>>5666145The awkwardness is not given much chance to fester, at least. You soon begin to encounter to sparse population of this subterranean operations centre: lithe and golden-green SIlskcales, swollen and strong-bodied Steeltalons, red-hued and proud-chinned Dragonblooded Ones. You and your coterie are regarded with open suspicion, until you and your Serpent Priestess shed your Amulets of Disguise at long last and reveal your full glory. There are murmurs, gasps, and bowed heads. Olu fades into the background—a mere servant to your supremacy—while Ekaterine becomes a strange foreign bauble. She is greeted with hungry eyes and interested inquiry.
“She is mine,” you assert, and that brooks no argument.
“A slave?” one bold young Dragonblooded One asks. “She looks unsuited to labour. A snack? A sorceress?”
“A princess,” you answer, drawing excited chatter and gasps from those who overhear. “The Princess of Hawksong—my conquest! My mate!”
The result is predictable. There is uproar and outrage—not in your presence, obviously, for all here know to fear and respect you, but you can sense the undercurrent. So too can Ekaterine, whatever the language and culture barrier. The hisses, spitting, snapping jaws of the Reptilian Master race and their slit-pupiled derision and hatred surrounds her. Some glory in this subjugation of the favorite daughter of their hated enemies. Some plainly loathe her presence even so, or recoil in disgust as the whispers pass between your folk of what her purpose here is—the nature of her ‘service’ to you.
“What did you say to them?” Eka whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. “The way they’re looking at me now…”
“Fear isss the appropriate resssponsse,” the Novice mocks her. “But you can relaxxx insssofar asss you belong to USSSS. We are the royalty here, human. They will not dare harm our property.”
You find yourself grateful for Ekaterine’s limited senses, and the dimness of yours and the Novice’s lights. The better part of your Master race’s malice is hidden from her, but instead she finds herself in claustrophobic shadow, hearing only unintelligible hisses and warbles, rattles and squawks, and seeing only glimpse of whipping tails, slavering fangs, and gleaming eyes.
“You are sssafe,” you promise her again in the Northern Common-tongue. “You are my wife—I will ssee to it that no harm comesss to you. I ssswear it.”
She nods, but her face is pale, her body trembling. She looks as if she might faint.
