-The perverted handmaiden and her foul master -

[21.02.1624]

Mallowston.

Malina was uncertain how to interpret her father's return. Part of her was relieved to see he yet breathed, though dreadfully worn. Yet, she harboured resentment for the dire straits he'd plunged them into. His coveting of the von Grifenburg lands had inadvertently led to the forfeiture of their own. Her ire toward the count swelled with the revelation of his defeat by the Earl of Faywyn in combat; a lad two years her junior, renowned in the locale for his timid, soft-spoken demeanour.

Her pitiful brother guided their sire into what was meant to be temporary lodgings. Never had the lady envisaged she would dwell in the guest chambers of her own abode, yet there she was, confined to cramped quarters with her mother and sister, while theirs were usurped by hostile interlopers.

The guest chambers they occupied were meagerly outfitted with basic accoutrements: a bed, a chest for stowing scant personal effects, and a small table with a chair for repasts and correspondence. The walls, of rough-hewn stone, stood stark and barren, while the floors, compacted earth and stone, were strewn with straw for modicum warmth and comfort. Malina had never envisaged herself residing in such humble environs, yet there she stood.

Wrinkling her nose at the pungent odour emanating from her father's bedraggled form, the lady seized the water pail at her mother's feet, bearing it outside to be replenished—an act of manual toil she'd never before undertaken. Despite the apparent simplicity depicted by the serving wenches, Malina quickly discerned the labour's taxing nature. Receiving a fresh pail from a scullery maid, she retraced her steps to the chamber, only to find her parents embroiled in a heated dispute.

"You shall not surrender my daughter unto that odious wretch!" her mother snarled, thrusting an accusatory finger toward her father's visage. "I shall not allow it! Nay, I shall not!"

"We have no alternative, Annit!" her father retorted, though feeble, plainly still enervated from the ordeal. Malina blanched at his words. Surrender me? She murmured to herself, her eyes widening in trepidation.

"Nay! I forbid it!" her mother persisted, speaking over the count. She turned to Gilbert, clasping his wrist before facing her spouse once more. "Have you witnessed the torments that monster inflicted upon our son?" she cried, caressing Gilbert's cheek. "He subjected my son to weeks of anguish, reducing him to nought but a hollow shell! Our son! That demon-spawn is no sane being! He is akin to his sire—a monstrous fiend!"

"I KNOW!" her father erupted, eyes brimming with tears as he stared up at Lady Annit from his seat. "...I know. Yet, we are bereft of recourse! The earl would strip us of our titles! Failing that, he would sever our heads. For ten years, we shall serve as his vassals—serfs!—under him; I act to shield her! To safeguard us!"

Malina paled further. "Stripped?" her mother echoed, pallor overtaking her complexion.

"Aye," her father sighed, slumping in his seat. "Stripped. Surrendering Malina to serve as his handmaiden was the utmost I could wring from the compact; I entreated for Titi, yet he rebuffed her service as his betrothed's attendant. Mayhap the spirits look kindly upon us, and Malina may earn his favour, perchance even his affection. If not, I dread what the future may hold."

"...I shall be bartered like a common whore to the man who reduced my brother to a whimpering simpleton?" Malina demanded, her voice trembling, cheeks stained with tears. "All to spare us from a less dire existence?.. Is this the rosy future you promised, Father?"

The count remained silent, his gaze downcast. Malina sniffled as she regarded him, flinging the pail to the ground, its contents spilling across the floor. With a stifled sob, she turned and fled blindly down the corridors. Whither she went, she knew not, only that solitude was her sole desire at that moment. Alas, the spirits were not disposed to grant even that respite.

As she burst into a chamber, she collided with a towering, sinewy figure, clearly male by the prominence of his muscles. Gazing upward, her eyes met a pair of azure-green orbs—cool, unfeeling spheres they were. They were beautiful…

In a frightening sort of way.

Malina," the figure called, jolting her from her thoughts. With a sudden realization, she found herself standing before the very being that had torn her life asunder. The earl regarded her with a curious gaze. "Art you lost?" he inquired.

Malina recoiled from the earl, glaring at him before realizing she stood within her father's chamber, her feet having led her there of their own accord. "...Ah," the earl murmured as if a sudden revelation had dawned upon him. "Your father has just delivered the news, has he not? You poor thing."

