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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
- 10
- 11
- 12
Disclaimer: “Bandit Prince” dialogue is taken from Suikoden V and is the property of Konami.

FLASHBACK:

It was only minutes since Euram had foolishly blurted out the location of the Dawn Rune in a fit of anger. Just moments ago the young man had lost his temper and unintentionally revealed to an entire room of important people that he and his father possessed the missing artifact—the Rune thought stolen by the angry citizens of Lordlake two years before. After that, Detective Oboro had arrived on the scene and unveiled the rest of the mystery, illuminating the Barows’ role in the so-called Lordlake uprising and allowing Norden to tell his side of the shocking story.

Everything had come out, then: how Euram had foolishly ordered an attack on Lordlake’s peaceful protesters. How Salum in the confusion that followed had his men infiltrate the demonstrators and steal the Dawn Rune. How both father and son had kept the rune locked away and remained silent while Lordlake bore the blame.

As the last remnants of their support filed from the Barows mansion, both father and son stood in shock and helplessness.

It was through. Both their treachery with Armes and their part in the Lordlake incident exposed, Salum and Euram Barows were left without allies, without friends.

Even Luserina had abandoned them.

“Dad…” Euram whimpered, brokenly.

“It’s over, Son,” the man replied. Both appeared stunned, stricken. Euram’s hands had grown clammy. He quivered, his initial rage quickly dissolving into a dark swell of emptiness.

“D-Dad?” he ventured again at length. “Wh-what are we…”

At that moment, Salum’s own wrath swelled.

It was something virtually unseen by the public, Salum’s anger, and something that rarely surfaced. But in that instant, it burst forth, and the man wheeled on his son, almost dangerously.

“You fool.”

His voice was dark, pressing as he hovered upon the boy. Euram retreated, a crease of worry shading his wide-eyed expression. He fell back, retreating until he collided with an ornate accent table along the wall.

“D-Dad?”

Abruptly, Salum’s arm swept out and struck the young man aside the head. Euram yelped, reeling and upsetting an expensive piece on the table behind him. His arm flung up to protect him in a flurry of ruffles. Trembling, he gaped at his father in horror and disbelief from behind his shielding cape.

“You bungling fool!” Salum bellowed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Oh, Dad, I’m sorry, I…I didn’t know, I didn’t mean…!”

“Don’t you understand? You’ve ruined us! What were you thinking?!”

Euram choked, his voice quavering. “I didn’t think! I couldn’t think! I shouldn’t have said it, oh, I wish I hadn’t. B-but I…I didn’t mean to…!”

“Silence! Oh, you silly scatterbrained simpleton!”

Euram sank to his knees and began to cry, apologies tumbling from his babbling tongue.

“F-Father, I’m sorry!”

The old man loomed over him, all at once larger and more menacing than he’d ever looked. “You’re a disgrace. An utter and absolute disgrace to the Barows name! How could you—to think that you could not manage to keep that flapping gob of yours shut over such an important matter! The one thing that should have remained hidden, the one thing that might have saved us, and you bray it to all and sundry, as would a witless jackass. How could you be so dim-witted as to spew our secret to our generals, our allies, the Prince himself, when with it we could have saved all Falena?”

“I’ll make it up to you, Father! Forgive me, forgive me!”

“Everything we’ve worked for…all our precious plans, in ruins. Our allies have gone. Everything ruined, all because of your quacking tongue! Everything we’ve spent years building comes crashing down, and all from a stupid word from my stupid, stupid heir. Oh, but were Hiram still here! Alas to have my only capable son taken from me, to leave me with this fool, this worthless fool. And Luserina…oh, Luserina!”

“D-Dad! Please!” Euram’s sad golden eyes, streaming with tears, looked up to his father in crushing, bitter despondency. Was he truly such a fool? Was he truly so worthless? But he had done everything Dad had ever asked of him. Ever his co-conspirator, he had been alongside Salum in everything, as would any dutiful son. He had only wanted to help, to be useful, to be of worth to the Barows line, to help advance their fortune. “Please, Dad! I never meant this. I only wanted what you wanted. I only wanted to help! I would never have….oh! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! Forgive me, Dad, forgive me. Please…forgive…”

The desperation in Euram’s voice gave Salum pause. He glared down to the young man crouched sobbing at his feet and hesitated, a sorry revelation coming over him.

This boy, stupid as he was, was all Salum had left. Hiram was gone, and now, with Luserina having renounced them, this cringing fool was his only remaining child and heir, even though his apparent uses were dwindling.

The greater storm of his anger having passed, Salum softened. This poor spineless child was, nonetheless, his own son. Reaching down, he rested a hand upon the boy’s head.

“Oh, my son, my poor boy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean a word of it. Good, loyal Euram.” Softly he stroked him, prompting Euram to fling his arms around his father’s legs and gush a sob.

“I’m always loyal, Father,” the boy sniveled, his shoulders trembling. “I’m always loyal to you. Always loyal. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Now, now,” the old man soothed him. “My dear, devoted and faithful boy. It is hardly your fault, yes? Prince Freyjadour has used us, and cast us aside. What a calamity. Oh, Luserina, my dear Luserina!” At that, Salum sounded purely heartbroken, and the sorrow in his voice at the mention of his sister sent daggers into Euram’s heart. He bent, crushed. How could even Luserina abandon them so heartlessly? How could his sister leave them so coldly, without a twinge of regret?
“L-Luserina…” Euram sobbed, echoing his father. “Oh, Dad, what-w-whatever shall we do? Is there nothing we can…” his words dissolved into hopeless despair.
“It’s all right, my poor, precious son.” Salum patted him like a dog at his feet. “We’ll think of something, yes? Daddy will think of something….”

With these trailing words, Salum walked away as though in a trance, leaving his son a broken heap upon the floor.

“Forgive me, Father. I’ll make it up to you. I will. I will…” a sobbing and devastated Euram promised to an empty room.

Alone, the boy wept, his muddled mind reeling and finally returning to just how it had come to this. And his mind came back at every turn to none other than Prince Freyjadour.

It was he who had dragged that meddling detective into this. It was he who had brought in that woman, Lucretia, as a tactician. It was because of these people that his father’s plans had been ruined, because of them the Lordlake story was exposed. And, ultimately, all of this was the prince’s fault—the prince, who they had so generously taken in and given refuge. Dad had harbored that boy after the Godwin coup had stolen his parents from him and ousted him from the Sun Palace. He had come to them practically a fugitive, and even as Godwin troops marched to hunt him down, they had welcomed him. They had risked much to openly harbor him. Not only that, they had provided him the funds and the military might to get on his feet and fight back!

Euram’s jaw clenched with renewed anger. How could the Prince do this to them, after all they had done for him? How, after all that, could Frey treat them this way? Why? Why?

All his confusion, his devastation, his anger and sadness, suddenly coalesced into white hatred. Pale fists balled beneath the dangling white frills, and tear-streaked cheeks flushed with a mad and irrational rage.

“Damn you, Prince. Damn you! I’ll get you for this,” he growled, darkly, between sobs. “I’ll get you—if it’s the last thing I do!”

***

All I ever wanted was to please Father. Thinking back, I wish I had seen his wickedness sooner. But is it not natural for one to want to make his sire proud?

It sickens me to think of what a sycophant I was, and remain. I wanted to please him so badly I did terrible things to “prove myself” against Prince Frey. I blamed him that neighboring cities severed ties with Rainwall. I blamed him when others would no longer trade with us, but rather looked upon us with scorn. Father was forced to resort to mercenary smuggling as Rainwall’s prosperity and financial stability plummeted, along with our reputation. As soon as Prince Frey walked out of the Barows Mansion, misery and disgrace fell upon us like hailstones. Then Godwin came, and Rainwall was defenseless.
I blamed these things on Prince Frey, and for that, I wanted to harm him, to ruin him, for ruining us. I even went so far as trying to murder him.
I thought I could win back Father's approval. How much more humiliating that my every scheme ended in dismal failure.
And yet, failure continues to plague me. Even now, my will to resist Gizel dissolves, and I find myself relenting to his power, feeling ever closer to him. Never have I been made to feel such a way, and it frightens me. He has taught me things about myself I might never have learned, whether it was his intention or no. And I know he does not return my emotions. This makes it all the more painful. Terribly, impossibly painful.
I cannot help but wonder what Father would think of me now.
If nothing else, I would like to restore honor to my name. And I will do that any way I can. I have some things in mind, and have spoken to Gizel a little. Whether he will accept my offer remains to be seen, but I am willing to do anything if it means to lift myself and my family from this lowly state.

Luserina, my sister, please forgive me. I only wish to make things right…

***
Setting the journal aside, Euram rose and moved to the table where he normally found Gizel’s letter outlining his chores for the day. His body ached from the previous night’s exploits, and he felt sore, raw, spent, and he was forced to limp as he made his way to the table. Strangely enough, when he got there, he found nothing.

Blinking, Euram took a swift glance of the floor around the table, making sure the letter had not by chance dropped. He knew that simply not having seen the note would not be an acceptable excuse in Gizel’s eyes, should he fail to perform his required task. But a full survey of the vicinity turned up nothing, leaving Euram confused and a little nervous.

Usually the Commander left him something, even if it was a brief note explaining that he had no chore for the day, and it left an odd suspicion in Euram’s thoughts, even if he could not pinpoint exactly what it was he feared.

Sighing, he carefully sat at the desk, easing himself down with a wince. Blocking the distracting soreness from his thoughts, he sat and pondered long. In spite of everything he had told Gizel—about wanting to help him—he had designs of his own in mind. His only problem was in how to execute them.

