Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

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

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Because I don't like leaving things unfinished....
Disclaimer: Dialogue from the game Suikoden V belongs to Konami
Disclaimer: M/M, Anal, Oral, D/S

Chapter 14: Catharsis

He had thought it was thunder.
It happened in the middle of the night. What could only be a storm raging in Rainwall tore him from his sleep; a distant rumble like cannon fire and the hum of ships rattled the mansion’s very frame. A commotion churned outside, and Euram Barows sprang from his lush and downy bed and sprinted to the balcony. There, he witnessed his family’s worst fear, descending upon their most beloved capital.
Great naval vessels commanded by the distinguished General Bahram Luger sliced an unyielding path across the water as the fleet streaked toward the city. Worse still, between the calm cascade of twin waterfalls that framed the city’s grand steps came a steady stream of gray Godwin soldiers in red berets, marching unopposed up the central stairs, toward the city center and the Barows mansion.
Godwin. A surprise midnight attack…
Townspeoples’ cries propelled a horrified Euram back from the balcony, and he staggered inside, the curtain dropping from his fists. Euram lurched from the window like a drunken thing, his thoughts clouded with fear and rage. A slender hand sprang to cup his trembling mouth.
“No…no…no, no…” Euram swooned, when his father burst into his room, one of his fine coats flung over his nightgown, his sweaty brow furrowed with dread.
“Come, Euram, at once!”
Euram sank to the floor, crushed with denial and content to curl into a corner.
This can’t be happening. Please, please say this isn’t happening, oh please…!
“No…no…”
A severe pounding at the front door rattled windows and shivered Euram’s nerves, making him twitch nearly out of his skin.
“Up! Up, you!” Salum snapped, and a dazed Euram clambered to his feet like a marionette pulled on strings. Reeling, he swept on his overcoat and miserably, obediently followed his sire downstairs on wobbly, mincing steps.
How…how was this happening?
Dizzily he stood by, tallow-white and trembling as Father opened the door. Euram’s dismayed whine leapt from his throat. There stood General Dilbur Novum himself, upright and uncompromising, sword at his side. His neatly trimmed beard and moustache framed a stern mouth, his cold blue eyes piercing and firm. Accompanying him were five stark uniformed officers, each as unbending as the last, prepared for resistance.
“…Yes? Yes? And what brings you gentlemen…?” A sweating Salum greeted them. Behind him cowered a frantic Euram, wringing his hands.
Novum’s steely gaze briefly pierced the boy before pinning down the old man.
“Enough with the pleasantries, Barows. You know well why we’re here. The House of Barows has been declared traitors. By royal decree, General Luger has taken the river, and my men now occupy the ground. In the interest of averting further bloodshed, we hereby call for Rainwall and the House of Barows to cooperate with unconditional surrender.”
Shrinking behind his fleshy father, Euram shook with fear—fear which gradually flashed over to fury. Was it not enough that Gizel had wrenched victory from his grasp? Was it not enough that he had seized poor Lymmie, and with her, control of all Falena? Something snapped in him, and before he knew what he was doing, his fists drew tight, nails digging his delicate palms as his wrath made itself known in a flurry of flailing arms.
“Ooohh! Out, you vermin! Out! You cannot do this!” he shrieked, his youthful features flushed mad with tears of denial and rage. “We submit to nothing, do you hear? Nothing! You have no right…!”
“Stop it, Euram,” warned his fretful father. Heedless, his son fiercely paced and spun wildly with a dramatic shake of his fist.
“You swine, you brutes! You descend upon us like wolves in the night, as we lie sleeping, under veil of darkness! Where is the decency, where is the honor?”
Novum’s unflinching eyes fell cold and harsh upon the boy. “Interesting you should speak of honor, young Master Euram. Why, when last I saw you, you fled my men with your tail between your legs, fresh from conspiring with enemy Armes. Of course, there is also the little matter of a certain, stolen royal artifact…”
“Enough! Grr…damn Godwin! Usurper! That foul, contemptible blackguard! The despicable, ravaging barbarian! Ooohh, what atrocious and spiteful fate is this? Dare that odious cretin unleash his ruinous swarm, like a pestilence upon all that is…!”
Tiring of his tongue, the normally reserved Novum passed a calm nod to one of his soldiers, who advanced on the hysterical lordling, drawing his blade.
“Either hold your tongue, brat, or have it sliced from your throat.”
Predictably, Euram’s screeching harangue dissolved into spluttering apologies and appeals for mercy as he fell, cowering, to his knees.
Novum restrained a sigh.
“I recommend keeping your pup muzzled, Salum, if you know what is good for him,” he calmly warned.
Broken, the Senator stretched out a jeweled hand.
“Enough! Please, do not harm my boy. We surrender…” He paused, defeated, and bowed his head. “Unconditionally.”
“A wise move, Barows.” Novum nodded to his man, who re-sheathed his sword. “Now, if we may do so in silence, we will continue inside, so that we may discuss Her Majesty’s demands.”
Miserably Salum nodded. “Yes, yes. O-of course.”
Calmly Novum’s troops filed inside the mansion to the sound of Euram’s wretched sobs.
***
Euram started awake, amber eyes flung wide as one nightmare slowly faded into another.
Here he was, in Gizel’s arms, a prisoner yet again.
A promising sunrise cast a pale violet glow on the windowpane to the trill of birds outside, welcoming a new morning.
He shuddered, forced to face anew the humiliation and horror of his home’s occupation. Shaking, he recalled his devastation, how he had raged at cruel, merciless fate! Why, oh why had His Highness abandoned them to such misery? Surely, he had desperately hoped, surely Prince Frey would come marching to their aid and liberate them from this undeserved torment!
Neither Prince Frey—nor anyone, for that matter—had come.
Only now did he understand why.
He sighed, fighting bitter tears as he managed to calm himself. He glanced to the Commander, surprisingly undisturbed by his startled awakening.
Propping himself, Euram let his gaze wander over the lean but well-muscled arms and chest laid bare beside him. Gizel slept soundly. Carefully he traced sculpted pectorals, an unwanted spark of envy returning to stain his thoughts once more.
Sighing, he peered into the mirror across from the bed—the same mirror Gizel had made him watch when he had first violated him. A sinking crush overcame him as he glanced his own, slight build. What peered back at him was nothing, pitiful nothing. And that was all he would ever be.
It was then that the Commander’s words from last night came drifting back to him:

“…the truth is, I have grown rather fond of you, Euram.”

Had he…meant that? Doubtful. More likely, he had been mocking him yet again. But he’d said something else, something that still wavered in the back of Euram’s thoughts.

“…at the end of the day, we are, in a way, kindred.”

