People were such a delightful concept to Aron.

As one dies another will be born again, and another, to replace what needed replacement. They could easily be swayed, a man only needed the highest of praise while a woman honeyed words to sway them to his arms.

It amused him. Greatly.

He had raised Conrad, that beast of a peasant as if his own. To control and make its hands dirty, and if such matters were to be discovered—even a new Conrad was born right into Aron’s capable hands.

Alas, of course the gods sought to remind him the heart was its own philosopher and held its own desires beyond the mind.

The one who tended the king’s gardens, hands muddied by dirt and soil, fingers roughened by days of the sun leaning above you with its tendrils to gold running through your hair. Giving you the tender caress his own itched.

For when you were tied to his side by a chain around that beautiful neck.

Aron made himself known to your lord, the king, at that ball. coming in with his wealth and words for your place in his house. Aron was not a foolish man, everything within this barren world held its own price—its own worth.

You simply fell into one of those items.

He was thrilled as he carted you off to his coach, with Conrad and that boy’s favorite beside him, the servants and guards walking about the carriage as he kept you inside. With pillows and warmth for such a treasure…

He examined you as if a wolf, lips curled with enthrallment and the fantasy to burn in his eyes as soft embers. He draped himself against the couch, watching you sit there in adornments still of your once king.

“Come, my little one.. undo such crests upon your garb. You are of Vellane now.”

What a delicious sentence as it coated his tongue.

He waited, his eyes gazing as soon did embers rise yet the coldness of the command frosted even the most blooming of flowers.