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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
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FLASHBACK:
The look, feel, and design of the Sun Palace dungeon was as typical as could be said of any other, except that its most significant characteristic happened to be its general disuse.

The dungeons had not been utilized much during the reign of Queen Arshtat and Ferid. Foolishly, neither the former Queen nor her idealistic husband had chosen to make a great deal of use of the facility, reserving it only for the occasional exception. The most notable exception was the brief imprisonment of Lord Rovere of Lordlake, almost exactly two years ago.

Rovere and his entire family had been detained here for only a very short time before they were summarily executed, following the scorching destruction of Lordlake. This event had sparked unease amongst members of the citizenry and nobility alike, though the Godwins had actually applauded the Queen’s judgment upon Lordlake and its traitorous citizens. Nevertheless, activity in the dungeons had since been relatively sparse. Other, less significant prisoners had normally been kept for short periods and released. A waste, really. What’s more, the Queen and Ferid had not had much taste for more…potent means of interrogation. Yet another wasted resource.

Recently, however, The Sun Palace’s dungeons had enjoyed much more activity.

Since the Godwins had gained control, dozens of individuals had come and gone from these cells. The sing of the lash, the scream of the unfortunate prisoner of war—these things had become commonplace here of late. Despite the Queen’s indignant protests, a fair collection of dissenters, deserters and suspects for various other crimes were routinely brought here, questioned and disposed of. It was, after all, part of the design. A unified Falena could not exist unless such things were taken care of. It was this that Her Majesty Lymsleia failed to understand.

Gizel did not often visit the dungeons himself. There was rarely a reason for him to do so, as he seldom dealt with the likes of criminals and other such undesirables. However, at the moment, there was one individual currently in custody who Gizel needed to deal with personally.

Loosely clutching the horsewhip at his side, he strode with a clear but leisurely purpose. There was no particular urgency to his visit. On the contrary, he considered it more an errand to take care of an annoyance. It had been over a full day since the captive had been dragged to him, and he had purposely put off bothering with him until now. More for the prisoner’s benefit than his own, of course. There was a certain satisfaction in making him wait.

The gray-uniformed guards presently accompanying him walked in silence, as they had been trained. It was the typical, rigid disposition that all Godwin soldiers, brought from Stormfist, carried.

The prisoner he was seeking was not difficult to spot. Just look for the cell with the most color Gizel thought, derisively. Easily his eye went to the bundle of blue, red, gold and white upon the floor not far away. The little Barows fop had squished himself into the corner of his given cubicle, his knees drawn up and his head resting upon them. Obviously the cells did not provide quite the luxury Euram was accustomed to enjoying, Gizel mused.

Calmly Gizel strolled over and unlocked the cell. Metal screeched as the caged door swung open. The prisoner’s head snapped up at the sound, and he eyed Gizel with fearful wariness as the Commander entered. The guards remained beyond the bars, prepared to assist their superior should the prisoner try anything foolish, although Gizel knew this would not be a problem. This particular detainee, while known for his…spirit…was not exactly known for his courage.

Gizel held the horsewhip idly in his hand, his slow, deliberate steps echoing slightly against dismal stone. Chains that clung to Euram’s wrists clinked as the young captive stirred more fully, his amber eyes bleary and apprehensive in the dim, flickering light.

“Are you liking your accommodations? I apologize if they are not up to your usual standards.” Clearly the prisoner caught his mocking tone, but he refused to respond, choosing instead to shy away, as though he would withdraw into himself or vanish altogether--as if he hoped hiding his face would make the world disappear.

“Rise, Euram Barows.”

Awkwardly Euram pulled himself to his feet in an ungainly fluster of skinny limbs. He cowered where he stood, half bent in an obsequious posture imitated from his own father. Just as Euram had borrowed his every mannerism from the late man who had sired him.

He had drawn his arms self-protectively close to his chest as he cast guarded glances in Gizel’s direction. Normally well-groomed, his silken blonde tresses were disheveled, several fair strands having fallen loose from the ribbon to tumble in unruly wisps around his slender face. It was apparent he had been attempting to sleep, clearly to no avail. Raw stone and cold bars were foreign to a young man of Euram’s pedigree, a creature of pampering, satin and silk. Traces of brown circles beneath his eyes marred the otherwise flawless, pale complexion.

“My dear Euram, it appears you have found yourself in a most…unfavorable position.” Gizel regarded him coldly. “Now, the question is, what shall I do with you?”

Gizel stalked closer, and Euram backed away, twisting nervously at the lace cuffs that dangled from his wrists. “Poor, poor Euram. Broken, ruined, your faction in tatters, your own name cursed and defamed from Stormfist to Sable. The price for generations of corruption and treachery, all come to rest upon the shoulders of its only remaining male heir. A pity.” Gizel let the words hang between them before he continued. “You have pleaded for your life, a request that I am still considering, even if I cannot imagine why. You know I cannot release you. Exactly what would you have me do with you, Euram Barows?”

Whimpering, the younger man retreated until his back hit the far wall of his prison. Trapped and with nowhere to slink, the frilly fool recoiled and sought to ward Gizel off with his shackled arms, clutching the hem of his cape in a small fist and drawing it upward as though to shield himself. His pathetic efforts almost brought the Commander to laughter, though at the same time, the display was wearisome.

