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Wynthea
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Sigwulf was an employer with meticulous, exacting standards. He didn’t let one mistake get past him. Didn’t let me get tired and sloppy, ever. What was surprising, though, was just how patient he was as he trained me. The days passed in a blur of Dragon Caste lessons in the mornings, followed by general tidying and shelving in the afternoons, my every action directed by Sigwulf and carried out under his watchful golden eyes.
Thankfully, I turned out to be a quick study, at least under Sigwulf’s thoroughly demanding tutelage. The work may have made my brain feel like soup in my skull at the end of each day, but by the end of my first fortnight in the castle, I’d learned to recognize enough Dragon Caste words and names that I could actually be of some use to Sigwulf. Even the brilliant, stringent male noticed my rate of improvement. I practically thrummed with giddy pride when he told me he was pleased by my progress.
I found that once I’d learned enough to get started, my momentum only increased. The more autonomy I gained being able to recognize and organize the books and papers, the faster and more confident I became.
And the more enamoured I became with my brooding employer.
I hated it. Hated that I’d grown so attracted to him in such a short time. Hated that I was turning this lovely professional arrangement into something lurid. I hated that I suddenly wanted more from this man who had already given me so much. But no matter how I fought them, the feelings only seemed to intensify. Every time he leaned over my shoulder to check on the paper I held, my heart dropped into my belly. Every time he rolled up his sleeves, revealing thick, muscled, veiny forearms, the place between my legs clenched needily.
But he clearly did not feel the same way for me. Something exemplified by the unsatisfied look he gave me in the library one morning, about three weeks into our contract.
“Do you wear the same dress every day?”
Shame slammed through me.
Despite feeling like an idiot for my attraction to him, my confidence in myself had only grown during my time here. I felt strong. I felt clever. I felt capable. I felt like I was worth something here.
Like I had found my place.
But Sigwulf’s comment cracked down on me like Oleana’s hammer. I was still just the poor girl with only one dress and the slippers with holes.
“Yes,” I admitted, my cheeks on fire. “But I wash it each night! It’s… It’s the only one I have.”
My contract was to last three months, and I was to be paid my coin at the end of each month. Which meant I had one more week to go before I received payment. And even when I did, I hadn’t the faintest idea where I could buy more clothing around here.
Sigwulf crossed the space between us in great strides before coming to a stop before me. It was almost eerie, the way he could do that. One moment propelling himself with such powerful motion it seemed he’d carry on forever, only to slam into sudden stony stillness.
“Tomorrow is your day off, but it is also market day at the nearest Orcborne village. If it is agreeable to you, I will escort you there. They have clothing and other goods available for sale.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that!” I exclaimed, further ashamed of the idea that he would have to take me to buy clothing. “If you’d lend me a mare and a map, I could go myself. Oh…”
Sweat beaded on my palms. I clenched my fists.
“I’d need an advance on my salary.”
I sounded pitiful. I wiggled my toes, begging the stones of the floor to split apart and swallow me.
Rather rudely, they refused.
“We’ll leave after breakfast,” Sigwulf said, brusque and business-like. For some reason, he seemed to feel none of the situation’s awkwardness. Or if he did, he’d just bluntly carved his way through it. For that, I was grateful. Grateful he wasn’t trying to make me feel better or give me platitudes. He’d recognized a problem and had proposed a simple solution.
I still felt bad, though.
“You’ve done so much for me already,” I said, gratitude mingling with my embarrassment. “I don’t ever wish to become a burden here.”
“You are not a burden.” The response was swift and stunning, said much more forcefully than the words before. Perhaps more forcefully than I’d ever heard him speak.
When I met his eyes, I gasped. Intense energy crackled in his gaze, his expression thunderous.
“I’m sorry! Did I make you angry?” I cried, not used to such an intense display of emotion from him.
He jerked his head to the side, the muscles along the length of his jaw pulsing.
“No,” he said softly. “You didn’t.”
He turned away from me.
