Chapter Text
Definitions:
Pannia- Trained to seduce and kill.
Panya- Mated, owned omega.
Hadja- Beloved responsibility.
This is a post, post-apocalyptic Earth. Society got knocked back to the Dark Ages overnight, and humanity has just now climbed back up to a Regency-type setting.
“I'm not supposed to work with actual, metal-boned fans yet,” Kevin hissed at Dean, batting one aside from the air like it was a pesky insect instead of a weapon capable of slitting flesh. His long, wiry arm, and hard fist, made the deflection easy and natural. “Dean, come on,” he added, drawing up. “I'm not a warrior, or, a pannia. Quit tossing out the armament!”
Dean knew he should feel bad about taking Kevin under his wing to harden him up. The boy was beautiful, destined to a decent, solid household, hopefully. With his looks, Kevin would attract all kinds of people. Still. That was the whole problem. Kevin was slender, small, and looked an easy mark. Dean would be damned if he let the boy go to his first season without some kind of self protection.
Stooping over to get a basket of fans, Dean sighed. “Kev, I know you're not some bloodthirsty little pannia, but you should pretend for a little while, because your first season is three months away. Do I really need to lecture you on what you're up against?”
Dean brought up a dazzlingly bright fan, and held it before his eyes. “Kevin. You're a wet dream for sweaty rich men. If you don't get the basics down for defending yourself, you're going to end up defiled and pregnant, or in a gutter somewhere. You have to learn how to kill. Nothing less will keep you alive. We don't have rights or status, please recall.”
“I damned well know it,” Kevin spat, bristling. “I have a knife.”
“You kill some rich guy with a knife, and you get executed,” Dean pointed out. “Kill him with a fan, and it's all on him being weak.” He threw Kevin a fan, and stood up straight. “This is the weapon you're allowed, the only one,” he reminded. “You have to be an expert with it, on both sides of the problem. If you kill with a fan, you're off the hook. If you don't, you die. I can't get more plain.”
“This is so wrong,” Kevin said, taking up the fan. “My weapon is a thing I'm supposed to use to entice the rich alpha.”
“I don't make the rules,” Dean reminded. “I'm a master of the fan because I don't want some alpha knot in my ass, and, you should listen to me about that.”
Kevin bowed his head a moment, and it was in order to speak to both Dean and the ground. “Sonny's going to kick you out, you know. Financially, he has no other recourse.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean admitted.
“Representation on the grounds!” Someone shouted from the house toward them. “Everyone line up!”
Dean always dreaded hearing those words. He took two fans, the best ones, and slid them inside his kimono. “Well, let's go present ourselves like livestock,” he said to Kevin, leading him toward the house. “Remember what I said about sneezing? You act sick, and no one's gonna want you. I've used that card too many times, but you haven't yet.”
They joined the line and stood quietly, heads down. Dean heard a woman's voice and relaxed slightly. Women, no matter their designation, tended to be less animalistic. Female alphas generally sought beta males, but when looking for an omega they reliably wanted small ones. The small omegas were favored all around.
Sonny and the woman walked up and down their line of twelve twice before Dean heard the woman say, “The one on the end.”
Dean cringed inside.
“You want Dean?” Sonny asked, sounding surprised. “Far be it for me to hinder him getting a good home, Miss Masters, but do you know his reputation?”
“My employer doesn't want a cringing, tiny omega,” Miss Masters said. “I suppose he can be said to have peculiar tastes, but I don't presume to change his mind for him. Have the omega's personal possessions sent to Tor-Valen. I'll take charge of him now. We must be back before the storm hits.”
“Yes, Miss Masters,” Sonny said. “As long as you and your master know what you're buying.”
Dean ground his teeth together. This was okay. If he got off grounds he had a chance of escaping. He regretted leaving Kevin here, but what else could he do? The boy wouldn't sneak away with him later, and had little chance of sneaking away right now.
Sonny took Dean by the arm. “Keep your head down,” he instructed lowly, though Dean fully knew the protocol. “Don't ruin this, Dean. The Novak family is wealthy and influential, and if their son wants you, play it up. Make yourself indispensable, someone he can't do without, and you have a chance at some small amount of happiness.”
He'd heard it all before, and always ended up back here, untouched. Dean saw no reason to start prostrating himself before a knot-head now.
