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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
- 12
- 13
- 14
Chapter 13: What Can Never Be

“Wake up!”

Euram shifted, his blurred mind wavering on the fuzzy edge of consciousness. Either he was dreaming—or else someone very rude was demanding him to rise!

“Up with you, Barows!” came the voice again, and Euram’s eyes snapped open. The Commander stood over where he rested on the cushions by the hearth. Somehow he had managed to fall into a miserable slumber the night before, after Gizel had so violently taken him. He sat up and immediately flinched with pain.

Gizel scowled down at him. “I’ve had enough of you slouching about,” the Commander declared, stiffly. “Each day you sleep in far longer than the servants are allowed. There is work to be done, and I suggest you get to it.”

With that, he spun and steadily exited the chamber.

Euram winced as the door all but slammed shut, the sound reverberating dully throughout the chamber before fading to nothing. For a few moments afterwards he watched the door and finally sighed, miserably.

***

Oh woe, woe!

How cruel and unjust this detestable turn of fortune! Such a calamity that this should happen now!

I should never have spoken to Lady Sialeeds, and now I can only fear that she informed him of what passed between us. In light of his treatment of me, there can be no other explanation.

Oh, but how could I have been such a fool? How could I have thought for one moment that she would keep such a thing from him? It was a terrible mistake on my part. Mistakes are all I seem good for. Why, oh why did she tell him? But then, I cannot fault her for refusing to trust me. I have deserved no one’s trust, and this I have learned to accept.

Just the same, she would have done me a better service had she simply killed me. Oh, but I wish she had! But why, ah, me, why has Gizel chosen to mock me? Why will he not simply be rid of me? Why will he not simply kill me, if he knows that I purposed to conspire against him?

No, I know perfectly well why. It is because he wishes to toy with me, and now I must await the final blow. I must wait until the fateful hour when he chooses to destroy me arrives! Oh, the pain! The agony! Oh, woe, woe is me!

Would that I possessed the valor to end my own life. I would dash a glass to bits and sever my wrists, but alas, I cannot bear such wanton damage to fine, defenseless crystal, and the sight of blood sends my poor, delicate heart reeling. I would cast myself from the window, were it not that being found naked in the gardens is dreadfully too undignified for my liking. I would swallow poison, were it not that I abhor being ill. With a rope I would hang myself, but that I seem to have an issue with pain.

Oh, why such an abominable quandary? What a travesty that fate has elected to curse me thus, that my gentle soul should place such an insurmountable rift between my capabilities and my desires!

But why should I go on here, relentlessly? It is not fair for me to wish for death. For me to die now would be a grievous injustice to those I have harmed. I shall wait for the worst, in dread.

Oh how I hate it!

Alas, alas to be one so wretched as me!

***
Either Gizel had run out of work for him, or he just wanted to give him one of the most grueling tasks possible. Not long after the Commander had left, a servant arrived with a bucket, informing him that he was to scrub the floor. Euram sighed inwardly but thanked the woman just the same, setting immediately to work.

Luckily the chore was not quite as taxing now that he had done it before. Plus, there was the additional benefit of his having scrubbed the marble rather recently, which simplified the job even further. It wasn’t nearly as dirty as it had been the first time he had done this. Just the same, his arms were aching by the time midday came around, and Reynald arrived with a lunch of warm broth and bread.

Euram rose, his belly growling. He had not been fed the day before, and was grateful to see the tray. Actually, he was surprised, considering Gizel’s recent, harsh treatment of him. He had fully expected to be made to go hungry as long as the Commander saw fit. The young man set his work aside and rose to greet the servant, respectfully covering himself best as he could.

“Hello, sir. It is…comforting to see you. As pitiful as it sounds, I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen you, but I doubt you have missed me much.”

Reynald offered him a slight smile, a small but very welcome comfort to the prisoner. “I haven’t thought about whether I’ve missed anything, to be honest,” he replied and set the tray on the table. “I was ill for the past two days.”

“Ill? Nothing serious, I hope?”

“No,” Reynald confirmed, surprised by the genuine concern in Euram’s voice. “Nothing terribly out of the ordinary. Though I heard about what happened--with Rayd.” The man’s expression took on an almost apologetic shade. “I wouldn’t have wished such a thing upon you, regardless of how I feel about you.”

Euram suddenly jolted at the mention of that incident. He hesitated, his gaze dropping to linger upon a recently polished section of the floor. ”I—I see. So…everyone knows about this?”

“It is known, yes.”

Moving to the table, Euram miserably sighed and sat. Strangely, he had suddenly lost his appetite, even though moments before he had been famished. He took up the spoon nonetheless and forced himself to swallow a mouthful of broth.

Reynald watched him with a twinge of regret. He could see the prisoner wince as he moved, and the sadness etched on his fair features was deep, profound. As little sympathy for him as Reynald had once possessed, he now sincerely pitied him. Even with all the contempt that he held for the Barows faction, Reynald could not help but feel for Euram. There was nothing left of Euram save this sad, broken young man, poorer than the lowliest of servants here. In the very least, the servants could still claim their dignity. No longer did Reynald see a Barows in Euram; rather, he saw a fellow human being, stripped and disgraced and capable of feeling hurt and regret and despair.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, now,” Euram said at length. “I should not bore you with my laments. And I won’t. It is…simply hard, knowing that each humiliating thing you suffer is game for everyone else’s discussion and ridicule.”

Reynald thought for a moment that the boy might weep, but he didn’t, which suggested of a strength far more powerful than he would have thought the delicate former noble capable of possessing. The man softened further with the rush of newfound sympathy that fell over him.

“I cannot imagine how your predicament must feel,” he admitted. “And if there was more I could do to ease it, I would. All I can offer are shallow words, and I doubt they would be of much help.”

“No, sir. They are of more comfort than you could know. You have been far kinder to me than I deserve, and I thank you for that. But tell me: what do you think will happen, in the end?”

“I am sorry?”

“When the Prince arrives. What do you think will happen?”

Reynald was silent for a few seconds, as though he had not expected such a question. Finally he took a thoughtful breath. “I have not given it much thought, to be honest. But I will say that I have faith in His Lordship.”

“Faith, sir?”

“In Lord Godwin, and His Commandership, Gizel. It will be a trying battle, I am sure. But I am also confident. I don’t think there is any reason to fear.”

Euram nodded, though inside he felt a clench of doubt and dread.

“I wish I possessed your confidence,” Euram admitted, but managed a smile. “But I thank you…and should we come out of this alive….I will find a way to repay you. You have my word.”

“I expect nothing from you. Besides, do you really expect me to take the word of a Barows?” Reynald said, but there was an air of goodwill and humor in his words. Euram could see it from the other man’s teasing smile, and it lifted his heart somehow.

Euram laughed. “A valid point, sir. In that case, allow me to assure you: I make this promise as one who no longer considers himself a Barows.”

***

I wonder how many of Godwin’s soldiers and servants actually possess the confidence they speak of?

How many of them know fully of their leaders’ intentions to use the Sun Rune? I doubt any of them, really. I have learned to accept that the less one knows, the better off one is. Ah, but what is it they say? Ignorance is bliss? How true, that assertion.

I wonder how much they are manipulated to believe that they are confident? A leader will say things to bolster the morale of his followers. And he will also say anything to achieve the results he desires. Gizel does this to an extreme degree, but I also know it from experience. I know this because I witnessed Father doing it. I was among his many dupes, after all.

Only I was much more than simply a dupe to him. I was his accomplice. My blindness led me to believe that we were in the right, regardless of what we had done. I am still not certain how I came to change my mind.

I do not know. Maybe it was the Prince, and his willingness to forgive me when I hardly deserved to be forgiven. Or maybe it was Luserina and her strength, her refusal to give up on me. It could have been my mother, and her harsh words. I will never forget the things she said to me that day…

FLASHBACK

It had been less than a week since Salum Barows had been killed. Even though the Godwin militia had withdrawn from Rainwall, the town remained dismal. Morale for Rainwall’s citizens remained at an all-time low, but no one was overly grieved about their former lord’s demise. Instead, the whispers bubbled all through the town, and most of those whispers agreed that Salum Barows had got what he deserved, and it seemed no one was sorry for it.

