The Snake-Prince and the Wren Ch. 01

If you're interested in more than just easy sex and uncomplicated lustful liasions, this story may just be for you. I've been crafting these characters and their relationships for many years now, and it was all because I was wandering around on Literotica one day and wondered to myself 'what if the lord who kept the slave actually had more than one? what if he actually enjoyed keeping them? what if this were more than just sex and stress relief?' And thus, my imagination ran wild. What you are seeing now is a much more polished, fleshed version of the original. I hope you enjoy reading along as I try to keep posting and sharing more. It may take a chapter or two to build, but I hope it appeals to some of you here. Cheers!

And thank you for reading my very first attempt here on the site. Feedback is always appreciated, criticism as long as it is constructive.

*****

It was linen. Her prison uniform was made of linen.

She hated linen.

It reminded her of that summer that her parents and brother had taken a trip to the southern towns along the coast and the weather had been warm. Too warm. Her mother had bought her a linen dress to wear that was woven with blue and green and purple and white. Cara had thought it far too beautiful to wear in the sand near the ocean water, but her mother had insisted it would fare better than the wool of her mountain dresses. Cara had loved that dress. She felt beautiful in it, delicate, like a magical creature flitting about in the salt water with bare feet steaming in the hot sand and grains tickling the spaces between her toes.

Linen was a reminder of that trip. They had gone to the sea, and the sea had betrayed her. The boating trip that had put them at the hands of an angry wave had claimed Cara's father that day. He'd managed to save her mother, but was pulled in by the current. She remembered the linen dress, sopping wet, clinging to her, itching her skin like a smoldering fire as she sat on the beach. Sand and weed coated her legs like another skin while her mother begged and pleaded with people to help revive her father. There had been other beachgoers, of course. Vacations were popular on the south coast.

When they returned home, they brought a casket with them.

Cara remembered tossing the linen dress into the trash basket in her room. Somehow, though, she hadn't been able to bear the thought of throwing it away.

"Lights coming on, ladies, don't start your shouting," a warden's call shook Cara from her foggy memories. The only lights in these cells were high above on the ceiling and there was nothing in the cell high enough even standing on to reach them. They went on and off at sunrise, sunset, and if there was a visitor in the middle of the night, they were turned on by block.

Cara's block hadn't been very active as of yet. She'd only arrived a few days ago after her sentencing, and the pain and rage she felt was still sore, like a fresh burn.

"Block Twelve, up against your back walls, hands on your heads, feet spread!"

On the wall opposite each cell door was the block number, printed on the concrete for anyone that was uncertain of where she was. Cara felt as if the number on the opposite wall would be burned in her vision for years as she placed her feet on the faded paint that indicated where the prisoners would stand to be counted or inspected. She'd done this many times already since she'd arrived, and it always grated on her. The linen of her grey jumpsuit scratched against her arms and made her bristle with annoyance. Most of it was probably nerves, although the girl was not quite sure why she was nervous. It was most likely just a head count.

"Cell fifteen," the warden said in a more conversational tone from just outside Cara's cell.

Cara's heart seemed to drop into her shoes and fly to her throat at the same time. That was her number. There wasn't another woman in this cell with her; she had been the only one since she arrived. What could they be calling her number for? Had her sentence been commuted? Had she been exonerated? Had someone put in a plea for her?

"This is the one you were hoping to see, my lord."

"I've not come simply to observe," a voice replied collectedly. "She's to be released to me tonight."

"Do you have the paperwork?"

"My assistant here has all the files signed and in order. Please confirm before we proceed."

The voices only served to make Cara more nervous. She reminded herself that she wasn't at home any more. This wasn't a familiar place. It was a different world here.

"Thank you, my lord. You're welcome to step inside, she's no danger."

The cell door slid open. The absence of an iron creak made the silence even more terrifying.

Two men stepped through, one dressed in the uniform of the prison guards, and one dressed like . . . well, a gentleman. It was absolutely unsuited for a prison, the way his shoes glimmered in the fluorescent light from above. She kept her eyes on his shoes, of course. Her breath had caught in her throat and she couldn't seem to stop her heart from speeding with dread.

Matheson looked over the prisoner that stood against the wall. Rather drab, he thought to himself absentmindedly; but then, all of his girls had been something else when he had first met them.

