Three days had passed since Goldwyn had been brought to the villa of Esarhaddon uHuzziya. In that time, she had explored much of the manor house, the school, and the surrounding grounds. Though many miles and many dangers separated her from her homeland, she still longed to escape and return to her beleaguered people. Perhaps if she were patient and bided her time, an opportunity for freedom would present itself. This meant that the villa needed to become as familiar to her as her old home back in Rohan, not just the layouts of the buildings, but the schedules of every servant who dwelt there. She would have to be subtle in her reconnaissance, however, lest Esarhaddon suspect that her interest was far from the curiosity of a wide-eyed foreigner who merely wanted to learn more about her new home. After she knew the villa well enough that she could discern where she was with her eyes closed, she would turn her interest to the surrounding territory, learning about the major cities and villages which lay towards the west, and the roads which might lead her towards freedom.

Resting from her daily explorations and planning her schemes for the future, Goldwyn absently stared out the window of her bedchamber at the courtyard below. She turned her head when she heard a soft knock at the door, and in walked Nobo and Guli.

"My lady, Shakh Esarhaddon has summoned you to have supper with him in his chambers," Nobo announced, his proclamation filled with such solemnity and weight that it was as though he were bearing tidings from a king instead of a merchant.

"We have brought you fine garments to wear for the occasion." A bright smile upon his face, Guli held up a snowy white gown and chemise which had been embroidered with golden thread, a pair of pale cream pantaloons, and a mantle of green and gold.

Nobo clapped his hands, summoning the maid from the adjacent chamber. "Raen will help you choose accessories which will match your ensemble and assist you in fixing your hair and applying cosmetics so that your beauty will shine." He presented the bundle of fine garments to the older woman, who gathered them up in her outreached arms.

"Tell your master that I am not feeling well, that I am indisposed," Goldwyn commanded, feigning a piteous sounding cough. This would be the first time that Esarhaddon had called upon her since his return to the villa, and she suspected that he wanted more from her than just her company at supper. Perhaps he had deemed that it was time at last for her to perform her wifely duties as his concubine. During the journey, the only thing that had saved her from his despicable lusts had been her illness… and the protection of the Khandian healer. With Tushratta gone, there was no one to protect her, to claim that she still suffered from illness when it was obvious that she was hale once again.

"My lady, you cannot refuse the Master's summons," Nobo told her patiently, seeing through her unconvincing attempt to appear sick.

"Shakh Esarhaddon has paid you a great honor." Guli's voice was filled with gentle encouragement. "Please, hurry and get ready. The Master does not like to be kept waiting."

Goldwyn looked from Nobo to Guli, studying the faces of the two eunuchs. While she found some sympathy there, she also found stern resolve and an unrelenting dedication to duty. She sensed that the pair was fiercely loyal to Esarhaddon and would brook no rebellion from any member of the household. The two men were also very large and intimidating, and they frightened her. Perhaps it was best to do what they said, or they might drag her by her hair to Esarhaddon's chambers.

"Very well, I will accept your master's invitation," she told them haughtily. "Now begone, so that I may get ready." She glared at Nobo and Guli as they bowed and retreated to the parlor.

As Raen held up the gown and pantaloons which the eunuchs had brought, Goldwyn inspected the fabric, marveling at its smoothness and finely woven texture which flowed like melted butter through her hands. Though she was unfamiliar with the material, she recognized its quality and knew that the garments were costly ones. She ran her fingers over the lacy beaded embroidery which trimmed the edges of the green and gold mantle, appreciating the craftsmanship that went into its creation. If it were for any other occasion, she would have enjoyed wearing such exquisite clothing, but because of their association with the lecherous slave trader, she might as well have been ordered to wear an old sack covered with horse manure.

Goldwyn sighed heavily. She was in no hurry to change her clothing and have Raen dress her hair, for she dreaded having supper with Esarhaddon. However, she knew that stalling for time and dragging her heels would only delay the inevitable and earn the slaver's wrath. He might even blame the elderly maid servant if Goldwyn were late, and have the old woman's back blistered with the whip. Goldwyn would put nothing past that fiend.

"Shakh Esarhaddon is quite taken with you, my lady," Raen remarked as she assisted Goldwyn in dressing. "Did you and he spend a lot of time together during the journey?"

"No," Goldwyn muttered. "I was… ill… and spent most of my time in the healer's wain." Whenever Esarhaddon had visited her, she had tried to say as little to him as possible, in hopes that he would finally lose interest in her. Unfortunately, her abhorrent admirer still remained as obsessed with her as ever.

