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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)	By : Darkrogue Category: +S through Z > Suikoden Views: 3916 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter 5: The Wrath of Gizel
Pairing: Gizel/Euram
Spanking/whipping/kink/humiliation/anal/oral
***Additional disclaimer: The Stormfist dialogue is snipped directly from the game itself.

FLASHBACK:

As usual, Barows was huddled in the furthermost corner of his cell. Gizel noted how he withdrew and tightened his arms around himself as he unlocked the door to his prison and stepped inside.

Euram had been taken and bathed the previous day, and given a little food. Even so, he looked nearly as disheveled as before, and twice as miserable, if that were possible. His pale locks spread over him to conceal the greater part of his shame, though he still appeared to shiver. Gizel did not miss how the younger man’s eyes shot daggers at him from beneath the pale curtain of blonde.

Gizel noticed it, but he kept it to himself.

“Good afternoon, Euram. You continue to favor that corner, I see. I would have thought you would have taken the time to become more acquainted with the rest of your room.”

“Do not mock me,” Euram snapped back, suddenly. “How long do you plan on keeping me down here?” His tone made it clear that this treatment was wearing thin on him. Naturally, Gizel thought. He was, after all, of noble upbringing. He supposed it was only natural that, despite his previous intimidations, the spoiled brat would find his limits eventually.

“You would be wise to mind your manners,” Gizel warned, somehow both surprised and unsurprised by his prisoner’s abrupt hostility. “Have you forgotten the rules we went over?”

“Oh, enough of this game of yours! Whatever you mean to do with me, Gizel, just do it, and have it over with.”

In spite of Euram’s false bravado, the Commander could see him trembling, and knew he would fall to pieces if he so much as approached him threateningly. Still, Euram had obviously found his rebellious streak.

“Very well.” Without another word, Gizel turned and left the cell.

He located four of his guards quickly. Two of them he directed to accompany him back to the cell, while the other pair received a slightly different command:

“Go and fetch the Queen, and bring her here. There are many lessons to be learned, and this is a demonstration I think she would benefit by witnessing.”

When he returned to Euram’s cell, the prisoner was gazing at him with apprehensive suspicion. He had not moved from where he sat, crouched against the far wall. His eyes went wide with fear when two clone-like Godwin guards emerged behind their Commander and awaited his instructions.

“Take this one to the inner chamber. Tie his hands, and bind him up. Then await my instructions.”

Just as Gizel had predicted, Euram’s defiance immediately melted. When the guards moved to approach him, he was quickly reduced to the same cowardly wretch that had been brought to the Sun Palace only a few short days ago. Gizel doubted however that those days had seemed very short to Euram.

Spluttered shouts of protest filled the dungeon as the gray-clad men hauled him to his feet and dragged the twisting, caterwauling mass of limbs and hair from the cell. Casually Gizel followed them towards the dungeon’s centermost hall—a room that was clearly intended as a torture chamber, although Queen Arshtat and Ferid had never utilized it in such a way. Only since the Godwins had taken control had the room enjoyed any activity as to its original purpose.

Euram’s frightened, shrieking protests rang off the walls, but even his desperate, thrashing struggles were no match for the guards who held him, one at each arm. Once they had hauled him in place, one of them came behind and held him still, forcing his arms in front of him while the second bound them together tight with a length of rope.

Trained to indifferent perfection, the men were unaffected by the prisoner’s frantic pleas and appeals. The fop was too stupid to even attempt at kicking them, Gizel noticed with amusement. The slack end of the rope was passed through a ring in the ceiling and pulled tight. Euram’s frightened pleas grew more vocal and desperate, as his body was stretched taut, his arms pulled high above his head until he was forced nearly onto his toes. The remaining end was secured to a bolt in the wall nearby, firmly fixing the prisoner in his uncomfortable position. Even more frightening, the prisoner discovered, was his sudden inability to effectively view his surroundings: he could only observe as far as his head could turn. As his hopeless position dawned upon him, his screams exhausted and dwindled to nervous, hitching sobs.

Gizel waited for the moment when the younger man would tire himself out—he had no intention of dealing with the annoyance of his indignant hollering—before he stalked into Euram’s sight.

“P-please, let me down,” the young Barows whined, pitifully.

“Absolutely not. You look far too delicious this way.”

Gizel stroked a finger down the smooth chest, feeling the rapidly thumping heart beneath flawless skin. He dropped another finger along the crease of his spine, then around to Euram’s side, and the curve of his hips. “So vulnerable. So helpless,” he idly mused, admiring soft, delectable flesh as it quivered beneath his touch.

Frustrated, Euram whimpered and pulled uselessly at the rope.

“Yes, fight your bonds,” Gizel taunted. “You have no idea how enticing that looks.”

Euram struggled until he tired himself and fell limp, his hair drooping over his face in a defeated slump, light sobs the only sign of fight left in him. Gizel stepped back and circled him, speaking easily above the soft, whimpering snivels.

“Now, Euram. I believe I reviewed the basic rules with you before. Yet, you have chosen to ignore them. A pity, really. I had thought you to be coming along so nicely. Nevertheless, I warned you well of the consequences. You know well enough now how you are to address me; you have been reminded more than once. This infraction, along with your deliberate show of insolence, demands a lesson that I hope for your sake you will remember.”

Euram shifted and groaned, a high and miserable sound. “G-Gizel, Your Majesty,” he corrected himself, quickly. “F-forgive me, I didn’t...I didn’t...”

“Didn’t what, Euram?” Gizel prompted.

“Please, my lord...,” the younger man choked, golden-brown eyes bright with dread. “I am sorry, I...”

“Well, then, perhaps you will apply further wisdom in the future.”

Gizel circled behind where Euram could not see, where he selected a long leather whip from a shelf. He studied the instrument, ran the length in his palm, and curled it up in his hand. Pulling the man designated for the task aside, Gizel spoke to him quietly. Not that it would have mattered: Euram’s babbling pleas were enough to drown any other sound.

“Ten strokes. Not enough to cut him; I do not want his skin marred permanently. But see to it that the sound is terrible, the strikes painful. I want him more scared than hurt, but a few stripes on his back will serve him well.”

“Yes, Your Commandership,” the guard bowed, accepting the whip. Gizel returned to the prisoner.

“We shall begin presently. We are only awaiting our guest of honor. Ah, and I believe I hear her now.”

The girl could be heard throughout the entire chamber and beyond, her angry voice reverberating along the walls.

“Where are we going? Why are you taking me here? Are you even listening to me?! As your Queen, I demand to know what this is about! Unhand me!”

Recognizing the voice, Euram clouded with horror. “Oh, no! G-Gizel! You can’t, you can’t possibly…!”

“And why not? I assure you, it will be much more interesting this way.”

The boy practically shrieked, propelled into a fresh spell of useless struggling. “Noooo! G-Gizel, my lord, please! Do not let her see me like this, you can’t!”

Of course he would be overwhelmed with humiliation having Lymsleia witness his punishment. Euram had once been self-proclaimedly smitten with the young Lym, when she was still Princess. His questionable obsession with her had been well-known, and struck many as unsettling: after all, Lym was half Euram’s age, and a child.

From a political standpoint, Euram’s obsession was not so surprising. In the Queendom of Falena, males had few opportunities for true power. In most cases, their power came directly from the women with whom they were associated. Even the most powerful factions of the Senate could gain little further political clout without appealing directly to the Queen. The best way for a Senate faction to claim more power was to marry a male into Royalty. Until that barbarian Ferid had upset the status quo, the husband of the Queen had almost unfailingly been a Godwin or a Barows. The most powerful branches of the Senate nobility could afford the best representatives in the Sacred Games, after all. So, in essence, Lord Marscal Godwin and his son Gizel had harbored the same design as Lord Salum Barows and Euram. In such a power play, one had to be ruthless. Almost effortlessly, Gizel’s schemes had tilted the Games in his favor, and the Godwins had quelled the Barows’ hopes of seizing further political pull.

