Trinket (Reverse Harem)

Well-Intentioned Flailing

It was still raining the next morning, but it didn't have the same metallic zing in the air that indicated it was Ormiss' doing. Just a rainy summer day in Haven, where the air was so humid everything stuck to everything else.

Yanice and Deliah looked like they'd been drug in from the harbor, even though they were perfectly dry and presentable. Marcus was dissatisfied there was no kitchen staff, but he couldn't complain too much since Yanice and Deliah weren't lower floor servants. I tried to say I could make my own toast, and Marcus practically disintegrated into Raven form at the horror of the idea, and informed me he would make toast.

"Permit me to send for one of the spare cooks," he told me. "This is not acceptable."

"No," I said. Clever ploy, though, trying to get more Raven eyes in the house.

"I hope the Lord-Regent had the sense to send for practical household staff," Marcus groused, practically puffing up and rattling imaginary feathers, his voice betrayed by an angry song he couldn't hide.

"I am quite certain I can make my own bread and toast."

"No."

"But, Marcus, didn't the Lord-Raven tell you? I was a kitchen servant. I made excellent bread."

Marcus jumped.

"Perhaps I should make some and you can tell me what you think. In your High House steward's opinion," I said cheerfully.

He sputtered some incoherent notes before managing, "It wouldn't be appropriate."

Nothing about this was appropriate. Yanice and Deliah cowered and tried to turn into wallpaper.

"I need to see Ormiss," I told Marcus as if he wasn't there struggling with shock and horror. Once a servant managed to get themselves out of the lower floors of a house--if they ever managed to--they never willingly went back. They never mentioned whatever they might know about cleaning a cellar or kneading dough. It was like those tasks would become demons to drag them back into it and never let them escape again.

"I will arrange it--" Marcus started to say.

"I will go see him," I corrected. Because I wanted to see all my consorts, and I didn't want Marcus fluttering about.

"Lady--"

"Marcus, they're literally across the street. I can handle walking in some drizzle."

"The Lord-Regent will come to you." If he'd been in bird form, he'd have been hopping back and forth flapping his wings and cawing.

I sighed.

Marcus composed himself, then, with all the dignity of a wet Pantere, said, "I will prepare something for breakfast."

I'd let him win that one.

Marcus was a good cook (and I wasn't a fussy eater), and I didn't let myself have a lot of time to think over what I was doing. It wasn't like I liked my choices, and I felt pretty stupid about all of this, but the alternatives had assured bad outcomes.

So next time my consorts hurt my feelings, I was going to remind myself why I chose what I chose.

But I swear, the gods couldn't have found anyone better or more qualified for this?

Marcus insisted on having Yanice and Deliah doll me up to go across the street while he supervised. Seemed the maids had gotten a severe all-night lashing session on how to "properly" brush and arrange hair and handle Hippocamp silks. Yanice especially looked broken and traumatized and like she was still spinning around. Marcus stood off to the side and glared at them, and every word he uttered came with a song that felt like a poke in the floating ribs. The maids flinched in response.