Rage Without A Target

The next day, Vyan was buried under a pile of paperwork as usual when Freya came in, her face a picture of exaggerated misery. 

"Vyan, why did you stick me with that insufferable prick? He is so rude, I am surprised he doesn't burst into flames from his own arrogance."

Vyan glanced up, a sympathetic smile playing on his lips. "Sorry, Freya. Clyde had to sprint off for some work, otherwise, he was supposed to handle our ever-so-delightful newcomer"

Freya pouted dramatically, folding her arms. "Will you go meet Lord Lyon now? He was dropped off here five minutes ago."

"Should I roll out the red carpet while I am at it?" Vyan commented. "He is here as a slave, Freya, not a dinner guest," he clarified.

"Fair point," she shrugged, clearly amused. "Since I am completely clueless about what to do with him, could you please give me the brief version of my torture duties?"

"Sure thing. You know the underground cell?"