Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)	By : Darkrogue Category: +S through Z > Suikoden Views: 3924 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Suikoden, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and dialogue from the game Suikoden V belong to Konami.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter 10: A Lesson in Pleasure and Pain

I remember when Hiram died, though just barely. It is strange, but I hardly remember what it was like to have a brother.

When Gizel brought up the Succession War, it made me think. It happened when I was very young. Too young, I think, to understand much. I just remember how we were suddenly afraid, after being happy. I can vaguely recall Hiram in flashes of memory here and there. I remember his voice, as if through a haze of sorts, almost like listening to muffled voices through a wall with a glass held to your ear. I do remember him, if only in snips. He was kind to Luserina and I. Of course he was much older, but he would carry us sometimes. He would take us for picnics in the forests around Rainwall, where he would show us the animals and teach us games.

I seem to remember my sister and I playfully fighting over his attentions. Always he laughed and devoted equal time to us. He was gentle, and kind, and he would laugh and play with us, and tease us as only a brother several years his siblings’ senior can. We enjoyed his attention, and I think I really adored him. He was my big brother, after all. Hiram seemed to enjoy spending time with us, too.

At least until Father would pull him away from us.

Father always had ‘important’ things for Hiram to do. And Hiram would always look disappointed when he left to tend to whatever Father had for him. But Luserina and I were close, so we had each other. And we had Mother.

That was before Mother lost her zeal for life. Before she locked herself away from the world. That happened after Hiram died. Now that I think about it, that was when everything changed.

FLASHBACK:

“Haa! Found you!” Luserina cried, jubilantly tapping the small foot poking out from beneath the curtain. Her brother not only had chosen an obvious hiding spot, but had neglected to realize that a part of him remained in plain sight.

“No fair!” Euram squealed, crawling from his hiding space with a small huff. “You always find me!”

“You can’t always hide in the same places, dummy!” the girl laughed, wondering how her brother could be so silly sometimes!

The two children spent much of their time playing this way. They were young, and had no cares as to the bloody war currently taking place over the throne of Falena. Little did they know that war was soon to be brought home to them.

“I’m no dummy!” Euram pouted in frustration. He had got his foot twisted in the curtain, and his tussling threatened to pull the shade down from its hanger.

“Yes, you are!” Luserina giggled again, watching him struggle. “Oh, here,” she sighed and bent down and helped him untangle his foot, her pretty white dress fanning around her as she knelt. “There you are!” With a few careful twists, she had his foot free, although the small shoe remained enfolded within the fabric.

Euram fumbled with the curtain until he had wrenched the item loose, replacing it upon his foot where it belonged. The girl tried to contain her laughter at her brother’s antics, but it wasn’t exactly working. The boy flushed, pink blotches of frustration and embarrassment surfacing on his pale cheeks. But when he looked up and saw the fond amusement and the glitter in his sister’s eyes, it prompted a sheepish giggle from him.

Even when she laughed at him, he couldn’t really be angry. He had far too much fun with Luserina, and her good nature always won him over.

“You should be more careful,” Luserina admonished, sometimes feeling as though she was constantly having to look after her eight-year-old sibling, despite the fact that he was actually the elder of the two. The pair were actually sometimes mistaken for twins.

She stood and placed her hands upon her hips, chiding her brother. “Mother will be mad if we mess up the curtains. She says the servants work way too hard for us to be making a mess! Remember?”

“I am careful!” he argued, his pout returning. She could be far too serious!

“No, you’re not!” Luserina laughed and nodded down at the wrinkled mess the bottom of the curtain had become. He poked his tongue at her and fell back against the carpet, seeming content to simply lie there.

She sighed. He was such a boy! “Get up!” she scolded, giving Euram a dig with her foot. He lay there stubbornly and shook his head, giggling harder as she grew more frustrated. “Come oooon! It’s your turn now!” Luserina declared, kicking him lightly. “You’re ‘it’ now, remember?”

“Aww! But it always takes me forever to find you!” he whined, rolling over and wrinkling his tan silk blouse in the process.

“Too bad, so saaad!” she taunted, and was prepared to scurry away to hide. But before she could move, she saw her brother’s eyes tilt up questioningly. She turned.

A servant had approached behind her. It was Grantham, Salum’s personal assistant and butler. There was a grave look upon his face.

“Young Master Euram, Miss Luserina. Your father requires the presence of both of you immediately.”

“Why can’t he come get us himself?” Euram giggled, but Luserina held a hand out to silence him, having caught the troubled look on the man’s face.

“Yes, of course. Thank you. Euram, come on.”

Euram blinked, but sat up immediately, his eyes wide, innocent and curious concern all at once spreading over his expression. “Lu-Luserina? Is something wrong? Wh-what is it?”

“Shh, come with me!” she urged, extending a hand and helping him up. Together they went to their father’s study.

The funeral was only two days later. It had been a large event in Rainwall, with the eldest heir to Barow’s estate and fortune senselessly murdered. The citizens all had joined in the mourning. The entire family had dressed in black. It was the strangest for the children.

It had been difficult for both Euram and Luserina to understand—that Hiram was not going to come back, and they would never see him again. They had not been told much: what had happened, how it had happened or why? They only knew they were scared: would Nethergate come after them, too?

It was frightening for the younger children. Euram and Luserina comforted one another as best they could. But what was most upsetting to them was how badly it had affected their mother.

“He was a boy, Salum. A boy!” they heard her say, over and over. And sometimes this would dissolve into arguments between she and Salum, though what they were arguing about was unclear to the children. Somehow it almost seemed as though their mother blamed their father for what had happened.

Soon after, their mother, consumed with grief and paranoia, had locked herself away in her bedroom, seldom coming out.

Things became very solemn and still after that. It tore the children apart to see their mother in such a state. But most of all, it affected Euram, who had always adored his mother the most of his parents. From that day she withdrew, Euram had vowed to make her leave her room and be with the family again. And his behavior grew ever more eccentric, and the more desperate he became, the more foolish he became in the eyes of the people.

But for their father, it was soon business as usual.

Days later, Salum had called Euram into his study.

The eight-year-old boy had shuffled in, feeling confused and afraid by his brother’s sudden death and saddened by his mother’s recent withdrawal. He had stared at his shoes and chewed his lip, wishing things were back to normal.

“Euram. My dear Euram.”

The boy looked up, uncertainty and melancholy swirling in his large brown eyes.

“I am sure you have realized that Hiram is no longer with us.”

“Yes, Father,” he sadly answered, though it had occurred to him how much more upset about it Father seemed in public than behind closed doors. Around the house, his father had not seemed to mourn overmuch, even though he had been carrying on quite vocally at the funeral, when there were others around to see.

“This means, my darling son, that you will be expected to fill his shoes. I know this is sudden,” he said quickly, seeing the boy fix a questioning glance upon him. “But this development is most unfortunate, I am afraid. There are things that will be expected of you, and I know you will not disappoint me. Do you understand?”

“N-no, Father. I don’t. I don’t understand,” he admitted. How could he? He barely even understood what had happened! All he knew is that he slept now with the lights on, for fear some assassin might come to his window in the night. “But those bad people who took Hiram? Where are they? What if they come back? What if they come for me, or Luserina…?”

“No, no, no.” Salum assured, pulling his now-only son into a hug. “No, we will make certain of that. It will never happen again. But things will be different from now forward. It is simply this: you are now my eldest. And the eldest has certain responsibilities. Hiram has left us. As such, his responsibilities are yours now. This transition might be rather difficult for you, but you must do this for me. And most of all—you must do it for your mother, oh your poor mother!”

At this, Salum broke down. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he swooned and dabbed at his eyes. Startled, Euram took a step towards him, extending a small hand.

“D-Dad?”

“It’s all right, son, it’s all right.” Salum braced himself on his writing desk, as though attempting to recover. “All I need is your promise. That you will not let me down. Only think of your mother, and do this for her sake.”

Euram thought then of his mother, broken down and so uncharacteristically sad. Without thinking further, he nodded.

“Y-yes, Dad. I’ll try. I promise.”

END FLASHBACK

Hiram was killed by Nether Gate Assassins. Yes, the same group that killed Gizel’s mother during that same war. Nether Gate was working for both sides. And both sides were warring for control of the throne.

The side that had ultimately won back then was Barows, I guess. It was Princess Falzhram who took the throne, and her husband was a Barows.

Father’s subjects had often used that appeal to the Prince when he came to Rainwall after the Godwin coup. After all, since Freyjadour’s grandfather was a Barows, he should be more than happy to work with Father and I. Unfortunately for us at the time, the Prince had scruples about him.

I do not doubt that what Gizel told me is true: that it was my father who was behind that war in the first place. His crimes extend far beyond Lordlake and our plans for the Prince. He certainly got what was coming to him, it seems. I understand that now, even though watching it happen devastated me. He was, after all, my father.

I still wonder why I was spared.

When Dad called me to speak with him after Hiram’s death, I did not understand what he was asking of me. After that, he began to rain his affections upon me, treating me as though I were the most fragile, darling jewel.