He was led into an enclosed carriage, the door shut and locked from the outside. Miss Masters got in on the other side, and Dean heard her door also getting shut and locked. A whip crack by an unseen coach driver lurched the conveyance onto the perpetually muddy access road that would take them to the main, run-down highway.
“All right,” Miss Master said the moment cobblestones would muffle their conversation. “I'm going to be straight up with you, omega. You can lift your head. I'm a beta, and I won't bite.”
She thought he was frightened of her? Dean did as she asked and looked at her directly, exactly as he shouldn't. She was attractive, with bright eyes and dark hair, and wearing... A butler's suit? Dean's eyebrows shot up. Female butlers weren't done.
Miss Masters smiled at him. “See? Feel some kinship with me already, don't you?”
“You're a butler.” Dean couldn't believe it. That was like seeing an alpha in a dress.
“Yep. And, I do a good job for Master Novak,” she said. “I don't need a dick for that.”
Dean winced. Being sequestered in an omega school meant not ever hearing foul language. Sure, he used curse words in his mind, but it was different hearing them out loud.
“Wow,” Miss Masters said as she looked at him. “You sure you're an omega? You really are enormous.”
Plainly, Miss Masters wasn't polite company. It was up to Dean to adjust to her speech and pretend nothing was wrong. “I'm not that freakin' big,” he scoffed. But yeah, he was. Most people weren't even close to his height, no matter how they reproduced. Ever since the environment took a whack a hundred and fifty years ago, people were breeding smaller.
“You're taller than Master Novak,” she judged. “He's one of the tallest people I know.” She shrugged. “Well, you're what he wanted. A big troublemaker. I heard that you're the one who burned down the opera house, Dean. Is that true?”
Dean kept his eyes level and didn't reply.
Miss Masters smiled slowly. “You did,” she murmured. “The official story was a candelabrum fell against the drapes, but I heard gossip in the scullery at St. Addams' place.”
Dean pressed his lips together, and gathered himself. “People talk, especially servants,” he said. “I wasn't anywhere near the start of the fire.”
Miss Masters nodded. “No, you were fighting outside with St. Addams himself. Almost got yourself a death sentence for that. I heard he whipped you in front of his entire house.”
“Weak old man,” Dean said flatly.
“And you weren't getting knotted to that, were you? Don't blame you one bit, green eyes.” Miss Masters took a small pouch from her velvet coat pocket, and opened it up, showing Dean she had actual cashews for a snack. Nuts that cost fifty marks a pound. She offered the bag. “Take a handful. It's a long drive, and we'll have to stop somewhere overnight.”
Dean had never eaten cashews, only seen them. He took a few, and only put one in his mouth. The moment he bit down, he knew he'd found a new craving.
“Good, huh?” Miss Masters put the bag down between them on the seat. “Eat all you want. I order these because the master loves them. And, he can afford to feed them to us, too.”
“Who is this guy that bought me sight unseen?” Dean asked her. “Most alphas come and have a look at the cattle themselves.”
Meg smiled again. “Most alphas are not like Castiel Novak,” she told him. “He's unimpressed by looks, money, or power. You might have heard of his mother and father? Zachariah and Naomi Novak?”
Dean felt the blood leaving his face. “They own all coastal property on this continent,” he said. “No one can fish or sail without their knowledge or assent.”
“Yeah, that's them,” Miss Masters agreed. “Castiel is their firstborn. Don't worry, you don't have to live with his parents. Master Novak has his own estate in the middle of Dark Wood. I expect you'll have to meet the parents, eventually, because they'll want to see what their son chose for breeding stock.”
Dean shoved some more nuts into his mouth.
He would escape. He knew he would. He always did, one way or another.
Dean usually hated being veiled. Miss Masters had put one on him before they exited the coach, and she didn't have to explain why. He was a promised omega on his way to his husband, or owner, which represented the more honest way of looking at it. No other eyes should see him during the journey. No one should speak to him, either, not even the two enormously muscled, beta bodyguards that flanked him once he got out of the fancy vehicle.
Despite the veil, Dean kept his head bowed. Better to seem submissive and cowed, so that when the time came he could take people by surprise. He had to be led inside the bed and breakfast by Miss Masters. He smelled venison stew, the main staple of people nowadays, since supermarkets were a thing of the past. Hell, when Dean was just getting into Sonny's, all of fourteen years ago, they were already eighty years died out. Now, the farmers set up their own markets. Money wasn't being printed much anymore, so bartering ruled. For Novak to have printed money with which to buy fancy cashews, meant he was well off. Really well off.