The death of Salum had created a commotion, to say the least. What was left of the town’s authorities had arrived at the Barows Mansion an hour after the alleged murder. A very shaken and distraught Euram was questioned, although his sniveling prattle afforded next to nothing in the way of information. Still, everyone knew what had happened, and no one needed Euram to tell them.

The doctor and coroner had pronounced Salum Barows dead almost immediately. His heft had been wrapped in a sheet and lugged from the mansion while a sobbing, whimpering Euram stood by. Crowds gathered to watch in morbid fascination as their former proprietor’s corpse was born down the steps leading from the manor on the hill. It was hardly surprising how little sympathy hung in the air. Salum had finally got his due.

Almost unnoticed was Euram Barows. The citizens of Rainwall were aware of his presence, naturally: the young man’s maudlin sobbing could be heard piercing the air, and continued into the funeral the next day.

At the funeral, everyone witnessed the spectacle of Euram. Of the remaining members of the Barows family, Euram was the only one present. Clothed in black velvet breeches and a black waistcoat of doom and gloom, the boy spent the proceedings clutching his white lace handkerchief and swooning. His wailing sobs rang through the room. Every so often he would flail, shaking his fists at the heavens.

Most attempted to ignore him as a mild annoyance, while others looked upon him with grumbling contempt. It was an unspoken knowledge that this lout was now technically the ‘lord’ of Rainwall; but no one took him seriously enough to give it much thought. The citizens were more concerned about what would happen to them once their former proprietor’s faction officially collapsed. They all knew that now, it was only a matter of time before the House of Barows crumbled upon itself in Euram’s incompetent hands.

The new head of the Barows family. It was a joke, and everyone knew it. Everyone knew it, including Euram.

Euram had been inconsolable when the prince had arrived at the mansion. News of the Godwin withdrawal from Rainwall and the subsequent murder of Salum had reached the Royalist Army. Always the compassionate leader, Prince Faroush had visited the town to offer some aid and comfort to the citizens who had suffered under Godwin rule. The majority of the populace welcomed him with apologies as he made his way through town. But when he came to the Barows mansion, he was to find Euram less than contrite.

Days and days Euram had spent in the desolate mansion. Most of the time he had spent in his room crying, his face buried in one of his favorite satin pillows. He felt lost, hopeless. What was he going to do? Never had his home felt so empty. Certainly the place had lost its warmth ever since his mother had retreated to her room after Hiram’s death twelve years ago. Luserina’s departure had only compounded the emptiness about the mansion. Now, with Salum gone, the house felt emptier still, and Euram was finally, completely alone.

He had wandered downstairs to fetch something from the kitchen that might aid his crushing depression: a bite of cake, a morsel of chocolate—anything to cheer him. Alas, he had found that nothing, not even sweets, would help alleviate the black shroud of despair that swept around him. Miserable, he meandered into the living room and stared at the carpet. Everywhere sat traces of memories from happier times. There was still the faint remnant of a mud stain on the carpet, left over from the time Euram and Luserina had brought the stray puppy into the house. A portrait of the entire family hung above a chest of drawers. Mother was in that portrait, and so was Hiram. Euram and Luserina could not have been more than five and six in the portrait. Both were smiling, each one happy.

Euram remembered having to sit still for that portrait. He remembered how bored he and Luserina had grown during the session. Almost the entire time, Mother and Father had both scolded them for giggling and cutting up while the artist worked.

What had happened? Where had those times gone? He wanted them back, he wanted his family back!

It was then that Euram sensed the presence of another. That was when he heard the voice.

“Euram?”

Him. It was him.

Turning, he saw the prince standing there, in his house. And it felt like insult to injury.

What was he doing here? How dare he…!

Something odd came over him, and Euram began to laugh. There was an almost manic look about him as he turned to face Faroush.

“Ah hah hah hah hah. Well, hello…Prince. It’s been awhile, eh?” The noble was halfway between laughing and crying. “Hee hee hee hee. Oh, have you heard? I’m the new head of the Barows family. Because…because…LADY SIALEEDS KILLED MY FATHER! Ah hah hah hah hah.” Euram’s lip twitched. “Lady Sialeeds told me that she knew the Barows family won’t last long with a spineless wretch like me in charge. That’s why she let me live. Kee hee hee. And I suppose she’s right.” He swept an animated arm over his forehead and heaved a sigh of woe. “This is surely the end of the Barows family line! Extinct. Exanimated. Exterminated. And it’s all…ALL…BECAUSE OF YOU!”

A hot rush of rage and emotion seized him, and before the prince could speak a word in his own defense, the noble lunged at him, clearing the distance between them in a fraction of a second.

“YOU! You took EVERYTHING from me! STOLE! DESPOILED! PURLOINED! Give it back!” Euram wailed. Desperately he seized the prince by the front of his outfit, his fists clutching the material tight, not bothering to notice that the other was in fact attempting to soothe him. “Give back our Barows family honor! Give back Luserina! And Father…ohhhh, give me back my dear father! Ohhhh, such a tragedy! Father…please…give him back!”

With that, Euram dissolved into wretched, self-pitying sobs. It did not occur to him that the prince might have come to help him or offer comfort. It did not occur to him that he might have been here to suggest a truce between them. No, this cruel prince had arrived to mock him in his darkest hour, and he was so convinced of this that he barely even heard his sister’s voice above his own wailing.

“Brother, get a hold of yourself!” the girl scolded as she entered the mansion.

The shock of Luserina’s voice stalled his sobs. He looked up abruptly, and seeing his sister, he shrank, cowed.

“Lu…Luserina?”

Luserina shook her head and approached him, frowning. “Stop crying, and think, for goodness sake! Father…and the entire House of Barows…we got what we deserved for the way we behaved. Why…why can’t you understand that?”

Euram’s tearful eyes blinked at her in disbelief. What was she saying?! His face crumpled and he shook his head in violent denial.

“You’re wrong…that can’t be…I didn’t…”

Luserina scowled, her features drawing in exasperation. “Pull yourself together, Brother! You’re the head of the Barows household now! How is the patriarch of the Barows family supposed to behave?”

Regarding her with incredulity, Euram sobbed and sniffled. He backed away from her, his head swiveling in rejection of her words. Not knowing what else to do, he responded in the best way he knew how.

Bawling, he fled upstairs with the full intention of retreating to the sanctuary of his bedroom.

Crying, Euram headed for his own room, determined to bury his face in his pillow once more and cry himself into oblivion—anything to shield himself from the cruel, cruel world! But before he reached his door, another, unexpected voice shattered his exercise in self-pity.

“Euram Barows!”

The voice came from his mother’s room, where she had closeted herself away for the past twelve years.

Euram froze, his throat hitching mid-sob.

“M-mother?”

“Come here, at once.”

He swallowed, and approached his mother’s living quarters.

Parting the curtain, he moved past the door and into her darkened room with mincing steps. There she was, sitting up in her bed and looking at him with sad, accusing eyes.

Alison Barows was pale: she never saw the sun. She rarely wore anything save a nightgown any longer, as she never left the house. The death of her eldest son had left her paranoid and morose, but there were other reasons she had retreated to the seclusion of her bedroom. Believe it or not, there were worse things than Hiram’s death that had happened to her family.

Her blonde locks had almost fully grayed, but in spite of the wrinkles marring her fair skin, she was still beautiful. Beautiful, but sad. Her lips were pale, almost sickly. To anyone who beheld her, her appearance was that of a woman who had kept herself from the light for too many years.

“I heard you yelling,” she said. “He is here, isn’t he? Prince Faroush?”

Euram nodded, sobbing. “Y-yes, Mother! That villain, that scoundrel of a prince…ohhhh, he has come to mock me, to mock us!” Euram choked and blubbered in his fury. “He has come to laugh in my face! And as if he could have insulted us further, he has brought Luserina! He has turned her against us, and now he has come to twist the knife and pour salt in the wound! Ohh, Mother! He has ruined us! Unalterably, inexorably ruined us! And now…and now…!”

“Hush!” His mother’s voice was suddenly harsh, angry, causing Euram to look up, startled. “You know better than that, Euram. Do you not think I have watched you? Do you think I have gone these twelve years not paying the slightest bit of attention to what goes on in my family? I’ve witnessed the erosion of our family for a long time, now. And I never imagined I would have to say this to one of my dear children…but you’ve disappointed me, Euram.”