I wondered where all his sudden attention came from, but I didn’t mind it. He had not afforded me much attention before, so I welcomed it, especially now that Mother was too consumed with her own grief to engage with us any more. I think I was desperate to snap her out of her condition. I thought by doing Father’s bidding, I could somehow make things right again.

Luserina stopped playing with me, too. Dad began assigning her duties, teaching her business matters. He taught her how to do much of his own work. I guess even then he knew that I would not be capable of such important things. He gave her most of the duties that Hiram had been learning, and by the time she was fifteen, she was managing most of Rainwall’s affairs on her own. I was amazed at how quickly she had taken to it, though I was saddened at how business-minded she had become.

As for me, I spent time learning how to be a gentleman.

The rest of my boyhood was consumed learning to be ‘courtly’, attending social events, and meeting people. My private tutoring had become very rigorous when I was home, but more often than not I was away, attending banquets and balls and ‘sporting’ events—if one can truly call slaves forced to kill one another ‘sport’. But I learned to enjoy it. At least I believed I did. After all, gladiators were merely ‘property’.

Luserina and I never had time to have fun together anymore, though we still tried to talk. We grew distant.

To this day, I remain confused about what happened to me. How exactly did I become the terrible person I have been for the past twelve or so years? I don’t think I can pinpoint any one thing that ‘changed’ me, exactly. But I do know that everything began to change after my brother died.

Dad used to compare me to Hiram, long after he was gone. Hiram always sat up straight. Hiram never slouched. Hiram would speak lovely words and kiss the ladies’ hands and bow and look noble when he did so. Hiram could manage everything Luserina was managing, plus everything I was doing.

Father was never cruel or outwardly critical towards me. He doted on me and coddled me as much as you like, but the feeling that I was being constantly scrutinized for my shortcomings was always present.

Then, after some time, another person replaced Hiram in my father’s comparisons. It was an older boy named Gizel.

He was a Godwin, Dad had said. And no matter what, I was to be better than him.

I had met Gizel a few times when we were younger. He seemed like a nice boy. He was quiet, but he was reserved and refined. I might not have had a reason to feel animosity towards him, were it not for the fact that Dad ingrained in me that ‘Godwin’ was synonymous with ‘evil’.

I became bitter with this Gizel boy. With Father, it was always ‘Gizel is doing this’, ‘Gizel is doing that’. ‘That Godwin lad is competing in a swordsmanship tournament. You ought to learn some sport, my boy.’ I did not want to learn a ‘sport’. I wished that I could for once not be compared to another. But after awhile, it began to get to me. And after a while I became obsessed with it, too.

By the time it was ‘Gizel is engaged to marry the Queen’s sister’, it had become a competition in my mind. And around this time was when Dad introduced to me the idea that I would marry the Queen’s daughter—little Lymsleia. And I truly wanted to, just to have something over this damn Gizel I was always having to hear about.

Funny that Gizel ended up doing that, too. It was he who married Lym, even after everything Father and I hoped for. He took even that away from me, when that had been my last hope to ‘best’ Gizel in some way.

Hmm. Gizel is truly everything my father wanted me to be.

I wanted so badly to please Dad, who had so abruptly decided I was important after Hiram died. I wanted to do right by him. He loved me. I was his precious, only darling boy. I believed it because he told me so. And I wanted Mother to be herself again. How long had she remained in her room, mourning and fearing when the next assassin’s blow would claim another of her children?

I wanted her to come out and be a part of the family again. And I thought if I did right by Father, it would make her happy, too. I guess that was what I thought.

Only later would I learn that my actions, my change, only saddened Mother further. She had hated seeing me become more like the man she no longer loved.

I wonder what Hiram would think of me now? Would he have stooped to the things I have? Or would he have stood up to Father, as I should have done?

See what your little brother has become now, Hiram? I went along with Dad, did his bidding without question, and now…I suppose I am well paid for my folly, my unthinking wickedness.

At least Luserina is doing better.

At least Hiram has one sibling of whom he can be proud.

No wonder Luserina was so hurt and distressed by my actions all this time. It was bad enough that Father was the way he was. I can’t imagine how it must have been for Luserina to have to watch her only living brother destroy himself, as I was doing. And we were so close as children. It was unfair to her, how I behaved. To think, I stopped listening to her, knowing she was the more reasonable sibling between us. Maybe I was bitter towards her, too. I somehow learned to blame all my dissatisfactions upon others.

My, but I have been such an embarrassment to her. And I know I have apologized, but somehow, I do not feel as though anything I say or do will ever make it up to her.

I wish things had never changed. But things do change, don’t they?

And now, here I am, the prisoner of the rival my father spent the greater part of his years hating, and training me to hate. Not only his prisoner, but his prisoner in the worst sense, my shame laid bare before him so that not even my body is my own. And now, he is affecting me, affecting me in ways that I would never have imagined. I cannot explain my feelings. I do not understand them. Now I am more at a loss than ever.

Gizel.

He dominates and humiliates me, and I should hate him for that. And I do. He leaves me aching and ruined almost every night. He took from me my manhood, and I loathe him because of it. So why is it that I find myself wanting to please him? Why is it that my heart flutters at his touch? Why is it that I cling to him and miss him when he is gone?

I shudder to think. I do not know what he has done to me. I wonder—dare I say it?—I almost feel I am growing enamored of his presence. And I hate that. It is just, without him here, I become so lonely and sad.

I know that he also lost his mother to that war. And I wish I could make him believe how sorry I am. It is one thing losing a brother at such a young age. I tried telling him, but I do not think he believed me sincere. And I doubt seriously that it would help, were I to explain that in a way, I lost my mother too during the Succession War. That was when she withdrew, after all. But if I mentioned that—if I even attempted to compare that to Gizel’s loss, I’m sure I would earn myself a smack.

How I miss Mother now. How I want to hear her voice. But even so, I dread it. I can hear her now, telling me how I brought this on myself. And she would be right. It is troubling to think how much I have disappointed and hurt her. All that time I tried to impress Father, I was doing exactly what she did not want me to do.

His letter awaits me. And I hear a key in the lock. Bath-time, I presume…

***

The guards treated Euram with their casual, rough annoyance as they ushered him to the bath. It seemed Sherina had begun making a point to await him now. She was there, as infallible as ever. And he was grateful to see her.

He allowed the warmth to creep over his limbs as he submerged himself. He’d awoken with a slight hangover from the wine, and the warm water curled around him and embraced him with welcome fingers. It enveloped his limbs, tendrils of steam rising to shroud him in a hazy blanket.

In all his nineteen years, he had never believed something so simple as a warm bath could feel so good. It was something that he had merely grown used to. He had been raised amidst such wealth and contentment that he took so many things for granted, things he had never learned to fully appreciate. And now, after so many days of having been held captive and hurt, the slightest and most simple comforts seemed like rare blessings to him.

It seemed so long since he had had his dignity torn from him. But it had not been that long at all, had it?

He was confused. Not only because Gizel’s treatment of him had taken such a strange turn of late. His own feelings were equally confusing, and he wasn’t sure how to take it all. He should have hated Gizel no less than ever. He should despise his captor, and told himself over and over that he was simply being tricked. Surely Gizel was only playing him, treating him with considerable kindness only so he would be that much easier to manipulate. He was planning something for him, something horrible, and he was only experiencing the calm before the tempest.

After all, why should he be treated with any kindness?

“Something troubles you?” Sherina prompted, seeing through him too well.

Euram sighed. He had been forced to think far too much than was comfortable for him lately.

“Forgive me,” he said. “It is just…I cannot chase certain thoughts from my mind.”

“Are you still worrying yourself over the past, and things you cannot change?”

“No, no milady. It is indeed too late to change those things. It still hurts, though. I wish I were in a position to help.”

“But you are not,” she reminded him. “And for now, you must take care of yourself. That is the most important thing for now.”

“No, milady,” he shivered at the hot water poured down his back. “I—I deserve this. All of it. For everything…” he trailed, swallowing the thick sadness that swelled in his throat. “Father and I…we were nothing but a pair of criminals. And the worst kind. We were traitors.”

Sherina paused for a long moment. Without a word, she set her sponge and soap aside and took Euram’s chin in her hand. Sherina forced him to meet her gaze, and found troubled eyes swirling with hurt and confusion, misery and doubt.

“Such pain…” she whispered. Then, she spoke with a gentle firmness that was almost motherly. “Euram, you cannot shoulder all this grief, all this guilt. You simply must cast it away, at least little by little. No one can bear so much hurt at once. I cannot imagine what you must be feeling, but I understand the guilt must be unbearable. I can understand why you bear the sorrow you bear, but you cannot continue to suffer it on your own. Yours is a heavy crime to be burdened with, but you cannot dwell upon it like this. It will tear you to pieces.”

Unable to meet her gaze, Euram nonetheless heard her words, and the wisdom within them. Emotions battled inside of him, a part of him wanting to believe her, while the other, less forgiving force insisted that she only spoke such things to make him feel better. Yet another part of him told him he was being selfish again, feeling sorry for himself and forcing his own misery upon others.

He swallowed and forced a nod.

“Thank you. Yet again, you are right. You are right, just as you always are. I’m sorry, I do not mean to darken your mood. You do not know how grateful I am for you.”

