Gift-Wrapped Threat

9th day of the 7th moon, 1162 HC

The torchlit corridor spills forward into the sound of revelry. The walls ahead hum with music, voices, laughter, and the shifting of feet. They can hear that the audience chamber is alive tonight.

Mulsae leads their trio, keeping his expression neutral and his grip on Hanna's leash light. Hanna walks to his left, close enough that the leash hangs loose. Damion shadows behind them without hesitation with his arms folded behind him.

This is their first time entering a room full of eyes. And they walk toward it like a single body.

They've spent their nights practicing. Not just walking, but moving together, entering rooms in silent unity. They paced the halls, the audience chamber, the dining chamber, all to memorize their timing, their spacing, their expressions. They adjust their pace by instinct now. Hanna's steps match Mulsae's. Damion's footfalls fall a beat behind. They pivot and pause without speaking, turning at the same moments, facing the same direction. Even when the halls are empty, they hold their formation.

They're not in empty halls now. This is no longer the rehearsal, but their debut performance. Their opening cue is to walk the busy hallways having people pass them in both directions and move effortlessly around them like water. They're nailing it. Whispered praises reach their ears.

They position themselves in front of the audience chamber doors. With a nod from Mulsae, the servants swing the doors open. The pulse of noise hits them as the doors move, but the sound immediately quiets as a hush spreads like spilled ink.

The audience chamber is filled with people from wall to wall. The scent of wine and roasted meat swirls with the faint tang of magic. Gilded torches flicker against white marble walls, casting long shadows across the crowd.

Mulsae enters the room with measured elegance, the leash in his hand trailing to Hanna's collar. Her head is high. Her steps are graceful, practiced. Behind them, Damion follows, arms folded behind his back in submission, the living echo of an earlier conquest. Mulsae is once again the monster delivering a pet for public scrutiny. Only this time, the pet is Hanna.

At the opposite end of the room, Zudaeshi is already smiling. The golden strands in her black hair catch the firelight and glitter. She leans forward within her throne, practically gleaming.

"Look at her!" she exclaims, voice bright with delight. "So much better wrapped than bare. You've outdone yourself, Mulsae."

He bows slightly at the waist, his expression smooth, empty. But inside, his stomach twists.

Zudaeshi expected Hanna to be nude, but Mulsae successfully argued that women are more desirable when gift-wrapped. They were sent to the seamstress and came out with an outfit that is more wrapping than dress.

The bodice ties in two neat bows that can be pulled open with a single tug. The skirt drapes low on her hips, soft and sheer, with high slits that promise more than they show. The fabric is modest in coverage but weighted in all the right places. It doesn't conceal the body so much as heighten the pleasure of unveiling it.

Zudaeshi rises from the throne, beckoning with a curl of her finger. "Bring her forward."

The trio cross the tiled floor, each step sounding louder than it should. When they reach the base of the dais, Mulsae guides the leash gently to turn Hanna in place. Once. Twice. Like a jewel on a pedestal. Her outfit flutters with the movement.

Zudaeshi steps down from the dais to get a better view. "Oh, she is lovely," she croons. "Garrick will be beside himself."

She casts a glance to the crowd, theatrically widening her eyes. "He thought he could hide her from me. Isn't that adorable?" Laughter bubbles up around them. Cruel. Eager.

"Garrick will be here soon," Zudaeshi lifts Hanna's chin with one long nail. "Ready to smile for him, little pet?"

Her grin sharpens. "Enough of that. Go. Mingle. Eat. Let the people get a good look at what belongs to me." With a dismissive flick of her hand, she turns back and steps up the dais, satisfied.

The three of them enter the crowd in silent coordination. They reach the wine and food tables, and Mulsae selects a few things with deliberate grace. Something sweet, something savory, something rare. He places each item on the plate Hanna holds out with steady arms.

