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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6: An Unwanted Suitor
FLASHBACK:

“Wake up, Barows,” Gizel called though the bars, standing aside so that one of the guards could unlock the cell.

Euram peered at the guests with unfocused caution. Sleeping had become his favored pastime during his imprisonment: it was his only reprieve between boredom and torment. Still, Gizel did not much like the physical toll it was taking on him. He had grown wan, and even thinner than he had been before. If he meant to keep him at all, he would have to be removed from this dungeon soon.

Gizel entered the small prison, his men following close behind. One of the sentries carried a tray.

The Commander knelt next to the captive, who drew away from him. “Now, come, Euram. You must be hungry. Would you like something to eat?”

Euram examined the floor. Eventually he nodded, his basic needs overcoming his deeply embedded pride.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered.

“Good,” Gizel turned and nodded to the guard, who handed him the tray. He placed it before the prisoner. It was not a banquet by any means, but he knew it would seem that way to Euram. There was some bread and dried pork, along with a portion of cherries in a bowl. Along with this was a small glass of milk—all things Gizel hoped would lend the boy some strength, nutrition and color to his cheeks without indulging him needlessly.

“Come now,” Gizel urged, picking up a cherry and lifting it to the younger man’s dry lips. “You may have it all. In fact, I want you to eat everything. You can hardly serve me if you are malnourished. Go on. There are no seeds.”

Giving in, Euram accepted the morsel. He winced, the juice from the tart bit of fruit shocking his tongue. But that trace of sustenance ignited hunger in a body that had received precious little for several days, and his hesitation dissolved.

Hands normally used to dining with the finest utensils trembled as they primitively grabbed up strips of bread and meat. Clutching bits of food tight in his fingers, Euram devoured them with a hasty inelegance unaccustomed to one of his status. The unrefined display excited Gizel; once upon a time, Euram would have reacted with furious indignation at the suggestion that he would ever find himself naked in a dungeon and frantically eating with his fingers. “Like a barbarian,” the young Barows would have disdainfully said.

In mere minutes, he had the tray cleared, while Gizel observed with approval.

“There you go,” Gizel praised as his prisoner drained the glass, desperately grateful to taste liquid other than water. He nodded to the guard, who bent and retrieved the empty tray. Then he leaned towards the young captive and brushed the breadcrumbs from his lips. “You see? I am not so merciless.”

Euram turned away from him, staring at the floor.

“Now, now. I might take that gesture as ungratefulness.”

“Th-thank you,” Euram forced, quietly. He sounded wretched, and looked even more so.

Satisfied, Gizel rose and addressed his guards.

“Have him bathed and cleansed and then sent to my chamber,” he instructed. “Give him a robe to cover himself. I would not have him paraded naked through the Palace.” Not from any concern for Euram’s modesty, of course: Gizel simply preferred to run things with a certain degree of professionalism. “But fill his dish here,” he added, noting that Euram had finished what water had been left in the bowl. “He shall return here tonight, once I am done with him. Empty the other,” he indicated, nodding towards the small bucket left in the cell for the purpose of the prisoner’s biological functions.

“I want him brought to me within an hour. Understood?”

“Yes, Commander,” the men bowed.

The bathing chamber of the Sun Palace was as lavish as one would expect. There were several porcelain tubs along the walls, and a series of drains in the floor carried water from the Palace to the underground system below, where it eventually emptied into the Feitas and the sea beyond. Of course these mechanics mattered little to Euram: he knew by now that this would not be a relaxing experience.

A crew of servants awaited him again. None too gently they stripped him of the white robe, and dragged him to one of the tubs, forcing him to his knees and leaning him over. Euram knew what was coming next. Ill-prepared for the thought of it happening again and not knowing what else to do, he reverted to that which he was accustomed: he launched into a series of tantrums and fits.

"S-stop, stop this! Unhand me! I-I will not endure this!” he cried, frantically. They ignored the false bravado and the indignant objections that spilled from him, some of them quite venomous. He tried to fight them, but he was scarcely a match for one, let alone an entire crew. This only drew laughter and ridicule from the attendants, who repaid his tirades by forcing the nozzle roughly inside him. Three held him down while another opened the sluice, forcing the water to rush into his body as he gurgled and cried out with humiliation and resentful despair.

It was worse when they emptied him over a drain, forcing him to expel it as they laughed and jeered. Euram simply closed his eyes and sobbed, his anger finally overcome by mortification.

They bathed him next. Two men ushered him toward the prepared bath, steam rising from the surface. At one point it would have been welcoming. He was more than used to indulgence, and was no stranger to a relaxing, decadent bath, often fortified with milk or expensive oils. But this was no luxury. He felt the intensity of the water before it ever touched his skin. Again Euram resorted to fighting, knowing it was useless. Allowing him no time to get used to the temperature, they thrust him into the bath.

A howl pierced the bathing chamber, and hands were all over him at once, cruelly pulling and scrubbing, their owners laughing at the caterwauls and curses that flew from his tongue.

His skin was bright pink by the time they had pulled him from the water. They dried him, draped him in the robe and wordlessly handed him over to the waiting guards, who shackled his hands and escorted him down the bright corridors of the Sun Palace.

Polished marble floor felt cold and smooth on his bare feet. Euram clutched the robe tight around his slight form, peering cautiously about. He dared not fight the guards, but the silence was difficult to bear.

The Sun Palace was not completely unfamiliar to him. He had visited many times since his childhood with his father, either for political errands or ceremonial events. Never had he imagined he would be here under these circumstances.

At length they escorted him to a heavy wooden door. Reaching out, one of the men firmly rapped.

“Your Commandership? The prisoner.”

“Very good. Enter,” came the voice from within. Grasping Euram firmly, one of the guards opened the door and roughly escorted him inside.

Once Commander Ferid’s room, the chambers intended for the Queen’s husband were naturally accommodating. A table sat in the middle of the floor, and a large, lavish bed spread along the back wall. Along another wall was a welcoming fireplace and hearth, surrounded by several plush chairs. An array of decorative cases and displays lined the chamber, along with rare paintings and even a sword or two displayed high on the walls. Bookshelves were stocked with volumes of works, detailing everything from foreign cultures and histories to swordplay and war strategy.

A single, large window faced the front of the Palace. The decorated pane was currently pulled inward and slightly cracked, carrying the warm breeze from outside into the room along with the scent of blossoms and greenery from the garden beyond. Near the window sat a writing desk, upon which the occupant could contemplate and conduct business by the light of a small but elegant lamp.

How simple and yet hospitable it might have seemed to Euram, under different conditions!

Gizel himself was standing at the window, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He did not turn.

“Thank you, gentlemen. You may leave us."

Euram winced as the door shut behind him and stood awkwardly, feeling small, wanting to run and not knowing whether to bolt out the door, drop to his knees or burst into tears. He swallowed and somehow held his composure, his heart racing beneath the robe. He drew his arms up protectively against his chest, chains clinging to his wrists softly clinking.

The older man turned on him eventually and cocked his head, his lips curling into a thin smile. “Welcome, Euram. And what do you think of my chambers?”

Euram gulped. “I-I think I would rather be back in my cell. My lord.” He hardly wished to return to that cold and depressing prison he had occupied for the past…how many days? At the same time, if it meant being away from Gizel—and whatever the man planned to do with him—he guessed he would almost rather endure the dungeon further.

“You shall return there, in time,” Gizel reassured him, finally moving from the window. “However,” he added, “you shall return only when I am prepared for you to do so.”

Here in the full light of the room Euram could better see Gizel in his full Commander’s attire. Black and gold robes hung regally from his shoulders, matching the tabard, boots and headband perfectly. He looked…grand, Euram secretly admitted, suddenly crushed with a renewed flood of envy.

Cruelly reminded that he had once hoped to don that very uniform, he suddenly realized that it looked far better on his longtime rival than it would have looked on him. Euram turned away, swallowing the lump of fresh jealousy that thickened in his throat.

“Have you any idea why you’re here, Euram?”

“N-not exactly, my lord.”

Slowly the older man approached, and, reaching into a deep, gold stitch-lined pocket, he produced a set of keys and removed his prisoner’s chains. He deposited the shackles upon the table and watched the younger man rub at his wrists. Reaching out a hand, he tenderly lifted Euram’s chin.

“I think you do know. You cannot be that naïve.”

Whimpering, Euram abruptly retreated. The Commander lifted a brow, though secretly delighted at the resistance.

“Do not be foolish,” he warned. “Did I not inform you of my intentions before?”

“Please, Gizel, my lord…I…I am not…”

“Not what?” the Commander pressed.

“I-I do not wish …do not do this to me, Gizel.”

“So you admit you are aware of my plans for you.” The other noble said nothing, taking a faltering step back. Gizel advanced, predatorily. “Well, it matters not to me whether you accept or resist. The outcome will be the same, either way. But I will warn you now: it will be far less painful for you should you yield willingly to me.”

Euram’s back hit the wall, forcing him to a halt.

“Tell me,” Gizel placed his hands upon the wall on either side of the younger man, trapping him close, and felt the tension coiling through Euram’s limbs. “Have you ever had another man inside of you? Felt his cock up your ass?”

Euram blushed furiously, his pale cheeks so deliciously pinkening that Gizel’s stomach tightened with lust. Wide eyes, vivid with offense, snapped up at him.

“N-no! Of course not! And I don’t intend to!” Euram attempted to duck and wriggle from beneath Gizel’s arms, though where he thought he was going to go was a mystery to Gizel, and probably Euram himself. Suddenly moved to anger, the Commander seized him tight and grasped painfully, giving him a brisk shake. Slim wrists twisted in his hands. Euram winced in his grip.

“I see you have chosen to make this difficult for yourself,” Gizel growled, maintaining his calm in spite of the warning in his tone and deep hunger in his eyes. “Is this how you repay my mercy? Is this how you return my kindness? Have you forgotten that I could toss you to the executioner in a heartbeat?” He delivered another shake, and Euram was quickly reduced to a babbling wreck.
Marching Euram to the bed by an arm and an ear, Gizel flung him down and stood over him, watching the terrified creature attempt to scoot away, his eyes bright and wavering with alarm. The white robe had slipped down one shoulder, half exposing his slim chest. Unable to resist the tempting sight, Gizel surged forward, clutching the robe and peeling the other side down to bare his shoulders fully. Euram squeaked, struggling with what feeble ability he possessed. Gripping the fabric tight around Euram’s arms to momentarily bind him, Gizel buried his face in the younger man’s neck. Euram gasped and squirmed in complaint, shuddering as Gizel kissed and nipped at tender flesh between his collar and the sensitive lobe of his ear.