"Ah, I am sorry to hear that, my lady. I hope that your health has improved."

"It has, thank you." Goldwyn prayed that the woman would not inquire of the nature of her malady, and she was grateful when Raen did not pry any further. She had spoken little to the maid servant since she had been brought to the villa. She trusted no one who dwelt in Mordor, and refused to confide anything to those whom she considered enemies.

Smoothing a fragrant pomade through Goldwyn's long, golden locks, Raen took sections of her mistress' hair and wrapped them about an iron rod which she had heated over the brazier. A wooden handle protected the servant's hands from getting burnt as she held the curling iron taunt and then pulled the iron away to release the tightly coiled hair, which fell in loose spirals about Goldwyn's shoulders. After Raen was finished with her hair, she placed a mint green velvet cap upon Goldwyn's head. Beaded trim was attached to the brim of the diminutive hat, the teardrop-shaped pearls hanging like fringe across her forehead. A pat of rouge on either cheek, a touch of paint upon her lips, and a dab of perfume on her neck and wrists, and Raen was finished with her mistress' toilet. The maid servant had offered to put eyeshadow and kohl upon her eyelids, but Goldwyn had refused, feeling threatened by the idea of a stranger touching such a sensitive area of her face.

"Come and see, my lady." Raen directed her to stand in front of a full-length mirror at one side of the room. "You look even more beautiful than you did before!"

Goldwyn surveyed her appearance in the looking glass and thought she looked ridiculous. Why did she need all this paint on her face? She was not a wall or a piece of furniture. She considered demanding that Raen wash it all away, even though the servant had put such effort into the application of the cosmetics. But then Goldwyn remembered something that Tushratta had told her on the journey, one of the many long-winded tales and obscure facts he frequently related to pass the time. Some tribes in the South and East adorned their faces and bodies with paint before going to battle, believing the sacred symbols would frighten their enemies and protect them from harm. Perhaps all the paint that Raen had applied to her face was appropriate, Goldwyn reflected grimly, for she felt as though she were about to ride into battle. However, she knew that any fight was doomed to defeat, for she was powerless to resist Esarhaddon, or defend herself against his lusts. Yet even though her plight was hopeless, she did not intend to surrender willingly. May Béma protect her and give her strength!

Although Goldwyn had explored much of the merchant lord's extravagant domicile, Esarhaddon's private chambers had not been one of the destinations she had visited. A sickening tendril of dread clutched her heart as she stood before the broad oaken door which had been carved with eight identical emblems of the House of Huzziya. As Nobo held the door open for her, Goldwyn cautiously stepped forward into the room, which was shaped like a long rectangle. Though she could not know it then, this room served as a sitting room for Esarhaddon, and a place where he could entertain when kinsmen and friends visited. It was not yet dark, and the light of evening came through a wide, arched window which opened out into a small courtyard. Lanterns hung from the ceiling and rested on low tables, providing further illumination. The walls of the chamber, which had been painted a muted white, were adorned with borders featuring ornate patterns in bold colors: yellow, red, orange, blue, green. Vases of flowers filled the room, the blossoms all freshly cut from Esarhaddon's gardens. Low, opulently cushioned couches, covered with brightly colored and patterned cushions, were set in alcoves nestled along the wall.

The centerpiece of the room, however, was a grand table with six matching chairs. The dining set had been imported from Rhûn, and the sturdy legs of the pine trestle table and the backs of the chairs were ornately carved with twisting, curling designs which resembled serpents. In the shadows of the room, two serving maids stood in respectful silence, their hands clasped over their stomachs. Both of them were students at the School of Industry, and it was their turn this evening to wait in attendance upon their master and mistress.

"My lady Goldwyn, please have a seat." Esarhaddon rose from his chair, beckoning to her to come closer.

Goldwyn reluctantly sat at the opposite end of the table, trying to put as much space between the merchant lord and herself as possible. Though she had resolved to harden her heart with hatred and resentment in preparation for this unwanted dinner, she had to admit that the sight of the feast spread out before her was making her mouth water. She did not even know the names of some of the dishes or their exotic ingredients, but her palate was intrigued by everything she beheld. There was a salad of fresh greens and cucumbers, seasoned with olive oil and herbs; another salad of bulgur wheat and finely chopped cucumbers, olives, and crumbly cheese, seasoned with parsley and mint; a dish made from carrots and lentils; aubergines stuffed with beef mince; and a platter of freshly baked bread.

