People were up and about, opening businesses, making their morning commutes. The streets were busy, so Locke pulled the hood tight around her face and kept her eyes trained downwards.    Penelope's tobacco and citrus scent still clung to her dress as she walked home, not along her favorite canal, but the quickest route back to the Palace. It sat towards the north end of the city and soon Locke saw its towering domes, gilded and glinting above her. 

     Home. Sort of.

     She'd lived in the golden Palace for five years and still it only felt somewhat like home. The first two years she'd worked as a servant, relegated to her duties and the staff wing. Now she had free reign, mostly unrestricted to roam as she pleased. Inside its walls, of course. Her morning walks were still very much a secret.

     Locke entered the grounds through the southern gate like always, Gallien’s morning guard post aligning with her escapes perfectly. By design, of course. Coming and going was hard to do as a thrall to the most powerful man in Necja. 

       Thrall.

       She hated the word, but the brands on her back and neck burned in resonance. She had been bought and sold. Worked to live. There was no better word for what she was. To Ledger though, Locke was so much more. He reminded her of that daily. But the title still stood. She was not free, despite the comforts he provided. 

     “Where have you been?” Gallien’s voice cut through her thoughts.

     Her friend stood ramrod straight, armor glinting in the morning sunlight. To Locke, Gallien was sturdier and more stubborn than the iron gate at his back. She grinned and addressed the man standing next to him.

     “Eric! Good morning,” she crooned. “How are you today?” Eric just smiled back at her at Gallien’s expense. Always at Gallien’s expense. 

      “Where have you been, Locke? It’s already almost nine,” Gallien grunted, moving to unlock the gate. She thanked the gods everyday for this man, he had enough respect for the rules for the both of them. 

    “Relax, Gallien,” she groaned, lightly jabbing at his armored arm. Today he had his hair back in a tight bun, showing off exceptional cheekbones and the freckles that covered them. Upturned, fierce eyes squinted at her in disdain. Locke smiled larger. 

      Her protector. Sometimes—well actually—most of the time, overly protective. Gallien was as good as a brother to Locke, both of them having been sold into slavery at twelve when The Empire sacked their village. Even prior to that, though, he’d sworn Locke's father, The Lord of Foxfall, to pledge his life for her protection. Somehow they’d managed to never be separated, and Gallien upheld his promise, time and time again.

     And then Necja happened. But in the end, it worked out. He, a sentry to the Palace and Locke a servant to the Lord himself.

    "Are you boys working tonight?" she inquired.

     Ledger was throwing a party. Politicians and nobles from the southwestern lands were arriving today, and tonight they would feast in the Grand Ballroom while Locke waited, bored and lonely without Ledger’s company. Especially bored if Gallien and Eric were working. 

   Eric chimed in. “We’re both on guard duty and thankfully stationed in the ballroom. I’ve been dying to see those southern broads.” Excitement coated his words.

      Eric Sims always seemed large and overpowering next to Gallien’s leaned, muscled frame. Where Gallien was lithe and quick, Eric was a wrecking ball. Pure mass and muscle and area. Where Gallien often came across cold and calculated, Eric’s entire being exuded passion. Deep brown skin, friendly mahogany eyes, and a laugh that could warm you even in the dead of winter. His happy disposition was a true blessing to many in the Palace, and something she loved about him. The man could not only out power anyone, but he also had fantastic luck with women. 

     Gallien and Locke both rolled their eyes.

     “There will be good people watching," Gallien agreed. "Those women however, will not look twice at you.”

      “And they will you?” Eric contended.

      Gallien sighed. “I have no interest in the southern women. Just in doing my job. You’d be smart to follow suit.”

      Eric and Locke shared a look, then burst into laughter.

    “Gallien, the ever dutiful warrior,” Locke smirked. “Who knows, someone may catch your eye tonight."

     "I highly doubt it," her friend muttered in response. "The southern women are terrifying."

     "That's why I like them," Eric said, as if it were obvious. Locke ignored them both. The last thing she wanted to do was imagine Ledger in a room full of noblewomen.

     The gate clicked open and Gallien paused. "Actually…," he considered, "they aren't terrifying, its the fucking southern fashion. You'd need a weapon to get them out of those dresses," he shuddered, "its like skinning an elk."

     "You speak from experience?" Eric asked, genuinely interested.

    "No. Imagination," Gallien replied.

     Eric shrugged. "I appreciate a challenge. You know that, Gal."

     "It's quite funny how you think you'll have the opportunity to mutter one 'hello' to them," Locke quipped and moved past them through the threshold.

      "Not at the party, dimwit," Eric said. "Afterwards."

      Gallien shot his friend a killing glance.

     "Afterwards?" Locke asked.