“Stop your cringing,” Gizel demanded sharply. Wincing, Euram lowered his arms but remained withdrawn, trembling. “I do not know what you purposed in swearing allegiance to the Prince. What is it that you hope to gain? Do you endeavor to somehow restore ‘honor’ to your name? Or do you harbor yet another ridiculous design? I can hardly believe that your motivation is entirely selfless.”

Euram said nothing, but his gaze slipped to the floor.

“Oh. And what is this? At a loss for words, are we? Now this is a rare delight. I almost feel privileged to bear witness to such a momentous occurrence. And here I had thought nothing could silence that flapping tongue of yours.”

Gizel paced, easily concealing his enjoyment with an air of calm patience. “You realize of course that your options are few. Even you cannot be so dim as to not see this. And in my position, the most obvious choice leans toward your execution. Many more would celebrate your death than would mourn it.”

Euram bent crushed with grief and terrible awareness of the truth in Gizel’s words. Relentless, Gizel pressed the issue, enjoying how it so visibly made the younger man squirm.

“Even those you now count as your allies would shed few tears were I to remove your treacherous head from your shoulders. I can assure you the inhabitants of Lordlake would delight in your execution.” Euram looked up sharply, his shocked eyes wavering with a sudden deep, untold hurt. “Yes. I know of your role in that little fiasco. As does all of Falena.”

Unable to bear it, the Barows heir abruptly fell to his knees. “Please, oh please Gizel, do not speak of that, do not torment me with that!” He looked shattered, as though stabbed in the heart.

Gizel arched a brow. The misery, the desperation in Euram’s voice took him by surprise, and he could not discern at first whether it was fear of retribution or real regret that brought about the other noble’s reaction. A deeper glance into Euram’s beleaguered expression revealed profound grief in his eyes, sorrow that hinted that at some point, the spoiled young man must have looked deep within himself and discovered the existence of his own conscience.

Interesting, Gizel thought. Unwittingly, Euram had revealed to him yet another weakness, ripe for his exploitation.

“So, you do not deny it, then?”

Euram shook his head. He spoke softly, wretchedly. “Th-there is no good in denying it. It is known well, Gizel, as you have said. But even if it weren’t, my father and I…our crimes…will never be fully paid for. I-I will no longer add to them by denying them.”

“Then tell me this: what purpose could I possibly have for allowing you to live?”

“I—I cannot answer that, Gizel,” the younger man whispered, bowing his head. A single tear slipped from his eye and spilled to the stone floor.

A long moment of silence passed between them. Sauntering forward, Gizel took his prisoner’s chin in gloved fingers, forcing the other noble to meet his gaze, which Euram deftly avoided. Such a fragile creature, for all his arrogance. How little it took to reduce him to this.

Brusquely Gizel released his chin and stood back from him.

“Get up,” he ordered. Again the prisoner staggered to his feet, a sad jumble of wrinkled finery and chains.

“As you doubtlessly realize, I am currently wed to a Queen who is—let us say, wanting—in any true capacity to satisfy my baser needs.” He paused, waiting to gauge Euram’s reaction to this. “She holds no allure for me, as she is far too young. However, a soft, pretty concubine might serve to satiate those requirements: a role that you might possibly be capable of filling.”

Euram looked up at him, blinking. Obviously he hardly understood what he was implying. No matter. He would learn.

“I-I do not quite take your meaning,” The younger man looked at him with a guarded suspicion, obviously prepared fully to dislike what he was about to hear. Gizel closed in on him and extended a hand to his cheek. Euram’s eyes were wide and guileless, the boyish innocence only deepening Gizel’s interest in the possibilities suddenly open to him.

“In other words, I may have use for your body. Of course, you are hardly capable of providing the same pleasure I could obtain from a ripe female, you understand. But you are pretty enough that you may suffice.”
The gist of Gizel’s purpose slowly dawned upon him, and Euram’s brow drew together. He fixed a look upon him that was at once defiant and horrified. All color seemed to drain from his complexion.

“Oh, no… I don’t…whatever it is you are asking of me, I…cannot….” Although it was clear he did not understand just how Gizel intended to achieve such pleasure from him, this option was too much for him to bear. Even with his recently-found humility, he was still too proud to accept such an insulting proposal.

Gizel seized him by his ruffled cravat and jerked him close, eliciting a startled squeak. He gave the young man a shake that rattled teeth and chains alike. “You seem to be forgetting that you are hardly in the position to bargain.” Instinctively Euram’s small hands flew up to clutch at Gizel’s wrists.

“G-Gizel, please!”

“You have no options, Euram. I suggest that you consider my generous offer. And I should remind you: you are speaking to the Commander of the Queen’s Knights. I recommend that you alter your tone accordingly.”

Euram froze and flinched as though struck. Gizel’s words had their desired effect.
He had mentioned his rank for several reasons, but most of all, he knew how dearly the younger man had desired his position. And now, for Gizel to use that very position to subjugate him must have been a slap in the face keenly felt by Euram Barows.

Subdued, he went slack and loosed his grip, dropping his gaze.
“Oh…I…f-forgive me—” Euram swallowed and forced his next words. “—Your Majesty.”

Satisfied, Gizel released him. Euram staggered back, defeated, and feebly attempted to reclaim his composure.

“Well?” Gizel pressed, hardly allowing him the time to recover. “Are you prepared to accept my proposition?”

