“I need to look at your feet and change your bandages.”

Reluctantly, she uncurled her body. But before he looked at her feet, Leo pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. She resisted at first, her body tense and uncertain, then she let go of everything and sobbed against him. So young. With her whole life ahead of her. Or that was how it should have been. That was what his brother had stolen, what Leo had stolen. He held her until she settled. Then he took one of her feet in his hands and began to unwrap the bandages.

None of the cuts had been particularly deep, even though he’d had to dig some glass out of her flesh the previous night. She was walking on it okay, but her fears may have been drowning out any pain she was feeling. He carefully cleaned the wounds, applied more ointment, and rewrapped her feet in fresh gauze.

When he was finished, he stood and offered his hand. It took every ounce of courage she had on reserve to put her hand into his.

“We’re going down for food, nothing scary,” he said.

She didn’t look reassured.

Leo led her down to the kitchen and found some leftovers in the fridge. He reheated them in the microwave and indicated a seat for her at the table. Usually the servants waited on him, but they’d honed amazing instincts over the years and had made themselves scarce. Whether they did it for Leo or for Faith, he wasn’t sure.

“I hope you like lasagna,” he said, growing more uncomfortable with her silence.

“Y-yes, Master.”

He wondered if she’d ever be able to say it without the stutter or the tremble in her hands that accompanied speaking to him.

“What would you like to drink?” If he wanted to have any shot at all with this, he had to make small gestures, occasionally give her the illusion of choices.

With any other sub, he would have had her on her knees by now. He wouldn’t have given her any food or drink options. But Faith wasn’t any other sub. She wasn’t a sub at all. She was his prisoner. His slave. And now the word felt dirty.

“C-can I have orange juice?”

“With lasagna?”

“I’m s-sorry. W-whatever you want to give me is fine.”

He put a plate and fork in front of her, and put his food in to nuke it. Then he went to the fridge and, with some trepidation, poured the juice. “No, if you want orange juice, you may have it. It just doesn’t sound very appealing.” A horrifying thought struck him then. “Are you pregnant?”

Her eyes shot up to his. “N-no, Master. I just like the taste.”

Strange, but if it would add to her comfort, he’d let her have it. Even if he had to fight not to be sick over the odd combination. At least it was simply a quirk and not a pregnancy symptom. The idea of having her here against her will would be worse with a baby growing inside her and then a small child running around.