     The burly guard dropped into fighting stance, punching a quick combination into the air. "Old Road. Word is some of the nobles want to see what happens in Necja after hours."

    "You're not invited," Gallien muttered at the same time his counterpart said, "You should come."

     "Gods know I’ll be bored silly tonight," Locke asserted as she began to consider her options. The kitchens would be packed with cooks. The gardens no doubt occupied by horny nobles. "Perhaps I’ll dust off my old uniform…” She trailed off as a plan began to form in her head. Yes, Locke would find some entertainment tonight. The thought of seeing Ledger in action, holding court, heated her insides.

      Gallien let out an exasperated sigh. “Must you always sniff out trouble? Seriously Locke, why push him?” 

    "Why do I get all the questions?!" Locke exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air. "What don't you ask him," she pointed to their giant friend, "the same thing?"

     Eric moved to grab her finger, but she quickly darted, sticking out her tongue through thick iron bars.

     "You really want to know why I push him?" Locke asked as she walked backwards onto the grounds.

    The two of them nodded.

    “Because it makes for better sex!”

     Both men groaned in protest at her reply.

     Letting out a laugh she skipped the whole way up to the Palace.

                                                                                                             ***

      The server's uniform was stiff and starchy. Locke pulled on the jacket sleeves and fixed the collar for the final time, then studied herself in the full length mirror and smiled. 

     She looked completely and totally inconsequential. 

    Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight plait and fastened to the nape of her neck in a bun and she'd powdered her entire face to look one dimensional and mute the usual glow of her pink cheeks. 

No one at the party would spare her a second glance. No one except Ledger, hopefully. She imagined his face as he realized who was serving him expensive pagne in imported crystal flutes. Surprise, then a slow, boiling anger would emerge, lasting throughout the night until he came to her chambers to have a “discussion”.

     Locke frequently found herself creating scenarios like this for entertainment.

    It was a terrible strategy, but oftentimes the quickest way to gain her lover’s attention was through his anger.

    She couldn’t help it. She'd begun her time at the Palace as a servant in the kitchens and her days had no room for leisure with all the work required of her. Locke had pined over Ledger those first two years, volunteering at any chance to serve him herself. She'd quickly discovered his favorite dishes and worked her way to his heart with the fastest route she knew—his stomach. He began requesting her cooking specifically and then… Late nights in the dining room, walks around the grounds—the rest was history. It was known amongst the staff and the guards they were together. And the animosity grew here too, just as at Magdalene’s. And yes, it was rumored and frowned upon by the other nobles and officials, but Ledger was powerful. Some would say second only to the Emperor himself.

     Currently, Locke spent most of her time idly, occasionally returning to the kitchens, baking instead for the staff. Most days she let the boredom eat at her until it turned into resentment that Ledger would still not petition the Emperor for her freedom. Thrall were rarely granted it and Ledger was waiting until the perfect time, when the Emperor couldn’t refuse. 

     Satisfied with her appearance, she exited her chambers, sticking to the shadows as she traveled down to the kitchens. The marbled halls were eerily quiet, yet she could still make out the soft, lilting music from below through the stone. She descended the steps in a hurry then waltzed through the larger of the kitchens into the smaller, more intimate dining room. Trays of pagne lined the massive oak table and servants positioned themselves to begin taking them out into the party. 

     She fell in line easily, just another body encased in cream wool and scooped up a tray, grimacing as the stemware swayed with her lack of strength. It had been awhile.

     Locke followed the single file line of servants as they moved through an antechamber and then the walls opened up to the Grand Ballroom. The same marble floors shone in this room, but they now reflected the gold from the giant dome above their heads. The ceiling had to be over two hundred feet high and despite spending plenty of time exploring the space, she always craned her head and looked up upon entering. 

     A small band played in a corner, keys and strings being plucked in fervor. Nobles and officials and politicians flitted about, making small talk and swapping pleasantries. The true reason for the party was unbeknownst to her, masquerading as some sort of celebration for a Unification anniversary. Undoubtedly actually an opportunity for Ledger to solidify trade agreements before the summer months hit. 

     The room was ripe with status, even Locke could see that.

    She found that the surest way to distinguish nobility was their beauty. Locke thought the nobles looked slightly inhuman compared to the rest of the world. None of them had bags under their eyes or the gaunt cheekbones one gets from skipping too many meals. Their lips were pink, hair shiny, teeth straight and white. They always seemed well rested and relaxed, with their backs straight and unburdened. Once, at a prior gathering, Locke had noticed how soft all of their hands looked. Even the men's hands, smooth like babies bottoms, not a scar or callous on them. To her chagrin, her own hands were beginning to smooth over.

      And one thing the nobles had in plenty?

     Time. Lots and lots of it.