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The girl choked back another sob. The loathsome creature was taunting her.

"...You monster," she whispered. The earl smiled. "Return to your mother, Malina," he said, circling around her to depart the room.

Malina stood trembling, first from fear, then from fury. Suddenly, she whirled on her heel and seized the earl's arm, pulling him around to face her. "You wish to see me tremble beneath you like a common harlot, do you not?" she spat. "Very well, then. My virtue remains unsullied. I am certain you would derive great pleasure and satisfaction from defiling that as well!"

The earl frowned as he was drawn into the chamber. Malina turned to confront him as she shed her garments. "Proceed," she said, "take me and be done with it."

"...Upon what bed?" the earl inquired, his smile playful. Mocking. "Do you expect a man of my stature to debase myself by sarding a mere servant upon my writing table? Or perhaps you hoped that I would cast you upon the floor and ravish you as some base peasant guard would a scullery maid? I must say, Malina, You do possess quite the perverted imagination."

Malina paled momentarily at the earl's words before her countenance flushed with fiery indignation. "Do as you will, My Lord," she retorted, cynical. "I care not how you choose to indulge in the debased pleasures that creatures of your kind find so gratifying!"

The earl paused, then chuckled. "Debased pleasures, she does say," he chortled, circling around her to perch upon the table. His gaze remained fixed upon her, yet curiously, he showed no interest in her form. He regarded her with the same fascination as a child beholding a peculiar trinket found along the wayside.

"...What ails you?" Malina asked, suddenly feeling uneasy under the scrutiny of the enigmatic man. "Am I not fair enough for you? Or art you but an impotent little tyrant beneath all your cruelty and sadism?"

The earl shook his head, smiling still. "Go to your mother, Malina. I shall summon you when I require your presence." With that, he rose once more and departed the chamber. This time, Malina found herself unable to call after him. Alone in the chamber, she found herself bare to the elements as she was the day she came into the world; her eyes bloodshot and cheeks streaked with fresh tears.

Weary.

***

"My Lord," Lancelot spake as his eyes beheld the duke's quiet figure by the window. "I have heard tidings of your return from Ser Carter and scarce could I credit mine ears. I am gladdened to see you in good health."

"I am likewise gladdened to behold your well-being, old friend." Aden smiled as he turned to face his viscount.

"The journey must have wearied you greatly, My Lord," Lancelot continued. "How fare ye? And what of Their Majesties? I have not yet had the chance to pay them my respects."

"We fare well. Vaiu unexpectedly beset us on our passage hither, yet she proved to be a gracious hostess. My son apprised me of your stewardship in organizing his fledgling army. How do matters progress?"

"Strangely enough, they proceed most favourably, My Lord," Lancelot responded with a weary grin. "Though still in their infancy, myriad issues do arise; yet overall, I deem them surprisingly proficient. A small contingent is set to march forth anon. The young lord wishes to parley with the Timels to secure certain concessions."

"I have heard tell," the duke affirmed with a nod. "At present, you needst not seek my leave for anything; officially, I am yet to return, and I deem it wise to maintain this narrative."

"...Wouldst you suffer the earl to govern in your stead, My Lord?" Lancelot inquired, bemused.

"Aye. This presents an opportunity for the lad to mature. He has displayed a newfound interest in governance; I would not thwart his growth. Should he require counsel, I stand ready to provide it. Moreover, I have heard much of his achievements during my absence and now hold a vested interest in witnessing some of it firsthand."

"As My Lord commands, so shall it be," Lancelot consented.

"...You seem not to object to serving the youth? I had expected you to be more resistant, given his tender years."

"The young lord has proven his worth, My Lord," Lancelot smiled. "I harbour no qualms. Besides, I am indebted to him for my life; had he not intervened, I would have perished on the night of Sean's rebellion. For that alone, he is as deserving a leader as any man."

Aden nodded. "You should retire for the night, my friend," he decreed, turning to resume his vigil at the window. "We shall convene at dawn to deliberate upon the matters concerning Bycrest."

"Indeed, My Lord." Lancelot bowed before taking his leave.