The boy dared a glance upward. “B-but…I am a man, my lord,” he protested, his voice tiny, desperate.

“You refuse? Then I shall have the blade sharpened and readied.”

“Oh, no, no.” Euram appealed, and slumped. “Please. Please spare me, my lord.”

“We understand each other, then?”

“I…I have no choice…” the younger man choked, his words small, despondent.

“Very well,” Gizel stepped back and delivered his next statement with a firm detachment, as though proclaiming sentence.

“Euram Barows. Your faction is dissolved. The Barows line is no more: finished. And you are future lord of nothing.”

“Acknowledged, Gizel.” Euram meekly replied, staring at the floor beneath his feet.

“I hereby officially strip you of your status, and from this moment, you are to be counted among Godwin property.”

Gizel watched as Euram crumpled at this, his face twisting in misery. Presently Gizel called upon his guards, waiting outside the cell. Uniformly they strode forth and awaited his command.

“Remove his chains.” With a lack of gentleness, the two carried out the order swiftly, unlocking the shackles and freeing Euram’s arms. Once they had competed their task, they stood back and awaited their Commander’s further instructions.

Euram rubbed at his red, chafed wrists, clearly unused to fetters. If he was relieved by the small blessing, his respite was short-lived.

“I have ordered your shackles removed so that you may perform the first task required of you. As my possession, you no longer have need of your dainty garments. Strip, so that I may take a more thorough inspection of what is mine.”

Euram looked up at him, a shadow of denial and horror clouding his features. He swallowed, lips parting to reveal perfect teeth. “G-Gizel--!” An embarrassed, boyish flush crept over his pale cheeks. Gizel stood firm, unbending, though the younger man’s reluctance sent a pulse of desire through his veins.

“I believe I have issued you an order, Euram.”

The boy gaped at him in continued disbelief, unwilling to sort out what was being asked of him. “Y-you cannot want me to…” his eyes skipped to the pair of guards standing by. Gizel made no move to dismiss them, and instead marched over to Euram and seized him. The sudden aggression was met with a startled yelp, Euram’s arms flapping in a pitiful, vain struggle as Gizel effortlessly tore the finely-tailored blue cape from his shoulders. Euram’s limbs twisted in a feeble tangle of resistance, all to no avail. Easily Gizel wrenched the gold-embroidered garment free, tossing it behind him. The young man’s eyes watched the cape fall into a useless rumple upon the stone floor.

“Now, for the rest of it. I will not tell you again,” Gizel warned. “I want to see you stripped entirely. Unless of course you would still like to reconsider.”

Euram stood trembling, his hand cupped over his mouth as he regarded the discarded piece of finery. The boy erupted with a sob, clearly loath to perform such a humiliating task before not only Gizel but his common soldiers as well.

“You test my patience. Perhaps you require additional encouragement.” The Commander snapped the crop to punctuate his point, watching with approval as Euram flinched, his eyes widening as though it had never occurred to him the horsewhip might be put to use on his person. Slim, trembling fingers set to the task, fumbling with the white cravat and pulling it loose.

“Drop it,” Gizel instructed, and reluctantly Euram let it fall. His sniffles filled the dreary cell while he moved to step out of his polished shoes. Halfheartedly he stripped off his red coat, and his fine gold cumberbund belt followed. The boy had stripped down to his white pressed shirt, black knee breeches and silken stockings when he looked to Gizel, sadly, hoping that he had done enough. He appeared diminished, even smaller now that he had lost the height his heeled footwear had provided.

“All of it,” Gizel stated, dashing Euram’s hopes. The younger man groaned and slowly did as he was bid. Gizel let his eyes wander over him as he revealed himself, bit by bit, tantalizing without even realizing it. Carefully he peeled the silk stockings from his legs, followed by the breeches, until only the shirt and underclothes remained.

“You are not done,” Gizel pressed when he hesitated. Sobbing, Euram capitulated and bared himself fully, shyly drawing his arms inward to hide his nakedness. The boy’s obvious misery was far sweeter to Gizel than even the lithe form presented to him. But he had a further point to make. “Gather them from the floor, and present them to me,” he commanded. Before he bent to collect the fallen pieces of his clothing, a flash of resentment flickered in Euram’s eyes, as though he had found within himself a measure of defiance at last. A spark of Euram Barows’s former fire resurfaced in that brief moment, and Gizel’s lips formed an almost undetectable ghost of a smile at this. This could easily prove to be more enjoyable than he had initially thought.
Grudgingly Euram deposited the colorful, wrinkled bundle of fabric and lace into Gizel’s arms before returning to his more withdrawn and submissive stance. Gizel said nothing for the moment about the show of rebelliousness, preferring not to correct him just yet. He would rather allow the boy to test him, to let his emotional outbursts, however small, accumulate.

“Your rank is erased,” Gizel reiterated. “You will do as I say, and wear what I allow you to wear. No more finery to call your own.” Without further explanation, he tossed the bundle to his guards. “Shred these, then take them and discard them.”

“No!” Euram suddenly gushed, a hopeless and desperate edge to his voice as the guards moved to depart, one of them carrying the clothing in his arms. Ignoring him, Gizel stopped them.

“No, shred them here. I want him to see.”

Euram whimpered in dismay as, beginning with the ruffled shirt, he watched the fine fabric ripped and destroyed before his eyes. “Oh, Gizel,” he groaned, crushed and hopeless.

