The first rule was to never look them in the eyes. Catching the attention of a Fae was always bad, but to lock eyes with one probably meant that you could say goodbye to any chance of being in control of your body for the rest of your life.

... or your mind.

Just like Rowan who was now on his hands and knees serving as the Master's footrest as if there were nowhere he'd rather be. I don't know exactly how it happened. Maybe he'd been curious. After all, we humans never got to have a good look at our superiors - only hurried glances when it felt like there was an opportunity to get away with it. Or was it an accident? Had his eyes been passing from one point to the next when it just so happened to catch the gaze of the Master?

I suppose it didn't really matter. What happened was this: he'd caught the eyes of beings that treated us as nothing more than either the help or the entertainment and he was now paying the price.

I stared at his arms and legs from where I knelt in the corner of the room although, it was not out of choice. There was simply nothing else to stare at. They were trembling. Hardly at first - but that was hours ago. I wondered if he knew? If he knew that he was no longer himself and was screaming in a mental prison of the Master's making.

His arm gave into the strain.

My heart skipped a beat.

I ducked my head lower as I saw a brief flash of legs, linen, and feet drop to the floor.

"Oh?"

The voice was silken, tinged with amusement.

"Was that all?"

I heard the scraping of a chair and I braved a glance. Rowan was back on his hands and knees, leaning heavily on one side, his right arm unable to hold his weight though it didn't keep him from trying. The Master was crouched at his side, head cocked, and I thanked all the stars in the sky that his back was turned to me.

"I've just lost a bargain because of you." He hummed and even that simple sound was melodic to my ears. I bit my cheek, forcing myself to stay alert. I refused to succumb to something as small as a sigh.

The Master stood and I lowered my eyes but not before I saw his face. There was no registration that the Master had spoken at all. Just a simple smile, a euphoric glee that blanketed his face even as his body trembled with failure. Did he know that his body was begging to be relieved of this torture?

"Little Ashling?"

That was the second rule. When they called you - and even when they didn't - you were expected to be there and fulfill their every whim and folly.

I stood softly in one smooth stroke, ignoring the ache of kneeling for so long. I couldn't hesitate. I had to be next to the Master.

If I'd been younger, I would've scrambled to my feet but that had been swiftly beaten out of me. The Master had no fondness for scrambling.

"Get the wine that was gifted to me by Elouan."

I turned immediately, using the ornate engravings on the glass floor to guide me out of the bedroom. My eyes wandered up just a fraction every turn to confirm that I was headed towards the cellar.

I didn't recognize the name but I knew who it was for. Auberon - the two were as thick as thieves. The closest thing to family a Fae could have. As I understood it, all Fae were born of the Elder Tree however, the Elder Tree was so big that the Fae were separated by different castes. There were four royal families, each head of their own respective elements followed by the Si, Fae nobility separated into different groups known as Septs. The common folk were made up of pixies, sprites, and imps depending on the manner by which they were born.

I had little to no information on the Imps though I'd overheard that they were a particularly devious sort that held little regard for rules, even ones enforced by their own.

I opened the door to the wine cellar and welcomed the earthy scent that enveloped me as I descended into the dark. The Master hated coming here though that was hardly surprising. All Fae had an affinity towards the warmth and light which meant the cellar would never find a Fae visitor in its bowels.

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I took this moment to lift my head, feeling a small liberation at being able to do so. It was dark but my eyes were slowly adjusting to the shapes in front of me. I walked past the wine at the front - meant for gaiety and guests - and slowed to a halt at the back wall. It was lined with a fair selection of wine that was gifted to him by those of the same Sept and those that weren't.

I might not know who Elouan was but I knew who he wasn't so I narrowed the choices down to seven wine bottles that I didn't know the origin of. I swallowed nervously. Seven to choose from and any one of them could spell my death or worse. My doom.

There were no labels to differentiate them, nothing to suggest that they were different at all save for their shape. My heart hammered loudly in my chest and picked one.

The Master could not be kept waiting.

My hurried steps echoed around me as I tried not to grip the bottle too tightly.