“Your rooms are ready,” a voice said when Miss Master inquired. “The omega and his bodyguards in one, and you in the other, Miss Masters. Your driver will sleep in the stable with the horses, of course?”
“Yes. Bobby wouldn't have it any other way,” Miss Masters said. “Please have tonight's food sent up to us. I can't risk my master's property down here in the common rooms.”
“Naturally,” the proprietor said. Dean thought he had to be the owner of the place.
He was led up a flight of stairs and put into a bedroom, his bodyguards at his heels. They locked the door, pulling chairs up to sit against it. Dean investigated, found a bathroom, and shut himself up in it. Off came the veil. He looked a moment before finding the obligatory candle and match bowl, lit the candle, and shut off the electric lights. It was the polite thing to do, part of etiquette, since electric lighting was precious, only offered as a courtesy for finding one's way in a strange place.
Dean drew a bath, and stripped. The water wasn't as hot as he liked, but, as he was used to bathing in the equivalent of a hot tub, it wouldn't come close to hot enough. That was one thing he'd miss about Sonny's. The laundry vats were long, made of iron, and placed over top of open fires. Once you were done washing clothes, you could change water, get in and wash yourself. In the winter it took a lot of willpower to vacate the vats. All the omegas had to run fast to the house to keep from freezing.
He heard the food being delivered. Dean let the water out, dried himself, and put his clothing back on, even to the stupid veil. He came out, noticing three empty bowls and bread crumbs on the tray that sat on the floor. His bodyguards had eaten everything. He said nothing, just got into bed with a hand on his fans. A few minutes later, the candle in the bathroom got snuffed, filling the darkness with the scent of burning.
Dean managed to relax after about an hour. Just as his body began to feel very heavy with oncoming sleep, he heard the sound of buttons being undone, and low key, masculine grunting. His bodyguards were pleasuring each other in his presence, which was entirely taboo no matter who you asked. Dean figured since he hadn't shown himself upset to be deliberately denied food, this was another way to play with him.
He rolled until his back faced the door, and put a pillow over his left ear. Not rising to the bait. Still, he could smell them. They didn't have the scent-bag stink of alphas, or the sweet, almost honey like smell of an aroused omega, but the odor offended him anyway. It was personal, and for them to be making him smell it was an assault.
A banging came at the door. Dean's guards jumped up and began fumbling with their clothes. A few seconds passed before light from the hallway flooded the room, and Miss Masters faced off against the bodyguards. She was tiny in front of them, and not a bit bothered by that. “I smell you two morons,” she said, lifting her voice. “You know how offensive that is?” Her gaze fell on the empty tray, and, Dean didn't know how she knew only two people had dined, but she did. Her pretty face morphed into straight-up ugliness. “Out of this room!” She shouted. “Sleep in the stable with Bobby. If I come out in the morning, and find you've left, I'll be Master Novak's second in charge at your hunt!”
The large bodyguards fled, their footsteps like thunder going down the staircase. Miss Masters shut the door, barring it with a chair under the knob. Sighing, she approached Dean, who'd sat up the moment everything got noisy. She perched on the edge of the bed, and offered Dean a fresh bag of cashews. “You should have reported them to me,” she said. “Omega-baiting isn't tolerated in Novak's house. Those two are in for it when we get back.”
“How did you know I didn't eat?” Dean asked. He gladly took the cashews.
“Three dirty bowls, but only two dirty spoons,” she answered, and Dean could have kicked himself.
“You sleep, Dean,” she said kindly. “I'll protect you tonight. No one's getting past me.”
Dean resented being put in the protection of a tiny woman. He sighed, and tried to make himself comfortable again. A few seconds later, he heard the distinct sound of a long knife being pulled from a sheath, and he smiled.
Okay. Maybe she wasn't all talk.
He'd save the cashews for breakfast.
The ride the next morning proved nerve-wracking with Dean's bodyguards tied to the carriage to run along behind. The driver went slow so as not to kill the men, slow enough that Miss Masters, tired from being up all night, fell asleep twenty minutes into the journey. Dean tried to think of the breathless pleading and panting as two guys getting what they deserved, but he couldn't. For omega-baiting, that had been mild. He'd dealt with so much worse.