"Behold, we dine upon the bounty of the land of Nurn!" Esarhaddon gestured towards the various dishes, sighing in contentment as he inhaled the delicious aromas wafting up from the food. "After traveling so long on dry rations, I am sure that you are overjoyed to eat fresh vegetables again." He smiled warmly at Goldwyn as he scooped up a spoonful of the bulgur salad.

"I would much prefer to be eating in the Mark," Goldwyn muttered as she cautiously tried the salad Esarhaddon was eating. She found the taste of mint and cucumbers overwhelming, and found herself longing for the cuisine of her homeland. Though she was sure that she would find at least one of the dishes to her liking, she would much rather be eating the fruits of her garden back in Rohan.

"While I understand that you might feel the pangs of homesickness, you will soon grow to love your life here," Esarhaddon told her. "Nurn is truly a land of beauty and plentitude. The weather is almost always sunny and pleasant, making for ideal growing conditions for many different types of crops. Most of the vegetables that went into these dishes were raised in the gardens here at the villa."

"Which are tended by the many slaves you keep to do your bidding," she thought to herself, but did not say the words out loud. She hated Mordor and everything associated with the Dark Land, and she wanted everyone in this accursed place to know that, especially Esarhaddon. However, the wretched slaver had not yet committed any misdeeds, and she did not wish to be a rude dinner guest unless she were provoked beyond her endurance.

There was a pause as both diners concentrated upon their meal. Despite her displeasure with her dinner companion, Goldwyn found many of the dishes to be to her liking. Not all of them suffered from an abundance of cucumbers like the bulgur salad, and she ate heartily, for it had been many long months since she had last enjoyed the taste of freshly grown fruits and vegetables. She knew that she should pace herself, for she had come down with summer complaint upon her first day at the villa, and had spent a long, agonizing night upon the chamber pot. However, the table was laden with so many delicious foods, and she wanted to try everything.

After they had eaten in silence for some time, Esarhaddon spoke again.

"I understand that you have been exploring the villa these past few days. Do you find my home to your liking?"

"Your holdings are quite impressive," Goldwyn remarked with as little interest as possible.

"These lands were awarded to my father shortly after he answered the summons of Mordor," Esarhaddon explained, taking pride in his family history. "When I was a lad of ten years, emissaries from the Tower visited my father at our home in Northern Harad. The Lord of Mordor needed competent mediators to oversee the distribution of tribute slaves throughout the land of Nurn. As one of the most prominent dealers of slaves and spices in that region of Harad, my father had fulfilled many purchase orders for the Tower, and was in good standing with Mordor."

Goldwyn snorted. "Only in the barbaric lands of the South would that be considered an achievement. Of course, what could one expect from those who bow down and worship the Evil One?"

"It would do you well not to condemn an entire region based upon your deluded sense of morality and lack of knowledge," he told her, a warning in his voice. "Although the Lord of the Tower calls Himself the King of Men and Lord of Middle-earth, not all Haradrim worship Him as a god. The alliance that my tribe shares with Mordor is a political one, not a religious one."

"Any alliance with the Dark Land is evil and ill-fated," Goldwyn muttered, but inwardly she felt a sense of relief. Although she still loathed the man, Esarhaddon had gone up slightly in her estimation. While he did benefit from his allegiance to Sauron, at least he did not worship the Dark Enemy.

Esarhaddon chuckled grimly. "My mother shared your sentiments about Mordor, and refused to accompany my father when he moved his household to Nurn. After much deliberation, my parents decided to part ways whilst remaining married, communicating through letters and making the occasional pilgrimage to visit each other. Since I was only ten years of age, I stayed with my mother in Harad, while my older brother, who is ten years my senior, accompanied our father."

"Since you dwell in Nurn now, it is obvious that you did not inherit your mother's wisdom," Goldwyn remarked drolly. "How did you come to call this accursed land your home?" She did not really care, but the rules of civility demanded that she seem at least slightly interested in the conversation.

