Lord Derek's men aren't exactly the chatty type. They just flank me as we leave the grand court and head into the busy city streets, making it pretty clear that running would be a terrible idea.
Not that I have anywhere to run to in this weird medieval fantasy world.
Derek himself rides ahead on this sleek black stallion, sitting straight as a board, not even looking back once to check on his new "property."
His silver-streaked hair catches the sunlight as he nods briefly to citizens who bow when he passes by. Clearly a big shot around here.
The city is like something straight out of a fantasy movie, but with all the authentic smells and sounds they never show in films.
Narrow cobblestone streets wind between buildings made of stone and wood.
Market stalls line the wider streets, merchants yelling about their stuff while customers haggle over prices.
The smell of fresh bread mixes with less pleasant odors—unwashed bodies, animal crap, and what I hope isn't an open sewer.
"You know, on Earth we have this amazing invention called plumbing," I tell one of my guards. "Pipes that carry water and waste away from where people live. Revolutionary stuff."
The guard just grunts, clearly not impressed with my insights on modern sanitation.
We pass through what seems to be the rich district, where the buildings get taller and fancier.
Women in nice dresses walk with parasols while being followed by servants. Men in expensive clothes do business in the doorways of what look like banks or trading houses.
"So what's Lord Derek's deal?" I ask another guard, who seems slightly less threatening. "He in the habit of collecting random prisoners?"
"Lord Derek collects what interests him," the man replies, surprising me by actually answering.
"And you'd do well to keep your mouth shut unless spoken to. He has little patience for idle chatter."
Great. I've been claimed by a medieval fantasy version of a brooding billionaire. All he needs is a red room and we'd have the premise for "Fifty Shades of Greyhawk."
We leave the city through this big gate and follow a well-maintained road into the countryside.
After about an hour's walk (Derek couldn't have given his new slave a horse?), we turn onto a tree-lined private road that leads to what can only be described as a mansion.
Not quite a castle, but definitely more than a house—a huge stone structure with multiple wings, surrounded by perfect gardens and what looks like training grounds on one side.
Guards patrol the walls, and servants rush about their business in the courtyard. As we approach, I notice eyes turning toward us—toward me—with obvious curiosity. Word has clearly spread that Lord Derek is bringing home something new from court.
"Home sweet home," I mutter as we pass through the gates. "I don't suppose there's a welcome basket? Maybe a mint on my pillow?"
The guard behind me shoves me forward, clearly done with my commentary.
Lord Derek dismounts smoothly and hands the reins to a waiting stable boy.
He finally glances my way, his gray eyes looking me over one more time before he gives a quick nod to his men.
"Take him to Madame Rosalind for processing," he orders. "She'll determine his duties."
And with that, he strides into the mansion, apparently done with me for now.
"Processing?" I ask the guards. "That sounds ominous."
"Madame Rosalind determines where new servants best fit in the household," one explains, leading me across the courtyard. "She runs the estate when Lord Derek is away."
As we approach a side entrance to the mansion, I have no idea that "processing" is about to take on a whole new meaning.
As we step onto the mansion grounds, my attention is immediately grabbed by the woman who comes out from the side entrance.
Holy shit. If I thought Lady Vivienne was attractive, this woman is on a completely different level.
Madame Rosalind—I assume this is her—is sex personified in human form.
She's probably in her late thirties, with a body that defies both gravity and belief. Her massive breasts strain against the confines of a deep burgundy corset, creating a cleavage valley deep enough to lose small objects in.
The corset cinches in to a surprisingly narrow waist before flaring out to hips wide enough to grab with both hands and still not reach all the way around.
Her ass—dear god, her ass—is a perfect rounded shelf that makes her dress sway hypnotically with each step.
Long, shapely legs extend down to delicate ankles, somehow supporting the glorious weight of everything above them.
Her face is stunning, with full lips painted a deep red, high cheekbones, and eyes that promise both pleasure and pain in equal measure.
Blonde-red hair cascades down her back in lush waves, catching the sunlight like fire.
"Fuck, women like this exist in this world?" I whisper under my breath, feeling my new body respond immediately to the visual feast before me. "If she could just sit her ass on my face, I'd die happy."
"Hey, slave!" The guard cuffs me on the ear. "This way! And keep your eyes down before I gouge them out."
But Madame Rosalind has already noticed my reaction, a knowing smile playing across her luscious lips.
She approaches with a predatory grace, each step causing various parts of her anatomy to bounce or sway in the most distracting ways possible.
"So this is Lord Derek's new acquisition from court?" she asks, her voice a rich, smoky purr that seems designed to stir something primal in any man who hears it. "How... interesting."
She circles me slowly, like a panther sizing up its prey. I can smell her perfume—something exotic and spicy that makes my head swim.
When she completes her circle, she stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat from her body.
"I'm Madame Rosalind," she says, tilting my chin up with one finger so I'm forced to meet her gaze.
"I manage Lord Derek's household. Everything and everyone in it answers to me when his lordship is occupied. And he's often... occupied."
Her finger trails down from my chin to my chest, lingering there for a moment before she steps back.
"You caused quite a stir at court, appearing naked in Lady Vivienne's chambers," she continues, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"The rumors about your... dimensions... have already reached us here."
I swallow hard, suddenly very aware of how this body is reacting to her presence. "The rumors are greatly exaggerated," I say, trying for humility but failing miserably when her eyes flicker downward and her eyebrow arches in obvious appreciation of what she sees.
"We'll see," she replies cryptically. "Lord Derek doesn't typically involve himself in court matters, and he certainly doesn't make a habit of claiming prisoners. You must have caught his interest somehow."
"Just my charming personality and good looks," I offer with a shrug.
To my surprise, she actually laughs—a rich, sensual sound that does nothing to help my growing arousal.
"Take him to the servants' quarters," she instructs the guards. "The small room at the end of the hall. Make sure he's cleaned up and properly attired." She turns back to me. "Once you're settled, I'll begin your... orientation."
The way she says "orientation" makes it clear we're not talking about a standard employee handbook review.
"Yes, Madame," I reply, deciding that for once in my life, subservience might be the smart play.
As the guards lead me away, I glance back to see her watching me walk away, her eyes fixed decidedly below my waistline.
Something tells me that my time as Lord Derek's "slave" is going to be more interesting than I'd anticipated.
And deep within me, I feel something stir—a warm sensation that isn't quite physical, more like a latent awareness awakening.
Something has changed when I entered this world, beyond just finding myself in a new body. What that something is, I have no idea—but I have a feeling I'm going to find out soon.