“Ggh-Gizel!” the boy whined, earning a hard pinch to a nipple. “Ah-oww! Please, Gizel--!”

“Be silent,” Gizel snapped, grabbing a handful of the cotton robe and ripping it completely free. Euram struggled, his throat filled with fearful gasps as the fabric tore and fell away to expose his nakedness. The ruined garment slipped down his back, along his hips and then spread to either side, revealing bare pink skin.

“Keep fighting and I will replace your shackles. I will bind you, force it in dry and fuck you without mercy.”

Gizel had of course known before even asking that Euram was a virgin, but hearing it from the boy’s lips and now experiencing the full effect of his innocent resistance made the prospect of violating him that much sweeter. Euram’s struggles shot thrills that clasped his stomach and reverberated down into his loins. He would be the first to have him. He would conquer Euram, bend this lithe, pretty flesh to his will, and ultimately subjugate the younger man , forcing him to squeal and writhe upon his cock.

High, whimpering sounds gurgled from Euram’s throat, his defiant resolve gradually hewn beneath his lord’s startling force.

“Nooo! S-stop! Stop this, Gizel!” he cried, pitifully flailing his hands to ward off the stronger man. Easily Gizel caught both wrists in one hand.

“I suggest you bite your tongue, unless you are prepared to address me with the proper respect. Do you crave another whipping?”

“Oh...no,” the young man’s voice hitched. He flinched, subdued as he remembered the pain of the lash. “But Gizel, Majesty, please!” he appealed, remembering himself. He met Gizel’s gaze, his eyes shimmering with desperate supplication. “I…I do not want this! I cannot…oh, I cannot….”

“You wish to die, then?”

Crumpling in his grasp, Euram withered. “Oh, no. No, no. No, my lord.” Stricken, he wilted into sobs. For a moment, Gizel was afraid he might be ill. He let him go and left him alone for the present, moving to a drawer. Sifting briefly through the small table at his bedside, he quickly retrieved what he was looking for and returned to where the young Barows huddled cowering upon the bed.

Pulling him up, Gizel flattened a hand to his chest and pressed him onto his back. The vision of Euram was delectable, stretched back, golden hair spread upon the sheets, strands draped across his shoulders, pink buds trembling with the frightened rise and fall of his chest….

“G-Gizel…” Euram began, pleadingly, his voice quivering on his breath.

“Hush. You will learn to cooperate."

Gizel dropped over him, slipping a hand downbetween soft thighs and taking hold of his flaccid length. The older man licked his lips and wrapped a hand around the slender cock. Choking on a gasp, Euram attempted to close his legs, but Gizel wedged a knee between them, forcing them wide as he manipulated the thin column of stiffening flesh.

“Perhaps you are not as reluctant as you seem. You’re responding to me, Euram,” he pointed out, receiving a groan of dismay.

Euram shifted to resist Gizel’s manipulations and bit his lip, blushing more deeply. Miserably he squirmed, but Gizel’s other hand remained firmly pressed to his chest. His cheeks burned as he felt his body reacting against his will, his flesh tightening with unwanted need.

“S-sir, please…” he begged.

“Please what?”

Euram cringed, looking away in shame. Gizel chuckled wickedly as the body trembled beneath him and Euram fought to defy his touch.

“You see?” he said, flicking a thumb to swipe a trace of precome that had formed on the tip. “You cannot deny the desires of your own body.” Lifting his hand to Euram’s mouth, he brushed his slicked thumb along soft lips. The boy’s mouth remained tightly sealed, lips pursed in refusal. Gizel pushed past the barrier, then seized his jaw and gripped painfully, forcing the clamped teeth to unwillingly part for him.

Slipping his thumb inside, he swept over the wetness, sliming his tongue, making him taste himself. Humiliated, Euram gasped between despondent, whimpering groans.

After a few moments Gizel withdrew, allowing the younger man to pant for breath.

“I shall very much enjoy you, I think,” he declared. “And I will have what I desire of you soon enough.” His hands wandered down the slender form, caressing supple skin and thrilling at the way Euram tensed and quivered at his touch. Slipping a hand underneath one of his prisoner’s legs, he lifted at the crook of his knee and pushed up, forcing his leg to bend and fold over Euram’s chest, granting him better access to the pink, virgin hole hidden beneath. His finger traced downward, stopping to stroke the exposed, naked sacs before traveling further still, finally brushing the drum-tight entrance.

Euram gasped out and burst into motion at the contact, limbs flailing gracelessly as he tried to wriggle from Gizel’s hold.

“Nnggh! No! No…G…Gizel…Master…n-not this!” Euram panted, desperately. “Anything, I’ll do anything, but please…”

Gizel eyed him with disapproval. “What you will do is cease this disobedience. You know by now that I mean to have you. How easy it will be on you is entirely up to you.” The younger man’s features twisted in hopeless despair, his hips rising off the bed as he thrashed uselessly against Gizel’s iron hold.

“Nooooooo!” he cried. Gizel withheld the smile that threatened to paint his lips. Foolish Euram! How little he realized that his struggles, his resistance, only made the dark blossom of desire in his stomach swell further. Each defiant twitch, every resistant push against him deepened Gizel’s lust, coiling his need tighter even as Euram grew flaccid.

“I have not yet settled upon whether I shall keep you for good,” Gizel reiterated, since the ridiculous fop seemed to have forgotten yet again. “Are you hoping to hasten your death sentence?”

“No, my lord! B-but—” the younger man sniveled, struggling frantically to think of something, anything that might get him out of this! “B-but, you cannot do this, oh you simply cannot! You must permit me to please you in some other way!”

At once Gizel lunged forward, seizing Euram’s wrists and pinning them to either side of him while he lodged a knee against the younger man’s sensitive balls, pressing there like a threat. Euram gurgled and gasped, suddenly going rigid, suddenly aware that a wrong move could leave him badly hurt. He gazed up fearfully and swallowed hard, his brow drawn in alarm.

“If you wish to live, then you will obey me. Should you continue to displease me, I will thrash you until you bleed, and toss you back to await beheading. But not before I have taken you. Either way, I mean to fuck you.”

Absorbing the older man’s words, Euram subsided and sank with a sob. The tension left his limbs, and Gizel relented only slightly, softening his grip just enough to test whether his prisoner’s fire would return.

“Now. Are you quite done with your little tantrum, Euram?”

Defeated, Euram whispered his reply. “I…oh…yes, Gizel, yes.”

“There, now,” Gizel released his wrists and patted him. “If you promise to be good, I shall lend you the courtesy of preparing you.” Euram made a pitiful sound in his throat, knowing full well he had little say: the stronger, larger man was bound to overcome him regardless of what he said or did.

Gizel smoothly loosened his large, engorged member from his robes. The younger man eyed the thick, solid length with apprehension and dread.

“You have tasted my cock: now, you will feel it.”

Euram groaned, his head falling back onto the covers.

Abruptly the Commander seized him, flipped him over and produced a small glass vial from his pocket. Removing the stopper, he drizzled a clear stream into the crack, eliciting a shudder from his prisoner. Gizel replaced the plug and, setting the vial aside, worked a hand to spread the oil between the cheeks before he found the tiny hole and slipped a finger inside the tight opening, breaching desperately resisting flesh.

The small entrance clenched and clung to his finger. Euram tensed and bit his lip, swallowing a gurgled sound of pain. Gizel felt him shift beneath him, saw him turn to bury his face down into the bed as his hands sought to clutch at the covers. Without waiting for Euram to adjust, he worked another inside, pulling a high, protesting whimper from his prisoner. Hips squirmed and attempted to wriggle from the invasion, and Gizel hooked a finger through the leather collar to hold him still. Scissoring his digits inside Euram, he spread him, preparing the tight channel for his entry and humming low in his throat at Euram’s shuddering sounds of resistance. Just as he was debating whether he wanted the boy on his back or on his knees, he glanced up and conveniently spotted something that would help him determine the position he desired.

Just across the room from the bed sat a large dresser, over which hung an expensive mirror. Gizel’s lips curled into a smirk. Having Euram on his knees, he could take him more fully, grind himself deeper. At the same time, he desired to see the boy’s face, watch his expressions as he was fucked for the first time. The mirror would permit him both pleasures at once.

Satisfied that the younger man was oiled well enough for his intentions, he withdrew his fingers and dragged his hips up until he was propped on his knees. With one hand the older man positioned himself at the clenched entrance, feeling it shrink even tighter. Euram jolted as if the contact burned him, and fell into a useless spiel of entreaties.

“Gizel! Please, do not do this, p-please!” Subsequent and incoherent appeals tumbled from his mouth in a final effort to preserve his threatened virginity.

The Commander witnessed this new gush of protesting with fresh lust. He hesitated only a moment, pausing there, torturing the trembling fool and savoring his reluctance. Finally, he steadied himself, grasped Euram firmly by the hips and thrust inside.

Gizel sighed at Euram's scream as his crown breached the tight barrier. With another thrust he forced himself deeper, feeling the heat and tightness of inner walls contract and quiver around him, feeling delicate tissue give and tear, sending a vibration of pain through his reluctant lover’s limbs.

“Ugghhnn—n-nooo!” Euram cried out in disbelief. No, no, this was not happening, this could not be happening! How was it possible that he, Euram Barows, the once-proud and noble heir to one of the most powerful political divisions in the Falenan Senate, could be reduced to this? And yet, shudders of pain riddled his limbs as his new master, his Godwin rival, slowly and relentlessly claimed his unwilling virgin passage.

He grunted and trembled as Gizel’s groin pressed against him fully, the coarse hair surrounding the older man’s cock scraping his delicate skin.

“Ahhh. There. Your ass is full with my cock, Euram.”

