So I do. “Computer,” I say, not getting up from my chair. “Turn down the temperature in the room. I find it uncomfortably hot.”
“Cooling,” the computer chirps at me.
The female glares daggers in my direction. “You think that’s going to break me?”
I smile. “Yes, actually.”
She scoffs. “I’ve dealt with people that eat pussies like you for breakfast. I’m not going to break because I’m cold.” Her mouth curves into a cold smile. “Looks like you’ll be sleeping on the floor again, though.”
Again? I narrow my eyes at her. She watched me? Anger blisters through my mind and my jaw clenches. I pick up my data pad and ignore her. All the while, the room grows steadily colder. I didn’t specify a temperature, so the computer is going to continue cooling until I tell it to stop. Until I see my breath frosting in the air, I don’t plan on saying a thing.
So I read the news on my data pad. Pick through gladiator rankings, even though I’m not a fan of the bouts. I flick through maps and old missives, looking for anything to distract my mind. My crew’s communications officer has a file of all comms from other nearby ships that he finds might have potential for piracy, and I peruse them absently. Truth be told, I’m not grasping a single thing that’s written down, but at least I look like I’m busy. I even stretch my legs out, crossing my ankles. My chest feels like ice and I realize I’ve forgotten to put my tunic back on, but I ignore the temperature change since the female is.
I’m not going to break first. She is. I vow this on my ancestors.
Then I frown to myself, because apparently my family is full of slavers. Perhaps vowing things on my ancestors is a bad, bad idea.
It grows late. The numbing gel on my wound wears off and leaves a distracting ache. I continue to stare at my data pad as if it’s the most interesting thing in the universe, and I watch the female out of the corner of my eye. She hasn’t moved from her spot, curled up against the headboard of my bed. Her skin is exposed, and she has to be cold, but the only movements she makes are the occasional turn of the head, as if she’s studying my quarters, determining the best way to escape.
“Are you ready to yield, female?” I finally ask, breaking the silence.
She laughs. Just laughs.
At me.
I’m both angry and pleased. I want her to break, but I can’t help but admire the fact that she’s this strong.
Perhaps I’m sick in the head, but I’m starting to enjoy this game. There’s just something so appealing about an opponent who refuses to break under pressure. It forces you to think up new ways to bend them, to get them to let down their guard. It’s a challenge, and I keffing love a challenge.
I think for a moment and then jump to my feet.
She flinches back on the bed, tugging on her hand, and gives me another angry glare, her frosted breath puffing in front of her face. I just smile in her direction and bound to the door, opening it up with an enthusiastic thump of my hand on the control panel.
Kazex is on the other side, his weapons at the ready. He turns the moment the door opens, a grim look on his face. “What do you need, my lord?”
“Food,” I say in a low voice. “The best dishes we have on the ship. And water. And beer. Actually, I just want one of everything. Can you bring it to me?”
He pauses, digesting this request. Everyone on the ship feeds themselves—it’s just another small way that I’ve tried to keep myself on the same level as the men, getting my own food and drink. The same expensive, delicious foods I eat are just as available to them, and I know Kazex is thrown by my request that he fetch a meal for me.
It’s another thing that’s changing, and not for the better. I realize I’ve made a mistake the moment the words leave my mouth, and that I’m making him feel like a servant instead of one of the crew. I have to fix this, and quick. I reach out and grip his shoulder. “I don’t trust her not to slither away,” I say to him. “So I’m staying in to guard her. You can send a bot in with the food if you like, or ask one of the others to do it. I’d get it myself but she’s tricky.” I lean in close, whispering. “I’m going to make her break. She’s bound to be hungry by now.”
He watches me and then grunts, nodding. “Anything else?”
Does he have an idea I can use? “Like what?” I ask, eager. Are we on the same wavelength, then? Maybe my crew isn’t as against me as I thought. “Do you have a suggestion?”