Gizel knew it was crushing enough to Euram having Lym’s hand wrested from him by the Godwins, and with it any potential for the young fop to be of actual use to his faction. To be thoroughly humiliated in front of Lymsleia now would be a terrible shock to his morale. This was, of course, precisely what Gizel had in mind.

Presently, the two men escorted the complaining child-Queen into the inner chamber of the dungeon. Her crown, much too enormous for her head, periodically slipped down, forcing her to adjust it with irritated swipes of her hand.

“What have you dragged me here fo—“ seeing the naked form stretched from the ceiling, Queen Lymsleia gasped, her large brown eyes widening with shock and then anger. Narrowing, those eyes settled upon Gizel Godwin.

“What is this! Who is that?”

“You don’t recognize him, Your Majesty? Well, that is not so surprising. He hardly resembles the one you would know, lacking all the ruffles and frills. He was once a suitor of yours, after all. The one you claimed not so long ago would have made a thousand times better husband than I.”

Looking closer, the Young Queen Lymsleia let out a short, shocked gasp. “It...I know! It’s that Barows boy, Euram!”

Euram’s cheeks burned, his skin flushing over with intense shame. He hung his head, his arms impulsively shifting in the bonds as though he would move to cover himself.

Lym’s eyes slitted with hatred as she whirled again on Gizel. “Why have you got him here? What in the world are you doing?! What have you done to him?!”

“Nothing, yet.” Gizel calmly supplied.

“Then release him! There is no reason for this.”

Queen Lymsleia was much like her mother—much like all women within the Falenan Royal Family: headstrong, assertive, and shrewd. Those were the polite words Gizel could think to describe her, at any rate. Unfortunately, she was also naïve. Much too naïve to run a nation. This was why Gizel and his father had taken it upon themselves to do that for her.

“Oh? You would defend a man who, notwithstanding his faction’s crimes, has attempted more than once to destroy your brother?” He asked, nodding towards the pathetic form. Of course Gizel conveniently left out the information that Euram had since repented to the Prince and allied himself with the Loyalist Army’s cause.

“I don’t believe anything you say!” the young Queen retorted. “And even if it is true, he has failed. What good is it, stringing him up like this? If he has wronged my brother, then he will answer for it when Frey reclaims Falena for our family! And you will be dealt with, too! You’re hardly one to talk about crimes and trying to destroy my brother! You’re nothing but a big...fat...liar!”

“My, but you are quite confident,” Gizel said, unfazed by her childish venom. He was more than used to it, although it had never daunted him in the slightest. “I think Lady Sialeeds herself must have filled you in on this one’s treachery by now.”

“I no longer trust my aunt’s word any more than I do yours. She has betrayed us, and I hope she goes to hell. And I am much too young to see this! How dare you bring me to look at a naked man, tied up in the basement! What kind of husband are you, anyway!”

“One who wishes his Queen to understand that certain measures are unavoidable if one is to maintain a perfect Falena. One who wishes his Queen to realize that mercy is weakness, and to allow treachery to go unpunished, is folly.”

“Well, I think you’re sick! And when my brother gets here, he’s going to give you such a beating!”

In spite of his predicament, Euram nearly smiled. He was actually a bit astonished. He had known of Lymsleia’s audaciousness. He had been on the receiving end of her scathing retorts. She had after all verbally rejected him before the Sacred Games had even begun, calling him a wimp, criticizing him for using a gladiator and not daring to fight for her hand himself. And he realized now that he deserved such criticism. But he had never quite heard this sort of rancor pour from her mouth. He was impressed...but he was quickly reminded of his own humiliation, and his misery returned as soon as the focus shifted back to him.

“Well, until then, Your Majesty, you may as well enjoy the demonstration.” The Commander moved to Euram and pulled the spill of his hair aside, gathering it over his shoulder so it would not interfere with the whipping. Gizel wanted his man to have full access to that sleek, beautiful back.

Euram shifted again and choked on a mortified sob. “My lord, please...” He hesitated, not wishing to humiliate himself further before the young Queen. But his fear ruled him, and he swallowed and uttered a wretched appeal. “Please...d-don’t hurt me.”

His request went unanswered, and Gizel moved away from him. He waited with trembling breaths, hopelessly fidgeting as though he would wriggle from the tight rope. How could Gizel do this? How could he bring her here to watch?! The young man swallowed, unsure of what exactly Gizel had planned for him as his heart raced in his chest. His dreadful curiosity was answered when the slash of leather whipped the cool, stagnant air, making a frightening CRACK! as the sting struck his back, a burning line of pain that shocked and then spread beyond the point of contact. Euram jerked in his binding and gasped, his head flinging back, eyes wide.

Another whish and CRACK! Another splash of pain wracked his shoulders. He stiffened and howled, and the next blow fell, wrenching a pitiful wail from the helpless prisoner.

The slender back arched and twisted, angry red lines surfacing in the whip’s painful wake. The young man yelped and cried, writhing in a hopeless endeavor to escape, his eyes tearing at the sting. It was not long before he was weeping piteously.

“Stop it!” the Queen demanded, her brow creased in fury.

Gizel tilted a smirk down at her. “Oh? Do I detect compassion for this dandiprat?”

Lym’s chestnut hair fanned violently as she whirled on him, frowning. “No. I don’t care at all for him, if you must know. But why must you hurt him to make a point to me?”

“Oh, I am not doing this for your benefit, Your Highness. The point I am making is for Euram alone.”

The whip slashed the air and fell again, the sound almost deafening, drawing another howl from the helpless man.

“Stop it, stop it! As the Queen of Falena, I command you to stop!” she cried, her hands clasped over her ears as though she would block out the sounds of Euram’s suffering.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. You obviously have much to learn about how to deal with unruly and treacherous subjects.”

Euram vaguely heard the Queen’s angry cries above his own wails, above the thunder of his blood in his ears. His crushing shame was far worse than the pain, and he withered with a wretched groan, his humiliation complete, utter, and thorough. The young Barows jolted and yowled at another singing stroke of the lash.

“That does it! I’ve seen enough!” The Queen shouted. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove to me, but I’ve had enough of this!” Turning to the guards who stood rigidly behind her, she barked. “Take me out of here! Take me to my room!”

The guards glanced at Gizel helplessly, not much obliged to be her keepers. Considering for a moment, Gizel agreed with a quick nod.

“Very well. Return the Queen to her quarters, and lock her in. She is giving me a headache.”

When the two men moved to take her arms, Lym vehemently slapped their hands away.

“I can walk on my own!” she spat, then turned to Gizel and squinted at him in hatred. “If I could reach your face, I would slap you SO hard!”

Lymsleia whirled and breezed angrily from the dungeon, her assigned guards hurrying after her. The sounds of her shooing them off and snapping at them faded gradually to nothing.

Euram hung panting and quivering, his body stiff as though he expected another blow at any moment. Quietly Gizel went to the guard with the lash and nodded.

“That will be enough,” he said. The man looked at him questioningly. The disgraced noble had only received half the ten stripes Gizel had ordered, but the Commander knew his prisoner was frail and weak, and likely could not handle the full ten. Gizel nodded, and the man returned the whip to him. Both guards were subsequently dismissed, leaving Gizel alone once more with his sniveling captive.

He walked casually to the stretched form, and gingerly touched the red welts. Euram came to life, gasping at the touch. The guard had been very precise with Gizel’s orders. The flesh was not broken, only marked by five bright, pink stripes.

“Ghh...Gizel, please. Please let me go,” the other begged, not realizing his ordeal was not yet over. Gizel had no intention of letting him off this easily.

“Oh, I am afraid I’m not done with you, Euram.” He tossed the whip aside, drawing instead the crop from his belt.

“I have learned my lesson, Gizel!” Euram insisted.

“Have you now?” Gizel sidled around where the younger man could see him, using the crop to tilt up his chin. “From the sound of it, you have not. Have you forgotten so quickly what this punishment is all about?”