Every day, he had told himself that he needed to do something, wanted to do something other than sit idly by and wait for Godwin to turn that rune on the Loyalists. But he could not do it alone: he needed to talk to someone. But who? Most within his acquaintance in the Sun Palace were either those whom he did not wish to place at risk, or those whose loyalties were too solidly against him. As he considered carefully, he was almost prepared to give up and dismiss the issue altogether, when he suddenly thought of one person he might could turn to, one who just might be able to help him.

As soon as he thought of it, he cringed, the prospect of having to deal with this particular individual more dreadful than it was worth. Still, as much as he dreaded it, he had no other choice. It was either do this, or do nothing.

Swallowing his dread, Euram steeled himself and pulled open the drawer to find the pen and parchment Gizel used to construct the notes containing Euram’s chores. Considering hard as to how he should word his own letter, the young man nibbled idly on the pen before he began writing…

***
Not long into the morning, the guards arrived to escort him to the bath. He had expected them, and deftly tucked away his note into the folds of the white cotton robe he was permitted to wear to and from the bath chamber. When he arrived, he slipped the small bit of paper from the old robe and carefully tucked it into the new one, waiting folded upon a rack near the foot of the bath.

If Sherina noticed his curious action, she said nothing of it, beckoning him instead to hurry along. As he obediently stepped into the bath, she noticed how gingerly he moved, how carefully he eased himself down. It was apparent he was in some discomfort, but she could see no fresh bruises or other such marks on him.

“Are you all right?” she asked him, stopping short of inquiring whether he was hurting. She suspected his obvious soreness was of some nature he likely did not wish to disclose. Euram sensed the nature of her question just the same, she could tell by the slight flush that crept over his cheeks.

“I…ha. I am quite well, all things considered,” he answered with a sheepish smile, dropping his gaze. “Let’s just say I’m learning to be especially, exceedingly careful in my chores.” He giggled, though his pink tint of embarrassment told her that something had likely occurred between Euram and Gizel that had caused his discomfort. It did not seem something overly traumatizing, however, if he were able to acknowledge it with such casual humor. Not wishing to deepen his embarrassment, she let the subject drop, content to dismiss it unless she were given cause for further alarm.

In all honesty, he appeared healthier than he had looked since she had been acquainted with him. His pale skin had brightened, the circles beneath his eyes had largely faded, and there was a liveliness to his manner that she had not yet witnessed in him. It lifted her heart, just thinking perhaps he was adapting to his unpleasant experience enough that he might survive. She knew it could not last much longer after all, and he would be far better off the stronger he could manage to be.

“You are looking better,” she said, encouragingly as she tenderly went to the task of cleansing his hair.

“Oh, I…thank you,” he smiled, reaching back to aid her with the lathering. “But what about you? Always you are asking about me, but I would like to know about you, how you are doing.”

“I am holding up,” she admitted. “It is trying. These Godwin soldiers do not allow much breathing room. It is stifling for many of us. Though I have a strong feeling it will not continue much longer. I know each day the Prince is preparing to return. And when he does, we will be free again. All of us. So that knowledge helps, a great deal.”

“It does,” Euram agreed, though somehow his heart did not seem in it. Sherina noticed this, just as she had noticed the strange reaction in him every time she mentioned the Prince’s arrival. She wondered what about that prospect bothered him so, what it was he was fearing.

“Euram, what is troubling you? You can speak it with me: you know I will not utter a word of it, nor will I think any less of you. Please, you can trust me. I might even be able to help, if you would simply tell me.”

Euram sighed, shivering as warm water glided down his shoulders. He could not bring himself to tell her of his actual fear: that when the Prince did arrive, the Sun Rune would flare and decimate not only the Loyalist Army, but the entire city of Sol-Falena, along with the Sun Palace and everyone in it. He doubted she knew of Godwin’s plans to use the rune, and doubted even less that she knew what might happen if he did.

“F-forgive me, milady,” he hesitated, “I am afraid I have been terribly rude in my silence…but there is something I would ask of you.”

She paused then, resting an arm upon the side of the tub and looking at him with curiosity and care. “Name it, Euram.”

He swallowed, guilt sweeping over him that he was asking her for a favor, after all she had done for him. He took a quick and surreptitious glance about, as though checking for any other presence that might overhear. “I-I have a need…to have something delivered to…someone,” he hesitated before the last word. “Would you happen to know of anyone who might be able to do this, anonymously? I would not wish for the person who did this to be identified, nor would I want your involvement known.”

Sherina’s curiosity grew. All at once her smile broadened, as though she were excited at the sudden prospect of a conspiracy of sorts. Perhaps a part of her was happy to see the former noble seize the spirit to do something. She eyed the young man with a clever but questioning smile before her voice dipped low.

“Well, now, that depends. Just what is it you would like delivered, and to whom?”

“It…it is a letter,” he said, truthfully, then took in a deep breath before he revealed the answer to the latter part of her question. “…and I would like it delivered to the Lady Sialeeds.”

The woman’s expression changed at that, becoming grave and uncertain.

To all who remained loyal to the royal family, the subject of Lady Sialeeds was a tender one. Her betrayal of the Prince’s army had cast confusion, sadness and doubt upon the Prince’s retainers, and Sherina herself had felt it. No one was confident as to that woman’s true intentions. What business Euram could possibly have with Sialeeds was beyond her comprehension, but she was uneasy about it. She also knew that Sialeeds had no love for the name Barows, and she was well aware that Euram knew it, too.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quickly, seeing the doubt pass over her. “I should not have troubled you. Forgive me.”

“No,” she stopped him. “It is not that. If this is what you want, then…there are those within the Palace who remain loyal to Her Highness, above anyone else. They are her handmaidens. They have remained at her side, and still trust her intentions. I could leave the letter for one of them, or have one of my girls leave it.”

Euram visibly brightened at this. “You could? I mean, you could see this done, and none would be the wiser? I would not have anyone thinking you had anything to do with it. I would never, ever be able to forgive myself if--”

“I have my own methods for secrecy, Euram Barows,” she cut him off and assured him, with confidence. “Although—to the Lady Sialeeds, are you sure? I trust you are…familiar with her opinion towards you?”

“Yes, ma'am. I am—all too well,” he admitted, swallowing. He was taking a terrible risk, he knew. But he also knew that if there was one person who might be able to help him with anything, then it was Sialeeds. “I am aware of that, and I am prepared to risk—whatever may happen. As long as that risk is to my hide alone.”

Sherina regarded him then with sympathy and fondness. Reaching out, she squeezed a damp shoulder. “You are far more brave than you think, Euram,” she whispered, drawing a sudden, surprised glance from him. “Now, where is this letter you spoke of?”

****

The young man was a flurry of emotions when he was returned to Gizel’s chamber. One part of him was relieved, and another part of him was triumphant: triumphant that he had actually had the courage to have the letter sent.

Still, another part of him was weighed with dark dread. Above everything else, he knew there was no turning back now. It was done, the letter on its way. He was fully aware that his actions may have been a terrible misstep, and he knew he would find out soon enough. All he could do now was wait, and waiting was the worst part of all.

It was strange having no chore to complete. He was suspicious of this in itself, and wondered what Gizel was planning for him. Gizel was not the type of person to simply ‘forget’ such a thing. If he had failed to leave him chores, or even a note, then there was a reason he had failed to do so, and Euram was not sure he wanted to find out what that reason was.

His belly tight with anticipation and worry, the former aristocrat was hard pressed to occupy himself during the hours he was left alone. He was a bundle of nerves, but finally he had opted to distract himself amidst his lord’s book collection once more.

It was amazing to him what he found interesting, now that he had been made a prisoner. Not so long ago, he would have yawned in his tutor’s face had he been presented with a subject so mundane as Gardening Techniques. At the moment, however, it seemed rather fascinating to him, and he soon found himself absorbed between the pages of this and those of a volume of Falenan history.

It was well after noon before he heard someone approach. He expected it must be Reynald, coming to bring him something to eat, and set the book he was browsing aside so he could greet the man. However, upon the sound of a key in the lock, he was almost startled. The person there was not Reynald at all, but someone entirely different.

A man standing about six feet loomed in the doorway and sauntered slowly into the room. Not a common servant, but a soldier, this one, clad in the typical Godwin militia attire. The door clicked behind him, and he turned to twist the key in the lock, oddly locking it. He did not look directly at Euram yet, maintaining the same cold exterior all Godwin soldiers harbored. The same red beret as all soldiers of the Godwin military wore tipped precisely the same angle upon his head as those of his peers. His hair, just like that of the rest of the soldiery, was shorn high to his skull, uniform, precise.

The prisoner regarded the newcomer with confusion and trepidation. Just the same, Euram stood to greet him, bowing his respect while simultaneously covering his most private regions deferentially with his arms. This gesture seemed to amuse the gentleman, who simply laughed.

“Well, isn’t this charming? Quite the humble little creature now, aren’t you, Barows? I had to see it to believe it. I had heard whispers that His Commandership was keeping you here. To think, one of the mightiest families in Falena, reduced to this. And not a moment to soon, nor a single misery undeserved.”

Euram straightened, a sudden chill sweeping through him. All at once he felt horribly vulnerable and uneasy. The soldier seemed all the more amused by his discomfort.

The men within the Godwin military were all “encouraged” to maintain a uniform appearance. In short, they all looked exactly alike, something that had always seemed creepy to Euram. The intention was to convey an intimidating and structured feel to Godwin’s foes, and if nothing else, Euram had to admit it worked.