“Stop,” he said after he'd estimated ten miles. “Please, stop and let them back onto the carriage.”
Miss Masters snorted awake. She'd heard him. Her eyes met his, and Dean thought he saw a glimmer of respect in there. She thumped the top of the interior, and the carriage stopped. “Let 'em back on, Bobby,” she shouted. “The omega doesn't like their punishment!”
Dean heard some grumbling and swearing, felt the vehicle rocking. “They'll need some water,” he added.
Miss Masters rolled her eyes. “You gonna bandage up their boo-boos, too?”
Dean winced. “Are they barefoot?”
“No, they're servants, not omegas,” Miss Masters pointed out, looking at Dean's bare, weathered feet, pointedly. “They have more status than you, ordinarily, so why let your heart bleed for them? They were torturing you as best they could under the constraints of the master's rules, and, the place we were sleeping in.”
“I'm kind of used to it,” Dean pointed out. “One missed meal, and having to listen to them wank each other, isn't very bad.”
Meg stared at him a moment, then threw her head back and laughed. She thumped on the door. “Bobby!”
“What the hell do you want now?” The man asked, unbolting the door and opening it. Dean smelled a mated alpha that spent a lot of time with hay or straw, and animals. “I got the lazy louts back on board!”
“Dean wants them to get water,” she explained.
“You're kidding. After what they did?” The grizzled coach driver set his eyes on Dean, who remembered he needed to have his veil back on too late. The man's eyes took him in as he fumbled with the stupid thing, and he slightly smiled. “Did we seriously go and get Dean Winchester for Master Novak?” He asked Miss Masters. “Ain't he the one who burned down the opera, and set St. Addams on his ear?”
“Well, only the last one is something we can prove,” Miss Masters said. “He wants the guards to get some water,” she emphasized. “I think we ought to do it.”
“It'll just make 'em bleed heavier when Novak takes a rod to 'em,” Bobby grunted. “But, okay. I'll give 'em water. Then, can we go?”
“Yes, you old grump.” Miss Masters shut the door, and Dean heard Bobby locking it.
“I don't understand,” Dean said as they began their journey anew. “Why be so cruel? They might not have survived the trip, running along behind. And, why not give them water?”
“Because, they're cruel themselves,” Miss Masters answered easily. “They reap what they sow.”
Dean settled back, and closed his eyes. His butt was sore from riding, and he ached to get out and move on his own without eyes upon him. He wanted freedom. He wanted to become his own master. His stomach growled, and he got the last half of the cashews out to eat. Though hungry, he offered them to Miss Masters, too.
“No, you eat those,” she said softly. “When we get to your new home, Cook will have dinner waiting. You'll be eating alone, but you won't lack for food. Afterward, one of the house girls will take you to your bedroom, and get you ready to rest.”
“I take it I'm not expected to keep Master Novak warm unless he seeks me out for it?” Dean asked, weary to his soul. “Not usually done that way. Most alphas seem to like to keep their prize meat close to them.”
“You'll learn, Dean, that Castiel Novak isn't like any alpha you've ever known,” she said.
“Stop, or you'll make me curious,” Dean muttered. “He's got to be at least a little bit like other alphas, or I wouldn't be here right now.”
Miss Masters said nothing to that. Dean finished his cashews, and fell asleep.
“Dean, wake up. We're here.”
Dean groaned, and shook himself. Oh, he was sore. He ached all over. His door opened, and he spilled out, but Bobby was there to catch him. “Easy there,” the older man said, smiling. He let Dean find his feet, and stepped back. “Take it you didn't get to ride very much at that school of yours?”
Dean didn't know what to do. He'd been given permission to speak to Miss Masters, but not Bobby. So, he nodded, and tried to stretch some strain out of his muscles. His fans slid from his kimono, falling to the cobblestone walkway.
Bobby bent and retrieved them, looking at the stamping on the iron sides. He whistled. “Got yourself heirlooms there, don't you, kid?” He offered them to Dean with a smile. “A word of advice? Don't flip 'em at Master Novak, unless you want to be eating 'em.”
“Bobby, you know that's how he's supposed to communicate,” Miss Masters scolded as she ordered the guards down. “Master Novak probably expects it of him.”
“Yeah, and I know that this here troublemaker might be tempted to bash his way to freedom,” Bobby said, and rightly, too.
