She had been robbed. Sitting across from her temporary caretaker, Naomh glared at the man in silence. Her eyes were rimmed red, her nose too, and her face was blotchy. It had been only days since the Zinaida's were found dead. Only days and yet so much had changed. They hadn't freed her, though she knew they had intended to, and in their passing she'd been forfeited property. There had been no time to mourn, no time to grieve... how she longed for her mothers and fathers, for her family to be there and cocoon her in their love. Instead she all but alone, save for the sniveling pig of a man sitting across from her, in a cold, uncomfortable Carriage on her way to her new home.

It would never be home to her.

"Now, as we're almost arriving, the staff of the Darkweir keep has informed me of a few rules they follow..."

Naomh turned her eyes to the man but not her inner attention. Instead she concentrated on calming herself. She was a mess, inwardly, and it would not do to make such an impression on her new... master. Master. It was strange for her to think about it in such a way. She'd always been a gift to the mistress of the house as a handmaiden, or to the children as a nursemaid. Never to a man. She knew what most men bought slaves for and she trembled, fear dampening her palms. She may be descended but she was still a virgin, something that most men overlooked - either they saw her Summer Sky pendant and blindly assumed or they didn't care to begin with. Naomh bet more on the latter then on the former.

Except for her Master Zinaida... Jamison had been a wonderful old man. He'd enjoyed playing dice and gardening... his wife had enjoyed cooking the fruits of his labors - one thing that she'd never had Naomh do, despite her slave status. Tears welled in Naomh's eyes before she fought them back. Now was not the time for fear or tears. She would face this, and if anything happened to her... they would be on him like a pack of rabid wolves. Her family, her parents. Her friends. Not to mention herself.

"You're not paying attention. If you think you'll get away with such behavior at the Keep-"

"I am terribly sorry, I meant no harm it must be that the journey has tired me."

"Women... simpering fools. I digress. Now. In the box beside you are more appropriate articles of clothing. And this." A red ribbon lay in the palm of his hand, the ends dangling like a dead snake... limp and lifeless.
"It's my little version of a play on words. A gift to brighten our Province Ruler's face. He'll enjoy you I think. Now change."

The male had done the best thing for her, really. His order, his mortifying order, had angered to the point that all fear and worry had been burned off in it's heat. She barely felt his touch on her chest, but she vowed she'd have her own revenge on the pampered, tender-palmed fool.

"And... here we are. You new master will be... pleasantly surprised at his new investment, I think."

The doors opened ahead of them, as if the staff were already aware of their coming. "Send for Prince Hale, and tell him Lord Avignon has arrived with the new addition to his staff. I'm sure he'll want to inspect you for himself." The Warlord's voice lowered, as he dipped to whisper in Naomh's ear. She couldn't contain the slap, or the hiss or disgust that erupted from her lips. Nor the way her eyes widened and her hands clawed at the collar around her throat as he used his controlling ring. She saw spots before her eyes and someone spoke... but the ringing in her ears drowned out all noise. Stupid male... revenge came in all forms. What would the Warlord Prince say when her caretaker killed his new play thing?

Naomh smiled as she struggled to breathe.

It was a miserable day for much of Darkweir. When the rain set in from over the hills, it came with ferocity like no other force, and often would last for days at a time. It would have been a miserable day akin to any other for the Warlord Prince ruling the Province, save for a delightful dift he was due to receive late in the afternoon.

The storm clouds had gathered close to the keep and cast a dark gloom over everything, and it disappointed Valentine Hale a little t oknow that his new guest's first impression would be marred by the dark surroundings. Still, he thought with a wry smile, it was days like this that only made Darkweir more mysterious. He heard the faint cries of the wild beasts seeking shelter, even they were not brave enough to stand out in the tumult for long, and the eerie silence that echoed inbetween the battering downpours.

