Disclaimer: I own neither Osarkon nor Rhetia. They are from The Oracle Propecies trilogy.

The former Lord of Thieves sat on a comfortable chair, filing his nails, when a tall, stately young woman walked into his chamber.

"Holiness," he enounced unperturbed, nodding at the guard on the other side of the open door. As the panel slid shut, he resumed his manicure.

Rhetia glared at his calm face, wondering why her unexpected visit failed to elicit even a modicum of surprise from the man. She waited for him to address her, ask her purpose, or at least look up from his damned nails, but he serenely ignored her presence. Her cheeks began reddening with anger and humiliation, and just as she decided to turn around and leave, her host glanced up, lips curled into a mocking smile.

"Surely you have not come here just to gain the experience of standing in my room," he remarked.

"No," she said stiffly, glad that she wasn't the one to break the silence.

"Then what do I owe this . . . pleasure to?"

Rhetia cursed herself. What possessed her to come here? It had been so easy in her imagination. Nervously, she rubbed her chest, a spot of bronzed skin revealed by her low neckline. The Jackal's long, narrowed eyes followed her hand. Perhaps it would not be that hard after all.

"We have never discussed the incident of me being your prisoner, have we?" she said, taking a step toward the man.

"I was unaware of your wish to discuss it, Holiness." He reached for a small knife lying on the rotund table next to him, using it to push back cuticles. It would come in handy if the intent of the girl's visitation happened to be revenge.

Rhetia inched forward. "I don't particularly. But I do think I deserve compensation."

"I would think all the blood spilled thanks to you was compensation enough," he said mildly. To his vague amazement, she neither rebutted the accusation nor tried to slap him. Instead, she continued moving towards him, unprovoked, reaching out with her arm. Golden fingers grazed the olive cheek, making the Jackal freeze, his eyes fixed at the soft hand in front of his face.

He regarded her with interest, wondering why she was doing this. Rhetia was an arrogant little bitch used to getting everything she wanted, but why did she want him?

"I cannot imagine what a poor thief can possibly give a lady of the Nine."

Rhetia withdrew as though scalded. "You are not poor," she looked at him with disgust. "You rob tombs. You rule that lot of criminals underground."

"Be that as it may, I have no place deflowering the Cupbearer of the God," he said calmly. She seethed, in shock and aggravation. He must think I am a desperate, inexperienced brat.

Suddenly, she straightened up, businesslike and supercilious. "Have a good day, Lord Osarkon."

"Wait," he called as she turned her back to him. He watched her draw nearer to the door without acknowledging his request. Touching the polished wood, she finally stopped. He crossed the room in quick strides, taking her by the arm. His voice, when he spoke, seemed almost gentle, softer than she had ever heard it before.

"What are you doing here?"

"Leaving," she said coldly, refusing to face him.

"You know what I mean."

"And you know why I'm here."

"I know what you are here for, but I do not know why."

She sighed. "You are the only person I know who is not a complete idiot and who I can actually respect. Now, if you'll excuse me – "

He placed a hand on the partition between the wings of the double door. Rhetia eventually looked at him, confusion mixing with her expression of disdain. The Thief Lord smiled his sarcastic smile and brought his lips to her smooth neck. His breath made her skin crawl with both dread and desire.

"Careful what you wish for."