“Now, now. Stop that,” she chided. “Why must you apologize to me? I do what any decent person would. And I am grateful that I can help you, in any small way I can. So please…stop hating yourself. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” she smiled and brushed his cheek, then finally returned to her task.

For several minutes, the only sound to fill the bathing chamber was the trickling of water as she scrubbed and rinsed his shoulders, his hair. Euram was silent, staring at the translucent shimmer of suds floating on the surface of the water. He looked sad, but thoughtful. At length he spoke quietly, as though the thought had just occurred to him but he was almost too timid to ask:

“Milady?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

He paused, hesitant. “Y-Your brother—what is his name?”

Sherina stopped abruptly, her hands freezing in their efforts. Euram continued staring at the water, otherwise he would have seen her regard him strangely.

“Why do you—why do you ask such things?”

“I was only curious, milady. Forgive me if I have upset you.”

It was quiet for a long time, until at last, Sherina supplied the answer he was seeking.

“Londrin. His name was…his name is Londrin.”

“I see,” he whispered, rolling the name around on his tongue, repeating it silently to himself as if he wished to remember it.

The woman watched him with curiosity. She could see that his mind was working, almost transfixed upon it, though to what end she could not guess.

Euram himself was not certain why he had asked, either. Perhaps he was thinking about Hiram, and missing him.

All too soon, their time was over again.

“I will thank you properly, some day,” Euram promised as he swathed himself in the cotton robe.

“Nonsense,” she waved him off. “There is no need. Besides, I would ask nothing of you, nor would I accept a thing.”

“Then I shall have to do so in secret,” he replied, bowing. “That way, you will not be able to refuse.”

She giggled and took his chin again, forcing him to rise and meet her gaze.

“That will do, Euram. For now, all I want from you is for you to be strong. Can you do that?”

“Yes, milady,” he nodded.

***

He arrived in Gizel’s chamber to find fresh linens and a thick cover of gold and black satin for the bed. He hardly needed to read Gizel’s letter to know what was required of him, but he had a look, just the same.

Sweet Euram,

Today, you shall change the dressings on the bed, and stack the others neatly in the drum by the door to be collected. I do not like wrinkles or creases in my sheets, so see to it that it is neatly done. You know by now I do not brook sloppy work.

Once you’ve done with that, there are two things that require polishing: my mirror above the dresser and my blade. I trust you will take good care of them, especially my sword.

Your Commander,
Gizel

Euram blinked for a moment. Surely Gizel had not left his…

Sure enough, he found the sheathed weapon waiting for him on the dresser just below the mirror he was meant to shine.

Is he mad? Euram thought, suddenly. Why has he left me…this?

A thousand thoughts scurried through his head at once. Why would he trust him with something so potentially deadly? Was the man testing him? Was he tempting him on purpose? Or had he done so simply to confuse him?

Likely it was a bit of all three. Gizel enjoyed toying with him, he realized. And he knew himself that he would not have the courage to attempt to use the weapon against his master. He hardly knew how to wield such a thing, let alone one as heavy as Gizel’s appeared. He would not have been able to wield it, and would have been too afraid to try and raise it against Gizel.

He knew this, and suspected Gizel knew it, too. Why else would he have left it here?

Sighing, Euram went to perform the first chore.

As usual, it was more difficult than he had thought. He had never done such a thing as “making a bed” before. Just like every other bit of manual labor Gizel had arranged for him, he felt awkward and ineffectual performing it. The ‘no wrinkles or creases’ rule was harder to abide than he’d thought, and he had to pull and tug from several different angles to make it look neat.

He polished the mirror next, trying to avoid looking into the thing as he did so. He hated seeing himself in this state, and he remembered how Gizel had forced him to watch himself ravaged the first night he had taken him. How demoralizing that had been, how mortifying! And now when he looked upon himself in the glass, all he could see was a prisoner, a slave, naked and pitiful.

Euram finished that job with as much haste as possible, hating it and hating the mirror itself for the torments it had wreaked upon his heart, just by its presence.

Last came the strangest task: the blade.

He handled it gingerly, sitting down in Gizel’s favorite chair before carefully drawing it from its sheath. It was quite heavy, and very sharp, he could tell. Euram was almost afraid he might injure himself.

Using the oiled cloth Gizel had provided, he very deftly began polishing the weapon, rubbing away smudges and blemishes with careful fingers. He worked diligently, mindful not to cut himself. Once the task was completed, he rose and examined the glinting blade in the light, admiring it for its strength and the power and authority contained within.

Why had Gizel left him to do this? To mock him? To remind him of how miserably he had failed at everything, and how little he could hope to equal Gizel in battle, in status, in skill?
He should have been Commander. He should have been where Gizel was now!

Hmmph. Euram swelled with a sudden, jealous anger. Well, he could wield a sword, just as well as any!

“Ha!” he cried, swinging about and brandishing the weapon like the bravest of warriors!

Only the sword was too heavy and unwieldy in his hand. Clumsily the blade drooped in his grip and collided with a bottle of wine situated on the table, left there from when Gizel and himself had partaken the night before.

Euram watched in horror as the bottle tipped and fell to the floor. Luckily a lavish white rug was there to break the item’s fall, preventing it from shattering. But Euram’s relief was soon crushed when the stopper dislodged, the rest of the bottle’s contents spilling out and spreading all over the rug’s white surface.

He watched it soak through with a tightening in his belly and a sink in his chest. The blood drained from his cheeks, a cold wash rushing through his veins and down to his toes.

“Oh…he’s going to kill me,” he whispered, trembling and swallowing the knot of dread that formed in his throat.

For what seemed like an eternity, he stood frozen in shock. Unable to move, he remained fixed in place, eyes wide and filled with blinking distress.

At first, Euram felt a little faint. Somehow he managed to remain on his feet. Then, all at once, he gave a distressed cry. Setting the sword upon the table, he dove to his knees onto the rug, helplessly glancing about for some way to fix it, hide it, anything he could do! Euram whimpered, sinking further as his hopes dwindled with each passing second and his options appeared increasingly slim.

What am I…what am I going to do? What…?

Euram jumped with a squeak when he heard a key in the lock, causing his poor heart to leap in his throat.

“Ah!” without thinking, he quickly gathered up the soiled rug and stuffed it beneath the bed in a flood of panic.

Reynald entered and, upon seeing the young prisoner crouched upon the floor, regarded him with puzzlement. Euram’s racing heart subsided gradually once he discovered the identity of his latest visitor. Quickly he scurried to his feet to greet the other. Reynald was considering him strangely.

“Er, um, h-hello, sir,” he addressed the man and bowed to him. It did not take much however for Reynald to detect the nervousness Euram’s voice and manner. Of course he was curious as to the source of it, but he did not bother asking. He doubted the boy would tell him, even if he were questioned. At the moment, he was more suspicious about the sword laid precariously upon the table, one that he could clearly recognize as his Commander Gizel’s.

“Oh! That!” Euram had noticed the man eyeing the weapon. “H-he left it with me. He wanted it shined,” he supplied lamely and wondered if the other would believe him. Apparently the explanation was enough for Reynald, who obviously did not perceive any real danger from it. And he needn’t have.

Instead of commenting further on it, Reynald moved to the table and delivered the tray of food, which consisted of a bowl of rice and some sliced fruit.

“Here you are,” he announced, setting the tray down. “Did you enjoy your meal last night? I understand you were permitted to dine with His Commandership.”

Euram blinked, still seeming nervous and distracted. “Huh? Oh, er, yes!” he faltered. “It-it was very nice, sir. Thank you!” The young man dithered a little, as if he were attempting to hide something. Reynald considered him carefully.

“Are you well? You seem ill at ease.” There was genuine concern in the man’s voice.

“N-no!” Euram insisted too hastily. “No, it is, it is nothing.” Swallowing, he moved over to the table and sat, as if he intended to eat. “I just feel particularly restless today, is all. It has been a while since I have been outdoors.”

Reynald might have believed the simple explanation, were it not for the fact that the younger man was also absently picking at his rice. Normally he was quite hungry when he arrived. Certainly he had dined well the night before, but this was obviously a nervous gesture, wrought more by uneasiness than by an absence of appetite alone.

“You should eat,” Reynald urged. To this, Euram nodded, again seeming distant, preoccupied.

“Yes, yes of course, sir. I will. Thank you, sir.”

Sighing, Reynald finally turned to depart, deciding he was unlikely to learn more from Euram this way. Before he could step out the door, however, Euram called to him.

“Wait! Please…”

Reynald paused and turned again. “Yes?”

“I…” Euram swallowed. “I only wanted to ask…what do you think of His Commandership, Gizel? Would you—would you say he is merciful?”

Reynald seemed puzzled by the question, but thought on it nonetheless. He did not have to think long.

“He is merciful enough to take in one such as you. Is he not, Barows?”

At this, Euram winced and fell silent. Reynald was right, and he knew it.

“May I question—why do you ask, Euram?”

Euram drew a quavering sigh, as if he had been presented with a thought he had hoped not to have to consider.

