Kingsley awoke late the next morning. The first thing he did was glance at the glass doors to the balcony. The snow was still coming down. From the looks of the pile on the windowsill, it had accumulated ankle-deep overnight.

It had been a long time since he’d woken up this late and to a sight this lovely. He turned to wake Polly so she could see it, but her side of the bed was empty. Too bad. He would have liked to have served her again. All morning. All day.

But it was not to be. Kingsley rose from the bed and stretched and yawned. He felt no ill effects from last night’s erotic encounter. In fact, his body felt better than it had since before the mission that had put him in the infirmary and sidelined him for the better part of two months. He took full breaths. Nothing in his chest creaked or cracked. His muscles idled like a well-tuned engine, ready to take off at top speed any moment. His head was clear and his vision sharp. The snow always did this to him, made him feel more alive.

In the bathroom, he found clothes waiting for him. Black trousers and a white t-shirt made of the softest cotton. Someone had also left him a razor, a toothbrush, and everything else he needed to make himself presentable.

He took a quick brisk shower, shaved, and dressed. The pants were loose on his waist. They must have belonged to a man a little thicker around the middle than Kingsley. Maybe if he stayed here long enough he’d put on some weight. Wouldn’t hurt to bulk up a little more. Maybe he’d be able to take punches better when he had more padding on his ribcage.

Thought of food made his stomach grumble. He went to leave the room in search of the kitchen, but when he came to the bedroom door, he found it locked from the outside.

He tried it again, just in case the door was stuck, but no. Locked. This sent alarms off in his head—he hadn’t signed up to be a prisoner. Or had he?

Kingsley tried the balcony door. It was unlocked. He still had his shoes, if he wanted to put them on and make a run for it. As much as the snow invigorated him, however, he didn’t particularly want to go out in it unless he had to. If this door was unlocked, then he wasn’t technically being kept prisoner, right? He decided to wait it out before going out in the cold and in search of open doors and answers.

He didn’t have to wait long. Someone must have heard him up and moving about because ten minutes later, after Kingsley had cleaned up the bathroom and made the bed—he was here to serve after all—he heard the doorknob rattling.

Instinct, training, and a dash of paranoia sent him to the corner of the room behind the door. He’d pulled the blade from the razor and he held it now secreted between his fingers and palm. It might just be Polly. It might be someone come to kill him.

It didn’t seem to be either.

A man walked into the room carrying a silver serving tray in his hands. He was young, not much more than a teenager with pale brown hair and a face Kingsley had seen before.

“Leon?” Kingsley asked, and the man turned his head immediately toward the sound of Kingsley’s voice.

He looked startled at first to find Kingsley where he hadn’t expected him. But then he gave a little laugh and smiled.

“We’ve met?” Leon asked.

“No. Just guessed,” Kingsley said. Now that he was seeing him close-up, Kingsley noticed that Leon definitely took after his uncle the colonel. Same high forehead, same line of the jaw, same crook in the nose.

“I brought your breakfast. Hungry?”

Kingsley narrowed his eyes at the young man. “I thought the men served the women here,” he said, letting his guard down enough to step out from his corner and inspect what was on the tray.

“I am serving the women. Madame told me to bring you breakfast. I serve her by serving you.”

“But why bring me breakfast here? I could have come downstairs. Why was the door was locked from the outside?”

“Midwinter,” Leon said with a grin.

“What is Midwinter? The solstice was last month.”

“There are local legends that the Germanic tribe that used to live in this region celebrated a festival in winter that involved fertility rites and sacrifices, all that good old pagan fun. Madame is an old-fashioned lady. She’s brought it back.”

“Old-fashioned is supposed to mean she wears her skirts long and goes to Mass on Sunday. It’s not supposed to mean you’ve brought back human sacrifice.”

“There’s no human sacrifice,” Leon said.

“You sure about that?”

“I think they would have told me,” he said. “Or not. I’m still new here.”

“Still doesn’t answer my question. What’s going on?”

“A party. That’s all. And you’ll be one of the guests of honor at Midwinter. It’s important you stay hidden from the other guest of honor.”

“Who’s the other?”

“Colette. She’s the youngest lady here.”