Gizel, he supposed, was right, wasn’t he? They were, in the end, brethren of sorts, were they not? If only through their noble blood, their ceaseless fighting, their clashing for influence over the crown, the war their kind had both wrought. Their goals, their aims—they were one in the same. Never mind that Euram’s own sect was vanquished and crippled, while Gizel’s—well, the Godwins—had accomplished all he and his own father had sought. But it would not last. No matter who was the victor now, it was ultimately doomed from the start.
There came a knock at the door, and Euram dropped back as if sleeping, just as Gizel stirred beside him.
The Commander shifted, tugging the sheets to cover them both more fully.
“Enter.”
A servant had arrived with some tea. Without a word she laid the tray on the table and was gone as soon as she’d come.
Knowing he would be expected to serve the Commander, Euram sighed and started to rise, but Gizel, hooking a slender arm, pulled him back.
“Just where do you think you’re going, hmm?”
His balance slipping from the unexpected tug, Euram fell clumsily back onto the bed with an undignified tumble and an “oof”.
Gizel laughed as the younger noble fought to right himself and only wound up twisted in a loose bit of sheet.
“Clumsy, clumsy,” Gizel chuckled, as the other struggled with the rumpled covers. “Bested by some harmless linens. But I hear you are an incredibly fast runner. At least according to the good citizens of Sable.”
“Ooohh! Damn you!” Euram colored in embarrassment at Gizel’s reminder of the mob he’d fled as he battled a losing fight with the twisting, jumbled sheets.
In a quick maneuver the Commander pounced, easily pinning the frenetic noble beneath him in one deft swoop. Euram muttered a curse, his face flushed with frustration.
“Ever tenacious. And ever hopeless. It is a pity I haven’t the leisure to ravish you once more. You are lovely when you’re flustered.”
For a flash of an instant, the younger man’s eyes burned at him before he sank in defeat.
“Must you ridicule me, even now?”
“I’m sorry, Euram,” the Commander smirked. “But you make it so easy. You are quite ridiculous, after all.” With that, he unexpectedly released his prisoner and rolled off of him, falling back and taking him in his arms.
Calming, the other settled against him with a sigh. For several minutes they lied there in silence, and Euram almost felt he could drift off again and sleep forever, if only to delay the inevitable.
“I confess I will almost miss this,” Gizel said at length.
“Keeping me as your jester? Your slave?” Euram bitterly returned, pulled from his wandering reverie.
“Having you here. Beside me.”
Now the younger man twisted his head, bewilderment swimming in his gaze as he blinked stupidly into his captor’s cold emerald stare.
“Yes. I speak truthfully, Euram. Did I not say as much, before?” With gentle fingers Gizel brushed a tousled golden strand from the other’s eyes. “Whether or not you intended it, you have charmed me. To think that such a silly creature could earn my affection, and yet, here we are, and I regret that our time together is nearly at an end. Our scouts reported activity near Ceras Lake last night, and it appears your prince is on the move.”
“Oh,” Euram muttered, his breath catching in his throat. Swallowing, he fell silent, his golden eyes downcast. After several long moments, the younger noble spoke again, this time merely a whisper: “So this is it. Oh, Gizel…”
Euram sank back into the soft mattress, wishing he could sleep through the battle that would soon come to the Sun Palace’s doorstep and awaken tomorrow to find peace restored to Falena.
It was hopeless, and foolish. The fighting would come here, at last, and only then would it be over.
War was coming to Sol-Falena, and nothing would end until that battle decided the victor. Until Gizel, who had made him his prisoner, were to emerge successful, or until Prince Freyjadour and his army could withstand or subdue the Sun Rune’s power and reclaim the palace…nothing would be decided until then.
And the Sun Rune might quickly determine all their fates, should it flare and bring down light and fire. That might well finish it all, wouldn’t it? It would almost be poetic, should the Sun Rune pass indiscriminate judgment on all of them, defenders and attackers alike, and anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle. This war was, after all, the result of Barows’ actions—Dad’s actions, and his own. Perhaps he would suffer Lordlake’s fate, in the end. It would be a fitting end to him, if only his innocent friends would not suffer the same.
Gizel studied his former rival, sensed his mind turning. It was strange, seeing the once-flamboyant and hotheaded noble so quiet, thoughtful and demure: so far removed from his former, yapping arrogance. And for once, Gizel almost had difficulty reading him. Most likely it was because Euram didn’t know how to feel, himself.
At length the Commander drew him nearer, and Euram cuddled into the embrace, wondering at once why he did so.
“I think…” he hesitated before admitting, “I think I will almost miss you, too.” His words were distant, sad, and it almost seemed he spoke in another person’s voice. “I’m not sure what has come over me.”
“Almost?” Gizel cocked a brow. “Hmm. Must be the sex.” Rising, he slung his black silk robe over him and moved to the window. Although frosted glass obscured much of the view, one of the casement panes was propped just enough for fresh air and the scent of the gardens drift in.
Euram minced up behind him, stalling just behind the Commander.
“So quiet,” he mused. The Feitas smelled clean and sweet, and there was a deceptive calm about the Palace and the city beyond that unsettled him.
“Almost romantic,” Gizel turned to smirk at him, drawing an arm around the younger noble’s naked shoulders. “If only we had found each other at another time,” he carelessly mused. “Can you imagine? The sons of two warring factions find solace in each other’s arms: a scandalous account of forbidden love. It would make for a captivating tale, would it not? Or what of this: a powerful Commander takes his vanquished rival’s beautiful, haughty son as spoil of war, and concubine.” Gizel laughed at his imagined scenario. “What tales the minstrels would weave.”
Euram sighed, frowning. “How can you jest at a time like this?”
“I am sorry, my pet. I only amuse myself. You are so beautiful, I cannot help but wish I had one more chance to tame that pretty body of yours. I daresay you wouldn’t mind, either.” When Euram didn’t answer, Gizel turned him physically, his arms resting in the curves of the smaller man’s shoulders.
Gizel was gazing at him, hard. For a moment Euram met his eyes, and then shrank.
“Please…stop looking at me like that.”
“Why?” Gizel returned.
“Because…it cuts through me.”
“As if piercing your very soul?”
“Yes.”
There was a silence as Gizel held Euram’s sad, amber gaze. At length he reached out to stroke a pale cheek.
“You are torn,” he remarked.
“W-what do you…?”
“You claimed allegiance to me, if you recall. But I know better. Never would you do so willingly, unless there was something you purposed to gain. And I am well aware of your heart, Euram Barows.”
“M-my lord, I…”
“Did you honestly think me stupid enough to believe you? You have courted my good graces because you fear me, and you hoped seeking my favor would earn you clemency. Integrity is not a quality I would make the mistake of crediting you.” At this, Euram dropped his gaze. “You are fortunate I spared your pitiful hide when Dolph dragged you before me by the scruff of your neck. You are lucky I did not have you and your father both executed as traitors, when my men seized your own, precious Rainwall. Such are the mercies I have permitted you, Barows.”
Euram gulped but dared not speak, awaiting the declaration that Gizel’s clemency had come to an end.
“I had mercy upon you, not for your sake, but for my own amusement. And much to my surprise, you have managed to enchant me. That, I did not expect. And you have done so entirely by accident. Your pitiful appeals, your craven endearments, you honestly hoped they would fool me into believing your loyalties lay with me—in hope of wooing my charity. But despite your hollow, servile falsity, you unwittingly revealed yourself to me, and I understood, at last, that in spite of your years, you remain a mere child. And that is charming to me. I do not respect you, you understand; I respect only strength. But you have managed to amuse me, and earn my pity for it. There is something endearing in how little you know of yourself.”
Euram looked away, but was not permitted to think on it long before strong fingers hooked his chin and forced him to meet Gizel’s gaze.
“Euram. I have revealed myself to you, in honesty, and you will reciprocate. I have willingly offered my confession. Now, I will have yours.”
“I, I am sorry?” the younger man blinked stupidly up at him.
Gizel smiled, darkly. “Long have you spent looking to me in envy. This had much to do with who we are, of course. But I wonder if you also felt you could never live up to your brother’s potential.”
Euram’s eyes burned at him, but Gizel pressed a silencing finger to his lips.
“You feared you could not possibly replace Hiram, and in his absence, you sought another against whom to compare yourself. No doubt your father played a part in this. But there is something you continue to deny, and it is this: that no matter what may pass your lips, you resent me, and all the more that I now possess your very body.” Euram shook his head, trying uselessly to peel away from that smirk, the piercing gaze.
“G-Gizel, I…”
“But that isn’t all, is it?”
Euram squirmed, anger simmering in his blood, but alongside it a familiar panic crept in.
“Gizel, what are you…?”
“You resent me with everything in you.” Gizel seized his wrists, held them hard. “Your heart rages at the indignities I have forced you to suffer, and yet, you are torn. You are torn because of the way I make you feel.”
“W-what do you—” Euram tugged feebly against the Commander’s grip. “I don’t take your meaning…”
“The sex,” Gizel raised a brow at him, that smirk returning to his thin lips. “You went silent when I mentioned it just now. And you dare not admit it. But despite yourself, there is a part of you that has enjoyed it.”
Euram swallowed, his patience dangerously slipping and panic swelling.
“I don’t…what has Hiram got to do with any of that, what does…”
“Is it not so?” The Commander advanced on him, still imprisoning his wrists in a firm grip. “You thrill at it. Your very blood tingles with need for it. The way you stiffen and quiver at my touch.”
“Oh Gizel, don’t. Don’t…” Euram moved to retreat, but the Commander held him fast. “Please, I…”
Gizel drew him closer, his lips now close to his rival’s pale ear. “I have seen you flush and gasp with desire at the mention of my ravishing you. I hear your breath flutter. Even now your pulse quickens and throbs.” Lightly he dragged a finger down his neck, stopping where the artery visibly thumped, thumped, thumped through the pale skin of Euram’s throat, just above the leather collar.
The teasing contact, the hedonic words fluttering in his ears weakened his knees, and he murmured a half-hearted protest as he lightly pulled to resist Gizel’s hold on him.
“You cannot pretend it doesn’t affect you, Barows. You are helpless against it, and you cannot help but respond, and welcome it.”
Euram muttered something unintelligible and sank to his knees. Gizel caught him, trapping sad, golden eyes in his icy green stare, and locked them there.
Euram whimpered, faintheartedly resisting, but his efforts were of no use, and he knew it.
The Commander brushed tangled strands from his face, stroked a flushed cheek, offered a single finger, which a defeated Euram obediently took in his mouth.
“You see?” Gizel purred at the sensation of wet lips and tongue lovingly embracing his digit, and offered a second, which Euram also accepted with ardor. “Even now you succumb to me, your loins responding, your breath grows shallow. How you tend to my fingers with such adoration, when you would rather have my cock.”
Euram made a sound, perhaps a choke or a whimper as the fingers moved deeper, sought to claim more of the wet warmth. His nether regions stirred, and his belly fluttered as he slicked strong digits between his lips.
As his mouth worked on the Commander’s fingers, a delicate and wayward hand slinked beneath Gizel’s robe.
“I would caution against tempting me. There are preparations to be made, and…ohh,” Gizel swallowed his thoughts as that dainty, errant hand fumbled underneath the silk and found its prize. Slender fingers curled around the warm column of flesh and idly stroked.
“Now, Euram, you are going to quickly find yourself in trouble if you do not…stop…” his chiding trickled to a whisper as the younger man, with a mischievous grin, slithered into position and fully freed the Commander’s engorged member from the robe.
His reward unwrapped, Euram leaned down and took the elder man’s length into his willing mouth.
Gizel’s head fell back with a sigh. “Mmmm. Oh, but what a naughty thing you are, Barows. But this will not earn you a reprieve from my questions.”
Euram’s efforts doubled in earnest, using his spit to thoroughly slick the mammoth length until it glistened before him. Captivated, Gizel moved his fingers back into place, pressing them, too, alongside his cock and watching with amusement and lust at how the younger man’s lips stretched, how he struggled to take them all at once. Before long, Euram’s own chin and Gizel’s cock and fingers glistened, soaked with drool.
Enraptured, Gizel at once removed his fingers and seized him by the back of the head and thrust himself deep, until he reached the back of Euram’s throat. The younger man gagged but opened, accepting him, and Gizel held him there several long seconds, relishing the gurgling sounds his prisoner made as he yielded to his commander’s sudden swell of force.
“Enough,” Gizel growled, releasing him. Euram ceased his efforts, panting. He looked up, his eyes lidded, his cheeks tear-streaked from Gizel’s abrupt assault, and a stupid dreamy grin on his moistened lips.
The Commander laughed. “I think you’re in need of another lesson,” he smirked, a roguish gleam in his jade-like eyes. Lurching down, he seized his prisoner and spun him round, gathering him in his arms and lifting him.
He had not intended to have Euram this morning: there were far too many preparations in need of finalizing, and the pending battle would roll into Sol-Falena soon enough. But Euram had started this, and Gizel meant to finish it.
“Besides, it is high time we had a little talk about a certain subject, Euram Barows.”
Carrying the former noble to the bed, the Commander dropped his naked concubine onto his back and hovered over him.
Swooping down, he took Euram and scooted him fully against the headboard, until his back rested on the pillows. Slinging off his robe, Gizel climbed onto the bed and lunged over him. Seizing Euram’s ankles in firm hands, he bent them back, stretching those legs up and over until the smaller man whimpered a complaint. Bending Euram’s knees, he folded them down until they rested beside his ears. In this position Euram was nearly folded double, his ass prominently exposed.
Euram whined from the stretching in his limbs, but as Gizel held him pinned there, he was presented a perfect view of the former noble’s asshole, conveniently and helplessly spread to his gaze. This position would also offer unobstructed access to the prisoner’s swollen lips and mouth, he thought with a wicked smirk.
Holding him in place by the crooks of his knees, he let his eyes take in a full inspection of the slave pinned before him, the torment on his prisoner’s wet lips, his ass spread and open, vulnerable to his whims.
Perfect.
Now Gizel hovered over his trapped rival, holding Euram’s knees firm.
“Now, it is time we had that chat. And I will have the truth of you. You will answer my questions, and answer them thoroughly.”
“Oh, not this again,” Euram groaned, strained and helpless.
“Yes,” Gizel countered. “This. Again. Only once more. Clasp your hands around your thighs, and hold yourself open for me.” The younger man complied, hooking his hands in the crooks of his folded knees. Lunging his body forward, Gizel brought the tip of his cock to Euram’s lips. “Slick it, and do it well,” came the command, and without a word the younger man opened his mouth and let the warm hardness inside. His tongue worked feverishly, and once he was glistening wet and dripping, Gizel withdrew and repositioned, aiming this time for the helplessly exposed and waiting anus, slowly penetrating until the head just popped inside.
Euram hissed.
“You see, Euram, you need me to torment you.” He stopped as the widest flare of his crown breached inner warmth, and simply held it there, held Euram.
Euram whined in complaint, the thickest part of Gizel’s apple-shaped head painfully stretching and teasing, holding him wedged open wide.
“You need me to torment you because of your guilt. Your crimes. Your sin.”
Euram looked up now with a sink of dread, and horror flashed in his golden eyes. He groaned, his gaze shrinking.
“Oh, please don’t do this to me,” he begged, quietly.
“Do this?” Gizel nudged a little, teasing, drawing gasps from his prisoner but restrained from seeking deeper penetration, just yet. Euram whimpered. Gizel smiled wickedly.
“Every time I so much as mention Lordlake, even the Dawn Rune, you shatter.”
“No, Gizel, don’t…please…”
“You will listen in silence, and speak only when I command it.”
“No, no, don’t make me…”
Withdrawing from Euram’s body, he shifted his position and lunged forward to silence the boy’s babbling pleas with the tip of his cock.
“Taste.”
Euram obeyed, lips falling slack, tongue rolling forward to accept.
“Each time I mention that shameful fiasco you fall to pieces,” said Gizel, watching the soft, pliant tongue soak his crown and draw it inside pink, swollen lips. “Even now you shrink at my mere mention of that disaster. You cannot face it, you cannot bear to even think of it, and you wither when it so much as enters your mind. And I know why—and so do you.”
Withdrawing from Euram’s mouth, he repositioned himself and returned his spit-slicked shaft to the boy’s spread hole, again inserting only the crown and basking in Euram’s answering whimper.
“For over two years you lived in private torment. You dread punishment for your part in that ordeal, but you surrender to my demands, and you do so not only because you have no choice, but because you need to.”
“No, no….” Euram moaned, his protests melting into a gurgle when Gizel slightly withdrew and then probed deeper, a further inch slithering inside his helplessly spread passage.
“It is more than fear of death that propels you to your knees before me. It is a loathing you reserve especially for yourself, for your ignoble complicity in your father’s schemes—which you knew to be traitorous and wicked.”
“I did,” Euram spoke in a strained voice, almost trancelike. His body trembled, his eyes glazed as he stared distantly into Gizel’s piercing gaze. “I’ve regretted my actions each day since Her Majesty’s judgment bore down on Lordlake. But I…ohhh,” Euram shuddered as Gizel gently nudged him, prodding deeper. “I could not speak up, oh I didn’t dare. Because—if that was how she punished Lordlake—Lord Rovere, all those innocents—what would happen should she…should she discover she had unleashed the Sun’s vengeance on the wrong people? What would she do to us? What would she do…to me? Or Luserina? Or Mother? T-they had nothing to do with our misdeeds, but Lord Rovere’s entire family paid for our crime.”
A chill came over him, and he shivered. “And what terrible justice would the people of Falena demand, should they learn of our part in what happened?” Euram’s breathing had quickened, and he was shaking beneath Gizel like a pinned mouse. Sad, and fearful eyes stared glassily into the Commander’s cold green gaze, as if he were reliving the experience, his dread. He was crying, sob-less tears that fell of their own accord and dropped on his cheeks like rainpatters. “I was afraid, I was terrified, yes…”
“And that cowardice has since wracked you to the bone.” Gizel supplied.
“Oh, I cannot. It’s too big, Gizel. It’s too big for me.” Euram closed his eyes, his head falling aside, as if he would shrink from the subject and simply dash it all away from him.
Abruptly Gizel withdrew from the noble’s exposed ass, leaving him wide and wet, once more offering his cock to Euram’s waiting mouth.
Again lips and tongue fell slack, and slavishly Euram accepted him, his eyes hooded over, his gaze dreamlike in rapt obedience.
“Indeed,” Gizel approvingly watched his prisoner bathe his cock with a resigned passion that only affirmed his dominion. “A shame of such enormity cannot be borne by a single man. This guilt in you did surprise me, as I was not aware just how damaged you were. And each day you crave reckoning for it. This is why you need another to make you face it, and deliver the retribution you seek.”
Withdrawing from the warm, obedient mouth, Gizel again lunged downward and positioned his glistening cock at the younger man’s vulnerable entrance.
“Is this not why you ceaselessly invite punishment upon yourself? All your farcical little endeavors to sabotage Prince Frey, for instance?”
Euram’s embarrassment spread from his face and down his neck, until his very chest flushed pink.
“No, please, not that. Please don’t…ahhnn!” Further pleas were swallowed by his moan as Gizel again breached his tender opening.
“Stunt after ridiculous stunt,” Gizel chided with a smirk and a chuckle, thrusting deeper yet and forcing a shiver through his former rival. “All your foolheaded antics achieved was to heap further disgrace upon yourself. But that, in fact, was what you were aiming for.”
“N—nooo, I didn’t…” Euram gasped, twitching as Gizel abruptly claimed more of him, brushing his prostate.
“Ah, but you did,” Gizel drew back again for another smooth thrust, gliding deeper, claiming yet more of his flesh, nudging that inner gland that made his prisoner moan and writhe. “While you were busy destroying yourself, each laughable exploit only brought you further shame. And all because you need, you crave punishment for the sins of the House of Barows, and your guilt at so slavishly yielding to your father’s will, year after year.”
“I—oh…no, I…I don’t know, Gizel…”
Euram gasped and mewled a complaint when Gizel abruptly pulled out once more. Impulsively his mouth fell slack for his Commander’s desires, waiting obediently before Gizel even had time to reposition.
Humming a praise at Euram’s willing submission, Gizel fed him his hard length, now glistening with his rival’s innards. Lips and tongue accepted him, and the Commander moaned in approval, gliding in deeper, seeking more of his prisoner’s hot mouth and throat.
“You admitted as much to me, yourself, Euram: that you deserve suffering. Already you have confessed this with your own tongue…that charming, biddable tongue. Yes, just like that…good boy…” he shuddered at the sweet fervor of Euram’s efforts, stopping to stroke blonde silk from his brow. Regaining his composure, he continued. “But that same tongue gets you into trouble, doesn’t it?” There answered an affirmative whimper from his pet, his eyes hopelessly captured in the Commander’s gaze. “Just as it betrayed the shameful little secret you and your father held buried so long.” He pressed further at Euram’s pitiful moan, sought more of his throat. “Yes, even that, I think, was no mere blunder. Your guilt was eating you alive, and you could no longer bear it. And deep within you, you ached to be free of it, to have your crime laid bare to all of Falena.”
Euram whimpered, unsure. No, that was just stupidity. He had feared retribution far too terribly to purposely reveal his own crimes, his complicity in his father’s. But that was what Gizel was saying, wasn’t it?
Reluctantly the Commander withdrew from the warm cavern of his mouth once more. “I know what you seek. Your every twitch, the way you move, the desolate look in your eyes betrays your suffering. Dare you deny it, now?”
“N-no…! Oohhh!” The younger noble crooned something unintelligible as Gizel’s primed length again penetrated his back passage.
“Confess to me, darling Euram.”
“Uhhn…y-yes…I…I felt wretched, helpless. I w-wished it would end. I wanted desperately, dreadfully to take it all back, but…”
“But you couldn’t. And you feared defying your father. But most of all, you feared justice, even as you craved it. Is it not so?” A gurgled whimper answered him as Gizel delivered a deep, piercing thrust. “The truth, Barows. Bare everything to me. Reveal to me your deepest heart, until you break from the shame of it.”
“Yes…oh yes…I was afraid, simply terrified.”
“You submitted to me because I took it out of your hands. And when I fold you over my lap and set that pretty rump of yours ablush, you enjoy it.”
“Oh—no, no…” Euram groaned his humiliation to the chamber beyond.
“Oh, yes, indeed,” Gizel thrust deep. “You need it, Euram. You burn for it. And you cannot comprehend why you should flutter and faint at the thought of my discipline, yet you melt so utterly beneath the sting of my palm. But I know why. And before you leave this bed, you will know it, and you will say it.”
“Gizel, please…”
Again Gizel plunged deep inside him, his cock raking over his prostate, weakening him.
“Yes, this is what you need,” the Commander said. “You fear it, and yet you hunger for it. You will admit this.”
“Ggghh…my lord, I can’t…I can’t…I can’t …”
“Oh, you dread it. The very thought of facing punishment for your sins dizzies and staggers you and cripples your heart. You quiver and grow faint at the thought of it. But you also desire it.” Again Gizel nudged his sensitive node and Euram’s sight went black. His heart fluttered and skipped, and he lay panting, mouth agape and drooling, pink lips parted in rapture and loathing. Lost within himself, he was just enough aware that his glazed eyes, half-lidded, managed to meet Gizel’s intense stare. “And you will ever suffer until it comes to you. Coward that you are, you need someone to deliver it, you need another to impose it upon you, to force upon you the retribution you know you have earned.”
“Oh—oh, Gizel. I…yes, I am a v-vile, loathsome, despicable coward, I am…” Euram sobbed, breaking. Tucked in the crooks of his knees, his arms ached and trembled, his strength failing him. Gizel took pity and held his folded legs in place, allowing his prisoner to simply melt into the bed beneath. “So much chaos, so much pain,” Euram babbled freely. “And all because of my g-gutless pusillanimity. Oh, I am scum! I knew it, I knew—but I couldn’t bear to admit it, oh, how could I? Oh, what a sorry wretch I am!”
Gizel beheld the abject young noble before him, Euram’s boyish cheeks blushing furiously as he poured forth his beautiful shame, his girlish lashes damp with tears. So broken, so powerless and bare and trembling beneath his gaze…
“Mmm-hmm,” Gizel encouraged, giving him a jarring stroke. “You’ve been a very naughty boy for a very long time, hmm?”
“Yes…ohhh, Commander, yes...”
“But you crave atonement.” Another nudge in just the right place and Euram moaned, his body shivering, no power left in him. “And you submit because I took all control out of your hands. You need another, stronger person to overcome you, someone to govern you and remove the element of choice.” Gizel pressed, giving him another jolt that made the younger noble shudder deep in his limbs. “You need one such as me, to spread and open and ravish you, to discipline and plunder you, and stuff your very bowels with my seed until you ache from it. And I will hold you here in agony, un-sated and burning, until you confess these truths to me.”
“Y--yes!” Turning away, Euram gasped and cringed, now openly weeping beneath his commander’s probing, both physical and emotional. “Yes, Your Majesty. Yes! Ohh by the Sun, help me…”
“My dear, delicate Euram. In this you have only affirmed my philosophy. The weak need dominion, crave it. Just as you need someone to dominate you, mortify your flesh. And I have done that for you, and you love and hate me for it. And before you untangle your weedy bones from my sheets, before you drag your defiled carcass from my bed, you will say it, and know that I am correct, and you will cry it out until your throat is raw.”
“Oh…ghh…y-yes! Yes, Your Commandership!” Euram seemed to sink further into the bed, even seemed to open himself wider, as if his body would more deeply acknowledge and invite Gizel’s subjugation. “Yes, Gizel. I…oh, I deserve to suffer, for everything, for everything. Please…”
“Yes, surrender your body to me,” Gizel huskily commanded, and rewarded his partner with another gut-wrenching stab. “You loathe yourself more with each day, and you crave someone to make you pay for your misdeeds, because you are afraid to seek it, otherwise. The ache of my cock deep in your guts helps satisfy that desire—is this not so?”
“Yes, my lord! I—ahnn!” Euram panted, seeing stars as another stroke split him deep. “I n-need…th-this. Please…oh!”
“And in spite of yourself, you have grown to love me for my dominion over you, the torments I impose on your pitiful skin, because they fulfill your need to suffer for your weakness, your crimes.”
“Y-yes! Yes, yes, Gizel, my Commander!” the broken noble cried, helpless, at last giving way to sobs. “Y-you’re right. Ohh, you’re right!”
The Commander leaned forward, raining kisses on his fevered forehead, his flushed cheeks.
“There,” he began, gently. “Good, Euram,” Gizel tenderly wiped at a tear from his enraptured lover’s face. “Free yourself, let go of it.”

