"Because I want to know who I'm dealing with in this town. And because the people who rule a place rarely understand those they rule."
Her eyes narrowed. "This is unlike you, Young Master."
"Let's just say my recent disgrace has given me a new perspective on certain things."
Sabrina studied him for a long moment across the table, her red eyes calculating, searching for the angle in it. He could practically watch her turning the statement over, checking it for hidden teeth. He let her look. There was nothing to find there that he didn't want her to find.
"The town guards are underpaid and undermanned," she said finally, her tone careful and measured. "Half of them are retired men who stayed because they had nowhere else to go. The other half are boys who couldn't afford to leave. Most of the merchants in the market are barely surviving the season."
"Sounds like a town already halfway to collapse."
"It is," she admitted, and there was something almost involuntary about the words, like she'd been holding the observation for years and found it easier to say aloud than to keep swallowing. "The young people leave as soon as they have the coin to do it. The forests to the east grow more dangerous every season, something in them has been pushing monsters closer to the road. The farmland yields less with each harvest and nobody can say exactly why."
Damien set down his fork and nodded slowly. He already knew most of this. The novel had described Harrow's End in passing, a footnote of a location, the kind of miserable frontier town that existed in fantasy stories purely to establish how far a disgraced character had fallen. The author hadn't thought it mattered enough to detail.
They were wrong.
"A perfect opportunity," he said.
Sabrina's expression shifted. "For what, exactly?"
"For someone to make a difference." He picked up his wine glass, turning it once. "For good or ill."
Sabrina's expression hardened into something flat and cold, the practiced neutrality of someone who had learned exactly how much contempt she could show before it cost her. "If you're using your family name to exploit these people even further than your father already has—"
"And what concern is that of yours?" Damien asked, setting his wine glass down with a soft click.
"You're a slave maid who was assigned to pour my wine and keep my rooms tidy. Not my conscience. Know your place, Sabrina."
Sabrina stiffened like she'd been struck. Her jaw clenched tight enough that he could see the muscle twitch along its edge.
"My apologies, Young Master," she said, her voice going hollow and mechanical. "I forgot my place. It won't happen again."
She moved to stand, pushing her chair back with practiced silence. The plate before her was still half-full, but she'd clearly lost any appetite she might have had.
"Wait." Damien raised his hand.
She paused, frozen between sitting and standing.
"I didn't order you to leave."
Sabrina sank back into her seat, her back straight as a sword blade. She kept her eyes fixed on her plate, refusing to look at him. The muscle in her jaw kept twitching.
'This is going to be harder than I thought,' he told Satana silently.
Damien smiled. "I think I'd like that tour today, actually. Would you show me around Harrow's End after breakfast?"
"If that is your command," she answered stiffly.
"It's a request. You can refuse."
Her red eyes widened fractionally. "I... cannot refuse your commands, Young Master. The crest does not permit it."
"Ah, yes. The slave crest." Damien's eyes dropped briefly to her midsection. "Tell me about that."
Sabrina went rigid. "What about it?"
"How does it work? What limitations does it impose?"
She was silent for several seconds, suspicion radiating from her. "The Tier 3 binding halves all physical and magical abilities. It enforces absolute obedience to direct orders from my owner. It prevents escape attempts and tracks my location. It cannot be removed except by my owner's death or voluntary release."
"And my father is your current owner?"
"Yes. Though he has temporarily transferred authority over me to you during your exile."
"I see." Damien tapped his fingers on the table. "So you're bound to obey me, but you hate me. That's an unpleasant situation for us both."
She didn't respond, but the slight flare of her nostrils told him she was surprised by his frankness.
"What if I told you I could modify that crest?"
Her head snapped up, red eyes blazing. "That would be impossible without a master-level enchanter. And why would you offer such a thing?"
"Let's call it... making amends. For past behavior."
Sabrina's face twisted with disbelief. "You expect me to believe you've had a sudden change of heart? That you want to help me out of kindness?"
"Not kindness, pragmatism. I'm in a strange town with few allies. You know this place and these people. You have skills I might need. But your abilities are halved by that crest, and your hatred of me limits your usefulness."
"So this is about using me more effectively."
"In part," Damien admitted. "But also because I'm not who I was before."
"People don't change overnight."
"Sometimes they do." He stood from the table. "Think about it. I'm offering a negotiation, not making demands. In the meantime, I'd still appreciate that tour of town."
Sabrina rose slowly, confusion evident in every line of her body. "When would you like to depart?"
"Give me an hour to prepare. And Sabrina?" Damien caught her gaze. "Wear something cute when we go out."
She looked completely lost now, like someone who'd had the ground pulled from beneath their feet.
"As you wish... Young Master." She backed away, collected their plates, and retreated toward the kitchen.
When she was gone, Damien allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
[Not bad for your first attempt, Master. You've thrown her completely off balance.]
'That's the idea,' Damien thought. 'Confusion first. Then curiosity. Then negotiation.'
[And when do we get to the corruption part?]
'Patience, Satana. You can't rush a good story.'
[But those red eyes! That figure under the uniform! She's practically begging to be corrupted!]
'She's a person who's been through hell, not a conquest,' Damien frowned. 'The original Damien saw her as an object. That's why she hates him. I need to show her I'm different.'
[Before you corrupt her and make her yours.]
'Before I offer her a mutually beneficial arrangement.'
Satana floated upside down in front of him, grinning wickedly. [Same thing, different words. I knew I picked the right villain.]
Damien sighed and pushed away from the table. He had an hour to plan his approach to this town. The corrupt mayor. The struggling populace. The nearby dungeon.
So many opportunities for a third-rate villain to become something much, much worse.
'Or better,' he thought with a smirk. 'Depending on your perspective.'