Shit, she realised.
And she froze, eyes huge, breath sparing. She drew her beak shut as her heart began to pound and she took a minute step back. His anger was plain - dire, almost cruel and for a moment she was Avis in the Hollow again, fearing for her life of this god who threatened to strike her down.
A slow grunt formed in his throat.
“Better,” he said, his voice still not confessing his mood. “Now. Shut up, and go over there,” he nodded to the window seat. “You can sleep on it rather than here.”
It made her stare, beak opening. “I … what? Why?”
“I am clearly too lenient on you, Stare,” he hissed, his tone switching unexpectedly to match his mood. “You should respect me more. I'm not just your master, I'm your-”
“God. Yes I know,” she answered, eyes large and pressing herself against the wall. When he was this angry before he has let it out physically on her. But that had been in the Hollow, in a world where he did that anyway. Now that she was here, and he was too, rather than with Blaze or Sable, she was dangerously close to being subject to something she never wanted to experience again.
That he had promised she would never be subject to him by his hand. He had never broken a promise that he had given her yet, but that still did not mean that he would not punish her in other ways.
Simply, now, she had to try to avoid angering him more.
“Go and sleep,” he ordered, pointing back over to the bay window seat. It was cushioned, by her hands, and thus gave some comfort, yet not as much as the bed.
Stare swallowed, remembering the last time she had tried to go against a direct order. He had reminded her of the pain of a slap and sent her away from him, never revealing what was actually on his mind.
“Stare?!”
What was wrong with him? By the look in his eyes, however, he would not actually tell her. He had likely come here, expecting her to be more quiet, and not tired or grumpy from that exhaustion. He had likely wanted something to quell his bad mood and her companionship could be described as more comforting than a night by himself, fuming in his own fury.
But she had made it worse by her terrible choice of words, and now he was deeming her not even worthy of the bed.
“Are you even listening to me?” he spat.
Sucking in her breath Stare lowered her eyes and turned away from the wall. Knowing there was very little choice in the matter at all she hurried over to her cabinet where she stripped herself of all her weapons. Pausing, she considered taking off her fine tunic, then realised she might need it for the next day and so dragged it off over her head. Now in her underclothes she grabbed a softer tunic and pulled it on before glancing over the bed and the blanket that was there over the duvet other than that there was only the throw on the bay window seat.
“And that will do,” he growled, grabbing the blanket himself and pulling it over his legs.
Stare flinched, feeling the results of emotional manipulation. But this was Vitruvion, the old one whom she had first met. This was he, the raging fury and the anger that lived. This was the man so possessive in temperament that he had literally bought her.
Swallowing, she shut up and scrambled over to the window seat. Picking up the throw she climbed onto the window seat and curled up on it, tight and slightly shaking. She pulled up the throw to her beak and hunkered down on the simply padded sofa-like thing and curled into a tight foetal position.
“Hmm,” came the more satisfied grunt. So different was he than in the blue room. But that was Vitruvion, two sided, subject to mood changes. Thankful for her, yet irritated by her.
Never feeling love for her like Nevin had said, when he saw their relationship in his mind.
“Good night, Stare,” he said, calmer.
“Good night, my lord,” she whispered.