A few moments passed, Euram sobbing and babbling and the Commander soothing him, petting him. At last Gizel spoke tenderly.
“I think you have found yourself, Euram Barows. And I shall reward you for it. Only remember it, after this day. Remember me.”
He sank into him balls-deep, drawing a despondent cry of relief and release from his prisoner. Their position, with Euram’s thighs resting at his shoulders, allowed Gizel to penetrate his lover more deeply and thoroughly, and he took advantage of that. Pressing the smaller man beneath him, Gizel bore down on him, thrusting with a power that shook and weakened the recipient of his desire.
Trembling, Euram melted beneath him. His mind reeled and spun. His head fell back on the pillows, neck stretching to bare his throat to his rival-turned-lover as his moans wove a song around them, and Gizel dove in, biting and kissing biddable flesh.
At length Gizel watched him, the golden strands spread over the pillows, and he wondered at how thoroughly he had mastered the slight body beneath him. Delicate hands clutched his biceps, Euram’s lips parted in mewling sighs, eyes half-lidded as he rocked beneath Gizel’s quickening thrusts, that melodious voice rewarding him with fevered appeals.
“What is it you want, Euram?” Gizel leaned down to husk in his ear.
“Ohh…Your Majesty…please, fuck me. I beg you…please…”
“And how would you like it?”
“Ghh…h-hard, and deep.” He shuddered and blushed, and his lidded, smoldering eyes met Gizel’s as he breathed a pleading supplication, his skin flushed furiously even as the words left his lips:
“Take me, Gizel, Commander. M-make me feel it.”
Euram’s voice had dropped into a darker tone with that, and Gizel thrilled predatorily at the appeal, his cock responding with a twitch inside his former rival. Oh, he could manage that; he could make the silly fop hurt and moan and sing like a whore, and he would; but he would also make him feel wonderful and leave him questioning how he’d ever lived without it. He rewarded his prisoner with long, deep strokes that pounded and claimed slick, warm innards, wracking the smaller man and making him moan and twitch and jolt with each thrust.
And once again Euram had lost himself utterly, powerless beneath Gizel’s driving strokes. His thoughts melted to a blur, only red, raw power flitting on the fringe of his bleary sight, his own cock imprisoned between the heaving form of his Commander and his own belly. His moans split the air above them, just as Gizel split him and claimed him deep.
“Come with me, only when I say,” a guttural voice directed, and Euram could only sigh his compliance.
Gizel smiled with satisfaction, felt a surge of power as he pounded without mercy this beautiful creature, so tamed, so biddable, slim legs hooked over his shoulders leaving the younger noble helplessly open to his assault.
The raw sexual heat between them mounted to a fury, until every thrust fluttered Euram’s belly and sent terrible thrills to his very heart. Crooning supplications poured from his lips until at last his lover and master drew rigid.
“Now,” Gizel husked his permission, and Euram jolted, crying out as he shuddered his completion between them. The first shots were powerful enough that they reached Euram’s face, one thick rope landing on his chin, another soiling his cheek.
Spellbound at the sight, Gizel quickly followed, and with a series of final thrusts, rough and deep, emptied his own peak into his prisoner’s willing body.
Gizel felt his world coalesce into tiny black explosions, seeking the deepest reaches of his lover’s clinging bowels as his climax flooded forth.