Valentine had dressed smartly, more formal than he was used to. His rich sapphire shirt contrasted the black suit without standing out too much, and the afternoon stubble that bained him had given him a distinguished look. He wanted to make his guest welcome. Wanted her to feel secure. It would never do that she dislike the Warlord Prince of Darkweir on their meeting, before he got to show her any of the delights living in his company had to offer.

Valentine had never had a 'slave' before, and he did so hate calling it such. He wanted to think of it more as a companionship. Of course, if she didn't follow the rules, she would find that Prince Hale was no dream to live with, but if she kept herself in line, she wouldn't be harmed.

Well. He couldn't promise. But he'd at least try.

Strange things had happened in recent months for Valentine, and while he still felt like the caring, troubled soul he had been, his staff had changed vastly. They were no longer difficult, they followed any whim he had, any order he issued, and they did so meticulously. He no longer found them gossiping in a corner, instead none of them dared speak, and would lower their heads and nod as they passed him in the house. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to instill such a change, but it was certainly for the better. He was, however, still concerned by the damage he found in the house sometimes, but the staff would be already repairing it, and wouldn't speak much of it, other than to say it was a wonder no-one was hurt. He'd not noticed any for a while. Or he'd been too distracted by the stories of young women going missing all too often. He did not want his Province associated with crime, and so news of the women, and the search for them was being kept very quiet. Another insistence of his staff.

He walked slowly down the stairs, feeling the air change from muted edginess, to mild fear. He wasn't a callous man usually, but he did occassionally enjoy the taste of fear on his tongue.

More so now that it was no longer tarnished with alcohol.

Yes, he'd made a great step forward in changing his ways, changing his behaviour.

He stepped outside, the umbrella held by a footman straining to avoid brushing his head. He looked down at the scene before him, bristling instantly. His eyes fell upon the irritating Warlord that had been sent to fetch her. Lord Avignon was, at times, a delightful man to be in the company of, but his outward disdain for women pushed Valentine too far at times. He looked at the struggling woman, who'd moments before been clawing at the man. He looked back at Avignon.

"Lord Avignon," he spoke quietly, but the deep thunder in his voice made the Warlord quiver slightly. "I trust you have not made yourself too comfortable bearing such a weapon?" He took a step across the bridge, the footman holding his ground for the Prince to move forward alone. The rain began once more at a heavy pace, saturating everything instantly, including Valentine's suit.

"Prince Hale," he ventured, shaken, "Of course not, the woman is --" Valentine took the final stride toward the man and looked down at him. He was at least a foot greater in height, and the Warlord swallowed hard.

"The woman is my guest." A low growl of thunder rolled down from the hills and added to the deep cold of the Warlord Prince. The Warlord pulled the ring off quickly and handed it to Valentine. Valentine leaned in to the man's ear, whispering something inaudible, before the Warlord saw fit to get into the carriage and ride away.

Valentine turned to the slender being, her dark hair now wet, and her clothes doubtlessly cold and uncomfortable. "I doubt I'll need it," he put the ring on his finger for a moment, before removing it and placnig it into his inside pocket, "you are here as a guest, my dear, and I would appreciate if you act accordingly." He looked down at her, his voice calm, but the warning undisguised. "You have nothing to fear, here, Naomh." He smiled and held out a hand to the young woman.

She was very pretty.

"Would you like something to eat," he nodded down the driveway, "or has the little vermin put you off your dinner altogether?" He smiled once more, trying to ease the woman's anger. She obviously didn't want to be here, and he didn't want to make her any less uncomfortable. "Your room is ready if you'd prefer to go straight up, I'll introduce you to everyone in the morning." He began to walk forward, back along the small bridge to the door.

She needed to be comfortable, needed to feel safe.

Otherwise, she would never trust him.

And that would never do.

It had stopped... there was a tension in her head that grew and strengthened until she swore she was going to scream from it! Her hands flew from clawing at the golden collar around her throat to the Warlord's face. That bastard! That... that... she was going to kill him if he didn't end her first, she swore it! She wasn't an animal! She was a woman! A blood member! How dare he use that ring against her! The pressure behind her eyes increased until... until it just.. stopped. The sudden release around her throat was almost like a terrible pain in itself but it was a blessed kind and cleared her sluggish senses after their previous assault.

