Gay Cinderella With A Twist

“Sin! Sinclair! Where the hell is that boy at?”
The Master’s younger son stood in the doorway with a scowl twisting his handsome face as he looked for the slave, but the beautiful young man wasn’t among the servants and slaves hard at work in the kitchen. Stepping into the room, he cut a path straight to the head cook, ignoring the scurrying men and women darting around him as they went about the frantic preparations for the evening meal—as lower servants and slaves, they were beneath his notice.
“Remy!” he bellowed, and the massive man dressed in stained apron and hat turned with a scowl—the scowl melting away at the sight of the Master’s son.
“Lord Julian! How may I be of service?” he asked, wiping his hands on the edge of his apron, forcing a smile. Julian’s expression darkened.
“Where is that boy?” he demanded, and the cook’s eyes darted away.
“Which boy might you be inquiring about, my lord?” he asked. Sweat stood out on his forehead. The young lord’s eye narrowed, and he took a step closer to the cook.
“You know who I’m talking about. Sinclair. Where is he? He’s not in the gardens, nor at the woodpile, and the stable hands haven’t seen him all day. That leaves the kitchen. And yet I don’t see him here either. So I want to know—where is he?” Julian asked, leaning forward till he was almost nose-to-nose with the other man.
Remy’s eyes darted from one side to the other, avoiding the young master’s gaze, and he licked his lips nervously.
“M-my lord, the boy—well, he spilled the cauldron. It made a fine mess…” he trailed off when the younger man’s eyes narrowed further.
“Where. Is. He? I won’t ask you again,” he said softly, a dangerous edge to his voice. The cook gulped and pointed...