Xanthippe backed up as the man pushed her; there was no way she was going to let him simply bowl her over. Perhaps she ought to have simply thrown him off-balance and knocked him to the floor, but he was infuriatingly resistant. Even if she had managed to do it, would he not have simply retaliated? Why couldn’t he just… roll over and take it?

Then again, she wouldn’t be having half as much fun if he did. She expected people to get frightened and relent, and it was fascinating to her that he did not. What if he even scared her? That would be a novel thing, to feel fear. It had been a very long time, not since she’d fallen in the water all those years ago. Maybe she could lead him outside, push him into one of the decorative pools that were spread amongst the property. Maybe he could pull her in, and then things would really get fun…

No. There would be no drowning today. Especially not when he seemed so intent on this particular course of action.

You would drown with him, anyway.

So? He could’ve killed me with the knife too.

Do you have a death wish?

Sometimes.

‘No one’s getting naked unless we both are.’

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she purred. She plucked at the fabric she wore, sliced and stained with blood same as his. “I suppose I could just give you this one, but it doesn’t look much better than your own, does it?”

When he shoved her out of the way, she growled as she stumbled a few steps back. It didn’t take her long to recover, though, moving back in front of him to return the gesture in kind. “Now, now, hasn’t anyone taught you about manners?” she hissed, stepping to block his path even if he tried to go around her. “First, you skulk about the house like some criminal and refuse to give me your name. Then you pull a knife on me and have the audacity not to back down when I do the same. You claim to be her ladyship’s brother, yet she never speaks of you, and I’ve never seen you before. You bleed all over the floor, demand new clothes, and then try to make me show you into my rooms…” She shook her head, eyes narrowing with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “Perhaps I ought to just call the guards on you and have you escorted out that way.”

It was unlikely Xanthippe would do any such thing; she was more than capable of handling things like this herself, even if this man reacted in such strange ways. Truthfully, he was more of a match than she expected, but why would he not just… back down already? This was getting frustrating.

Glancing around them, she sighed and walked over to Lady Melina’s door. She tapped softly to see if she would get any answer and when the room echoed back silently, she gestured for him to follow her. If Melina wasn’t even inside, the danger to her was minimal. With Xanthippe sleeping in the room adjacent to hers, even if this man returned in the night, he wouldn’t get very far. Better to just give him what he wanted and usher him out before Melina did return and her handmaid had to do a lot more explaining than she really cared to.

“Come on then,” she said with an exasperated roll of her eyes, looking around once more to ensure they were alone. “Through here.” Once he was inside, she closed the door behind them and led him to the door that connected her room with Melina’s. Opening it, she gestured for him to precede her and pointed him toward her wardrobe. “There aren’t many, so just take one. I’m sure you’ll be quite kind enough to replace it later on, won’t you?” She plastered a sweet smile on her face as she closed them in the room, leaning on the door and watching him with her arms crossed.

Xanthippe watched the man with a razor focus as he started rifling through her things, his comments on both the squeaky hinges and the selection of clothing making her roll her eyes. It felt… strange for a man to be in here, especially with no others present. She didn’t think she’d ever had a man in here, now that she thought on it; even Lord Fotios didn’t come in here, out of a false sense of propriety. They met elsewhere, with a privacy he dictated—this space was hers and hers alone. The only other person who ever came in here was Lady Melina, and that hardly counted. Most of the time, they were in her room, anyway.

“I would never have taken you to be such an expert in fashion,” she told the man, her voice dry as sand. “Can’t you just pick one already? There’s only about five of them, how hard can the choice be?”

Was it impatience or nerves that had her so suddenly snappy? Xanthippe could hardly be called a nervous woman, but she knew it was very much against the rules for him to be in here with her unaccompanied. She shouldn’t have even brought him here, but in a day that was already so strange, what was a little more strangeness on top of it? She had probably broken a few rules of her own with their little knifeplay tete-a-tete, but that was different. She was just protecting her family. This, though? If they were caught, how would she justify this?

The answer is rather simple, don’t you think? Don’t get caught.

Rather easier said than done.

When was the last time you were caught doing anything? Perspective, girl.

Easier done under the cover of night.

The wing is deserted, and the door is closed. And you call US paranoid.

I am only what you made me.

