The Great Hall was silent, save for the rhythmic thud of Duke Kraisorn's boot hitting the side of a kneeling man's ribs.
"I'm bored, Phichai," the Duke said, his voice carrying that sharp, aristocratic clip of a man who had never been told 'no' in his life. "I am absolutely, bloody well bored to tears."
The man on the floor, a minor tax collector named Somchai, let out a wet wheeze. He didn't dare look up. He knew the rules. Looking the Duke in the eye was a capital offense on Tuesdays. Today was Tuesday.
"My Lord," Phichai sighed, standing by the heavy teak doors with his arms crossed. "The man hasn't actually done anything. He's just here to deliver the quarterly reports."
Kraisorn paused his kicking. He looked down at the reports scattered on the floor, then back at Somchai. He tilted his head, a lock of black hair falling over an eye that promised nothing but trouble.
"That's exactly the problem, isn't it? He's done nothing. He's a non-entity. A waste of my oxygen." Kraisorn reached out and snatched a ceremonial kris from the display rack beside his chair. He unsheathed it with a slow, deliberate ring of metal. "Tell me, Somchai. Give me one reason why I shouldn't take your head right now. Make it a bloody good one. I've got a lunch engagement."
"I... I have a wife, Your Grace," Somchai stuttered, his voice cracking.
Kraisorn's face fell into a mask of pure, unadulterated disgust. "A wife. How original. Everyone's got a wife. Even the stable boys have wives. It's tedious. It's trite. It's a sackable offense, really."
He stepped closer, the tip of the blade resting right under Somchai's chin, forcing the man to crane his neck.
"You're a dullard, Somchai. A boring, snivelling little clerk. And I simply cannot abide boring people in my presence."
From the corner of the room, near the cleaning supplies, Bua let out a loud, sharp snort.
The Duke froze. The blade stayed at Somchai's throat, but his eyes shifted toward the girl in the slave's tunic.
"Did you just scoff at me?" Kraisorn asked, his tone dropping an octave. "You. The one with the bucket. Did you just have an opinion?"
Bua didn't drop her gaze. She leaned against her mop as if she were at a pub rather than a massacre. "I did, Your Grace. It's just... it's a bit pathetic, isn't it? Killing a man because his domestic life isn't entertaining enough for you? You're the Duke. If you're bored, that's a failure of your own imagination, not his."
The guards in the room audibly caught their breath. Phichai looked like he wanted to vanish into the woodwork.
Kraisorn pulled the knife away from Somchai's neck and turned fully toward Bua. A slow, terrifying grin spread across his face—the kind of look a wolf gives a rabbit that's just kicked it in the nose.
"Right then," Kraisorn whispered, stepping over the trembling tax collector. "You think you're a bit of a wit, do you? You think you can provide better entertainment than a decapitation?"
"I think a blind monkey could provide better entertainment than you bullying a man who can't even hold a fork properly," Bua snapped.
Kraisorn stood directly in her space, his height looming over her. He smelled of nothing but expensive soap and impending violence. He shoved the kris into the belt of his trousers and leaned down until his nose almost touched hers.
"Phichai," the Duke called out, never breaking eye contact with Bua. "Let the clerk go. Give him a gold coin for his trouble and tell him to get a more interesting wife."
"And the girl, My Lord?" Phichai asked tentatively.
Kraisorn's hand shot out, gripping Bua's chin with fingers like iron bands. "The girl stays. She's got a mouth on her. I want to see how long it takes for me to decide to cut it out."
Bua smirked. "You'll be waiting a long time, you arrogant twat."
Kraisorn barked a laugh that echoed off the high ceiling. "Brilliant. Simply brilliant. Tomorrow morning, you'll be at my side. If you don't make me laugh, or at least keep me from wanting to slaughter the kitchen staff, I'll have your head on a pike by tea time. Do we have a deal, you little rat?"
"Deal," Bua said. "Now bugger off. I've got a floor to finish."
Kraisorn didn't move. He simply stared at Bua for a long, drawn-out moment, his fingers still clamped firmly on her chin. Most people would have fainted or at least had the decency to tremble, but she just looked bored.
"You really are a piece of work, aren't you?" Kraisorn murmured. He released her abruptly, wiping his hand on his silk trousers as if he'd touched something particularly grimy. "Phichai, did you hear that? She told me to bugger off. In my own bloody palace."
Phichai didn't look up from his ledger. "I heard it, My Lord. I'm currently deciding whether to order your coffin or hers. It's a toss-up, really."
"Don't be thick," Kraisorn snapped, though he was still grinning. "She's the first thing that hasn't made me want to jump out of a window in a fortnight. Bua, is it? Well, Bua, you've just inherited a job. You're my new Master of Ceremonies. Or Mistress. Whatever the hell you want to call it."
Bua leaned back against the stone pillar, crossing her arms. "I already have a job. I clean the floors. It's honest work, unlike yours, which seems to involve sitting on a fancy chair and being a massive prick."
"The floors can wait," Kraisorn said, waving a hand dismissively. "From this moment on, you follow me. You talk. You insult people. You tell me who's lying and who's just a coward. If you make a mistake, I'll kill you. If you're dull, I'll kill you. If you try to run away... well, you get the gist."
Bua looked at the tax collector, Somchai, who was currently scrambling out of the hall as fast as his legs would carry him. She then looked back at the Duke.
"And what do I get out of this arrangement, other than the pleasure of your company?" she asked.
Kraisorn stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "You get to live. And you get to eat something other than that gray sludge the kitchen serves the help. I might even throw in some shoes that don't have holes in them. It's a fair trade for someone who was two seconds away from being a headless corpse."
Bua sighed, a long, weary sound. "Fine. But I'm not wearing a uniform. They're itchy and they look ridiculous."
"Wear whatever you like," Kraisorn said, turning on his heel and heading toward the massive oak doors. "Just don't look like a total gutter rat. We have the Prime Minister coming for tea, and I'm planning on being particularly difficult. I'll need you there to tell me if I'm being too subtle."
He stopped at the doorway and looked back over his shoulder.
"Move it, Bua. The world isn't going to annoy itself."
Bua dropped her mop into the bucket with a splash. She didn't bow. She didn't even hurry. She just walked after him, her wooden sandals clicking loudly against the floor.
"You're going to regret this, you know," she called out to his back.
Kraisorn didn't stop. "I regret everything, darling. That's what makes life so entertaining."