Her son stopped short as if struck. He blanched, his mouth dropping open in sudden shock and hurt.

“Wh…what? M-Mother…?’

“You know as well as your sister that your father brought this all on himself. He has had this coming for a long time…and you also know well that you have been no better.”

The boy shook his head, fierce and horrified denial creeping across his desperate features. “No, no! Not you, too! That’s not true! Oh—how could you say such things, Mother?! How…I…I…I only wanted to defend our honor! I wanted…I wanted you to be proud of me! I thought you would have wanted me to be more like—” he hesitated—“more like Hiram.”

His mother was unwavering. “Foolish Euram!” she nearly snapped. “Now, why would you think I wanted something like that? Why would I expect you to be Hiram, when you are Euram? But even so—Hiram would have never behaved the way you have behaved. What’s worse, you have not even been Euram. You have been your father’s puppet.”

“Mother…” Euram’s eyes glazed and wavered. A look of utter loss and confusion creased his brow, as if all his world were crumbling around him and everything he knew was suddenly being turned upside-down. “No…Mother, oh, please do not say such a thing! It hurts me to hear you say that, how can you….”

“And do you not think I have been hurt? It is shameful what has been done in the Barows family name,” his mother continued, firmly. “And you have contributed to that shame, almost as much as your father.”

Her son was devastated. “B-but I…it has all been for the sake of our family honor…I thought that…”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might have thought wrong? There is no honor in deceit. Do you realize how many have suffered, because of Salum’s crimes? Think of Lordlake!”

“Oh, Mother, no!” Of all the things he had been forced to face in his lifetime, Lordlake was something he did not want to think about. “Please, Mother, don’t, don’t bring that into this!” he begged. But she was relentless.

“You know fully well that you share responsibility for what happened to those people. And now, you greet the Prince with spite, even as he comes to extend you his compassion? I know you have better sense than that, Euram.”

The young noble almost swooned where he stood. The world shifted around him, and it felt like he had been dropped from a thousand feet. Euram hung his head, a swell of terrible guilt suddenly seizing his frame. Everything struck him at once. Everything his mother said rang in his ears, the echo of her words reverberating there and leaving him stunned. Like a slap to the face, it rocked him, and in that devastating moment he knew that it was all true.

He staggered. At once he thought of himself, of who he had been, and who he had become…and this person he had become was not him at all.

His mother, his sister…they were both right. Where was the mischievous boy who used to play with Luserina? Where was the boy who had once known how to laugh without anger, and how to smile without spite? Where was the Euram who used to like himself and care for others? He had been lost, and in his place had grown a pawn of Salum. Euram realized this, and it was the most devastating truth he had ever been forced to face.

“No, no, no…..” Overwhelmed by a surge of shock and emotion, he reeled. His legs no longer capable of supporting him, Euram fell to his knees at his mother’s bedside.

“Oh, what have I been thinking?” He knelt where he fell. His eyes were glazed, blank, as though they belonged to a young man in a daze, or someone who was just again finding himself after what had been over a decade-long dream. A sob spilled from him, and it was like a dam had burst.

“Oh, Mother….I never meant to shame you. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!” Euram flung his arms onto the bed and wept, his face buried in the covers. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I ever disappointed you, Mother! How could I have been such a fool?”

The woman’s face softened, and she smiled. Reaching out, she rested a hand on his head and stroked his hair as he cried.

“There is my son,” she soothed. “I knew he was in there, somewhere.”

“Mother…” Euram’s shoulders quivered with sobs. He clutched tight to the blanket spread over her, and every ounce of shame and regret and sorrow within him poured from his heart. Hot, flooding tears stung his eyes. “I-I’m sorry I did all those things, I’m sorry I hurt you. Oh, no wonder you stopped loving me!”

“My darling child,” she reached down and folded her arms around him. “I never stopped loving you. But it was unbearable, seeing you change, watching you become something you were not. And you know you have not been yourself.”

Euram sniffled and cuddled into her embrace.

“Yes…truth be told, I think I knew it all along…”

“Yes, you did. Only you did not want to admit it.”

“What have I done? Oh, but what can I do? I am just no good. I’ll just lie down and expire quietly in a ditch somewhere. No! I don’t even deserve a ditch! A bog! A cesspool!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Euram!” She admonished, unable to keep a straight face at his melodramatic words. She laughed, her eyes brightening as they regarded the boy with love and gentle reproach. “You won’t mend anything feeling sorry for yourself.”

Her son heard her chuckle. Looking up, Euram smiled. Through his tear-blurred gaze, he could see the mirth in her eyes, and he didn’t even mind that her laughter came at his expense: he was grateful for it. No, he was ecstatic to hear it. He had not heard her laughter in ages.

Euram wiped his eyes. “But what? What can I do about it, now? It’s too late, oh Mother, it’s too late for me.”

“It isn’t too late!” she insisted, firmly. “So long you have been occupied with silly and petty things. You have been absorbed in things that do not matter, in the end. And do you not see, Euram, that Prince Freyjadour is doing great things? Wouldn’t you rather help than hinder those things? That’s what I want to see, Euram.”

“I…am not meant for great things, I am afraid,” he admitted, sniffling.

“My darling son…I don’t ask that you do ‘great’ things. Only that you do what you can. And if all you can do now is make amends for things you have done, then that is a step in the right direction, isn’t it? That is what you want, right?”

Her son nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

“You go to Prince Freyjadour now, and beg his forgiveness. There is no shame in admitting one’s wrongs. The truth can be painful, Euram, but it can be set right. There is still a chance to put things right. You simply have to be willing to do it.”

A sudden fear came over him, then, and doubt and worry shadowed the young man’s fair, tear-stained features. “But…what if he does not forgive me?”

“I think that he will. I never want to hear of nonsense again…understand…?”

“Yes…of course, Mother. I understand…” he nodded, sniffling. “I understand, and I’ll make it up to you.”

“Don’t do it for me, my son. Do it for yourself. And do it for Prince Freyjadour. He is trying to save Falena, and that is a worthy cause. Go. And don’t worry about me. As long as I know my son has come to his senses, I’ll be fine.”

***
Euram had not realized the Prince had followed him upstairs. It was likely he had followed to further try and talk sense into him himself. Nonetheless, the first thing he saw when he left his mother’s room was Prince Frey.

Shamefaced, Euram shuffled over to the young royal.

“Prince…” he choked, his brow knitted with embarrassment. “I have committed insurmountable offenses and caused and indefensible amount of pain. I…I realize that a few words are woefully insufficient to undo my many misdeeds. But, do you think I have even the merest of chances for atonement?”

A bemused Frey had stared at him, his fair, thin lips parted in disbelief. But as he absorbed Euram’s words, a sparkle seemed to surface in his large sapphire eyes. The teenager gushed something between a laugh and a sob, but it was a sound of joy, relief, perhaps, as if something had finally happened that he had long hoped for. Faroush nodded, his braid of flowing silver moving gracefully with the move.

“Of course,” he said simply, his voice soft and reassuring.

Hearing those words, seeing the young prince smile at him, meant more to him that he could have imagined. Euram choked. “Oh, Your Highness! I thank you! I bless you! I praise you!” After only a moment’s hesitation, he threw his arms around the boy. “Thank you…thank you so very much.” He felt Frey patting him, and knew that the royal could feel his shoulders shuddering with renewed sobs, but he didn’t care.

After a long moment, Euram managed to pull himself from the embrace. Gathering his composure, he knelt before the prince and made his vow.

“From this day onward, I, Euram Barows, pledge total allegiance, loyalty and fealty to His Highness the Prince! Mark my words! I shall devote my life to your cause! And to Falena!”

He bowed his head, stooping low.

In response, Freyjadour had gently urged him to rise and offered Euram his hand. They then descended the staircase together, only to find a surprised Luserina waiting for them.

“B-Brother?” she regarded the two of them with puzzlement. Euram swallowed, a great sense of shame creeping over him yet again. With small steps he approached her, his head bowed in disgrace.

“Luserina. I-I have caused you…unspeakable grief and embarrassment. I am…hardly deserving of the appellation ‘brother’. I can’t expect you to forgive me easily. I only hope that you will allow me the chance to redeem myself.”

The girl blinked at him for a long time, stunned.