She was soaked now, her new clothes dark with their absorption of rain. She shivered, chilled, but her attention was now focused on that voice... just who was he? Naomh slunk back as he spoke to her caretaker, her lips lifting upwards in an arrogant smirk. Bastard. She hoped the Warlord Prince in front of her slaughtered him. No. Now what would her mothers and fathers say to that? The Witch thought back to the way his ice cold fingertips felt on her bare skin in the carriage and she knew... they would've killed him themselves.

Mercy seemed on the days agenda but Naomh couldn't fight back a tendril of niggling disappointment. What if he acted in such a way towards another woman? A girl next time maybe? It was of no matter, Mother Night had a way with dealing out revenge when one of her daughters were harmed, Mama Verona had always told her that. Lord Avignon and she would meet again no doubt. As the Warlord Princes attention turned to her, the witch had no intention on letting her thoughts linger on the spineless male. The man before her was much more a threat to her than Avignon ever had been.

Shivering again, Naomh wrapped her arms around elbows, huddling in her own small warmth before remembering her manners, offering her hands out palms up in submission, his words not that different from what she'd been told before. A guest, my arse. Just wait until his reaction when she slept until afternoon. She was no guest. She was a prisoner. "Only a fool could fear a male so merciful and benevolent as yourself, Prince Hale." Her words were empty as was the smile on her face. Right now she was loving puppy, but if he used that damnable ring on her she'd show him her fangs...

"I am not hungry, Lord Avignon saw to my needs before we left for your Keep. I would, however, like to see my room and change into something..." less wet? "More appropriate. Perhaps if you have the time you can explain my responsibilities and what you expect. Lord Avignon told me little. Am I to service your Lady Consort, or perhaps provide companionship for your children?" It was better that she seem ignorant. Men didn't want to bother themselves with stupid females. Especially this one, Naomh thought, this one would surely have more important tasks to deal with than to babysit her. Of course, so long as he had that ring... she wouldn't be able to relax. She'd felt it's pain only once before today and it wasn't an understatement to say she hated the damned thing.

Smoothing the capped sleeves of her lavender shift once inside, Naomh watch a rivulet of rain water slip down her arm. If she hadn't had the collar on she would've used her jewels as a barrier between the polished floor and her feet. It would not do to anger her new master by using her jewels, but neither would it help her to make enemies with the Housekeeper and her staff so soon after her arrival. Decisions decisions...

"Are you going to choke me with that," Naomh covered the pocket that housed her controlling ring boldly before crossing her arms and taking a slight step back from the Warlord Prince. "If I use my jewels to keep puddles from forming as we walk?" He hadn't said yet where he was taking her, only that her rooms were ready... and if she were honest she was a little hungry... No. Business first. She could see to herself after, and see about sending her parents a letter... surely as Aristo's they could get her out of this mess. She would not play lapdog to this spoiled male! "Perhaps we should get some ground rules out of the way, and Avignon made mention earlier that you.." she gulped now, unable to hold back that subconscious reaction. ".. would want to inspect your... your investment." Please Mother Night, please let that have been an exaggeration from that dirty, cursed bastard. How much more was she going to be subjected to today?!

Valentine was surprised by this young one. She was obviously not pleased with the situation, nor should she be, but the empty smile she returned, along with seemingly masking words were enough to pique his interest at just what had been done to her in the past. He didn't want a shrinking violet about the place, nor did he want a bolshy brat, either. He hoped Naomh wouldn't be either, and would instead be a nice presence around the house.

It wouldn't stay that way. He had no doubt about that. Women were testy, and men were ignorant, and at some point they would clash and one upset the other.

Or something like that.