“Because…because I am terrified,” he confessed, quietly. “Because…I made a terrible mistake. I made a mistake, and I know he will be angry with me. I am afraid to face him.” Euram’s voice trailed into a wavering whisper. He sat staring unhappily at the bowl of steamed rice before him, not really looking at it but apparently deep in thought.

Reynald’s brow lifted a bit in curiosity, but he was silent for a spell. He regarded the young prisoner with something that almost looked like pity.

“I do not know what I could say to ease your fear,” he admitted. “You should know as well as any that His Commandership is strict. I don’t know the nature of this ‘mistake’ you speak of, but I would advise you at least, in this: do not try to hide whatever you have done from him. If you do, he will be far angrier when he does discover it. And he will discover it. His Commandership is an astute man, as one in his position must be.”

Euram was quiet, and Reynald thought he saw him shudder.

“I wish I could help you more, but that is all I can tell you,” he said at length. “As for whether he is merciful—he awards mercy when mercy is earned, when it is deserved. And only then. You would do well to remember that. I am afraid I know not what else to say to you. You have spent fair enough time in his service, I should think, to know what you should expect.”

Euram sighed again, nodding this time. He set his jaw and finally looked up to meet Reynald’s gaze. Appreciation swam behind the fear in his eyes, and for that moment he looked to Reynald like a child, helpless and frightened and yet trying to appear brave.

“No, you have said more than enough, I think, sir. Thank you. And thank you again for feeding me.” He shifted, then turned down to the neglected tray before him. Taking up the utensils provided, he began gracefully to eat, just a little, more for Reynald’s benefit than his own. He wasn’t particularly hungry at the moment, but he forced himself to down a few swallows just the same, to make sure Reynald would not feel like he had delivered the fare for naught.

“Are you going to be all right?” the other asked finally, and Euram was actually surprised by the hint of sympathy he detected in the question. Managing a warm smile, he nodded at the man, who was clearly waiting to return to whatever other duties awaited him.

“Yes sir. And thank you, Reynald, sir. For everything. I sincerely hope…I hope to repay you some day, for all you have done for me.”

“That…won’t be necessary,” the man chuckled slightly and, bidding Euram farewell with a nod, he departed from the chamber, locking the door behind him as he went.

***

Oh, but what an ass I am! How could I be so foolish? Yet again, I suppose I have let my emotions rule me, and now I fear the price will be terrible. And just when I had thought the situation to be improving between Gizel and myself. I fear now his cruelty towards me will return tenfold.

Even though he unchained me, I still feel as though I am bound by a leash, my every action scrutinized. It is an awful feeling, and makes me grow ever more weary of this captivity. I long so much for my freedom. It is bitter, and hard. How I hate having to be afraid nearly my every waking moment, having to monitor and tailor my own actions, knowing he will discover all that I do.

My belly feels tight, like it is being clenched between two large, gripping hands. I fear that Gizel will…I shudder to think what he may do to me. Oh, curse me and my stupidity! I wish with all my heart that I could shove it aside and be done with it: that I could simply hide the evidence of my clumsiness and never have to contend with it again. But I know better. He will notice. And Reynald is right: he will be far angrier if I do not confess it directly to him first, before he finds it on his own. I think more than anything, I am afraid that he will hurt me. If only I could slip away, out through the gardens. The windows are easily opened. I could squeeze myself through.

No, it is ridiculous of me to entertain such thoughts. Where would I go, that I would not be recaptured immediately? And I have no clothes. I could don the white robe I wore during my return from the baths, but it would be almost as humiliating were I to flee entirely naked. Worst of all, Godwin soldiers lurk at every post, stand guard at every perimeter. I would be dragged back so quickly I would not know what happened, and then I would certainly get it!

No, I will face him directly, and confess fully what I have done. That way, whatever retribution he decides to mete out…I may get it over with.

Oh, but I am so unaccustomed to such decisions! To think that once I never would have resigned myself to simply await punishment! I cringe at the thought of his return. But I have made up my mind.

Perhaps I will polish his sword again while I wait, and maybe even his mirror, just to get them extra shiny. Perhaps, if I do an especially good job, he will be more inclined to be merciful. Or am I hoping too much?

***

***

Gizel returned to his room later than he had hoped. His meetings had run long, and his Father had kept him beyond even that. The secrets they needed were being slowly and certainly unveiled, all the long hours of research and waiting coming to fruition at last. Yet there were still issues to be dealt with, and Marscal Godwin was not a man to compromise. Neither was Gizel, but his father’s methods were tiresome at times. Marscal tended to be more precise and specific with his plans, whereas his son preferred to sit back and observe how things panned out.

Thus, Gizel was weary when he arrived in his chamber; the last thing he expected was to have his captive scamper to greet him.

Euram hurried over and knelt before Gizel, deferentially presenting his sword to him. The Commander regarded him with seeming detachment, effortlessly taking the blade from where the boy’s arms were laboring to hold the weapon up.

Without a word, he drew the blade from its sheath and inspected the steel, the hilt. The sword’s surface shone without a blemish, clear enough for him to see his reflection. Even the scabbard had been polished to perfection from what appeared to be a very diligent task. Obviously Euram was quite proud of his work as well, as he had presented the sword to him almost ceremoniously.

“Hmm. Not bad,” Gizel remarked, not wanting to overindulge the boy with praise. He then turned his attention to the mirror. It, too, positively sparkled.

“I went over them at least twice for you, sir,” the boy eagerly supplied from where he had remained kneeling upon the floor. Automatically, Gizel was suspicious.

“Good,” he remarked. “I see that you have been particularly thorough. Impressive work, Barows. Now, I must ask you this: what have you done?”

The younger man blanched, and Gizel heard the small gasp that escaped his throat and smiled inwardly. He had known something was wrong, and had known it would not take much to make the boy unintentionally reveal it.

Euram gulped, hard. "Wh-what do you mean, Your Majesty?"

“Come,” Gizel prompted. “Do you think I cannot see that something bothers you? Already there is a confession in your eyes that you have not the craft to disguise. It would be in your best interest to tell me of it now.”

Hearing the warning in the Commander’s tone, Euram released a sob. His expression collapsed into one of full admission and worry. At once he flung himself to his belly at Gizel’s feet.

“Oh, Gizel, my lord! I…I’m sorry!”

Gizel lifted a brow. This could indeed become very interesting. “Well? What is it? Spill it.”

Euram winced. “Erhm…I, I am afraid I managed to…spill some of your wine. And, and not only that, I…” he shuddered, “I…I stained your rug.” Stealing a glance upward to measure his lord’s countenance, he hastily added, “I’m sorry Gizel, I’m terribly sorry!”

The Commander’s expression remained unchanged. He glared down at the younger man hard.

“Show me,” was his simple instruction, stern and leaving no room for protests or excuses.

Gulping again, Euram scrambled to his feet and went to retrieve the rug he had moved. Dragging it out, he spread it before Gizel and knelt again, shamefaced and downcast. As Gizel bent to examine the large burgundy spread upon the white of the rug, his expression significantly soured.

“I see.” The Commander then drew up to his full height and fixed a harsh gaze upon his prisoner. “You thought about hiding this from me, didn’t you?”

Euram considered lying, about insisting otherwise, but he somehow found himself nodding an affirmative, hanging his head. Something inside of him told him that Gizel would detect any falsehood from him at this point. His honesty did little to soften Gizel’s demeanor, even so.

“How did you manage this? I suggest you explain yourself, and quickly.”

Euram’s belly plummeted and his throat dropped at that question. That was something he hadn’t expected to have to answer! Searing shame and embarrassment swelled in his chest and spread over his skin, and he nearly swooned where he knelt. He felt the older man’s eyes upon him. They bore into him, cold and withering.

“Oh…oh, Master, I…” he swallowed, his face growing hot as he thought about exactly what had happened. He was loath to confess the details, but knew just the same that Gizel would continue to press and prod him until he revealed everything. “I…I am a fool, my lord. I tipped the bottle over with your sword.” He spat out quickly, as though he hoped that would suffice.

“And just what were you doing, that might have caused this, hmm?” Gizel prompted, drawing a pitiful sound from the boy.

“Oh, Gizel, I…” Euram felt his chest tighten. His throat felt clogged, as if it were stuffed with cotton. “I…I was…” he winced. “I was…p-playing with the sword, sir.” He trembled miserably as he admitted his foolishness.

Upon hearing this, Gizel nearly laughed. The elder man refrained, however, easily maintaining his stern demeanor.
“Tell me, Euram: how old are you?
“N-nineteen, Your Majesty.”
“That’s what I thought. Why would you do such a thing?”
“I, I only wanted to see…how it would feel wielding it,” Euram wretchedly confessed. “I should not have handled your weapon in such a way, and I am sorry. Terribly, woefully sorry. Please, please forgive me.”

Gizel glared at him, his expression hardening. He was calm, but there was an untold annoyance brimming beneath the surface. Euram cringed while Gizel continued to scold him.

“Did I afford you permission to do anything save shine the blade?” he demanded, calmly. “Why is it that you decided it might be permissible to toy with my possessions in such a manner?”

“I, I don’t know, sir!” Euram spluttered, panicking and wanting to disappear.