Dean thought a little bit of communication was in order right now. He flipped one fan open, and shut it briskly to show his displeasure.
Bobby laughed. “I know exactly what that means, you little smart ass,” he said. “You just remember what I said. Use the fans like you're supposed to and it's all good. Take aim at the master, and you're gonna have problems.”
A bell rang, loud and clear. Bobby and Miss Masters straightened up. “I'll go tell Sir we've got his omega,” Miss Masters said, smoothing her suit. “I'll send Charlie out to escort Dean inside. Wait here, will you, Bobby? I have to take the stupid goons in with me.”
“Yeah, sure,” Bobby said.
Miss Masters marched the two guards in ahead of herself, and they followed her orders exactly. Dean watched as she shoved them through an opened door.
Dean looked around. This carriage house was sturdy, made of block-cut stone with thick, wooden beams. The rafters supported a slate tile roof. He expected Bobby would take the carriage straight out the other large door when it was time to tend to the horses.
“Kid, you got no reason to trust me,” Bobby said quietly. “If I was in your place, I'd probably never trust anyone. You got the shitty end of the stick, that's for sure. But, it's okay here at Tor-Valen. It's not paradise. We got problems here same as anywhere, but you ain't gonna be whipped or starved for recreation, you got me?”
Dean bowed his head to show he'd heard, and that he attended Bobby's words.
“Now, that being said,” Bobby went on, “I gotta tell ya, don't be high-tailing it outta here before you get a chance to see what it's like, because if Master Novak has to hunt for you, it's not going to sit right with him. He's a fair man above all else, but he don't take being insulted. You think about that.”
Dean inclined his head. What about the insult of being property just because you're capable of bearing children? What about that? Alphas were so proud and arrogant. They were weak with arrogance. A few choice words could set them into a blind temper. Dean ought to know.
“That veil will come off,” Bobby said casually, making Dean's head snap up. “It's something the master doesn't like. He'll ask you, probably. If you want to keep it on, he'll allow it, but none of the other omegas here do.”
“Other...?” Dean forgot himself, and spoke, having to wrench his mouth shut afterward.
Bobby didn't blink. “You don't think your personal maid would be an alpha who might violate you, or a beta that wouldn't know your deal?” He shook his head. “Charlie is an omega, and so is Cook.”
This time, Dean didn't bother to try and keep quiet. “He buy them, too?” He asked bitterly.
“Yes,” Bobby admitted. “How else is it done, boy?”
“How much did he pay for me?” Dean asked.
“Shit, I don't know.” Bobby took his wide brimmed traveling hat off, and scratched his head. “Seeing as how you're a notorious troublemaker, probably not a lot. Also, you're about ten years past your breeding prime.”
Dean ground his teeth together so hard he tasted blood. “Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “I'm twenty-six, not sixty-six.”
“Just giving you the plain facts as I know 'em,” Bobby defended. “I'm not blowing smoke up your ass. You've had a rough life, and this can't be anything close to what you want for yourself. But, I'm tellin' ya, wait a little while before you do something half-cocked and stupid.”
Fine. Dean could respect being talked to this way. He could, and he did. But, Bobby was an alpha, and had no idea what it was like being told from childhood that you weren't good for anything but cranking out alphas for some other alpha. “Did your father sell you because he was embarrassed you came out wrong?” Dean snapped. “Did you have to leave your little brother? Did you get bought and returned umpteen times?”
Bobby stared at him a moment before putting his hat back on, and shaking his head to the negative. “No, son,” he said gently. “But, I do know what it is to have a bad family. Trust me on that.”
“Clashed with your alpha dad?” Dean asked, interested. It was an old story. Alpha fathers insisting their alpha sons obey them, because it made them even more 'alpha'.
“My daddy, may he burn in Hell's eternal fire, beat my mother to death,” Bobby told him flat out. “I shot him with an old family inheritance, a Colt.” Bobby tapped his thigh, and Dean saw a pistol grip sticking out of a long holster. “My sentence was to go into servitude, and I went to work for Master Novak's parents. When he split from them, he brought me along.”
Dean didn't know what to say the face of that tragedy.
“Oh, there you are!” A young woman with bright red hair briskly approached them. “I'm Charlie, your maid.” She gave Dean a swift bow. “Let's get you inside. I'm sure you want something to eat, and a bath, and then to stretch out on something that isn't moving.”