“Brother…” At that moment, she did something she had not done in a long time. She smiled. “Oh, Prince…thank you so much!” the girl gushed to Frey, who simply returned her happy grin. Luserina turned back to Euram, a bright and hopeful twinkle in her eyes. “If even His Highness can give you a chance, then there might be hope for you yet, my brother. Now, let us work together to restore the luster to the House of Barows.”

He nodded, sweeping away fresh, joyful tears. “Luserina…forgive me…and…thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she assured him, beaming. “That’s what sisters are for! Oh, but…” she hesitated, another thought crossing her mind. “…what about Mother?”

Euram brightened. “She’s fine. She said to go ahead and not worry about her.”

“Oh…is she sure?”

“Yes. I spoke to her. I think she’s going to be all right. Better than all right! I think things are going to be a lot better from now on, actually.”

“That is wonderful! Oh, Euram!” Cheered to the point of tears, Luserina crushed herself against her brother, and the siblings shared a heartfelt embrace that was more genuine than any words that had passed between them over the past several years. Prince Faroush simply looked on in silence, though he was fighting his own sting of tears at the reunion. Neither Euram nor Luserina knew that at that moment, Frey was missing his own sister more than ever.

At last, Euram turned to Frey, his expression set with determination and newfound hope.

“Now, Prince. Let us go. Together.”

******

I was captured only two weeks after I swore fealty to the Prince. I meant what I said to him: I am indubitably certain of that now. And heaven forbid Gizel ever see the words I have written here. But I suppose it does not matter now, since he obviously knows of the conversation I held with Lady Sialeeds.

I honestly had begun thinking hard after Father died. I was questioning things, trying not to face things I did not want to face. But the Prince made me face them, as did Luserina, and finally, so did Mother. She had not been an active part of our lives since Hiram had died, but her reproachful words were certainly effective in making me understand myself a bit better.

I wish I had seen my folly sooner. Mother’s words stung, but the truth in them was what hurt the most.

But I think there was something else that actually prompted my doubts, something else that truly helped me begin to clear my mind. And I hate to say it, but that thing was Father’s death.

I think I realized then that if I did not change, I was bound to end up just like him. I was already well on that path. I realized then that I did not want to die a hated man, murdered in cold blood by someone I had wronged. It was then that it really occurred to me how thoroughly I had let him shape me. How he twisted me into someone I was not. Sure, Mother made me see it fully. Luserina made me face it. But I don’t think my awareness of it would have been possible, were it not for Father dying.

So in a way, I have Lady Sialeeds to thank.

Ironic, is it not? As much as I fear her, I owe her my gratitude.

I wonder what Gizel will do, what he has in store for me. All I can reasonably do for now is wait, and do his bidding, and hope for the best. I am actually almost hoping the attack will come soon. As much as I wither at the thought of such violence, it will be better than waiting here in unremitting dread.

****

After managing to finish the broth, Euram had nearly completed his chore when the guards arrived to take him to the baths. He was somber when he arrived. Euram modestly disrobed as usual. Once he was situated in the warm water, he sighed.

The woman was cheerful, whistling as she went about collecting the sponges and soaps and oils. But little got past Sherina, and she soon noted the subtle but distinct gloominess in Euram’s demeanor.

“Now, now, what is the matter, Euram my dear?” she chided gently, tilting the pitcher to help wet his hair.

The prisoner let his head fall back and helped spread the water through his locks. “I wanted to thank you,” he said finally. “For having my letter delivered. Nothing has been said to you since, I hope? I mean, no one has confronted you about the matter?”

“There has been nothing at all,” she assured him. “And there is no need to thank me. I told you I was more than willing to help.”

“You are a blessing, milady,” Euram praised, closing his eyes at the soothing feel of her nailed fingers massaging the soap into his scalp. “Though I am afraid it was all in vain, anyhow. The Commander is on to me.”

Sherina paused and tossed a curious look at him. “Hmm? And why do you say so? Not to doubt you, but…are you certain you are not imagining things, Euram?”

Among all else she had learned about him, she had learned that Euram tended to overreact at times.

The prisoner vigorously shook his head, insistently. “No, no! Alas, I wish it were so! But even if I endeavored to do so, I could not imagine a thing so dire, so dreadful!” The young man seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating. “He knows I purposed to conspire against him; it is incontrovertible! How do I know this? Oh, I can hear you asking, milady, and I shall tell you: I know this, because he has told me himself!”

“Did he, now?” A shadow passed over the woman’s expression, and she looked at him with some significant worry. “Euram, you have to pull yourself together, and tell me: what happened?”

Focusing on the soothing scent of cherry-blossom oil, Euram somehow managed to calm himself. He took in a deep, shaking breath and spoke as evenly as possible.

“Lady Sialeeds came and spoke to me,” he explained, shivering at a trickle of water down his back. “She had the letter I wrote. She was furious. I thought she would kill me. But I pleaded with her, and, fool that I am, I had thought that she believed me. Her words made me feel reassured, but I should have known better. I wanted her to know that I was on her nephew’s side, that I was willing to do what had to be done to the end of helping him. And I believed I had gained a sliver of her sympathy and trust…at least until Gizel returned to his quarters yesterday.”

Sherina regarded him with careful concern, and a look that encouraged him to reveal more.

“He…he seemed angry,” Euram continued. “He said she had spoken to him. And he was…” He paused just short of allowing the word ‘rough’ to slip from his tongue, thinking to select his words more carefully so as not to imply the more carnal nature of his relationship with Gizel. Regardless of whether everyone knew it, he was still far too devastated to openly discuss or hint that Gizel used him in such a way. “…his demeanor was foul, and he treated me accordingly. I can only surmise that Lady Sialeeds told him everything.”

For a long time she was quiet. Sherina had hesitated in her efforts, and the only sounds in the bath chamber were for those few seconds the subtle drip of a faucet.

“Do you know this for certain?”

Euram looked up, questioningly. “I’m sorry?”

“Are you sure that this is the way of things? Did Gizel say directly that she told him?”

After another lengthy pause, the young man shook his head. “No, milady. He did not.”

“Then why assume it? How are you certain he was not simply playing mind games with you? Why impose imagined doom where it might not exist?”

Euram considered her words. In truth, they were of little comfort. It was far simpler to dwell upon impending disaster than to hope. Lately he had drained so much of his energies on hope.

“I suppose…that I am simply inclined to fear the worst,” he admitted, at last. “It is something that I have come used to expecting. Can you blame me, milady?”

“Of course not,” she said. “But I won’t have you give up, either. I would think you should know better, Euram.”

Inwardly he winced. Something in her tone reminded him again of his mother.

“I’m sorry. And I don’t mean to give up, really. I think that it’s just…I am anxious. I am afraid, and I am incapable of foreseeing anything save disaster at this point.”

“Well, just for a change, why not try something different?” Sherina suggested, and went back to rinsing the soap from his locks. “Hope for the best, instead of dwelling on the worst that can happen. There is little good in agonizing over things you are not sure of. It is not healthy for you, Euram.”

“I imagine you are right,” the former noble sighed, though he managed a smile. “No, I am sure of it. Forgive me. I should not panic. You advised me to have patience once, I think.”

“Then let’s also have a little optimism, shall we? Can you do that for me? Just try to hang on, if only a bit longer.”

“I will try, milady. I will certainly try. And I would like to thank you, for all you have done for me. Thank you, milady: for everything.”

“That’s enough,” she chided, helping him from the bath. “You speak as though you fear we will not see one another again, and I won’t have that, either.”

“Forgive me,” Euram shook his head. “That was not my intention. Allow me then to amend my declaration: until next we meet.” With those words, he bowed, even though he was still trying to convince himself that it was worth clinging to optimism at all.

***
Marscal Godwin maintained his stoicism well. He had always been a stoic man, particularly since he had lost his wife. But stoicism was an important characteristic to harbor, especially when one required loyalty and morale from one’s subjects. At this point, Marscal knew as well as anyone else present that their time was drawing near.

Those loyal to them had congregated here, and each of them knew that time was running short. All of them knew that the final hour would soon be upon them, and yet they remained steadfast. It was trained into them, after all, but these few would have been loyal regardless of any training.