“You know what little patience I have for wanton clumsiness. Do you think I spared your life, only so you could frolic about in my chamber like an unruly six-year-old?” Gizel loomed menacingly over the smaller man, who cowered before him.

“No, Master!” Euram threw his arms around Gizel’s ankles and began kissing his boots. “It was foolish of me, and I’m sorry. Please, forgive me, I beg of you!”

At first, Gizel frowned, watching his prisoner grovel, enduring his babbling apologies. The display was pathetic and disgusting, but he somehow resisted the urge to kick him.

“Stop it,” he snapped. Cringing, Euram slithered up his legs and curled his arms around them, nuzzling like a kitten begging for a saucer of milk.

“Please,” the younger man whimpered, tearfully. “You must know that I would never intentionally damage anything that is yours. It was a foolish mistake, sir. Have mercy, Your Commandership.”

Softening, Gizel gently dropped a hand down to tilt Euram’s chin, forcing the younger man to look him in the eye. In a motion of pure subservience, Euram took his master’s fingers between his moistened lips, suckling gently. The warm sensation sent a twitch through the Commander’s loins, the gesture managing to nearly melt him with its charm.

“Come here,” Gizel said almost tenderly, pulling his contrite young slave to his feet. He held Euram to him and once more turned his face towards him. Unshed tears shimmered, wavering in large brown eyes. “Hmm. Perhaps you can be forgiven. But first,” he continued, halting any relief the boy might have been tempted to enjoy, “there will be correction, and discipline.”

Euram groaned. Gizel stopped his protests with a finger to his lips. “Shush. My poor little one, what did you expect? Do you remember when I told you that you were to lie with Lord Byron? Remember how you pleaded with me, and begged me not to make you go to him?”

The younger man nodded, miserably. Of course he remembered that terrible ordeal, and was dismayed that Gizel would bring it up now.

“If you recall,” Gizel continued, “the next day, you told me if you ever displeased me in the future, you would work to correct it. Do you remember making that vow, little Euram?”

Sinking, his slave nodded again.

“Are you prepared to stand behind your words?”

“Y-yes, sir,” came the stammering reply. Gizel stroked his hair, his flushed cheeks.

“Then, Euram, now is that time. Let us work together to correct your little error, shall we?”

The younger man swallowed, and his gaze dropped, his lashes fluttering down over his cheeks. His hair hung pitifully over his shoulders and framed his face like a scolded pup. He took in a deep breath and finally, painfully uttered his compliance.

“Yes, my lord,” Euram said, quietly, his voice little more than a quavering whisper.

“Right, then.” Gizel released him and stood back to deliver his first instructions. “You will first clean this mess you have made. I shall send for the necessary items immediately. When they arrive, you will scrub the rug until it is completely spotless, and until your arms ache with the effort. Then, you will present yourself to me for discipline. Understood?”

“Yes,” Euram agreed, his voice thick with desolation.

***

The bucket, cloth and soap had arrived quickly upon Gizel’s command, and Euram had set to work at once. Frantically he had knelt over the soiled rug and applied himself to the unpleasant task. Clutching the wettened cloth in his hands, he was stretched out on his hands and knees, dragging the cloth back and forth and pausing every once in awhile to dip the cloth and squeeze out excess water before he began scrubbing again.

Gizel watched. With casual unconcern, he watched. Beneath the surface, however, his blood tingled.

The younger noble trembled as he worked, his body tense with reserved dread. Euram clearly feared the punishment he knew was in store for him, and it shone through in his body language, in his every gesture, move and twitch.

And Gizel standing over him only made it that much worse, that much more awkward. The Commander’s eyes so closely upon him were a constant reminder of his vulnerability, and the retribution that was soon to come. Miserably Euram scrubbed, desperately, taking care to be as thorough as possible. Of course Gizel assumed this was only because he knew he was being scrutinized, but that hardly detracted from the alluring sight that it was.

Euram looked so frantic, flushed with nervousness and urgency as he scrubbed. So vulnerable, so delectable, it was all Gizel could do not to ravish him right then and there. But Gizel willed himself to refrain from doing just that. That particular part of the lesson would have to wait. There was punishment to administer first.

Gizel watched intently, his eyes rolling over the younger man’s bent and lithe back, slight muscles in his arms and back working as he scrubbed at the stain. But most of all, the Commander’s attention was captured by Euram’s ass, raised high in his position. Pert, upturned cheeks moved slightly as he worked, an inviting temptation that soon became too lovely for Gizel to resist. Striding over to his prisoner, he dropped down beside him and reached out to stroke a hand down the soft flank. At once he felt Euram tense slightly and pause in his task.

“Keep scrubbing,” Gizel instructed, his hands wandering.

“Y-yes,” the younger man stammered, obediently continuing his work.

The Commander hummed with approval. How compliant Euram had become. It had taken some discipline and training, but gradually the spoiled clown had evolved into a delicious model of passivity. He simply required a reminder now and then.

Gizel’s hand slid further down silky flesh, causing Euram to bite back a sound of dismay. It was difficult enough for him to work knowing that he was to be punished once he was done. What would Gizel do to him? Did he plan on whipping him? Would he use that terrible oil on him again? Had he some torment he had yet to suffer in store for him? But Gizel’s proximity, his roving hands, all made the situation that much more unnerving for him. He felt the Commander’s hand brush across the swell of his buttocks where it paused, resting there. Euram tensed further, gasping a little.

Gizel felt the body tighten and tremble deeper. “Focus on your work,” he firmly directed, almost a whisper against the other’s ear.

“Y-yes, my lord,” Euram quavered, his throat dry. The hot breath against his ear sent a shudder rippling through him and he swallowed, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Gizel could see him increasingly struggling to keep his mind occupied on his job. The stain had faded from dark burgundy to a light pink, and he watched trembling hands draw the cloth from the bucket and wring excess liquid. Euram bent again and set to scrubbing, working more diligently as he became worried that the stain would never fully leave. Gooseflesh sprinkled over his skin as his master stroked and patted him, the solid prodding of the Commander’s stiffening member poking into his hip.

“Good, keep working,” Gizel ordered and nipped at his ear. Euram squeaked and doubled his efforts, his belly tingling with a strange feeling of his own. He swallowed the lump in his throat and scrubbed and scrubbed, always feeling Gizel’s eyes and hands upon him.

After a prolonged session of this, the stain had practically completely faded. The older man let him continue for awhile, just the same, simply to allow this stage of the lesson to fully sink in.

“That is good. You may stop,” he permitted, finally, and released him. With a sigh of relief, Euram ceased and slumped in exhaustion. His arms were sore, and his body trembled with renewed dread as he realized that the ordeal was not over, but rather the worst was yet to come.

The Commander stood. “Take the bucket and cloth and place them beside the door. Then return to me for punishment. Understood?”

“Y, yes sir.”

Gizel saw the boy shudder at that, but he went to do as he was told, nonetheless. Poor Euram struggled with the bucket, heavy in his hands. He staggered a bit, obviously worried about having some of the soapy water slosh over the side and onto the floor.

In the meantime, the Commander went to his dresser.

Patiently he pulled open the drawer that held his collection—the same collection from which he had forced Euram to choose before. From the wicked items that lay within, he selected one of his favorites, one he had been saving and one that he was certain would deliver a nice, walloping sting: a thick, flat wooden paddle. He almost chuckled when he thought of how Euram would react to the instrument. Tucking the item away in his robes, he turned and waited for his slave to return to him.

The boy slinked back over to him with slow, mincing steps, his expression leery and reluctant. He was shaking. Gizel kept his gaze fixed firmly on the younger man, purposely waiting a few tension-filled moments before he spoke.

“Now, Euram. Before we begin, I will permit you the opportunity to speak. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

As if the question had opened a sluice, Euram fell to his knees and began gushing apologies. “Oh, Gizel! You must forgive me! I didn’t intend to damage anything, and I know it was stupid of me, but please, do not hurt me!”

Upon hearing this latest flood of pleas, Gizel chuckled. Of course the constant begging and attempts to squirm out of punishment were wearisome, but somehow it was amusing to him, just the same. He would have thought Euram would have learned by now.

“Naughty Euram, you know your pitiful appeals will not work. Have you ever known me to change my mind?”

Euram sighed. A terrible feeling came over him then, a flood of sudden anger and resentment. How dare Gizel treat him this way! His jaw clenched, and all at once he hated Gizel again, hated him for all that he was and all that he had put him through! A curse, a rebuke was on the tip of his tongue, and yet somehow…somehow he could not utter it. As much as he wanted to refuse Gizel, to tell him to go to hell, his thoughts always came back to the simple rationale that he deserved this. He deserved this for everything he had done, not to Gizel’s precious rug, but to the people of Lordlake. The citizens of Sable, of Rainwall, the Prince Freyjadour. Zegai. Norden. For everyone he had wronged, he deserved this treatment.

But there must have been more to it than that. Deep inside his darkest of hidden feelings, he harbored something he did not wish to face, and those dark and hidden emotions were threatening to surge from him each day. He had no words for those feelings, but he felt an intensifying regret that he had displeased Gizel, and he was bewildered by that regret. Why did he care?

"Get up off the floor," Gizel commanded then. Euram obeyed, staggering miserably to his feet.