She doesn't tremble. Not once does she look away from the middle distance she's chosen. Not a flicker of defiance. Not even fear. Just control. That, above all, is what startles the crowd. The leash is slack. Her spine is straight. Her body moves with elegance instead of tension. Damion trails behind her like he belongs there, and not a single word has passed between them since they entered. By the time they find a place at the edge of the hall, the murmurs have already begun to spread.

Malric finds them on their way to a secluded spot near one of the perimeter tables. "Impressive," Malric murmurs as he approaches, gaze fixed on Hanna like she's a specimen. "No bruises. No welts. No burns. And yet..." his lips curl faintly, "... she obeys."

Mulsae tilts his head, indulgent. "The Harmonarch prefers her pets unmarred."

Malric circles. Not too close, but enough to examine her from different angles. "Mine scream. Bite. I've yet to find one that doesn't flinch after the first hour." His eyes settle on Hanna's face. "But this one appears like she belongs here."

"She learns quickly," Mulsae replies, voice light. "It's a useful trait."

"And yet I see no signs of force. No scarring. No drugged glaze in her eyes." Malric smiles, more intrigued than jealous. "How do you do it?"

Mulsae shrugs, taking the wine from Hanna's hand without looking at her. "Some of us were born for this work."

Malric snorts. "You always were the Harmonarch's favorite artisan." He looks at Hanna again, this time thoughtfully. "She's not just broken. She's shaped." Mulsae says nothing. Malric lingers a moment longer, then gestures toward Hanna's form. "Tell me, what did you take from her first?"

Mulsae smiles, slow and unreadable. "That's the difference between us, Malric. I don't start by taking." Malric's smile lingers too long. Mulsae meets it with one of his own. "Be careful, Malric. Curiosity looks good on you. But envy does not."

Malric lets out a short laugh, maybe real, maybe not. "One day, I'll get your recipe."

"Try," Mulsae murmurs. "See what you become."

Malric moves on, the air around him sharp with curiosity.

They navigate the crowd and finally reach their destination of a secluded perimeter table. Mulsae lowers himself into the cushioned seat like a man long accustomed to it. Hanna kneels to his left, Damion to his right, both of them fluid, wordless. The leash pools lightly on the floor. Hanna raises the plate and wine in offering. The precise angle of her wrists, the easy way her knees settle beneath her, the softness in her expression: None of it looks forced. The whispers ripple outward.

"Not even a flinch."

"Did you see the leash wasn't taut? Not once."

"Like dancers."

Mulsae takes the plate from Hanna. He plucks a slice of fruit, lifts it to Hanna's lips. She eats without hesitation. He offers the next to Damion, who takes it the same way, not looking at the food but at him. The plate shifts between his hands. He feeds them as if it's always been like this. As if this is just how things are done. The murmurs about them grow.

A ripple of laughter from the dais draws Mulsae's gaze. Zudaeshi reclines back, languid, but her eyes track them now. The flick of her finger at a person's whisper, the tight pull at the corner of her mouth... he knows those signs. He's seen it before. She's pleased. But something darker stirs beneath that pleasure.

Her goal is to humiliate Garrick. It was not to gift Mulsae with a masterpiece. He can feel her jealousy beginning to brew. His stomach begins to flutter. Did I do this wrong? Was training perfect poise the wrong direction to take?

A sharp clap cuts through the murmur of the revel. Zudaeshi rises from her throne with deliberate grace, eyes locked on Mulsae.

"I'm in the mood for a dance," she purrs, her voice laced with silk and challenge. "You'll indulge me, won't you, Mulsae dear?"

Mulsae stands smoothly, masking the clench of his stomach. He bows low with a sweep of his arm. "Of course, Your Radiance."

He looks to Hanna and Damion, "Stay." They nod.

Mulsae rises and steps away, but Zudaeshi's gaze lingers on Hanna. "And the human," she says, almost absently. "She should dance too. It would be a shame for her to sit idle. After all, she must have some entertainment value."

Mulsae stiffens. He glances to Hanna. I have no problem with dancing, she says, I love dancing. Mulsae nods and picks up her leash from the floor.