“Oh,” Euram spluttered, cursing under his breath as he realized yet again he had failed to apply the older man’s desired address. “Y-Your Majesty, forgive me.”

“I will forgive you. Once I am satisfied.” With that, he rounded the stretched form and examined him, letting his eyes travel downward. The back and shoulders were properly punished, but the boy’s buttocks remained untouched. He would remedy that.

He brought the horsewhip down swiftly. Euram yelped in surprise and twitched, prompting another swipe.

“Such a beautiful ass you’ve got, Euram,” Gizel commented, watching the plump, delicate flesh dance and jump with mounting desire.

“Please,” Euram whimpered, twisting against the restraints, his lithe body stretched and wriggling. Pausing, Gizel moved nearer and buried him close, wrapping one arm around him. Deeply he inhaled the scent of his perfumed hair and spoke huskily into his ear.

“Yes, beg me.”

Holding the younger man’s body close, he delighted to the gasps and yelps as he swatted the vulnerable buttocks. He especially enjoyed the disgraced noble writhing against him, making his cock harden tighter...

Swallowing, Gizel tossed the horsewhip aside and moved behind Euram, frantically working his stiffness free of his clothing. Mistaking Gizel’s intentions, the younger man panicked, babbling frantic entreaties. Teasingly he positioned himself against the younger man’s ass, resting just in the crack.

“I could fuck you right now. Part those lovely cheeks and split you wide.”

“Ohhhh,” Euram groaned, wretchedly. Gizel felt the buttocks tighten reflexively, sending a shiver through him.

“I can only imagine how it would feel, my cock sawing between those quivering, clenched cheeks.”

“I...I could not stop you, Gizel.” Euram admitted, miserably. “But please, please don’t.”

Clapping a hand about his mouth to silence him, Gizel positioned his swollen member, and instead thrust firmly between the silken thighs.

Euram yelped in surprise, the sound muffled by Gizel’s hand. Violently the older man drove himself between the soft flesh, releasing Euram’s mouth so he could press the legs together tighter. The yielding crevasse quickly became lubricated with precome, the sounds of Euram’s snivels the only noise save Gizel’s panting and the squelch and slap of flesh.

The sight of Euram’s quivering, red-striped buttocks and the younger man’s perplexed, fearful sounds were all Gizel needed to bring him to climax. Heaving, he shuddered and spilled his sticky cream between the prisoner’s thighs.

Euram’s knees buckled, his legs trembling so terribly that he doubted he could hold himself up on his own. Ironically, he was thankful for the restraints; without them, he would surely collapse altogether.

Gizel held still for a long time, and at length he withdrew from between his captive’s legs.

“Next time I shall claim your hole,” he gruffly promised into Euram’s ear. “I say this only so you may prepare yourself.”

Beaten and humiliated, Euram Barows groaned his shame into the answering gloom of the dungeon.

END FLASHBACK

I know I cannot have been his prisoner long. Why, then, is it beginning to feel like years?

I cannot put into words how difficult it is capitulating to him. I had thought it might grow easier, but on the contrary, it has become increasingly challenging. Somehow, I had hoped that submitting to him completely might make my time here a little less trying. Not only that, I keep hoping that, should I appease him, he will be less likely to ask questions that I am unprepared to answer, and that he might extend me mercies I would not otherwise receive. But, these are things I should not be discussing here…

It seems no matter what I do, he is able to turn my designs against me. I wonder if he knows just how jealous I was of him?

He was everything that I was not, and remains so. I had never imagined he would trounce me to this extent. Perhaps that is the way of things. I am inferior to him in every way, and thus must forfeit everything to him: my status, my dignity, my freedom. Worst of all, it seems everywhere I turn, there is something to painfully remind me of my utter loss to him.

At least I have run of the room now, and do not have to remain chained at the hearth, drinking from that humiliating dish. I have actually considered stealing a taste of his wine, but I have refrained from that, lest he notice some missing.

His chamber is not huge, but certainly larger than my room back home. And much less cheery, I might add! Gizel’s quarters are lavish, but they could certainly stand some more color! Walls of gray stone, white marble floor, everything else of polished wood. Even the cushions that served as my bed are the dullest red. It seems gloomy to me. But I suppose that is simply because I am a prisoner here.

He has me cleaning his dressers, shelves and display stands—practically anything that can be dusted or polished. There is actually one large window that he wishes polished as well. I wonder if he fears I will try and escape. No, he knows as well as I that I would not get far. The guards would capture me and drag me back, and then goodness knows what he might do to me.

Some of the things remaining are from Commander Ferid’s collection I think, but there are others, many that Gizel has clearly brought from Stormfist: trophies and plaques and the like. I never had such things. Perhaps that is because I was never good at anything. Dad was always comparing me to Gizel, both subtly and outright. How strange that I only realize this now. I suppose I cannot fault him for wanting a son who could make him proud.

He has trophies for everything. Trophies for dueling, ship racing, foxhunting, outstanding demonstrations of swordsmanship…and several commemorating his repeated ‘victories’ in the gladiatorial arena, courtesy of his various champions.

I cannot condemn him for that. Father used to bring me to such tournaments. We nobles would gather to watch the bloody competitions, betting substantial measures of potch on the winners, often wagering upon gladiators we owned. It somehow never occurred to me to care that the gladiators might not enjoy these spectacles. It came as natural to us as betting upon horses in a race.

Of course to us these tournaments were merely trivial events. The Sacred Games, on the other hand, were another matter entirely.

I shall never forget how excited I was when Dad bought Zegai for me. When I saw him fight, I knew without a doubt that he was the one who would secure my glorious victory. He was simply amazing! And yet, I lost. No, I did not lose. The tournament was stolen from me. I realize now that I deserved no less, but I cannot help but wonder how much different things might have been.

Poor Zegai. My meanness, my malice extended so far beyond Dad’s servants...

SEVERAL MONTHS AGO, IN STORMFIST:

It was only days before the start of the Sacred Games—the world-renowned tournament that would decide Princess Lymsleia’s husband, and the man who would rule beneath her and beside her as Commander of the Queen’s Knights. The preparations had been running smoothly until there had been a certain…disturbance…involving the gladiators. One gladiator, in particular, had come under grave suspicion.

The man had been caught with spies overheard essentially plotting to assassinate the Queen. The spies, believed to be from the hostile nation of Armes, had been taken into custody. Several people were gathered in the small holding cell. Prince Freyjadour and his bodyguard Lady Lyon, Queen’s Knight Georg Prime, Lady Sialeeds and the teenaged gladiator Shoon were among those who waited anxiously for some further news. No one spoke, but everyone’s eyes were either upon the stoic, dark-skinned gladiator Zegai, or his young owner, the frantic Euram Barows.

Euram impatiently tapped his foot on the stone floor of the tiny cell. His arms were crossed over his chest, his expression a mask of ill-contained fury, as though his composure might split apart at any moment. Uneasy tension hovered about the cell. Everyone waited. When Euram wasn’t tap-tap-tapping his foot, he was furiously pacing. Polished, heeled shoes clicked with his agitated strides, the ruffles of his finery shuffling madly in his wake. It was effectively grinding upon everyone’s nerves, though no one had spoken up.

Lady Sialeeds looked as though she might be the first to snap at him, when the cell door opened. It was Gizel Godwin. His grave expression told that whatever news he bore, it was not good.

“There’s no doubt about it now. They had daggers with them that were carved with the seal of the Armes Southern Mountain Corps.”

Shoon, a fellow gladiator and friend to Zegai, bowed his head in sad disbelief. To Euram Barows, however, the news was what finally toppled his self-control completely.

“Aaaghhh! How could this be happening!” he exploded at once. He whirled on Zegai, furious. “Zegai!!! Why? Why?! Why were you with Armes spies?!”

The gladiator said nothing, only stared at the boy. He remained impassive, although if one looked close enough, there could be seen the slightest hint of sadness in his eyes. Meeting his silence as a challenge, Euram strode nearer, until he was practically in the silent gladiator’s face.

