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I hope she’s still as feral as she seems. Murderous, for sure, but oddly, I didn’t smell true evil on her.
Of course, you don’t have to be evil to sin. One good sin is enough to get you here, but for all her bravado about being glad she killed that man, she doesn’t seem wicked in any other way.
More’s the pity.
A puzzle is what she is.
A very pretty puzzle that I’d like to figure out. Something to break the boredom of millennia trapped in Hell.
I move through the castle, trying to avoid eye contact so I’m not stopped. There’s always a bustle of Dark Fae within these halls as the business of running the Underworld cannot be done single-handedly. In addition to those who serve me and my needs as ruler, nobles and their families live in various apartments within the luxury of the obsidian towers.
Still, it’s not overly crowded. The castle could easily house a thousand, but there are probably only a quarter of that living here currently. Many moved out to their own homes in Otaxis once I took the throne and made upgrades.
I halt at the doorway leading into the kitchen, and the bustle of workers all dressed in brown makes the search for Nyssa difficult. Upon the hard crack of leather on skin, my head turns, and I see Rhynda—a Dark Fae ravager who was in service to Kymaris—striking someone across the back.
Not just someone.
Nyssa.
She’s bent over, naked from the waist up. She holds her shirt to her chest, and Rhynda brings a flogger down on her with another sharp crack. Nyssa’s body jerks, but she doesn’t utter a sound.
Impressive. That had to hurt.
I walk over as Rhynda raises the flogger for a third hit, but she sees me and lowers it, assuming a position of attention with her hands clasped before her.
“Your Highness,” she says, and Nyssa’s head whips my way. Her chocolate-brown hair falls over one eye as she watches me warily.
Her back is crisscrossed with red streaks, and I ignore the surprising burn of anger deep in my gut, for I should have no care whatsoever about this inconsequential human’s pain.
I force neutrality into my tone. “I see the new servant is giving you trouble. What warranted the beating?”
“She broke a pot of flour, Your Highness.” Rhynda gives a smug smile as she lifts her chin, clearly proud of herself for keeping order in her kitchen.
“High crimes,” I muse as I note the shards of pottery and a pile of smeddum on the floor.
“It’s incredibly valuable, King Amell, as it must be imported from the First Dimension. I’m sure she won’t make the mistake again.”
I glance at the work table to my left, taking in various clay pots filled with what looks like more flour and some sugar, some smaller pots with spices… all of which are valuable imports.
Reaching out, I push one pot of sugar off the edge of the table. It falls to the floor and shatters, spilling the sweet white crystals everywhere.
My gaze locks onto Rhynda. “Do I deserve a beating?”
“Of course not.” She sounds highly offended. “You’re the king.”
“And that’s just some sugar and flour, easily salvageable. Go easier on my possessions, Rhynda.”
“My apologies, Your Highness,” she rushes to assure me. “I didn’t realize this one was important to you.”
“No more important than any of my other possessions. I don’t want any of them broken.”
“Understood,” she says, and then barks an order at Nyssa. “Put your shirt on and clean up this mess.”
“Actually, I have work for the human to do. She won’t be returning to the kitchens today.”
Rhynda doesn’t look put out and merely yells at another servant to sweep up the spilled flour and sugar.
Nyssa has fully straightened, clutching her shirt to her chest, still staring at me cautiously.