Dean paused in being led away to give Bobby a respectful nod. Through the diaphanous confines of his veil, he saw the older man return the gesture.
Dean kept his head down, looking at the floor as they entered a foyer, because he heard people moving around. Charlie took him to a very warm room that smelled of vanilla and spices, and she sat him down at a long table that had bowls and jars spread out in various places.
“You wait here, and Cook will bring you a meal,” she said. “You shouldn't eat with the servants, but I'll be able to take meals with you after tonight, and even Cook, too. Don't feel too lonely. We all thought maybe you'd like to get your head together before jumping into the household, you know?”
Her voice, bright and cheerful, managed to make Dean feel better and worse at the same time. Dean nodded.
“Okay! Here comes Cook. I'll be back in forty-five minutes to get you, and we'll go to your room.”
Charlie left, and Cook came alongside. He knew it would have to be the cook because of the apron he could see peripherally, and because Charlie had kindly announced it. A plate appeared in front of him, and Dean couldn't help but stare at it in amazement. First off, it was made of some kind of porcelain so delicate he could almost see through it. Secondly, it had a thick cut of beef, and out of season vegetables sitting on it.
This had to be a mistake.
“You eat that,” a strong, matronly voice commanded. “I don't want to hear any lip about light, delicate, omega fare.” The woman put a glass of something down to his left, and patted the table. “You want more, there's some bread on the stove. The wine is in the ice box. Don't go too heavy on it, though. You might get sick.” She bustled off in a swish of skirts.
Dean had never eaten beef in his life. It was too expensive, and not given to omegas anyway. Red meat was for strength and power, for alphas, not wasted on Dean's ilk. He swallowed hard, looking at the way blood pooled underneath the grill-scarred meat. It smelled better than anything he'd ever smelled before. Slowly, he took up his fork and knife, and cut a piece off, just a small one.
The moment his trembling hand got the bite on his tongue, Dean nearly had a spasm. It was delicious. Bloody and seared, and beautiful. He couldn't believe it. He chewed that one bite until it was paste before cutting another, going slowly to savor how wonderful it was. Then, to wash it down, he picked up his glass and got his first ever sip of wine.
Dean thought he would explode. The light, fruity, sweet stuff, went down his throat so easily. A wash of cold perfection that made the meat taste even better. Awed, he took another swallow, and another. His belly warmed up, and a flush of heat hit his cheeks and neck. He forced himself to set down the glass and keep eating.
Oh, God, the vegetables. They were crisp, just barely done, not boiled to death. They tasted of lemon and pepper, and something else Dean couldn't identify, were coated in salted butter and some kind of ground up nuts. He'd never had anything like this meal.
Dean was still eating when the cook returned, and had to quickly flip his veil down.
“Not hungry, you poor thing?” The woman asked him. She tsked slightly.
“Don't take it away from him,” Miss Masters said, entering just behind Cook. “His belly is shriveled. Those two meathead guards ate his food last night, doing other things I can't mention in polite company, too.”
“Oh!” Cook's voice went low and disgusted. “Oh, you poor, poor thing!” She took Dean's wine glass and refilled it, and brought a metal platter of bread over. It was hot, and when she cut squares of butter onto a few slices, they began to melt. “Going hungry all day will make it hard to eat,” she said. “You just sit here as long as you want, dear, all right? No rush.” She left again, and Miss Masters slowly pulled out a chair to sit across from Dean.
“Want me to lock it?” She asked, tilting her head toward the door.
Dean nodded.
Miss Masters announced to the next room she was locking the door for awhile, and sat back down. “Now, you can eat without having to worry about that stupid veil,” she said.
Dean gratefully took the thing off, and went back to eating.
“Good, huh?” Miss Masters asked. “Those others out there? They mostly have no idea how an omega gets raised, but I do. You've never had beef, have you?”
“No,” Dean admitted, feeling ashamed for some reason.
“Your belly is shriveled from missing more than one meal.” Miss Masters seized a slice of buttered bread for herself, and took a dainty bite, chewing and watching him with eyes that were sympathetic but not pitying. Dean knew the difference. Sympathy was feeling sorrow for someone else while untainted by arrogance.
“My God, you've got good table manners,” Meg observed. “You sit up straight, eat one bite at a time, keep your elbows clear, and don't stuff it all in like a farmhand. Master Novak will like that.”