A small group had been called to gather in private, away from the rune scholars, away from the common soldiery. The Queen had been barred from this conversation as well. This had nothing to do with her. No, this small copse had been hand-picked among the most loyal of Godwin supporters. The select few present consisted of Marscal Godwin, Gizel, the Queen’s Knights Zahhak and Alenia, and Dolph. Among them, there was only one who was of questionable allegiance, and her name was Sialeeds.

Yes, Lady Sialeeds was there. Of course Marscal did not trust her, and neither did Gizel. Nonetheless, her presence had been required. She was what Marscal had referred to as a ‘wild card’, and her presence was something that could prove either damning or beneficial by the end. It made Marscal Godwin undeniably nervous that the Twilight Rune had chosen her (just as it made Alenia visibly and bitterly jealous). Still, as the only one who could currently wield the rune, she was certain to be a key player in upcoming events, and Marscal and Gizel had both agreed that having her present at such a “meeting” was the best way to get a possible feel for her intentions.

At the moment, the group had congregated in the audience chamber. Zahhak and Alenia stood at attention. Gizel had once more chosen to lounge in the high seat normally designated as the monarch’s throne. Dolph stood casually by his side, surveying all with his usual, patient calculation. The Lady Sialeeds hung back, her arms crossed disinterestedly across her chest and looking as though she might yawn with boredom at any moment. It was just the way she was.

“As I am sure you are all aware, the traitors will be upon us very soon,” Marscal announced, pacing calmly as he addressed those present. “I also know that you are all aware that the Sun Rune is now fully operational; that is, we have determined the means by which to utilize it. When the time comes, I will personally see to this matter. I will wait in the rune chamber, with the Sun Rune. The Prince and his ‘retainers’ will approach from the south. The brunt of the initial attack will arrive by way of the river. It is probable, judging from previous patterns, that Raja’s fleet will be among the first wave. It is also safe to assume the Dragon Cavalry will be spread among these forces. Thus, when the time is right, I will focus the strength of the Sun Rune on the southern dam. The flood should eliminate much of the enemy’s naval strength.”

“A sound plan, my Lord,” Zahhak nodded. The grim-faced Queen’s Knight saluted his approval, his silver locks as straight as his rigid posture. The Godwins had no reason to doubt that Zahhak would defend them with his life at all costs. He, along with Alenia, had been instrumental in helping the Godwins usurp the throne. Zahhak’s stoicism spoke of his distant relation to the Godwin family, certainly. But the fact that Lord Godwin had recommended him for his position as a Queen’s Knight was a favor he would never fail to appreciate.

“It is more than sound,” the other Queen’s Knight, Alenia, chimed in. Alenia had always been of sound belief that the Godwin ideology was the best thing for Falena. Her Father, a Queen’s Knight himself, had trained her to follow in his footsteps. A weak fool by her own assertion, he had been killed—a path she did not intend to follow. Stalwartly devoted (to the point of near obsession in the eyes of some), she would fight for the Godwins as long as they championed for a strong Falena.

“The Sun Rune will be our most valuable asset, my Lord. But what would you have of us?”

“I have personal instructions for the both of you, actually,” Gizel put forth, rising from the throne. Marscal stepped back, allowing his son to handle the rest of the briefing. “You are both to help defend the Palace, should events bring the attack straight to us. I shall remain here, of course. However, should the Prince himself get past all our defenses, and should he get as far as the Palace…the both of you are ordered to let him be, and allow him to pass. I wish to deal with the young royal myself.”

Both Zahhak and Alenia’s expressions changed at this.

“Your Commandership!” Alenia almost barked.

“Sir, with all due respect—” Zahhak began. Gizel held out a hand to silence them.

“No arguments. This is a matter I wish to undertake for myself, if worse comes to worse. Father and I have devised an alternate course of action should things not go as planned. Nonetheless, I will face the Prince personally, if in fact he presses through our defenses. I owe him that much, at the very least.”

“You owe him nothing!” Alenia spat suddenly, her brow creasing in contempt for the Prince. An unspoken tension began to buzz within the room, as all could feel Sialeeds calmly bristling towards the red-headed Queen’s Knight.

“Alenia,” Zahhak chided, quietly.

“I will meet his challenge with honor,” Gizel firmly repeated. “And I expect the both of you to respect that request.”

Alenia remained obstinate. “But, Your Commandership! You cannot…it is our duty to defend you!”

“It is also your duty to follow orders,” Gizel reminded her.

“Indeed it is,” Marscal Godwin put in, meeting Alenia’s gaze with stern eyes from beneath his straight, dark brow. “We will soon be faced with some very serious decisions, and the conclusions Gizel and I have settled upon have not been easily made. I cannot say that I am fully satisfied with some of our options, but what we require at this moment is full cooperation and heed to duty.”

Catching Zahhak’s glare, Alenia subsided, though the two Queen’s Knights seemed to exchange odd looks between them.

“Very well,” Alenia conceded, bowing first to Marscal and then to Gizel. “As you wish, Your Commandership. Though I still say you should dispose of that Barows worm. He will betray you, or he will try.”

Now it was Lady Sialeeds’ turn to speak. She laughed, a bored, derisive sound that placed little credence upon Alenia’s concerns.

“Euram? Ha! You give him far too much credit, Alenia.”

“And what of you, Sialeeds?” Alenia prompted, barely concealing her disdain for the other woman. “Just what is it that you will be doing during the battle?”

“She will be positioned outside, with the Twilight Rune,” Gizel answered, quick to halt any forthcoming spats between the two. “She will handle any ground troops unhindered by the Sun Rune. Isn’t that right, Lady Sialeeds?”

“That had been my intention, yes.”

“Very well,” Gizel turned away from the mounting hostility and looked instead to the assassin. “Now, Dolph. Your instructions have been discussed with you, though these may change with the situation. Father and I are confident, as usual, that you will not fail us.”

“Of course not, sir,” Dolph returned, his face unchanging and cold.

“Well, then. If Father has nothing to add, you are all dismissed. Only keep in mind that this is a crucial time. You are all to remain on your toes, and to be ready for anything.”

Gizel walked with steps that seemed as though he had a purpose. The truth of it was, he was not certain whether he had a purpose or not.

Of course he was headed back to his chamber, but what did he intend to do when he got there? He could taunt his plaything, obviously, although the joy in that was fading. It was fading for him because he knew it was just a matter of time. It was all going to end, and soon. And the knowledge that it was going to end was bitter and sobering.

That was one of the reasons he had treated Euram so harshly the day before. Perhaps he had been unfair. After all, the hapless fool was caught in events he had no power to affect or change. And then there was the more morbid thought that all of them could soon likely die.

Reaching his quarters, Gizel produced his key and twisted the small trinket in the lock. The door opened, and he stepped inside.

Euram had apparently just completed the finishing touches on the floor. The younger man went over to him and deferentially knelt. Gizel chuckled, softly.

“Good boy,” he said, reaching down to stroke at Euram’s cheek. “I see you have finished your task. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, my lord,” Euram replied.

“Good.” Wordlessly Gizel went and seated himself in his favorite chair. Euram rose, and Gizel heard the clinking of glass suggesting the young man was fetching his drink. Kicking out of his boots, he set his weary feet upon the footrest and accepted the offered glass. He sighed as his servant obediently slinked into place and began massaging his feet.

“Mmm. That’s good. Keep that up,” Gizel breathed, watching the former noble’s slender hands work. It was almost as pleasurable watching him do this as it was watching him wrap his lips around his solid, waiting length. Almost, but not quite.

The Commander sipped his drink, idly. He almost smiled, noting how carefully and thoroughly Euram worked. Unable to resist, he reached down and fingered a strand of golden hair. All at once a thought occurred to him, and he considered the younger man carefully.

“You know, Euram, I have been intending to ask you something.” His prisoner looked up, inquisitively, never pausing in his task. His bright eyes shimmered.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I couldn’t help but notice your…absence…at Queen Lymsleia’s Coronation Ceremony.”

At these words, Gizel felt a definite hitch in Euram’s efforts. The younger man’s eyes slipped briefly to the floor.

“Y-yes, sir,” Euram spoke quietly, nearly a whisper. He knew exactly what Gizel was talking about. The Coronation of Queen Lymsleia had also commemorated Gizel’s official appointment to his position as Commander of the Queen’s Knights—the position Euram had so dearly coveted.

Gizel reached down and tilted his chin, forcing him to look at him.

