Day 25 of 30 days of Fiction: “27) Prompt: trapped.”

And in the Harem sub-setting of Tir na Cali. (all that for 500 words!!)

“‘… among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.’”

Stephen was talking to himself when Ursula came into her suite. She’d left the manor for a couple days, her ostensible purpose a meeting at the Agency but her side goal giving him a little time to get used to the room and the idea of being hers.

She returned to find him staring out over the vineyards from her balcony, murmuring what she believed was probably part of the American’s Declaration of Independence, over and over again.

“ ‘That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,’” she provided from memory, and was rewarded by a twitch in his shoulder blades.

“I didn’t know you were back.” He hadn’t turned around yet, but he did remember to add, rather belatedly, “my Lady.”

“I just got home. We have most of the American documents in our library, you know.”

“I was just thinking,” he said, his bare back still to her and his back tense, “that I took it for granted, back home. I never really thought about the Declaration, or any of that. Liberty. You people barely even have the concept.”

“That’s like saying your people don’t have the idea of ‘pursuit of happiness,’ just because ours do it better,” she objected mildly. “It’s just not a priority for us, the way it is for Americans.” She hadn’t intended to argue with him today. She never intended to.

“I guessed that.” Now, now he turned around, frowning, and raked his eyes over her in a way that would have gotten him whipped by most of her cousins and peers. His eyes stopped at the narrow gold collar she was holding in her left hand. “Being trapped here, and all.” His gesture was a bit choppy as it took in the scenic vista behind him.

“Trapped,” she agreed softly. He was, after all, with her or in the harems. He was never going to go home again. “How are you enjoying your new cage?”

He winced, and she almost felt guilty. Almost. “The newspaper on the bottom is nicer, and it’s a bit roomier than the old one,” he quipped back. “Quieter, too. I’m still not sure about that part.”

“I’ll try to be sure you don’t get too lonely,” she assured him. His eyes were still on the collar in her hand; she wondered how long he could keep making jokes while staring at it.

Not long, it seemed. “I already have a collar,” he snapped abruptly. “Where are you going to lock that one?”

“You have my grandmother’s collar.” She set this new one down on the table, her eyes still on him. “Kneel for me, Stephan.”

“Make me,” he snapped back, his hands going to the steel band around his neck. “What’s the difference? A collar is a collar. They all make me a slave, right?”

He was, she noted, really freaking out. “This one will make you mine.”

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