Gizel’s voice drifted to him almost ethereally. An incredible and dizzying shame washed over Euram, and he felt faint, his most private and guarded entrance painfully opened and stretched by the man he had once considered his adversary. Groaning his pain and misery, the young Barows buried his reddened face into the bed.

But Gizel had no plans of making it that easy for him. The Commander gripped the collar and pulled him up, forcing him to his hands and knees. Gripping a fistful of hair, he wrenched Euram’s head back, making him face the mirror and forcing him to watch his own violation, cementing his awareness of his new status.

Watching the mirror, the older man examined his prisoner’s expression. Euram was truly a beautiful sight, his noble features contorted in pain: teeth clenched, brown eyes flung wide as his slender body arched and shook at the intrusion. Tightening his grip, Gizel thrust forward again, watching intently as Euram gasped and cringed and cried out.

“G-Gizel! Unnhh! P-please! It hurts, oh…hurts, Gizel…!”

“Oh, no, no, sweet Euram,” the Commander corrected him, his voice like syrup as he wove his fingers into blonde locks and clutched tighter. “You have not yet begun to know pain at my hands.”

Legs quivering, Euram dissolved in shame as Gizel began to thrust in and out of him. He tried to close his eyes, to look away, but Gizel had him trapped so he could not help but stare miserably at himself, spread and opened in submission. He groaned. Tears leaked from his eyes, his pitiful wails of pain filling the room.

With deliberate thrusts, the older man ravished him slowly at first, forcing him to keenly feel every inch. Releasing his grip at his partner’s scalp, Gizel reached down and spread the cheeks with his thumbs to watch the clenching virgin ring stretch wide over his cock. So obscene, so exquisite was it that Gizel growled low in his throat, increasing his pace, claiming more of him. Euram’s ass and back trembled, his spine arching and quivering beneath the assault. His wails matched his master’s pounding and compelled Gizel harder, deeper.

Sweating, Gizel husked deep, rasping breaths, staring at the image before him reflected back. Euram was bowed beautifully up into him, his face a mask of pain. His cries were high and intoxicating, propelling him to new heights of lust. He had looked forward to ravishing Euram, but this was unlike any other rush of bliss and power. Pressing a hand to Euram’s back, he forced his chest to the mattress, pushing the younger man’s ass high. With bruising fingers he grasped those slender hips tight, driving into him with unrestrained vigor.

Euram met his thrusts with high, wailing cries, his body overwhelmed and quivering. Beleaguered and disgraced, he sobbed uncontrollably, his body split open and rocking helplessly beneath Gizel’s attack.

At last, Gizel seized Euram hard and gave himself to a shuddering climax. He surged and shot into him deep, filling the other’s bowels, his triumph thorough and complete.

Euram groaned with shame as the older man’s seed filled him. He lay trembling and defeated as Gizel eventually withdrew. Wincing in pain, he curled up, withdrawing into himself. Hiding his shame beneath his curtain of hair, the former nobleman buried his face in a hand and wept, defiled, humiliated and hurting.

Moving closer, Gizel stroked him, forced him to look up.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “There, my pretty one. Do not weep. You shall get used to it in time. Soon, I will have you begging me for the privilege of my cock ”

Never! thought Euram, sobbing. No, he would never get used to this! And he would never, ever beg him for such a thing!

“You had best be grateful you are not a woman," Gizel said. "If you were, I would soon see your belly swell with my child. And I would force you to bear it.”

Broken, crushed, Euram only whimpered.

Gizel would have Euram returned to his cell just for tonight, to allow him to absorb his new position fully in solitude. However, this would be the last night he would spend in the dungeon.

Gizel looked forward to enjoying him every night, to subjugating and claiming his body until Euram’s will dissolved and he held little doubt within his heart to whom he now belonged.

Yes, he would keep him. Tomorrow, he would place his brand upon the former noble and bring him to live in his quarters.

END FLASHBACK

“Up, Barows!”

Euram snapped up, startled by the impatient tone. The Commander marched over and unlocked the chain on his collar, then roughly hauled him up. Ignoring his distressed squeak, he seized him by an ear and dragged him to a waiting set of cleaning items. Gizel shoved him roughly, causing Euram to stagger, nearly falling.

“You will complete the chore you did not finish yesterday. All of it you will do over. Believe me, if you cheat, I will know,” Gizel warned, knowing full well that Euram would cut corners if given the slightest chance. “When you are done with that, you shall arrange my wine and liquor cabinet, and polish all the glasses. I want to see them shine.”

Euram sank, still recovering from his abrupt awakening.
"Y-yessir," he groaned.

“I suggest you get to work. You had better be finished completely when I return. And be grateful I do not force you to recite that ridiculous diary of yours word for word.”

Euram felt a cold zip of fear at that threat and swallowed. Cringing as the door slammed and locked, he sighed and bent to pick up a dustcloth and bucket. He had a long task ahead of him.

About mid-morning Gizel had some food sent to him. A servant arrived and dropped the tray unceremoniously upon the table and then left without a word. Euram was not liked among them, and he could feel it every time he was in the servants’ presence. Their animosity was palpable, though he supposed it was no more than he had earned.

The prisoner took only a small break to finish the bread and apple slices. He could not leisurely dine as he was used to doing, as there was far too much to be done and he was more frightened of not finishing than he was hungry. His limbs were still sore, though he guessed he was becoming used to the manual labor, noticing with a sigh that his delicate, manicured nails had suffered from the wear.

Quickly he got back to work, first focusing upon the chore he had failed to complete before moving to his second assignment.

***

I think I am finally done with the things he has demanded of me. The more I am forced to work in this room, the more bitterly I am made aware of how fate has chosen to mock me. How strange that I had once hoped to be the one who would occupy this chamber. Stranger still that now I do occupy it, in a sense.

I begin to grow weary of his unremitting chores. It is not as though I begrudge hard work. I realize that I have done less than my productive share in my lifetime. Still, what I find so exasperating is that he only makes me do these things to nettle me. And it perturbs me ever the more to think that his design is working.

Goodness me, but how exacting this all becomes! It compels me to the most insalubrious thoughts when I consider how he cheated and defrauded his path to victory during the Sacred Games. I became aware of the whole of it when the dear Prince accepted me into his ranks. I had known Gizel had cheated, but the extent of it did not become clear to me until I came to live at the Prince's Castle and was made privy to the full account. And knowing this, especially in my current position, I find my rancor swell to a degree that rivals my former resentment.

How dare he keep me here! To think that I, an epitome of gentlemanly virtue, could suffer defeat at the Sacred Games to that loathsome blackguard of a Godwin!

It only serves to infuriate me that he was able to do it all so effortlessly. Oh, to see divine wrath befall him in a fashion only reserved for the most vile! So he wishes to employ the Sun Rune, does he? How utterly fitting it would be, were the Rune to consume him in his arrogance and burn him to cinders! Oh, my heart! How it trembles with dread when I think what he would do should he finally read this and discover my most inner thoughts. I almost don’t care! Let him see! What more can he possibly do to me?

It should have been me. None of this misery and devastation would have befallen Falena had I been the victor in the tournament, and sweet Lym safe in my courtly arms.

No, oh no! How can I say such things? Oh me, oh my, it startles me that such anger still inhabits my heart. I know better than all that. Had I emerged the winner, it would not now have been me making decisions. I would not have been the true Commander.

It would have been my father.

And, wretch that I am, I would have done his bidding, without question. I cannot say for certain that things would have been this dire, but doubtlessly people would have suffered, just the same. Dad thought nothing of causing others grief for his own designs. He was no better than Godwin; he was worse even, choosing instead to court others’ trust and then stab them in the back. And for so long, I helped him do it. Such was his command over me.

I have not the right to resent Gizel for anything, and I feel so horribly ashamed that this antipathy still exists inside me.

I am a fool.

That is what continues to earn me his wrath. I should have kept my mouth shut, and yet I allowed my bitterness, my anger to slip through, even though I knew he would make me pay for it. What hurt even more than his punishment, were his words, I think. He was right about one thing: I am every bit as guilty as he, the blood on my hands no less.

Every time he mentions that, it is like a vicious sting to my soul. And yet, I deserve to be forced to remember. I deserve to be made to face it.

I realize my guilt and my tears can do nothing for those who were killed, those who lost their loved ones. The knowledge that Father and I should have been executed in place of Lord Rovere and his family—yet more who died for our crimes—is knowledge that I will bear with me forever. That is to say nothing of others whose lives were destroyed by that horrible incident. I cannot help but think of Norden, the man who had been my subordinate and Vice-Captain when everything had gone so wrong two years ago, when that catastrophe occurred with Lordlake. He suffers and punishes himself even now, when it is not his crime.

Oh, by the Sun, I cannot bear to think of it now! And as much as I try to put it out of my mind, it haunts me, ever it haunts me.

Of all my crimes, nothing matches the magnitude of my wrongs against Lordlake. And now I fear such devastation might be repeated, should Gizel or his father truly attempt to use the Sun Rune. When I think that my allies, my sister even might be at a direct risk...

***

“My, but why are you crying so, Euram?”

Euram jumped, startled at the voice. He had retreated to his place beneath the hearth to write, feeling safer there somehow. Burying the small notepad and pen beneath the cushions, he straightened and sniffled. He had hoped to find a new place to hide his memoirs before Gizel returned. He had not even heard the man’s approach, nor the key in the lock.

“Do you fear me so much?” the Commander asked, sauntering nearer to him. Crouching beside the younger man, Gizel lifted a hand and brushed away his tears. “Am I working you too hard?”

Euram shook his head and refused to look at him.

“It-it isn’t that, Gizel, my lord,” he answered quietly.

“No?” Gizel tilted his prisoner’s head, his shocking green eyes searching Euram’s intently. “Then what could cause such lovely tears? Perhaps you miss your daily mineral baths? Sleeping upon your own satin sheets? Feasting upon chocolates while you idly dream of princesses?”

Euram winced a little. “I would rather not discuss it, sir.”

“Ah, but whether or not you would rather is irrelevant. Your master has asked you a question.”

“I…I…” Euram stalled, momentarily caught by the older man’s eyes. Blinking, he swallowed. To speak of the cause for his sudden melancholy would hurt too much. Worse, it would provide Gizel more leverage against him.

