Chapter 2

I shifted just enough to know I didn't want to move when my back cramped in agony. I focused on breathing through the pain, controlling my reactions. I'd had enough practice, it should be second nature now.

Master would be upset if my cries woke him.

The hardness beneath my side told me my master had moved me to my bench in the alcove of his room. I don't remember him moving me, but the ache at my neck reminded me of why. At least he hadn't just left me to collapse on the floor next to the bed. He had even thrown a thin blanket over my lower body. I managed to shift to my stomach, burying my face in my blankets, fisting them as another burn raced up my spine.

I slowly rolled my head, peeking through ashen strands as I squinted at the sun barely pulling itself over the horizon. I could still hear Master's snores from across the room. I pulled my arms under me, holding them close to my chest—my only way of comforting myself for the last seven years.

I closed my eyes again, trying to ignore the pain by escaping into my mind—picturing my brother's broad grin, hearing his laughter in my mind, imagining his arms wrapped around me in the cot we had to share. He'd huddle against my back, telling me stories as I fell asleep, promising to protect me always. Then he'd whisper that he loved me just before I drifted off. I don't remember father ever saying it; mama only slightly more, but my brother...he said it every night, so I'd know someone loved me, cared for me. I'd grown up for ten years with those arms engulfing me, keeping me safe, warm.

I missed him.

I hugged my arms tighter to my chest, not wanting to move, hoping to drift back into oblivion away from the pain.

***

The sun was higher in the sky when I pried my eyes open again. The warmth from the sun streaming through the windows heated my back. I knew from experience, I needed to move. I was just putting off the inevitable. I rolled, whimpered, and pressed my head to the dark mahogany window seat to fight the wave of searing pain spiking through my body.

"Ahh, pet, you're awake," Master's voice drifted across the room. I prayed he didn't expect me to jump up and ready myself for a day at his side. He had to know I couldn't pretend to be his amorato today.

"Yes, Master," my voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and raw.

"Hmm." Oh hell, he was behind me now, probably expecting more movement from me, but there was no way I could jump up into position right now.

I jerked when a hand ghosted over my lacerated back. "I might have been a little harsh last night, pet."

Might?

"Can you move?"

I hoped he actually wanted the truth because I rolled my head to shake it. "Not yet, sir."

"Hmph." I heard him stalking away and released a breath. Thank the Gods. Maybe he would leave me alone today to deal with my pain.

"Samuel!" I heard Master shout, presumably to the servant out in the hall. "Send a small tray up for Kye. He's not feeling well today, so he won't be joining me for breakfast."

Food. I realized that the normal hunger pangs I felt were absent, hidden in the depths of my mutilated back.

There must have been a response, but I didn't hear it. I was just relieved master didn't expect me to put on my amorato mask today. Amorato, amorato, my mind chanted, playing with the term in my head, and the perverse twist it had become for me.

I'd known about amoratos before meeting the marquis; hell, I'd even seen some when I'd gone to town with my father. I'd been fascinated by the duke doting on the young man he'd held close, and the kiss between the marchioness and her beautiful amorata. They had appeared so blissful. The same-sex lovers of aristocrats were adored and cherished, flaunted even. Keeping an amorato showed the noble was keeping themselves 'pure' for their future husband or wife.

Not that my master was interested in finding a wife. He had wanted the attention and status of having a lover, but he'd wanted more than a true amorato could give him—something no legitimate lover would ever give—their pain. He wasn't interested in love. Control, lust—yes. Love—no. So he'd acquired me. Paid a contracted fee to my parents for my 'services in his household'—only he hadn't detailed what those 'services' would be until we'd arrived here.

I prayed my parents hadn't known before, and I prayed they still didn't. The marquis was very strict about who knew his true predilections and my real purpose. Not even his staff knew. As far as I knew, only Richard, my master's steward, knew what I was to him—his pet to control, to torture.

Outside of this room, I'd learned quickly to play my part as the devoted amorato, and my master lavished his attentions on me when in the presence of others. But I only ever left the room with Master; I wasn't allowed to wander the estate. Most likely because I'd tried to run in the beginning—and paid for it later. So I spent most of my time, here, on this window seat watching everyone else enjoy the sun, or by my master's side in his study—usually on my knees at his feet if no one else was there.

So I was glad he wasn't going to expect me to accompany him today. I was quite certain keeping an affected smile plastered on my face would be torture in and of itself, let alone not grimacing every time I moved. Today would be one day I'd relish not leaving the master's room.

I heard Master disappear into the washroom, running water into the tub. Maybe if I laid here quietly long enough, he'd leave me alone and I could eventually work on moving. I stared at the bright blue sky, focusing on my breathing, testing my muscles with tiny movements.