It was thrilling, though, she had to admit, no matter the strangeness of the situation. Xanthippe lived within such predictable boundaries; many days were the same as the one before, and, for the most part, she didn’t mind. A mind like hers needed such structure; without it, she tended to wander down dark roads. But today…

She blinked rapidly as he turned to her, asking if the black one could be shortened to accommodate his legs. Was he joking? “I can hack it up with a knife if you’d like, but I can’t guarantee it will look very good,” was her response, as dry, if not drier, than the one that came before it.

Belatedly, she picked up on his comment of ‘Your mistress might not like that,’ her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Did he mean Melina? What business did he have with Melina? None. He had none. He could not be allowed near her. “What does it matter what my mistress will like?” she snapped, only keeping herself from a snarl with a large force of will. “You are not going to see her. You are going to get dressed, and then I will be escorting you out.”

Gesturing to the bloodied chiton he still wore, her jaw tightened. “I’d suggest you hurry up and change, or I’ll be ensuring you do. Trust me, you won’t like my help.”

Though, maybe he would? He’d already reacted so strangely, perhaps her cutting him from his clothing would only bring back that same strange heat to his gaze that had drawn her in before.

No. He needed to go. He was making her feel strange things, and she didn’t like things she didn’t understand.

But maybe if he stayed a little longer, they could lock the door, and she could come to understand…

No! She shook her head, trying to clear it of the invasive thoughts. Get him dressed. Get him out. That was the plan. They needed to stick to the plan.

‘What kind of servant can’t sew? I can sew.’

Of course she could sew; she meant there wasn’t time for that, he wasn’t supposed to be in here anyway, and was he serious right now? Did he really want her to hem a gown for him, her gown, no less, and one she had been so kind in offering? What else did he want? A pair of her shoes altered to fit his feet? His hair coifed and perfumed?

Xanthippe was about ready to pull her own hair out as the man continued to rifle through her belongings, prepared to grab him and force him from the room. What if he found something he shouldn’t? This was a mistake, this was all such a mistake, and he was just strutting about as if this room was his and not hers…

He deliberately insults you.

He toys with me.

Do not suffer his toying.

It’s… kind of fun, though.

Fun at the expense of your dignity?

I can relieve him of much more than his dignity if he pushes me too far.

That sounds more like you.

‘I will see your mistress. She’s who I came to see. And I’m not leaving this house until I speak with her.’

At that, she bristled again, her lip curling until she came to the abrupt realization that he probably meant Eirini; he had said before he was here to see her. Though, hadn’t he already seen Eirini? Wasn’t that why he was skulking around in the first place? Or had she interrupted him first? Oops. Oh well, she still didn’t fully believe him, anyway. Even if he didn’t mean Melina.

Her brow lifted as he came nearer to her, back still pressed against the door as she watched him. He didn’t scare her, especially with such an easy out; if he tried anything, she could simply slip out the door and slam it in his face. Her head tilted back just enough to look at his face where it hovered over hers, his gaze flicking between her lips and her eyes as if deciding which to take first. “You’re very demanding, you know,” she replied as he asked for needle and thread. “And I’ve already been so accommodating, letting you take one of my only dresses. What next, hm? Shall I weave you a wig of my own hair, as well? I’ll be honest, I don’t think you have the skin tone to pull off blonde.”

Reaching up, she tugged lightly at an errant strand of his dark locks, a smirk returning to her face. Nodding behind him toward the little stand by her bed, she told him, “There’s a sewing kit under that. You can do it yourself, I think. A moment longer than ten minutes, and I’m dragging you out by the ear, understand?” Tugging a little harder on the lock of hair she held, she let him go and nudged him off in the direction she’d pointed him in. “Go on, you can go sit over there.”

She needed distance between them, both for her own sake and practicality. If she was arming him with some other pointy object, however small, better he be… over there. Plus, he was making it very hard to think, and she didn’t like that. But she did. No, she didn’t.

Making a scatting motion with her hand, she reinforced her previous statement with a very firm, “Shoo.”

What was even happening right now? How had she managed to get herself into this situation? A strange man who refused to give his name was here, in her room, on her bed, holding her dress, and getting ready to sew the hem. Had she fallen asleep, and this was all some strange dream? It seemed too odd to be reality, but surely Xanthippe would know if she was asleep, right? Surreptitiously, she reached to pinch her own arm, making a face at the twinge of pain that let her know she was indeed awake. Even if this was one of the more bizarre days she could remember having.

