The woman’s eyes fly to look at us. They don’t hold as much relief in them as I was expecting. Instead, they’re filled with a mix of terror and shame for an instant before they drop to the wooden floorboards. The man’s reaction is also unexpected – he doesn’t jump back or attempt to explain himself; he just pulls his head slightly away from where it had been blocking all view of the woman’s neck. I see the marks he has left behind – red hickeys that are sure to bruise.

  “Continue to interfere and I’ll have you sacked,” he threatens without a lick of concern for himself, his accent far more similar to the nobles I’ve spoken with than the servants. I flick my eyes over his clothes and see plenty of embroidery. A nasty suspicion is coalescing in my mind. I look at the woman’s neck and yes, sure enough, there’s a collar there.

  “Is she your slave?” I ask harshly, itching to pull him away from her. But I don’t need the whispered ‘my lord, take care,’ from Sarran to know that if she is his slave I have no right to interfere. Which would beg the question of whether I will do so anyway.

  The man scoffs.

  “What does it matter? She’s a slave – her whole point of living is to please her betters, whether or not we own her.”

  “She’s not your slave then,” I conclude. A flicker of relief goes through me – at least the situation isn’t as complicated as it might have been. I try to catch the woman’s eyes, futilely. “Is that right?” I prompt her after a moment. Her gaze flashes up briefly to mine and then looks down again.

  “I…I belong to the palace, sir,” she answers quietly, her voice shaking. The man grunts in response.

  “Which means she’s at the disposal of any of the palace’s honoured guests. Like me. So begone and leave me to my fun.” He makes to go back to nuzzling into her neck, but then pauses for a moment and continues with a suggestion that makes me clench my teeth even tighter. “Or wait there until I’m done if you don’t mind sloppy seconds.”

  Apparently done with talking, the man buries his head back in the woman’s neck and his briefly paused hands start roaming again. One sneaks under the woman’s tunic and makes the fabric of her trousers shift. The unhappy-sounding gasp she makes a moment later tells me enough of what he’s doing to make my blood boil. I can’t just stand here and watch a sexual assault, and I’m not about to walk away and leave her.

  “She doesn’t want this; get off her!” I snap at the man then, when he doesn’t react except to press himself more firmly against the woman, I reach forwards to grab the man by the shoulder of the arm currently under the woman’s clothes, and push him away, barely even hearing Sarran’s warning hiss.

  I have to use more strength than I was expecting, almost pushing my limits as much as I did this morning with my trainers. But I think resorting to physical force has taken the man off guard as he stumbles backwards after the initial resistance. I stumble slightly with him, the unexpected resistance and then release putting me on the other side of the two from the rest of my party.

  His face twisted with a snarl, the man turns on me. I have only enough time to realise that his hand is glowing slightly before a wave of force hits me. A fraction of a moment later and I’m airborne for a brief time before crashing to the floor.

  The impact hurts – I’m not wearing my armour so there’s practically no cushioning between me and the marble floor. Wait – marble? I check around me and start cursing under my breath even as I push myself to my feet. The noble hit me hard enough to send me out of the passageway entirely and into the commercial district beyond. Not the kind of entrance I was planning on making! Especially since my abrupt – and unintentional – flight has garnered a fair bit of attention.

  Looking back into the corridor entrance, I see the man backing out, holding a sword which has come out of nowhere with its point aimed at the three predators currently stalking towards him. His off-hand is starting to glow ominously again.

  Do you want us to kill him, Markus? Bastet asks with fury suffusing the Bond between us.

  No – that’ll probably cause more problems. And I don’t want you hurt, I tell her quickly. All of you come over here, please.

  Lathani yowls quietly in discontentment, but as soon as the man has backed out of the passageway far enough that they can get past, she, Ninja, and Fenrir push past him, avoiding both sword and glowing hand on their way.

  I cast a quick glance upwards and see Sirocco circling above. I check with her briefly – she turns out to fortunately not have been hurt by the blast which propelled me backwards.

  The man twists around to avoid having the predators at his back. Then, seeing that they’re not preparing to attack him, but have instead moved over to stand at my side, he storms towards me, a snarl on his face. His sword is still out; this time pointing at me. I brace myself for the fight to continue – unfortunately, although my armour is in my Inventory, it will take too much time to put it on. If he attacks me, though, I can pull out a shield and weapon to help defend myself. I don’t yet, though – some vague instinct is telling me that escalation is probably not what I want to do right now.