He hadn't seen the need to put a tether on her, and chain her to his side. Yet. But something told him she would test him sooner than he test her. Perhaps he would have to try a little harder with the brunette, once she felt a little less edgy. He wanted to have fun, and sadly, she seemed very out of her depth. Not quite struggling, but he was sure it wouldn't take much of a push. He idly wondered what kind of a push when she answered him. Valentine raised an eyebrow as he held the door for her.

He stood by the door for a moment, studying her, watching her with the keen eye of a male, and of a Warlord Prince. "There is no Lady Consort here," he spoke quietly, not wanting to recall the face that was so burned into his memory. "Nor are there any children." He took a deep breath and moved forward to her. "You have no responsibilities of yet, Naomh, you are free to --" He glanced at the red ribbon around her neck and moved forward a little, hesitantly raising a hand to the ribbon that sat just on the collar. "Dare I ask?" He shook his head and continued, only he started on a different subject without telling her what she was free to do - frankly, he hadn't decided yet.

"The only responsibilty you have for now is that you drink no alcohol." He nodded, once, as if to reaffirm the fact. "You're welcome to food and drink of any other kind, and I'm sure the Hearthwitches and such will be thrilled to have a female to cook for." He smiled weakly. He stopped as she placed a hand on his jacket, over his heart, over the ring. He looked at her, looked into the pale eyes that held nothing, and smiled. "I see no need to use the ring." Yet, he added silently. "I have a friend who would very much like you, Naomh. She too is as fussy about mess." He moved forward to the staircase and motioned for her to follow. He took the stairs slowly, allowing for the girl to be tired from her journey. Valentine had no doubt that Avignon's company would have tired her out even more.

But wait, what did she say? He turned to her, his eyes dark, and his voice cold. "I'm sorry?" He raised an eyebrow and felt the chill in the air, whether it came from her at the idea of it, or him, he wasn't sure. "I do not consider you an investment, Lady Zinaida, you are a guest." He was almost lost for words. He hadn't paid for the girl, Hell's Fire, hadn't asked for the girl, and yet, rumours were already flying. "You may belong to me, but that is simply a matter of paperwork to me. To me, you are simply a guest in passing." He smiled wryly and eyed her from the corner of his eye. "What else did Avignon think himself competent to assume?"

Truth be told, Valentine would have liked to enjoy the girl, to allow her to enjoy the time in his company, but something about her scent led him to believe she didn't want any man to touch her, let alone him. Still, she would warm up, he was sure. And if she didn't, then a man always had different means of gratification.

The more he thought about it along the landing, though, the more he did wish she'd let him a little closer.

But he could wait.

He didn't expect her to be thrilled to be here.

But she would warm up. He hoped.

Knew.

He opened the door adjacent to his own and ushered her inside, without entering himself. "This is your space, Naomh, and yours alone. It's a little... Sparse. But I hope you'll at least find it quiet and comfortable." He smiled, his hand still on the handle. There are warm towels in the bathroom, and one of the staff will send you something up if you're hungry." He hesitated. Something about her was... off.

He wanted her to be in the next room. His room. He wanted to know more about her. About her family.

"For what it's worth, Lady Zinaida, I'm sorry for your loss." He tilted his head, hoping she would know the sincerity, "I hope we can accommodate you well until we finalise your --" He smiled widely, "Would you like me to call it escape, or can I protect my ego a little and call it 'return home'?"

She was beautiful. He could understand why someone would feel th eneed to enslave her. Just not how they could bring themselves to actually do it.

He certainly wasn't going to enslave her.

Not entirely.

Prince Hale's words took Naomh aback... there was no Lady Consort?! No children? Quirking an eyebrow upwards skeptically, the witch glanced around briefly as if expecting a Queen and her brats to pop out any second and prove the Warlord Prince wrong. And when that didn't happen... she was stumped. No woman of the house to run errands for, no child to rock to sleep, the staff were obviously well trained - enough to know better not to interrupt the master of the house whilst he was in a meeting... just what was she supposed to do here? Sit and look pretty?! She was a slave, not the wife! Not even the mistress! A slave!!