Too soon, it seemed, it was over. Gizel collapsed on top of him, both panting from their efforts, and for several long moments they lay silent aside from the gasping afterglow of their coupling.
Gizel half rose, gazing at the spent and beautiful former noble, so thoroughly his. It had taken patience, time and frustration, but at last, his rival was wholly owned. Scooping what was left of Euram’s come from their bellies, he then scraped the rest from his lover’s flushed face and wordlessly brought his fingers to Euram’s mouth, who lapped them clean.
Slowly they untangled their limbs, and Gizel’s spent cock plopped from the wet, well-fucked hole with a splutter that made Gizel chuckle and Euram groan. Gizel gathered the splatter of come that had followed, offering this as well to Euram’s swollen lips. Euram moaned his humiliation but capitulated to the unspoken command, as Gizel had known he would.
He no longer had a choice. He was his, wholly—so utterly his, that even should Gizel die today, a part of Euram would always belong to him.
“Such a perfect, obedient lover you’ve become,” he hummed, watching with approval as the younger man drew the stray seed onto his tongue and rewarding him with kisses when he had finished.
And for several minutes, they lay breathless and wordless in each other’s arms.
It seemed an eternity passed before Gizel disturbed the echoing silence.
“There is tea, and some scones, I think,” he said, absently.
“Would you have me serve you? Commander.”
“No. I would have you sit with me, and talk. Simply talk.”