When the blanket covering me was yanked away, I jerked, immediately regretting it. But I didn't have time to adjust before Master snatched me up roughly in his arms and carried me toward the bath. I couldn't help the cry that escaped my lips at the sudden scorching pain, but at least Master gave me no more than a severe frown for it.

He dumped me in the tub, and I hissed sharply as the hot water hit my wounds. I heard master dump the soap and wash cloth in the tub with a splash.

"Soak for a bit, then get cleaned up."

Biting my bottom lip to keep silent, I could only nod, afraid if I spoke it would come out as a scream.

A knock at the door kept Master from chastising me about not verbally responding to him.

"Yes?"

"The tray you requested, sir," came the muffled response.

"You may open the door and put it on the table beside the door."

I heard the door opening slowly, probably because the servants were never allowed to open it and come in the master's room. I knew it was because Master didn't want me to be able to talk to them, to keep the secret of this room safe. But I'd heard talk they considered me overly pampered, that I was the one who didn't want them coming in. That I thought myself above them because I was Master's amorato. That I was lazy and just wanted to lay around all day.

If only they knew.

Master grabbed my chin, turning me towards him, as he stared down into my pale blue eyes. He'd caught me drifting again. Damn it.

"Bathe. Rest," Master ordered. "I'll be back later. I may send Richard up to check on you."

I held back a groan. I didn't want to see the steward. He hated me just like everyone else did. But where everyone else hated me from a distance, Richard didn't have that restriction.

"Thank you, Master," I managed to choke out.

"Good boy," he praised.

I sat tensely in the tub until I heard the door close. Once I was alone, I could focus on my damaged body. I could feel the dry stickiness of blood and...other fluids on my thighs and desperately need to cleanse myself. While I couldn't ever forget what I was, what I was used for, I didn't want to feel it clinging to my body any longer than necessary.

This part was almost as painful as the actual whipping, but I knew a soak in the warm waters would relax my muscles a bit, and soften my skin to help it heal. I didn't move for a long time, just letting the heat sink into my abused body. I slowly stretched my muscles, it felt like every single one of them ached today.

As I rolled my head, feeling the bruising where Master had gripped the back of my neck, I cursed myself for my lack of discipline. I'd brought on the punishment myself. If I'd been able to control myself, he would have at least used the fragrant oil he kept by the bed. He would have settled me gently on the covers, caressing my body before impaling me. Or maybe he would have just wanted me to suck him off.

Eventually, I managed to use one of the linen cloths to scrub away the evidence of my shame, of my failure. The lavender scent of the soap was soothing, and I slowly scoured the rest of my body.

As the water cooled, I finally dragged myself out of the bath, letting the pink-tinged water drain away. I picked up one of the cotton towels as I noticed the jar of salve sitting on the washstand. I nearly cried with joy at the sight of it.

Master apparently wasn't going to let me suffer—and I found myself silently thanking him, which was ironic since he was the one who caused my suffering in the first place.

After drying, I smoothed a layer of the salve on one of the clean linen washcloths before struggling to get it to paste to my back. The thick, sticky salve basically glued the cloth to my shoulders and back where I couldn't reach to smooth on the liniment. I rubbed a thin layer over my buttocks and thighs, cringing as I slipped a balm-covered finger in my torn hole.

Once I'd basically covered myself in ointment, I dressed in my looser pair of leggings and shirt, not caring if they got dirty from the salve. I hated sitting around naked; even if putting on clothing added to my pain, I would still wear some.

I grabbed my bowl of a slice of bread and cheese, and then I headed for the balcony. I wanted to escape the dark, opulence of the room. The dark mahogany woods and deep red and gold decor was beautiful and extravagant. Master's entire house seemed to be decorated that way, each room partitioned from the other with thick doors. I suspected it was the way most of the aristocracy showed off their wealth—the velvet drapes, brocade couches, rich wood, gold framed paintings. The dark decor created a dim, oppressive atmosphere that reminded me of my dim corner pallet at home with mama and father after Tareth left.

Probably why I loved the window seat as my bed and escaping to the balcony whenever I could.

I set my small bowl down on the narrow bench before easing myself carefully down on it. It was my only opportunity to enjoy the outdoors. I suppose I should be grateful to be allowed even that. At least I could feel the sun on my face and the wind lifting my pale tresses.

I stared out over the fields. It had been so long since I'd been able to feel the grass beneath my feet, to feel the rough bark of a tree, to feel the squish of mud between my toes. I could hardly remember what it was like to run free.

I struggled to latch onto one of those memories, one of the last truly happy ones I had. I'd been so much younger...

"Kye! Come on!" my brother called.

I raced after Tareth, stripping as we approached the lake behind our farm. He beat me to the cool water, splashing his way in and diving below the surface. I waded in until the water was up to my thighs before ducking under and floating out towards Tareth. As soon as I popped up, Tareth dunked me under again, and I sputtered up.

