a storm breaks

She was rounding the last bit of staircase when she nearly tripped over the man: an unfamiliar man of average height and build, skulking at the bottom of the steps. He took in her collar with a glance, and anger darkened his face. "Watch your step, slave," he snapped.

She nearly snapped back. Instead, she took him in with a cold glance and demanded, "What are you doing here? These are private quarters."

He took a menacing step closer to her. "Why do you think I would answer the likes of you?"

Her eyes blazed in response, and she drew herself up with such presence that the man took a step back again. "I am the queen's personal attendant," she said. "You will answer me, or answer to her."

"I'm a guest at the feast," the man said. His voice was still surly, still threatening, but Mirian heard the loss of confidence beneath it. "The night was cold; I found shelter where I could take it."

"You cannot take it here," Mirian said. "Get out."

The man's lip curled, and he spat on the floor at her feet. Without another word, he stalked off.

She watched him go, frowning. The pain in her arm was nearly forgotten, but her hand wandered to the elbow and she found herself rubbing it without thought. Suddenly, warm fingers closed over her arm. She whirled around, ready for anything.

* * *

Chapter Eleven of Taerith has been posted. Go, read, leave comments.