The soldier’s features were sharp, thin, his cheekbones high and pronounced.
“How poetic, that your faction’s ruinous dealings have finally come to an end, and brought about Barow’s downfall for now and ever.”
“D-Did the Commander send you? Or are you here to deliver sustenance?”
“I am not here to feed you, Barows. I am here to look upon your ruin, and bask in it.”
“Well, if that’s all you purpose to do, you may look. Gloat, if you will, and may the thoroughness of our demise bring you some terrible satisfaction.”
“Oh, no, it is not that simple. My errand this day has nothing to do with simple gloating, little lordling.”
“T-then what would you have of me, sir?”
“You know of Fort Hatred, Barows?
“O-of course….” The prisoner replied, looking away. It was the dam and stronghold constructed after Father’s own dam construction deteriorated. “Godwin built Hatred Fortress—to see to it that Lordlake continued to suffer, after…” He choked, bowing his head.
If the solider noticed his stalling or the sorrow in it, he did not say.
"My nephew was conscripted at that very stronghold when the traitor, Prince Falenas, made his attack. He was about your age. Young, but devoted. Loyal. And he was eager to do his part for the good and glory of Falena.”
"He…he sounds like an honorable young man.”
“He is dead.”
A long silence. Euram swallowed, moving to sit at the table, if only out of respect for the soldier and his own modesty.
“I…I am very sorry, sir.”
“The attack was swift and unexpected,” the soldier continued. “Fortunately there were few casualties. But there were casualties, just the same. My nephew was one of them. He was killed in the initial fire that ignited the attack.”
“H-how terrible. My condolences to you, sir.”
“It would interest you to learn that he had a young bride, and child on the way.”
Euram winced. “If…if nothing else, you may take comfort knowing the dam’s destruction helped restore Lordlake.”
“You wretched brat.” The man’s eyes flared; at once Euram regretted his words. “Was it not Barows who first constructed the dam that would become Hatred Fortress?”
Euram shifted. “Erhm…y-yes, but…”
“And was it not Barows who assisted the traitor prince, providing the allies and resources he needed to become a significant foe to the throne, as opposed to a mere fugitive?”
“W-well, we…”
“And was it not Barows’ son who revealed his father’s treachery in the looting of the Dawn Rune, enabling it to fall into the prince’s hands? Another traitor who would then go on to wield that very rune in the assault that took my nephew.”
“I am sorry. Terribly, woefully sorry. For everything.” Euram gulped, his racing mind at a loss. His throat felt dry as he attempted to cover himself as well as he could. “I…I acknowledge that Barows actions have caused you harm. And I cannot hope to mend it now. I can only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

The man laughed, slow cruel, deep.

“I shall take that as a ‘no’,” Euram concluded and sighed, shuddering a little. “Oh, dear me. Very well. I hardly deserve your forgiveness. But I would have you know that I am not the same person I was. I regret any suffering Barows has caused you, along with my part in it. And were I in the position to do so, I would compensate you for your loss, and more. But presently, I cannot.” His gaze fell briefly with this acknowledgement. “But if you will, sir, allow me to promise you this: should I ever find myself a free man again, I shall do all in my power to make amends for your grief. I give you my word on that.”

“A Barows promise is an empty promise,” the man declared, with finality that sent a chill skittering across Euram’s flesh. “His Commandership should have had you put to death. That you continue to breathe is an insult to Falena’s very honor. But no matter. I will see to it your kind is never again permitted to perpetuate your treachery. My purpose here is to end that line, and permanently rid Falena of the stain that is Barows, and be done with it.”

In a quick flash, the man whipped his sword from its sheath. The blade sliced out, ringing throughout the chamber. Startled, Euram leapt up and stumbled back, frightened eyes settling upon the weapon’s glinting edge. His own, poor heart faltered in his breast and he nearly swooned, his blood cooling. Frantically his feet carried him backwards, his arms drawing inward defensively.

“Oh! G-goodness! S-sir! Y, you would not…k-kill me?”

“Be quiet, and come here.”

Euram’s throat tightened, and he found himself shaking his head in unconscious protest. Any bravery he might have initially found within himself dashed, the former noble reverted again to the craven tactics to which he was accustomed. “Oh no, no, no….th-this isn’t necessary, sir, please…”

“Get over here,” the soldier repeated, gesturing with the blade itself. Swallowing an alarmed sob, Euram minced obediently towards him, bent almost double in fright. His eyes darted about the room, and he had never wished to see Gizel so badly in his life.

“Please, th-there is no need for this! I’ll do anything—”

“Quiet!” The soldier regarded the prisoner with contempt, extending his sword towards the cringing, clownish figure.

“I’ve a mind to slice out your lying tongue, first,” he declared, meeting Euram’s horrified whimper with indifference. “Kneel, Barows.”

As the smaller man sank to his knees before him, his eyes roved over the naked form.
The soldier swept his blade downward and positioned it at the younger man’s throat, just above the thick leather collar that encircled white flesh. He received a terrified whimper in response. Seeing Euram tense, he carefully drew the blade along the underside of his jaw, hooking the tip of the sword just beneath the disgraced noble’s quivering chin.

“Look at me,” he demanded, and frightened amber eyes snapped up towards him. Clutching the hilt of his sword, he prodded and pressed the keen blade tip into the delicate, thin flesh of Euram’s chin until he saw the boy wince.
“Please, sir, don’t do this,” the younger man protested, his eyes darting about the room for some form of escape.

“Enough,” the man gave him a further nudge with the sword, drawing a dot of blood.
Euram made a sound, almost a sob. Unfortunately for the soldier, neither of them heard the faint twisting of a key in the lock.

“You dare,” Gizel growled, snapping his own weapon from the gilded sheath at his side. Startled, the other man fell away from the quivering Euram, his own sword dropping uselessly aside. Gizel came on, lunging at him, blade drawn high. The soldier stumbled and fell backward, crashing to the floor where he landed against slick, white marble. The red beret tumbled from his head, and he flung an arm high as if to ward off the coming assault, but his aggressor was unrelenting, unforgiving.

At that moment, however, something even stranger happened.

All at once a cry stopped Gizel, and to both men’s profound surprise, Euram flung himself between the Commander and his intended kill.

“No, my lord, please!”

“Euram! Stand aside!” Gizel ordered, prompting a frantic shake of the younger noble’s head.

“No, Gizel, I beg you, don’t!”

Gizel paused and regarded his pet with profound puzzlement. “Why would you beg for the life of this man? Why? Tell me!” In answer, Euram shook his head, pleading eyes shimmering with tears. The Commander sighed. The Euram he had known not so long ago would have been screeching demands for vengeance on the soldier. But Euram’s plea now was so sincere, so desperate, he had difficulty letting the blade fall.

Trembling with rage, Gizel lowered his sword, calling instead for a pair of guards.

“Throw this scum in the dungeon,” he commanded, indicating the man who cowered on the floor. Immediately they dragged the man from the ground and hauled him away. All that was left was the red beret, a spot of scarlet against the bright, smooth marble.

Replacing his sword within its sheath, Gizel went to his young slave.

“What happened?” he demanded, sternly.

Euram heaved with a sob, his gaze slipping shamefully to the floor.

“I…I’m sorry…” he whispered.

Growling with annoyance, Gizel surged forward seized him by the arm. “Talk. What started this?”

“I, I don’t know,” Euram’s lips trembled. “I was waiting here, and…and he came, and started speaking to me, and….oh, I don’t know, it happened so quickly—I thought it would be Reynald, or you, but he, he…”

Gizel’s hand whipped out and caught his chin, forced him to meet his eye.

“You had better stop babbling and start making sense. Did you provoke him?”

“Oh! N-no!” Euram’s reply swam with panic.

“What did he do? I want to know exactly what he did to you.”

“Nothing, my lord. N-nothing!” he repeated, wincing at a harsh squeeze to his jaw. “He didn’t…hurt me. B-but I…oh, I deserve it,” the last words trickled into a barely audible whisper, causing Gizel to lean forward, uncertain he had heard correctly.

“What was that? What did you say, Euram?”

“I deserve it, Gizel!” the younger man burst out at once, breaking. “I, I deserve it, all of this, I…” His voice faltered and fragmented, consumed in a spill of shuddering sobs.

For a moment Gizel stood startled by his words, Euram’s sudden, wretched state arousing some odd sympathy in him. It struck him how pitiful and hopeless he seemed, more than ever, as if finally, the former noble was utterly and completely broken, even beyond what Gizel had intended.

Stiffly, he drew the younger man into his arms, taken aback at how he clung to him.

“Shh, Euram, darling Euram. Hush, now, enough of that. All this weeping does not suit you, you know,” he chided softly, stroking his hair and ushering him towards the bed. “This is hardly how a young gentleman should conduct himself, is it?” Easing them both down, he sat patiently, and waited for the young Barows to calm himself.

All the while, Gizel struggled with his own thoughts. Of course he was still seething. That man, that traitorous soldier, would have to be dealt with. He had dared touch his slave, with an unmistakable intention to harm his property. But what was most disturbing for Gizel, what bothered him more than anything about the situation, was that he almost felt he was more angry at the man for upsetting Euram so.

“Stop it,” he demanded all at once, shoving those irrational feelings away just as quickly.

“F-forgive me,” the boy choked, sniffling.

“Hush. And stop apologizing, dammit.”
“S-sorry.”
Gizel sighed.
“He was right to be angry with me. He didn’t hurt me. He just—g-gave me a fright, is all. A terrible, ghastly fright, but…”

“That’s enough,” Gizel calmed him, smoothing dampness and stray wisps of blonde from the younger man’s eyes. Euram’s face was splotched, stained with tears. He did not doubt somehow that what Euram said was true—that the soldier had a legitimate complaint against him. That did not change the fact that Euram remained his: his to exact pleasure from, his to govern, his to decide when punishment was in order, and what that punishment would be!