“You will be silent, unless I permit you to speak.” Gizel said, although he had fully expected the reaction. Once the boy’s finery was reduced to shreds, he dismissed one of the men to dispose of the ruined tatters. The other remained behind, and awaited Gizel’s command without a word. Coldly Gizel circled Euram, thoroughly inspecting the lithe, naked flesh. The way Euram shifted beneath his gaze and the flush that spread full over his skin revealed that the foppish lad could feel his eyes upon him, and his vulnerability sent a swell of lust over Gizel. Sweeping Euram’s concealing arms aside, he examined the small, smooth chest, brushing his fingers appraisingly over fresh, pink tweaks of nipples and allowing his gaze to glide downward to the thin, flaccid organ between the younger man’s soft, pale thighs. Stepping slowly round, he eyed with approval the slender back, the smooth swell of privileged buttocks. He traced a finger down the spine, delighting in how Euram squirmed away as his finger dipped lower. Abruptly Gizel stopped and delivered a pinch to a single, pale and trembling cheek.

“Now. Kneel,” came his next, simple command. Applying pressure to the boy’s shoulders to hasten his compliance, he reached down and lifted Euram’s face toward him. Softly, almost lovingly he stroked his silky cheeks, traced a gentle gloved digit over soft, pink lips. Euram refused to meet his gaze, the ribbon holding what had not spilled from its binding the only scrap that remained of his finery.

Fluidly Gizel turned to the remaining guard and gestured, and the man came forward and presented him with a thick leather ring. Euram dared a glance upward, and when he saw the collar his eyes went wide.

“Oh, no,” he sobbed. “Please, I do not require all of that.”
“Hush,” Gizel threaded his fingers in Euram’s hair and delivered a stinging tug as a warning. Dismissing his whimper of protest, he took the band and lifted Euram’s ponytail, fitting the leather snugly around his neck. At length he stepped back to admire the sight.

Euram lifted a slender hand to the new accessory. The leather felt restricting but cool around his throat, and he broke with a moaning sob.

Now he was the perfect image of submission, slumped dejectedly on his knees and fighting to come to terms with the full impact of his situation. The dark ring around his neck contrasted beautifully the white skin. Euram uselessly sought to conceal himself, so vulnerable, so delicious. Gizel was tempted to simply ravish him here and now, but he would rather wait. Better to take this slowly, to conquer him gradually and torment him by drawing this out. It was far more enjoyable to keep him waiting, anticipating Gizel’s next move with dread.

Resisting his urges, Gizel resumed circling him.

“I shall soon afford you a reprieve from my presence, Euram. But first, I feel it correct to make clear the rules you will be operating within. I suggest you take them to heart. First, you will speak when you are spoken to, a rule you have flouted more than once already. Second, as I have pointed out, you are no longer my equal. You will address me with the respect befitting a superior. Thirdly, you are to obey me, and without question. These are not the only rules you will be required to abide; they are merely the basics. I would not wish to overwhelm your wit’s capacity with too much at once.”

In spite of Euram’s renowned stupidity, the insult was not wholly lost on him, as Gizel saw him twitch and frown as he fought to contain himself. The Commander was nearly impressed.

“Should you fail to please me, I will cast you aside without a second thought. The people have not witnessed the beheading of a noble in some time. I am sure such a thing would provide a convenient diversion for the throng.” Without another word, Gizel turned on his heel and exited the cell, his remaining guard following close behind.

The cell clanged shut, the key twisting in the lock with a metallic snap. Before he departed, he turned and issued his new slave an additional reminder.

“And never forget that I may still have you killed, simply for the sake of principle.”

With that, Gizel strode from the dungeon, leaving Euram crying, naked, cold and collared.

END FLASHACK

It is intriguing, how something so trifling as clothing may affect a man.

My captivity has given me a profusion of time to think about nothing. Either I may focus upon my own misery, or I must concentrate upon silly things. I have found the latter to be more comforting.

I only recently came to comprehend just how petty I truly am. And to think that it took my utter humiliation at the hands of Gizel to make me see it. I am not certain why his shredding of my clothes distressed me so. It is not as though I had any substantial cause to lament the loss of my finery: I had by then forsaken my nobility. Or so I had told myself. I had planned upon giving up most of my fine clothes to those in need. I possess a wardrobe stuffed with similar accouterments back home. Yet, being forced to watch my attire ripped to tatters…it seemed so final, so irrevocable! It was more cutting than I would have imagined.

Yet another demonstration of his power over me.

Somehow, it made me realize that to fully relinquish the person I was is more difficult than I’d ever anticipated. I suppose it is natural for a man to resist fully abandoning his former self. Even if those clothes, those decorative raiments represented a person I never truly was, it still is hard. That person was all I knew for many years, and there is a shadow of him here, still. I was born a noble, and I was a noble before I was my father’s lapdog, after all. It is a conundrum that I cannot hope to puzzle through.

He permitted me to sleep upon the bed with him last night. As much as I wished to refuse, I could not. I have naught to blame save my cowardice. I was afraid to refuse him. But, no, that is not the only reason. I think, no, I know I long for some semblance of the comfort I once enjoyed. Or perhaps it is simply closeness I crave. Oh, what a sorry creature I am!

