“She was unruly? What did she do, kick you with her one leg? Bump you with her stump?”
I let out a short laugh at Krush’s unexpected rhyming dress down of Tyvian. The king is really nothing like I expected him to be. He’s sassy. He’s a rebel. He was King Krash’s only son, but it is obvious that the previous king did not treat him like he was special. Rath appears to have been a favorite of the king, judging by the bitterness Krush displays when he speaks.
Krush is a king who does not like authority.
That thought strikes me just as Krush strikes Tyvian with a backhanded blow which sends the dungeon master tumbling back to the floor. It is not a fair fight. Tyvian does not dare contradict his king, not in word, and certainly not in deed. I think if they were to fight on equal footing it would probably be an equal affair. But he would never fight back. One does not fight one’s king, after all. He also does not cower, and he does not try to defend himself. He accepts what is happening with a stoicism I recognize, having been on the receiving end of brutality myself many times.
Krush stops himself before he does any serious damage to Tyvian, but I can see that he wants to hurt him more. He is enraged by what has happened to me.
“Nobody lays a finger on this human besides me. I don’t care if she sets the palace on fire. I am relieving you of this prisoner.”
“Thank you, sire.”
It must be galling to have to thank the korabi who just beat you down like a redheaded stepchild, but Tyvian doesn’t let it show. I can’t imagine all the secrets inside that silvery beast. I guess I will never know. Krush is picking me up and hauling me off to his own private chambers. I have a feeling I won’t be seeing Tyvian, or his cells, again for a long time.
* * *
Krush
The blood settles in my veins as I carry my prize away. I had gone to check on her only to find her crouched on the floor in a pathetic heap, her face bloodied, her hands covered in her own sanguine essence. I could not help what happened next. Tyvian is lucky I did not do more damage to him. Pushes and slaps are nothing compared to what my instincts were demanding of me. I wanted to kill him.
The human in my arms is precious. I do not know why. By all objective measures, she is disposable scum good only for acting as a whipping girl for all humanity’s recent sins. She is soft and warm in my arms, curled up against me with an implicit biological trust which would feel sickening to betray.
“What do you eat?”
“Just… food,” she answers vaguely, with a wide-eyed expression which only serves to make me feel all the more protective of her. The moment I saw Tyvian's hands on her, I knew I could never tolerate anybody ever touching her again. I don’t want the eyes of the world falling on her. I don’t want there to be any moment of any hour of any day in which she is not in my complete and total control. She is MINE.
“Bring me human food,” I command my servants on return to my chambers. “A selection. And human waters. And human wines.”
She seems confused. I am confused as well. I did not intend to rescue her, but that seems to be what I am doing.
“What is human water, sire?” my attendant asks, for clarification.
“The same as korabi water,” I reply, feeling as though there is probably some significance to that. These humans are our smaller, weaker cousins. They have been our enemies, and now they are our slaves. I have become accustomed to thinking of them as useful animals, but this one is making me reconsider. Only very slightly though, the way someone who likes meat might consider the beast for a brief moment before biting into a roast.
“Yes, sire. At once, sire.”
“Why are you…” She pauses, as if she is wondering about the wisdom of asking the question in the first place.
“I want you close,” I say, explaining it to myself and her at the same time. “I may need to ask you questions, and I do not want to have you brought to me each and every time.”
I can keep my other reasons to myself. She does not need to know about the confusing and completely inappropriate feelings which have been winding their tendrils through my veins. She is my prisoner. A human criminal. I will do with her as I see fit.
Having carried her to my bath chamber, I take a cloth and clean her face. She is not seriously hurt.