<By Trieste><br/><br/>Naiobe sits by her window in nothing more than a dressing robe, her delicate toes scuffing lightly back and forth across the floor as she swings her leg. She slowly sips at a crystal chalice, the wine inside of it light and cool and refreshing, especially with the breeze that comes in off the mountains through her window. Though the day was warm, the darkening night is quite cool, and she enjoys the scent of stone and smoke that wafts on the breeze toward her. She glances over languidly as the sitting room's door opens, admitting both a servant ... and her twin brothers. Half-brothers, actually, but not much difference there. Fathered and raised by the same man, the differing half of their genes is of little matter, save appearance.<br/><br/>Though they are about the same age, Naiobe is much smaller than her brothers, proportioned as a woman but more petite than any elf. Some have taken her for a child before, but only the truly unwary; her figure is definitely not that of any girl, size be damned. Part of it is due to her mother, an elf herself, but part is due to the fact that Naiobe was a sickly child, often bedridden and too weak to do much more than stare out the window, sulking wistfully. Not only her health kept her like this, but the human healer employed to watch over her had a hand in her invalism. Obsequious and servile while in the presence of others, he had taken advantage of his time alone with his febrile charge, having a certain liking for her pale hair and smooth skin like unto porcelain. His little doll had turned on him viciously once she was of the age and the health to do so, setting her well on her way to catching up with her kin as far as studied cruelty is concerned.<br/><br/>As the servant strips the limp form of her latest plaything from the bed in the next room, the half-elf turns to her siblings as they saunter toward her in disconcerting unison. "Father wants to see you," both of them drawl languidly. "He's in his study..." "... not to be kept waiting." The two of them are so alike that even their sister has trouble occasionally telling them apart, but only when they make an effort to mask those small gestures that otherwise would show one from the other. Rousing herself from the window seat, Naiobe glides over toward the bedroom, disappearing behind the thin silk of a changing screen, since it won't do to go wandering the castle hardly clothed.<br/><br/>"Why would he send the two of you?" Her voice is vaguely taunting, but also suffued with the languor that comes of pleasure. It's easy for those who know her to tell when she's recently had the catharsis of a good fuck; she tends to take on the lazy contentment of a cat who's filled its belly with cream.<br/><br/>Brynn first says, "Because we were there..." "... and we were bored," Bryan finishes, the two of them moving as one to idly survey Naiobe's silhouette through the screen. "Nothing more," they both add, each leaning indolently against the doorjamb on either side of the door between the sitting room and the bedroom.<br/><br/>"Did he say why?" It's unusual for the old Baron to summon anyone save his nightly entertainment this long after dinner, and Naiobe finds herself wondering what manner of lecture he intends to give her now. All of his children know better than to directly cross him, but the occasional lessons he feels the need to impart upon his progeny can be anything from mild to excruciatingly painful. She certainly hopes it's the former.<br/><br/>"Not a word..." "... nor a hint." Both of them don't even pretend not to have been looking as she comes out from behind the screen, dressed now. The look on both faces is smug, as both of them know their patriarch's habits as well as she does. "Have fun," they taunt as she opens the outer door.<br/><br/>Sending a brief sneer back at them, she hurries along the hallway, her elegant silk slippers nearly silent against the cold stone floors. Her waist-length tresses stream out behind her like a cornsilk banner, obscuring the delicate tips of her ears. Shorter than an elf's but still decidedly tapered, Naiobe's ears are yet another marker of her half-and-half parentage. Rather than the paler eyes of most of her mother's kind, hers are very dark brown; in certain lights, it's impossible to distinguish the pupils from the dark, dark irii, making them look black. Were she less protected by the powerful, she probably would have been accused of giving the evil eye to others several times now. Those dark eyes show none of the malevolence that may have brought such about, however. For now, they show only an edge of concern, as Naiobe reviews her actions over the last couple of days. Honestly, she cannot think of anything that may have brought her father's wrath upon her head, which makes the unusual visit ... slightly worse. After all, if she knows the infraction, she can usually guess at the response. With an inaudible sigh, she raises a hand, slender fingers curled into a loose fist as she raps on the door.<br/><br/>At his muffled acknowledgement, she opens the door silently, the deep azure of her dress standing starkly against the aged wood as she closes it behind her. Unsmiling and somber until he gives her reason not to be, she asks, "You sent for me, my Lord?"