“Now, now. I only wish to know why. You were invited, after all. I think it is only fair for me to ask: why would you slight my courtesy, Euram?”

“Oh…Gizel,” Euram appeared to wither. “I…I…”

“Come, and answer me,” the Commander urged, firmly.

“You…you know why I did not attend, Gizel. Master.”

Relentless, Gizel pressed. “I want to hear you say it. And I do not recall instructing you to stop,” he reminded. Immediately Euram set his slim fingers back to work.

“F-forgive me. It is just…I couldn’t bear to attend, Gizel, my Lord. Oh, how could I? Surely you did not actually expect such a thing of me, after…after…” he trailed, swallowing.

“After I had acquired the title you desired?”

Defeated, Euram sighed. “Yes,” he whispered, his expression almost shattering. The Commander reached down and stroked a gentle hand through his prisoner’s hair. He felt the smaller form recoil ever-so-slightly.

“So, then, it was simply a matter of pride for you, was it not, my poor, dear little Euram?”

Euram’s face felt hot. Deep resentment, shame and sadness rose and seemed to choke him as he struggled to continue the massage. His throat had grown tight, and he shifted, lifting a hand to briefly adjust the leather collar which now felt so clenching against his skin. Unsuccessfully, the former noble endeavored to clear the most recent conversation from his mind.

Why did Gizel feel the need to keep reminding him of his defeat? Why did he have to continue reminding him of how thoroughly he had lost? It filled Euram with rage to think that had only his champion been allowed to compete, he might have had a chance, and he might have been where Gizel was now!

Halting that train of thought, Euram bit his lip. He realized he was slipping again, that he was once more thinking with the same vengeful selfishness he had promised to abandon. It forced him into thinking about the kind of person he was before. He recalled yet again how he had treated his “champion”, his gladiator, his slave. He had been terrible towards Zegai, and it brought him, full circle, to the realization that the Euram who would use another for his own gain, and the Euram who would desire such unearned power as Gizel’s, was someone he no longer wanted to be.

His heart aching with a sudden pang of compounded misery and self-loathing, Euram sighed heavily. He had not deserved the position of Commander any more than Gizel did. He simply wished he could rid himself of the jealousy.

Most of all, he hated being forced to admit his own weakness.

Gizel was right, it had been pride that kept him from the Coronation Ceremony. Pride, resentment, and to a lesser extent, fear. At the time, he had secretly feared that Gizel might use his position of power to further humiliate or harm him. Prior to the events following the Sacred Games, they had been rivals, and equals. And Euram had feared that Gizel’s new authority would press him to tout that advantage.

Perhaps Euram had feared that Gizel was as petty as himself.

The Commander did not miss his captive’s forlorn and thoughtful expression.

“There, there. You may stop.”

As the boy ceased his efforts, Gizel reached down to take him by his thin arms and pull him into his lap. “No need to be ashamed, my pet,” he soothed. Gizel kissed flushed porcelain cheeks, patting him. Euram shifted in his lap, and the Commander lifted his face to look into the younger man’s saddened gaze. Brushing gold strands aside, he actually smiled. It was a cold, unfeeling smile, but there was some warmth in it, buried beneath the layers of rigidity. A finger traced along the curve of Euram’s soft lips.

“I will not taunt you or fault you for your pride. The truth is…” with this, Gizel’s tone changed. It was subtle, but clearly there. “…the truth is, I have grown rather fond of you, Euram.”

A heartbeat passed. The younger man nearly choked on his own, small gasp of surprise. Stupidly he blinked up at Gizel, his expression so childishly incredulous that his captor nearly laughed.

“Yes. Is it so surprising to you? I have kept you here for how long? I realize I have been harsh with you. I have entertained the thought of killing you. I will not deny that I consider you little more than a fool. But at the end of the day, we are, in a way, kindred.”

Euram regarded him questioningly. “My lord…I do not understand.”

Gizel chuckled, amused at how silly and childlike Euram was, even now. Tenderly he stroked the naked flesh of the form in his lap. His fingers played along soft skin, sliding down the slender flank. Flesh shivered beneath his touch. “We have known one another, in a superficial sense, for a long time. We were both nobles, and rivals. We both desired the same thing, did we not? The only difference is that I won, and you lost. But I will admit you have your certain…charms. That said, there are still things of which I am not thoroughly convinced.”

“What things are those, Your Majesty?” Euram shuddered as a hand traced a thin path down his spine and played along the small of his back.

“You have made a vow to me, remember?” Gizel prompted, firmly. “Very soon, the Prince will arrive. Our time is nearing, and once again I must ask you…are you loyal to me?”

“M-my lord?”

“Enough trifling. I wish to know.” Gizel slipped his arms around Euram and held him intently. Stern green pierced Euram's own puzzled gaze. “Should it come down to it…if it is between myself and the Prince…will you truly, and honestly, be willing to obey me?”

Euram drew a breath, felt his body melting. “Ohh…Master, I—”

“Are you loyal to me, Euram?” the smooth voice demanded, softly. Fingers played tingling patterns across his flesh, sending goosebumps up his spine.

“Y-yes, Your Commandership.”

Gizel reeled him closer, his arms tightening around the quivering form. He allowed his breath to flutter hot and gentle against Euram’s ear. “And why would you have me believe you can be trusted?”

“Oh, I…” Euram swallowed.

“You do realize what I would do to you if I thought you were bluffing me? You do remember, don’t you?” Gizel purred, satisfaction and lust growing in the pit of his stomach. A predatory tingle surged in his veins as he watched and felt the boy squirm. He felt Euram’s breath quicken, saw his throat rise with a small gulp. The slight frame tensed against him, his fear almost as primal as the desire swelling within Gizel. A shimmer of dread wavered in the other’s eyes.

“Pl-please, sir….”

“So pretty…” Gizel’s fingers brushed an ivory cheek. Abruptly, Gizel gathered him and rose from his seat. He carried the smaller man to the bed, tossing him down where the boy fell in a coltish sprawl. Shrugging his robes aside, the Commander leaned forward and crushed him in a kiss, prompting the trembling form beneath him to utter a sound of surprise. Gradually he broke away and released him, and pressed him into the bed. Reaching down, he stroked the soft skin, smiling as Euram tightened and tensed beneath his fingers. A digit circled and dipped into the boy’s naval, eliciting a shudder.

“We have shared a similar conversation,” Gizel admonished. “You know well of the torments, the hurt I could exact upon this pretty body,” he spoke quietly, enjoying the trepidation that filled his prisoner’s expression. Gizel slipped a hand upward and caught one of the small pink nipples between his fingers, applying pressure and watching Euram’s face as the pressure grew to a sharp pinch. A whimper of pain escaped the younger man, his body beginning to writhe at the growing discomfort.

“G-Gizel, please…” Euram gurgled, sparks of pain zipping across his naked chest. Gizel released him just as abruptly, and leaned over to fish in his drawer by the bedside. His fingers drew out a vial of oil and a pair of silken ties.

“Lift your arms,” he instructed. The boy looked at him in puzzlement, and he repeated his command. Euram complied, hesitantly. Gizel leaned over and looped one strip of silk around a bedpost, securing one of his wrists within the cloth. As soon as he realized what was happening, Euram gasped in protest, his form automatically squirming in protest.

“No! No, Gizel, please,” he begged, nervously. Ignoring him, the older man moved to secure the second wrist.

“Master!” Euram supplied, panicking.

“Shh,” Gizel pulled the second strip tight and leaned down, pressing a finger to the moist, soft lips. “You wish me to believe you can be trusted?”

“Yes, sir, I am loyal to you! Please, please, you do not have to hurt me. I beg you!”

“Hush,” Gizel repeated, almost soothing, leaning down to silence him with a kiss. “You must understand that these things work both ways, Euram. I must know that you are trustworthy, but at the same time, I must also be sure that you trust my judgment. I must know that when I tell you to do something, you will be willing to do it. Understand?”

Swallowing, Euram rapidly nodded his head. His chest rose and fell with swift, frightened breaths.

“And do you trust me, my little pet?” He knew it was a loaded question, but he enjoyed anticipating how the younger man would react.