Before she could even question her presence in the house, or for that matter, the Warlord Prince's sanity for allowing a slave such freedoms, Prince Hale gestured towards the wilted ribbon around her neck. His blatant curiosity towards the decoration had Naomh flushing brightly, a wave of color matching the crimson satin in question coloring her neck and cheeks. Despite her embarrassment, the woman met Valentine's gaze boldly as she folded her arms over her chest saucily. "Another one of Lord Avignon's suggestions, my Prince, he thought it.. witty of him to think of the ribbon. Evidently I am supposed to be a present for you to... unwrap."

Just saying it made her want to take a bath and scrub. She felt so... dirty. She wanted to rip off the ribbon, shred the clothes he'd bought for her, and crawl into the nearest bed with the sheets over her head. Obviously though, that would be rude of her, and she wasn't about to lower herself to the same standards that made up the men's in this Territory. "No alcohol I can handle, sir. I don't touch the stuff; never have." Naomh had seen the effects of alcohol, had seen the chaos it usually carried in its wake first hand. Her first family had suffered from their master's addiction and that had been enough of a warning for her. Wine was sweet but juice was sweeter - and it didn't wreak havoc with her senses.

She followed after him, using a bit of her Summer Sky to create a barrier between the floor the mud on the bottom of her shoes as well as the little rivulets of water as they slid down the strands of her long hair. The concentration that it took to use that bit of hearth craft was minute, she'd done more complicated thing in her sleep, but it was shattered when the Warlord Prince rounded on her. His gaze pinned Naomh's and mud squelched between her shoe and the clean floor. Damn. "Lord Avignon... Um... I think perhaps it was merely a misunderstanding, Prince Hale. I'm sure it was of no reflect on you personally." It had had nothing to do with him, and everything, she was most positive, to do with her. "He meant you no insult, of that you can be sure. Anything else he may have done or said was between him and I." She paused and licked her lips, fighting back the shudder as she felt that phantom hand slide like an invisible serpent between her blouse and her chest.

Next time she saw Avignon would come all too soon, of that she was certain.

Only when they finally made it to her room was Naomh able to actually relax. It was... impressive really. He had called it sparse but it was more than she was used to. Being a slave, she was lucky if she had a broom closet to call a bedroom. There was a rug, a little worn around the edges but still delightful, that covered a majority of the wood floor, though if she were honest there wasn't much empty space. The bedroom and a wardrobe and small desk took up most of the space, and Naomh was fine with that... pleased as punch.

Or should would be as soon as Prince Hale left. He made her nervous. The witch could just faintly make out the shape of the ring in his pocket and her hands itched to yank it from it's confines and run. Run as fast as she could to her parents. Perhaps though, it was the Warlord Prince's words that softened that urge. Or perhaps she had just grown weak and soft with her most recent elderly masters. "The quarters you have assigned to me are more than adequate." She would not talk about her home with him, her family... instead she merely gave him a polite smile.

"It would be rude of me to take my leave of you after you have been so generous." The words were like pure poison in her mouth, but her mothers had raised her better than to be rude. Even in indentured servitude she managed to cling to some semblance of humanity. She wasn't quite the lowly lap dog... not yet... "If it would please you, you could wait inside while I change out of these clothes..."

But Avignon had gotten rid of her old belongings... that's why he'd bought her these garments. Because all of her own things had been deemed inappropriate. "Actually, that may be a bit of a problem. Avignon... took it upon himself to decide what was appropriate to bring here and what was not. I fear none of the clothes I was used to wearing he deemed fit, Prince Hale." Would now be the time to tell him he'd receive the bill for the very clothes she was wearing now by messenger? She'd have to start from scratch, make her won clothes... rebuild her wardrobe... she'd have to beg him for some marks for shoes...

Mother Night only knew what that would cost her. In her experience, men only bartered for one thing...

"If you wait a few minutes I can dry these. Perhaps you would waylay me with stories of how you came to become the ruler of-" This horrid, wild land. "-Darkweir?"

