<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 15px">"No, thank you," Sebastian murmured at Ayaan's offer to carry his sword. <br/>
<br/>
If he was picky about who handled his horse, he was even pickier about who handled his sword. In that no one handled his sword except him and lived to tell the tale. As they walked, he fumbled to get it hooked back around his waist, which he didn't realize was a fruitless endeavor until they'd already made it back to the room. He hadn't really been paying much attention to what Lydia was saying; he was just relieved to be leaving her presence and to be spending more time with Ayaan. He forgot that meant having the boy bathe him. <br/>
<br/>
He shook his head and unfastened his belt again when they made it to his room, setting it to the side where he could grab it easily the next time he left. The room was nice; too nice, in Sebastian's opinion. He knew he would never feel comfortable in these gilded walls. He just wasn't designed for this kind of life. He shrugged out of his jacket as well and draped it over the bed. From there, he divested of all his weapons, piling them up on the bed until it was almost a ridiculous amount of blades all lumped together. <br/>
<br/>
He strolled back into the bathing room where Ayaan was moving a privacy wall in front of the bath. He blinked at it and then at the boy, suddenly very unsure of himself. "No," he mumbled. "I can't think of anything else I'd need. Thank you." <br/>
<br/>
How often did Ayaan actually hear the words "thank you?" Probably not terribly often, judging from his career and the way society as a whole treated slaves. Sebastian vowed to say it too often. The poor boy deserved to know he was appreciated. </span></span>