"You are Caralina Agnanos?" he asked, using the name from her file instead of her prison identification number. She wasn't looking at him when he came in, but when he used her first name, she met his eyes.

"Yes," she replied. According to the rules, however, she did not yet move. Good.

"Step forward," he motioned her away from the wall. "Put your hands by your sides."

She was slow to follow directions, Matheson noted. Almost as if she were uncertain of who was in command here. Unsurprising, since she had no idea who he was and had heretofore answered to guards or wardens. He stepped forward and noticed her eyes follow him, looking out nervously from beneath the dark brows. He circled her, taking his time. Nothing could be measured or taken into consideration with the revolting prison clothes they dressed the girls in.

What a lovely shade of blue her eyes were, though. He may be able to enjoy this one as much as he'd imagined.

"Good. Very good," he said, pulling a small necklace from his pocket.

Cara had kept control so well until this moment. He'd circled her like a predator sizing up a meal. It unnerved her. The way he spoke her language was clipped and deliberate, and there was a strange cadence to his words. The eastern accents had always sounded so erratic to her. She'd never heard words so brief and yet so much like—

When his hands moved around her head to put the delicate-looking gold chain around her neck, her momentary flinch in the opposite direction brought a decided frown to his formerly businesslike expression. Adam would not have that. This had to be established now, no matter how tinged with unease her expression was as she looked at him. He took the moment to shift his position and meet her eyes directly, narrowing his ever-so-slightly to provide the proper feeling.

"Do not turn away from me again or there will be consequences. I will not repeat this direction. Do you understand, Caralina?"

Immediately her eyes flew to the floor, but all he received as an answer was a short nod of acknowledgement. Matheson made a strict point to keep from brushing her skin with his fingers as he fastened the gold chain around her neck. It was difficult, of course. She had such a beautiful curvature there at the apex of her throat. He could see her thudding heartbeat in the soft veins of her neck. She was nervous; but she was not fearful. Caution and healthy respect would be essential. Matheson felt a small smile lift the corners of his lips. She had potential.

Nothing about this man escaped Cara's notice. He hadn't touched her at all. He had spoken simply in very clear terms. His air was not threatening, but there was a bridled sense of raw power to him, a sense that somehow made him seem both dangerous but safe enough to approach. Looking at him was like purposely watching the edges of the sun trying not to hurt your eyes entirely. She was adept at noticing things. It had always been a talent of hers. It was one of the main reasons her older brother had asked for her help with a 'project' he was working on a few weeks ago.

The project that had ultimately gotten her into the current predicament.

"A final requirement before you go, my lord," someone said from the front of the cell when Matheson directed Cara forward. "The inmate must sign a no-contest form if she's being released directly to you."

'What?' Cara thought to herself. 'No contest? Am I eligible for a sentence appeal?' Since her trial had taken place in a neighboring country, the legal process had been much different. In the Darden Mountains, life was a bit different altogether. The eastern territory where she had been captured and tried was called Adeira. The legal process here was often compared to something out of a twisted, barbaric folk tale in her homeland.

"Sign here," Matheson directed. There was no question who he had spoken to. One of the guards held out the form on a piece of paper, littered with Adeiran script that she could barely translate quickly enough to understand. Something about good health, no injuries, and no problems. A release to one Lord Adam Matheson, some noble titles following it, and a small paragraph about—

"Sign the page."

His tone this time had changed. There was no patience left in these words. There wasn't the gentle demanding of before. This was the soft hiss of a snake about to strike.

"They didn't say I could appeal the decision," she replied, the bravado in her voice threatened to give way as the page loomed larger in her vision, feeling safer with every split second.

"Obey me, Caralina."

"But—"

Matheson's fingers darted forward, snatching the pen from the guard. They scratched across the heavy page in a flourish of letters. Her name. At the end, he dotted his own initials.

"Thank you, your grace. Always a pleasure," the guard bowed slightly and skirted out of the cell doors so that they could pass. "We hope to see you again soon."

"I think it may be some time before I can leave this one alone," Adam gave the few other men a wry smile. Some of them nodded slightly. "Thank you for your understanding, and good day, gentlemen."