"When I was nineteen, my father became ill and I journeyed to Nurn to be with him in his last moments," Esarhaddon explained. "After his passing, I remained so that I could assist my brother in matters of business. Erkanan had land of his own – a reward for service to Mordor – and he granted me use of our father's estate. My father, who had lived alone for many years, had little use for a large household staff, and so when I arrived to claim stewardship of the estate, there was only a handful of servants to sweep the floors and keep the furniture dusted. While this arrangement was acceptable at first, the needs of my household would change three years later when I wed Kulianna and Tiranna, the daughters of a prominent Nurnian merchant. I set out to expand the manor staff to meet the needs of my growing family, but much to my dismay, I found many of the slaves which were offered by my family's trading establishment to be woefully lacking. Some had spent their lives working in the fields and knew little of the intricacies of maintaining a large household, while others knew only the most basic Westron. They were pleasing servants once they had been trained, but their education came at the cost of the efficiency of the senior staff."

"Oh, what a pity for the great Esarhaddon uHuzziya to be inconvenienced for even the briefest moment." Goldwyn was growing weary of this long-winded, rambling conversation, and wondered if her captor would send her away if she irritated him enough.

"While your attempts to be a jester are admirable, it is obvious that you have little talent in playing the fool. Perhaps you would like Mistress Sa-li, the theatre instructor, to teach you the art?" When Goldwyn vigorously shook her head in refusal, Esarhaddon gave a chuckle of triumph. "Since you come from Rohan, a land famed for its fine steeds, you should know that a well-trained horse is worth more than an untrained one. So too is it for slaves. After enduring the ordeal of unskilled household servants, an idea came to me. I would acquire a small number of untrained slaves, have them tutored at my estate, and then sell them for a higher price than I had purchased them. After three years had passed, this endeavor had proved quite profitable, and I decided to embark upon an even larger venture – a training academy for female servants."

"The School of Industry," Goldwyn whispered, disgust rising up like bile in her throat. People were worth nothing more than profit to this horrible man.

"After discussing my ideas with Erkanan, I wrote a detailed letter concerning my proposal and sent it to the appropriate officials in Barad-dûr," Esarhaddon continued after taking a long drink from his wine goblet. "The Tower showed great interest in establishing a school which would provide female slaves with a basic education and training in various skills, for educated and well-trained servants are always in high demand. A council was called in Turkûrzgoi to discuss the proposed school, and after being given the stamp of approval from the Great Eye, I began making the necessary preparations which would be needed to achieve my goals. With generous funding from Barad-dûr, the House of Huzziya, and contributions from my own purse, the training facility would be enormous in size and broad in scope, boasting numerous classrooms and workshops and a staff of highly skilled instructors. Eight years ago, the School of Industry opened its doors, and in this relatively brief period of time, the academy has become renowned for the quality of the students which it produces."

"Well, I must say that you certainly have accomplished much with your various plans and schemes." While Goldwyn approved of the concept of the School of Industry, she hated that it was being used as a tool for the Enemy, and a way for Esarhaddon to become even richer than he already was. There were no schools in Rohan, and she did not like to consider the possibility that her country might be inferior to Mordor.

A smile upon his face, Esarhaddon leaned back in his chair and sighed in contentment. "The House of Huzziya has been well rewarded for years of faithful service to Mordor. The Lord of the Tower bestows gifts upon those who have found favor in His Eye, whether it is through victory in battle or by serving the realm in some other fashion." His contemplative mood suddenly took a darker turn, and the smile slowly faded from his lips. "However, should one incur the wrath of the Lord of Mordor, He shall take back His gifts and bestow them upon one more worthy."

"Then they are not truly gifts," Goldwyn returned boldly, "if they can be taken away so freely."

"All gifts in Mordor, no matter how great or small, come with certain obligations," Esarhaddon explained, as though talking to a child. "One must be thoroughly grateful for the generosity of the giver, and show this gratitude through word and deed." He paused for a moment, and then changed the subject. "How do you like your new quarters?" His eyes met hers, and she felt like a fly that had suddenly found itself trapped in a spider's web.

"They are quite lovely," Goldwyn admitted reluctantly. She recognized the allusion between the estate that Esarhaddon had been awarded and the beautiful suite of rooms that he had assigned for her use. He wanted her to be his whore, just as he himself was Sauron's whore.

"They belonged to my late wife Tiranna, the mother of my son Kabtu. She died last year while laboring to give me a daughter; both she and the babe perished together. For months, her chambers remained as they were when she was alive, for in my grief I could not bear to part with her possessions, to say the last farewell." Sorrow passed over Esarhaddon's face, and for a moment he fell silent as he struggled to master his pain. "However, shortly before the caravan arrived in Turkûrzgoi, I sent messengers to Chamberlain Nobo with orders that Tiranna's chambers be prepared for the arrival of my new concubine."

