{oOo}

"Beryl..."

That voice. Low and rich, beautiful and sensual. It felt as if it slid through her skin, slickly as a blade, to reverberate within her bones, a delicious ache she could not get enough of.

Eagerly, she turned from the open window, getting down to all fours and crawling to that beckoning hand, as gracefully as a feline. Just as she knew he liked it.

"Very good, Beryl." The voice purred, approbation, sending elation through her veins like some sort of drug.

She leaned into his touch, nuzzling into his opened palm, practically purring with wanton lust as he played with her a bit, then pouted childishly when he withdrew from the game, returning to petting her like a large cat as she lay, draped over his lap.

"I have an important job for you, Beryl." He told her, lips quirking up at the sides.

Her eyes lit up, and she sat up, by his feet, looking up at him. He was so tall, even now, sitting on his throne, he still loomed over her, his glory casting her into insignificance.

"What would you have of me, milord?"

She lounged, arched her back, offered; anything and everything. Her life, her flesh, her blood, her pain and pleasure, all his to use as he willed. And he was giving her an important job?

She basked in the light of his trust, eyes growing wider, more hazed with joy, when he continued speaking, "The most important job I could ever give anyone, my dear."

The endearment was unneeded, and he knew it, but deigned to offer it to her anyway, and she loved him all the more for it.

"Anything, milord." she said fervently.

The Daemon Prince that wore Fulgrim's shape smiled at such devotion, and a wave of his hand directed a pair of servants to bring forward a painting.

Of the man whose shape he wore, face filled with horror and despair.

"This painting is very important to me, my dear." He told her, gauging her willingness as she listened attentively to his every word. "Tell me, have you ever heard of a Kaschei?"

Beryl's brow furrowed. "No, milord." Was it important? Oh, had she failed to serve him properly? She feared disappointing him more than the loss of her own life.

"It's an old story that one of those slaves from the colonies brought back with him." The daemon prince grinned. The slave had sobbed and screamed so deliciously at the end.

"It concerns a sorcerer, who sealed his soul in an object, and hid it, to keep it safe. This, my dear, is my Kaschei. It holds my soul."

He had her attention, and her fear for his safety now. And of all his servants, he knew she would do anything for his favor.

"And you, dear, loyal Beryl..." His smile was pleased, indulgent, laviscious. "You will guard it for me. Forever. Because I trust you."

The last phrase was utterly unnecessary and they both knew it; her glee was written all over her beautiful features.

"Thank you, milord," she promised him, with complete fervor. "I will never fail you."

Not while you yet live, the Prince thought, gloatingly. He contemplated her, his first, most loyal servant and smiled. Rarely was such devotion found, and he had all of it; reason enough to gloat.

Within his portrait, Fulgrim's soul stood, stunned as he was carried off, with infinite care, by the daemonette.

"Don't worry, milord," she promised him. "I'll never let you down. I'll never leave your side."

{oOo}

The centuries passed, and she regretted nothing, in this cold hulk of a ship with its (limited by Slaaneshi standards) luxuries. She had her Lord's soul by her side, to love and to cherish and it was enough.

{oOo}