Valentine flicked at the loose paint idly as the young woman took in the details of her new room. Flaky paint did so annoy him. Why had nobody seen to it already? He had plenty of groundsmen and housekeepers, so what was the difficult aspect of maintaining the house? Her words were what drew him out of his senseless thoughts, and so distracted was he, he jumped a little, his finger catching a large layer and plucking it from the wood, and he grimaced as it twirled softly toward the floor. "Sorry," he muttered, "idle hands."

Blinking himself back into the conversation, Valentine frowned at her words. "Lady Zinaida, you have had a very tiresome few days, more so thanks to your recent company. I am not going to intrude on your privacy any more than I need. You are more than welcome to your own space, I assure you." Something in the Warlord Prince's head begged to differ. He didn't want to leave, didn't want to be on the other side of a wall while she was secreted away in his house. It was his roof, and so his rules.

But his rules were that she was a guest, and thus to be treated accordingly.

Weren't they?

Yes. Though standing in the doorway still wasn't really going far to prove that statement. A darkness stirred in him, silently questioning the truth in his words.

She spoke again, breaking the spell once more. Valentine felt his hackles rise at the mention of the creep Avignon again. He would have to have a serious chat with the man about how to deal with the ruler's guests, female or not. The Warlord Prince eyed her clothing, his clouded eyes taking in the sodden, sad appearance that dampened such beauty. "I'm sure I would have chosen something far less..." He hesitated, deciding not to continue lest he upset her. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have something more comfortable to sleep in?" Without waiting for a reply, he called in a very large white shirt, big enough to cover anything she wanted hidden, and a worn-in pair of soft trousers.

"I won't be offended if you don't wear them, they're clean, but pretty well worn in by Aleese." He didst elaborate - they hadn't touched her skin in almost a decade, and he had all but absorbed her scent from the items in those years. "I will, however, be deeply offended if you chose to keep wearing an outfit Avignon had the 'sense' to give to you instead." He smiled and winked before he continued, "I won't tell him if you burn it." He crossed a finger over his heart and laughed to himself softly.

Ah, and then she mentioned stories of how he became ruler. Fond, if fuzzy, memories. A faint sense of irritation stirred like a low rumble of discontent. She was trying to distract him. She was clever, too, then. Men were generally only in pursuit of one thing, and she seemed deadset on avoiding that. Still, he remained in the doorway and smiled. "I will not enter your room, Naomh, but you are welcome to change in private while I bore you with such tales." His eyes stayed on her but his smile seemed easier. He motioned toward the ornate screen in the corner of the room.

Such sadness and hidden depth in her striking eyes, Valentine wondered if one day he would be able to read more from them.

Of course he would.

He was about to begin telling her of his past when the scent of warm bread, Bacon, and strong coffee tickled his senses. He paused, taking a moment to breathe in the delicious aroma. "My tales will have to wait, I'm afraid, it seems our supper is ready if you would care to join me?" He turned slightly away from the door, but paused, his eyes wandering the hallway. "It is a custom here that a ruler provides for those in need, Lady. If you would like to go into Harlibea for some clothes more to your liking," he glanced briefly at the shirt, "and size, we can do so in the morning if you wish."

With that he turned from the doorway completely, leaning briefly on the jamb, before noticing the specks of paint raining down, and with a click of his tongue, he stood upright once more.

She would warm up more once she was more settled, he was sure.

He would make sure.

And later, after the staff had retired to their beds, and Naomh was asleep, the Warlord Prince of Darkweir would pay Lord Avignon a visit.

They had much to discuss.

"Sorry, idle hands..."