The handmaid’s face was kept carefully neutral as the man settled himself on her bed with a suggestive look, her lips pressing into a seemingly unamused line that really served to keep her from laughing. No, laughing would only encourage him. And he shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t encourage him. Really, she ought to kick him out of here before Lady Melina happened to come in and see this very inappropriate situation.

However, she couldn’t stop the speculative gaze that roamed over him, imagining the hands that roamed through the fabric of her gown instead tied to the bedposts, the tip of a knife slicing through the ruined chiton he still wore…

Stop it.

Hm? Stop what?

You know what.

I am only human.

And he is an intruder.

And? I cannot help where my mind wanders.

Silly girl, do you want to fuck him or maim him?

Maybe a little of both.

Her inner conversation was once more interrupted by an outer voice, Xanthippe blinking a few times as she turned to the man on her bed. What had he just asked her? Oh, where she came from. Well, that was a simple enough answer. She barely knew.

“Lord Fotios brought me here as a baby,” she replied with a shrug, blue eyes lingering for a moment on the needle between his teeth. “I’ve known nothing else. I started doing small chores as a child, then as I got older, I was permitted to attend the ladies of the house. Mainly his daughters.” Mainly Melina, but he didn’t need that many specifics. Of course, it wouldn’t be hard for him to find out on his own; she was a near constant shadow at the woman’s back.

She fell quiet again as he set to hemming the garment, a narrowed gaze kept on the careful motions of his fingers. She was waiting for him to do something else, perhaps to spring up and stab her with the needle he held, her muscles tensed and poised to retaliate if it came to that. Maybe she should have done the sewing, after all. Or maybe she should have just refused him outright.

Why did she have so many bad ideas today? Lord Fotios and Lady Melina would be so disappointed in her, she knew. She really needed to clear her head. This was insane.

“Why do you know how to sew?” she asked as he worked, her gaze flicking from his hands back to his face. “Isn’t that supposed to be women’s work?”

“I’m not a slave,” Xanthippe insisted when the man spoke again, her brows drawing together into a frown. Her tone was almost offended that he didn’t seem to understand her position in this house. She was more than just a simple handmaid, no matter what he thought. “I work here of my own will. I could have left long ago if I wanted to.” Though, was that really true? Maybe Lord Fotios said she could, but knowing what he knew of her, knowing what he had done for her… would he really? It didn’t matter, though. She didn’t want to leave. This was her family, blood or not. That wasn’t likely to change.

“I do care for my mistress, yes, but I would not say I baby her.” That wasn’t quite true, either; she did everything for Melina, but again, it was done of her own choosing. She wasn’t entirely sure Melina could even get by without her at this point, but it was a moot point because she would never need to. Xanthippe liked that dependence, that feeling of being needed. She told herself it was for unselfish reasons, but really… she just liked having someone right where she could control them.

Her icy gaze never left him as he finished off hemming the gown, tying off the seam and rising to his feet. Eyes flicking to where his fingers released the fibula on one shoulder, her lingering frown smoothed into a smirk when he gestured for her to turn around. How crazy did he think she was? She wasn’t going to let him out of her sight; it didn’t matter what he said. Besides… maybe she wanted to see, even if she told herself she didn’t. She wasn’t attracted to him, so removing his clothing wouldn’t phase her.

Liar.

Shut up.

“I think I’ll be staying right where I am, thank you,” she replied with a look in her eyes like a wolf sizing up its prey. Scanning down his bared torso, she lingered for a moment on where his hips curved down into his pelvis, wondering what that little trail of hair would feel like under her fingertips. Shaking herself out of it, she forced herself to look back at his face. “Don’t mind me. Unless you’re too shy.” Her eyebrows lifted in half a challenge, her smirk evolving into a deceptively sweet smile.

Why was she reacting like this to him? It was so rare for her to even feel attraction in the conventional sense, and the fact that she felt it now entirely baffled her. Was it because of their little game earlier, that bit of bloodletting that led to him commandeering one of her gowns in the first place? Was it that look in his eyes when he returned the favor, that hunger that spoke to a similar hunger she fought to keep buried in herself?

Whatever it was, she told herself she wouldn’t act on it, that ravaging her mistress’s supposed brother would be in poor taste. But if he wanted it too, why should it matter? No one but the two of them would ever have to know. No, it was wrong. She couldn’t go from accusing him of being an intruder and trying to kill him on the spot to fucking him senseless in her bed. That was crazy, wasn’t it?

