my time. That’s what makes me the master and her the slave.”
William would have continued his argument if not for the crash out in the hallway.
“Grace––?” By the time Asher got through the door, she’d already flown up the stairs. “Fuck. This vase was my grandmother’s. Clean that up, will you, William? It’s too far gone to glue together, but save me one of the larger pieces.”
William looked white as a sheet. “Sir . . .”
“Oh for God’s sake. I’m not going to beat her. Just because I’m learning my lessons from Darcy doesn’t mean I’ve had a personality transplant.” He shook his head, disgusted, and left William to take care of the shattered vase.
At the top of the stairs, he stood in a moment of indecision looking between his door and Grace’s. He started toward his bedroom, then stopped and rethought it. Why should he have to turn the house upside down looking for her?
He took a few steps back and raised his voice. “Grace, you’ve got exactly thirty seconds to come out.”
In less than ten, she shot out of his room and was on her knees in front of him. Seeing her in that position, so quick to obey, reminded him sharply of the fact that his needs hadn’t been taken care of. Asher took a slow breath, trying to steady himself. He could feel himself becoming drunk on the power. Darcy had never been this quick to obey.
Darcy hadn’t been terrorized by a monster for months either, you twit.
He and Grace were some pair. Both of them completely and utterly wrong. He was surprised she didn’t beg, though she was crying as quietly as she could.
“You shouldn’t listen in on conversations that aren’t your business, kitten.”
“This slave is sorry, she woke up and heard yelling and was scared––”
“What did we say about third person?”
“I . . . I’m sorry. Please . . .”
“Tell me what you’re afraid of right now.”
There was a pause. He watched her, waiting for her to comply or try to bullshit him, but it was obvious from her tense posture that she’d tell him whatever he wanted to know.
“I’m scared you’re going to beat me or take the room away from her . . . me and make me stay in the dungeon, or that I won’t eat for a few days, or––”
“Stop.”
She closed her mouth. He knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms. At first she resisted, but then she allowed herself to be held.
“I will never punish you by taking away food. In the first place, you’re so malnourished, it’s amazing you made it down the stairs and back up again unassisted. In the second place, it’s just plain fucked up. The dungeon is too dark and cold. I’m not tossing you in there, either. Someday I will physically punish you, but not today. It would do more damage than good right now. But I am going to punish you.”
He could feel her flinch and pull in on herself, wondering what awful thing he’d do that she hadn’t immediately thought of. Asher stood and pulled her up with him, then took her back into her room and settled her on a couch. He rifled through a drawer and came out with a notebook with lined paper and a couple of pens.
She looked quizzically at him, the bizarreness of being handed a notebook overwhelming her fear.
“You are going to write the following sentences three hundred times.” He arched a brow waiting for her to open the notebook. In another situation, he might have laughed at the expression on her face: a strange mixture of relief, gratitude, and shock. But it wasn’t funny for many reasons.
When her pen was poised over the first line, he said: “I will never again eavesdrop on my master, nor will I run from him when he calls my name. I am very sorry I displeased him in this way, and I will try very hard not to do it again.”
The punishment served two purposes. It was fairly unpleasant to do the same monotonous activity that many times, so it was a deterrent. Most importantly, it might help her with her pronoun issue. “I want you to number them, and I want it legible. It’ll take several hours, so you may take a break for lunch. William will bring you something.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you.”
“I’m sure you won’t still be thanking me when you’re done.” The one time he’d introduced a similar punishment to Darcy, she’d whined