Surveying Euram more closely, he caught sight of the blood, now drying, on his chin. His anger swelled.

Damn him. How dare he. How dare he…

Forcing himself calm, the Commander focused his attention instead upon his slave alone. Considering his contrite and pleading face, he softened, reaching a gloved hand to sweep across the small wound left by the soldier’s sword tip.

“There now,” he offered a thin smile, tipping the younger man’s face towards him again, gently this time. “I will think upon what’s to be done. In the meantime—let’s have something to eat, shall we?”

***

The food was brought presently. Conscious of Euram’s distress, rather than have the boy serve him, Gizel instead instructed the servant who delivered the meal to remain behind to perform the task. The Commander and his slave alike were dished out portions of the fare before Gizel dismissed the other.

Both men sat in silence for a long while. The evening breeze carried the light sound of birds in the garden through the cracked window. The scent of vines and flowers drifted into the chamber, delicate and clean and subtle. Soft candles illuminated the room as the purpling sky dimmed outside.

Euram was not hungry. He had sat bemused as his own plate was filled, and now picked idly at the food before him, trying to appear grateful. And he was grateful. But somehow, in spite of the few and often scant meals he received, his appetite felt withered.

It could have been the result of his recent encounter with the soldier. It could have been his own misery, that he was kept, trapped here, caught between people who hurt and used him. It could have been that he missed his sister, missed his mother, missed the precious few friends he had among those within the Prince’s ranks. Or, beyond that, it could have been that felt he did not deserve to indulge.

Gizel noticed his lack of enthusiasm. “Enough of your moping, lovely,” he admonished, catching how Euram’s eyes snapped up to him as though out of some distant reverie. It was almost like he had momentarily fallen into deep thought—something the Commander would have questioned Euram’s capability of doing.

Hm, well, I hope he won’t injure himself, the older man thought, concealing a chuckle.

“You would insult my generosity, Euram,” he spoke again, nodding towards the all-but-untouched plate in front of his prisoner. Euram blinked at him briefly and then sighed.

“Forgive me.” His eyes teemed with something unaccustomed, something of substance, and Gizel was intrigued by it. In a stretch of honest effort, the young man fastened his attention upon the fare and began to dine. Unenthusiastically he twisted the fork between slim fingers to curl a string of buttered pasta and distantly nibbled.

“What is on your pretty mind, my pet?” The Commander questioned after he had personally taken his fill. Casually he tilted his glass, sipping his wine. “Do not tell me you are worrying yourself over that soldier’s fate?”

“No,” Euram answered quickly, shaking his head, and fell once more into silence.

Gizel was not sure whether to be impressed or disturbed by the young Barows’ mute melancholy. Certainly he had grown considerably more subdued from his former self. This young man, once so animated and outspoken, had been deliciously tamed. He was decidedly less obnoxious than before, which was a good thing. But there was also a certain loss for it, as with his less desirable traits had also gone the fire from him. And somehow, this also diminished the sport for Gizel.

Euram needed something to liven him, to bring him out of this uncharacteristic slump.

“I’ve an idea,” Gizel suggested at once. “How would you like to accompany me for a walk? Outside.”

Though it was more a command than an invitation, Gizel saw a dim sparkle flicker over the younger man’s face, and his eyes brightened, like those of a long-neglected pup. Had he a tail, it would have started to wag, the Commander thought with amusement.

“T-truly, my lord? I…yes! I would, everso much!”

***

Gizel had given his prisoner one of his own pairs of trousers and a shirt to cover himself, amused at how the garments enveloped the smaller man. Euram was shorter and much thinner than Gizel, and the contrast was nothing short of comical. It was almost charming how the sleeves hung low on his slender hands, how the pants spilled down his feet and threatened to trail behind him as he struggled to keep them gathered around his ankles. He was, nonetheless, clearly grateful to be clothed. Guards on their respective watches paid them little heed, though a few of them cast an odd glance their way before going about their nightly duties.

The younger man followed the Commander obediently but almost happily, his bare feet tapping against cool marble as he was led from the Palace and into the courtyard.

As they stepped outside, the cool night breeze met Euram’s face, forcing him to contain a gasp. Familiar scents came back to him: the delicate fragrance of grass, the subtle smell of trees and vines and earth. Shuddering, he inhaled deeply, nearly staggering on his feet as things he’d thought he’d forgotten assaulted his senses. Dim lanterns, spotted among trimmed hedges and topiary, cast a soft, almost golden glow about them. Gentle wind sent shadows dancing across the lighted pathway. Daring a glance upward, Euram witnessed the full, black sky spread above him, the stars clear and white and unchanged, unchanging.

All at once it felt so open and free that it was almost stifling, and he knew that beyond all this, miles away, his allies—Luserina, Chuck and Boz Wilde, Zegai, and Norden, and all the others with whom he’d not yet had the chance to make amends—were likely preparing to march with Prince Frey. They would be coming here, and here was where the war would finally end.

Gizel allowed the younger man a few moments to take in his surrounds before prompting him to the far side of the courtyard. Together they followed the paved pathway meandering through the gardens, until they came to a split staircase. Here, Gizel led Euram higher, up illuminated steps of chiseled and uniform concrete and onto a balcony that overlooked the gardens and the sprawling city beyond.

And there, on that balcony, Euram Barows witnessed the city of Sol-Falena as he had never seen it.

The city lay strategically on the Feitas, where the river itself spread into a lake. This offered an ideal defense against a ground invasion, but also served to lend a breathtaking view, particularly at night. Euram actually heard himself whisper a gasp.

The lights of Sol-Falena spread before them, flickering points of white and blue and yellow and orange glittering from the staggered layers of the city. Lights twinkled from subtle dwellings, from the frequent bridges that linked each district together, and from the entrance to the Sun Palace plaza itself, where the towering twin torches ever burned as constant beacons. A brilliant white glow illuminated the main thoroughfare, where the Queen’s Knights held their annual ceremony, all the way to the towering Sol Falena Dam, the pier and beyond. The reflections of a thousand lights danced upon the surrounding water below.

And beneath it all droned the ceaseless whispering murmur of the Feitas, heedless of time itself.

Gizel took in a deep, calming breath. This was a place he knew well. He used to come here with Sialeeds, long ago, when both of them were teenagers and very much in love. They had shared much here, just as they had shared so many forbidden nights together in the abandoned woodcutter’s shack near his hometown of Stormfist. But it had been here where they had professed their affection for one another, here where they had vowed that regardless of the political motives behind their pending union, they were in fact truly in love. It had gone beyond the simple political maneuver of keeping the scheming Barows sect at bay: no, it had been so much more than that. It was a rare thing, for amidst all the turmoil and struggle over the throne, their love had indeed been genuine—the one authentic thing amidst a sea of falsehoods and treachery.

Why, then, was it that their love was the one thing that had not been permitted to happen?

Even now, Gizel questioned it, decried fate, for all the good it would do. It was a cruel reality that continued to mock him to this day. And yet, after all this time, he loved her still.

His thoughts were interrupted by a whisper from the smaller man next to him.

“Gizel….” Euram found his voice in that brief moment, only lose it again. His hands rested upon the railing as he gazed over the city, lights glimmering in his wonder-filled eyes. He thought of his father, then, and how often he had come here with him. He had visited Sol Falena with Salum on numerous occasions, and yet, somehow, never had he seen the splendor of Sol-Falena as he was witnessing it now. Or more likely, he had never noticed. Never noticed, because he had forever taken such things for granted. Luserina had often expressed frustration and sadness with him, claiming that he did not appreciate the beauty, the majesty of things around him. Now, he understood.

The breeze off the river and sea beyond swept upward and caught his hair, and a small sob hitched in his throat. “It is…the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Gizel considered the other man carefully, thought of how he loathed him.

How he loathed everything this craven fool represented! The House of Barows had stolen his mother, and by association through the Succession War, his love. It was because of Lord Barows’ war that Sialeeds had vowed never to marry. She had done so to protect Falena from further strife and conflict, and it had been Barows’ filthy little war that had sealed that choice. Barows had deprived Gizel of the only two women he had ever loved.
And yet, here was Euram.

But could he honestly, fairly lay all the blame for the crimes of his father, his faction, upon this stupid, clueless young man?

In the city below, folks still milled about heedlessly, careless with activity in spite of the deepening hour.

“Hmm. It seems more and more are failing to observe curfew,” Gizel observed, as though he realized that his and Father’s influence, their hold on the citizens, was rapidly fading.

“Oh, Gizel. How can you…why ever must you impose such things?” Euram remembered when his own hometown of Rainwall was captured, occupied by Godwin forces. Euram and Salum had been made prisoners in their own mansion, the citizens subjugated and held to curfews, sanctions and oppressions of all sorts, most of the men forced into the Godwin military. Those days beneath Godwin rule had been the most miserable of his life. Or so he had thought. If Euram had recently learned one lesson above all others, it was that no matter how wretched he thought he was, things could always get worse.

Gizel sighed. “Poor Euram. You understand so little. To run a nation, to keep one’s country safe and unified, one must have a semblance of order. That was what your father failed to understand. Your father…and his appeals for a mercenary peace…it is the difference between order and chaos. And the manner in which your faction and your father conducted government could lead to nothing but chaos. It is doomed to collapse on itself, and as you see, Euram, it has. It is for that reason that the Barows line is no more.” Gizel did not add that since Salum’s death had left Euram as the sole heir to the faction, the entire Barows sect would have been doomed to ruination. He did not say it, because he didn’t need to. It was something of which he knew Euram was painfully aware, now.