“Are you mocking me?! Answer me!!!” The young nobleman looked for a moment as though he would strike the larger man, but turned and struck the wall furiously instead before he bent, panting and cradling his injured hand. It hardly occurred to him that everyone was staring at him.

“Zegai may be only a representative, but if he had won the Games, Her Majesty would have greeted him in person,” Gizel calmly elaborated. “They were probably making plans to assassinate the Queen and the Princess then.”

Euram trembled, his fair cheeks flushed with mad fury. “Wh-wh-WHY?!” He spun on Zegai again, clenching his fists. “Didn’t I tell you that if you won the tournament, I’d give you luxury for the rest of your life?! What more did you want? How could you even THINK about hurting the Queen and the sweet little Princess?!”

Zegai said nothing, lowering his head in mute resignation.

“Euram,” Gizel corrected, coolly. “This has nothing to do with living a life of luxury. One of the others has just confessed. Zegai here is from Armes.”

At this revelation. Shoon gasped, looking like a child whose ideal image of his hero had been crushed. Euram himself paled, and regarded his slave representative with the most wounded of expressions.

“I…don’t believe it! Zegai…to think I trusted you!” he pouted accusingly. All at once a look of crazed panic shadowed Euram’s features, and he whirled desperately upon the highest authority in the room who he felt might hear him out. “P-Prince! I-I-I didn’t know about this!”

It was not surprising that he was upset. His champion was accused of conspiring with the enemy nation to assassinate the Queen. This development would effectively disqualify him from the running. More important, it was natural that he might fear being implicated for treason himself.

Fearful brown eyes pleaded with the Prince, delicate lordling hands clasping frantically at the sleeve of Freyjadour’s royal finery. “Neither Dad nor I knew anything about this! I swear! You’ve got to believe me!”

Moved to sympathy by the older boy’s alarm, Frey placed a hand upon his cape-draped shoulder to calm him.

“Euram, it’s all right. Don’t worry. I believe you.”

“Huh...?” Euram blinked at him in wary surprise. It was Georg Prime who spoke up next.

“If Lord Barows was the one behind this, there would be no reason for him to contact Armes spies here.”

“They could have easily made plans somewhere else,” Sialeeds put in, “and then Euram could have simply just given the orders to Zegai.”

“That’s right,” Gizel added. “The Barows family would not go to such lengths…now would they?” He looked pointedly at Euram with this last question. For whatever reason, the boy seemed clearly unsettled by it. Euram swallowed, quickly spluttering to regain his poise.

“Why...I...of...of course not! We would never, ever do anything like that! Ahem! Well! I knew you all would understand,” he hastily declared, stepping back from the Prince he had so recently entreated and straightening his own rumpled garments. “Right, then! Since I obviously had nothing to do with this outrageousness, I should well be on my way.”

Hurriedly he turned on his heel, his cape swishing. Just before departing the cell, Euram whipped about one last time.

“Oh, and as for this lunk,” he snorted, nodding towards the hapless Zegai, who had not spoken a word in his own defense. “Hmph! You can pluck his eyeballs out, or behead him, for all I care!”

With that, Euram Barows exited in a huff, the steel cell door crashing behind him.
***

It was bad enough that I used him for my own gain and then discarded him. I learned later that it was Gizel himself who had lured the spies, and set him up. It was he who framed Zegai, forcing me to forfeit my eligibility in the Sacred Games. Only later would I learn that the man was innocent of the charges against him. I had blamed everything on Zegai, when the person I should have blamed was Gizel. Even so, that does not amend how I treated him.

I now know how he must have felt. How could I have been so cruel, so callous?

The ironic part is, at the time, Dad was conspiring with Armes. And I was helping him. Strangely, Zegai was not a part of that plan. That was as much a surprise and a shock to me as it was to everyone else.

When I offered my service to the Prince and he brought me back to that extraordinary castle in the lake, Zegai was one of the first I approached in apology. Oh, how frightened I was to face him! He could have flattened me, and I would have deserved that, too. But he did not. He made no move against me. No, he readily forgave me, without a second thought. Somehow his easy forgiveness hurt more than if he’d given me a pounding. Oh, I do not deserve anyone’s kindness! I…

****

Gizel frowned when he entered and realized Euram had obviously just hastened back to work upon hearing his approach. Just the way he moved, his nervous panting, his feigned attentiveness to the curio case he was shining—all of this gave substantial evidence that Euram had been preoccupied with something other than his task. Gizel had his suspicions as to what that something else was, but even so, it annoyed him.

Euram stopped what he was doing and greeted Gizel with a bow, nervously clutching the dustcloth in his hands. “H-hello, my lord.” His quick breaths told Gizel he had rushed to the case to give the impression he had been working diligently. The Commander ignored him and stalked composedly over to a shelf and swiped a gloved finger over the surface. He frowned when his digit left a thin trail in the dust.

“Hmm. You are not done with your work, Euram. What have I told you about that?” He heard the younger man’s gulp from across the room.

“I-I’m sorry, Gizel. Master,” Euram caught himself quickly. He shuffled like a schoolboy caught writing notes to his peers. “I...I only need just a few more minutes, Your Majesty.”

“No need,” Gizel lifted a hand to silence him. “You will simply complete the entire task over tomorrow. In addition to your new one, of course.” He heard the younger noble groan, miserably. “For now, I have need of your hands. I have been on my feet all day.” The Commander sank into his chair and kicked off his boots, propping his legs up on the nearby footrest. “Some wine first,” he instructed.

Detecting the impatience in his voice, Euram dropped the dustrag and hurried to pour the older man a glass. The scent of the wine was sweet, enticing, and suddenly made him more keenly aware of how weary he was being allowed nothing more than water and the occasional sip of milk to drink. Sighing, he brought the glass to Gizel and then knelt, dutifully setting his fingers to work on the propped and waiting feet.

Gizel moaned softly at the nimble ministrations as Euram’s slim fingers soothed aching pressure points. The younger man had picked this task up well, and his attentions were gentle, calming.

“Hmm. Yes, that is good. Keep doing that,” the Commander hummed his approval. He closed his eyes and sipped at his wine, permitted Euram to work several minutes before he posed a casual question.

“So. What distracted you such that you could not finish the work I left for you?”

Euram faltered, his fingers snagging in their efforts, a clear sign he was not prepared to answer honestly.

“I...”

“Yes?”

“I did not intend to dally, my lord. It is just that—I became distracted. You have so many wonderful accomplishments, Master, and I was preoccupied admiring your trophies.” The massaging grew more ardent, a clear diversion from the matter at hand, Gizel knew.

“You’re lying again,” Gizel admonished. “Do you know how I can tell?”

“Because you’re a liar yourself,” Euram muttered, without thinking. He plainly had not intended to be heard, but Gizel caught enough.

“What was that?”

Euram flinched, realizing his mistake. The young man spluttered and gulped, a light, nervous sweat surfacing on his brow. “I...I said...they were lying about on your shelf. Those things that distracted me, I mean. There was so much for me to admire, my lord. Although, to be perfectly honest, I would have suggested you have me clean the shelves and window before setting me to work on the floor.” That was, after all, the pattern Euram’s father’s servants had followed, in case anything should drip or dust should fall from higher spaces to settle on the ground.

“Cheeky today, are we?” Gizel could read Euram so plainly it was almost embarrassing. Here he was, ridiculously struggling to cover outright insolence with casual, playful sass. As though he thought he could fool him. “No matter. It is not as if you will not do the floors again, should you spoil them. And, I know when you are lying, because regardless of how practiced you are, you remain appallingly terrible at it.”

“I...I do not understand, sir.”

“Yes, you do. You are not as dim-witted as all that, and do not pretend to be. You are treading thin ice as it is, Euram Barows. Do you wish to find out how far you can test me?”

Euram sighed heavily, and paused in his delicate work. Swallowing hard, he fixed his jaw and spoke quietly, but with full frankness for perhaps the first time since he had become Gizel’s prisoner.

