Excerpt: Genesis Hall

Therefore, it came to pass that my Lord and myself rode to Milan with the forces of our King Vladislav. He had, in his great generosity, gifted me with the horse upon which he had ridden to his lands, a gift of such magnitude and for which I was indebted to him. He made the gift one morning when I was dressing him, as always, his body recoiling slightly from the light touch of my fingers as I dressed him for the day ahead, tucking his shirt into his hose, wrapping the cloak about his shoulders, for although it was spring, the day was still cold. It was some mornings before our departure, and, due to the capacity in which I would be travelling, I also would require a mount, one perhaps more sturdy and of fewer years than the one which I already possessed. He had suddenly fixed me with a look at once so direct and commanding that I could not help but cease in the offices which I was performing for him, transfixed, like one who has met with the stare of the basilisk, or the cockatrice. Therefore, I stood, crooked spined, shoulder slightly hunched staring into those dull, those cold eyes, as two of his cool fingers touched my mouth beside my lips and his own lips curled into a soft smile. “You do desire to ride with me, lad?” His voice was gentle, as welcoming as it had been that first night he arrived, before he marked me with his ring and I knew that he was, perhaps, testing me once again. I always feared him most when his voice was soft, and it was for this reason that my heart was pounding hard and making my breath come brokenly. It was this, perhaps, and the awkward stance in which I was trapped, time seemed to stretch before I could, all composure broken, stumble out some manner of reply.
“My Lord, my desires, as always, are controlled by your wishes.”
“Yes lad.” The fingers moved away from my mouth, towards the streak of torn at scar tissue where he had left his mark. They hovered their briefly, coming close enough to brush my still sensitive eyelashes. The whole of my skin trembled into a cold sweat of terror. I longed, desperately to move, but still had not the power so to do. He pulled his hand away. “Of course I wish you to ride with me.” His voice had lost some of that gentle, caressing quality that so unnerved me, and it was returned to it's usual challenging and masculine tones. And, as was more usual, it was prefaced by that broken little laugh of his. “You know that full well, lad.”