“What do you want, Ericca Archer? The palace isn’t the worst place to be a slave. You have fine clothes, three squares, a comfy bed, and, if you want, a pretty girl like you, plenty of . . . very expensive baubles to grace your lovely neck. What more could you ask for?”
Her laugh, tittering and uncertain, betrayed her incredulity before she could restrain it. “I imagine, Lord Tyson, that for such things all I have to be is your plaything.”
“You say that as if it’s a price you’re not willing to pay.”
“You may have purchased me, Sire, but you will never own me. Did you really think you ever would? Is your opinion of me that low?”
Surprised, he smiled. “Actually, my dear Ericca Archer, my opinion of you has just risen considerably.”