***
Without a word they had washed away the sweat and sex in the basin at the dresser. Gizel had permitted him to clothe himself in a fine satin robe, and together they sat opposite one another at the table, almost as equals, for the last time.
The tea had cooled to tepid, but remained warm enough to be enjoyed. Few words passed between them at first, Gizel enjoying a light pastry and Euram idly sipping from the teacup cradled delicately in his slender hands. His gaze lingered on something distant, as if his thoughts were fixed somewhere far away.
“I advise you eat something,” Gizel spoke at last—a suggestion, not an order. “You may well need your strength this day. There is little of you there as it is.”
“No, thank you, Your Commandership.”
As Gizel watched the younger man, it struck him again how subdued Barows had become.
If only someone had collared him sooner, he might have been tolerable.
Gizel snickered to himself, but he knew it wasn’t only his subjugation of the swaggering brat that had brought Euram to these silent and uncharacteristic reflections. It was more likely the hailstorm of disgrace, misfortune and defeat that had shaped this new creature. The House of Barows had seen misery after misery over the past few months, beginning with their defeat in the Sacred Games and followed by the exposure of their Dawn Rune crimes. That revelation had doomed them to their awful fate, and from that instant the dominos had fallen, one by one--all culminating in the fall of Rainwall and the death of Salum himself.
At last the Barows had met their long-overdue reckoning. It was the convergence of these events, and, it would seem, the emergence of Euram’s own sense of compunction, that had tamed the spoiled young lordling at last.
“You are afraid,” Gizel observed.
“Of course I am,” the other admitted—something his former, haughty self would never have done, no matter how obvious it was.
Gizel cocked his head, buttering another scone and offering it to his prisoner.
“Tell me, Euram: should you survive this—encounter –should you survive this war…what will you do?”
“Hmm?” Euram caught his eye, and there was no mockery in it. It was a genuine question, of genuine curiosity. “I am afraid I haven’t thought much on it,” he softly replied, declining the offered morsel with a graceful wave of his delicate hand.
“Now, now,” Gizel answered with a smirk. “You needn’t lie. It will gain you nothing, and you’ve nothing to lose in revealing to me your purposes, should you live beyond whatever transpires next.”
“I…cannot answer that. I do not know what I will do, because I cannot be sure who will win.” If anyone at all.
“Ah. So you will see who emerges triumphant, and then supplicate to the victor?”
Euram frowned. It wasn’t like that at all. And Gizel’s accusation made it sound so cowardly, as if he would simply ingratiate himself to the winner, whomever it may be.
But, no; he was right. That was surely what the old Euram Barows would have done.
“That isn’t what I meant,” he replied, sadly. “I only meant that should you and Lord Godwin…manage to defeat them, and retain Sol Falena…then, my only choice will be that which you give me. I might ask you, should you succeed—what will you do with me?”
Gizel cocked a brow, smirked. “I will admit there have been other, more pressing matters to consider than the fate of a lowly slave. If you mean to ask whether I will set you free, then this is doubtful. How would it reflect upon me, were I to willingly set loose the only remaining male heir of my rival’s division, and accomplice to Barows’ crimes? That is of course notwithstanding the…shall we say, reputation, you have made for yourself.” He chuckled at his prisoner’s frown. “Besides, I cannot have you cavorting about, making mischief. Or have you finally grown weary of dragging your own good name through the dirt?"
“No, no. I am done.” Euram sighed gloomily and set down his cup, wishing Gizel hadn’t brought all that up. He was painfully aware of his own unpopularity with the citizens of Falena, even among his father’s own territories. Even in his own, beloved Rainwall, he now had to walk with his head down, fearing with Dad gone he might be mobbed by citizens angry that their lord had betrayed and failed them, and that his son helped bring about their ruin, and had repeatedly shamed them since. He also knew that some of the more stubbornly unrepentant even blamed him for squawking aloud the Dawn Rune’s presence in their storage room. Yet others might turn on him as the only remaining extension of his father. Others hated him still for his cowardice, his continued refusal to repent, his foolish shenanigans against Prince Freyjadour, or simply because the Barows family, in all their hubris, had brought misery and disgrace upon the entire region and its people.
Throughout the Queendom his name was mud, and he had no one to blame for it but himself.
To make matters worse, he hadn’t the first clue how to run Rainwall. He had squandered years he should have spent learning matters of governance on idle amusements and preening, and his sister had picked up the slack. Clearly Father had soon correctly perceived Luserina as the more capable of the pair at managing business, and these things had instead fallen to her. Now, without his father or Luserina, Euram could not begin to fulfill the management of their province.
“But what I want to know, Barows, is this,” Gizel pressed, pulling him from his thoughts. “Should this day go unfavorably for Father and I, and the Prince emerges victorious, and you are once again a free man—what will you do? Now with your father deceased?”
Euram again lapsed into his until-now untapped introspection.
“I …I will admit I have done some thinking. If the opportunity should present itself…I would like to repair the damage I’ve done—the damage Dad and I have sown—even though I haven’t the first idea how to go about it. I don’t even know where to begin, or whether those we’ve wronged will permit me the chance—which I doubt. But I would like to try.” Heavily he sighed, and bowed over the table, supporting himself on his elbows and resting his head in one palm. “In the end, I guess, it really depends on what they will do with me. I expect I shall stand trial, once the dust from this mess settles. And then, my fate will rest in the hands of the Queen, the Prince, and the people of Falena. Knowing that, how can I make any certain plans?”
Gizel considered him deep, probing for falsehood. But no: Euram was as sincere as he had possibly ever been in all his nineteen years.
“You have certainly grown, Euram Barows. No longer your father’s lapdog, you are your own man, at last.”
The younger noble looked up, sharply, but Gizel’s eyes were soft, even if cold as ever, and he knew the Commander was not mocking him.
“I…I don’t feel like it. I feel…lost. Completely, utterly, inexorably lost.”
“You are only finding your feet. No, Euram, you were lost before. You have been lost ever since you lost your brother, and your mother retreated from your life. Is this not so?”
“M-mother,” Euram faltered. “Yes, I—I needed her, I missed her. I didn’t know why she wasn’t there anymore. I needed…”
“You needed her attention.”
“Yes…I did. Very much.”
“Which is why you…”
“…acted out, yes.”
“And then, your father took you over. Un-permitted to grow into your own man, you became what he wanted you to be. And thus, you became little more than his slave.”
“Oh…”
“And you grew ever more jealous of me—the despicable Godwin boogeyman—because of the things he put in your head. Is this not so, as well?”
“Yes. I was jealous. I couldn’t please Father. I wanted to please him, and make Mother happy again. I sought her attention, and…I guess I resorted to foolish antics to make her come out of her room and be Mom again. But I feared I wasn’t strong enough, or clever enough. Yet there you were, strong and confident. Talented. Handsome…” Euram trailed and his hands fidgeted and fluttered, as if they sought to twist and fumble with the frills that once hung from his wrists. “You were…smart, popular. Competent. And here was I, the fool of Falena. I was desperate, I was confused. I was bitter. I, I would have done anything. I felt…worthless.”
He flinched at his own choice of words, a description others had so often applied to him coming back to sting him.
“Oh, but you are right. My, my, Gizel! How quickly my childhood slipped away from me. And I never saw it happening. But I understand now—much as it hurts.” He sighed, deep in thought. “So long have I been lost to myself. Only now, I fear it is too late for me,” Squeezing back tears, he swallowed before meeting Gizel’s gaze. “G-Gizel, I…I truly meant that I am sorry for any grief the House of Barows has brought you. I am sorry about your mother.” He bowed his head. “Dreadfully, horribly sorry.”
“And I meant it when I revealed that I have grown fond of you.” Gizel rose and went to him, tilting his chin to meet his sad gaze. “And it was for this very reason I intended not to do so, for it will soon be the end: the end of this.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Euram said at once, swiveling in his chair and reaching up to clasp Gizel’s hand in his own. “Surrender to the prince, Gizel. If I am worthy of his mercy, then so are you.”
The Commander chuckled at the boy’s naïve plea. How childlike he was, even now.
“You know as well as I that will never happen,” he admonished. “It cannot happen. In a world like this, men like you and I may either conquer, surrender, or we may die. And it seems the two of us have chosen our paths: you have chosen to surrender all that you were, and that is something I cannot do.”
“I have forsaken my ways because they were wrong, Gizel. We were wrong, I was wrong. Has it ever occurred to you that you might be wrong, as well?”
“I am not entirely certain there exists a wrong, or a right in this struggle. Besides, is it wrong to wish for the protection and safety of the Queendom I love?” He paused, his jade eyes softening as he stroked a thumb down his former rival’s pale cheek. “But it is not in my blood to surrender. Besides, we have come too far in our resolve to back down, now. Can you say, had your faction been successful in your designs, that your change of heart would have come about so readily?”
Euram sighed, but once again, Gizel was right. How repentant would he feel right now, were he the one wearing the Commander’s robes? And it was indeed naïve and silly to think Gizel could simply retreat now, after wresting the Queendom by force and triggering the chaos that now consumed the land.
“Enough foolishness, Barows,” Gizel said at once, releasing the younger man’s hand. “I cannot remain here in idleness. I must go to Father, and prepare. Come.”
Dutifully Euram assisted him into his robes and boots. As Gizel rose and tucked his sword into its scabbard, Euram straightened and smoothed the fabric, his tabard.
“Well?” Once outfitted, the Commander stepped back and presented himself fully. “How do I look?”
“You look…fantastic,” Euram admitted, taking in the strong and graceful image before him. He bowed low. “Incredibly, indubitably fantastic, Your Majesty.”
Chuckling, Gizel moved to him and took his chin in hand once more, urging him to rise.
“What an agreeable servant you’ve turned out to be, after all.” For a long moment Gizel held the gaze of the man he’d come to know so intimately over the past few days. Then, he reached both hands to his neck, and before Euram realized what was happening, he felt a gentle tug, a smooth pull. A pressure slipped away from his throat, and the collar unclasped and came free.
“I don’t think we will be needing this, going forward,” said Gizel, tossing the leather band aside onto the table.
For some reason a lump formed in Euram’s throat. “Oh. I…th-thank you.” He swallowed, a tear shivering in his eye.
“Now, now,” Gizel chided, stroking his pale cheek. “That, Euram Barows, is not allowed. You will have to be strong today.”
“Gizel…I don’t think I can.”
“You can. I am sure of that, now.” The Commander swept a golden strand aside and looked deep into his eyes, as if it were the last time he might do so.
“You will remain here, for now,” he said, answering Euram’s unspoken question. “I will send along instructions soon enough, once we have a feel for the situation. In the meantime, Euram…be good.”
Swallowing, Euram nodded. “Yes, Your Commandership.”
Approvingly Gizel patted him, and leaned down to brush a final, tender kiss to soft lips. For a long moment he lingered before turning on his booted heel and exiting the chamber. The door locked with a small click.
And he was gone.
Euram watched the door for a long time after he’d left. A sting of tears threatened, and he wondered where it came from. All at once he shivered, a sudden and odd chill coming over him as he wondered how long it would be before the first wave of battle was upon the Sun Palace. What would happen, then?
Just then, a soft sweeping sound drew his eyes to the door through which Gizel had departed. There, on the floor, was a letter of sorts, slipped beneath the crack from outside.
What the…?
Moving to retrieve it, he wondered for a moment if it might have been Gizel’s doing. But no; it was a small lavender envelope the like of which he had not seen in the Commander’s chamber. It was blank, un-addressed, and in his curiosity he opened the flap and retrieved a slip of paper of similar color inside. Inside the envelope was one more item: a key.
Unfolding the note, he found the answer as to who was responsible.
It was from Lady Sialeeds.
Gulping, Euram read.
Our little chat has changed nothing between us. I bear you nothing but contempt, and always will. Never forget that. I never liked you, anyway, and you well know it was your cowardice that set in motion this very war and the turmoil that has now shattered the lives of my niece and nephew. I will forever hate you for that. However, if you truly wish to redeem yourself, you may begin with the task about which I spoke to you.
We anticipate Prince Frey’s Rebel Army, his Loyalists, will attack from the river, the Dahak leading the charge. Gizel and Marscal will wait in the sealed room where the Sun Rune is housed, at least early in the fighting.
Lymsleia’s chamber is on the same level as Gizel’s, only in the west wing of the Palace. The Queen has refused Gizel’s appeals that she move to safety, and she no longer trusts me. If ever you had any use at all, you may be the wild card needed to achieve this. Should Gizel set you to a task, you will do this, instead: Remove Lymsleia from her room, and take her to the lower levels, where she will be safe from…any force that might bear down on the Palace and the field of battle below. I will deal with those guarding her so you will have a clear path to the Queen. The key will unlock her room. You need only to be brave. I only hope you possess the courage to do this one thing. I have my doubts, and I frankly do not trust you as far as I could fling you. But if there is a way, then this, Barows, is how you may begin your atonement. If you are false, should you attempt any manner of ill towards my niece, I will destroy you; I will make you suffer, and you will beg me for the swift and merciful death your father received. But I am confident that Lym can handle the likes of you.
If you are truly reformed, then you will face a long, hard path ahead. Forgiveness will not find you easily, nor should it. I will warn you now, that any amends you might endeavor to supply are sure to be utterly rebuked. There are many like me who will never forgive you. And you know as well as I that your offences and idiocy extend far beyond Lordlake, and your stupid efforts against my nephew. This is something you will have to face, and it will not be pretty. How you choose to amend these ills will be your own calling. I can only hope your calling in this is not as misguided as I have seen in you before.
Do not make me regret sparing your sorry skin. Should you survive this day, do all you can to make it worth it.
Shaking, Euram staggered to the table and lay down the note and envelope, falling like a boulder into a chair. So this is happening. He peered toward the window. An eerie calm seemed to hover outside…
How can I do this? Oh, my, my, but what have I got myself into, now?