“Now,” the older man continued. “I am going to give you the opportunity again to speak, and do not protest this time. Have you anything to say for yourself, Barows?”

Euram sighed brokenly and finally willed himself to speak. But it seemed surreal, distant, as if he were actually an onlooker listening to another person talking.

“I…I was very clumsy and foolish. I shouldn’t have mishandled your things, and I am terribly, utterly sorry.”

Gizel smiled thinly, amused at how the boy hung his head and shuffled his feet. The younger man’s nervousness hung over him, his gestures even more childlike than the frightened waver in his eyes.

“Very well,” Gizel accepted the apology with a nod. “If you are sincere, then, you will be prepared to accept the consequences without complaint.”

With this, the Commander produced his implement of choice, allowing Euram to see the item in his hand. The younger man paled slightly, golden eyes widening with dismay.

“C-can’t we talk this over? Perhaps agree to something that…doesn’t involve, y-you know, pain?”

“Ah-ah,” the Commander chided, a clear warning tinting his tone. “What was all that about your being sorry, and your promise to help correct your ills? Would you have me believe you false, even now?”

“N, no. B-but…” Euram shifted again, biting his lip as though imagining the snap of the wood against his vulnerable backside. Gizel frowned.

“I am in no mood for your protests. I have little patience with you as it stands,” the Commander moved to the bed, where he sat on the edge and motioned his prisoner near. “Now come, and position yourself over my lap.”

“Oh, not like a child again,” Euram whined, knowing he'd already lost this battle.

“I only treat you as your behavior warrants. Now, obey me. I will not tell you again.”

Defeated, Euram groaned and bent over Gizel’s waiting lap. His hair spilled down in fine curtains to hide the shame that surged across his features. He swallowed, biting back the sob of anger and humiliation swelling in his throat. How he hated this!

The Commander felt slender hands clutch at his robes as Euram braced himself. The young noble twitched when Gizel’s hand slid over the soft, upturned rump. The older man studied how the buttocks quivered and jumped a little at his touch, and he hummed low in his throat, heated lust beginning to stir in his loins.

“Tell me, Euram,” he began, feeling vulnerable flesh and licking his lips. “Did your father ever spank you? Take you over his knee and redden your rump?”

“Oh! I…” Euram visibly reddened with embarrassment at the question. He had not expected Gizel to ask such a thing, and now that he had, he did not want to answer it.

To be honest, Euram’s father had very rarely raised a hand to him; many in fact often whispered of how badly spoiled young Euram Barows became in the years following his elder brother’s death. In fact, to his recollection, Salum had only punished him once, when he had done something particularly naughty in Salum’s eyes.

He had been about seven when he had broken one of Dad’s artworks in the parlor. Salum Barows had what one could only describe as an ‘eccentric’ taste in art, and held in his possession a variety of interesting pieces, ranging from bizarre to inexplicable. One of these was a tall “statue”, or something of the like. It was a gray cylindrical tower, taller than Euram had been at the time. From its sides sprouted several “arms”, and at the top rested a detachable “ball” of shiny black onyx.

Euram had been alone and bored on afternoon. His sister and mother had gone shopping, and Salum had whisked Hiram away elsewhere to attend some event. Having eluded the servants watching him, Euram had rushed into the parlor. He had turned just long enough to see whether the nanny left in charge of him was following when he had bumped into the statue, which was relatively new: Father had only had it delivered a few days before. The impact had shaken loose the sphere at the top, which had toppled from its perch and broken into three pieces.

No one had witnessed the accident, and the boy had hastily attempted to fit the pieces back together and replace the ball where it belonged. But upon his return from his “business trip” with Hiram, Salum had discovered the damage and summoned Euram into his office. After a prolonged session of questions, Euram had shufflingly admitted his crime, and Salum had taken him over his knee, bared his buttocks and spanked him soundly.

It was the only such punishment he had ever received from his father, and he remembered to this day how he had cried. Luserina had actually come to him that night to console him. The girl had sneaked into his room where he had been sent, and there she had admonished him. “You know you shouldn’t play with Father’s things,” she had said to him, offering him her handkerchief to dry his tears. “You should be more careful, Euram.”

Strangely enough, he had later overheard one of the servants referring to the artistic piece as “junk”.

The memory had actually taken Euram from the moment, and he was snapped back to the present at the sound of Gizel’s prompting.

“Well?” the older man urged, his hand lightly tracing the bared buttocks in his lap.

The younger man swallowed a gulp of embarrassment. “H-he did, only once, my lord.”

“Mmm. You were naughty, I take it?”

“Y-yes, sir. I broke something, an-and he spanked me.”

“Well, well. And here I was thinking I was the first to have that pleasure. I would have thought you to have never tasted punishment. Well, your father should have spanked you more frequently. But no matter. The opportunity is mine now, anyhow.” Idly Gizel’s palm stroked the quivering skin. He heard the boy’s soft gasp, saw the chill bumps spread over his flesh. “Now, before we begin, I want you to tell me why you are being disciplined.”

Euram groaned, his belly squirming as though filled with restless eels. “Oh, Gizel. I…b-because I was clumsy. And I’m sorry.”

Withdrawing his roving hand, Gizel snapped the paddle down across Euram’s upturned ass, where it landed with a flat, heavy whack. The sharp smack resounded loudly, and Euram stiffened in the Commander’s lap.

“Ahh!” he yelped, startled at how badly it stung. “G-Gizel, please!” Reflexively his hips shifted, his rump squirming to escape the path of further blows that he knew would soon follow. Impulsively his hand flung up behind him in an effort to protect the tender flesh of his ass. Gizel reached over and seized the wayward hand, pinning it painfully behind Euram’s back.
“Now, none of that, your body belongs to me, remember. That means you are not to cover your ass to evade my blows. Hands down, Barows,” he concluded, and miserably Euram complied. “Now, there. Keep still,” Gizel chided, studying the surface he had struck before bringing the wood down again. It fell with a thick smack, causing the boy to jerk and cry out. Euram’s fingers clenched Gizel’s robe tight. The Commander placed a hand at the small of his back to hold him down and began spanking his prisoner steadily.

The smacks came slowly, and with deliberation. As always, Gizel made sure he would feel and appreciate each one. And he enjoyed taking his time, so he could watch the gradual reddening of the pale, twitching skin. The way the buttocks jumped with the blows, the sounds of the younger man’s whimpering cries, and the feel of the soft flesh growing hot beneath his touch filled his senses. The paddle was actually a vicious thing when utilized correctly. The wood was thick and heavy, capable of delivering startling pain without damaging the skin, which was exactly what Gizel wanted. He enjoyed making Euram wait between blows, could feel him tense when he anticipated another swat. Deliberately he would wait, and then surprise him, letting the board fall and drawing another distressed cry.

After about ten solid whacks the boy began to weep fully.

“G-Gizel, ohh, I beg you, please stop!”

Gizel halted long enough in his ministrations to stroke punished skin. A familiar sensation began to coil in his stomach, stiffening his cock. “There now, hush,” he admonished with a smirk. “Your ass is beautiful glowing and raw. Lord Byron was right; I think I am satisfied with this. It was he who suggested the paddle, you know.”

“Ohh, Gizel,” the younger man whined. Gizel heard the disappointment and misery in Euram’s voice and chuckled again, aiming a blow directly in the center. The pretty ass was bright scarlet and quivering with pain. Gizel smiled. At least Lord Byron had been correct about this: the flat crack of wood on his tender buttocks was enticing, and would not break the skin as would a whip. For Euram however, the pain was no less intense. It was less sharp, certainly, but the first blow had been enough to make him feel on fire, and Gizel was relentless wielding it. The younger man’s head spun with pain and dizziness from his upended position, the humiliation of it made that much worse by the fact that he could not hold himself still and yet could not escape.

Gizel could feel the heat from the skin as he touched the surface of the flesh. The cheeks twitched at the contact, and Euram gasped and whined, his body jolting from the touch. “Please, Gizel! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, but please stop!” he babbled, his fingers gripping knots in the hem of Gizel’s dangling uniform.

“Shhh,” the Commander soothed, his hand stroking the heated buttocks. Power and lust surged within him, triggering that rush to his groin. “I know you are sorry. Not suitably sorry, however. Before I am through warming this pretty ass, I will make sure you are very, very sorry indeed. No more complaining,” he scolded, hearing the man’s protesting groan. “You must learn to accept discipline when you have earned it. Otherwise, what good are you as a slave, hmm?”

The other responded with a miserable whine. Gizel patted him, and then very cleverly slithered a hand down beneath to take the younger man’s flaccid cock in his hand. He heard Euram gasp at the touch.

“Ughh ….!”

A wicked smile tinting his lips, Gizel began deftly manipulating the slim column of flesh. Soon the length responded, hardening in his hand. When he heard what sounded like a soft moan, he raised the paddle and delivered a sound whack. Euram yelped and jolted, but Gizel could feel his body responding in spite of his distress and pain.

“Hmm. I think you might be enjoying this,” he muttered, his brow lifting with a sly tilt. If he could have seen Euram’s face, he would have noticed the younger man’s furious blush.