"Hey!" I laughed, splashing him full in the face with a wave of water.

"Race you to the other side," Tareth said as he took off.

He was thirteen, older than me by three years, taller and broader too as he took after our father, so he had a bit of an advantage. But I still tried. I failed, but it didn't matter. We splashed some more, playing around before wearing ourselves out. I floated on my back for a while, reveling in the cool water washing away the sweat of the day's work in papa's fields.

It had been harder this year as papa hadn't had as much help as before. I'd heard him whispering at night with mama about the crops not producing as much anymore. Tareth and I did what we could to help, but it was nice to have the afternoon free, to run and swim.

Eventually, Tareth and I exhausted ourselves and headed back to shore. As he climbed from the water, Tareth shook his dark hair, spraying me with water.

"Hey," I protested the splatter as I shook my own golden strands. We collapsed on the soft grass, allowing the late afternoon sun to dry our naked bodies.

"I think I'd like to be a lord one day," Tareth mused, resting his head on his hands behind head.

"I don't," I said, mimicking his pose.

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "They look so stuffy and stiff and formal all the time. And they have all those servants following them around. I don't know, just doesn't seem very fun."

"But they're in charge of so much and have so much money. Don't you want more?"

"I don't want to be in control of anything. I just want to be here, with you, helping papa on the farm."

Tareth eyed me. "What if we weren't on the farm anymore?"

I frowned at my older brother. "What do you mean?"

He rolled to his side, propping up on one elbow. "Kye, the farm is struggling. I'm not sure how much longer papa can manage it without more help."

My breath caught. "Are you saying we're going to have to leave it? Papa loves the farm. He'd never sell it."

Tareth shrugged. "I know he does, and mama loves it here too. But I've heard that some of the smaller farms are being bought by the gentry and consolidated into larger, more productive ones."

"Really?" I sat up on my elbows.

"Yes. I heard Garett and Patrick's father accepted a contract for their service to the Marquees that was in town last week. I wouldn't mind something like that. Imagine going to work at a castle or huge estate. I bet I could learn so much more that just how to milk a cow."

I didn't argue with him. Tareth had always admired the aristocratic nobles that came through town occasionally, but I enjoyed being on the farm, working beside my older brother with the animals. I hoped he was wrong about the farm. Things would get better; I was sure of it.

"Come on, we should probably head back before papa gets upset," I urged.

Reluctantly, Tareth agreed, and we dressed quickly before heading back over the hill to our little home. Papa looked upset as if he'd been waiting for us, eyeing me as if it had been my fault we'd been gone. When he stepped closer, I cringed, hoping not to incur his wrath, but Tareth eased himself in front of me, greeting papa easily.

"It's my fault, papa," Tareth intervened, as he often did on my behalf. "I wanted to cool off at the lake."

"We have work to finish. Then mama has dinner ready," Papa rumbled.

Tareth and I rushed off to complete the nighttime chores before coming in just after dark to sit down at our small rickety table for supper. It was rabbit stew tonight, which was a treat; apparently Mr. Hawkins down the road had traded a rabbit for some of papa's carrots and leeks. Mama smiled wanly as we enjoyed the watery stew. It wasn't much more than we usually had, but there was meat tonight, and with the usual stale, crusty bread, it was more than we expected.

As mama and papa retreated into the one bedroom in the back of our home, Tareth carried the lamp over to our small chest next to our pallet in the corner of the main room. We changed quickly into our nightshirts. I climbed onto the pallet first, pressing close to the wall to give Tareth room. Our pallet seemed so much smaller lately, but I knew it was because Tareth was growing quickly. He blew out the lamp before crawling in next to me. His warm body pressing me into the corner made me feel safe. He pulled up a thin blanket over us.

"Good night, Kye. I love you."

"Good night, Tareth. I love you too."

Voices below drew my attention. I saw Samuel walking with Alisha. I'd often seen them together as I sat alone here on the balcony. They were the youngest of Master's servants—at least as far as I'd seen—besides myself. Watching them joke and laugh as they dragged in firewood or gathered herbs or hung washing out to dry made my soul ache. I'd had that with Tareth.

I longed for that with someone now...

I guess I moved because their gaze shot up to me watching them, their smiles fading to scowls. Alisha wiped sweat from her brow as she stared up at me, and I could practically feel the resentment wafting off of her as I stood idly watching them.

They bantered words like 'lazy', 'pampered', 'slut' as they made their way around to the kitchen door. I wanted to yell at them, to tell them I couldn't bloody well even move right now without my whole body screaming at me. But I held onto my control, my silence. As I always did.

Even if I felt like dropping to my knees and falling apart.