"... Are the High Lords playground." Naomh couldn't contain the bubble of husky laughter as she finished Valentine's sentence. It wasn't, perhaps, what he was thinking, but his words had reminded her so much of a saying her mothers had instilled in her that the witch couldn't resist. Already her mood was improving, though she'd be grieving for quite some time at the passing of her previous owners, and it seemed that it was all due to Prince Hale. Perhaps he wasn't that bad, perhaps she had pegged him wrongly. The more he spoke the more Naomh felt guilt-ridden over her original attitude... maybe all men weren't as she had assumed - or at least, not this one.

"Your generosity has not gone unnoticed, Prince Hale, and I thank you for it." Trailing her gaze around the room, Naomh could almost close her eyes and picture a cozy nook, a little space to carve out all her own.

Not for too long, though. It seemed, by all intents and purposes, that Prince Hale understood her plight and would be willing to free her as her previous owners had intended. If that was the case, she would ensure that her parents reward the man, and richly at that... although... to be fair, what would be considered a reward for the man who already had a Province at his back and call?

She had spoken, but her words had been absent as already she was planning how to redecorate her living space and turn it into a home. A bit of chipping paint was no big deal... in fact, if he permitted her, she'd rather enjoy removing the paint and applying a fresh wall paper. If she could contact her family, even if she wouldn't be freed, they would send her some of their luxuries. A porcelain wash basin to replace the plain one sitting on the worn desk; the large, oval mirror from her bedroom in exchange for the squat standing one in the corner... Prince Hale's words shattered Naomh's silent concentration; the sudden apparition of the clothing both relieving her as well as sparking her curiosity. He'd said there was no consort or children, so who was this Aleese person... and why was she wearing his clothes?

Prince Hale offered no further explanation, only going so far as to hand her the clothing and to gesture towards a changing screen which would lend her privacy. Naomh didn't want to appear rude, so she didn't run behind the screen, but the witch couldn't help herself from rushing just a bit. The once sodden clothes were beginning to dry and stiffen uncomfortably - despite her domestic capabilities, Naomh had unusually sensitive skin, and most fabrics (as well as liquids and soaps) hurt her after short amounts of time - so Naomh took no time in flinging the dress of the top of the screen. The ribbon, however, was another story. Drenched then dried and tightened from weather and being worn, even Naomh's nimble fingers couldn't untie the knot.

And walking around with a damned ribbon around her neck was out of the question. Bows were cute on children and dogs; and she was neither. It just wouldn't do.

Setting that problem aside for the moment, the witch warmed the offered clothes over a harmless ball of witchfire before tugging them on, the clean clothes catching on wet patches of skin before settling into place. All the while she waited for Valentine's words, his stories... and she was left in suspense. Dinner, it seemed, was on the agenda rather than storytime, which suited her just as well. It was best not to get too close to one's owner. No matter how kind they started out being, in the end she was always worth little more than damned dog.

It be in her best interest to remember that. Especially around someone with as much pull and power as Prince Hale.

When Naomh finally exited from behind the screen it was with her head held high and proud and her eyes flashing with a mixture of remaining grief and arrogance. He might be a Warlord Prince, but this was still a woman's society; Mother Night had blessed her by creating her in the image of her mothers and neither her gender nor her social status implied any less value or worth.

And Prince Hale had best not forget it if he wanted freshly laundered linens and clean floors.

"It is a custom here that a ruler provides for those in need, Lady. If you would like to go into Harlibea for some clothes more to your liking. and size, we can do so in the morning if you wish."

"You are too kind. I have made most of my clothes by hand. What Avignon destroyed and sold was irreplaceable Prince Hale. Before I was sold, when I was free, I had fabrics shipped from Dharo just for my amusement, to sew during the passing of the day. Perhaps Harlibea will have something to suffice; or perhaps it would be best for me to contact my mothers and fathers and have them arrange for some of my own clothing and personal objects to be sent to me." Naomh quirked one eyebrow curiously, one hand clutching the too big pants around her middle while the other curled over her hip, emphasizing her tiny waist and conceited posture. "You can contact them, can't you? It's within your capabilities to send a messenger to Goth."