<br/><br/>The old man is a study in deception. He looks fragile, yet remains strong and sure in his actions. He also looks like he perhaps might be past the age when he would enjoy the company of a maid or two... but that is most certainly far from the truth. Her eldest brother seems to face the Baron without the least hint of fear, but Naiobe has yet to learn that particular trick. While she feels no small amount of affection for the Lord of the castle, said affection is mingled with a healthy dose of respect and, at times, solid fear. At the moment, that fear nudges at the edges of her awareness like the first tantalizing caresses of a lover as the Baron turns to face her. The old man studies the diminutive young woman in front of him, possibly reviewing how much she resembles him, despite the overt similarity to her mother. Her features, her bearing, the way she carries herself is unmistakable, and cast from the same mold as him.<br/><br/>Finally, he speaks. "Do you remember," he begins conversationally, "when I first found someone in your bed other than you?" That hollow gaze meets her eyes, and it's only by sheer force of considerable will that keeps her from flinching. This is probably not going to be mild.<br/><br/>"Yes," she breathes, moving closer to him, resting her hand on the back of the chair beside which he stands.<br/><br/>He nods as she comes to a stop close by, and sets the drink in his hand down on a small table by the arm of the chair. "Repeat it," he orders quietly, circling around behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders.<br/><br/>Forcing herself not to tense at the contact, she looks into the fireplace, as if the answer is in the flames, her eyes going distant with memory. "Play," she quotes, "But do not get caught." She's paraphrasing somewhat, but that was the generality of it.<br/><br/>"Indeed." Though he seems pleased by the answer, Naiobe knows better than to relax. "And what were the rules that I set forth?" The question is asked in the same quiet tone, though a thread of steel creeps into the undertone.<br/><br/>Now she tenses, getting an inkling of what the problem may be. "Se... Selectivity," she murmurs. Check. "Discretion." Also covered. Naiobe has no wish to parade her own toys through the town square like another certain, somewhat flashy someone. Well, okay, she's wanted to once or twice, but since it's banned, it's really a moot point. "And-"<br/><br/>The Baron's soft voice cuts smoothly through her own, interrupting. "And no nobility," he hisses. His fingers tighten on her shoulders, his grip not quite painful. "I told you to pay attention." And then he waits, for the moment.<br/><br/>Realisation dawns on Naiobe's face, and her breath hitches a little. She tries to turn and look at her father's face, only to be held where she is by that strong grip. "Who? I checked!" The fear that has been hovering around the edges of her awareness abruptly finds itself at the forefront of her mind, cold and growing.<br/><br/>"Think," he says, his voice still menacingly soft in her ear. "Dark hair. Dark eyes. He was missed three nights ago." His grip on her shoulders tightens further, becoming painful.<br/><br/>Chilling recognition crashes over her. She winces as his hands tighten, squirming a little where she stands. "He... He can be healed..." She pants a little, almost pleading. "He isn't... I didn't..."<br/><br/>"No," he nearly purrs. "You did not kill him. One day you might, however." His grip is like molten steel, and her collarbones begin to creak a little under the pressure. "Mistakes are made when you are learning, but they MUST be made with someone expendable." As she opens her mouth to answer, he shakes her a little, silencing whatever she was going to say before he continues. "If you make another such mistake, I will hand you to Brom, and instruct him to treat you as he would any other trophy. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"<br/><br/>A small whimper slips out of her as pain radiates from his hands, through her shoulders and down her chest. Her eyes go wide at his threat, and both of her fists clench tightly. "Yes, Father," she gasps, then finds herself slumping against the back of the chair as the Baron abruptly releases her. Rubbing one shoulder and turning to face him, the colour drains from her face as she becomes aware of another presence in the room. The eldest of the Baron's sons is wreathed in shadow, outside the illumination cast by the fire in a warm circle, so Naiobe cannot see Brom's face nor the expression that may be thereupon, but knowing that he is there, and has been quietly watching, sends a stab of deep, burning chagrin through her. Setting her jaw, she looks from her father to her brother and back again, though she doesn't dare depart without leave.<br/><br/>Thankfully, the old man inclines his head at her look, saying only, "Sleep well, my dear." No trace of humour inflects his tone, nor does he come even close to smiling, but she senses amusement from her father all the same. Taking a shaky breath, she mutters, "And you," before ducking her head and hurrying to the door, avoiding Brom's gaze entirely. There will be gloating later, she has no doubt. And possibly that is the worst part of all.