind him, and we're alone.
"Why am I here?" I ask.
Primsyn settles into her chair with the perfect posture she always maintains. "Because I wanted your company."
"My…company."
"Yes."
"I'm cattle, remember? Why would you want me at your table?"
Something tightens in her expression. "Perhaps I'm tired of eating alone."
The words land heavier than they should, hinting at a loneliness I wasn't expecting. For a moment, I see past the owner, past the Mistress, to the woman underneath. The one who stayed in my bed last night like she needed the contact.
