Beside him, Isveth's gaze rested on her lord with open gratitude, because the Head Maiden knew how dejected Myrasyn was the whole day, riddled with the guilt of her past actions.
Her friend, meanwhile, had reached her limit.
"I have worked for four thousand years," Myrasyn said, volume climbing with every word, ears climbing with it, "and you stand there demanding I work more? What are you, a slaver?!"
"Yes." No pause at all. "Literally. I'm the Primordial Subjugator. Being a slaver is a major part of who I am."
Myrasyn stomped, actually stomped, one royal slipper cracking against the ancient living wood, and glared at him with her regalia still on. "You... I didn't..."
Quinlan turned and resumed walking, not waiting for her to hiss out a rebuttal.
Isveth flowed after him without a heartbeat of hesitation.
