"How can this be? Never have I earned a single gold coin in all my days!"
"And what sum be fifty copper coins a hundred thousandfold? I cannot reckon it…"
"I… I know not how to gain coin…"
"If I fail to earn, will the Baron cast me to the hounds for sustenance?"
"…"
For a time, the Baron's words wrought fear rather than hope in the slaves' hearts. They trembled as if at any moment he might forsake them.
Darien's brow twitched with slight vexation. Awakening courage in the weak was no small task, and he felt his own skill wanting.
"Fear not if you do not understand now. Soon, you will see the measure of your worth." he said, calm, yet shadowed in mystery.
Most of the slaves were simplefolk, unlearned and bewildered. Yet some, like Arlette, could grasp the import of his speech.
In her mind, Darien's proclamation echoed ceaselessly: "Your life is worth more than you realize!"
"Am I… of such value?" she whispered, trembling yet resolute.
"I… who know nothing and have nothing to offer…"
"Does the Baron really see such potential in me?"
"Be that as it may, I will not disappoint him!"
Her eyes grew bright, burning with determination, and she fixed Darien with a gaze aflame. A strange power seemed to surge through her veins.
Darien, long accustomed to devotion, sensed a fervent stare upon him. His gaze swept across the throng of slaves—and there, among them, he spied Arlette.
"Huh… could one so lowly hold such light?" he muttered, intrigued beyond measure.
Though Arlette was now thin, her skin dry and weary, her delicate features still shone through. Her bright eyes held a fire that few could match.
Seeing this, Darien felt a rare ease, as if someone truly understood him. He spoke.
"What is thy name?"
The Baron's direct address made Arlette both excited and anxious. She replied hoarsely:
"My lord, I am Arlette Green by name."
"Arlette… might I know of your birth and house?"
Darien stepped closer, studying her intently.
Her long flaxen hair fell about her shoulders, her gray-brown eyes clear and alert. The loose garments did little to hide her frail frame, yet her bearing marked her apart from the others.
Though the other slaves were no longer filth-ridden and half-dead from starvation, they remained timid, uncertain, and cowed. Arlette, however, met his gaze with steadiness. Her will to survive burned brighter than any of theirs.
"My Lord… I hail from a noble line, yet my house is fallen, and my family… they are gone, and I have nothing left but myself." she said, her voice calm, matter-of-fact—as if speaking of another. Gone was the frightened girl who had once cowered in the hay.
Darien's heart stirred with sympathy. To endure such a fall—from noble lady to slave—few could withstand such a blow without breaking. Yet here he saw a rare toughness in her.
"And what skills do you possess? What do you know?" he inquired, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
Arlette faltered, the blood of life still bright in her cheeks but suddenly stilled. She was a refugee, sold into slavery because her family had fallen, their lands lost, her kin slain by brigands. She had no craft to earn her keep.
"I… I know nothing," she whispered, lowering her head, warmth turning to cold shame.
Darien's brow lifted in mild surprise, yet he smiled inwardly. Indeed, if she had possessed all skills, she would not stand here as a slave. But it mattered little; he had other designs.
"Are you familiar with the ways of nobles?"
"Noble manners? Aye, I know them well!" she said, eager to prove herself.
Discouragement melted away, replaced by a determination to show her worth.
"Very good," Darien said. His gaze swept the others; all, male and female, shrank from his eyes. Though clad now in fresh garments, they remained gaunt and timid, a stark contrast to their filthy selves of the morn.
"These people shall be entrusted to you at once." Darien said, turning to Arlette.
"Ah… my lord, what do you mean?" she asked, confusion knitting her brow.
"From this day forth, you shall lead these folk. They shall heed your commands, and your task is to instruct them in the manners and etiquette of nobles, that they may, at least in semblance, comport themselves as nobles."
"Teach slaves noble etiquette?"
Arlette's eyes widened; she feared she had heard amiss.
"Aye," Darien said, his tone even.
He spoke no further, for the truth was not easily told. One could not say plainly: Thou shalt enter service in another world, and be trained as a lady of manners.
"No, my lord, none," Arlette replied with resolve, though the purpose of his command remained hidden from her. She felt certain she could accomplish it.
"Very well," Darien said. "I will provide more instruction in time, and you will be made aware soon."
He turned his gaze to the assembled slaves.
"Hear me, all! You will receive three full meals a day, proper clothing, decent housing, and a wage. But remember—these privileges come only with obedience to Arlette and careful performance of the work she sets before you."
At Darien's words, the slaves fell silent, disbelief painted on their faces.
Three meals a day, each one full? The notion seemed nigh impossible. And payment for their labors? Some hearts leapt with joy, others doubted, yet Darien cared not. He required only their obedience; all else would be revealed in time.
---
🔍 Did you know?
- In medieval Europe, some noble households trained young servants in etiquette, manners, and courtly behavior—so they could serve well and even rise in status. Teaching "noble manners" was considered a way to prepare servants for important roles in the household.
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