Kingsley nodded. Madame had said that name last night. What had she said exactly? I’m thinking he’s the one for Colette.

“And I can’t meet her until the festival?” Kingsley asked.

“Right,” Leon said.

“This is all very strange,” Kingsley said. “And a little stupid.”

“What’s wrong with being a little strange?” Leon asked as he put the tray on the bedside table and sat on the made bed. Kingsley glowered. Colonel’s nephew or not, he was messing up Kingsley’s crisp hospital corners. “We live out here in the middle of nowhere. We have to make our own fun. Nothing stupid about that.”

Kingsley pondered this. He was more than a little skeptical.

“If you don’t eat your breakfast, I will,” Leon said.

Kingsley pulled up a chair to the bed and inspected his breakfast. Croissant, eggs, coffee. He picked up a fork and started in. “Why did you run away? You’re nineteen. Nineteen-year-old men don’t run away from home. You tell someone where you’re going when you go. Your mother’s worried.” Kingsley would have killed to have a mother at home worrying about him.

“I didn’t run away. And it’s not easy to talk about, you know? Especially my father. He’s… He doesn’t approve of this place. Or me being part of it.”

Kingsley nodded. He could imagine an older man disapproving of the idea of his son being used as a plaything by older women. Although if Kingsley had an adult son and found out he’d become the plaything of a beautiful older woman, he’d probably shake the boy’s hand and say, I’m proud of you, son.

“It’s not my fault my family doesn’t understand me.”

Kingsley rolled his eyes. “I hope taxpayers aren’t paying for your teen angst.”

Leon smiled. “Not my fault either if they are,” he said. “I’m happy. I don’t want to leave. You can tell my family to back off.”

“They think you’re in a cult. You really are here entirely by choice?” Kingsley asked. “No coercion? No blackmail? No violence?”

Leon stood up and took off his shirt. Kingsley did not complain.

“They don’t even beat me,” Leon said, showing off his unmarked body. He put his shirt back on again.

“No one pumping you for information?”

“I don’t know anything,” Leon said. “What can I tell them if I don’t know anything to tell?”

“I’m supposed to go back and tell your family that you’re happy, you’re healthy, and you don’t ever want to come home?” Kingsley asked. “I’m sure that’ll go over very well.”

Leon raised his hands. “I could have moved to Australia. I could have moved to America. I could have moved to Brazil. They would have been sad, but they wouldn’t have tried to stop me.”

“Brazil isn’t a sex cult,” Kingsley said. “Except during Carnival. I’ll tell them I saw you and that you’re well and here by choice, but I don’t know if that’ll convince them you aren’t being brainwashed.”

“Thank you for trying. If I have to leave, I’ll leave,” Leon said, lowering his head. “If that’s what I have to do to protect this place. But I hope it doesn’t come to that. I love it here.”

“You’re a submissive?”

Leon lifted a hand as if to say, Does it matter?

“I serve,” Leon said. “I black Polly’s boots. I make Madame’s bed. I serve at the dinner table. I serve in Polly’s bed, or Louise’s or Amel’s or whoever wants me that night. I get patted on the head like a prize hound. I sleep like the dead every night and wake up smiling.”

“It sounds menial if you ask me,” Kingsley said. “Your family’s old, important, yes?”

“So?” Leon shrugged. “I’d rather sweep floors in a warm happy home than count gold coins in a cold vault. I feel useful here. Valued. They don’t care if my family is important. Are you important?”

“No,” Kingsley said. “I’m nobody. My father ran a small import company, and when he died, he was up to his eyeballs in debt.” Kingsley had learned a new word two days after his parents died—insolvable. In English, “insolvent.” In any language, it was a word a teenager didn’t need to know.

“See? And you’re already adored here,” Leon said.

“Am I?”

Leon stood up, ready to leave. “Must be,” he said. “When I came here the first time, I wasn’t allowed in a bed for a week. Somebody likes you.”

“Nice to be liked,” Kingsley said. Most of his lovers were total strangers for good reason.

“Or…” Leon said with a long exhalation.

“Or what?” Kingsley demanded.

Leon shrugged. “Or…they could be fucking with you.”