“Do you not understand that? The only way to make certain that we as a nation never experience the same horrors we, and your people especially, suffered when Armes invaded eight years ago, is for Falena to be solid, unified. How can we defend ourselves if we are fragmented, with so-called ‘autonomous’ governments running rampant within our borders, and peoples who do not wish to unite?”

“But,” Euram ventured at once, timid but honest. “People must be happy, Gizel. If they are not…if they do not trust their leader, if they feel oppressed, then won’t it fall apart anyhow?” He didn’t dare mention the more ruthless tactics the Godwins employed, though he knew well of their efforts to eliminate Beaver Lodge and the dwarves. “If people feel they are ruled by tyranny that would intrude on their freedoms, they will eventually rebel, will they not? Is it any wonder your popularity slips?”

Gizel cast him a sharp, warning glance.
Euram cringed.

“And will they not rebel, too, if their lord governs them loosely, only to have them discover too late the weakness in such methods when they are fragmented and occupied—just like they turned on your father and yourself?” Gizel almost smirked with his question, and Euram averted his gaze with a sigh.

“Forgive me. I… I am just… I have lost everything, Gizel. My father, my freedom, my status…my self respect—though I realize now I never had any of that to begin with,” he chuckled a little, but it was humorless, bitter, almost. “My, my, Gizel. I must admit I never saw myself in this position. But…I deserve no better. All this time, I never thought about it. I am…no good,” he ended with a shallow sigh.

Gizel looked at him thoughtfully. He realized that he had done his own share of unpleasant things. But then, it was something that was bred into them, was it not? His own warlike ruthlessness, Euram’s cowardly deceitfulness…they were things that were bred into them, simply by their respective positions.

Perhaps the pair of them was simply bound hopelessly to their own rottenness, their fate unchangeable in the end. They were made to perpetuate an ongoing power struggle. Barows and Godwin differed in their methods, but were equally malignant. In the end, they were two sides of the same, tainted coin.

Euram started a little when an arm went around him. Gradually, unconsciously he leaned into the embrace, breathing in deep the fresh air.

“Euram…there is something I want to know.”

“Yes, Commander?” the younger man sighed, sounding content, if only for the moment.

“That…man. That soldier, back in my chamber. You defended him. You begged me not to kill him, even though he seemed to have no mercy, no pity for you. And I want to know why.”

It was not a request, and clearly Gizel expected his answer to be good. And yet, Euram had no idea how to answer him.

“I...I honestly don’t know,” he replied. Wincing, he realized this would not be enough for Gizel. “I don’t know, but I think, maybe…maybe it was because it wouldn’t solve anything. It would be completely, utterly pointless.” Besides, he did not wish to see yet another suffer for his sake. He had caused such suffering to so many, already.

Gizel shook his head. Of course he understood the merits of mercy. But in many cases, undue mercy was little more than a weakness, often a fatal one.

“You are a fool, Euram Barows.”

“I know.” Euram’s half-lidded eyes fluttered slightly, and he sighed. Gizel turned to study the moon-caressed face, pale and delicate and almost serene as the boy leaned upon him. For a prolonged spell, the two men stood in silence, unspeaking, the river’s breeze gliding over them like cool breath.

“I have considered your request,” Gizel said at length, receiving a questioning gaze from the other. “Your request to ‘help’ me, as you put it. I am not sure how you would aid me, to be honest. You are not skilled in weaponry, and you have no strategic expertise I could make use of. In other words, I fail to see how you could possibly help me against these traitors. Unless of course there are things you can tell me, concerning their strategies, and their movements. Even then, I doubt you could tell me anything which I do not already currently know.”

Gizel felt Euram physically shift, as though he would hesitate, and thought at first that it was just as he had expected: that his offer to help had been yet another falsehood, spoken to gain whatever trust and favor Euram thought he could wring from him. He was actually quite surprised when the younger man answered him.

“I…I cannot tell much from the short time I have spent with them. But I would assume the Prince himself will storm the city,” Euram said. “From what I have gathered, their pattern is that the others will occupy the bulk of the forces, but Frey himself will likely come forth front and center, with the Dawn Rune. And he will wield it.”

“And it will be no match for what will await him,” Gizel replied, twisting a finger through a strand of his prisoner’s blonde hair. “But you still fail to impress upon me that anything you know can be of use. I know how the Prince tends to operate.”

“Then I am sure you already know that there is Lucretia. She will have other plans in place.”

“Of course I know of Lucretia. That treacherous woman worked once for my father. And she betrayed us, just as she betrayed you, and your father. And yes, I know that she will have thought about every conceivable weakness we possess, and will have researched every possible means of exposing each and every one. I am afraid I am far ahead of you, Euram. My question to you, is—what do you think you can do, even were I to decide to let you help me?”

“Probably very little,” the younger man admitted with a helpless sigh. “I only wanted you to know that I am willing, should you think of some way in which I might be of aid to you. You spared my life, Gizel…my lord. I only wish to return that favor.”

“Well, then. Perhaps I will think of something,” the corner of the Commander’s mouth tipped into a smile. “But for now, I think it is time we returned. There are…other ways in which I’d rather you ‘return the favor’ in the meantime, hmm?”

Euram nodded, though he sank a little, looking briefly disappointed before deciding he should probably be grateful for the small reprieve he had been granted.

“Yes,” he agreed, softly, turning to follow the older man back towards the confines of the Sun Palace.

Once back inside the chamber, the older man closed and locked the door. Turning, the Commander took a moment to chuckle at Euram’s appearance. How ridiculous he looked, Gizel’s clothes practically swallowing his willowy form. Euram managed a blush and even a sheepish smile. There was something oddly charming about him, even in his ineptitude.

“Oh, Euram,” the man laughed, all at once. “I hardly have need for a court jester, when I have you about.”

The other’s lips twisted into a pout, annoyance sparking his gaze. It wasn’t enough that Gizel had to humiliate him with his actions: why must he always do so with his words as well? Even so, somehow Euram managed to find his own humor just then.

“It was you who dressed me. Need I remind you?”

“Indeed. Allow me to remedy that,” Gizel cleared the distance between them and gently began to undress him. His momentary defiance dashed, Euram acquiesced without a word, though he could not help but feel a tad disappointed. For that brief time, he had felt somewhat like he had possessed a measure of dignity again, even if the items did not fit properly. Still, he helped shrug himself from the oversized shirt and trousers, until once more he stood fully naked before the Commander.

The older man discarded the garments and slid his hands down the slim white shoulders, the smooth and pretty chest. Euram shuddered slightly beneath the touch and followed obediently as Gizel ushered him towards the bed, where he urged Euram gently down and sat next to him.

Teasing lips whispered kisses upon his flesh, possessive hands stringing through his hair. “Your desire is to aid me, you say?” Gizel asked then, the question fluttering across Euram’s ear.

“Y-yes, my lord,” Euram stammered, his skin chilling slightly beneath the other man’s tingling touch.

“A test, then,” Gizel supplied. “I must know, of course, that I have your full obedience. You must understand that I cannot simply trust you on your word alone.”

“Of course,” the prisoner agreed, gulping. “Is there something I might do?” he swallowed, his throat drying as he wondered what the older man might be leading up to.

A wicked smile caressed Gizel’s lips then.

“Actually…there is something I would like,” he leaned in, pressing the younger man down to lie on his back. The Commander’s touch trailed idly down Euram’s side, across the curve of hip and lower still. Euram shivered slightly as the man’s hand came to rest at the blonde curls nestled between his legs. Gentle but steady fingers ruffled them gently, swirled appraisingly through them.

The former aristocrat was actually smooth all over, save the patch of hair at his groin and the blonde wisps in the curves of his armpits. The former, at least, was something Gizel had been hoping to correct.

“I would like to rid you of this, to see you fully smooth.”

Absorbing the older man’s intention, Euram felt himself sink. Of all the humiliations he had suffered, this seemingly small requirement was almost too much for him. Euram groaned in protest.

“Oh, Gizel…” he whined, before the Commander placed a steady and gentle finger to his lips.

“Now, now. I thought you had opted to trust me, to work with me. Would you renege on what you have spoken yourself?”

Euram faltered briefly, but knew to try and refuse was useless. With a miserable sigh, he relented.

“No, sir. Do as you will.”

The younger man’s voice dripped with defeated surrender that only excited Gizel further. Patting him, the Commander rose and went to the vanity, leaving his prisoner to wait for him in uneasy anticipation. As always, he took his time, selecting the instruments he would need to perform this latest task—a task he knew Euram was not looking forward to.

He returned to Euram a few minutes later, a basin of water in his hand. A towel was draped upon his arm, and a straight razor, curled between his fingers, gleamed in the dim light. Tucked into his pocket was a small pair of shears and a jar of lotion that Gizel himself used during his morning routine, a lotion that would soothe and help prime the skin for shaving.

The younger man had pulled himself up, and sat now with trepidation. His eyes fell upon the items Gizel carried and he shifted with clear discomfort. It appeared a further, fleeting protest was on his lips but he evidently thought the better of it.

Sitting beside him, Gizel situated the basin on the nightstand and spread the other tools carefully upon the covers. Taking the jar, he removed the lid and set it aside.

“Lie down,” he urged. Euram obeyed with an unhappy sound.

Euram’s balls were already bare, as was the cleft between his pretty cheeks. But there was a nestled patch of curls surrounding his slim cock that Gizel had actually intended to have removed much sooner. No matter. It promised to be an enjoyable task, regardless.