“I'm thrilled,” Dean said, no emotion in his voice.
Miss Masters grinned. She didn't correct his attitude, or even comment upon it, just peacefully finished her bread while Dean made a meal that was supposed to take forty-five minutes stretch out to seventy-five. And, when he got done, Meg took his dirty plate and utensils, and poured more wine for him. “This is the wine we make here,” she said. “It's good. We pay very little attention to white wine with fish and red wine with red meat. Why bother when the stuff you have handy is perfect?” She poured the last glass for herself. “Don't worry about how much of it you drink, Dean. I mean, don't slosh yourself without giving anyone fair warning, but don't put a limit to it when it might ease your mind a little bit.”
Dean nodded to show understanding. “I feel a little bit... woozy,” he admitted.
“You've never had alcohol, either,” she said, hitting that nail right on the head. “Well, you started with the best. Don't say I didn't warn you.”
Dean finished his last glass, and put his veil back on. Miss Masters took that silent cue, and unlocked the door. “Charlie? He's all yours,” she announced. “You got his bath ready?”
“Summersby and Wilkes finished pailing it up five minutes ago,” Charlie said, coming in. “I'll be so glad when the collectors on the roof are finished. No more hauling hot water upstairs.”
“No doubt.” Miss Masters wrapped some bread up in a cloth napkin, and gave it to Dean. “You might want a snack late into the night,” she said.
Dean nodded his thanks, and Charlie led him out of the kitchen. He barely had time to assimilate the large servant's dining room and an informal parlor before getting taken to a long hallway, and then to a flight of stairs that curled upward and back. He watched his feet, seeing the steps were made of old, highly polished wood, stained a dark reddish brown. They felt good against his skin.
At the top, Charlie paused, pointing him toward the bannister. “Take a peek,” she urged. “From up here, you can see the foyer for the main entrance, and the oil lamps outside make the stained glass glow. It's pretty.”
Dean shifted his veil enough to see what she meant. And, it was beautiful. The foyer was uncluttered, just two small tables with flower arrangements on them, and a clean floor. They'd passed this to get to the stairs, and he hadn't seen because his head had been pointed at the floor. All the colored light streaming in made the bare room look magical, and Dean was glad Charlie had stopped him.
“Master Novak made those windows,” she whispered as if telling a big secret. “Before his parents put him in charge of Tor-Valen, he was studying art. He doesn't get to study art much anymore.” This was relayed with an air of sadness. “He's just too busy, you know?”
No, Dean didn't know.
“Okay, well, come on,” Charlie said, taking his elbow again as if he'd fall without her help.
When Charlie opened a door, announcing this was his room, Dean expected a small, undecorated space. He stopped dead when confronted with a room done in dark wood trim with burgundy wallpaper and many bookshelves. It was a large room, suited to comfortably keep a dozen people from knocking into one another. The bed, an enormous thing made of iron, actually had posts and a top. Heavy drapes of velvet were tied back on it. There was a fireplace burning cheerfully high, and before it, a short, deep tub made of metal. Steam curled up from it.
Dean thought he'd never wanted a bath so badly in his life.
“Okay, so here's the deal,” Charlie said. “I'm your maid and I'm allowed to see you naked. You can talk to me, too.”
Dean wasn't sure he wanted anyone to see him naked. It was different at Sonny's. He'd grown up there with other boys. But, the last five years he'd tried to bathe alone, because his bigger, mature body caught attention. Then, the evidence of what St. Addams had done to him.
“Don't be shy,” Charlie chided. “I've seen a lot of naked people. A maid gets around.” She tugged Dean's veil off before he could stop her, and she jumped back at seeing his face. “Oh,” she whispered. “Well, Master Novak won't be disappointed.”
Dean kept his face neutral. “Why is that?”
Charlie swallowed and gave him a weak smile. “You didn't have mirrors at your school?”
“No,” Dean admitted. “What's the point?”
“What's the...?” Charlie's eyes went wide. She moved closer to him and slowly put her hand on his obi. “Are you telling me you've never seen yourself, Dean?”
“Not since before I was twelve,” Dean admitted.
Charlie held a knuckle up to her mouth a moment before taking Dean's kimono off. Trembling a little, she worked the knots on his undergarment, a sheath of cotton meant to give an extra layer for warmth and modesty. She had to reach up to do this, since the ties were on the shoulders. “Why not have mirrors?” She asked.