“How long do you think this will last, my lord?”

“Pardon?”

“All this.” Euram bowed his head, idly returning to his massage. “The Prince will arrive soon, with the Loyalist Army. Y-you realize this, do you not?” He felt Gizel’s feet tense slightly at this, and the older man sat up slightly in his chair.

“And what is it that has prompted this sudden candor in you, Euram?”

Euram shifted uncomfortably beneath the Commander’s piercing glare, comically attempting to continue his massage, even as his mind grew distant from the task.

“It-it is only that I feel he will be victorious, and I...”

“Oh?” Gizel cut him off, impatiently. “Who have you been talking to? What do you know?”

“N-nothing, my lord!” Euram panicked and spluttered. “I-I-I’m simply concerned about you!”
Gizel’s eyes narrowed. “You unblushing little liar. What manner of fool do you take me for? Even an imbecile such as you would know that we have nothing, nothing to fear of those pitiful rebels and their rag-tag army.”
“But P-Prince Freyjadour...he has the Dawn Rune, after all, and--after all that you've done, I do not know that he will spare you.”
Abruptly Gizel laughed. Euram was at least half honest. He was clueless as ever, but his so-called ‘concern’ was nothing more than a shameless lie.

Brusquely Gizel removed his legs from the footstool. Euram started and cringed at the sudden motion. The Commander glared menacingly down at his kneeling prisoner.

“Ah, yes. The Dawn Rune. The same Dawn Rune that brought fire and wrath upon Lordlake?”

The other gasped, his face snapping up in distressed and pained shock. He blanched, looking as though he’d been brutally slapped. His eyes glazed with wavering tears.

“Oh, no...Gizel...”

Knowing well he had struck a chord with the other noble, Gizel pressed his rebuke.

“Do you speak of the same Dawn Rune you and your father secretly held in the confines of your basement? The same Dawn Rune the Barows family had stolen, leaving Lordlake to bear the blame?” His voice rose steadily with each accusation, and Euram pathetically cowered, his arms curling upwards as though he would drown out the Commander’s condemning words.

“Please! Do not remind me, Gizel, my lord, I beg you!”

“And why ever not?” Gizel demanded.
Grr! Why not, indeed? Euram’s resentment and rage dangerously sparked, and for a moment he forgot himself.
“Did Godwin not press for Lordlake’s fate?” he retorted, that anger spilling over to mingle with his own pain and guilt. “Did Godwin not assure they continued to suffer with Hatred Fortress? And what of Beaver Lodge, which you would wantonly burn away, as an inconvenience? I could throw these at you, Gizel, if you must wield Lordlake as a weapon against me!”
His calm wavering, Gizel looked as though he might actually rise to kick him. “Why, you wretched little hypocrite. You dare moralize to me? You have every bit as much blood on your hands as I, Euram Barows!”

“I know!” Euram whined in acknowledgement. “That is why—that is why I abandon that name! I forsake the name Barows. I forsake my nobility. I no longer wish to associate myself with the likes of my father. Or the likes of you, Gizel.”

He heard the slap before he actually felt it. Swift, powerful, it whipped his head aside and resounded sharply throughout the chamber. Gradually the sting spread across his cheek and throbbed hot, the reality of his position regretfully sinking back in. Eyes clenched in pain, Euram remained perfectly still, awaiting another blow.

Nothing happened for a very long time, but he could feel Gizel’s eyes boring into him, daring him to complain, daring him to meet his gaze.

After a length, Gizel rose, stepped back into his boots and moved away. Euram did not dare look up. Doubtlessly Gizel was selecting some unknown instrument of punishment, something with which to make him pay for his insolence.

Euram’s heart raced and pounded. He could feel himself trembling, his breathing heavy and shaking with dread. Silently he cursed himself for being so rash, for speaking before thinking. What would Gizel do to him now? Did he intend to whip him? Something worse? Perhaps he would finally declare him unfit for his ownership and pronounce his death sentence.
He swallowed, the sting of Gizel’s handprint settling into a prickling pulse. It would leave an ugly bruise.

The patient tick of a clock measured endless seconds while Euram waited. He heard the faint shuffling and clicking of glass and wondered what the man was doing, what terrible retribution he was devising.

Without a word, Gizel returned with deliberate steps and sank back into the armchair. He lounged, crossing his legs. Euram refused to glance up, still kneeling as he awaited Gizel’s inevitable retaliation. Again he wondered briefly if his lord did intend to declare that he was done with him, and would execute him once and for all.

Gizel calmly sipped his drink. He did not speak, but sat with unconcerned detachment that made the tension that much more unbearable.

Idly he glanced down at his prisoner, letting his eyes roll over the quivering, coltish figure that cowered before him, counting the seconds before the silence would become too much for Euram to bear.

Predictably, that moment did not take long to arrive. Ever the coward, Barows swallowed hard.

“M-Majesty, please,” he said, with a deferential bow of his head. “...permit me the chance to make amends for my disrespect.”
Gizel watched the obsequious display with a mixture of disgust and amusement.
“Poor, foolish Euram,” he spoke, ominously. “For all your ridiculous fawning, you have revealed yourself to be as false as ever. Do not attempt to tell me you did not mean what you said. Yes, I know such a protest was on your lips. Yet again I find myself wondering why I bother with you, Euram Barows.”

The younger noble choked back a sob. “G-Gizel, I...”
Setting his glass aside Gizel reached down, hooking his fingers through Euram’s collar and pulling him onto his knees, forcing the prisoner up until he was almost in his lap, face to face. He met wide and fearful golden-brown eyes with indifference. Euram made pitiful croaking sounds, blonde brows drawn in fright. Gizel held him tight by the collar, tracing the slender jawline and chin with the fingers of his free hand.

He was so beautiful when he was afraid. Gizel actually preferred him this way, though to be honest he was delighted at the return of his resistance. A defiant slave was much more fun than a compliant one.

Gripping the collar, he trailed his fingers down the stretched body, circling soft pink nipples, one at a time, until he felt each harden beneath his touch. He caught them between his fingers, pinching hard, drawing a series of gasping squeaks from his prisoner. “I do not believe you fully appreciate the extent of your belonging to me, Euram.”
“Gggh…appreciate?” Euram spat at once, torn between dread and anger. A fire sprang up in his eyes, his brow drawing haughtily. Once again, the prisoner was pressed to renewed insolence. “Appreciate being your slave?”
Gizel then traced soft skin all the way down his side, feeling the delicate curve of waist and hip. His fingers stopped at the tender brand, pausing over the blistered skin, feeling his former rival wince.
“Aye, Euram.” he declared, pinching down sharply, hurting burnt flesh. “My slave. To be owned. To be tamed. To be fucked. I shall make you appreciate it.”
Fear returning to his eyes, Euram whimpered and squirmed uselessly in his grip, his hips twisting in vain to escape cruel fingers.

“G-Gizel, my lord...please!”

“I do not think I need remind you of your disobedience in wearing my gift to you. Your keeping of a diary when you had no such permission, not to mention whatever else you are hiding from me. Then there is your unfinished work today, on top of your open defiance, your little outburst. Quite a list of crimes. And it will cost you dearly.”

Euram gurgled something, grimacing at another hard pinch to his tender hip. Impulsively he fought the grasp on his collar, panicking as it became increasingly difficult to breathe. Abruptly Gizel released him, shoving him away and watching as he collapsed back onto the floor in a panting, whimpering heap. His hand automatically went to cradle his throat.

“Gizel...Commander, I’m sorry,” he choked.

“Not nearly as sorry as you soon shall be. Get up.” Euram clambered to his feet. “Go and bend over my writing desk. Quickly. You will remain still and wait for me.”

Euram did not dare disobey. Heart pounding, he miserably hurried to do as he was bid. The young Barows gasped as the cool wood of the desk met his sensitive nipples, and he shifted, feeling terribly vulnerable and exposed. He had often been told by wiser individuals that there were times when he should learn to simply bite his tongue and keep silent. He wished dearly that he had taken that advice to heart.

