“Oh yeah. Positive role model. That's me.”
“That's the spirit,” Morgan says. “Set an example, and all will follow.”
“Hey! I literally just said that to you like two minutes before,” Danny complains. I walk with them towards Jay's favorite section of the estate, since Jay was coming to pick me up. I feel emboldened, walking with people rather than slouching through the halls by myself. It's easy to laugh, to jump right in with the girls. It almost feels like being back home. I do notice my laughter seems to perturb Ethel as we pass her, since I guess she thinks I'm not allowed to laugh or experience any kind of joy whatsoever. Fuck her, then.
When we reach the servant's rest room, Paul is there as well, and although I greet him with a hug, I can't help but think of Desmond's words. To be careful around him.
I don't want to believe Desmond, but I have seen that Paul associates with Ethel Endmore. I shouldn't judge people for the friends they hang out with, but Ethel's got it in for me.
I'm gently probed at by the servants as we engage in coffee and conversation. They're curious about the status of my relationship with Desmond, of course. They also wonder if I feel like I'm fitting in better, if things are improving. These questions are of particular interest to Danny and Morgan, of course. They're the ones who have a say over our lives, after all.
It's easy to laugh with them when I know what to expect later, when Desmond returns. Even Rayse's foul mood isn't enough to put it off. That idiot can go die in a fire for all I care about him. I do have a feeling the world would be better off if he in particular met a sticky end somewhere.
“You two need to date, I think,” Jay says, which waggles a few eyebrows. “No wait, let me explain. I mean that you need to be seen doing more lovey-dovey stuff together. You haven't had much opportunity to date, have you?”
“No,” I admit, rather gloomy from the realization. “We are getting closer, but the cards haven't fallen that way for us yet. Maybe I should ask him.”
Morgan nods vigorously, until Danny stops his nodding with a thump to the back. Paul nods as well, though he's more hesitant.
“Are you really getting on with him, though? He always seems to be busy elsewhere. It gives the impression he's trying to avoid you.”
“True,” Jay says, frowning at Paul. “And impressions do mean a lot.”
Eventually we head down to the stables to help Paul groom the horses. Although Danny and Morgan have been a little less vigilant watching over me, I can see they dislike Paul, who acts ignorant to their own attitudes. Jay and the Kelman have to go elsewhere for their duties at one point, then Danny stalks off as well, leaving me with Paul and Morgan. I scowl when Rayse enters the stables, heading towards his own horse, a bad tempered black coated beast, which always tries to bite my fingers if I go near it.
Sounds like him, to be honest. “Already fucking the stable boy I see,” he says, out of earshot of Morgan, who has been dragged off into conversation with Paul.
“I'm not fucking him,” I say hotly.
“Is it the guard instead? Trying to win over the Graves so they spare you?” Rayse snorts, and I grit my teeth, infuriated by the audacity of him. He just doesn't stop. “You can't win here, whore,” he hisses at me, his cold dark eyes locked with mine. “You won't destroy my people. You won't trick me like you tricked my brother. Obviously you've got some magical pussy right there, if you got all the men riding after you so hard.”
“Oh, fuck off,” I say, though all my senses feel under attack, and my heart's hammering in a way that makes me want to run from the scene. I've gone from calm to fight or flight in just a few seconds of talking to this asshole. I don't have the wit to come up with anything else. My mind locks over.
“No. I won't fuck off from my own home. You're the intruder here. My brother doesn't care for you. He only pretends because he seems to think that we're not strong enough to stand on our own two feet. He thinks we're weak when we're not.” He grins. “Bet it must feel so good, having him fuck you. That same dick's raped more Hartson vassals than you can count.”
A cold, icy feeling clutters over me when he says that. “He doesn't rape.”
“Doesn't he? Why don't you ask him? You think he's never gone on a raid and given into temptation?” Rayse continues to wear that creepy grin, though his attention turns to his horse when Morgan hustles closer, sensing something's wrong.
“Are you okay?” the Graves man asks. I remain mute.
No I'm not.
I'm not okay with this. A slow sensation of panic creeps inside. What am I doing here? What do I think I can change? I'm surrounded by rapists and murderers. I'm –
“Here,” Paul says, gently guiding me. “Let's get you to a quiet place. She doesn't look well,” he says to Morgan. “Let's get her somewhere quiet.”
Morgan nods, glaring at Rayse. “Keep her safe,” he says curtly, before storming over to Rayse. Paul steers me as Morgan and Rayse begin a glaring match, voices quiet, but slowly escalating in volume. Paul steers me right into what seems to be a shed of some sort, hovering just outside the estate, complete with an armchair and a few books scattered on a table. It's out of the way, behind the stables, in a small garden patch that seems well maintained. It smells musty here, like it hasn't been washed for ages. Paul closes the door, clicking it shut, and then plops me on the chair.
“Rayse is a real piece of work, isn't he? Look, let's calm you down. Here, this is one of my favorite books...” Paul proceeds to shove book after book into my face, getting me to read the blurbs, to check if I've heard of them before. He cracks out a small drink from a crate tucked in the corner of the small shed, and I accept it, knowing that it'll help me relax further, because my nerves are all strung, and just thinking of Rayse and his words and the implication behind them is enough to make me want to vomit.
The alcohol is slightly stronger than anticipated, however. I cough from one swallow, and Paul laughs.
“Yeah, that one's a little spicy. I can get a weaker one for you, if you want? Plenty to choose from. I keep this place locked so the other servants don't rob me. It should belong to the servants who live in the cottages outside, but it's been unused for a while. So I've taken it.”
“M'fine,” I say, waving off his offer, and taking a little more. Nope. Still burns just as badly. “What is even this stuff?”
“Our famous gut-rot,” he says. “About forty percent.”
Forty? I hastily shove it away. That's too strong for me. He swaps the drinks around, and the second one is sweeter, with a smaller kick than before. It tastes fruity, like blackcurrants crushed together, and he informs me as much that this is the main flavor. The information is much appreciated. I'll probably ask Desmond if we can have a few of these stored up in our rooms for future reference. Paul sits opposite me, leaning forward slightly, legs splayed, bottle between his legs. It's a pretty open gesture, but the expression is wears is so full of concern, that I feel like confessing everything to him. Including my frustrations with Desmond.
However, I know I won't. I can't reveal the truth of our marriage, that it's a sham.