Setting the razor momentarily aside, Gizel nudged at the boy, urging his legs apart. Biting his lip, Euram obediently spread for him. Reluctantly he watched as the older man leaned down, the shears working with brief snips as they trimmed his curls down.

The Commander cupped his hand and drew a dollop of cream onto his fingers. His prisoner hissed when the cool lotion spread onto his groin, and Euram tensed, nervous. Re-wetting the razor in the basin, Gizel moved in, intent on his task. It was a delicate undertaking; a nick or cut could harm him, and there was an element of trust in it that lent the process a certain measure of intimacy. The younger man lay passive but tight with fear, his breaths quick and shallow.

Steadily, smoothly the razor swiped along. Euram was hard pressed not to jump as a few cold drops of water fell from the razor and onto his sensitive skin. The fine edge drew across his skin in short swipes, Gizel stopping once and awhile to rinse the razor and return to work. Euram’s face warmed with humiliation. He could feel cool air on his groin as little by little his curls were shaven. Small scraping sounds of blade upon flesh mingled with the occasional trickle of water, until the task was completed, and all traces of Euram’s masculinity shorn.

With the soft towel, Gizel brushed away the remaining traces of cream and remnants of hair. Straining to look up, Euram groaned at the sight: the section between his legs had been successfully shaven bare. It made him feel strangely even more naked and vulnerable, and he felt a sound of dismay well in his throat.

“That is lovely,” Gizel breathed, tracing patterns along the now hairless surface. “Here,” the Commander reached up and, taking one of Euram’s slender hands, placed it upon the recently shaven skin, forcing him to feel for himself.

Euram’s blush deepened, but he found himself strangely fascinated with how smooth it felt beneath his fingers.

“Oh—Gizel,” he choked, humiliated and speechless. He was shamed to admit it to himself, but it felt oddly erotic. His skin, now deprived of the fine curls, was far more sensitive to the touch. His own fingers mingled with Gizel’s, exploring the bare surface as he gazed down at himself with an almost childlike fascination. Gizel watched the younger man with a satisfied smile.

Unable to resist longer, the Commander leaned in and captured Euram’s lips, curling his prisoner’s stirring length within his palm. He knew the absence of hair would help make him more sensitive, more receptive to his manipulations. Euram whimpered and squirmed into his touch, stiffened in his hand—exactly the response Gizel wanted.

Before long, Gizel broke the contact between them, and smiled knowingly to himself when he heard what sounded like a disappointed whine.

“Patience, sweet,” he admonished gently. “There is something else I would like you to do for me.” Gizel chuckled at the questioning gaze, pulling away only long enough to retrieve from the drawer by the nightstand something he knew Euram would not be happy to see. It was something he had given the young man as a “gift” not long ago, and something the boy had yet to accept properly. And it was something he wanted him to wear now.

He had predicted the groan that spilled from Euram as soon as he saw the white lace undergarment. The boy’s head fell back onto the pillow.

“Oh, my,” a defeated sound, something between a sob and a sigh, gushed from the younger man. “You aren’t going to be happy until I wear that wretched thing, are you, my lord?”

“Come, now,” Gizel reached out, tilted his face towards him. “It can hardly be worse than some of the things I’ve seen you don willingly,” he pointed out. It actually amused him how Euram could be so averse to something so small, when he had been accustomed to wearing some of the most garishly flamboyant outfits Gizel had ever seen.

“Oh, Gizel…must I?” Euram sighed, clearly knowing he was not going to win this.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Groaning, the younger man accepted the small lace item and twisted it in his fingers. There was an almost defiant twitch to his efforts that amused Gizel as Euram took the panties and complied. With clear and bitter hesitation, he slipped his legs into the undergarments and miserably pulled them up his body, until they clung perfectly to his form. The lace rested high on his hips, the thin strip in the back settling neatly between his buttocks. His cheeks flushed a light pink of embarrassment.

“Let me look at you,” Gizel urged him to rise and turn for him. As his eyes rolled over Euram’s form, the older man licked his lips. “Oh, it does look lovely on you.”

“I’m glad one of us enjoys it,” Euram almost snapped, prompting a grin from the Commander.

“Mmm. What a sight you are. Come here.”

Grudgingly Euram obeyed, approaching with small steps. One of Gizel’s hands swept along the curve of his hips and traced the line of lace along the younger man’s crack. Meanwhile the other played along Euram’s chest, his fingers circling a nipple, urging it to harden beneath his touch.

Possessively, he swept forward and imprisoned his lips again, just the distraction he needed for him to retrieve yet another item from the confines of his robes: a pair of silver clamps from which dangled twin blue jewels. In one deft move, Gizel drew one of them forth and clipped it onto Euram’s pink, hard nub.

The unexpected sting of pressure sent a shock through the prisoner, and he gasped, whimpering from the sudden, strange pain. Euram choked at the bite at his nipple, wrenching his lips free from Gizel’s kiss as he attempted to shift away. The stronger man held him firm.

“Now, stop that. You promised obedience, did you not?” Gizel chided, tightening his grip to stifle Euram’s squirming until the other relented. “There, now. Hold still,” he instructed, bringing the second clip to his prisoner’s chest and latching it to the remaining bud. Euram winced, biting his lip and now torn between twin points of discomfort as the clamp hooked onto him.

“My lord,” he whined, shifting on his feet, only to have his pitiful protests swallowed as Gizel once more seized and kissed him. His chest pressed painfully against Gizel, the older man groping and fondling him lovingly while Euram writhed in his arms and at his touch.

At length Gizel smoothly stepped back, surveying his prize with approval. A gentle hand brushed down the younger man’s cheek, and he actually offered a smile to those eyes, turned miserably up towards him. He could see Euram shifting with discomfort from the clamps. Effortlessly concealing his growing lust, Gizel casually shrugged his robe from his shoulders and loosened his solid member, presenting it to his prisoner without having to say a word. They had been through this routine enough now, and without further urging, Euram slid to his knees and went to work.

The Commander sighed his pleasure, resting a hand in the fine threads of Euram’s hair. Euram’s back arched into the performance, his ass inviting in the lace thong. The former noble moaned steadily, his nipples sore and tingling from the clamps. Those jewels that hung from them served as weights, dangling to tease and torment him, and he found it helped to ignore the distraction and focus on his task instead.

As always, Gizel watched him, watched those lips spread around him, absorbed Euram’s submissive gaze as the younger man’s head bobbed along his length, glistened with spit. For several minutes he let him continue, smiling to himself as his prisoner did exactly as he had been taught. The only sounds in the room presently were the small slurps and moans that came from Euram’s lips. Indeed, he had become so well adjusted to the task that Gizel had to stop him for fear that he would come too soon.

Reaching down, he took Euram’s chin and halted his efforts. While his pet waited obediently at his feet, he stripped the rest of his garments away and seated himself upon the bed, where he beckoned Euram near. Staggeringly the other rose and approached him. Gizel reached out, once more fingering the lace panties that hugged the smaller man’s hips. With a tug, he snapped them down and instructed Euram to step out of them. The younger man’s erect cock sprang free from the lace and he blushed.

Euram sighed, what could have been irritation wavering in his voice.

“Oh dear me!” he whined, pouting. “All that fuss about me wearing that thing, when all you intended to do was take it off?”

“Hush,” Gizel chided, though not without amusement. He chuckled again, humored by his pet’s complaints and by his shame. He knew that Euram was more than aware that the undergarments, just like everything else he required of him, were for his pleasure alone.

At last Gizel pulled his prisoner into his arms and straddled him across his lap.

Again, no words were required. Gripping Euram’s narrow waist, Gizel guided the boy astride his cock and slowly pulled him down by the hips, until he was pressed against his slave’s sore opening. Euram tensed, hissing as Gizel breached his ring with only Euram’s own spit to lubricate him.

Whimpering, the young man clutched Gizel’s shoulders and winced, sucking in a tight gasp of pain and humiliation and pleasure combined as the Commander’s length skewered him. His body shuddered with the invasion, and Gizel shifted inside him, bucking upwards into his bowels.

Euram was soon flat on Gizel’s lap, his legs spread to either side as he bounced and moaned. The clamps that clung to his sensitive nipples swayed, shooting electric pulses of pain from his swollen buds to his belly. And somewhere along the way, that pain blended into something else entirely, the same pleasure/pain Gizel had become so adept at making him feel….

The Commander reached out and tweaked at the clamps, drawing gasps of surprise.

“Ohh—Gizel!” The Commander felt the younger man spasm around him in response to the sparks of pain and he reached down to touch the shaven skin. Euram shuddered, the now-hairless skin around his cock sensitive to the touch. With a wicked smile, Gizel gripped the naked length, and the sensation of warm fingers against his bare groin drew a moan from his pet. Euram worked more desperately, his serpentine back moving to slide his hips up and down as his hands clasped the Commander’s shoulders tight. And Gizel drank in the vision before him, his former rival spread across his lap, his lips parted in rapturous agony as their bodies moved together, their heaving, panting breaths drowning in the heat and friction between them.

Euram’s whimpers grew louder, desperate as he writhed upon the cock inside him. Gizel gripped him harder, crushing those slender hips against him. The younger man’s arms went around his neck. Faster and faster they moved, until eventually Gizel rewarded his whimpering slave with deep groans of pleasure. With a bellow, he came, bruising Euram’s hips with punishing fingers as he unleashed his climax into the other man.

And yet the Commander continued to thrust into him, relentlessly battering the younger man speared upon him. Without a second’s thought he grasped his partner’s cock and coaxed him to his peak. With his other hand, he reached up and pinched the clamps free of Euram's nipples, sending him shuddering to climax. Leaning forward, Gizel sealed his lips over Euram’s mouth, swallowing the stream of melodious cries that flowed from the other as he spilled his own orgasm over the Commander’s hand.