Gently Gizel swept a sliver of hair from his eyes, brushing with his thumb the light bruise on Euram’s tear-stained cheek from when he had struck him the day before. His young prisoner winced a little at the touch. “Should I look into that journal you’re writing and find out for myself?” he pressed.

Euram’s heart stopped, but he did not protest: to do so would only invite just that. Thankfully the Commander seemed content to relinquish the subject.

“Forget it. Let us examine your performance, shall we?” he suggested, releasing him to inspect the results of Euram’s labors. As usual, Gizel took his time, slowly inspecting surfaces and crannies before moving to the liquor cabinet. He said nothing, stone-faced as he bent and clinked bottles and glassware, checking to make sure things were suitably organized, polished or scrubbed.

“Well done, Euram,” he surprised his prisoner. He had actually known that the task left over from the day before would not take so long: even though he had demanded that he do it all over, there would have been little left to scrub besides the portion he had not completed. The prisoner’s workload had not been as harsh as he had led the younger man to believe. Still, he assumed Euram would have considered it an atrocious burden, even though he had clearly the time to scribble in his little memoir.

He returned to the cushions and went to the boy, who had looked up at him with a faint glow in his eyes upon hearing the praise. He was very much like a neglected puppy, Gizel thought. And just as pathetic.

He knew that within his prisoner resided a deep and desperate need for something, something Euram consistently strove for, something he had always wanted but could never seem to obtain to his satisfaction, not from his father, nor anyone: a pitiful, lasting need for approval.

The Commander crouched again and stroked him, leaning down to give him a small kiss on the forehead.

“I instructed that the glasses should shine, and they do. Your arrangement of my wines is uniform and neat. One might think you were actually paying attention. I must say, I am satisfied with how well you have carried out your tasks, my pretty Euram.”

“Oh…th-thank you, my lord,” Euram said, falteringly. Encouraged, he shifted and looked cautiously up at the older man, who stood and wandered towards his cabinet to pour himself a glass of water. “Is there anything else you would like of me?”

“To be honest, no,” Gizel said at length, turning to gaze out the window and almost regretting now his plans for the boy. His voice betrayed no such thing, however. “I would sooner you save your energy. I have made certain—arrangements for you.”

The prisoner regarded him inquisitively from the pillows. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“You will not lie with me tonight,” Gizel told him at last. “You shall be seeing another: a nobleman long in favored standing with my father, and the Godwin faction. You have met him, I believe, though you may not remember. His name is Lord Danver Byron, and he will be arriving later this evening.”

Gasping, Euram looked up in shock. Eyes widening, the boy suddenly rose.

“Wh-what? You mean--? You cannot mean…you don’t intend to give me away?!” Euram's blood quickened and he swallowed, the collar around his neck all at once feeling as though constricting, tightening on him.

“I expect you to be on your best behavior for him,” Gizel added, ignoring his prisoner’s alarm. “You will obey him, just as you would obey me.”

Euram shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “B, but what am I…what will he…?”

Gizel turned to him, calmly. “He will no doubt expect to lie with you: to have you, as I have you. And you will do as he commands. You will address him with respect. You will bathe his cock, should he wish. You will spread for him without question or protest. Should you present him with any difficulty, I will hear of it, and you will not enjoy the consequences.”

Euram was barely hearing him, so preoccupied he was with disbelief and panic. His eyes flickered with what almost looked like betrayal. The boy rushed across the floor to Gizel, his bare feet frantically patting against marble. Desperately he took hold of the older man’s draped sleeves and clutched.

“H-have I displeased you? Is this because of something I’ve done? A-are you still upset with me? Speak to me, tell me!”

Gizel turned his head, glaring down at the smaller man hard. Euram subsided and cowered at the look, Gizel’s harsh green eyes shooting needles through him. Remembering his place, he lowered his gaze and loosened his grip on his master’s clothes, falling instead to his knees before him.

“Please, Your Majesty. Do not send me to this man!” he beseeched, overwhelmed with powerful dread and feeling all at once that he would do anything to change Gizel’s mind and reverse this unexpected development.

“Now, none of that,” Gizel chided. “Stop that, and get up off the floor.”

“But…I am yours!” Euram insisted.

The older man watched the predictable performance with a blend of humor and irritation. “Hmmph. You say that now only because you do not wish to be given to another.”

“But…but Gizel! Was that not why you marked me for your own? Is that not why you made me suffer the pain of your brand? I thought I was to be yours, and yours alone!”

“No, you are mine to do with as I please,” he corrected, unsurprised at Euram’s lack of full comprehension. “And now, it is my desire to have you satisfy Lord Byron.” Gizel examined Euram’s wide amber eyes closely, noted the wounded panic that shivered there.

Fresh tears wavered in his gaze. The young prisoner could guess only that this newest turn had sprung from Gizel’s anger at his impertinence the evening before, and Euram broke with a sob and flung his arms about his master’s boots, hugging tight. “Your Commandership!” he cried, resorting to Gizel’s formal title in his desperate appeal. “I regret displeasing you! Allow me to make it up to you, my lord!”

“That is enough of that,” Gizel firmly replied, attempting to shake him loose. “Get up.”

“No, no! No, please, Gizel, Majesty! Do not make me do this, do not give me away!” The boy bowed and kissed his boots. He knew they were clean, at least; he had polished them himself.

“Stop this disobedience. Are you not a man? If you behave this way in his presence, if you attempt to resist him, you had better believe I will make you sorry. Hmph,” Gizel glared down at him suddenly, a wicked thought creeping into his mind. “Perhaps your sister would make a more satisfying plaything.”

Euram’s gaze whipped upward, a new surge of fear shadowing his features. “What," his voice faltered. "What do you mean?”

“You do understand that we will overcome the little rebels when they decide to advance. I have been thinking: perhaps, should she live, I will have the lovely Luserina as well. A pretty pair to be mine. Simply thinking of her lips and tongue upon me…”

“St-stop it!” Euram hissed at once, sitting up from his subservient position.

“Hmm. I can only imagine what fun it would be to tame her as well.”

“Don’t you dare say something like that. Don’t you dare even think it!” Euram spat, his eyes flashing dangerously. He quivered with fury, looking up at Gizel with something nearing hatred, violence, even, and seemed as though he might rise and lash out. Inwardly Gizel chuckled, thinking how amusing it would be to provoke his full anger, see what he might attempt to do.

“Oh. My, my. Seems I’ve struck a nerve,” the older man observed, casually, taunting him.

“Do not speak that way of Luserina, Gizel! I will not let you!”

“Oh? And what is it that you plan to do?” The Commander asked, genuinely curious.

“I…” Euram’s teeth clenched in anger, though he appeared all at once perplexed, alarmed and hopeless. He sank then, spilling into a new panic altogether. “I..oh, Gizel, please, do not think of her that way, I beg you!”

“You wish to remove such thoughts from my consideration? Then do as you’re told, and stop this quarrelling with my arrangements. Otherwise, I might look into having her acquired for me.”

“No!” Euram capitulated and threw himself down again, bowing nearly to the floor. “Oh no, no, no...please, Master. Leave her alone, I will do as you say.”

“And Lord Byron?”

“I will obey him. I will obey his every command, I will…bathe his cock, I will spread for him, anything that is asked of me,” Euram promised, cringing with shame even as he spoke.

“Good,” Gizel said, bending to lift the tear-streaked face. He had no intention of pursuing Euram’s sister, of course. Luserina would be even more willful than her brother, and certainly more clever. Of course the challenge would be stimulating, but it would ultimately be more bothersome than it would be worth. Still, the threat had its desired effect upon his pretty young prisoner.

“Come now. I will send for the servants to escort you to the baths. You shall be washed and prepared for him, and your faced washed. We cannot have you looking as though you’ve been crying, now, do we?”

***

He was led to the baths again by the same, indifferent set of faces as ever. Whether or not it was consistently the exact same group was doubtful, but as they never spoke to him or even looked at him, it may as well have been. When they arrived, however, a welcome and familiar face was awaiting them.

The woman stood near the bath, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Thank you, sirs,” she declared, nodding towards the guards. The men regarded her only a moment before shoving Euram forward taking their leave so they could await the process to be done and escort him to his new destination.

Propelled by their force, Euram stumbled forth and caught himself, then looked up at Sherina. Awkwardly, he offered her a grateful smile, clutching his robe to him.

“Well met, milady,” he said, and bowed. “I was wondering, nay hoping that you would be here. But—where are…?” he started to ask, puzzled by the absence of the other servants who usually swarmed him at this point.

“I sent them away,” she explained. She had prepared cloths and towels, and there was a different basket of items alongside the bath that Euram had not noticed before. “There is no need for them to all be here. This is not a task that calls for that many.”

Euram did not voice his immediate relief, although he was glad to find her alone. The others clearly did not enjoy dealing with him. Oh, they enjoyed it, to the extent that they could taunt and humiliate him. He could always sense that they would just as soon not be bothered with him, seeing as how they detested him so.

Sherina returned his smile. She was actually quite pretty, though he would have once described her as ‘plain’, back before he had known how to take the time to truly recognize real beauty beyond the superficial. It was impossible for him to judge the length of her coiling chestnut hair, as most of it was piled on her head and tied beneath a scarf, though a stray ringlet spilled down here and there. Her faded lavender cotton dress was simple as that of any of the servants or handmaidens, covered with an equally simple apron. Plain brown shoes were scuffed and worn, though they seemed sturdy enough in spite of what must have been years of service to their owner.

Euram suddenly felt a pang of guilt when he thought of the rows and rows of expensive, polished shoes still stocked in his many closets back home. Before he could think long on it, he heard Sherina gasp.

“You’re hurt!” she exclaimed, moving nearer to him and tilting his chin. “He hit you?”

“Yes, well,” he smiled, touching his cheek where the bruise had been left. “I…said something to him he didn’t quite appreciate.” To be perfectly honest, he was still bewildered by her concern for him. Why should she be fretful about a bruise on his cheek? He would certainly have never noticed or bothered himself with such a thing upon her. At least, the person he was before would not have cared, not in the slightest.

