Well well… can you kick a Constance and run away? The second part of the story answers your questions.
Just a wee note about the ads. (Never mind, took ‘em down.)
“Pants, I need pants,” Constance muttered, picking the first pair that came to hand. Her shin throbbed and ached and though it was barely noticeable compared to past wounds she’d sustained, the fact that the little wretch had the gall to kick her at all made it more irritating than a wound inflicted by a blade. What on earth was wrong with the maids lately, had they all suddenly discovered her existence and a taste for punishment at once? Or was someone behind it? Constance’s mouth tightened at the thought that Kai or Lucy might be putting the maids up to these shenanigans. It didn’t seem like Lucy’s style, but Kai on the other hand, she was a sneaky little brat who’d just worked out that she was no physical match for her commander. Perhaps she’d decided to start a war of attrition and try and wear her commander’s arm out spanking other bottoms.
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Well well well, hasn’t there been a great deal of bravado and trash talking about these past few days? *grin* Of course, one is safe knowing that Constance won’t actually lay hands, or cane on you, right? Or perhaps, wrong….
(I trust this first part of this little tale will tide you all for a little bit longer. I’m nearly approaching the end of the second Finn book and staring down the barrel of the third.)
Relaxing in her chambers, Constance pondered the earlier events of the day. It was not rare for one of the maids to require correction, but for a little gang to form with the cheek required to directly challenge her? That was strange indeed. Perhaps she would have to speak to the Head Cook about tightening discipline in the kitchen. She could not spend all her days whipping the behinds of the servantry.
Outside her window, the day had waned into twilight and Constance felt a wave of tiredness rushing over her. It had been a long day, a day filled with red bottoms and wailing brats. As she peeled off the skin tight uniform, revealing a lithe, well muscled body she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and shook her head at the reflection.
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Well you just had to push it, didn’t you? Now let’s see what becomes of all those naughty brats who insisted on calling Constance a big meanie at every turn…
Lady Constance strode through Castle Iskendar’s halls of power with an assured gait, removing her long black leather gloves as she went. As usual, she was dressed in the form fitting fine leather suit that allowed her both stealth and movement. Her boots were slightly dusty from a recent altercation in the arena, and under her arm she carried a long yellow cane as thick as her little finger which bent and wriggled as she walked.
Echoes of the cries of the last miscreant still rang in her ears, but the memories were not enough to drown out the quite giggles she heard behind the pillars, following along behind her. She quickly recognized them as the soft, scuffling footsteps of the leather bottomed shoes many of the servants wore. Constance’s crimson lips quirked into a good natured smile. This was, after all, a good reminder that one was never truly alone, in a castle the very walls had eyes and ears and quite often hands and feet, all attuned to the making of mischief.
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