Gizel fell back, taking his prisoner with him. Moments later they both lay spent and huffing.

“Mmm. I must say I am glad of my decision,” Gizel said, finally. “I rather like you shaven bare.”

Euram flushed with humiliation, but refrained from complaining. He had to admit, it felt exceptionally erotic, even if the knowledge of how he looked and the thought itself made him cringe with shame.

“Yes, your Commandership,” he capitulated, curling against the older man. Gizel reached down and idly played his fingers through his pet’s long blonde tresses, silent as though thinking to himself. Then, all at once, he spoke, recalling a subject that Euram had not expected him to return to.

“It might be of interest to you, Barows, to know that the Sun Rune is fully operational.” He watched, gauging closely his prisoner’s reaction. He thought he felt Euram twitch, and the other man looked up at him, dismay in the golden-brown eyes.

“That is right,” he said again, glaring hard into Euram’s gaze. “Does this disturb you? You have known our intentions all along, and have known that we have been seeking ways to wield the rune. I am not certain you have realized, however, that this possibility has come to fruition. The efforts of the scholars have proven at last to be successful. We intend to make use of this weapon. I believe you know what that means for your so-called allies.”

Euram tried to conceal his reflexive shudder. Gizel’s brutal tactics still managed to unnerve him, even if he realized now that his own father’s shady methods had been no better.

He had feared that Gizel and Lord Godwin would learn how to fully harness the Sun Rune’s power. It was a fear that he had harbored long before he had allied himself with the Prince. It was a fear he and Father had discussed months ago, when Godwin had seized control of the throne and before the Prince had come to them. But they had been confident that only the rightful ruler could use the Sun Rune under normal conditions. After all, even the Dawn Rune had rejected Salum and Euram alike.

But now, if Gizel was speaking truly, then they had found a way to circumvent those conditions, and would surely tap into the Sun Rune’s full power without hesitation. And if they did such a thing…Euram did not want to think about what would happen.

Reading his prisoner’s silence as hesitation, Gizel continued. “The reason I tell you this, Euram, is because you have appealed to me, in all your treachery, as if you would aid me. And another reason I tell you this, is so you can prepare yourself. So now, I ask you this: how well prepared are you to follow my orders?”

Euram swallowed, his bones suddenly chilling when he began to think of things that Gizel might have in mind for him.

“I…I am prepared, sir. I have told you that I wish to help, and I will. Please…”

Gizel caught his chin just then, and he met Euram’s gaze with solid severity.

“Then this is what I can say to you right now: when the time arrives, should I issue you an order, whatever that order might be…you are to obey. Without pause, without question. Do I make myself clear, Euram Barows?”

“Y-yes, Commander,” the younger man nodded, fighting to suppress his doubt in himself. Most of all, he hoped he was not agreeing to something he would regret.

He already had so much to regret.

****
Inside her own chamber, the Lady Sialeeds drained her glass and sighed. Looking towards her large canopied bed, she considered trying to sleep and abandoned the thought almost immediately. She had not been sleeping well lately. What’s more, she had not wanted to sleep. There had been too many things on her mind.

Of course she had never been one to let things bother her much, but the matters weighing on her grew heavier with time. Questions about her own decisions ever swirled in her thoughts, and always she wondered: was everything worth the sacrifices she had made?

Casting a glance in the mirror near her vanity, she grumbled. She looked worn, weary beyond her years. But then, she guessed, that was inevitable. The events of the past year had taken their toll on her. She had lost her sister and now, the love of her sister’s children.

She had to believe it was this that had caused the better part of her physical wear, although she suspected the Twilight Rune she now donned was also in part responsible. It was the inevitable result of bearing such a rune.

The woman was about to pour herself another drink when she noticed the small note on her table.

“Hmm?”

What was this?

Her curiosity piqued, Sialeeds sauntered over and took the note in her hand. It was folded over several times and sealed with one of Gizel’s own stamps—even more curious. Straightening the note between her fingers, she was immediately certain it was not written by Gizel’s hand. No, the handwriting was large and loopy, almost like that of a young girl’s. For a split second she wondered if it could have been from her niece, Lymsleia, but dismissed that possibility quickly.
After all, Lym hated her now.

Browsing more closely, she continued:

Your Highness,

I undoubtedly, indubitably deserve every conceivable shred of your hatred. I am reservedly nonplussed by you, I admit—a fool such as I could never hope to fathom your aims. We have exchanged few words since I arrived here, and from our brief ‘conversations’, I know only this: you still love him. And I know you would not see him die.

Whatever you believe of me, I would not see this happen, either. Please know I do not appeal to you willy-nilly, Your Highness. I most humbly and respectfully beg that you will visit me, when convenient and when we might be alone.

The letter was not signed. Just the same, there was no person in all Falena Sialeeds knew of who would actually print the words “nonplussed” and “willy-nilly”.

No person, that was, except one.

Her jaw clenched in anger. Yes, there was only one person who spoke like that, and it could only be he who had sent her this letter.

But why would he dare? What could he possibly want? And how could he have the nerve to contact her in such a way?

Whatever he was up to, it was surely something ridiculous. It was always something ridiculous with Euram Barows....

SEVERAL MONTHS AGO:

Not long after the battle of Lelcar, a strange thing had been brought to the Loyalist Army’s attention. It seemed that a bandit, operating under the guise of the Prince himself, had been terrorizing the citizens of Sable. As a result, the Prince’s name had fallen into ill-favor among the populace.

Needless to say, Prince Freyjadour was concerned about the matter. On one hand, they needed all the allies they could muster. The antics of this so-called “bandit Prince” had severely damaged the Prince’s reputation, and therefore dampened the likelihood that Sable would be allying with the Loyalist cause anytime soon.

But even more unsettling, this bandit had caused distress to innocent citizens, and had done so under Frey’s identity. This was something that had to be dealt with quickly, both to spare the citizens further harassment, and to verify the Prince’s innocence.

And so the Prince, along with Sialeeds, Lyon and a handful of retainers, had traveled personally to Sable to get to the bottom of the matter.

They were not initially received well. Citizens spoke derisively both behind the Prince’s back and to his face. But General Dinn, Commander of Sable’s military force, had welcomed them.

Dinn had once been an ally of Barows, and had aided the Prince when Frey had been in Lord Barows’ care. However, when the truth about the Dawn Rune and Lordlake had surfaced and support had withdrawn from Rainwall, Dinn was recalled to Sable, and the city had declared neutrality.

Dinn however was eager to win Sable back to the Prince’s side, and had introduced them to the noble Lord Solis Raulbel, the lord of Sable.

Sialeeds actually liked Lord Raulbel. In her opinion, he was one of the few “good” nobles left in Falena. And, as it turned out, Lord Raulbel wanted deeply to be allies with the Prince and his cause. However, to make the people of Sable support such an alliance, he needed first to prove the Prince’s innocence.

After speaking with Raulbel, they had learned the location of the bandit’s hideout. The “bandit Prince” and his cohorts had taken up residence on Ranro Mountain, not far from Sable.

The Prince’s group had traveled to their hideout and confronted Roy, the bandit in question, along with his friends: two siblings, the stout Faylon and his skinny sister Faylen. The first thing that Sialeeds remembered upon meeting Roy was the young man’s striking resemblance to Freyjadour. Even Sialeeds herself, the Prince’s own aunt, had to admit she might have been fooled.

After some brief questioning, Roy confessed to wreaking havoc upon Sable, but he also confessed that he had been put up to this nonsense.

Put up to it, he said, by some weird, shady noble, who had offered him a large sum of money to “sully the Prince’s name”.

Sialeeds needed only to hear the words “sully the Prince’s name” to know exactly who was behind the shenanigans.

Roy further explained that the man who had hired him intended to publicly confront and “defeat” the bandit Prince. This, the young noble hoped, would at once bolster his own reputation and destroy Frey’s.

Lady Sialeeds had other ideas.

She had been furious, but not entirely surprised. After all, the noble Roy spoke of had already attempted to enact revenge on her nephew in the past. Obviously he was not ready to give up easily. Ever clever, Sialeeds quickly devised a trap to publicly expose and humiliate the troublemaker behind this “bandit” mischief.

The resulting farce was the most ridiculous performance Sialeeds had ever witnessed…

***

The plan was simple enough.

Roy contacted Euram and arranged to meet him at the city gates of Sable. Sable was heavily fortified, and the gates would be an ideal place to stage Euram’s “heroic” confrontation with the “bandit Prince”. There, they could work together to carry out their plan to ruin the Prince’s reputation once and for all.

Little did Euram know that prior to their meeting, Roy had made other plans with the real Prince and Lady Sialeeds.

Sialeeds, Lady Lyon and the trusted General Dinn posed as potential “victims” just outside the city gate. Roy and his bandits would approach them, with intent to rob and plunder.

Lord Solis Raulbel had alerted the townsfolk of the upcoming show, urging as many as possible to gather around the gates as witnesses, and a small crowd arrived, eager to discover what the hubbub was all about.

The stage set, the scene was put into motion.

Roy approached the hapless townsfolk, and Sialeeds and Lyon had shrieked as only damsels in distress could shriek.

Sure enough, as if on cue, a high and clear voice had chimed from the high wall above:

“Hold it right there!”

Sialeeds growled. She knew that voice anywhere.

If anyone was in doubt as to the man’s identity (it was simple enough to guess from the foppish clothes), he announced himself to the throng below with a dramatic flap of his cape.

“Euram Barows has arrived! People of Sable! I am here, so have no fear!”
Sialeeds had almost face-palmed then. This was certain to be very, very painful.