Sherina leaned in, turning his face so she could examine the blemish closer. At length she frowned, shaking her head. She knew that was hardly the only abuse the young man had suffered. “Come,” she beckoned him at length. “Let us begin then, shall we?”

She was gentle with him, and much more considerate than the small group that usually took care of these things. She had taken a bottle from the basket he had seen and poured a measure into the water. The mild scent of cherry blossom drifted upon the steam. As soon as she helped him settle into the bath itself, she went to work scrubbing his back, her hands and the cloth soothing and tender on his skin. He was silent for a long time, as though struggling with something.

“You realize, milady…” he began finally, hesitating a little. “…had you worked for my father in Rainwall—you realize I would not have been kind to you.”

Sherina looked up from lathering a cloth and frowned at him. “What? You silly man,” she chided. “Why do you say such things?”

“Because it is true, milady,” he reiterated. “Because you should understand that I do not deserve this.” He gasped a little when warm water from a pitcher poured down his back.

“And I thought you understood that I did not want to hear another word of that nonsense from you,” Sherina scolded. “We are not in Rainwall. And I will listen to no further nonsense of that sort.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“And please, do not apologize. I am not Gizel. You have nothing to fear of me.”

“I fear more that you will be hurt,” he admitted. “For being kind to me.”

“Well, someone must do it,” she said, her voice softening. “After all the abuses he puts you through. I admit I do not know the whole of it. But I know well enough.”

Euram felt a hot swell of shame creep across his naked skin. He could assume what she was referring to, and knew that she must have been aware that Gizel used him in that way. She would have been naïve not to know. Why else would such thorough cleansings be consistently ordered carried out on his person? Why would he be kept bathed and tucked away in Gizel’s chamber were he not there to serve the role of Gizel’s own, personal concubine?

“Is this...common knowledge around the Palace?” he was almost afraid to ask.

“More or less, yes.”

“I—I see.”

Euram was silent for several minutes. He wondered how many spoke of it, how many laughed about it in the corridors just to break the monotony of boredom. At the same time, he wondered how many did not care enough to regard him or his plight at all. There were probably far more of the latter variety than of the former. Even so, he wasn’t sure which was worse.

“I would not worry about it,” she reassured, though she knew such a thing was easier said than done. “He had some special, scented bath oils sent along,” she pointed out. “They do smell quite nice, and they are wonderful skin softeners. Although I doubt that does much to lift your spirits now.”

Euram assumed she must have been referring to the bottle she had taken from the new basket. He sighed, knowing why Gizel had sent such things. It was not enough that he had to endure Gizel himself: now he was to be made the bedmate of another. As if I were his whore.

“Mr. Barows, you must be strong,” Sherina suddenly interrupted his more self-pitying thoughts. She had lowered her voice some, carefully working gentle nailed fingers through his lathered scalp and hair. “I have heard whispers that the Prince will likely move soon. If this is true, then we do not have long to endure this.”

Euram might normally have brightened at this news. Instead, a shudder scurried up his spine, one that Sherina clearly felt.

“Why, Mr. Barows, does this trouble you?”

The former noble shook his head, but it was a shallow gesture. Indeed, it did trouble him now. At one time he would have been encouraged by her words, but the dark threat with which Gizel had recently presented him loomed now at the forefront of his mind. If Gizel had spoken truth to him, they might not have reason to be so confident that the Loyalist Army would succeed. Then again, if the Godwins truly planned to employ the Sun Rune, then there was a good chance none of them would survive.

There was a good chance that not only the Loyalist Army, but the city of Sol-Falena itself might be consumed in the Rune’s wake. Along with who knew what else? Were Lord Godwin and Gizel truly desperate enough to unleash such power so precariously?

But he could not trouble Sherina’s mind with all that! How could he darken her day with such dire worries?

“N-no, milady,” He insisted with a small grin. “I was just thinking of how embarrassed I would be should it happen this very moment, and I were caught naked here by my allies. I would never hear the end of it. I have enough to live down as it is!”

Sherina tilted her head. It was clear he was attempting to hide something. Even so, she suddenly laughed in spite of herself.

“They might well be jealous! Seeing you here, being pampered in this way!” She teased him, rising to retrieve one of the fluffiest towels in the stack.

“Indeed!” Euram returned, stepping from the bath and accepting the towel, swathing it around his waist while she circled him with another, fussing to pat him dry. “With such lavish and generous indulgence as you offer, milady, one could not help but wither with envy. No doubt all within the Loyalist Army would revere you, and you would be hailed a gem amongst the vulgar stones: a goddess amongst peasants.”

Sherina laughed, seeing the clear humor shining upon his features as she helped him towel his hair dry. “And you should be a poet, Mr. Barows! But I’m afraid for now both of us shall have to settle for what we’ve got at the moment.”

“Ah, milady! Would that I had the wherewithal to whisk us both away! Until then, allow me to repay you in what meager manner I may.” Euram swept into a low bow and kissed her hand, his eyes warm with both whimsy and sincerity.

“What a dashing and courtly gentleman you are!” she played along, giggling coyly. Euram rose and chuckled, and they regarded one another for a moment, both smiling, each having briefly dashed aside the reality of their unhappy circumstances.

At length the woman sighed.

“I suppose…”

“Yes,” Euram agreed, his smile fading a little. He knew what she was thinking: he could not linger here longer. A hollow of dread crept into his stomach when he remembered that he was not off to Gizel’s chamber this night.

“He also had this sent,” she commented, retrieving a short, satin robe of shimmering red. “I take it…a special occasion?” Sherina seemed awkward as she asked, letting the item spill down and dangle from her hands.

Euram regarded the garment with sudden dismay. So, Gizel had sent him a special robe for this Lord Byron, had he?

“You...could say that, yes.” Shrugging the towel away, Euram slid his arms into the cool, smooth fabric, and she straightened the material as he tied the sash tight round his waist. The woman detected the sudden sadness in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” she said, combing his hair smooth. “I am not in the position to do much. I can only encourage you to try and be strong, for now. We might not have so long to wait.”

“You are...too kind, milady,” he said.

“I know this is difficult for you, Mr. Barows, but I have a feeling that it will be over quicker than you know it.”

“That name-” Euram winced. “Please, just Euram. I no longer wish to be associated with that name.”

Sherina considered him a moment before she nodded.

“Very well, then, Euram.”

****

None-too-gently guards escorted him to one of the many guest chambers in the Palace. They thrust him inside, and the sound of a key clicked, locking him in.

He had actually stayed in some of the guest quarters in the past, when he had visited with his family. But this was no ordinary guest room.

A massive, fluffy red rug covered a larger part of the floor, and a fire flickered softly in the hearth. There was a bottle of wine and a glass prepared upon a small table. The bed was large, draped with velvet red covers. An array of candles, scented of cinnamon, lit the room, along with one single dimmed lamp.

Upon the bed sat a note, alongside something else—something that he had not expected to see, and sank when he noticed it.

He picked up the note in trembling fingers and read.

You would not wear this for me: thus, you will wear it for Lord Byron. Remember, he will be reporting to me in the morning of your performance, so I highly recommend you be on your best behavior and show him full obedience.

Your Commander,
Gizel

Miserably Euram took the undergarment of white lace in his hands and examined it closely. How does this even go on? Awkwardly he bent and stepped into the thing, not realizing the lace had twisted and tightened. This caused the panties to catch when he tried to pull them up. Frustrated, he attempted to remove a foot from them and wound up flat on his face upon the rug.

“Damn you, damn you, Gizel,” he grumbled under his breath, flipping round to sit up and remove the thing so he could readjust it and try again.

After a few more tries, he finally managed to slide the garment on correctly, rising so he could pull it up. It was hardly comfortable: it was designed for a woman, and hugged far too tightly in front. The back consisted of nothing more than a strip of lace that ran between his cheeks.

By the Sun, he will pay for humiliating me like this! Euram thought to himself, although he knew he was only bluffing to himself.

He drew the red satin robe tighter round him, glancing about the room as though he were seeking some place to hide. Some wardrobe, a closet, any place he could curl up and die. Spotting a mirror, he gravitated towards it almost automatically.

A vain young man by his upbringing, Euram was no stranger to the process of ‘preening’. To that end, he was well familiar with mirrors. He considered his reflection sadly. Lacking his accustomed commodities, he felt as though his appearance had suffered. Of course he was used to having access to facial powders during the day and the most expensive creams to pamper his complexion by night. The bruise Gizel had left him with was unsightly, he thought, even if it were not terribly dark or large. His hair he had normally kept back in ribbons or bows of silk, and it hung now freely down his shoulders and back.

Parting the robe in front, he glanced down to see just how this ridiculous undergarment looked on him. Flushing, he closed the robe just as quickly, not even wanting to know how it appeared from behind.

With a miserable sigh, Euram stomped over to the bed and flung himself down, pouting and wondering when this man—this Lord Byron—was going to arrive.

INTERLUDE:

Gizel regarded the man with a cold eye in spite of his seemingly-courteous smile. Smiling meant nothing to Gizel by now: he had practiced doing it so long that he hardly knew himself when he meant it anymore.

“Oh, no, you should not thank me. You should thank Father. This was, after all, his suggestion. I merely settled the arrangement.”

Marscal Godwin knew of Lord Byron’s extravagant tastes, and had suggested to Gizel that he lend him his plaything for a night during his stay. It was a small thing to offer, really. After all, the noble Byron family had offered much in the way of funding and political support for the Godwin faction over the years. Danver himself had even provided valuable connections that had helped in the many details that had conspired to secure Gizel’s victory at the Sacred Games. Besides, Euram may have recently been acquired into Gizel’s ownership, but that did not mean he had any particular attachment to his slave. It was business, plain and simple.

“You may do with him as you wish—only no mutilation. That alone is a pleasure I reserve for myself. I imagine he will be quite a treat for you.”

“Splendid. I look forward to seeing him again.”

“You won’t be disappointed, I think. He has been instructed to accommodate you well, and he is fully aware of the price otherwise. All you require shall be provided in the room. I believe you will quite enjoy him.”

“I fully intend to,” the older man replied with a wide grin.