Gizel landed another swat, drawing another cry, followed by a further stiffening in his hand. The Commander’s breath grew uneven, his own body responding to how his slave squirmed, how Euram moved in his lap, how the boy’s member throbbed at his touch.

“Mm-hmm. You are liking this,” the Commander confirmed to himself.

For several minutes he held Euram captured between those conflicting sensations, his one hand squeezing and stroking while the other continued to punish. And Euram found himself choking on his own sounds of pain. He gurgled on his cries, bewildered as he felt his body reacting in ways he did not expect or understand. Gizel’s other hand caressed him in such ways that it almost distracted him from the hurt, but then the pain would return in a white flash, forcing his back to arch and his body to squirm. A low moan leaked from his lips, a sound that intensified the stirring in Gizel’s groin.

“Nooo! I-I cannot bear it further! I’m sorry!” Euram finally yelped. “Please, Your Majesty!” He was sobbing, heaving with full sobs and gasping for breath between hitches. But no sooner would he beg for mercy than he would dissolve into another series of crooning moans. Intrigued, Gizel actually lightened the force of his blows until he had the boy helplessly crying and moaning in his lap. The former noble rocked into his fist, simultaneously squirming from the spanks and uttering sounds that were either whimpers of pain or mewls of pleasure.

Finally satisfied, Gizel set paddle aside and concentrated solely on stroking the hot flesh with one hand. With the other, he squeezed the younger man’s solid length, feeling the wet, telltale trace of precome shivering at the tip. Euram whimpered and lay over Gizel’s lap, weeping and babbling apologies as he squirmed into his Commander’s hand.

Gizel’s palm stroked trembling cheeks, and he heard the younger man hiss with pain.

“Ahhh, Gizel …please…!” the boy almost whispered, his voice little more than a quivering gasp. The hot glow in his ass spread a tingle through his loins, coalescing into a feeling more erotic than he would have ever imagined, like a searing need that crept from his heated buttocks to his entire body.

“What is it you want, Euram?” Gizel asked, seductively, never dropping his clever manipulations. He knew what the younger man wanted, but he was curious as to whether he would actually say it. The boy thrust and squirmed against him, his voice breathless with tormented desire.

Subdued and fully chastened, a repentant Euram whimpered and surrendered his pride to his need.

“Please…t-take me, Commander, please…”

His face burned even as he said it, but there was no denying what he needed, no denying what his body so desperately desired. And Gizel knew it, knew he had his prisoner conquered.

The request was everything Gizel had hoped for and more. Swelling with triumph, he pulled his former rival up to sit in his lap. Wincing, Euram sobbed and clung to him, squirming against the older man in a fruitless effort to relieve the sting and the desperate need that swam inside of him and fevered his flesh. Gizel kissed the tear-soaked cheeks and pressed his lips to Euram’s, tasting his tears and relishing them. Whimpering, the Euram returned the kiss, his legs curling to wrap around the Commander’s waist.

“Please, my lord,” Euram sighed, his wispy voice breathless and urgent and dripping with such submission that Gizel could wait no longer. Untangling the younger man from him, he thrust him to the bed and pressed him down on his knees. Panting, Euram bent his body for him, spreading his legs in invitation and willingly presenting his ass for ravishment.

Gizel almost drooled at the sight, and he fumbled almost clumsily for the oil in the drawer beside the bed. Hastily he flung his uniform from his body and slicked himself, his own breath choppy as he watched the younger man heaving with anticipating gasps. He did not bother to prepare Euram as he slid behind him and placed a hand on his hip to steady him. He did not need to prepare him: Euram was more willing than he had ever been. Bracing his free hand in the small of Euram’s back, he positioned his very stiff member and sank inside in a single thrust.

“Ahnn—oohhh!” Euram gurgled and sighed as the Gizel pierced hot into him. His knees spread to welcome the invasion. He moaned, feeling the older man’s groin meet his raw and sensitive ass.

Gizel wasted no time. Overcome with the desire to subjugate him, he took his prize. He thrust with commanding strokes, claiming what was his with almost violent throes of lust. In this way Gizel ravaged the younger man, enticed and driven by the heat that engulfed him as he plunged himself between quivering cheeks.

And Euram met his thrusts with equal passion. The hot sting in his ass sent thrills flickering into his belly, the fire aiding his own pleasure. The heat swirled into his loins, wrapping him in a blissful, red blanket of pain and desire, and there was little to help him distinguish between the two.

The older man’s thrusts grew more urgent. Gizel’s orgasm came quickly; he growled and shuddered, dumping his seed far inside Euarm’s body to the tune of his prisoner’s crooning pleas.

But he did not let him go. He held him hard by the hips, and amazingly, after some time, Euram felt the organ inside him gradually begin to harden again.

“Oh—G, Gizel!”

“I’m going to fuck you again,” came the gruff whisper against his ear, and Euram braced himself, ready and willing as slowly, painfully his lord began to thrust into him again with a steadily increasing pace.

Gizel could feel it building again, felt his need swelling amidst the friction and heat as he gradually increased his strokes into the hot and quivering body beneath him.

Euram choked, gasping and knowing that Gizel would not let him go until he had reached his peak again. And strangely, he welcomed it. The older man eventually established his pace again. Euram reeled, his head spinning with desire and lust as of yet unknown to him.

Gizel was Commander, and Euram yielded to it, spread himself to receive it, knowing he would likely not walk properly or sit afterward; nothing of the sort mattered to him, now. His cries open-mouthed and wailing, Euram responded to Gizel’s lust with moans of abandon as he thrust back into the punishing strokes, yelping with each powerful and jarring penetration. His buttocks felt spread through with pain, delicious pain, his entire world centered around that glowing ache until it seemed to consume his whole body. At the same time, his heart hummed, his need tight and erect, his ass red and hot and full of Gizel.

The Commander gripped him hard, thrashing insides with his cock. The younger man rocked beneath his assault, hips swaying in full acknowledgement of the pounding his lover imposed. Slim fingers clawed the sheets, slender ass rocking back into the rhythm Gizel dictated, and Euram suddenly understood how thoroughly Gizel had mastered him. He was for the Commander to do with as he pleased, and he embraced the pain and the pleasure and everything that came with it.

Euram’s melodious cries sang in Gizel’s ears. The older man’s breath drew ragged, Gizel filling him and filling him to the sound of a rhythmic slap of hips. And an intense need washed over Euram, a need to be dominated. He held on, amazed at how Gizel could make him feel such conflicting sensations at once. His flesh sang with combined agony and bliss, the Commander taking him with gut-wrenching thrusts that forced womanish wails from him. And yet Euram cooperated, fucking himself back, his reddened cheeks meeting Gizel’s thrusts with abandon.

“Mmm, yes, move your ass,” Gizel purred, delivering an additional spank to the other noble’s hip. Euram moaned and obeyed with passion, fervently matching his lord’s pounding assault. To be subjugated, to have his ass stretched until he whimpered in anguish and wept with ecstasy—it was something he would have never thought he would desire, and yet here he was, begging for it, clutching the sheets of the man he had once considered his rival.

Gizel uttered a growl. The sight of lovely privileged buttocks crashing against his belly, heated flesh warming Gizel’s groin as it met with his own naked skin—it was submission in its fullest, an acknowledgement that he was Master, his punishment just and welcomed and felt, his cock equally welcomed and felt. And Euram was helpless to stop himself crying out: he was taken, filled, overpowered, each thrust rattling his very being.

“Ahh…so good!” Gizel almost choked, his voice rasped. “Ride me, sweet Euram.”

“Y-yes! Yes, ohhh!” Euram gasped, his sobbing breaths panting and high and colored with the sweetest mewls.

Spread and opened, the younger man had never felt so helpless and vulnerable and desperately ruined, and so powerless to stop it! He knew he would hurt for a week. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was this soaring within his belly. His legs parted further, his belly dipped, and his hips responded to Gizel with a fervor equal to that of the Commander.

Gizel held him hard, prepared to flood his belly to bursting with his seed. Strong fingers seeking to bruise white hips held tight, the quivering flesh beneath him his possession. Euram’s sweet voice moaned and crooned in full admission of his power over him, and Gizel pressed into the growing heat, seeking to fill him again with his own completion, to leave little doubt in his mind as to who was master, who owned whom.

“I’m going to come in you again,” he warned, his words raspy and labored. “Get ready for it, lovely.”

“Oh yes! Please, please Gizel!” Euram cried, even as his belly ached with Gizel’s previous load. His body trembled, glistened with sweat as he gripped the covers and rode the Commander’s final, punishing thrusts.

A bestial bellow sounded from deep within Gizel’s throat and he reached his second climax. Torrents of his seed filled his pet again, and Euram swore he felt his belly swell from it. He never had to touch himself, never needed it. The younger man howled and shook, his own orgasm bursting from him almost violently, his bowels spasming and coaxing yet more from his master in a few seconds of blinding pleasure. It was only a few seconds, but it could have been hours, weeks, a lifetime.

Both men collapsed, Euram falling forward in a heap and the Commander falling heavily on top of him. They lay panting, gasping, the sweat from their spent bodies clinging to their skin.