  Sarran appears almost out of nowhere, placing himself between us. Only the wind of his passage that strikes me a moment later tells me that he must have just run faster than I registered.

  “Heir Fell,” he says firmly to the other man, clearly recognising him where I am ignorant. “You have drawn live steel on another noble. Do you wish to declare a duel?”

  The man’s face twists with a hint of confusion. Now out in the light, he very obviously takes a moment to scan my clothes. I can practically see his thoughts on his face – when he finds no crest in the embroidery, he’s emboldened, perhaps thinking that I cannot be of a very important House or of very high status in my House if I’m not allowed to wear the crests. From what I’ve learned by asking Sarran, only the members in good standing with their House are allowed to wear its crest, and only the lord – or lady – and heir have a personal crest. So without either, I figure I still look like someone he can win against. Perhaps he hasn’t noticed the animals all over my robe, or realised which House is most likely to be accompanied by beast companions.

  He sneers and his grip on his blade tightens.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t strike you down where you stand here and now for assaulting me!” he demands loudly, ignoring Sarran to glare at me. I shift slightly into a more defensive stance – if he attacks me, he’ll regret it. My feelings communicate themselves to my companions and they also prepare themselves for battle. The felines all growl menacingly at the other lord. The man sends them a disparaging look. “Quiet your beasts, pithan, or I’ll quiet them for you!” he threatens. Several in the crowd gasp and I notice even from behind that Sarran tenses. Personally, I care far less for the fact that he called me something which means a mixture of ‘dirty’, ‘low-born’, and ‘honourless’ and far more for the fact that he threatened my family.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “If you even attempt to touch them, I’ll kill you where you stand,” I threaten flatly. His sneer falters as he reads the pure promise that’s in my eyes. I’ve killed for my Bound before; I will do so again if necessary. Perhaps he gets an inkling of that.

  Sarran takes full advantage of that moment to leap back into directing the conversation.

  “What my lord means to say,” he turns his head briefly to flash a warning look at me, “is that while he offered the first physical provocation, it was only after you had failed to recognise his standing or accord him proper respect. Furthermore, you were the first and only person in the altercation to use a Skill. I am sure my lord would welcome a duel to prove his power, but you may find that he is not such an easy target.”

  That wasn’t at all what I meant to say, but in this matter, I don’t mind too much that Sarran’s putting words in my mouth.

  Heir Fell’s face creases in some confusion. I’m uncomfortably aware of the crowd we have drawn who are raptly watching the events.

  “Proper respect?” he asks, perhaps intending his tone to be derisive, but instead missing and hitting confused. His sword drops to point at the ground in a more obvious sign of uncertainty. “Who is your lord to deserve any more respect than I have already shown him by not immediately running him through?”

  Sarran bows low to the other lord.

  “My sincerest apologies, my lord. I have failed in my duties of ensuring that all know of my lord’s standing.” He turns to me and also bows deeply. “My apologies to you too, my lord. This whole situation would not have eventuated if I had carried out my duties adequately. I pray that my lord will correct me appropriately so I will not make this same mistake again.” Then, speaking only for my ears, “Just nod authoritatively.”

  Wondering exactly what Sarran is doing, I follow his instruction. Is he trying to take the blame for this or something?

  The manservant stands up again and faces the other lord. In a repeat of the previous situation in the corridors, he introduces me and I get to see another face pale to the colour of old milk as Sarran continues speaking.

  “Ah, uh, Heir of Titanbend?” the other man repeats somewhat faintly. His eyes flick over my beast companions, horrified understanding now registering in them. “You…you shall hear from me,” he finishes, with an attempt to sound authoritative that rather misses the mark. Magically, his sword vanishes. And after making a bow, one that’s picture perfect for the heir of a Lesser House to the heir of a Great House, he whirls away and quickly vanishes into the crowd, clearly attempting to flee the scene as fast as he can.

  The onlookers are whispering, some looking towards where Heir Fell disappeared, others watching me avidly. I just know that this particular altercation will be all over the palace within the day if the gossip here is anything like the companies in which I used to work.