“Yes, my lord,” Euram gasped, writhing against him at a light tweak to his nipple. Instinctively his arms pulled at the bonds. “Yes, but, please…”

“Quiet,” Gizel insisted, but softened again when he realized what might have been the source of Euram’s distress. “Euram. I am not Byron. And I will not hurt you. Now. Do you trust me, or don’t you?”

At those words, the boy relaxed slightly and nodded.

A thin smile curled Gizel’s lips. Dipping down, he peppered soft kisses along gracefully curved flesh, watching Euram’s body shiver at the touch. Having the younger man now helpless beneath him was almost more enticing than physically overpowering him. Euram’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his arms helplessly bound over his head. Gizel could feel the slight muscles tense at his touch, could see him pull taut in a vain impulse to struggle.

Carefully, his hand slipped down, tracing a path down the boy’s tense belly. Stopping briefly to toy with recently-shaven skin, Gizel took the younger man’s length in hand.

Euram croaked as warm flesh curled around his need, hot and demanding. He groaned, Gizel’s fingers stroking lightly and urging him to life. He swelled, thickened, and helplessly his hips responded. The younger man shivered, the warmth on his skin pulling light moans from him. The tingling in his loins spread. He was powerless, bound in position, much like when Bustof had restrained him. But this was different—this was Gizel, the man who had mastered and dominated him for what seemed like forever now. This was the man who knew him deeply, who knew how to frighten and thrill him both at once.

He groaned, struggled to thrust into his tormentor’s hand, but it was Gizel who guided the motions, Gizel who was in charge, and Euram could find no purchase but that which Gizel wanted to give him, and strangely, Euram was beginning to find his own helplessness almost stimulating.

The younger man whimpered with dismay when Gizel released him and rose to shed the rest of his clothing. Watching with dread and fascination, he gulped when the Commander’s own hardness sprang free. Stalking over him, Gizel presented himself to Euram. His command was silent, and clear.

Obediently Euram parted his lips to accept him.

Gizel sighed with content as the younger man’s lips wrapped around him. His impulse was to simply thrust, but he held back, teasing, enjoying each nuance of pleasure from the warmth of the boy’s mouth. Slowly he eased inside, prodding, teasing, testing his prisoner and testing his own limits of restraint.

Euram moaned, softly. Once more, he had to take it on Gizel’s terms. He accepted the Commander as he fed him, suppressing a gag as Gizel slipped further inside and finally reached his desired depth.

A muffled sound, and then he settled into the action. Gizel was soon rocking with full thrusts. Intently he watched Euram’s face, the boy’s lips stretched lewdly and beautifully around his engorged length while small whimpers reverberated along his cock. He would never grow weary of this sight. This young man, once an heir to the Senate, now so thoroughly degraded and ruined and his.

His fingers twined in the other man’s hair, and yet Euram’s eyes never left his own. Euram had learned well, and knew what his Commander enjoyed. Gizel reveled in witnessing the full effects of his dominion, and there was no better affirmation of his power than the acknowledgment of his prisoner’s gaze.

The tears were glassing the former noble’s eyes, and yet he obeyed, diligent, a tinge of defiance still seething beneath the surface of his flushed stare. The Commander could feel the hatred, just as he could feel the warm cavern constrict around him.

Abruptly Gizel withdrew, the suddenness of it sending a trail of saliva to string down the boy’s chin. Euram lay breathless, panting with heaving chest and swollen lips. The older man immediately swept down to capture those moist, parted lips with his own, and there was a passion in that deep kiss, something that felt profound to the both of them, even as the animosity crackled between them. It was almost as though it would be the last such contact they would share, and both knew it, and both at once hated and loved it.

The Commander and the conquered alike trembled as Gizel broke free. Gazing down at his flushed prize, he hooked the younger man’s knees over his shoulders. Once again their eyes locked, and Gizel’s spit-slicked member nudged and breached his prisoner’s opening to slide into the tight passage.

Euram made a tortured sound and strained against his bonds. Pain and pleasure overtook him yet again as his body was filled with thick, solid heat. It pierced his very being, dizzied him and shook him. His fingers curled, his toes clenched, his teeth gnashed, and he wanted more than anything to grasp the man above him, to clutch at his shoulders and rip him and hurt him and hold on to him!

Gizel had no mercy, wanting only to claim his prize once again, to make him feel him and need him and want him.

Remember him.

Even should they both die tomorrow.

The younger man panted and moaned, his body quivering and yet so alive. How he loathed this man—this man who made him so powerless and exposed. Unrelenting, the Commander took his desire, bending the lithe form beneath him to his will as Euram strained, gnashed and cursed with words that should never taint noble lips. The younger man whimpered, his sounds as womanish as they were primal. Tricep muscles, slight and delicate and yet clearly masculine, tensed against the binding that held the boy fastened in place. Gizel’s thrusts rocked him, and his legs quivered and constricted, gripping his conqueror and pulling him deeper.

The friction between them grew hotter, the prisoner’s cries ragged. Hatred and desire pulsed through Euram and weakened him. Slim fingers tightened and gripped at nothing. Something flashed, and he shrieked. His body lurched and he spilled between them, his own seed pooling in his belly.

Gizel growled, a sound that swelled into a roar. The Commander shuddered, and, holding the object of his lust with bruising fingers, he emptied his wracking completion into his ambivalent lover.

Moments later, he fell heaving on top of his trembling, ravished rival.

***

Euram panted through dry throat. He was still quivering, his body recovering from its latest, shattering ordeal. For several minutes he was silent, though a small whimper must have escaped from him at the prolonged position of his aching arms.

As if in answer, Gizel stirred and moved from him. Carefully he unthreaded the silk that bound him, and Euram’s arms fell free of their bonds.

The boy sighed with relief as the blood rushed back into his tormented limbs. It was Gizel who actually took them, one at a time, in hand. Gently the Commander massaged them back to life and rubbed away the discomfort.

Afterwards he settled down beside him and brushed his hair back from his eyes. A flicker of a smile glinted behind that cold gaze. Upon impulse, Euram curled against him. As the pair drifted into the arms of unconsciousness, something unspoken hovered between them, as if both knew that, for better or worse, this was the last night they would spend together.

Elsewhere in the Sun Palace:

The Lady Sialeeds stood alone on the very balcony Gizel and Euram had stood only nights before. She was alone. Not that that bothered her. She had accepted that it was her fate to be alone.

She knew what was going on in the Commander’s private chamber. She was fully aware of the pleasures he was taking. In a way, it made her slightly bitter. It made her bitter, but she wasn’t about to let it drive her to distraction. Sialeeds had accepted that she had let Gizel go a long time ago. When he accused her of splitting them apart, he was right. It should have been so much different, and she had to wonder—if they had been allowed to be happy together, would any of this have happened?

A warm breeze sifted lazily through her silver locks. She breathed deep. Her nephew would be heading the assault on the city any day, now. And she would be prepared.

She might have accepted her position, but she would not be content to have no affect on this war. She would carry through with her own plans, regardless of what cost it might be to her. As much as it pained her, there was still much she had to do, and she was at peace with the knowledge that she was considered a traitor to her own nephew. Whatever was to come, at least she had followed her intuition.

*******
At that moment, in the castle at Ceres Lake:

The night was tense and yet a calm seemed to have settled over the Sindar Palace. It was a calm that spoke of an uneasy rest, and one that whispered those within the Royalist Army had made their peace.

“The calm before the storm”, some less creative minds might be tempted to call it. Although Taylor would never utilize such a cliché.

The Loyalist Army’s official journalist was browsing through his news column archives, “reviewing”, as he called it (far be it from him to admire his own work).

Currently he was conceptualizing a potential victory column (which he dearly hoped he would be able to write), when he came across a section he had written not so long ago. It was a section regarding a certain young nobleman:

Portraits of the Enemy: Euram Barows

The man’s eyes paused, briefly. He had written the column after Euram’s “bandit Prince” plot. It was common knowledge that Barows had at last defected to the Prince’s cause—or so he had said. There were many within the castle who remained suspicious, and with good reason. Taylor read on.

In this installment of ‘Portraits of the Enemy’, we examine one Euram Barows, the man behind the “Bandit Prince” scheme.

Due to his incompetence and other shortcomings, we seriously considered whether he was even worth including in this series. However, his plot could have severd ties between the Royalist Army and Sable, so we will take a closer look at him.