He waited, feeling his heart thump against the surface of the desk beneath him. Euram heard the click of the door locking and shuddered. Gizel was taking his time on purpose, he knew. The older man loved keeping him in dreadful suspense, forcing him to wait. By the time he heard the booted footsteps, Gizel was already well upon him, hovering just behind his body, bent in submission. He started and twitched when he felt bare hands caress his naked rump.

Gizel touched the upended ass gingerly at first, rubbing one hand across both soft cheeks, tracing circles over them, enjoying the way their owner jittered and shifted at his ministrations. Euram’s ass felt like a ripened peach, smooth and soft as velvet beneath his touch, the lack of muscle rendering them as delicate as a woman’s. Gizel’s loins tingled with arousal, and already he could feel himself stiffening beneath his uniform. Running a finger idly along the part between the trembling globes, he breathed a deep shuddering sigh and sifted through the spill of the boy’s hair, finally fastening the fingers of his free hand once more through Euram’s collar.

“Have you anything to say, Euram?”

"Ughh," The boy spoke with an anxious, trembling voice. “I...I regret my disrespect, Gizel—my lord.”

“Liar.” Gizel hissed, bringing his palm down firmly upon soft, yielding flesh.
“Oh!” Euram’s back arched, his chest leaping up off the desk. Gripping the collar, Gizel pressed him back and held him firmly in place, caressing where milk-white flesh reddened in the shape of his palm.

“You are sorry only that you are to be punished for your disrespect,” he accused. “Isn’t that right, Euram Barows?” Euram groaned in response, knowing as well as Gizel that it was true.

Gizel had not chosen an implement with which to spank him this time, preferring to feel the flesh heat beneath his bare hand. Drawing breath, he landed a blow hard in the center, sending a ripple across the younger man’s ass. Euram jolted and cried out, struggling as much as he dared.
“How often must that wagging tongue of yours get you into trouble, hmm?” the Commander chided.
Ruefully Euram wondered just that when another slap made him gasp and lurch forward. Gizel’s hand caressed the spot before falling again. The older man spanked with steady and dismaying skill, pausing between each blow, stroking reddened cheeks, allowing Euram to fully absorb the sting before shocking him anew. A sound series of smacks met the lower curve of his ass just above his thighs, lifting his buttocks, making him dance and whimper.
Gizel licked his lips, watching intently as his prisoner twitched and yelped with each blow. He felt the flesh warming beneath his palm, observed with gratification as the smooth, reddening ass uselessly rocked and twisted to escape his hand. Deliberately he delivered a smart blow between the soft buttocks, humming in approval at the cry it drew from his slave. Gizel’s cock tightened, and he drew closer, the bulge in his uniform settling against Euram’s thigh.
The Commander could tell from the deep red color and the intensity of Euram’s cries that his buttocks were growing quite tender. Pleased, Gizel continued, harder, faster, his arousal swelling at the sight of plump, pinkened cheeks dancing beneath his palm. Power coursed rich through his veins, and he held the younger noble’s collar tighter, his breath chopping at a fresh burst of struggling from his prisoner.

“Ow-owww! Gizel!” Euram’s face burned with the humiliation of being spanked over the desk like a naughty schoolboy. He jerked and trembled beneath the punishment, feeling Gizel’s arousal poking startlingly into his thigh. His ass felt unbearably hot, and his hips rippled and twitched in response. It was not long since he was last punished thus, and he regretfully doubted he would sit comfortably for days.

Gizel ignored his pleas, stopping only when he was satisfied and the quivering buttocks glowed red. He released the collar, and the boy slumped over his desk, sniveling and gushing unintelligible apologies. The Commander smirked. If Euram thought a simple spanking was to be the extent of his punishment, he was painfully mistaken.

“Stay put,” he warned. “I am hardly done with you. Though when I am through, you will think very hard before speaking with impudence again. I can promise you that.”

Pitifully, Euram whined, fear palpable in his wretched voice. “Gizel...whatever you’re thinking about doing, please...don’t!” he begged, shifting from the throb in his ass and thighs.

“Be silent,” Gizel commanded, and miserably Euram swallowed and slumped back over the desk.

From the folds of his robe, Gizel produced a small glass container. It was a concoction that he kept with his lubes and oils, for in a way, that was what it was. However, this was a far nastier mixture. Blended of rosehips and ginger oils, it was a light substance designed specifically to irritate the flesh to produce an erotically torturous sensation. Upon being inserted inside one’s delicate inner passages, however, its effects would be far more distressing. Gizel had never witnessed its full effect before, mostly because he had never used it; he had been merely awaiting the right opportunity. The opportunity he had anticipated was now, and Euram was about to discover the potion’s full potential.

Gizel dipped inside the small container and coated his finger. Sensing that Gizel was planning something he was not going to like, Euram shifted again and submitted another appeal.

“M-my lord, p-please, I--”
“Hush,” Gizel cut him off, not having the patience for his pathetic entreaties. “You obviously do not fully understand your position. No matter. You will soon understand, and you will beg me to fuck you.”
“Ugh…I will never beg such of you,” Euram panted, a measure of fight still in him, even now.
Gizel smirked at the continued show of defiance. “We shall see. Spread yourself wide, and do not dare argue.”
The older man waited for compliance before he set the jar upon the desk. Hooking one hand into the boy’s collar to hold him in place, he reached down and circled the tiny opening, coating it with the amber tinted oil. Gizel then slipped a finger inside the unwilling hole, spreading the mixture over sensitive inner flesh.
As the contact to fully transmitted to Euram, he stiffened with alarm and gasped, his slight muscles tightening. Gizel knew the hole was tender enough from his previous conquests, and the itch would doubtlessly intensify this. Of course this would help make the ultimate subjugation that much more satisfying.

He worked the substance inside, watching with growing lust Euram increasingly twist and writhe as the itch and burn grew.

“Ghh-Gizel—it, ohh, no, no…”
“Yes. Unbearable, isn’t it?” Gizel nearly purred, feeling the alarm deepen in Euram’s stiffening limbs. “Before it is finished, you will feel it deep in your belly, and you will be begging me for relief.”
At this, Euram withered in dismay, his capacity for speech melting away. The delicate nerves of his opening throbbed, making him dance from foot to foot. Gizel withdrew briefly, only to hear Euram’s cries of distress increase when the digit was replaced and a second, coated finger worked its way inside.

“Ah-ahhh!” Euram clawed uselessly at the desk, hips rolling and writhing as he pleaded to his lord, to the Feitas, the Sun above, to no on in particular to end his torment. “No, no, oh no no no...” He protested and squirmed, his voice catching with sobbing gasps while Gizel worked the oil inside. The Commander watched the serpentine back twist and shudder, nearly breathless with lust.
Then, there was nothing left to do but wait, and Gizel stood back to watch the show.
Euram crumpled to the floor where he writhed uselessly, twisting his body to relieve the crawling itch creeping up his guts.
“Argghh! Damn you, Gizel!”
Suppressing a chuckle, the Commander watched intently as his prisoner became overwhelmed. Fresh tears sprang to Euram’s eyes, the lithe form squirming and thrashing at Gizel’s feet.
But Gizel was nothing if not patient, and Euram’s world dissolved into nothing but flame. Flame of hate, of shame, of despair, of pain. His insides prickled and burned, and the cruelty of it baffled his spinning mind before all thought fled again, replaced by explosions of raw, spreading fire. Miserably he groaned, his body wildly jolting in response to the oil’s swelling sting.
Gizel noted the intensity swell in wide, amber eyes, Euram’s mouth open in shock.
“Ghhh…alright, Gizel. Y-you win,” the younger man capitulated, gasping. “Please, please make it stop!”
Gizel smirked. He had him now. “I can relieve the itch for you, Barows. You need only say the correct words.”
“Ohh, stop, please stop toying with me, just make it stoooop!”
“Come, then. I want to hear you say it.”
Euram sobbed, his twitching body curling into itself. “Uhnn...pleeease! It itches, Gizel, I beg you!”
“Please what?”
“Ohhh…ghhh…”
“Yes?”
Tear-streamed cheeks coloring with shame, the former noble swallowed and begged quietly, miserably through clenched jaw.
“Please…d-do it…I-I cannot stand it!”
“What was that?”
"Please...ugghh...p-put it inside me."
The request was meek, halfhearted and barely audible, though desperate tears now glistened his cheeks and sweat beaded his brow.
"Put what inside you, Barows?"
"Your..." the writhing noble swallowed, strained, his body hot with the combined assault of the burning itch and his own, blazing shame. "Your cock. G-Gizel."
"And where do you wish it?"
"Oh!" With a cry of defeat, the sobbing fool finally wailed the words his Commander wanted to hear. “M-my ass, please! Please, put your cock inside my ass! Ohhh, how I hate you! How I...hate…”
Satisfied, Gizel dragged his formal rival to his feet. Roughly he spun Euram and shoved him forward, bending him double as he quickly removed his own rigid member. The Commander swallowed, hands trembling with desire as he positioned himself. Just knowing how the itching lubricant would make his prisoner holler and squirm like a whore while he fucked him was almost enough to make him abandon control.
Without warning, Gizel roughly speared his prisoner in one deep thrust.