Willing herself not to laugh out loud, she simply watched as Euram turned a sweeping and accusing finger upon the “bandit Prince”.

“I hope you’re ready for me, you bandit Prince! I can’t believe you’ve allowed yourself to sink so low, you mean, despicable fellow!” Euram swooned with a woeful gesture, and Sialeeds shook her head in disbelief at his theatrics. If her intention had been to embarrass him, he was already doing a well enough job embarrassing himself. Yet, Euram blathered on with animated fanfare and shouted accusingly from his high post.

“What would your poor, dead parents think of you now, Prince?” Sialeeds felt her jaw clench with his callous mention of Arshtat and Ferid, and it took everything in her not to rebuke him at once. “Well, I will not let you besmirch the name of Falena’s royal family any longer! So wait right there—or beware!”

With another flap of his cape, Euram swirled to descend the steps from the battlement. As he momentarily disappeared from sight, Sialeeds was doubting the fiasco could get any more ridiculous when she heard the distinct whispering of what was obviously one of Euram’s goons he’d employed among the bandits, hidden along the opposite side of the wall.

“Master Euram, be careful!” the voice cautioned.

“I know!” Euram snappishly huffed. “I don’t need anyone to tell me—”

There followed a great crash and a shriek.

“M-Master Euram! Are you all right?”

“O-Of course I’m not all right!!!” Euram’s furious voice shrilled high and then lapsed into pouting. “Why didn’t you hold me up like you were supposed to?!”

“B-but you slipped!” the bandit henchman pitifully maintained. “It wasn’t our fault!”

“Quiet!” Euram snapped, sulkily. “I’ve heard enough!! Now, come on!”

Within seconds, Euram reappeared beneath the gate. He was limping, flustered from his tumble but otherwise unharmed. His bandit thugs hovered behind him. A couple of them were actually still attempting to see about him, but the noble only shooed them off as one might flap at an inconvenient swarm of flies.

The young Barows finally fully emerged from the city gates. In one hand he clutched a thin sword, while with the other he continued to flappishly brush himself off.

“Now, then! Sorry for the wait,” he declared, futilely attempting to preserve his composure as he re-assumed his bravado and brandished his weapon. “Now, the time has come for me to punish this fiend of a Prince. With this sword in hand, I shall slay thee!”

Flourishing the blade over his head, Euram faced the “bandit Prince” with great production. Of course the coward did not intend to face the bandits alone: his recently scolded goons were at his side in a heartbeat.

The “bandit Prince” and his crew had made quick work of Euram’s bodyguards. As for Euram himself, a single blow from the Prince’s three-sectioned staff sent the nobleman flailing back onto his backside with a shriek. Immediately, Barows surrendered, and his pitiful rapier fell to the earth with a thin clatter.

“Aagh! Roy, you idiot!” Euram railed, almost in tears and cradling his arm where the staff had made contact. “You messed up the plan! You were supposed to lose on purpose and then beg me for forgiveness! This is all part of the plot to sully the Prince’s name, remember?”

Now Sialeeds did face-palm. Although she had come here to expose Euram Barows, she could hardly believe he was making it this easy, that he would be stupid enough to incriminate himself by blurting his ill-conceived plan to a captive audience.

But then, this was the same fool who had squawked his father’s possession of the Dawn Rune to a room full of witnesses, only weeks before.

When it came to Euram Barows, she had discovered, no degree of idiocy was too profound to be believed.

At that moment, the “bandit Prince” had lifted his wrist in demonstration. The Dawn Rune glittered upon his arm, revealing to Euram that “Roy” was not Roy at all, but in fact Prince Frey.

The breath that caught in the young noble’s throat was heard by everyone.

“Wait! The…Dawn Rune?” Rueful amber eyes widened as Euram’s feeble mind struggled to put two and two together. “That must mean…you’re the real…” Euram paled, stepping back with an audible groan. “Oh, no…I’ve been…”

Sialeeds grinned. This was where things got really good.

The gathered crowd now began to stir.

“Hey, Master Euram,” one of them spoke out. “What are you babbling on about?”

“Real? Real what?” another wanted to know.

“Master Euram, you make little sense,” General Dinn took the cue, stepping forward. “Who is this ‘Roy’ you speak of?”

Euram swallowed, his eyes wide and shifty as they darted wildly about him. “Oh, uh…’Roy’? No, no, no! I was expressing ‘joy’ at catching the Bandit Prince red-handed! Yes, yes, that’s it!”

Sialeeds nearly groaned. This was almost too cruel. Indeed, it was almost inhumane. But she allowed Euram to dig himself deeper. General Dinn proved a bigger help than she would have guessed.

“Perhaps,” the general announced, “the young master is referring to this gentleman? Come, Roy!”

At General Dinn’s summons, Roy sauntered from his hiding place, in full disguise. Nonchalantly he strolled to stand next to the Prince, dressed in the costume Euram himself had given him weeks ago. Standing beside one another, the Prince and the thief were like mirror images. The likeness was more than a little astonishing.

“Two Princes?” someone in the crowd murmured.

“Aw, great,” Euram whimpered, finally comprehending his situation and surreptitiously attempting to remove himself from it with small, mincing, retreating steps. It was Roy himself who drew the crowd’s attention back to the young noble.

“That’s him! I’m positive!” Roy announced, theatrically pointing a finger to Euram. “He’s the guy who asked me to dress up like the Prince and act like a bandit! It was him, everybody! It was him all along!”

A dull murmur rose in the crowd at this, and everyone turned their full attention upon the flustered noble, who had began to sweat.

“Ah, NOW it’s all clear!” someone among the citizens said.

“The whole thing didn’t make sense in the first place!” put in another. “The Prince has all the gold and jewels a guy could ever want!”

“We’ve been had!” a third angrily confirmed. “First Lord Salum Barows and now Young Master Euram Barows! What is WRONG with that family?!”

A furious woman took a step towards the increasingly nervous lordling. “Their frilly clothes must cut off the oxygen to their brains!” she shouted.

“I feel like givin’ a no-good noble a good ol’-fashioned POUNDIN’ right about now!” an aging man declared, stepping forth and cracking a clenched fist against his palm.

“No, no, no, no! Please! Don’t!” Euram begged as the livid crowd pressed in on him.

Sialeeds watched with a grim blend of fascination and amusement. This was getting better and better.

The panicking young noble whipped about. Seeing his bodyguards indisposed thanks to the Prince’s efforts, he retreated, on the verge of pitiful tears. All his previous bluster had crumbled. His face was the color of chalk.

“I’ll do ANYTHING to make it up to you guys!” Euram wailed, backing further away from the advancing throng. “ANYTHING! ANYTHING! ANYTHING!!!”

Had Sialeeds been a more magnanimous woman, she might have pitied him. Had it not been for his previous crimes against the Prince, his crimes against Lordlake, his shamelessly unrepentant ways and general lack of conscience, she might have felt sorry for him. As it was, he was no better than his father; indeed, he was worse: a spoiled, gutless, witless, lying, vindictive scoundrel, worthy only of contempt—and definitely the beating the people of Sable were raring to dispense.

Sialeeds revealed herself fully, her laughter at once spiteful, cruel and genuine.

“Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! This is an even better show than I’d imagined!” she declared, and sauntered towards the young noble. In his panic, Euram’s frightened eyes settled upon her and sparked with recognition. He blinked, gulping hard.

“L…Lady Sialeeds? This was all…your doing?!”

“You got it.” Her eyes glinted dangerously. He would learn what it meant to cross her nephew, her family. “By the way, Euram: do you recall the last thing I said to you? If it weren’t for Luserina, I’d tear you limb from limb? Ring a bell? Because it looks like the crowd would be more than willing to give me a hand, don’t you think?”

He deserved a thrashing, at the very least. And if that was what the good townspeople of Sable wanted to give him, she was not about to stand in their way.

Euram crumbled. Wildly he glanced to the crowd, closing in on him.

“Noooooo! I’m sooorry! Forgive me! …Legs, don’t fail me noooow!”

With that, he turned and fled like the dog he was in a flurry of red and blue and flapping ruffles, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. A mob of no less than twenty had followed suit, and Sialeeds only regretted not being able to witness the messy result, should they manage to catch him.

The true villain exposed, Prince Freyjadour gained Sable as an ally in the war. In addition, the Loyalist Army had gained a valuable ally in Roy, who happily agreed to serve as the Prince’s decoy in exchange for pardon.

***

Sialeeds felt her fury swell as she considered all that there was to hate about Euram Barows.

It was true that Euram’s “bandit Prince” scheme had failed, as had his every other spiteful and brainless scheme. Nonetheless, the fact remained that he could have succeeded. Had Euram been less incompetent, any one of his plots might have worked.

Of all the stupid schemes that Euram had devised against the Prince, that one had come the closest to succeeding, as it could possibly have damaged Frey’s chances to garner allies in the war. And now, that he would attempt to appeal to her, for whatever reasons he entertained, when he knew how she felt about him—it spoke of an audacity she would not have believed him to possess.

What the hell is that wretch trying to do?

She considered the letter once more. Everything about it angered her. The way the writing looped, the way the i’s were dotted with irritating little hollow circles…grrrr! It all infuriated her, and she was tempted to go to him in Gizel’s chamber and wring his scrawny neck.

The woman found herself staring at one particular line:

I know only this: you still love him. And I know you would not see him die.

How dare he. How dare he.

Growling, Sialeeds crumpled the letter in her slim fingers, her nails digging into the flesh of her palm as she seethed.

Oh, she would pay that worthless fop a visit tomorrow. Indeed, she would.
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)