*****
“What?! What did you just say?!” The Queen snapped at her “husband”, and the Commander who was, along with his father, truly ruling Falena in her name.
“I’m asking you to please flee while you still can.” Gizel offered, though he knew it was pointless. This was the third time he had come to her room and offered her the chance to escape the Sun Palace, where the war would come to its bloodiest
Queen Lymsleia huffed. “My brother's coming to rescue me, you idiot! Why would I want to leave?! Are you expecting to lose the battle or something? If you are, why don't you just give up now? Or maybe you WANT your soldiers to die for your stupid cause!
“Don't be ridiculous. I'm not suggesting we flee because we're going to lose.” Gizel retorted, his patience wearing thin. “If you remain here, you'll witness something you need not see.”
“Like what?”
“Both sides are desperate,” Gizel explained. “The battle here will be far more savage than Your Majesty's campaign against the rebels. And the resulting loss of life will be far worse still.”
“That's all the more reason why we shouldn't leave!” Lym insisted. “I'm the almighty Queen, and I say we stay put! Got it?”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Without another word Gizel Godwin departed her quarters. Turning to his closest guards, he issued them a muted order:
“Have my prisoner clothed and brought to the audience hall. He may yet have a part to play.”
“Yes sir, Commander.”

***
Oh, to be a spineless wretch in the face of danger!
The way Gizel has made me feel confuses and frightens me everso much. He has held me here as both prisoner and lover, and he has left me utterly debased.
Defiled. Despoiled. Deflowered.
And yet he has made me understand myself, more than I ever cared to. He has torn me down and laid me bare and I know in my heart that even should I survive this, I will never be the same.
How will I ever face what’s coming today? I know nothing of bravery, or valor, or facing violence with discretion. I, who have always fled at the first threat of bodily harm, just as I fled the battlefield south of Rainwall. Just as I fled Tricolor Inn after the Book of Condemnation nearly pulled my soul into ghastly oblivion. Just as I fled Haud when the Knights I’d hired to punish Prince Frey rightly chose to punish me instead. Just as I fled in Sable, after the citizens learned of my trickery.
Just as I’d fled the garrison, two years ago.
Always I come back to that.
Dad refused to meet Lordlake’s people, refused to listen to their grievances. Instead, he sent troops—with me to lead them, no less. No wonder those poor people were angry. I went because I thought I could help Dad, but I also dared not defy him. And when I saw their numbers, felt their anger, I feared that in Father’s absence, they might take out their fury on me, as the son of the man with whom their complaints lay.
I should have handled it differently, but I panicked. It is still no excuse for the suffering that followed.
Barows’ deeds brought about this war; worst of all, my folly permitted Dad the opportunity to seize the Dawn Rune. It is strange to think about, now. Two years ago I never would have dreamed my thoughtlessness would result in all this. Yet now, here we are, Falena once more embroiled in turmoil. Strange how a small thing can make such ripples, like a pebble in a pond.
What if I had listened to Norden? What if I had heeded the warnings of men more experienced, rather than let pride and fear rule me? Better yet, what if I had come clean about the Dawn Rune, turning Dad in, rather than stand by while Lord Rovere and all of Lordlake suffered their terrible fate? What if I had done the correct and courageous thing, rather than cower in my mansion, paralyzed with fear when the Sun’s wrath fell upon an innocent village? And for two years that fear paralyzed my tongue…and Dad never let me forget what would happen should we be discovered. We had hoped to harness the Dawn’s power, before Prince Frey swept it from our wicked hands. That rune accepted him because he was worthy of its power.
We were not.
We had hoped to wield it, “to protect Falena against that maniac Godwin”. That was what Dad always said. We hoped to wield the Dawn Rune, just as Lord Godwin and Gizel now hope to wield the Sun Rune. Only it seems they have succeeded. Oh, the very thought cripples me with dread, though it would serve me right to be roasted alive by the very force that once punished others for our sins.
Should I be reduced to dust here, all I can say is—well, what can I say that will not be woefully, grievously insufficient? Will “I’m sorry” suffice?
I should think not.
Can I now hope to find courage, when the thought of open war renders me sick with fear? And the thought of facing the Queen brings on an entirely different shame. I don’t…I don’t know if I can do this….
Once again, Gizel was right, at least partly. I do so thirst for punishment for my many misdeeds. He is also right that I am, indeed, weak. But I cannot believe, I just cannot, that this justifies his so-called philosophy, as he claims. I cannot accept that there is some decisive force that dictates only those who would engage in conquest and subjugation are permitted to thrive. I have realized only now how wrong Father and I were—but is dominating others and purging cultures deemed ‘unnecessary’ the answer? No. It is too cruel, too final. Our methods—Barows’ methods of manipulation and deceit—they are wrong. But Godwin’s methods are equally terrible, in annihilating the insignificant and subjugating the “weak”.
No, my weakness is a problem within myself—and one with which I must learn to contend.
I think I understand many things much better, now. Father indeed had me well-trained. I can’t say I am not saddened by his loss. I had hoped to deny my sorrow by rationalizing that he got what he deserved, but I am horribly lost without him. All the same, I know he had to care about me. If nothing else, he did love me, even if I was more or less a pawn to him. I am a noble male, without the brains or charm that Hiram possessed; marrying into royalty probably was the best option for me, from Dad’s point of view. I think, in the end, he only wanted what was best for me—what he felt was best for me, at least.
Too long was I his puppet, seeking his approval and fearing his displeasure. Now he is gone, leaving me to face the messes we made alone.
And I will face them, Dad, though not as you surely would have done. I will not attempt to buy my way back into favor, or orchestrate some scheme to court back Falena’s good graces. I will not closet myself off in Rainwall, or employ my wealth to elude justice. I will face our crimes—my crimes, now—as would any Falenan. If it means serving the rest of my days in Agate, or worse…I will face it.
Of course, that is only should I survive whatever happens here, today. All I can do is hope for the chance to amend our misdeeds, and, should the worst occur, hope that the Darkness has mercy on me.
Your Highness…be careful.