Euram felt dizzy, mesmerized by the little points of light that swarmed before his lidded eyes. His belly swam with Gizel’s completion. His hole was raw and throbbing. His ass was reddened and scorched. And yet he had never experienced such a satisfying climax in his life.

“By the Sun,” the Commander managed to mutter, after several long moments of heaving.

“My lord…” Euram panted in response, breathless.

Finally, Gizel carefully withdrew from his slave and lied back, pulling Euram along with him and capturing his lips in a kiss. His fingers wove through the boy’s damp locks, and he thrilled at how enthusiastically his prisoner drank in his passion with equal zeal, rewarding him with contented whimpers.

At last, he released him, and Euram fell into his arms.

It was a long time before either spoke. Gizel did so first, idly stroking the younger man’s disheveled golden wisps from his face.

“So, my dearest Euram. Do you plan to be good from now on, hmm? Are you going to be careful, and try not to break things?”

A sheepish giggle fluttered from the other, and Euram blushed, a beautiful pink flush that glowed upon his cheeks. “Hmm, I don’t know, Master. I may seek some other naughty amusement as soon as tomorrow.”

“You’d better not,” the Commander warned, giving the boy a playful pinch. “I will need you to be very good for me from now on, you know. I cannot be wasting my time having to punish you,” he added, kissing Euram softly on the nose.

Euram chuckled again, then grew more somber at once. His smile faded into something more thoughtful, and he looked for a moment as though he were contemplating something very seriously. “Actually, my lord…” he paused, like he was having difficulty with what he wanted to say.

His curiosity piqued, Gizel propped himself to study the younger man questioningly. “What is it, little one?”

Euram sighed, and what looked like a brief shadow of regret clouded his fair features. “It is just…well…I know you mean to defeat the Prince. And I wanted to…”

“Yes?” the Commander pressed him.

Euram took a deep breath. “Please…at least let me help you.”

Gizel looked at him in silence and genuine surprise for a long time. At length he let loose a low chuckle.

“Well, well, my treacherous pet. What has caused this shift of loyalty in you, hmm?”

The younger man curled against him and nuzzled. “It is just that…well, I would not have it said that I did nothing in this war save cower and sit idly by. And I know you are destined to win this thing. I cannot deny that now,” he said, his eyes lowering sadly with that admission.

"You had better get to the point," Gizel warned, suddenly dangerous.

“L-let us not mince words, my lord," Euram stammered, quickly. "With that rune…there is no chance for the rebels. Of course the Prince has the Dawn Rune, but it is no match for the power of the Sun. And I have resigned to that, I know it, Gizel. You have made me see that. And while I have friends I care about…I have accepted I can do nothing for them. But I can help you, my lord, and it is my wish to do so. I beg you, sir.”

Gizel regarded him carefully, as though he were considering what should be done about this sudden turn. There was an edge of clear amusement in his gaze as he considered his slave. Euram seemed to wither beneath his searching gaze, but managed to meet the older man’s eyes squarely.

“Just what are you thinking you can do?” the Commander demanded, smirking.

“I, I do not know, my lord. I was hoping you might tell me.”

“And why should I believe for one moment that I can trust in your questionable loyalty? Do you take me for a fool?”

“N, no, sir! Of course not!” Euram appealed. “It is just…I hope to do something to take back my honor. Both for myself, and for the name of Barows. And if that means helping you, in what small way I can, to create a perfect Falena, then I will.”

Gizel’s expression was filled with both amusement and doubt, but he smiled at the younger man, as though he had decided to humor him just for now.

“Is that your aim? Well, I am going to warn you now, and only once,” Gizel fixed his gaze hard and gripped Euram firmly by an arm, enough to make his prisoner wince. “Do not attempt to cross me, and do not attempt to play me. Ever.”

“No, no, Master. I would not, not now,” Euram trembled, clutching tight to the older man and taking the ominous warning for exactly what it was. “I have little choice now. I want to help you, my lord. To repay you, for sparing my life. For everything.”

At this, Gizel softened a little and relented his grip. “Well. I shall determine what should be done presently, but not tonight. I shall see where my mood takes me in the morning, before I rest upon any decisions. I do not trust you. Just the same, I will consider it. But may the Sun save you if I learn you are attempting to play me. And I will learn of it, Euram Barows.”

Euram nodded, his eyes wide and seemingly sincere. He just hoped the older man did not notice his nervous gulp.

EARLIER THAT DAY, AT THE LOYALIST HEADQUARTERS:

Goesch was a man who took great pride in everything he did. And, as he surveyed the gardens he had planted just outside Sindar Castle, he realized that he should be grateful for what he could do, even now. After all, his tomatoes were ripe and luscious, the peppers shone colorful and vibrant on the vine, and he was just about to plant a new row of beans. The gardens were coming along surprisingly well, even if they were not as grand as the ones he had tended back home.

Before his home had been devastated by the Sun Rune.

In Lordlake, his gardens had been among the most talked-about things in town. That was before everything had happened to their beloved home. In all honesty, Goesch could not blame the destruction on the Sun Rune alone. His gardens, along with all of Lordlake’s vegetation, had begun to suffer before the Sun Rune had been turned upon them. It had started when Lord Salum Barows had built his dam and tarnished their water supply.

That was when it had started. That was the occurrence that had sealed Lordlake’s terrible fate. That had been the cause for everything, all the way to the so-called “riot” that had led to the Queen’s judgment upon their once-proud and thriving town. And Goesch had never forgiven Lord Barows. He had not forgiven Lord Barows, nor had he forgiven that no-good, cowardly son of his.

The Barows family dog: Euram.

Damn him, Goesch thought to himself, grumbling. His rage bubbled beneath his quiet exterior, held in check only out of profound respect for Prince Freyjadour. The Prince had done so much for them. Even though Goesch had once harbored nothing but ill will towards the young royal, that anger had long since faded. From the actions of the Prince, Goesch had realized that, in spite of his relationship to Queen Arshtat, he had the compassion and wisdom to realize that Lordlake had been wrongly punished. The Prince had proven that, by lending his aid to their town. It was Freyjadour who had proven Lordlake’s innocence, and who had gone the extra steps to restore water and therefore life to their beloved town. In doing this, he had gained something it was once believed no royal would ever again gain from the citizens of Lordlake: respect and willing fealty. The gratitude of Lordlake’s people had been so great that many of them, like Goesch, had left their beloved town to join him here in his battle. They were willing to fight, and if necessary, die for him, to make sure that such an atrocity as that which was committed against Lordlake was never repeated again.

Goesch respected the Prince, and was nothing if not grateful to him for giving his people hope and a chance for survival. That was why he was sorely tested now.

It had been difficult enough for him to accept that lapdog Norden into their ranks. It was partially Norden’s cowardice and his inability to stand up to Lord Barows that had caused Lordlake’s misery. His ‘confession’ had seemed too little too late, to be honest. But although he had been upset that the Prince had so easily forgiven him, he had eventually become used to the idea. Somehow, Goesch had grudgingly got over his resentment of Norden’s presence here in the castle. There was another, however, whom he could not so readily forgive.

Goesch had carefully refrained from outwardly challenging the Prince’s judgment, but had found increasing difficulty containing himself of late. He had not believed it when he had learned that Frey had been rash enough to permit that loathsome wretch Euram Barows into their numbers.

How could he, after all that worthless fop had done, trust him to live among them? Goesch didn’t care how Euram had supposedly “repented”, and he did not trust him. Most of all, he did not forgive him. And he never would forgive him.

He had not come face to face with Euram Barows alone, and hoped he never would. But he had seen him a time or two about the castle, and he had been hard pressed not to march over and bludgeon him. Somehow, out of respect for the Prince, he had managed to contain himself. But it did not stop his blood from seething, and did not stop him from seeing red every time he laid eyes on the boy, every time he so much as thought of him. Each time he saw that Barows imbecile, he was reminded of all his people had lost, all the beauty that had been destroyed in one seconds’ flash, all the loved ones who had been so needlessly killed in that terrifying heartbeat.

How? How could the Prince be so foolish? After all Euram had done to try and harm Frey, after all he had done to harm countless others—what was the young royal thinking?

Goesch would have been pleased to see him executed. In fact, he would have done the deed himself. The citizens of Lordlake had been betrayed by both Salum Barows and his son. But Salum Barows had been duly dealt the most ultimate punishment, yet Euram ran freely among them, his crimes for the most part met with impunity. Euram would never know the horror that befell them that day, he would never know the loss and despair that had come over Lordlake. All Goesch wanted was to make him know it, to make him feel the sorrow his idiotic and selfish actions had wrought. And yet, for the Prince’s sake, Goesch had not lain a finger on the young man’s frilly head.

And ironically enough, now that despicable young noble had been captured by Godwin. Or so it was said. Goesch himself tended to believe the latter, that he had crawled to the Godwin faction to offer his assistance in a bid for clemency. That, to Goesch, was the most likely scenario. Villains such as Euram Barows never truly repented, never truly “changed”.

And he would not be surprised when Euram betrayed them all again. He would not be surprised, and when it happened, Goesch would be happy to personally take it upon himself to rid the world of the treacherous noble once and for all.
- 9
- 10
- 11
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)