END INTERLUDE

It seemed as though he had been waiting forever! Six times at least he had paced the floor, and now he sat again fidgeting with the sleeve of the robe, twirling a lock of hair between his fingers, anything to keep himself occupied and prevent him from going mad with fear! If this man meant to take him, why did he not just come and do it! Why must he make him wait?! Was this too a part of Gizel’s plan, designed to make him suffer with this terrible anticipation?

All at once, he could hear the approach of someone nearing the door. Euram jumped with a small gasp, suddenly wondering why he had been so impatient! He remembered a story he had been told when he was a boy, a tale of an ogre who came into houses at night and stole beautiful young maidens away. Somehow he could not help but think of that now. His heart thumped beneath the satin of the robe, and he unconsciously retreated towards the headboard of the bed, as though he would squish himself into the wood and vanish.

A key sounded in the lock, and the gilded handle turned.

The door swung slowly open, revealing the man who was to be his master for the night.

Lord Danver Byron was a tall man: taller than Gizel, and stouter. He must have been around forty-five or fifty, Euram guessed. The man was clad all in blue and silver, and a flowing cloak the shade of burgundy wine streamed behind him. A trimmed moustache sat thin upon his lips. What Euram could see of Lord Byron’s brown hair was speckled with gray, though most of it was buried beneath a wide cavalier hat, which he presently removed and set upon a chair near the door.

Euram watched the man warily, nervous as he closed the door and locked it behind him, then turned to regard him.

The lord strolled towards him, his boots ominously thumping the floor until they met with the give of the expansive rug. Inadvertently Euram cowered in his presence. Certainly he feared Gizel, but this was different. He was used to Gizel; he knew what to expect from him, for the most part. This man, on the other hand, Euram had no idea about, and he hardly knew what to expect.

A stern edge of authority surrounded the man as he sauntered near. A jeweled scabbard housing what looked to be an ornamental dagger hung from a silver-lined belt at his waist, and his hands were covered by gloves of fine, tan leather.

Euram felt he hated this man already. He swallowed, feeling the eyes roll over him, almost as though the man were expecting something.

“Oh, I…forgive me,” Euram sputtered, rising from the bed and bowing to him awkwardly in greeting. “I-I am…at your service, my lord,” he fumbled, clutching the robe protectively to him, trying to hide how much he hated this. Oh, how he hated it! To his dismay, he heard the older man laugh.

Presently Lord Byron came nearer and reached out, lifting his chin with a gloved finger.
“Barows,” he muttered, gray eyes piercing the boy. “Still just as pretty as before.”

Euram swallowed, his nervous gaze wavering some with the urge to tear away from the other man’s scrutiny. He somehow felt very small, diminished, and he shifted uncomfortably. At length Lord Byron released him.

“Hmm. I remember you, though I do not assume you will remember me. You were young, then, when last we crossed paths,” Byron explained. “Do you not recall?”

Euram blinked, trying to remember when and if he had seen this man before. Byron chuckled.

“Well, that is hardly important now: after tonight, I can assure you that you will remember me for a very long time.”

Euram felt a shudder ripple through his bones. He didn’t like the sound of that. Not at all.

“It just so happens, little Euram, that I remember you quite well.”

THE SUN PALACE, EIGHT YEARS AGO:

It was Queen Arshtat’s Coronation Reception. It had not been long since Queen Falzrahm had passed, and the celebration was relatively somber, at least on the surface. At the same time, there was also a sense of relief. Arshtat was well-liked, although not all were happy about the ascent of that foreigner, Ferid, to the position of Commander of the Queen’s Knights. Most present would have preferred that position go to a noble, and most of these also would have preferred that noble be either a Godwin or a Barows, depending upon with which faction one’s loyalties rested. Those aligned with the opposing factions had spent the occasion politely avoiding one another, as usual.

Lord Byron stood along with Marscal Godwin, surveying the guests. Young Gizel Godwin was mingling among the visitors. The boy was in relatively high spirits, for it was quite well known that he was deeply in love, betrothed to the sister of the newly-crowned queen: The Lady Sialeeds Falenas.

She stood beside him, radiant in her bright lavender dress. The sixteen-year-old Gizel was dashing as well, and he practically glowed with youthful vigor as he reached over and tenderly clasped her hand in his.

It was the happiest Gizel had looked since before his mother had died.

It was said that he was well aware that his engagement to Sialeeds was a political maneuver to prevent the Barows faction from gaining too much power; but it was evident such things did not matter to the lad. He was clearly and undeniably happy. The Lady Sialeeds too appeared her best, a flush to her cheeks as she laughed and matched his gaze, both young lovers exchanging blissful and contented glances.

They had in fact been engaged for a while now, and unlike many arranged unions, it seemed this one had true promise to be a genuine, happy one.

“The way your boy looks at her,” Byron observed. “He loves her, it is clear. They will be happy together, Marscal.”

“I hope so,” Lord Godwin added. He figured the boy may as well be happy with it, as it was arranged to happen regardless.

Byron’s eyes passed over that fat fraud Lord Barows. He had arrived with his usual flourish, parading from his carriage and flashing those jewel-encrusted hands at all and sundry. Currently his bulbous belly swayed to and fro as he laughed much-too-enthusiastically over what was doubtlessly one of his own jokes, and one that was, in all likelihood, not funny. Automatically Byron glanced towards the reception buffet, wondering if he should take what else he wanted quickly before Barows had a go at the refreshments. There was a beaming child next to the corpulent noble, dressed colorfully enough to rival Lord Barows himself.

“I say, who is that pretty young girl with Lord Barows? Could that be the lovely Miss Luserina?”

“That, Lord Byron, is no girl. That is Salum’s son, Euram.”

Byron did a take. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, watching the boy. Rivers of ruffles streamed from the child’s collar and sleeves. Loud purple breeches and white stockings clung to his legs, his feet adorned with dainty, jeweled shoes. Blonde ringlets framed his face, and he whipped his hair impatiently about as he moved.

Flamboyant, perhaps, was too kind a term to describe him...

As if Byron’s thoughts had attracted them, Lord Barows suddenly gravitated to a pair of nobles only a few feet away, his lanky offspring flouncing haughtily behind him.

“Daaad! I’m tired of talking to all these people! I’m bored!” the child announced suddenly, as Lord Barows engaged in the usual political dialogue with the men he had approached. In spite of the boy’s rudeness, Byron supposed he could understand the young man’s boredom: he could not have been more than eleven or twelve.

Lord Barows only laughed bombastically, his belly bobbing like a mound of squishy dough stuffed into a white blouse. The man’s voice filled the room above all others, drawing glances from those who were not used to him by now.

“Oh, my, what a spirited boy! Ha ha ha ha ha! Yes, indeed! Oh, but Lord Revelle, Lord Marris, you simply must meet my darling son!” he insisted, practically pushing the frilly lad in their faces. "This is my second-born, though of course he is now heir to our faction since the most unfortunate demise of my eldest, dearest Hiram," Salum explained, putting on quite a show of exaggerated melancholy as he drew a handkerchief from his sleeve to dab at nonexistent tears.

Now that the conversation was focused upon him, the boy’s interest was piqued slightly. Drawing himself up, he grinned with pride.

“How do you do? I am Euram Barows, son of the great Salum Barows,” he declared with incredible fanfare, though why such self-introduction was necessary was beyond Danver Byron. The boy spoke with grace, yet it was so painfully forced that it came off as comical. “I’m going to marry the Princess someday!” he declared finally, and with full confidence.

Lord Byron exchanged glances with Marscal Godwin. Neither was sure whether to be amused or disgusted. Of course it was common knowledge that the new Princess was only little more than a toddler.

“Oohh, my, my, my, my!” Lord Barows puffed, his stomach rolling again with laughter. “Oh-ho-hoo! Quite the ambitious lad, isn’t he, yes, yes?” Salum acknowledged, though everyone knew that Lord Barows himself was undoubtedly the one responsible for putting such thoughts into the boy’s mind.

The young man went on, bragging and chattering while his father stood by grinning and doting on him. After a few moments, Byron let the boy’s self-important prattle fade to the back of his mind until he was no longer even hearing him. He didn’t need to hear him: he could see well enough Euram’s exaggerated gestures.

Like father, like son.

“Barows spoils that lad,” Byron muttered to Marscal beside him.

“It is disgraceful, really,” Godwin answered, shaking his head. “It is for this reason the engagement must be carried through. We cannot allow fools such as these to gain a further foothold.”

Byron almost cringed when a servant scurried to prevent a bottle of wine from toppling after one of Euram’s oblivious and sweeping gestures upset a nearby serving table. The boy could hardly be bothered to take notice.

“Little flophead,” Byron observed, still mumbling to Lord Godwin. “Barows ought to spank that child. Oh, well, if it is the business of the servants to bother with him, then I suppose it is nothing to him.”

“Where do you think he learns it, Danver? You cannot run a branch of the Senate, much less a country, on pomp and words and no action. That, my friend, is all Salum Barows represents for Falena: all words and no action. Of course my Gizel understands this,” Marscal reassured the other man, nodding towards his son, now engaged in a light waltz with the Lady Sialeeds. The two of them moved together with such grace they seemed set apart from the entire world.

Only a short time later, Sialeeds would break Gizel’s heart and shatter his world. It was after Falzrahm’s death and Arshtat’s coronation that Sialeeds and her cousin Haswar entered a pact: in order to prevent more quarreling and bloodshed over the throne, neither Sialeeds nor Haswar would marry or have any children. This, they hoped, would diminish the likelihood of a repeat of the Succession War that had taken so many lives not so long ago.

She had canceled the engagement, leaving Gizel Godwin forever crushed, and forever bitter.

******

****

Of course later that evening Byron had been ‘officially’ introduced to both Barows and his child for formality’s sake, and he remembered the uneasy, false courtesy exchanged between Marscal and Salum.

“Yes, Barows, I remember well what a brat you were,” Lord Byron repeated, seeing the young man regard him in puzzlement. It was no wonder Euram remembered meeting him not: the boy had been far too preoccupied with himself at the time.

Byron smiled darkly, making a low sound in his throat as he removed his gloves and set them aside on a lampstand. There was precious little so stimulating to him as a noble fallen from his status, a creature so very awkward and unused to serving, a willful and proud creature reduced to the most lowly position. It was especially stimulating when that noble was one who had been as brazen and arrogant and pretty as this little Barows dolt.