"Now who should dance with the human?" Zudaeshi casts her gaze along the crowd. Several men around the perimeter straighten, eager. A few even step forward, offering their hands. Zudaeshi's expression tightens with visible disgust.

"No," she says coolly. Her gaze sweeps the room, calculating. "Maedor. Your father was a stickler for training you to dance, wasn't he? And Valena's father continued the drills."

Maedor blinks, clearly caught off guard, but steps forward without hesitation, Valena keeping to his side. "It's true, Your Radiance."

"Then you," she waves him forward, "Come dance with the human."

He bows. "As you command, Your Radiance."

Hanna looks to Mulsae. Maedor is a good man, he sends to her. She nods once. Calm. Grounded.

Mulsae hands the leash to Maedor, who bows to Hanna and offers his hand. Hanna accepts with steady fingers and they move to the open floor. Valena stays at the edge of the crowd watching closely.

Mulsae turns and offers his hand to Zudaeshi. The musicians strike up a slow, elegant rhythm. Eerie strings and haunting percussion ripple through the throne room.

At first, Hanna is cautious. Her timing a hair late, her posture too human. But then something shifts. She finds the rhythm of both the music and Maedor's movement. Her feet fall into place. Her back straightens. Her body remembers.

She glides. Twirl after twirl, spin after spin, she mirrors Maedor's graceful steps with growing ease. When Maedor tests her, tilting into a complex spiral or shifting tempo, she keeps pace without hesitation. Her skirts flutter like silk petals in bloom. The slack of the leash sways behind her like an afterthought, unnoticed by the perfection of her lines. Around them, conversation stills. The murmurs begin again.

"She's beautiful."

"Look at her control."

"Is she human?"

"What did Mulsae do to her?"

Zudaeshi hears every word. She stiffens beneath Mulsae's touch, though her face holds its practiced smile. She arches her neck, drawing attention to herself, leans back into Mulsae's arm as though their bodies are fused. But the whispers don't shift. No one is watching her. Everyone is watching Hanna. Admiring her.

The music ends. Hanna and Maedor come to a gentle stop, bowing to each other with flawless etiquette. The throne room exhales.

Zudaeshi releases Mulsae's hand a beat too fast. Her smile falters, just for a blink. "That was... adequate," she says, louder than necessary.

Valena join Maedor and Hanna as they approach. Maedor hands the leash to Mulsae, but Valena addresses Zudaeshi, "Your Radiance, if you ever decide to sell her, Flame Sanctum will be an interested buyer." Zudaeshi nods, but her smile twitches.

She turns on her heel and walks back to the dais with head held high, skirts trailing like shadows in her wake. "But one dance hardly proves a thing," she says over her shoulder. "We'll see how she does when Garrick arrives." She lowers herself into the throne with a smirk.

You were extraordinary, Mulsae sends. Hanna has no outward reaction, but in the quiet space between their thoughts, she whispers, Thank you.

Mulsae leads Hanna to regroup with Damion, and he doesn't need to glance behind him to know Zudaeshi is still watching. He can feel it. Not just her gaze but the heat of her attention, focused and silent, like a brand pressed between his shoulder blades.

She isn't speaking. She isn't smiling. She's too still. And he knows her stillness. It isn't satisfaction. It's assessment.

She hadn't wanted Hanna to dance well. She'd wanted her to falter. She wanted something awkward, something to mock. But Hanna had moved like grace incarnate. The people had praised Hanna. They hadn't looked at Zudaeshi.

Mulsae sinks into the chair, and Hanna automatically kneels beside him. The leash remains coiled in his hand. His stomach turns cold.

Zudaeshi hadn't wanted a masterpiece. Mulsae wants to smack himself he feels so blind. She'd wanted a message. And now, no one is looking at her. They're looking at Hanna. He clenches his fists. He taught Hanna to carry herself with dignity. He wonders now if he's just painted a target on her back.