EZRA
Well, wasn't this just peachy.
One minute I'm trying to get away from fucking (literally) Prince SmallDick (also literally), the next I'm some brand new room, flat on my ass, wearing nothing but a light silk robe. At least it's warm, which was a ridiculous thought, because at the end of the day who cared how warm it was in wherever-the-hell I had wound up? I wasn't in the same place I'd been, and even my peabrain could figure out that this was the more important issue.
Sitting up on the hard floor, I ran a hand through my long hair, trying to figure shit out. Was I high? Had Lil' Dicky slipped me something? That would have made sense, the fucker was notorious for using cheap tricks to get the pretty things he wanted, even when they weren't supposed to be his. Gods, and here I thought I'd been so careful, only drinking from my own goblet, refusing to take food from his fingers-!
Well, whatever that dickbag did, the primary issue remained the same: I was not at home. I was, as we have established, on a strange floor in a strange hovel that was decidedly not a castle, with a splitting headache and a grumbling stomach and a lot of fucking questions. The only thing that made me feel marginally okay was the knowledge that once my Lord found out what had happened, Prince SmallDick wouldn't have to worry about that nickname anymore.
One minute I'm trying to get away from fucking (literally) Prince SmallDick (also literally), the next I'm some brand new room, flat on my ass, wearing nothing but a light silk robe. At least it's warm, which was a ridiculous thought, because at the end of the day who cared how warm it was in wherever-the-hell I had wound up? I wasn't in the same place I'd been, and even my peabrain could figure out that this was the more important issue.
Sitting up on the hard floor, I ran a hand through my long hair, trying to figure shit out. Was I high? Had Lil' Dicky slipped me something? That would have made sense, the fucker was notorious for using cheap tricks to get the pretty things he wanted, even when they weren't supposed to be his. Gods, and here I thought I'd been so careful, only drinking from my own goblet, refusing to take food from his fingers-!
Well, whatever that dickbag did, the primary issue remained the same: I was not at home. I was, as we have established, on a strange floor in a strange hovel that was decidedly not a castle, with a splitting headache and a grumbling stomach and a lot of fucking questions. The only thing that made me feel marginally okay was the knowledge that once my Lord found out what had happened, Prince SmallDick wouldn't have to worry about that nickname anymore.
Own me, I'll let you play the role