Amazing tightness and sparks of electric fire enveloped him, making Gizel weak in the knees. The sensation was like nothing he had ever felt, and a fine sweat broke out on his brow.

Euram screamed at Gizel’s sudden penetration, his body abruptly forced open to accept the entirety of his master’s iron-hard thickness. In his awkward position he lurched, nearly stumbling forward before Gizel caught his hips and steadied him. He felt painfully split, stretched, the oil’s cruel prickle spreading through him, creeping inescapably up his insides. Several eruptions of pain burst in his brain at once, making his lithe body quake and sweat from the strain of it.

“Shhh, lovely...” Gizel soothed, once he had regained his own self-control. With iron hands he held the squirming Barows still while the straining prisoner fought to relieve his discomfort. Euram answered with an incoherent wail, his head and arms dangling towards the floor like a ragdoll’s.

The Commander groaned, feeling the tight passage spasm and quiver around him while the younger man squirmed to mitigate the itch and burn. The oil’s sensation and his partner’s responding struggle was a feeling so erotic, so intense that he nearly swooned from it. At once he grasped Euram’s hips and held him still, ignoring the other’s whine of complaint for fear he would come immediately. Once the initial threat of climax passed, he regained his ability to breathe and think, and steadily he began to thrust into the tight, impossibly hot sheath.

Euram choked, his eyes widening. His passage clamped and shuddered around Gizel’s powerful length, the merciless cock slicing him open. Again he jolted forward at a startlingly powerful thrust, his balance threatening to fail were it not for Gizel’s grip at his flanks. Abruptly the Commander hauled him upright, propelling him instead over the writing desk. Euram howled, his nails desperately scraping at the wood, his hips snapping violently as he sought relief from the fire in his innards.

Weakened from Euram’s clenching and writhing on his cock, Gizel wrapped his arms around the slim form and spun about, carrying the younger man with him. He sat himself upon the desk, Euram in his lap, his legs spreading wide and falling aside. The Commander leaned back, pulling his prisoner along until the boy sat astride him, fully impaled and helpless.

Euram’s bowels spasmed and cramped, stretched to accommodate Gizel deeper. The older man began to thrust upwards, letting the weight of Euram’s body and involuntary squirming work his cock.

Euram writhed uselessly with ache and fire. Abruptly Gizel grabbed his hips, crushing him down, forcing him to feel him deeper and trapping him in place. Euram threw his head back and cried out. Leaning forward, Gizel spoke vicious words in his ear.

“Perhaps you now appreciate the price of your impudence, pretty.” Miserably Euram yowled and struggled, his frantic squirming heightening Gizel’s satisfaction as he rocked and wriggled on his length. The prisoner’s discomfort only deepened Gizel’s pleasure, the younger man unwittingly and unwillingly aiding him in his conquest.

Seizing him, Gizel carried him to the bed, never breaking contact. Shoving the younger man face down into the mattress, he took him hard, each twist and wriggle from Euram milking him further, pushing him closer to that point where all would coalesce into one flash of blinding pleasure. The boy’s cries grew higher, more desperate, filled with misery. A sadistic thrill twined through the Commander’s limbs, and Gizel seized the younger man’s organ, squeezing, stroking, forcing him stiff. To overpower Euram was a bliss insurmountable, but to pull a climax from his unwilling body—that would be the most glorious victory he could achieve!

“Ngh...ohhhhh!” the younger noble sobbed with dismay, his efforts to twist away from the conflicting sensations in vain. Amazingly, the ache and fire in his innards gradually diminished between Gizel’s cock and his clever stimulation, and his body shuddered and twitched with opposing waves of wracking, merciless pleasure and intense, relentless pain.

Gizel plundered him fiercely, his breath ragged and husky. He took Euram with brisk, deep strokes, making him wince and whimper. Even so, the younger man’s body reacted to his manipulation, his own cock now painfully hard and needing release. Gizel’s hand worked with a wicked talent, drawing moans of supplication from his prisoner.

Euram tightened and cried out beneath him, his seed weeping over Gizel’s fist as his body seized in painful ecstasy. Grunting, Gizel followed in orgasm, erupting in his prisoner’s quivering insides with a climax that rendered him dizzy.

The older man withdrew and collapsed back, huffing to regain his breath, his composure.

Rising, he moved to his slave’s prone form and wiped his soiled hand on one of the boy’s thighs, rubbing Euram’s own come into soft and trembling skin. He then wiped his cock on the quivering cheeks of his ass and maneuvered around, lifting Euram’s head by the hair and presenting his spent member. Whimpering with defeat, Euram parted his lips and, flattening his tongue, wretchedly took the Commander into his mouth, inwardly flinching with revulsion at the demeaning act.

“There, good boy,” Gizel murmured his approval, patting him with a chuckle as he watched the other's hips wriggle, still tormented by the lingering oil's residue. It was a punishment that would, unfortunately for Barows, endure for hours yet. “I told you I would have you begging for me.”
The younger man groaned in response, his eyes miserable as he bathed the Commander’s cock with lips and tongue.

Petting him again, Gizel pulled free and went to strip himself fully. When he had done, he turned to find that Euram had curled up on the bed like a punished hound.

“Euram. I believe you are forgetting yourself,” Gizel admonished, suddenly.

His prisoner looked up, a small flash of panic flickering in those bleary eyes.

“Unless I specifically indicate otherwise, you get fucked on the bed. You sleep on the floor.”

Moaning, Euram slid from the bed and limped miserably to the pillows. Taking up the lead attached to the wall, Gizel clipped it to his collar and then moved to leave him, stopping to cast an aside glance as his former rival whimpered and shifted uncomfortably on the cushions.
“I am afraid it will not wholly relent for some time. That itch will pester you well into the night. Let it be a lesson to you, Barows,” Gizel admonished, smirking at Euram’s dismayed groan.

“You realize of course that your precious prince has waited too long,” he said all at once. He watched Euram’s reaction carefully, his prisoner’s tear-stained face, fixed with sudden suspicion and dread, turning up towards him. “Oh, yes,” the Commander reiterated. “I am afraid your little allies will be greeted by something they will not fully expect. You see, not even the Prince’s impressive Dawn Rune will stand a chance against the Sun Rune itself.”

Euram’s eyes went wide with shock and fear. “Y-you would not use it!” He nearly whispered in horror. Even in his alarm, he had to wonder how he intended to make use of the rune! The Sun Rune had rejected both Gizel and his father before, Euram knew this. A rune such as that would not allow just anyone to harness its power. Euram’s father had made his own attempts to bear the Dawn Rune when the stolen artifact had resided in the Barows basement, and Euram himself had secretly tried to don it, to no avail. The Runes chose only bearers they deemed worthy. How, then, did Gizel purpose to utilize the Sun Rune’s power against the Prince?