“Not quite the little lordling now, are you?”

Euram groaned, hating having it pointed out to him like that, as if he were not aware of it. The man stalked nearer to him, closing the already meager space between them. Trembling, the younger man retreated, not realizing he was being slowly backed towards the bed.

“You once opposed and rivaled Godwin. Now you writhe upon his cock. How fitting.”

Euram’s knees caught the side of the bed and he almost fell back with a gasp. At once Byron swooped over and caught him in his arms. Large hands stroked his hair, his cheeks, as Euram reflexively shrank from him.

“You are quivering,” Danver observed, not bothering to hide the dark hunger that surged into his tone. He reached up, fingering the bruise upon his cheek. “Did he give this to you?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Euram replied, his gaze averted.

“Why?”

“B-because…because I was impertinent, my lord,” he somehow spat out, ashamed.

Byron’s hands trailed downward, and he toyed with the dark ring of leather round the boy’s neck. Slipping a digit in between leather and skin, he tugged a bit as though testing its tightness. “Your collar is nice and snug. Good. I suspect this should help remind you of your place…although I’m certain you forget from time to time.”

Euram whimpered, growing increasingly uncomfortable by this man’s touch, his needless and humiliating observations. The older man’s hands slid further down his shoulders, slipping the robe down with them to reveal naked skin.

Further down still Byron’s hands roamed, his relentless mits sliding round, descending until they came to soft buttocks. He ran his palms across satin, feeling the swell of Euram’s ass, enticing beneath the fabric of the robe. With one hand he caught Euram by the hair, pulling back, making his back curve and his buttocks arch further into his touch.

“Does he have to punish you often?”

Euram colored and swallowed, squirming uncomfortably beneath Byron’s groping. “I—well, er, sometimes, sir.”

“And how does he punish you, hmm?”

If possible, Euram flushed a deeper shade of red. “I...he...he s-spanks me sometimes, or whips me,” he choked with difficulty.

“So, he does redden this beautiful ass. It’s about time someone did. Does he employ his hand? A belt? A lash? Or does he use a paddle?”

“Oh!” Euram’s face burned hot with humiliation. That he would force him to answer such awful questions! “Oh, sir...” he whined in complaint.

“Answer me, boy,” the man warned, giving a pinch to tender flesh and eliciting a squeak from him.

“I..." he swallowed again. “...oh, I...he...uses his hand, my lord, and sometimes a whip, sir,” Euram fumbled through his response, his body trembling with shame.

“Mmm-hmmm,” Byron continued to grope his rump over the satin, intently tracing the undercurve. “A pity he has not chosen to employ a paddle. The sharp crack of wood upon a vulnerable ass is the proper epitome of discipline.”

Euram responded only with a miserable whimper.

“Tell me, Euram: how often does he take you?”

****

Gizel Godwin sat at his writing desk, sipping his wine and glancing over the details from the day’s deliberations. But for some reason, he could not concentrate.

He knew what was bothering him.

The words in Euram’s little outburst continued to gnaw at him, chewing at his nerves.

…after all that you've done, I do not know that he will spare you...

...I forsake my nobility. Because I no longer wish to associate myself with the likes of my father. Or the likes of you...

How dare he say such a thing!

How dare a Barows ever criticize them so! Could they not realize that all they wanted, all the Godwins ever wished for, was a Falena in which their countrymen, their people, need not worry about being invaded, being hurt?

Gizel clenched his teeth. Sadness that he’d repressed for years swept over him, almost overwhelming. And quickly that sadness turned again to anger. Gizel slammed his glass down on the surface of the table, nearly shattering it and causing the burgundy liquid to slosh over the rim. How dare the Barows faction ever accuse them of warmongering! The Barows territories were the very ones most devastated during the Armes invasion those eight years ago! They of all people should have understood his and Father’s concerns. Their aim was simply to protect all this country, all its people, Barows included...

It was only justice that the Barows line had crumbled to nothing!

Abruptly he got to his feet, his chair flinging behind him. Striding from his chamber, he started down the corridor.

Gizel’s heart wrung with anger. How dare that stupid Euram! How the little fop could moralize to him after all he had done, all the misery his family had caused! Especially when it was the Barows faction that started that horrible civil war eleven years ago, that same civil war that had led to the bloodshed of so many nobles and senators. That horrible war that had stolen Gizel’s mother from him! The war that had caused him ultimately to lose the hand of the woman he loved!

It was that war that led Sialeeds to deny their marriage. It was Barows' war that made Sialeeds vow that she would never marry, all for the sake of preventing more bloodshed and strife over the throne...

Salum Barows was responsible for that war. It was he who was the cause of the strife that claimed Gizel's mother and finally deprived him of that which he had truly wanted, that which he would have been more than content to have.

Damn Barows! Their actions had cost him--and all of Falena—so many lives. And now Euram presumed to moralize to HIM!

Hmph. Father’s suggestion of giving Euram over to Danver for the night was correct, and fitting.

He hoped Byron fucked him raw.

He arrived at his destination. Hands trembling with rage, Gizel removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Quietly he stepped inside.

It was known only to him, of course, but the guest chamber he had entered was adjoined to the one Lord Byron now occupied with his slave. The adjoining door was locked, naturally, but that did not mean he could not still enjoy the show.

Grabbing a chair, Gizel was quiet as he carried it to the connecting door and settled himself down. He remained still, perfectly silent as he bent to peek inside, and found that he could hear quite clearly...

Euram made a sound, wishing this man would just let him go and do what he intended to do!

“He…he takes me most days, my lord,” he reluctantly answered, feeling Byron draw nearer, the man still clutching him by the hair as he fondled his buttocks through the robe.

“Does he ram you from behind?” Euram shivered as hot breath spoke into his ear. “Bend you over and lance you like a proper whore while you shudder and moan? Or does he lay you upon your back so he may watch your pretty face while he plunders that sweet hole?”

Euram sobbed out in dismay at such personal and shameful interrogation. The nobleman had pressed against him, and he gasped, feeling Byron’s length thicken beneath the man’s clothes. “B-both, my lord,” he spat at once.

“And when was the last time he ravished you?”

“Yesterday, sir,” Euram cried, remembering Gizel’s painful raping, how he had taken him in anger as punishment, how he had used that terrible burning oil on him.

“Ahh, I assume you are properly sore, then?”

“Yes, yes, sir,” Euram whimpered desperately, a further shudder of shame washing over him as he strained in Byron’s grip.

“Good. I am glad to hear he does not pamper you needlessly.” Abruptly the man released him and Euram slumped with relief, panting.

“Well, tonight you will spread for me. You think you are sore now, but I shall soon alter the meaning of that for you. I plan to make certain you shall never forget our time together, Barows.”

Euram groaned but said nothing, letting his hair fall down to conceal his face. Lord Byron moved back from him a little and issued his next command.

“Remove the robe, and reveal yourself.”

Sighing miserably, Euram let the article slip fully from his form. Those horrible ladies’ undergarments Gizel had instructed him to wear now felt horribly prominent upon him, and he wilted with shame. He could feel Byron eyeing him eagerly as the nobleman circled him, stalking behind where he could look him over thoroughly.

“My,” the lord murmured, closing in once more, his eyes scanning over the pretty cheeks and how the young man’s ass perked from the thin line of lace between them. Byron hummed low in his throat and felt of the soft flesh, slipping his finger beneath the thong briefly and chuckling as the young slave gasped and shifted. His eyes roved over the quivering, delicate skin, until his gaze came to rest just beneath the line of frilly panties on the boy’s right hip where the Godwin mark of ownership was seared into the flesh.

The brand was relatively fresh, the edges still red and puffy. Otherwise, the mark was solid, crisp, neat.

“Well, well. So he has stamped you permanently I see. I suppose this must have been very painful for you.”

Of course it was, you fool! Euram wanted to shout at once, growing tired of this pompous lord’s stupid observations and questions! His pride, suppressed for so long, swelled all at once. The young man bit his lip. He was a noble, too, not so long ago, dammit! How was it that he now had to suffer this shame, this indignity! This Byron fellow was almost too much for him, and Euram came dangerously close to unleashing his frustration and anger in full force!

He didn’t dare, however, thinking quickly of the retribution Gizel would pour upon him should he snap at his ‘guest’. Restraining his rebellious notions, Euram simply swallowed and supplied the answer he knew the man wanted to hear.

“Y-yes, my lord, terribly.”

“Well, you should consider it an honor, and be grateful. Disgraced and traitorous nobles rarely receive the privilege of passing into another noble’s ownership. You are lucky indeed, Barows. His Commandership has explained to me how you came to be in his possession. By all rights he should have beheaded you without reserve. You owe him your life, and should be grateful to wear his brand. It is better than you deserve, and you ought to throw yourself at his feet each day in gratitude.”

“Yes sir, I know,” Euram acknowledged, stiffly.

Byron stepped back from him then and took his chin in his hand.

“It is a shame, I must admit. I believe Godwin almost grudgingly enjoyed your faction’s rivalry. It is unfortunate that the last remaining scrap of the Barows line had to be a bungling fool like you.”

Euram winced. Those words sliced him to the bone for some reason. He guessed because he knew they were true.

“We shall see if you can be useful for at least something,” Byron said then. Presently the man stepped back to stand upon the rug in the middle of the floor, loosening his large member from his breeches. “Come. Show me what you have learned in his governance. Polish my cock for me, Barows,” he commanded, simply.

Swallowing the knot of shame in his throat, Euram slid from where he stood and knelt before the man, obediently taking him into his mouth.

***
Gizel was watching intently. On one hand he was curious to see how his little slave would perform for Lord Byron; on another level he was watching for the pure satisfaction of it. He had noticed with interest the surge of anger that had swelled in Euram. He had seen the former lordling’s chest rise and fall with vexation, had noted how he had clenched his jaw. These small things were lost on Lord Byron of course, but Gizel, knowing Euram well, noticed them clearly. He honestly was not surprised by it, although he was surprised that he’d managed to contain himself. He almost wished he had not: it would have been amusing to witness the result, and he would have had a convenient cause to punish Euram himself later.