  “My lord,” Sarran asks, looking the very picture of a penitent servant, “do you wish to speak of my error in private over there?” he ‘asks’, indicating the corridor we’ve just emerged from. The tapestry that used to cover it is torn, probably from having me thrown through it. Through the folds, I see that a figure is still lingering at its entrance.

  “Of course,” I answer Sarran, doing my best to sound authoritative – I figure that’s what he’s hoping from me right now, though I also hope his words are a front and he’s not actually expecting me to punish him for a situation I caused.

  I lead the way back over to the corridor and find, as I expected, the woman Fell was assaulting.

  “Are you alright?” I ask her quietly, trying to use my body to block any view of who I’m speaking to from those around. My Bound help – Lathani in particular is very useful in providing a wall of fur and flesh to prevent anyone from seeing, but Bastet’s wings are pretty good at offering a screen too. “Did he hurt you in any way?”

  The woman is looking down at the ground, her hands clasped behind her back. She’s shaking.

  “I’m well thank you, my lord,” she answers in a whisper.

  “Then why are you trembling?” I ask as gently as I can. She is silent, but I sense that it is an agonised silence – one filled with questions of whether she should respond or not.

  “Because she’s afraid of what will follow your…noble intervention,” Sarran’s voice tells me as the feeling of a Seal falls around us – I guess that I’m not the only one Nicholas has shared that Skill with. His tone is angrier than I was expecting, barely on the right side of polite. “You have intervened in an act which I’m sure she did not invite or consent to, and no doubt she’s grateful for that-”

  “Oh, my lord, I am grateful, I am!” the women interjects, sounding horrified that I might think otherwise. Sarran just continues as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “-But I am certain she is now contemplating the consequences of this with understandable dread. Whether it is the consequence of being known to have been the cause of an altercation between lords, or fear that Heir Fell will attempt to take out his anger at being interrupted on her at a later date, it is natural that her thoughts may be awash with fear.”

  “You’re saying I should have just left them be?” I ask incredulously. “That she’d be better off if I hadn’t intervened?”

  “I’m saying, my lord, that since you have chosen to intervene, and to do so in such a public and confrontational manner, you must be willing to manage the consequences of your intervention.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” I tell Sarran, a little irate myself. I don’t appreciate implications that I’m not willing to take responsibility for my actions. “What do you suggest we do?” Sarran eyes me for a moment, a hard look in his eyes. Then he turns to the woman.

  “What is your name?” he asks her directly, but not unkindly.

  “Marta, sir,” she answers quietly, her eyes once more cast down.

  “Are you assigned to any particular noble or House?”

  “No sir,” she whispers. “I am a general messenger.”

  “Good. Then, Marta, go to your superior, and tell him or her that Sarran Mirransson, manservant to Lord Titanbend, has asked for you to be assigned to the Titanbend wing. I want you to sleep and eat there for the duration of our visit. Imply that we wish to have access to you at all times. Actually,” he corrects himself, “is your superior capable of reading?”

  “Yes, sir, though she finds it difficult,” Marta answers in a whisper. I can’t tell what she thinks about this idea – whether she likes it or not. But I won’t argue with Sarran – he obviously knows what he’s doing and he’s been nothing but helpful so far, even if I get the distinct sense that I’ve angered him.

  “Good.” Sarran pulls out a piece of parchment and some pen, and very quickly writes a note, using his knee as a writing surface. When he’s done, he rolls up the parchment into a scroll and then presses one of his three rings to the join of the scroll. Red light flashes briefly and when he pulls the ring away, I see a simple seal has been etched onto the parchment in crimson lines. Despite there being no wax, the scroll doesn’t attempt to unravel. “Give her this as proof. I expect to see you in the wing, with all of your belongings, by the time we return.”

  “Yes, sir,” Marta agrees immediately. “Thank you sir.” She bows deeply to him, more deeply than Nicholas’ teaching would lead me to expect. She turns to me and, to my discomfort, kneels before me. “Thank you, my lord.” Before I can say anything, she scrambles to her feet and then hurries away, passing through the limits of Sarran’s seal without an issue.

  Though I’m hoping Sarran will release the Skill now that Marta’s situation has been sorted, he doesn’t. Instead, when I look at him, I see a hard expression on his face. I have the distinct feeling that I have a chewing-out coming.

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