Euram looked up at his lord, disbelief and denial wavering in his eyes. “Oh, Gizel, Commander...you cannot! Think of what might, I mean, you must consider, I...” The young man faltered, many thoughts passing through his troubled mind at once so quickly he could not articulate them fast enough. But most of all, the possibilities of what destruction such power unleashed would undoubtedly cause threw him into a sudden, hopeless panic.

“G-Gizel, sir, please! You simply cannot do such a thing!”

“No?” Gizel chuckled. “Well, we shall see.”

Euram gulped, speechless. And then, another fear dawned upon him, perhaps the greatest of all: so many he cared for were in the Prince’s army, so many to whom he owed so much. The Prince, Lord Wilde...his sister...

If the Sun Rune was somehow operational in Gizel and Marscal Godwin’s hands—then his allies were in terrible danger, and he would have to warn them, by some means! But how? How could he ever manage to alert them when they were miles away, and he a prisoner kept under Gizel’s watchful eye?

***

Outside the door, Lady Sialeeds snorted. She had not been listening long, but long enough to understand the gist of what was happening. That fool Gizel was so preoccupied with his toy that he was not paying attention as he should. Now here he was, prematurely spilling his intentions to the little fop, no doubt for the sole purpose of distressing him. Not that she was worried about that. Barows was incapable of anything, and would have been incapable even if he weren’t a prisoner. Still, Gizel’s confidence was thorough proof of his hubris. She knew he had not quite the knowledge to master the rune yet.

It was as well. She had hoped he would find some kind of diversion in Euram, though she had not believed that little Barows would distract him to this extent. Euram was a wretch deserving of nothing but the utmost disdain, a weak-willed rake, good for nothing, upon whom Gizel could take out his darkest aggressions. She was actually surprised he had found such entertainment in him. This was working out better than she had hoped.

Of course she knew Gizel was calculating, and he knew damn well that her motives were not for his benefit. Still, his distraction with Euram would only make her own designs easier to implement.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she waltzed away, chuckling to herself.

********

Luserina Barows stood restlessly at her post. She sighed and fidgeted with the hem of her dress, twisted a strand of blonde around her finger. She wasn’t sure why she felt so anxious. She knew her brother was not important in the overall battle. And she knew that now, unlike the man he had been, he would more than willingly sacrifice himself to the Prince’s cause, if needed. Still, she felt lonely.

It was strange. For so many years, she had been at odds with her brother, watching in sadness, anger and embarrassment as he unquestioningly did their father’s bidding. She had learned in horror of Euram’s involvement with Lordlake’s destruction, and his rash, foolish behavior and unapologetic attitude had complicated matters until she had accepted the fact that she would never truly know him again. She gave up on him completely when he turned his bitter designs upon the Prince, staging plot after plot to destroy the one whom he wrongly blamed for his family’s disgrace.

She had lost all hope for him. He had become unreachable, doomed to destroy himself in his ridiculous vendetta. He had grown so bitter and angry, unrepentant and so full of misguided hatred that he no longer vaguely resembled the boy with whom she had spent her childhood.

But somehow, miraculously, he had recognized the error of his ways, of their father’s. Beyond her faintest hope he had returned to her, contrite and eager to atone for his misdeeds. How she remembered his enthusiasm, the light in his eyes as he’d sworn to make things right! There had been a boyish life in him that she had not seen in years, and he was very much the sweet and kind brother she had loved so long ago!

And now that he was gone again, she felt more empty than ever. It was almost worse than never having him come to his senses at all.

No, she was glad of that, at least. No matter what happened, she would never regret that. But it saddened her having him ripped away now, when there was still so much time lost between them. It did not help that she had to endure the whispers about him. She had born them stoically, even acknowledging the correctness in others’ disparaging assessments of Euram—but a part of them hurt.

Luserina sighed, trying to forget about it. It would do no good worrying over it.

Suddenly a familiar voice pulled her from her inner musings.

“Milady?”

She looked up and smiled, seeing the familiar patchwork apron and the unruly shock of red hair.

“Oh, Chuck! Hello!”

She curtsied and greeted the gentle storage guard. The hulking man regarded her with sympathy beneath his bushy red brows and then shyly reached out, offering her a small rose curled awkwardly in his thick hand. It was crushed slightly, as though he’d kept it in his pocket for most of the day.

“Don’t look so sad, milady,” the man beseeched her, earnestly. “I heard what some folk are sayin’, that young Master Euram has betrayed us again. Don’t you go believing it, milady!”

Gratefully she accepted the rose. Poor Chuck had followed her loyally to serve the Prince on that day she had abandoned her father and brother forever in Rainwall.

“Oh, thank you so much, Chuck,” she said, doubting he knew how much his words meant. It was true, there were many within the Royalist Army who remained distrustful of her brother. Many had severely questioned the Prince’s wisdom in taking him in, and were ready to expect the worst from him. And despite everyone’s care not to speak directly to her out of respect, the rumors had still reached her ears: the accusations, some quite vicious, that Euram had defected to Godwin, despite the fact that he would have no logical reason to do so at this point. Even so, she understood their doubts. It was not so easy to forgive and to trust a person who had caused as much trouble and pain as her brother.

Chuck continued to reassure her. “Lord Wilde an’ me, we talked about it, an’ we both agreed that there’s no way he’d do something like that. An’ we also agreed that he’ll come back to us.”

Luserina smiled, pushing back her tears at such kind encouragement. Lord Wilde, once her father’s most trusted ally, had been nothing but supportive through the worst of times, even when her family had betrayed him. She was just being selfish. There was no reason for her to feel sorry for herself, not when she had such concerned and supportive friends.

At that moment, passing by on his daily, self-assigned patrol of the castle, another individual overheard the conversation and regally stepped over to add his own sentiments.

“Why, Miss Luserina. You are looking uncharacteristically melancholy this afternoon,” the man observed, and bowed to her. “And what is the cause of your despondency?”

Egbert Aethelbald eyed her with interest. He stood with his normal, refined poise, though his moustache twitched slightly.

“Ah, but do not tell me: I too have heard of your troubles, and I can assure you, there is no reason to suspect any malice on your sibling’s part. No, it is undeniably, indisputably, incontrovertibly all the fault of THOSE FILTHY GODWIN DEVILS!”

Both Luserina and Chuck winced as one at the sudden outburst, though in all honesty they should have been used to it by now. Luserina smiled politely and attempted to placate him before he could delve further into one of his well-known diatribes. “Egbert, you are kind. I thank you.”

“No, say nothing more, sweet Luserina!” the eccentric man insisted, his brow twitching beneath his hat. “Every malady that has afflicted the world can be credited to those GODWIN DEVILS! Freak lightening storms. Inexorable plagues of locusts! Spontaneous human combustion! ALL of it can be traced to those FILTHY DEVILS! Godwin is a PARASITE! A STINKWEED! AN IGNOBLE CANKER! A PUTRID, MEPHITIC PUSTULE! A PHLEGM-ENCRUSTED TUFT OF GOATHAIR!”

“Uhm...yes, Sir Egbert...” Luserina agreed, a little uncomfortable. Chuck had unconsciously placed a protective arm between the girl and the ranting man. Egbert didn’t seem to notice.

“Ah, but I have become diverted from my original purpose,” the man said, suddenly snapping from his fit of rage. “I apologize for my outburst. But rest assured, there are those within the castle who know the truth, and anything you may hear otherwise are nothing more than FILTHY GODWIN LIES! Good day to you, Luserina.”

Luserina and Chuck both watched awkwardly, blinking as Egbert spun on his booted heel and went about his routine daily march, twitching and muttering periodically to himself.

“That is a strange man, milady,” Chuck pointed out, needlessly.

“Well, he is my distant relative, apparently,” Luserina said, watching Egbert depart with a little concern.

“I frankly don’t see the resemblance, milady,” Chuck confessed, scratching his large head.
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)