Dinner smelled so good, Naomh was afraid that her impertinence would earn her a night with the delicious meal. It would have to do. The rules needed to be understood now. From the beginning. She may wear the collar, or in this case the damned ribbon, but she was no slave. She had the heart of a songbird, and being caged only stifled her. It wouldn't do for Prince Hale to think there were no consequences for keeping her locked up - and a bad attitude was only the tip of that iceberg! "I need a piece of rope... or a belt... something. You are a bit bigger than I am, Prince. And if you don't mind? A man put this on me... perhaps he crafted it and only a man can take it off? I know it wouldn't budge for me. Of course, all of this can wait until after you've supped. Whichever you prefer."

She was certainly intriguing, Naomh Zinaida, and Valentine wondered idly to himself if her mouth had ever gotten her into trouble. His brow furrowed deeply as he further wondered if any of her previous 'owners' had forced her to use her mouth to get out of trouble. His knuckles cracked quietly as he clenched his fists at the idea. Save his rage for later. Push all irrational thoughts from his mind and focus on what his new guest was saying. Or doing. It wasn't that he was staring at the screen, but something bristled inside him, stirred almost, and he couldn't help but cock his head at the strange fidgeting he could hear. His mind buzzed with ideas of what was going on, but wanting to be a good host, he cleared his throat, averted his eyes, and ran through a brief scene of what he would say to Avignon.

He kept his eyes down and his head whirring with arguments of all kinds until Naomh stepped out from behind the private screen. Her scent pricked at his male senses, and his eyes flickered briefly over her. He feigned nonchalance in that moment, appearing perfectly unmoved by the beauty before him. He didn't want to appear lecherous, or threatening, but the Warlord Prince struggled internally to quiet the voice of intrigue and arrogance. She was a guest, and not one here for the purpose his mind wanted. He saw her differently for the briefest moment. Saw what someone could be capable of doing to an attractive young woman. He held his breath for a moment and smiled as warmly as possible.

With a slow nod, one that didn't threaten to upset his stomach like that sinister image had moments ago, Valentine confirmed her question. "I can only try, Lady," he said, slowly, "though there can be quite a delay with mail in Darkweir." He laughed, a little coarse as he saw her features change before him. It was only his imagination. "I wonder sometimes if the couriers dawdle too much and are simply too tasty for the local wildlife to pass up." It was just his imagination, he was sure, but he still looked away from her in that moment. "Either that or I have a very lazy friend in Goth."

Her next words came quickly and Valentine struggled for a moment to make sense of them. Yes, a belt. He nodded and disappeared across the hallway, returning soon after with a thin black belt, its intricate pattern difficult to see in the dull light. It was Aleese's, which should have subdued him, but even leaving Naomh's room for that time hadn't ceased the stampede that had begun in his ears, the dull ache behind his eyes, nor the imaginary victim of unreal violence he saw. He bit his lip as his outstretched hand offered her the strap of hide.

He looked nervously at his hand, his mind torn between calming himself down over dinner and trying to eat anything with the visions swimming before him.

What some people could be capable of...

He moved forward and brushed her hair aside softly, his eyes hard and focused, not daring look her in the eye. His fingers knotted with the small ribbon, and his skin burned whenever he glanced against the skin of her neck. Valentine pulled the thread softly, feeling a strange pull as the web disengaged. Avignon would have yet another nail in his coffin.

Some people were capable of really anything.

He smiled as he pulled the ribbon away, a small flicker of witchfire setting at alight and burning away into nothing. Not even a sliver of red remained. "And now, we dine," he motioned toward the door, allowing her to take the lead.

It was only when he rubbed his hands to dry his suddenly slick palms that he noticed the blood. And while her back was turned, the Warlord Prince closed his eyes tightly and reminded himself she was fine and unharmed, that there was no blood on his hands.

He pulled the four closed with a shaky hand and smiled weakly. He didn't notice the thin trail of warm crimson he left on the cool doorknob. There was blood on his hands, from his nails piercing the skin they borrowed into.

Some people were unaware of what they could do.