“Who have I been sold to” was the biggest question I had, even as I was led to a very dark and mysterious environment. I couldn’t even see my hands; was this person some sort of weirdo or was I just being taken to work in a diamond mine or something. Don’t give me that look, it was a realistic idea. You can end up anywhere when you get sold into slavery.
I’m not asking for sympathy. I’m a man. I state fact when I speak to you, understand me? I don’t want your pity.
I was waiting in a dark, dimly lit holding cell for three hours, anticipating my fate. Finally, the iron-cased door creaked open, sending shivers down my spine. Instead of a guard like I expected, the man- or woman- in black calmly entered, taking his time as he met me in the middle of the room.
I swallowed. Though I had been reserved to exercise disobedience to this person, I could sense a very powerful aura on him. God Almighty...was I being punished for thinking of rebellion?
“Speak.”
I couldn’t decipher whether the voice was clearly male or female; it was slightly on the deep side, though I have heard women speak in the same tone. “What...do you want me to say...master?”
“Your name.”
“James Lockheart.”
“Age?”
“Sixteen.”
“Height?”
“I don’t know.”
There was a pause as he sighed, his head turning to the right as if he were glancing behind himself. After a moment or so, he said, “We’ll find out. You’re taller than I am...” He circled me, his pitch black robes dragging across the floor, and when he stopped in front of me abruptly I winced. “Have you suffered any...injury?”
“No.” Other than mental trauma.
“Mental trauma?”
Dammit. “Yes.”
“How much and from whom?” I was surprised that he asked this as if it were of meaning to him.
“I...” I looked at the wall on my left side. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Hm.” His hands rested on his hips and he sighed. “Well...you don’t seem to be unrepairable.” His hands reached up for his black hood and pulled it off of his head, dispelling the obscuring shadow that hung over his face as I watched, awed.
A woman. Not a man...a woman. Her face didn’t betray her age; if I had to guess at first sight, I would say she was between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, though she could have passed for twenty. Her curly hair, a deep, chocolate brown, framed her face, making her cherry red lips and brown eyes stand out in the most attractive way. I could easily say her curves were perfect; people usually do, but I know for a fact that they aren’t, though I do know that her bust was neither too big nor too small, her waist “tiny” by certain modern standards, and her hips...her hips were what I would call “child bearing” hips, giving her an almost perfect hourglass figure.
I didn’t say anything for a while. When I did speak, I kept my voice low. “Your majesty...”
“Yes...” Her voice was low and seductive, a voice I never thought I would hear in my lifetime.
I didn’t know what to say. Actually, I was afraid of speaking. Aside from being a stunningly beautiful woman, she seemed strong and confident, able to take me down with a couple of blows to the side of my head...but there was something painfully familiar about her.
“My name is Adelia Alexandria Clarice Du Marquis. You are to call me ‘your majesty’ or ‘your highness’ in public, and you will be my attendant from this day on until I decide to set you free or you decide you wish to disobey me and run away. Of course that may get you killed,” She smirked, as I listened, my eyes wide, “But the decision is all yours.”
Neither of us moved for the longest time. Finally, she turned on her heels and stared out of the iron clad door. “And James,” She said loudly, “I would appreciate it if you changed and were bathed.”
On this cue, two or three maids walked in and dragged me out of the dimly lit room and into the blinding light to...possibly bathe the hell out of me. I didn’t pay any attention.
I was stuck on the princess’ name being Adelia.