“They're expensive,” Dean pointed out. “Sonny's Place was for underprivileged omegas. He barely kept us fed. Rich alpha buyers fund him.”
“Oh,” Charlie said, sounding sad again. “I didn't grow up in one of those homes. I don't mean to be insensitive.”
“It's fine,” Dean assured her. But, he felt curious as to how the girl had grown up. Most people didn't keep omega children. They were too much hassle, too much risk. They were hard to defend when their heats came upon them, and couldn't work, so posed a drain on family finances.
Dean put his fans on the floor, and Charlie's eyes darted to them as she rendered him naked. “Your fans,” she said, sounding as if she looked at a mythological thing. “Your communication devices and your... weapons.”
“Yeah,” Dean said, glad her eyes weren't examining his naked body. He stepped into the tub and she quickly went to his aid to keep him from slipping. “Doesn't look like much of a weapon, I know.”
“No, it doesn't,” she agreed.
Dean slid down and put his back to the smooth, heated metal, sighing. What a nice, hot bath. Still not as hot as he had grown accustomed to, but better than the one in the bed and breakfast. He realized he didn't know what he'd done with his bread, and craned his neck around. He'd dropped it upon entering the massive bedroom, apparently, for there the bundle lay, on the floor.
Charlie saw where his attention went, and retrieved it for him. She put it down on top of a massive dresser, and then placed his fans there, too. “What kind of soap do you want?” She asked, taking a wooden box from one of the drawers.
“Whatever works, I guess,” Dean answered. What kind of question was that? Soap was soap.
Charlie returned with a small cake of something that smelled of oranges and something else very nice, something dark. “I'll wash you with the patchouli, since Master Novak won't be able to see you until tomorrow or the next day,” she said.
Oh. Right. Alphas and their appreciation of omega scent.
“I wash with neroli and rose to cover up my smell,” she informed as she got a hand in the water and began lathering up Dean's arm. “We don't have too many alphas here at Tor-Valen, but I like to not cause them stress.”
Dean suffered through the bath well enough until Charlie insisted upon washing his back. The predictable reaction made him close his eyes in mortification.
“Who has done this to you?” Charlie asked, her voice going tight and thick.
“Charles St. Addams,” Dean answered. “I fought him in public. He'd made a claim and I refused. He was an old man and had too many people around him, so death was off the board. He took full advantage of getting his dignity back.”
“Oh my God,” Charlie said as she gently washed his back. “You're the omega that burnt the opera!”
Dean sighed through his nose. He'd really believed no one could pin that on him, but servant talk could have him brought up on charges all over again. “If that could be proven, I'd be dead right now,” he pointed out. “Please don't talk about it.”
“All right,” she agreed softly.
The bath took too long, and Dean was nodding off by the time Charlie thought he was clean enough, even to the hair washing. She helped him out, dried him, and put him in a long silk nightgown of brilliant white, the symbol of his assumed virginity. And, once she'd tucked him into bed under heavy quilts and good sheets, she built his fire up fully.
“Ring the bell if you need anything,” Charlie said, not meeting his eyes anymore. She left him without another word, or even telling him where the bell might be.
Dean lay there, unsure of what made him feel so unwilling to get up and get dressed in order to flee. Fine, it was warm here. He couldn't remember being so warm outside of laundry/bath days, not in the late fall. And, yeah, he had a full stomach for a change, too, which made him sluggish. The bed felt good. Supportive and soft, nothing like a bed roll. Getting creature comforts was nice, but Dean wouldn't let the gold of his cage bars trick him into lying down for good.
Wow, it was quiet. He only heard the fire. The room must be sound-proof. Well, of course. When the master of the house intended to spread him, he wouldn't want the servants hearing any screams. Keep the abuse behind closed doors and everyone can pretend the world isn't a mess of slavery and bigotry.
Just as Dean was drifting off to sleep he heard a door in the hallway shutting quietly. The room that shared the north wall of his room, he guessed. A moment later he heard soft knocking, and Charlie's voice. The door opened again and two voices murmured to each other lowly. Then, the door opened and light, female footsteps skated the wooden hallway.
So, the room wasn't sound-proof. And, Dean could bet that the bedroom beside of his was Novak's.