As if you’re entirely sane.

I am blessed, you have told me so yourselves.

Do blessings and sanity go hand in hand?

Sometimes I really hate you all.

“Well, get a move on,” she urged her companion, gesturing for him to finish what he’d started. “Your ten minutes is almost up.”

Xanthippe fought the urge to roll her eyes as the man made a show of getting more comfortable right where he was, the look she gave him one of resigned bemusement. “You really like to push your limits, don’t you?” she asked in a dry tone, though she didn’t really need an answer. His actions were answer enough.

Then again, who was she to talk? They were only in here because of their little game of who could stab each other better, a game she had participated in with a bit too much vigor. She had the mark on her side to prove she hadn’t backed down, a mark that was suddenly being touched as the man moved in closer to her and explained how he couldn’t possibly dress himself when they both looked this way…

Her eyes narrowed with a sharp hiss of breath as his fingertips teased along the wound, jumping defensively to her feet. However, it quickly became clear he wasn’t moving in to attack again—at least, not in that way. Before she could say a word against it or even turn her head, his mouth was on hers, and she was too startled at first to really react. A surprised gaze met his more amused one, quickly realizing this was just an extension to the game they’d been playing since she first stopped him in the hall.

Pressing herself in closer, close enough that barely an inch separated them, she dug a finger into the stab wound she’d created—just deep enough for a little sting. “Black hides blood,” she murmured in his ear with a little twist of her finger; after all, she would know. “I think you’re just stalling. Or making excuses to get me naked too.”

While she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, once more, she questioned the wisdom of it. He was right in a sense—they were both a mess, and any other… activities… they might engage in would just serve to make the room even messier. It’d be hard to explain her bloodied sheets, but then again, she’d be the one washing them anyway. Would she really need to give an explanation?

Gods. What had gotten into her today?

Not sense, that’s for sure.

Fingertips toying with the fabric that still rested around his hips, she made a light tug at it as the smirk returned to her lips. “Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine,” she teased, the tip of her tongue lightly flicking against his earlobe. “And maybe I’ll consider bringing in a wash bucket.”

“You’re a very strange man, you know,” Xan said conversationally as he pushed his clothes down, her gaze following his hands with no shame. “First, you stab me and now you want to fuck me, and I can’t decide if that makes me like you or if I ought to try and kill you. And you still won’t tell me your name.” As if she had any room to speak on strangeness; the admiration on her face was clear as she took a step back to appreciate the view he offered. “Luckily for you, I think it means I like you, but my opinion can be so fickle.”

You are as crazy as they accuse you of being.

What are you doing?

What I want to do.

You can’t trust him.

I don’t need to.

Making good on her promise and ignoring his tugging hands, she carefully pulled the fibulae from the fabric at her shoulders, deliberately slow as she set them down on the side table. Pulling her hand away from him, she met his gaze and sucked on her bloodied finger before peeling the chiton away from her torso and letting it drop to the floor. Stepping out of the garment, she lifted a brow at him with an amused glint in her eye.

“There, I’m a woman of my word,” she purred as she stepped in close to him again. The tips of hardened nipples brushed his chest, warm breath rustling over bared skin. “And if this is any indication…” A sneaky hand reached down to wrap around his erect member, giving it a few teasing strokes before releasing it. “I’d say someone is fond of the sight.”

As odd and off-kilter as she was, it couldn’t be said that Xanthippe wasn’t beautiful. It was almost a shame just how lovely she was, delicately carved looks wasted on such a disturbed mind. Alabaster flesh dipped and curved in all the right places, with muscle tone that was surprising in one of her station. A few scars littered otherwise pristine skin, another oddity on a woman who was supposedly just a handmaid. However, it wasn’t as if she was often in a position to have to explain those marks, and if anyone asked? Clumsiness in the kitchen was usually an accepted answer.

You’ll regret this later.

As if you care.

We might not, but you will. He is dangerous.

I’d wager I am more so. Unless you all live in his head too.

What if we did?

Then perhaps we are better suited than I imagined.

And with that, she tuned out any further divine remonstrations, the tips of her fingers ghosting over the man’s chest. “I don’t think I can go get that bucket now,” she commented with a smirk. “Guess we’ll have to figure out something else instead.”