Around half an hour before the first guests started arriving, Danya was seated at one of the long tables in the dining hall and told to stay put as the house slaves set things up around him. 

He had never felt so uncomfortable in his entire life. Baine had done as Mrs Moore had asked and scrounged up clothes that fit her specifications from some of the bed slaves rented to entertain the guests. A leather collar shifted against his throat every time he swallowed and the only other item of clothing he wore was a strip of cloth that tied around his waist and just barely made him decent by anyone’s definition of the word. He knew what he looked like, and it wasn’t a finely bred Companion.

At least he was no longer the only one at the table once guests began to seat themselves, but he still stood out far more than he would have liked. Most other slaves knelt on the floor or stood behind their masters, ready to serve, and none of them had been dressed with as little subtlety as Danya. He kept his hands folded in his lap and his eyes on the table in front of him as a man sat down next to him.

He could feel the man’s presence, his energy, a solid force just slightly too far away for Danya to get a proper taste of it. Still, it gave Danya something steady to focus on.

“They sat me next to a slave,” the man commented to his friend. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“He’s probably somebody’s pet,” Danya heard the man’s friend reply. His energy was loose and in constant motion. Not in the least relaxing, but not unpleasant.

“There’s no one with him.”

“I don’t know, Simon. Maybe he’s supposed to be your entertainment for the evening?”

“That would be insulting.”

Danya shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. He had always hated parties, but at least he had known how to comport himself when he was acting as merchandise for Milaine House. Now he wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to be. Maybe his purpose had never been intended to extend beyond this night.

With his eyes shut, Danya didn’t hear the man — Simon —  move, but he could feel him get closer. The very edge of the energy Simon gave off was just barely within reach, and goosebumps prickled down Danya’s spine as he eagerly drank it in. Danya could barely resist the magnetic pull of his body.

“I know you can hear me,” Simon murmured.

Danya sat up straight as his eyes flew open. He had almost forgotten himself. He tried to regain his composure, but he could feel his face heating.

“That was mean,” Simon’s friend said, but he was struggling not to laugh.

“Sorry.” Simon leant back in his chair, and Danya finally braved a glance at him. He had a broad build and a strong, angular face with thick eyebrows and dark brown hair cut military short. Danya could only meet the intensity of his deep brown eyes for a second before he had to drop his gaze again. “So, why did they sit you next to me?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Danya said to the tablecloth, “I wasn’t told. I’m sure they can move me somewhere else if it bothers you.”

Simon dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “No, I don’t really mind. It just seemed odd.”

Simon’s friend leant forward to look at Danya. He had darker skin and rich, chocolate hair that hung in curls just past his ears. “Can you do any magic?”

“I’m a Companion, sir. I can’t do much more than heat your drink.”

“It’s wine.”

“Chill your drink?”

“It’s red wine. It’s meant to be served at room temperature.”

Danya shrugged. “Then I’m afraid I can do nothing for you, sir.”

“Hmm. So why are you practically naked, anyway?”

“Hamish.” Simon shot his friend a pointed look.

“What? I’m sure you were wondering, too.”

“I’d rather not know.”

“There’s no nobility in ignorance, Simon,” Hamish scolded playfully.

“If you find any nobility in any of this, you let me know.”

Something nudged Danya’s elbow, and he reflexively leant away from the touch as he turned to look at the sixty-something year old man who had sat down on his other side. He did not like the feel of this man’s energy at all. It reminded him of sticky plant sap that refused to wash off. The slow, sweeping look he gave Danya immediately betrayed the nature of his interest.

“I’ll have to thank our hosts for sitting me next to such a handsome young man,” the man said with a smile that showed too many teeth.

Danya knew his type. They were the ones who tried to seduce the boys into sneaking off with them for a quick moment at parties, but who were never serious buyers. The way Danya was dressed wouldn’t help in this situation. He looked like he was intended to be exactly that kind of entertainment.

