Sleep came in fitful bursts, leaving Cailan bleary-eyed when dawn's first light crept through the window. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he quickly slid off the bed and knelt at its foot, hands folded in his lap, head bowed.

The aroma of fresh bread and warm porridge wafted from the tray as Liam set it down on the bed. "I thought you might be hungry," he said. "I don't suppose my father bothered to feed you last night."

Cailan's stomach clenched at the mention of food, reminding him of how long it had been since his last meal. "Thank you, sir," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the tray.

"You can stand up," Liam said. "You don't have to kneel for me all the time. I mean, it would be a good idea in front of my father, and in the presence of important company, but when it's just us..."

Cailan rose slowly, his movements fluid and graceful, just as he'd been taught. "Thank you, sir," he repeated.

"The ‘sir’ thing, too,” Liam added. “That's not necessary when we're alone."

Cailan nodded, his chin dipping towards his chest as he lowered his gaze once more. The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Liam cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "Well, I'd better get going," he said, taking a step towards the door. "I just wanted to get something to you before everyone else eats. I'd bring you down to breakfast, but taking you near my father seems unwise." His hand rested on the doorknob as he added, "I'll get our maid, Aubree, to come and get your dishes and help you take a bath later."

Cailan's chin dipped lower, his golden hair falling forward to curtain his face. "Thank you," he murmured, the words feeling strange and naked without the customary 'sir' attached. He'd been taught that some masters preferred a more casual relationship with their slaves, but this didn't feel like an attempt at closeness. It felt like distance.

The door shut behind Liam, leaving Cailan alone with the laden tray. Only then did he lift his gaze, his eyes widening as he took in the feast before him. Steam rose from a brimming bowl of porridge, its creamy surface dotted with berries. Beside it, two perfectly boiled eggs nestled in their cups, their shells cracked and ready to peel. Golden-brown toast, glistening with melted butter, filled the air with its rich, comforting aroma. An apple completed the spread.

Cailan's stomach growled softly as he eyed the tray, a mix of longing and trepidation washing over him. The porridge steamed invitingly, its sweet aroma making his mouth water. Yet the sheer quantity of food before him seemed impossibly daunting.

His gaze flicked to the door, half-expecting Liam to return and rescind the offer. But the room remained silent, save for his own quickened breathing.

The soft-boiled eggs melted on Cailan's tongue, their richness unlike anything he'd tasted before. The toast crunched satisfyingly between his teeth. But as he bit into the apple, his stomach began to protest, stretched tight and uncomfortable.

The porridge, once inviting, now loomed before him like a mountain to be conquered. Each spoonful became a battle, the creamy texture turning to paste in his mouth. Cailan's throat worked harder with every swallow, his body rebelling against the excess.

Suddenly, the world tilted. A wave of nausea crashed over him. Cailan's body convulsed, his hands flying to his mouth too late. The acrid taste of bile filled his mouth as he retched, the contents of his stomach splattering across his robe, the carpet, the bedspread. The sour smell of it filled the air, making him gag again.

Time blurred. Cailan found himself on his knees, his hands shaking as he attempted to channel his magic, trying to erase the evidence of his failure. Tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision and falling to mix with the mess on the floor.

The creak of the opening door startled Cailan. He looked up to see a tall woman entering, her light hair contrasting sharply with her dark, critical eyes. Aubree, the maid Liam had mentioned. He had seen her when he first arrived. Her gaze raked over the scene: the dishevelled bed, the splattered floor, and Cailan himself, kneeling amidst the chaos.

Without a word, Aubree strode forward and hauled Cailan to his feet. Gripping his arm firmly, she marched him out of the room and down the hall. The bathroom door flew open with a bang, causing Cailan to flinch as Aubree shoved him inside. The sound of rushing water filled the room as she twisted the taps, steam beginning to rise from the large porcelain tub.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Cailan said, voice quivering as his eyes darted between Aubree's face and the floor, unable to hold her gaze.

Aubree's scoff cut through the air like a whip. "Sorry's not going to clean your carpet, now is it?" She jerked her chin towards the tub. "Get in. Can you scrub yourself?"

"Yes ma'am," Cailan murmured as he stepped into the bathtub. The water was heated, presumably by electricity like the house's lighting, a rare luxury even in the city. "I can clean the carpet, too. With my magic."

A derisive snort escaped Aubree. Her dark eyes raked over Cailan, lips curling in disdain. "You're welcome to try, but we both know you're only good for one thing."

Cailan pressed his lips together and focused on wetting his hair. He was good at cleaning; his earlier failure had been due to fear, not lack of skill. Once he was clean and calm, he'd return to the bedroom and set things right.

Aubree told Cailan she'd check back in on him in a while and left him to wash himself, taking his dirty robe with her. 

As Cailan washed himself mechanically, he pulled himself back together. Things had changed so fast and left him feeling very much on his own. He liked his new master, but Liam clearly didn't want much to do with him. He didn't offer Cailan the same companionship the other slaves had given him in spades.

By the time Aubree returned, Cailan had finished washing and was lost in thought, still sitting in the cooling bathwater. She cleared her throat, startling him back to awareness.

"Come on, then," she said, holding out a towel. "Can't have you turning into a prune."

The feeling of the towel against his skin as Aubree dried him brought back memories of his early years in the nursery. He hadn't been tended to like this in a long time, not since he was deemed old enough to care for himself. It was strange, almost uncomfortable, to be treated as if he couldn't manage such a simple task.

Cailan bit his lip, confusion welling up inside of him. Just weeks ago, at thirteen, he'd been considered mature enough to be sold, ready for adult responsibilities. Now, in Liam's house, it seemed he was viewed as little more than a helpless child. Liam's gentle distance, Aubree's matter-of-fact caretaking—it all pointed to the same conclusion. They saw him as a baby, not the trained Companion he was meant to be.

"I don't have any clothes that will fit you, so you'll just have to wear your underwear while I get your robe washed," Aubree said once Cailan was dry. "I'll get those off you and wash them once you have your robe back, though. We can't have you being unclean for your young master."

The scorn in her voice was unmissable. Cailan couldn't help but wonder if there would be less of it if she knew Liam felt much the same way. "Yes, ma'am."

As they walked back to his room, Aubree continued, "I've changed your sheets, but I've left the carpet alone. I'll be back to check on you soon. I won't be pleased if all that comes of your efforts is that mess setting in deeper because of the delay."

Cailan's stomach clenched at the implied threat. "I can do it, ma'am," he assured her, his voice steadier than he felt.

"Then do it," Aubree replied curtly before leaving him alone once more.

The silence of the room pressed in on Cailan as he knelt beside the stained carpet. He took a deep breath, trying to centre himself, but his mind felt jittery, out of sync as it always did after more than a day in isolation. He'd never been expected to try to use his magic afterwards until he'd had a bit of contact to balance himself.

Cailan's progress was glacially slow as he drew the vomit out of the carpet and dissipated it into nothingness. By the time Aubree returned half an hour later, Cailan had only managed to clean half of the stain. He looked up at her, exhaustion etched into every line of his body. But the progress, however slow, was undeniable. With a curt nod, Aubree left him to continue his task.