For a moment Goldwyn was speechless. She remembered the visit to the villa's cemetery, and the tomb where Esarhaddon's wives and children were buried. It was obvious that Tiranna had been well loved in life and greatly missed in death. Did Esarhaddon consider her a replacement for Tiranna – or perhaps another one of his deceased wives? She remembered that his first wife, Ninashme, had golden hair. She shuddered at the thought. She wanted nothing to do with the accursed slave trader, and longed to escape back to her homeland. Why did he have to tell her so much about his life? She hated it when these people of the enemy confided in her, for she wanted to hate them all, to think of them as soulless creatures, committers of evil deeds. If one acknowledged that the enemy also had a heart and soul and feelings, then that made it more difficult to hate the enemy.

"You should not have gone to such trouble for me, my lord."

He smiled indulgently at her. "Only the best for my Goldwyn."

She cringed at those words. My Goldwyn. He thought of her as his possession, like some sort of exotic pet. She wondered if part of her duties as Tiranna's replacement included acting as a mother to Esarhaddon's sons. She knew nothing about these strange Haradric children, and certainly had no wish to become their doting stepmother. Surely either of Esarhaddon's wives could fill that role.

"Do you find your new maid acceptable?" Esarhaddon asked amiably. "I thought you might appreciate the fact that she is Gondorian."

Goldwyn thought about the elderly woman who had been assigned to be her servant, and she felt her blood boil with outrage. "You fiends would take an old lady from her home and force her to labor for you? How utterly disgusting!"

A spark of anger flared in Esarhaddon's eyes, but it swiftly changed to one of amusement. "If by 'we' you mean the Haradrim or the people of Mordor, I must inform you that you are quite mistaken. Raen was taken captive by Umbarian pirates long before you were born, so you can attribute neither my people nor the Lord of Barad-dûr for her presence in Nurn. My father purchased her as a gift for my mother on one of his trips to the capital of Umbar, and she was my mother's maid for many years. However, while on one of my mother's visits to the villa, Raen fell in love with one of the farm laborers. She begged to be allowed to stay, and so my mother gifted her maid to me. Sadly, Raen's husband died a few years ago in a tragic farm accident, and he is buried in the cemetery here at the villa. Since Raen has years of experience as a lady's maid, I felt that she would be a suitable servant for you."

Goldwyn felt somewhat embarrassed that her assumption had been wrong, and she hated it. "No one should ever be a slave," she muttered sullenly. The fact that this woman had been his mother's maid was not lost on her. In this barbaric land, Esarhaddon's gifting her with such a servant was the equivalent of a husband presenting his new wife with a treasured keepsake which had once belonged to his mother.

"It is the way of things." He shrugged his shoulders, dismissing her outrage with a common Nurnian proverb which was used to excuse all manner of injustices. "While I have allowed you to rest these past three days, tomorrow will mark the beginning of your education in the ways of Mordor. Because of your high rank in my household, you will receive private tutoring by the instructors at the School of Industry, although you may sit in on classes if you so wish. Soon you will travel through Mordorian society as easily as you would if you had lived here all your life."

Goldwyn clenched her fists beneath the table. "I have no desire to be part of a land which attacked my own, nor do I wish to be accepted into a society where people are kept as property."

"You are a Nurniag now, whether you like it or not, and this means you are already a part of Mordorian society," Esarhaddon pronounced emphatically. "Most women would do anything to be in your position, the pampered concubine of a rich and influential man, surrounded by wealth and luxury, her every need tended to by servants."

"I am not some fawning slave from Nurn," Goldwyn huffed. "I am a proud woman of Rohan, the wife of a brave warrior and the mother of three sons."

"You speak of your past," he told her, not unkindly. "For the sake of your own happiness, I would council you to dwell in the present and look with hope towards the future – a future as my concubine."

Indeed, Goldwyn did look towards the future with hope, but it was with the hope of escape.

When the final course of the meal was finished, Esarhaddon commanded the serving girls to clear the table, and then he dismissed them for the evening. Now Goldwyn was alone, trapped with a man whom she both feared and detested. She felt her heart beginning to pound in her chest, and she clenched her hands to keep her fingers from trembling.

Pushing his chair back from the table, Esarhaddon rose to his feet and walked over to stand behind Goldwyn. He placed his hands upon her shoulders, and though his touch was gentle, her first impulse was to flee in terror. She took in a deep breath and held it, her body becoming as taut as a bowstring.