I was awakened this morning at an earlier time than usual. I have been let off my “leash”, but with a purpose. True to his word, Gizel left me with a task to perform. My first assignment is to scrub and polish his floor. I have never done such a thing in my life. All morning long I have labored, only now allowing myself a break. It is an interminable, taxing chore I have come to realize, and much more difficult than it appears! I feel awkward, inadequate as I struggle to carry out this latest toil. Only now do I appreciate the plight of our servants back home, and I regret that I treated them so thoughtlessly for so many years.

In a small way, I want to kick myself. It was I who suggested the notion to him. 'Point me towards any task' I said to him. 'Any drudgery you see fit'. I had hoped with those appeals to divert him from hurting me physically. I should have known Gizel would be clever and cruel enough implement such a thing in addition to the humiliations he already had designed. It is not enough that I am currently nursing a sore jaw, and I can hardly speak of the other pains he has caused me. Now my arms ache, my back is strained from stooping, and I am yet only half finished.

Oh, but I must desist in this unmerited self-pity. I have not the right to feel sorry for myself. This is nothing more than payment for the terrible person I was.

I realize I have digressed from my original musings, and the thing that initially put the thought in my head. A servant arrived earlier as I was laboring, and he presented me with a small parcel. A “gift from His Commandership” he named it, and left me. Of course I was doubtful of this “gift”, and once I unstrung the package to reveal the contents, I understood that I was correct to be cynical.

I cannot bring myself to don his gift, as this is a humiliation I cannot willingly subject myself to. My, my, but I do not want to look inside myself. I feel myself slipping towards the wicked person I was, wishing foul things upon him, uttering promises of vengeance beneath my breath. But no, I should not think such things. I should regard this as a lesson in humility that is far overdue, even if the man meting it out is not the one from whom I deserve it. Dare I say I hate him? No, no, I cannot. Nonetheless, it is trying. Terribly, appallingly trying.

The most painful thing is that I am isolated once more from all I care about. I miss all those within the Prince’s number who spoke kindly to me, and were willing to allow me the chance to redeem my sins.

I miss Luserina.

Oh my sister, how I regret that I cannot see you now. I am sorry I refused to listen to you for so long. Dreadfully, tremendously sorry. I know you said you have forgiven me, but it is not enough. I have not been given enough time to correct my wrongs. A lifetime would not suffice to amend the hurt I have caused.

I should return to my task. I shudder to think what he may do were I not to finish before he arrives. He will be displeased enough that I have shunned his “gift”.

***

By the time the Commander arrived, his young slave had yet to fully complete his task, although it was obvious he had been working diligently for quite some time. Just the same, Gizel had to be impressed at how much he had managed to get done. He could always correct him for not being punctual enough, of course, but he personally was not in the mood. Besides, he had business to sort out at the moment.

“No. Proceed,” he ordered, when Euram seemed as though he might cease his efforts to greet him. Tucking the report he had been given under one arm, he casually inspected his prisoner’s work. His eyes moved over the floor of his chamber. The portion that was finished sparkled, and the young man was currently working on a space near a corner. Euram looked absolutely wretched shining the marble, he noted with satisfaction. He also noted, however, that Euram had failed to wear his present as he had been instructed. Just as Gizel had known he would.

The gift Gizel had sent still sat on the cushions, along with the letter included:

I wish to see you in this. You are to wear it while working so that you may become comfortable with it. It is quite suitable for you—and similar to the finery to which you are accustomed, I should think.

The white-laced intimates had obviously been untouched and unworn, but lay discarded upon the pillows beneath the hearth. Instead, Euram had chosen to simply clean and polish the floor unclothed entirely, naked, as he was.

That issue would have to be addressed and remedied. And it would be, eventually. Even so, Gizel found himself staring at the younger man. How delicious he looked, bent down on his knees, his ass unconsciously thrust upwards as he scrubbed, soft buttocks bearing the stripes and bruises of his recent punishment.

“I see you have rejected my gift to you. Are you so averse to even finding out whether it fits?” Gizel spoke indifferently, so that it was impossible for Euram to guess his exact mood. The Commander saw the boy pause in his labors and flinch where he crouched.

“Well?” he prompted, patiently.

A long spell of silence hovered thick in the room. Swallowing, Euram fiddled with the cloth in his hands. At length he responded, quietly. “It is…it is for a girl, Gizel, my lord.”

“It is for you. And you will wear it. But never mind that for now. Finish your task, and report to me when you have done.” The older man left it at that, and strolled casually to sit at his writing desk. Once again he had left Euram hanging, and doubtlessly the boy feared he was to be chastised for his defiance. Let him worry about it.

He was well aware that the floor would be quite a demanding chore for the young man. If not dried almost immediately, it tended to spot. He imagined Euram’s day had been spent in frustration as the once-pampered noble was forced to become familiar with such a tiresome, menial task.

Settling down, Gizel relaxed and began reading over the Rune Scholars’ report for consultation tomorrow. The results were far more pleasing than usual, and it appeared his patience—and Father’s patience—was finally beginning to pay off.

A few minutes passed before Euram, having apparently completed his labor, shuffled over and stood, head bowed. Even now he still endeavored to conceal himself as he held the bucket and other cleaning items in his hands.