It wasn’t long before a knock at the door made him jump, and three Godwin soldiers filed inside, regarding him with their usual disdain. One of them carried what looked like a bundle of clothes.
“You will dress yourself, and accompany us,” one ordered, tossing the new garments to the floor. They stepped outside, granting him a moment of privacy, and a scrape of dread came over him. What was Gizel up to? What terrible fate awaited him, now?
Curious, Euram examined the new attire: a plain white tunic and common, fitted gray leggings. There was even a pair of brown shoes for him. A far cry from his accustomed finery, but they fit, he soon discovered. Catching a passing glance at himself in the mirror, he gasped a little. Why, he looked no more than a common peasant…
A moment of sorrow fluttered his heart; it was odd, startling, even, seeing himself like this, but…

No. This was just fine. It…suited him, really.
Gizel had even sent a plain black ribbon for his hair, and he tied his golden locks into a loose ponytail. If nothing else, it gave him a sense of familiarity, and security.
The guards were none too gentle as they shackled him in silence.
“Wh-where are you taking me?”
Rather than answer, they roughly led him toward the throne room, and the doors flung wide for them to pass.
Gizel, Dolph, Lady Sialeeds, Sir Zahhak and Lady Alenia were present, all in the midst of formal deliberations. The Queen, however, was absent.
Sialeeds briefly caught Euram’s frightened eye, but did not acknowledge him otherwise.
Dolph stared at Euram coldly. The pitiful young man was Dolph’s own age, yet how different they were. The young assassin might have pitied the other, had pity not been programmed out of him long ago. Dolph himself had brought Euram to Gizel, in case the latter wished to complete the task. At least he could say he had fulfilled his debt to Godwin in some way, by not allowing the Barows heir to remain free. What Gizel did with his prisoner was his choice; it made no difference to Dolph whether he slew the poor creature or used him as a footrest.
As the guards escorted Euram through the massive doors, Gizel turned to greet him.
“Well, well. Look what we have here.” With a nod he dismissed Euram’s jailors, and beckoned the younger noble to his side.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Alenia barked, her eyes spitting harpoons at the young Barows.
Gizel shrugged. “I couldn’t well leave him to his own devices, now, could I?”
“Then what do you plan to do with him?” Zahhak pressed.
“I haven’t yet discovered that.”
“Pah,” Alenia snorted. “Why hesitate in slaying this treacherous weasel? The Barows line should be snuffed out once and for all, else mischief will surely follow. Why not end it now, Your Commandership? I will gladly deliver the blow for you, and for the good of Falena.”