"The moment I have waited for has come at last," he murmured as he gently stroked her golden tresses. "I would have summoned you the first night I returned to the villa, but custom dictates that a man must spend an equal amount of time with each of his wives, based upon order of seniority." His voice turned husky as he pushed her hair to the side and began caressing the delicate skin of her neck. "From the moment I first saw you, I desired you. Your beauty, your fire, the love you have for your children… I wanted you all to myself. And now finally I have you."

"Though I may be your slave, you do not own me," she told him defiantly. "You may take what you wish by force, but I will never willingly be yours!"

"Do you think I care about matters such as that?" He moved over to stand beside her chair, looking down upon her. Suddenly, his hand snaked out and clasped her chin. "You are my slave, to do with as I wish. You would be wise not to forget this."

Goldwyn looked up at him with terror, paralyzed like a helpless rabbit held tightly in the fangs of a wolf.

Releasing the harsh grip on her chin, Esarhaddon gently stroked the delicate flesh of her throat with his fingers. "But I am not the barbarian whom you believe – or perhaps hope – me to be." His voice sounded tired and weary, as though he had suddenly aged a great number of years in a short space of time. "The journey to Nurn was long and arduous, filled with peril at every turn. In the span of three months – and this is on a journey which should have taken less than two – I have been wounded multiple times, tortured, imprisoned unjustly, and almost assassinated. Now that I am back home, I only want peace and serenity, an escape from duty and responsibility." He stepped back from her and leaned against the sturdy trestle table, sighing heavily. "I wish that you would let me love you, Goldwyn." The expression upon his face was earnest, pleading almost. "I want to live a long life with you, surrounded by the many sons and daughters you will give me. I do not want you to be my enemy. I want you to be my lover… and the mother of my children."

Goldwyn warily studied the slaver. She was not certain which was more frightening: the lecherous Esarhaddon who constantly wanted to rut like some debased animal; the angry Esarhaddon who flew into dangerous rages when he did not get his way; or the insufferably sentimental Esarhaddon who longed for a happy marriage and a host of children. There was vulnerability in his words, and she sensed that he was being completely honest with her. Tushratta had spoken many times of the slaver's wounds and injuries, and she knew that he had almost died when Durraiz and her band of outlaws had attacked the caravan. Who would not long only for a peaceful family life after experiencing so many horrible calamities? But she did not want to give him that peace. He was an enemy, after all, and one who had a despicable profession.

Clearing her throat, Goldwyn began to speak, choosing her words carefully. "My lord, I cannot bear to contemplate starting a new family when I have so recently lost everyone and everything I loved," she confessed. What did it matter if she told him the truth? She was not some prisoner who possessed valuable information, the telling of which could potentially doom her people. "I do not know if my husband still lives, or if he was slain upon the battlefield, and that uncertainty is maddening. I still hold hope that my three sons were able to find their way back to Rohan, where I like to imagine that they are being cared for by the forces which yet resist the Dark Land."

"You miss your family." Esarhaddon smiled kindly at her as he stepped forward and gently placed his hand upon her shoulder. She flinched under his touch, but held her ground. "You are a good woman. Stubborn and incorrigible at times, but still you have a good heart."

"My lord, I – I need time, time to think, time to grieve." Once again, as she had so many months before back in Osgiliath, she attempted to stall for time, to prolong the inevitable. Though Esarhaddon was indeed handsome, a devilish rogue who could easily make some women swoon, she felt no desire for him, and longed to be quit of his company.

"I understand that you have suffered many woes," he told her gently as his dark brown eyes gazed into her turquoise ones. Releasing her hand, he watched as she clutched it to her body like a frightened bird protecting a damaged wing. "I have been very lenient with you, and have shown you mercy that I would give to no other."

"I am most grateful for this, and thank you for your consideration." She felt her body tensing, for his words hung heavy with the weight of what he was yet to say. To an unscrupulous man such as Esarhaddon, simple kindnesses and decency were gifts to be lavished upon inferiors, not the acts of a compassionate heart. And had he not told her that all gifts in Mordor came with a certain price?

"I am a patient man, Goldwyn, but even my patience wears thin." Although his voice was still gentle, it held an unspoken threat. "Every morning and evening for seven days you will dine with me, unless business calls me away from the villa, and I will enjoy your companionship and nothing more."

"And what happens upon the seventh night?" Goldwyn asked, dread clutching at her stomach.

"We shall see." He gazed upon her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Good night, my lady. May your dreams be pleasant… and of me."

Taking her hand in his, he brought it up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.