“Ah. Good. Set the things by the door. Someone will collect them later,” Gizel said, without bothering to look up from the report. “And something to drink, if you please.” Gizel appeared to pay no further attention to Euram, though inwardly he had to smile. For all his put-on servility, Euram was no doubt seething inside. He knew the former noble detested taking orders from him, and he could feel the resentment swelling within him, resentment that was only held in check by the brat’s fearfulness. But how long would he be able to maintain the façade?

“Wine, my lord?” he heard the younger man ask from the cabinet.

“Yes. You know the one.”

Without another word, Euram had poured his drink and returned, obediently offering him the glass. Again not looking up, Gizel extended a hand and took it from him, idly sipping as he perused the pages. He would need to outline an agenda for tomorrow.

“A-anything else you would like of me? Your Majesty?” Euram asked meekly, as Gizel saw him shift from the corner of his eye. The younger man was fidgeting, probably worrying about if and when Gizel would announce a punishment for his dismissal of the undergarments.

“I see you are having difficulty remaining silent,” he almost snapped, his voice edging on annoyance. “I cannot think with your prattle. If you are finished with your work, you may put your wagging gob to use elsewhere.” Not once breaking his perusal of the documents, he indicated the space beneath his writing desk.

Euram winced at the rebuke, and Gizel thought he heard him respond with something between a sigh and a groan. Nonetheless, he obediently slid to his knees and slithered underneath the desk. He felt reluctant hands fumbling with his robes, making no move to help him. The young Barows fiddled with clumsy fingers, trying with frustration to puzzle through the wrapping and folds of the elaborate Commander’s robe and uniform. Finally, Euram managed to free Gizel’s member from his clothing, already partially hard just from his prisoner’s awkward efforts. The sight of him bent and polishing the floor had aided in Gizel’s arousal as well, and so it did not take long before he was fully stiff.

Feeling the soft lips close around him, Gizel sighed, keeping the sound to himself. He gave no outward sign of acknowledgement to Euram’s labors, making plain his indifference. Still, Euram knew well enough now to realize this did not mean he could perform lazily; the fool was indisputably aware that he was expected to remain no less than fully attentive to his task.

While Euram serviced him, Gizel casually scribbled notes here and there in the margins of the report, stopping once and awhile to think. At length, he produced a separate sheet from a drawer and began sketching out plans, points of discussion and objectives for the following day.

He knew the writing desk was where his prisoner had found the items with which he wrote that girlish journal he kept, before Gizel had decided to keep him chained. From now on, he would leave Euram enough work to occupy him and deter the meddlesome little fool from rummaging though things.

Euram worked as thoroughly as he was capable, though he hated this, every demeaning moment of it. Tasting the salty tang of precome on his tongue, his impulse was to spit, but he did not dare. Normally Gizel would direct him, but he did not even acknowledge him now, and the lack of response was more than a little frustrating. Whimpering, Euram took more of him inside, flattening his tongue and hollowing his cheeks in hopes of eliciting at least a reaction.

Gizel purposefully refrained from offering guidance or approval. Plainly, he was interested to see how he would perform on his own. In spite of his obvious distaste for the task, Euram was improving. He was learning, even if he hated it, how to better please him; a sign, however small, that the younger man was slowly allowing himself to surrender to his situation, at least for now. This unconscious hint of capitulation was almost as pleasing to Gizel as his outright reluctance, partially because he knew Euram was doubtlessly clueless of the things his own body language revealed. And his indifference was having its desired effect as well: Euram was clearly growing bothered by it, and had consequently doubled his efforts, accompanying his work with small whimpers.

Routinely Gizel continued to outline his objectives, paying Euram no heed, as though this were a routine and therefore dull procedure. The younger man’s mouth worked on him in earnest, his effort inept and slurping but somehow charming in its thoroughness. The mincing dolt remained incompetent when it came to servicing him in this manner, but something about the unskilled nature of his labors was equally as thrilling as those of the most talented whore.

The younger man’s small, lovely moans produced the slightest tantalizing sensations on his cock, Euram at once struggling to utilize his cheeks and tongue while keeping his teeth out of the mix. Finally, Gizel pushed his pen aside and pulled his chair back from the desk so he could watch the disgraced noble pleasuring him. He reached down and tilted Euram’s chin, using a hand to sweep the strands of hair from his brow.

He was doing just as he had been told in the past, his head bobbing as he attempted to take in as much of Gizel’s length as he possibly could without choking. Gizel could nevertheless detect a shimmer of resentment in his eyes as he worked to satisfy him. Euram was not nearly as good at covering his emotions as he thought he was. Were Euram a brighter person, Gizel might have suspected him to be harboring some design, hoping to gain his trust while appearing to submit. But Euram was not as clever as all that. The young dandy had inherited neither Salum Barows’ appearance nor his craftiness. Deceitful snake he may be, Salum’s offspring had repeatedly proven that he was utterly incapable of formulating an effective scheme of any sort.

Threading a hand into Euram’s hair, Gizel grasped him tight and guided him faster, harder. His hips rose from the chair, seeking further purchase into the warm wetness of his prisoner’s mouth. Euram spluttered and sobbed, fighting to keep up with Gizel’s sudden assault. His jaw was still aching from his labors the night before, and he could feel the itch of tears trickling down his cheeks.

“Yes, take it,” Gizel hissed. Euram’s throat convulsed, trying without success to dislodge the invading member. The young noble’s struggles, along with the spasms inside the velvet cavern of his mouth, sent ripples of need through him, and Gizel felt his completion approaching fast. Pleasure twined in his stomach, spiraling into a tight coil. Gripping Euram tight by the scalp, he thrust relentlessly forward and came, releasing his fluid into his prisoner’s throat.