As our readers doubtlessly know, Euram is Lord Barows’ second son. Because his eldest son, Hiram, was assassinated during the battle over succession between Princess Falzrahm and Princess Shahrewar, Euram is in line to eventually become head of the Barows family. Euram is certainly not the ideal candidate to head up a Senatorial faction, lacking common sense, strength, and bravery. Furthermore, he is hugely unpopular among the citizenry. ‘Portraits of the Enemy’ has reason to believe that this chicken-hearted man is not done scheming against the Prince.

Taylor stopped, and a shadow of a smile crossed his face. Though it was more a reflective smile than one of amusement. How stupid the young man had been! Still, he thought of how he had arrived here, how Euram had dragged shamefacedly into the Palace behind the Prince and his sister, Luserina, as though he fully expected to be crucified. The boy had lost his father, but more than that, he appeared to have lost his arrogance. The very life seemed drained out of him.

The journalist almost felt badly now for his slanderous words against the young Barows heir. Still, he had done no different than Euram had done to the Prince, and Taylor’s slander was true. Even so, a tinge of guilt had crept into his thoughts, especially considering the boy had now apparently been taken prisoner by Godwin.

Just the same, it still made for good, witty reading, if he did say so himself!

Perhaps he would construct a second column regarding Euram Barows soon…

***
Elsewhere in the castle, a young man called Shoon was having trouble sleeping.

Once a gladiator, Shoon had been a slave in Stormfist until the Loyalists had captured the city. Now, the teenager lay awake and restless, both with excitement and tingling anxiety: for tomorrow, they would march upon Sol-Falena.

Like everyone else here in the castle, Shoon knew what he was fighting for. He was fighting for freedom, but most of all, he was fighting to support their leader, and the young man who had helped liberate he and his fellow slaves.

He remembered the first time he had met Prince Freyjadour. The royal, who was Shoon’s own age, had reacted with shock and anger at the gladiator’s living conditions. He had been so much different than the various nobles who ‘bought’ them for entertainment, most of whom were heartless. Prince Frey and his group had even rescued his friend and fellow gladiator, Zegai, after that spoiled noble Euram had ordered him executed.

And now, even that same, spoiled noble was counted among their allies.

Shoon sighed. He could not truly hate Euram, could he? To be honest, Shoon hated no one. Such selfish vindictiveness as Euram had displayed saddened him more than anything, but he could tell the noble had changed. When he has first heard the young man had been accepted into their ranks, he had been surprised—but when he saw him, he could feel nothing but pity. Yes, he felt badly for him. It was strange that someone like Shoon, a newly-freed slave, could feel such pity for one among the ranks of those who had used and abused his own kind for so long. He knew he probably shouldn’t feel badly for him, but he did, just the same. Maybe it was the sad, lost look in his eyes when he spotted the boy wandering the palace. Maybe it was the way he no longer ventured to meet anyone’s gaze, rather kept his eyes fixed upon the floor in perpetual regret.

And almost as soon as that change had come over him, he was gone again.

It was unfair, really. Shoon still did not understand exactly what had happened, but word had it that he had been captured by the enemy. He wondered what was happening to him, and whether he was suffering. It was in his nature to be concerned with such things, even if the person in question had not extended his fellow gladiators any sympathies in the past.

And strangely, Shoon found himself hoping that they would find him alive and well once the battle was over. That was, provided any of them survived.

***

Luserina Barows was also having trouble sleeping. She was always nervous before battle, even if she was not to be involved in direct fighting. No, she was worried for everyone else.

More than anything, she wanted this war to be over. There had been too much suffering, too many lives lost. And she knew it was selfish, but she could not help but feel concern yet again for her brother.

Regardless of how others viewed him, she knew he was repentant. She knew he had changed. She knew, because on the very first night Euram had spent in the Royalist Army’s headquarters, he had done something very brave.

***

She and the Prince had just returned from Rainwall, where they had collected her brother after hearing of Salum’s death. The both of them had led a reserved Euram through the Palace, Luserina noting how her brother shuffled behind like a berated hound as they gave him a tour of the castle. His lace-draped hands were stuffed in his pockets, his head bowed. He was staring at his shoes, though every so often he would glance aside, as though expecting to be attacked. He was like a creature of prey amidst a sea of predators. It almost felt as though he invited reproof as much as he dreaded it.

At last, she had shown him their living space: he would share her quarters. It was a humble room, much smaller than the accommodations he was used to. But he never said a word of complaint. He was grateful to be here, and it was clear in his body language, his demeanor.

Euram had spent the first few hours resting in silent reflection. It was well into the night when he rose from the narrow bed he had been provided and moved to leave the room. Luserina regarded him carefully.

“Where are you going, brother?”

Euram paused. “Th—there are some things I have to say…to some people.”

The girl shook her head, confused.

“I’ll return,” he continued, noting her strange expression. “though I cannot promise I will return unscathed.”

“Euram,” she stepped toward him, concerned now. He held out a hand to halt her, insistent.

“I’ve done some terrible things,” he admitted. “I have to face them. I doubt that many here will be happy to see me, but I must…I must face them. Please understand, sister.”

Luserina looked at her brother and saw determination in his eyes. Somehow she did understand, and she nodded.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

He shook his head. A ghost of a smile fluttered his lips, but otherwise, he fixed his eyes upon the floor beneath his shoes.

“No. You didn’t help me commit these crimes. This is something I must do alone.”

There were no more words. As he turned to leave, Luserina caught him from behind and draped her arms around his shoulders, hugging tight and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He squeezed gently, turned to catch her gaze, and a moment later, he was gone.

***

She had learned that very night that Euram had gone to Zegai, apologizing to the former gladiator. And, for the first time since they were children, she and Euram had shared a real, genuine conversation. He was whole again, her brother had returned, and they caught up on so many lost years all in one night that it was almost enough to undo the pain.

She hoped that their reconciliation did not mean that she was now to lose him forever.

All she could do now was hope he was all right, and that they would see one another again.

**********

In his own, private chamber, Prince Frey had finished reading the last of the letters left in his comment box. Of course there was the random nonsense from Lu, the feuding note here and there from Lun and Subala. But in between the less sensical notes were the genuine ones, such as the letter Lyon had left him, promising to protect him.

His bodyguard had insisted she was recovered enough to march into battle, and this troubled him.

Ever since the Sacred Games, everything had gone all wrong. He never would have imagined that he would be here, now, heading an army that he did not want to lead and fearing for all that he held dear.

All that was left, anyhow. This war had taken his mother and father, and now, his aunt, Lady Sialeeds. She had defected to the Godwin side, but no matter how much solid evidence suggested she had betrayed them, he had to believe that somewhere, deep down, she had another, secret purpose. He had to believe it, even if no one around him could. It was difficult facing the whispers of “traitor” and such directed towards his aunt. It did nothing but compound the hurt.

And now Lyon continued to insist upon protecting him, in spite of her condition. Frey knew she was not fully recovered, and he wished that once, just once, she would allow herself to rest and stop worrying about him. He would rather have her safe, and most of all, alive, than protecting him constantly. He had come close enough to losing her before: he did not want to risk that again.

As he moved to set the notes aside, he came across a certain letter in the stack—one that stood out to him, even though it had been left weeks ago: a note from Euram Barows.

My Father’s Collection:

I shall ask Bastan to sell off everything. It might not be a lot of money, but it should help the war effort and all those suffering people, if even a little.

The Prince sighed. The appraiser from Haud had already begun doing as bid, and had made progress in selling the bits of Salum’s art collection that Euram had brought him. That was before Euram had disappeared.

The young Barows had made such progress, and Frey had at last began patching his relationship with Euram. It had not been simple convincing him that his redemption was even possible, but he had begun to come around, and had flourished by leaps and bounds. His self-proclaimed enemy had finally developed into a person Frey could actually call his friend. And now, he too had been taken, and Frey had no way of knowing if he was even alive.

The Prince shook his head and locked the precious notes in a drawer. If he were to somehow survive this, he would keep the letters and cherish each one of them. It would be a small comfort, especially since he knew that some of them would likely be lost to the upcoming battle. For that matter, all of them, including himself, might be lost—particularly if their greatest fear were realized, and Godwin had discovered a way to utilize the Sun Rune against them.

He shuddered and attempted to drown the thought from his head. Tomorrow would be difficult enough to face.
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)