Next to him, Gizel felt Euram shudder. “I have no doubt you would take immense satisfaction in the task, Alenia,” he said. Which is exactly why I will not permit you the thrill of it. “But I may require use of him, before all is said and done.”
“This worthless fop has no uses, save trouble,” the woman reminded him.
“That, as may be, is my own business,” Gizel said, turning his gaze on Dolph. “The enemy advances from the Feitas. Is Father fully prepared?”
Dolph nodded, expressionless. “He is, Commander. He will employ the Sun Rune once the enemy moves into position. He will await the signal.”
Meekly Euram stirred, his posture all nerves. “P-please…you must dissuade him from using that thing.” He remembered enough of his history to know the rune had once decimated the entire continent. “We simply mustn’t allow him to wield the Sun Rune; it’s far too dangerous—terribly, unthinkably dangerous! I beg of you…”
“Silence, Barows wretch.” Alenia shot, and Euram shrank. “Do you think it is not well known that you urged your swine of a sire to exert the Dawn Rune against Dilbur Novum’s men, or that you feebly sought to harness the rune’s power yourself? The very rune your family kept hidden while the people of Lordlake suffered?”
Euram flinched, but refrained from reminding her it was Godwin who assured Lordlake continued to suffer by means of Hatred Fortress, long after the flares from the initial punishment burned away.
“You would have attempted to wield it as vengeance without even knowing the first thing about how to control it.” Alenia pressed. “And you dare moralize to us, and entreat us to eschew the power available to us?”
Euram hung his head, his gaze fixed on marble, and he knew every word of her rebuke was true.
“Nothing more to say? Hmmphh. Pitiful cur. Had it been me to confront you with the Twilight Rune, you would have shared your father’s fate. You would have died like the dog you are.”
“Oh, honestly!” Sialeeds spoke up, just then. “What is gained from browbeating this sorry scoundrel? Or is this how you get your jollies, Alenia? By mocking lower life forms? Perhaps this helps you compensate for your own failings, hmm? After all, you’re hardly one to talk about the rash and feeble handling of runes.”
Not needing the reminder of her own failure to master the Twilight Rune, Alenia snarled, and a scathing retort was on her lips when a door creaked open, and Marscal Godwin entered the audience hall. Zahhak and Alenia bowed.
He strode tall, intimidating, his trimmed moustache perfect and stern and his head as polished as the marble beneath their feet. He was clothed in his regalia, a white suit and crest-dotted cloak. Euram gulped at his presence. Zahhak and Alenia bowed.
As Marscal Godwin calmly approached up the red carpet runner, Gizel abruptly seized Euram by the back of the neck and thrust him, chains and all, to the floor before him.
“The final scrap of the Barows clan, Father.”
Lord Godwin paused where he stood and considered the bent form, shackled, stripped of his finery and kneeling before him like a whipped dog. If he was affected by the pitiful state of his rival family’s offspring, he did not show it, but approached the now-official “head” of what little remained of the vanquished House of Barows.
“What a pity,” Marscal began in his standard, composed baritone. He shook his head, hands clasping behind his back as he coolly paced above the broken young noble. “How unfortunate that Barows is finally reduced to such a state. After generations of duplicity, dishonor and outright treason, at last Barows’ folly has come to this: ruination, and disgrace. All the more fitting, is it not, that it should all end here?”
Groaning, Euram bent further. Must he endure this, as well? Must he now have the lord of his family’s most bitter rival not only smear his face in the Barows’ undoing, but lecture to him as well? He fleetingly wondered if Marscal Godwin meant to finish it now, and send his head rolling with a quick swipe of his sword. It might almost be a mercy.
Euram swallowed.
“You are aware, young Barows, that Mardas Godwin, my own dear cousin, and my lovely Rosalind were stolen as a result of Barows’ prolonged corruption and deceit? Why, your own brother’s murder can be attributed to your father’s duplicity as well.
“You are probably too young to remember much of the Civil War that raged around the Succession to the throne. It was Salum’s schemes that ripped the throne from rightful hands, and after much bloodshed, installed a Queen of his own preference. It was Barows’ weakness which made Falena vulnerable to invasion from without—and New Armes took advantage of that weakness, and exploited it to ravage Falena. And even despite this, in spite of the devastation wrought upon Salum’s own lands, he persisted in devising covenants with that same enemy.”
Euram sighed. He knew why his father had sought alliances with Armes. Their territory near Falena’s border was vulnerable, close as it was to New Armes and potential invasion. He still wasn’t sure if such things could be correctly called “treason”. Father had, after all, believed he, too, was looking out for the good of Falena. And his own pocketbook, of course.
“And you, too, took part in these traitorous craftings,” Godwin pressed, pulling him from his thoughts. “Your hand in Salum’s most recent treacheries is well-known, though I do not fault you for that, young Master Euram. Salum’s shortsightedness in employing you, fully aware of your weak-willed ineptitude, is yet another testament to Barows’ folly. It was, of course, Barows' actions that have forced our hand in claiming the throne. Barows’ leadership has proven a dismal failure time and again. But beneath this weakness lies a more subtle poison in deceit. That same deceit would ultimately influence Princess Falzrahm, the very sedition that led to the conflict over the throne. And let us not forget the “disappearance” of the Dawn Rune—the event that led Queen Arstat to wield the Sun Rune, warping her mind, resulting in Falena’s current state. This is the ruin Barows’ treachery has wrought. Yet again war comes to Falena. This is the result of the scandalous actions of the Barows clan—the end culmination of treachery and deceit.
“But now, with a contingent in ruin, that treachery comes full circle, and we may go forth with but one comfort: that the shady and seditious Barows house has finally met its end, undone by its own corruption, and crushed beneath the rubble of malfeasance and shame. For Madras and Rosalind, and even Hiram Barows—this is why we must fight to the last, for a stronger, unified Falena. No matter the outcome, we may at least rest knowing Salum Barows will no longer orchestrate his treachery, and the legacy his broken faction leaves behind lies disgraced and in tatters, its only remaining thread a clownish poltroon. Have you anything to say, young Master Euram?”
Hot with shame at having his family’s humiliating end recited to him, Euram swallowed a swell of anger, quickly replaced by deep sorrow. A long silence passed before Euram ventured a reply.
“Lord Godwin…I…” He trailed, thinking of the chaos his family had caused, how his own cowardice helped sow it. Another spell of silence lapsed before he somehow found his voice, and his melodious tenor quavered as he spoke. “My father…and our faction…we got what was coming to us. We have duly paid for our misdeeds.” He paused, swallowed, and at length looked up, meeting Marscal Godwin’s gaze with both sorrow and resolve. “And you are no better. Enjoy your victory, Lord Godwin, for it will be short-lived. Falena’s nobility is finished, and deservedly so.”
Silent once more, Euram bowed his head, another prolonged and painful hush falling over the chamber.
“Insolent rogue!” Alenia was the first to erupt. “Why, you…”
Marscal raised a hand to silence her, his unchanging expression fixed upon the young Barows heir.
“Well, now. Could it be that the recreant of Rainwall has found a shred of daring, at last? It would be here, at the end.”
“We should have long ago seen this good-for-nothing’s head on a pike!” the female Queen’s Knight objected, hand on her blade. “Permission to execute this scum, Lord Godwin!”
“Stand down,” Marscal calmly insisted.
“How can you allow …?”
“There is no need for such, Alenia. The Barows’ defeat is as thorough as it is final. He will carry that indignity forward, long after the ashes have settled.”
Alenia twitched, a further objection on her lips when a guard interrupted.
“Your Commandership, Lord Godwin. The rebel army advances from the east, west and south. They will be approaching the dam in a matter of minutes.”
“So,” Gizel calmly replied. “The pieces are moving into place.”
“It is time,” Marscal agreed, with a nod to his son. “We retreat to the Sealed Room.”
Euram swallowed his fearful whimper as Marscal led all present in a recitation of the Falenan Code.
“Let our mercy as deep as the Feitas and our authority as powerful as the Sun be revealed to the entire World."
Head bowed, Euram mouthed the words, though his heart was elsewhere, notably on the approaching Prince Frey and his army, and on what terrible things would befall the city once Gizel and his father employed use of their weapon.
As soon as the chant ended, Marscal Godwin supplied final directives, turned on his booted heel and swept from the chamber. Gizel looked to his loyal Queen’s Knights, Zahhak and Alenia.
“Have everyone move into position.”
Bowing, the pair exited, and Gizel approached Lady Sialeeds, who stood coolly, arms folded over her chest.
“I suppose you have your designs in place,” he asked, simply.
“Indeed…Gizel.”
From his position, Euram quietly watched the pair of them share a long, meaningful gaze, and a strange emptiness, almost like regret, tugged at his heart. Without further words, Sialeeds sauntered from the chamber, leaving Gizel alone with his assassin and his prisoner.
The Commander watched her go, a cold but wistful expression shadowing his features.
It felt like an eternity before Gizel finally turned his focus upon Euram. He seemed to soften as he approached the younger man, still bent kneeling on polished marble.
“Come, now,” he spoke, taking his hand and gently helping him to his feet. Drawing a key from his pocket he removed Euram’s shackles and tossed them aside. “I must say, Euram, you have impressed me. The way you stood up to my father just now was most unexpected. Well done."
"Wha...?"
"Now, now. If you recall, my pet, I said there may yet be a part for you to play.”
“B-but Gizel, I…what can I do? I am…”
…useless…
“Hush, now,” the Commander pressed a finger to his lips. “It is no more than you are capable of managing, I am sure. Indeed, Euram, you will do that which you do best: you will run.”
Euram stalled, blinked. “W-wha…?”
“Euram, I need you to listen very carefully. In the Knight’s guardroom there is an escape route to the lower levels, below ground. There are two separate paths. The right path connects to a corridor and a small ferry dock. You are to avoid this at all cost. You are to take the left path. Left, Euram. Do you understand?” Euram blinked stupidly, managed a blank nod. Sighing, Gizel seized his left hand. “Left—that would be this one, Euram. Do not confuse the two in your panic. Understood?” Bemused, the younger man nodded. “The left corridor will take you to a conduit of the old sewer system. It is no longer operational, save the entrance. Pressing a sunken stone on the wall will lower the door, sealing it off. Go, and seal yourself inside, and wait. It will protect you from the Sun Rune’s fury—or any flooding that might occur.”
“F-flooding!” Euram blanched. “Wh-what do you…oh, Gizel, I cannot do this! No, no, no…”
For a moment it seemed the younger man might fall to pieces, before a firm swat to the backside brought him back into focus.
“That’s enough. You can do this, Euram. I have faith in that, now.”
“B-but…”
“Shh. There is no time for doubt, no time for argument, now,” Gizel gripped his shoulders, forcing Euram to meet his gaze, firm and intense. “You must do as I say, and you will. You made that promise to me, or have you forgotten? You vowed that when the time came, you would obey my orders, without question, no matter what those orders may be, did you not?”
“I—well, y-yes. But I…”
“Then this is that order, Barows. You will go underground, and protect yourself, and wait. Understood?”
“I—oh, I-I think so, Gizel.”
“Good. Just do not forget—left.”
“R-right, Commander. I-I mean left.”
“Once you are safe, you need only wait until the fighting has ebbed. And Euram…look after yourself.”
The smaller man nodded, frightened, uncertain. “Y-yes, Gizel.”
Brushing a kiss to his lips, Gizel held his gaze a moment more. “Farewell, Euram. And may you someday achieve the absolution you seek.”
After another long gaze, the Commander turned and departed in the direction his father had gone—toward the corridor leading to the Sealed Room. Dutifully Dolph followed behind, leaving Euram on his own.
For a long time the disgraced noble stood, alone and lost, in the chamber. Swallowing, he spun about, desperately seeking direction, seeking someone, anyone who might guide him in what he needed to do, when all he wanted to do was curl up and cry. That was, after all, what the old Euram Barows would have done.
Biting his lip, he whimpered, his eyes darting about when his hand came to rest on the pocket in his tunic, where he had slipped Sialeeds’ key.
Oh…I’ve got to do this now, haven’t I?
He shuddered, steeling himself.

***
Outside, as the Dahak of Raftfleet barreled up the Feitas toward the city, as Godwin’s navy churned outward to meet them, as the Dragon Cavalry prepared to begin their dives, inside the Sun Palace one small man hurried on light, soundless feet toward the West wing where the Queen Herself resided.
Curiously he noted Godwin guards randomly strewn along the floor, rendered unconscious by some unknown force. As he crossed a high atrium balcony, a bright flash made him look up with slow curling dread. A white flare pulsed in the windows from outside, followed by a low and distant rumble that sent faint, dull tremors through the burnished floor beneath his feet. The battle on the river had begun, full swing.
Swallowing a surge of fear, he hurried forward on trembling legs. Unhindered by guards, Euram quickly made his way to the Queen’s own chamber. There was Lady Sialeeds, just outside the door.
“You made it,” she said, turning from the latest set of guards whom she had casually disposed with the Twilight Rune. Uncomfortably Euram watched as they slid down the wall, unconscious, and hit the floor in a heap.
Reminded of what she had done to his father, he shuddered.
“I take it you have a plan? A good one?”
“I…huh?” he spluttered, trembling a little as she whirled on him and unsettled by her indifferent use of the rune on her hand.
“Well?” her eyes darkened with impatience.
“Oh…” He gulped, his gaze snapping back. “G-Gizel said I should take the right path from the Guardroom. Er, left,” he corrected himself.
“Hmm,” Sialeeds crossed her arms. “So he did tell you. This makes things easier. Take the Queen with you, and wait there. When the fighting is done, if my nephew has won and you both are safe, you may emerge. If Gizel wins and all is not decimated--then use the secret passage, and flee, if possible.”
“Wh-what about you?”
“As if you cared. Get going. Now!”
Without further delay, Sialeeds quickly removed herself from the hallway. There was no need for Lym to know of her involvement in this. Besides, she had her own plans to set into motion. If all went well, there would be no need for Lym to hide.
It was time to greet her nephew…

***
At the fumbling of a key in the lock, twelve-year-old Queen Lymsleia Falenas angrily whirled to face her visitor.
“I thought I already told you once—what in the world?!” She gasped upon seeing not Gizel, but that idiot, Euram Barows.
His clothing was far less, er, flashy than usual, but his height, build and posture gave him away at once: this was definitely the same boy who had so slavishly declared his devotion to her with great production in the Senate Building, prior to the Sacred Games.
Her surprise melted to annoyance.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
She spat the word “you” like a dirty thing from her tongue, and Euram winced at the terse greeting.
Inwardly he withered with shame. After all, the last time she had seen him, he was stretched naked and screaming under Gizel’s torture. It was for that reason, above all others, that he had dreaded this encounter. Struggling to repress that memory—along with his pride—he focused instead on the present.
“P-Princess—I mean, my Queen,” he stammered, momentarily forgetting as he offered a hasty bow and scrape. He punctuated his subsequent words with great fanfare. “F-forgive me, Your Loveliness, but there is no time. You must accompany me posthaste, before it’s too late!”
She looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head.
“What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere with you! I don’t even like you!”
Euram deflated with a sigh.
“I knew you would say something like that.”
- 13
- 14
- 15
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)