“Swallow it.” He held Euram’s head in place but the younger man gurgled and choked, thrashing as Gizel flooded his throat. Come and spit seeped from his mouth and spilt down his chin.

Gizel did not release him immediately. Gripping his hair, he swiped his fingers to catch the drools of come and slobber that had escaped. Forcefully he pushed his come-sodden fingers into the corner of Euram’s mouth, pressing them past his lips, still stretched around his softening cock.

“Suck them clean,” he commanded. He could feel Euram sob as he obeyed, could see the repulsion in his eyes. Fingers scraped the seed from Euram’s chin, and he fed his prisoner all that he could salvage while Euram fought to comply, obviously at war with himself and the remains of his own tattered dignity.

At last, Gizel let him go.

Euram wrenched free and bent to chokingly catch his breath. He gagged, the taste of Gizel’s come still lingering on his tongue and abused throat and draining down towards his belly. Gizel allowed him those few moments to recover, then abruptly reached down and caught him by his skinny arms, dragging the smaller man into his lap.

Sitting his prisoner on his thighs, Gizel curled an arm around him and kissed him. Euram stiffened and shuddered as Gizel stroked his hair, kissed his flushed, damp cheeks, his red and swollen lips. The Commander’s breathing was ragged as his hands and lips wandered over delicate flesh. Euram sat trembling and bewildered in his lap, puzzled by how Gizel could be so rough and harsh with him one moment and so gentle the next. Hesitantly he found himself returning the affections, his lips moving timidly to kiss back, hardly aware of why or that he was doing it at all. A soft, tiny whimper escaped his lips, his body squirming just slightly in the older man’s arms.

If Gizel noticed Euram’s response at all, he made no outward sign of it. Idly he pulled back and caressed Euram’s hair as tenderly as would a lover.

“Since you have been a good boy, and pleased me, I will spare your asshole tonight. I imagine you are quite sore.”

Euram was not sure how to reply. “Th-thank you, my lord,” he faltered.

“Now there is the issue of the garment I sent. Unless I am mistaken, I left you with express instructions,” he admonished. “Would you have me think you ungrateful?”

He felt the smaller man flinch in his arms. If he had thought the subject would remain forgotten, he was wrong. Suddenly Euram nuzzled against him in a supplicating appeal.

“Please, Master. I do not mean to be ungrateful. It’s just that…it’s just that…”

Gizel regarded this new burst of affection from his prisoner with amusement. He did not suppose he should have been surprised, and he wasn’t really. It was just like Euram to turn at once to excessive snuggling, much as he had endeavored to get what he wanted through flattery as long as Gizel had known him. What few ruses the boy possessed were as predictable and transparent as ever. He would humor him, for now.

“Just what, Euram?”

“I…please do not make me wear that, Your Majesty. I-I would be too ashamed.”

“Oh? Too ashamed to accept what I give you?”

“N-no, no, forgive me, my lord, I—”

Gizel nearly smiled at the boy’s stumbling efforts to correct what could easily be seen as an insult. “Very well. For now,” Gizel shortly halted the babble of apologies that tumbled from his mouth. The truth was, he was not in the mood to punish Euram at the moment. Right now, he was content to simply toy with him and watch him squirm.

“You will wear them, when I wish you to wear them. But for now, I will examine the work you have done. Up.” He prompted Euram with a smart pat to the hip, and the boy immediately slid from Gizel’s lap and stood.

The Commander stalked slowly about the room, inspecting the floor and bending once and awhile to sweep a finger across the marble, as though checking for dirt. His display was more for Euram’s benefit than anything, and he could sense the younger man’s anxiety as he deliberately took his time.

“Hmm. Perhaps you are not entirely worthless for anything save fucking,” he said, offhandedly.

Euram was silent, opting not to thank him for such an insulting statement.

“I will overlook the small oversights this time. Expect further tasks tomorrow.”

“Y-yes sir,” Euram wavered some, obviously not relishing that idea much.

“So,” Gizel turned and regarded the younger man slyly, cocking his head in a gesture of sudden, honest curiosity. “what thoughts have you scribbled today in your little diary?”

Euram’s eyes snapped up then and he blanched. “I—p-pardon, my lord?”

“Oh come, now. Do you think me ignorant of your little hobby?”

“N-no, I mean, I…I don’t—” A full flush rushed over Euram. His expression wavered, as though he were debating whether to play innocent and outright deny the existence of such a thing. Obviously he understood quickly that this would be a useless tactic, and instead spent the next few awkward seconds spluttering and shuffling like a hapless schoolboy.

There was no end of enjoyment to be had in watching his squirming, Gizel thought. He even noticed how Euram’s hands involuntarily sought to fidget with the frilly lace that had once dangled from his sleeves, only to find nothing there. Gizel simply let him fumble about in patient silence, knowing well that Euram would dig himself deeper on his own. Once the young Barows was caught in a lie, one had only to sit back, and watch the show.

At that moment, there came a light knock on the door, followed by a deferential voice.

“Lord Gizel. Your Commandership?”