Danya gave him a tight smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“I used to have a lot of fun when I was younger, but…” His hand found its way onto Danya’s thigh and stroked slowly upwards. Danya didn’t want the energy that oozed off of this man, but his body drew it in anyway. “It gets harder to maintain an active social life as you get older, you know?”

Danya tried to discreetly push the man’s hand away. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m a Companion.”

The man squeezed down on Danya’s thigh. “Don’t lie to me. You’re between me and another man who is not your master, and dressed like that. I know what you are.”

“It’s the truth!” Danya leant so far back from the man that his shoulder bumped Simon’s “Why would I lie?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Simon cut in just as the man leant closer. “Could you please stop groping the slave at the dinner table, regardless of what you think he is or is not?”

The man’s face twisted in anger and Danya thought there was about to be a fight, but then his hand pulled away from Danya’s thigh and he stood. “I’m going to put in a complaint and see what can be done about this. He’s lying.”

Simon watched the man leave before glancing back at Danya. “I hope you really were telling the truth.”

Danya let out a shaky breath as he did his best to shake the lingering aura of the man’s energy off. “I was. I apologise for the disruption, sir.”

“He raised a good point, though,” Hamish cut in. When Simon shot him a glare, he shrugged and explained. “He’s dressed like a whore and seated between two men he doesn’t belong to. Who is his master?”

Danya cringed at the vulgarity, but it was true. He could hardly blame anyone for mistaking him for a bed slave when his attire had been borrowed from one.

“Ah… Captain Bell, I suppose?” Danya turned in his seat so that they could see the freshly tattooed crest just below his collarbone. “I’m a gift for him.”

Simon’s expression went hard and flat as he stared at the crest, and Danya knew with a sudden, terrifying certainty that he was looking at his new master. His new master, whose breathing had gone rough and heavy with barely contained anger.

“Oh, shit,” Hamish muttered.

“From who?” Simon asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Danya licked his lips. He wanted to apologise, to ingratiate himself somehow, but he knew there was nothing he could do to change what was about to happen. “The hosts, sir.”

A moment later Simon was on his feet and Hamish swore as he grabbed Danya by the wrist and hauled him up as he hurried to follow Simon to where their hosts sat at the head of the table.

“We need to talk,” Simon said to Mr Moore, his voice flat. “Now.”

“Of course, Captain Bell,” Mr Moore said, confirming what Danya already knew. His gaze flicked to Danya, “Privately would be best, I think.”

Hamish kept a firm grip on Danya as they were led out of the communal areas, down a hall, and into a study. When their eyes met, he gave Danya what had probably been intended as a reassuring smile, but it came out looking more like a grimace.

“You bought me a slave?” Simon shouted the moment the door was shut.

“Wine?” Mr Moore offered, his eyebrows lifting in question. “No? Yes, Captain, I bought you a slave. He may look a bit plain, but my understanding was that you preferred that. He has fine breeding.”

“I don’t care about his fucking—” Simon shook his head, covered his mouth, and paced. “This is very inconvenient for me. I can’t own a slave.”

“I understand and I apologise for the presumption,” Mr Moore said. “I will, of course, take full responsibility for his disposal.”

Simon stopped pacing. “Disposal?”

“He has your crest tattooed on him, Simon,” Hamish murmured. “He can’t be returned.”

Mr Moore held his hands up in pacification as Simon turned a murderous glare on him. “It’s not a problem, Captain. Why don’t you have some fun with him tonight, enjoy the rest of the evening, and I’ll have things taken care of in the morning?”

Simon turned abruptly and marched towards the door.

“Simon?” Hamish called out.

“I’ve changed my mind. Slave, come with me.”

Danya sent the other men a questioning glance.

“Now, slave.”

Danya hurried to obey. Whether he was wanted or not, Simon was legally his master unless he relinquished that claim. Danya’s only hope now was that he would not.