Was it wrong?

There were six bottles that would spell trouble but only one that would be my redemption.

I should've known who Elouan was.

Yet, it was impossible for me to have known who Elouan was or even when he'd gifted this wine. It could've been a hundred years ago. It could've been yesterday.

I had no time to further ponder my fate - over a bottle of wine, no less - as I'd found myself proffering the bottle to the Master, above my head, on bended knees. 

I could almost feel delight bubble out of me as he laughed. "Little Ashling, this: the wine from Elouan? Hardly. He would never send me such a paltry thing. Again."

I accepted the dismissal readily. I used the short walk towards the cellar to look at the wine that he called paltry.

Even by human standards, paltry was an apt term for this bottle. It was glass - all the wine bottles were - but that was about the extent of its value. It was a small thing, shaped like a cube, that fit comfortably in one hand. There were scratches here and there that may have been the result of mishandling or simply the result of being too low in status.

I stood once again, facing the back wall. I carefully shelved the wine bottle in its original place and considered the remaining six options. Did sending me back mean he was offering a second chance to correct my mistake?

I thought about his remarks and scrutinized one that looked remarkably splendid. When I emerged into the halls, it was even more so.

The glass winked in the light, shaped into a magnificent bird perched within the confines of a birdcage. The wine was a deep burgundy that promised a mouth watering complexity that could not be given by another. It was about the size of my chest and I made sure to keep it upright and tightly held as I presented it, once again, to the Master.

A chuckle now. "He hates me far too much to gift me such a beauty." I heard the clink of his nail on the wine as he murmured. "Again."

My stomach dropped at the command.

Then, it dropped further as he repeated it.

"Again."

"Again."

"Again."

At this point, my heart had started to thunder so loudly in my chest that it was drowning out my thoughts. The Master hardly tolerated mistakes, much less a series of five of them. I had bruises, new and old, to prove just how little patience he had for imperfection.

And a lot of memories, too.

I turned the thought away as I offered the sixth bottle of wine. "Honestly, were you planning on presenting the whole cellar to me?"

The fear was instant. It was the wrong one.

Then, the weight on my hands lifted and he took a seat at his desk again. His feet lifted to rest on Rowan's back again but Rowan was now lying face-down on the floor. For a heart-stopping, terrifying moment, I thought that he'd been killed.

But searching his face, I could see the same soft smile with the same blank eyes and the terror that I felt just a second ago morphed into pity.

I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.

I didn't have room in my heart to pity others when I wasn't even sure how long I'd be able to keep my head as my own. I felt the pity drain into nothingness as I tasted blood.

I felt a hand grab my wrist as I was yanked up. The chair had been knocked backwards and I was now staring at the Master's chest.

"Little Ashling, you're bleeding," he crooned and I flinched. My hand was still held high above my head, my body stretched as tall as it could go without my toes leaving the floor. His other hand came up, his thumb brushing my teeth.

"Don't you understand just how drunkenly devastating the smell of your blood can be?"

I nodded. He dropped my hand but cupped my face immediately.

"Answer me," he whispered, tapping his forehead to mine.

The third rule: don't answer them. To hear humans speak fascinated them to no end - that a lesser being thought to address them at all seemed to spark an endless carousel of tricks and pranks and a constant stream of attention that usually ended in gouged eyes, a butchered tongue, or a combination of mutilation that kept me awake at night.

"Yes, Alvar," I whispered, unable to avert my eyes.

His eyes, usually the color of a deep and settled maroon, flared a bright scarlet. I could see the barest presence of bloodlust edging into the intensity of his eyes.

My breath caught at the beauty of it.

Then, it was gone.

I fell to my knees, barely registering the pain that bloomed from the sudden drop. He had resumed scratching out his note, presumably to send to Auberon. "You are not allowed to make yourself bleed."

It was never a request.

It was always an order.

"Answer me, Little Ashling."

I closed my eyes. There were three unspoken rules that kept humankind safe, silent, and invisible.

"Yes, Alvar."

I wish it had applied to me, too.