“Yes, enter,” Gizel returned. A servant had arrived, a dining cart in tow. From the corner of his eye, he saw Euram withdraw into himself as if he would cover his nakedness from this latest visitor. The Sun itself could burn out and wither, and Euram Barows would remain the same.

“Ah, good. Just leave it, please.”

The man wheeled the cart into the room and bowed. Before dismissing him, Gizel ordered him to take with him the bucket and other things used to polish the floor. Once the servant had left, he turned to Euram and noted how observably relieved was for the interruption. Now his countenance appeared torn again, doubtlessly between fear of a return to the subject and confusion as to the dining cart’s presence.

Chuckling beneath his breath, Gizel decided to let the issue rest for now. It would be more amusing to draw this out. The fact that Euram was aware now of his knowledge of his writings was satisfying enough at the moment, and would be yet another thing to keep him suspended in anxiety. It was a farce that was to be enjoyed over time, something with which Gizel could torment him gradually.

“I have chosen to dine in the privacy of my chamber tonight, as you doubtlessly can observe. I am weary, and do not desire to deal with droves of servants.” He did not add that he was also un-obliged to deal with his father’s incessant questioning as to his intentions for the rebel Prince at the moment, nor his concerns that Gizel was occupying too much of his time of late with ‘diversions’. He preferred quiet for now, and he intended to have it.

Shedding himself of his Commander’s robe, Gizel pulled a chair and seated himself, lifting the silver tray covering. Enticing aromas wafted forth of roast quail, rice and steamed vegetables. A tantalizing medley of apples, cherries and strawberries also accompanied the main dish, along with a pitcher of quality mead. A definite advantage of life in the Sun Palace was that one never wanted for a variety of fare, however exotic.

“You shall serve me,” Gizel announced, watching as Euram pattered over. It was interesting to observe how he managed basic tasks, such as this. He was awkward as he handled the serving utensils, struggling to discern the correct portions to place into Gizel’s platter. He imagined it must have been a frustrating chore for him, and not only because Euram was used to being served as opposed to serving. He also knew the torment it doubtlessly presented for the boy to be near such a plentiful spread and not permitted to indulge.

Of course he kept his prisoner fed. Still, his ‘meals’ were generally limited to more common breads, meats and fruits, and he was never given great portions: only enough to keep him nourished and reasonably healthy.

“Some drink,” Gizel directed, feeling Euram’s aggravation as the other filled his glass. He suspected Euram was edging dangerously near the threshold of his patience, and he almost wished he would lash out, attempt to pour mead into his lap, anything that might prove amusing and give him cause to further discipline his unruly prisoner. But the brat was not quite so stupid to be tempted into such outbursts—at least not yet. To be honest, given what he knew of Euram’s temper from past experiences, he was quite impressed thus far. Still, he imagined that the revelation concerning Euram’s ‘secret’ writings had something to do with his current diffidence.

Gizel dined in silence. After several minutes, he glanced over to where Euram stood miserably near, awaiting his next command and fighting to conceal his own, nagging appetite.

“Are you hungry?” he asked at length, watching with casually shrouded enjoyment as his prisoner snapped his attention towards him, almost like a pup offered a treat. Reaching into the bowl of fruit, he took a wedge of apple between his fingers and beckoned. “Since I have fed you my cock, I shall reward you with something more. Come.”

Hesitantly, Euram obeyed, once more ostensibly battling with himself and losing as ultimately hunger vanquished pride.

“Down,” Gizel directed. His former rival went to his knees, palpably cringing with humiliation as he allowed the Commander to feed him the slice of fruit. Gizel tenderly traced swollen lips before pressing the morsel inside, studying him intently as he accepted the fruit. Euram’s brow creased in shame even as he appeared grateful for the treat.

Juice splashed his tongue almost immediately when he bit down, and he had quickly finished the small scrap in time for Gizel to offer him a taste of strawberry.

“How charming you are. Eating from my hand,” Gizel purred, stroking his hair while Euram nibbled the bits he proffered with an eagerness that surfaced once he had tasted the first bite. When at last he tired of this, he simply handed the small bowl to the younger man, offering him the remaining few morsels. “You may have the rest on your own.”

As his prisoner indulged in the meager leavings of fruit, Gizel rose and pushed the cart aside and out the door for the servants to collect. He returned to Euram then and took the empty bowl, then reached down and lifted his slave’s face towards him.
“I take it the fruit was to your liking?”

Euram dropped his gaze but nodded, meekly. “Yes, my lord. Th-thank you.”

Gizel stroked a soft cheek with his thumb. “I shall not chain you tonight,” he announced, as though he had just decided upon it. “I rather like you upon the bed. That way, should I awake in the night and wish to have you, I may have you.” The statement almost sounded like a threat, and Gizel knew it would work effectively to deter him from attempting to get up and move about during the night, for fear of rousing him. “I will leave the list of chores I have outlined for you on my desk in the morning, and anything you may need to fulfill them will be delivered. You are to have completed your assigned tasks before I return, else I will not be pleased. Understood?”

Again, Euram nodded and whispered his consent. Still, even without the younger man’s acknowledged compliance, Gizel was confident that he had at his disposal more than enough ways to manipulate the young fool. He could always press the matter of the journal, or remind him of his noncompliance regarding the gift he had refused to don. Slowly but surely, he was breaking Euram. To what end, even he was not certain, but he did know this: he was sure to eventually discover a more practical use for his clueless prisoner in his greater design.
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)