     Time for rest, time for food, time for fucking. They had time to contemplate art, music—even poetry for gods sake. They chattered constantly, like strange alien birds, about the most menial of topics.

     That chattering filled the room, droning in her ears like buzz of mosquitoes.

     She scanned the ballroom for Ledger, instead finding Gallien and Eric posted up along the columns on the far side of the room. Eric met her eyes and nudged his partner. Gallien shot her a look of pure disapproval. While her eyes searched the faces of the crowd, a noble lifted a flute from the tray almost sending the contents careening off due to the change in weight. Locke righted herself, but out of the corner of her eye she could see the white of Eric's smile.

    Bastard.

    Moving through the ballroom, Locke stepped through the perfumed bodies, trying to find him. Only to be stopped by a group of… Well, a group of southern broads.

     The perfume was exceptionally potent amongst them, their tightly laced bodices erecting each of them into the perfect image of a proper lady. Locke understood Gallien's remark as she noted the fabric that seemed to be more like a second skin than a dress. She imagined them groaning in relief as they molted out of it at the end of the night, their skin red and indented from the boning. But the women didn't seem a bit uncomfortable, however terrifying their fashion. They huddled together, laughing and gossiping, mischief shining on every one of their faces. Locke couldn’t blame them, the party was roaring, thick with the richest, most prominent figures from their region of the continent. That golden dome above casted everyone in its gilded shadow, Necja’s opulence on display for their judgment and appraisal.

     Their gossip drifted into her ears.

     “He must be well into his third decade.”

     “Gods he’s gorgeous. Not many can pull off the blonde look.”

     “I heard he keeps a slave. A whore.”

     That piqued her interest and she followed the women’s forlorn gazes across the ballroom.

    There. 

    Found him.

     Ledger was laughing. He stood near the columns where Gallien and Eric were posted, glowing so brightly that Locke couldn’t believe she had missed him in the first place. He’d chosen his navy jacket for the evening, its buttons and seams mirroring the gold of the dome. The gold of his hair. The golden undertones of his gorgeous skin. It also brought out the deep blue of his eyes. 

      Good choice, Ledger.

       He looked every part of a powerful and capable leader, especially with his head tipped back in laughter. Confident and assured in his position.

      One of the women still had her hand on a flute, eyes locked on Ledger with a look of determination that sent a pit of dread through Locke's stomach.

     “Shit or get off the pot,” Locke whispered, baring her teeth in a feral smile.

     The woman's face was one of pure shock as Locke turned to move towards her lover. Gallien’s eyes widened at her approach but she put a finger to her mouth as if to quiet him. She stealthily wove through the crowd and stopped at the group adjacent to Ledger's, offering them the bubbles and a subdued smile. She was about to turn towards him when his conversation stopped her in her tracks.

     “It is the last frontier, as you know gentlemen. The continent will be reunited in due time. They will fall, it is just a matter of when,” she heard a politician’s voice say.

     Locke quickly ducked her head, straining to hear them over the din of the band.

     “It’s been decades upon decades, Lord Brennan. The Empire has seemingly no plan to march on Dolo, for reasons I can’t understand. If you think it will be united with the continent any time soon…,” another lord chimed in and the rest chuckled.

      "Ah, Coppock, remember your place,” Ledger’s voice was stone cold in warning. “You do not know the Emperor’s plans. Everyone wants to see the continent whole again.”

     “Those magic wielding brutes won’t be able to stay sovereign forever,” a nameless, inconsequential lord mocked.

     They all muttered their agreement. Ledger, ever the politician, moved the conversation along.         Speaking of such things in public was never wise, especially with the amount of powerful ears currently in the room.

     Locke loosed the breath she'd been holding and turned to face the group, “Champagne, gentlemen?” she asked sweetly.

     Thankfully, the noblemen didn’t spare her a glance as they grabbed from the tray, or else they would have seen her face stricken with anxiety. Locke's eyes bore into Ledger as they sipped, until he finally realized who was serving him. Surprise, then that anger she knew would come, his neck flush with it. A lord swiped the last flute and she tucked the tray under her arm. With a small bow she moved to walk away, but Ledger’s hand yanked her arm as his mouth found the shell of her ear. 

      “You look fucking pathetic in this uniform.” The blood rushed back into her face and her cheeks pinked at his harsh words and how they excited her. “Two hours. Cigar room. Please be in something more acceptable than this.”

     He turned, resuming his conversation with the noblemen.

    A thrill shot through her. She'd effectively pissed him off, in the way she knew would give her exactly what she wanted. On top of that, she'd been invited to the after party, where no doubt the most important men would be, no doubt discussing the most important matter at hand—Dolo.

     And in turn, Locke's freedom.