But for now, Euram had forced himself into compliance. He was knelt upon the rug, obediently servicing Lord Byron. His back was to Gizel, the lace panties nicely resting in the part between his buttocks. The boy’s head moved smoothly back and forth, and Gizel saw Byron’s fingers curl into his hair. Euram was actually doing well…perhaps too well. A series of small slurping sounds came to Gizel’s ears as he observed the scene, making his own member twitch in response…

***

“Mmm. You are good,” Byron praised, watching the younger man’s pretty face, his lips stretched thoroughly around him. “He has schooled you well. I see Gizel has effectively taken the fire out of you.”

Euram offered a small moan in response, working his tongue and cheeks and making sure to apply everything Gizel had taught him. He wasn’t going to let this man get the better of him! And that also meant he was not going to allow him to say he did not please him.

“Soak me with your spit,” Byron instructed. “Yes. What a good little cocksucker you are. Who would have known?”

Repressing his anger and shame, Euram suckled and slurped, more familiar with the task now and more confident in his actions. His face flushed, and a single tear slid down his cheek. He never would have dreamed he would find himself doing anything like this. And yet here he was, seemingly comfortable in his efforts as he serviced another man like a whore. All at once he hated Gizel. He hated him with everything inside of him! And he hated this man, this man whose hand gripped painfully into his scalp. At Byron’s urging, Euram took him deep into his throat, fighting his gag reflex as he swallowed him deeper.

“There’s a good lad. Mmm, yes. So well-trained. So obedient.” Byron settled into a steady rhythm, one that Euram matched perfectly. The warmth and slickness of the boy’s velvet mouth was almost maddening, and he was impressed with how the young man kept up with him, refusing to choke, refusing to break contact. There was almost a defiant obstinacy about the lad’s actions, one that was almost more enticing than his resistance would have been. Euram’s gaze met his own, almost as though accepting a challenge while Byron pillaged his mouth.

“That’s enough,” the older man reluctantly withdrew from the warm wetness. He did not wish to come yet. Dropping down, he brusquely crushed the small frame next to him, raking his tongue up a soft cheek, feeling the former young noble tremble in his arms.

Easily scooping the small man up from the rug, Byron carried him to the bed and set him down upon his back. Euram’s arms fell back to rest upon the bed, his face flushed, his naked chest heaving with shallow, frightened breaths. He looked so vulnerable, so fragile lying there that Byron could not resist, and swooping down on him, he pressed a heavy kiss to the soft, swollen lips.

Euram choked, the coarse moustache raking against his lips as the man claimed his mouth. He was hard pressed to hide his disgust, and he gasped for air once Byron broke the forceful kiss and rose.

“Please...please, sir,” he panted. “If you mean to take me...I-I wish you would.”

Byron considered him for a moment and laughed. “Are you this eager? How delightful. Though I’m afraid I am not through having fun with you,” he declared, seeing the obvious, sinking shudder of dread ripple through the other’s thin frame as he stepped out of his boots and shrugged his cape from his shoulders.

“Do not move,” Byron warned, and stalked over to a small chest near the foot of the bed, lifting the lid. True to his word, Gizel had provided the things he had requested: a small, multi-thonged whip, a length of thin silk rope and a blindfold. Smiling, he drew the items out and lined them on the bed, retrieving the rope in his hand and returning to where the young man waited obediently.

Taking Euram’s wrists in one hand, he bound them together with the rope he’d been provided, then pulled them over the boy’s head so he could lace the rope to a bedpost. Although he did not fight directly, Euram whimpered in frustration and loosely wriggled against the binding, making clear his dislike for it all.

“Sir, please, you do not need...there is no need to bind me, my lord. I won’t fight you.” Euram had fully resigned himself to the knowledge that this man planned to ravish him.

Lord Byron smiled down at him, his moustache twisting up slightly with one side of his mouth. “Ah, but perhaps I simply want to see you this way. I do this because it is my desire, not because I fear you may struggle. Truth be told, Barows—I rather enjoy a struggle.”

Then he would get no such thing, Euram promised silently! He would lie here like a log and let him do as he wished, uttering as little sound as possible! Unfortunately, it was then that Lord Byron compounded his trepidation by leaning over him with a black strip of velvet, which he placed over his eyes and fastened behind his head, covering Euram’s world in darkness.

At once, the young man panicked. “No! Please, I—”

Danver Byron silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Shh…now, now. What was all that about not resisting me, hmmm?” he asked. Euram whimpered in complaint, alarmed by his sudden inability to see!

“B-but sir, I...this isn’t necessary!”

“Enough, Barows,” Byron warned, tracing a finger down his chest. “I want you to relax, and to be silent unless I permit you to speak. Is this clear?”

Euram subsided, hearing the admonition in the man’s voice and not wanting to test him further. He was soon to like his situation even less.

Tracing a finger along the line of the frilly undergarment clinging to Euram’s hips, Byron slipped the lace down, watching as the young man’s cock sprung free. He pulled the panties from his legs, discarding them beside the bed. Euram would have been glad to be rid of the humiliating garment, were it not that its removal made him feel that much more exposed.

Smiling, Byron watched the small pink nubs of nipples rise and fall with the boy’s nervous breaths as he leaned over to take one of the room’s many red, cinnamon scented candles from the nightstand. His arms stretched above him, eyes bound by black silk, Euram Barows was a beautiful portrait of helplessness as he panted to steal gasps of breath through swollen lips. Byron saw the collar shift as Euram’s throat dipped with an anxious swallow, lovely locks of pale blonde spread upon the covers. He looked so delicious that Danver almost hated to spoil the image. Even so, it was just too tempting. Hovering above him, the older man tilted the candle in one hand, letting a small drop of melted wax fall to land perfectly in the center of his lovely prisoner’s chest.

As predicted, the boy twitched almost violently and strained as though he would come up off the bed.

“N-ngg! Oh! N-no! Please!” He twisted uselessly against the rope now, his struggles only encouraging his tormentor. His mind fought to register this new sensation, the fact that he could not see and was unaware of what Byron was doing to him more alarming than the actual pain.

“I did not permit you to speak,” Lord Byron reminded him calmly, letting another bead drip onto naked skin, this one landing perfectly upon a tender nipple. Euram arched and bit his lip at the splash of heat. Although the liquid cooled quickly, the initial contact was shocking, intense, unlike anything he had ever felt!

Danver merely watched in delight as the boy shifted in his bonds, wordless pleas spilling from his lips.

****

Gizel had not quite expected this either, but he was somewhat intrigued. He supposed he had a few things he could learn himself from the older nobleman. He blinked, fascinated, as Euram writhed and stretched taut beneath the tiny dribbles of wax as they splashed upon his flesh.

Byron maneuvered painfully slow, letting Euram wait for what must have seemed like ages before choosing another spot and letting the wax fall. And each time he was rewarded with a gasp, a whimper, a spasm, his victim’s lovely mouth hanging open in helpless shock.

He had of course wondered what might happen should he lend his pet to a different master for the night. And he had assumed such a thing might make Euram appreciate him all the more. Now, as he watched, he was almost certain of that, regretting only that he was not the one currently laying such delicious torment upon his pretty slave.

***

“Ahhh!” Euram arched, hissing through his teeth as a hot spill hit his stomach, his distress made worse by the fact that he could not see what was happening, and could only anticipate the next nip of pain with his own imagination. He trembled, a fine glisten of sweat manifesting on his chest.

At length Byron paused in his efforts to survey his handiwork. Both nipples were colored with the hardening pink of wax, a small trail also spotting downward towards his victim’s naval. The young man’s chest heaved with fretful breaths, and Byron spared him further suffering for the moment.

“I could put it up your ass, flame and all,” he suggested, drawing a dismayed wail. Chuckling at the reaction, he toyed with the notion of dribbling some onto the boy’s cock, but decided against it: he did not wish to tire his plaything out too quickly.

Satisfied that Euram was suitably warmed up, he set the candle back in its holder and bent to release the prisoner from his bonds. Un-blindfolding him, he pulled the younger man up onto his knees for yet another kiss. Disoriented and dizzied from his latest ordeal, Euram did not fight against his grasp as Byron crushed the body to him, using his fingers to flick and peel strips of wax away, enjoying how it made Euram whimper and twitch against him as he claimed his mouth.

Then, just as abruptly, Byron broke the contact and shoved Euram down onto the bed, pressing his chest down and forcing his face to the covers. Euram squeaked his surprise, startled by the sudden maneuver, his ass pointed high.

“Reach back and part your buttocks, and hold them,” Byron instructed. Euram blushed but did as he was bid, whimpering as he reluctantly exposed his most vulnerable, intimate place to this terrible man and hoping he did not mean to make good his threat about the candle.

But Byron had other ideas. Taking the small leather whip, he reached out and drew a finger down the smooth cleft, humming with approval. Euram’s skin was soft, much as a boy used to coddling would be expected to be. Of course he could tell the young man was recently bathed in some kind of softening, scented oil, but this sort of suppleness came from a lifetime of indulgence. The tiny hole quivered as he circled it gently. As regularly as Euram claimed to have been taken by Gizel, it was somewhat hard to believe. He was incredibly small, tight, Byron could tell.

Curling the whip in his hand, he ran the thongs through his palm, letting them slip through one by one. Grinning darkly, he dragged the whip up the boy’s crack, feeling him tense. Then, pulling back, he took precise aim and snapped the whip directly down the center, the thongs curling inward to sting the boy’s tender opening.

“Aaaghh!” Euram arched and yelped with alarm, his eyes flying wide at the sudden, startling pain. “What have I…have I displeased you?!”

Byron chuckled. “Why no, pretty one. I am merely preparing you for me,” he explained, causing Euram to groan in dismay. “I did not instruct you to lower your hands,” he added, noting that Euram’s hands had fallen away to clutch instead at the covers, his body withdrawing in an unconscious and reflexive effort to protect itself from further assaults.

“Oh, sir, I can’t...!” the younger man insisted, inviting a sharp lash to his hip.

“Split yourself for me,” Danver warned. “Unless you are prepared for my less merciful fancies.”

Not liking the threat in his voice, Euram miserably obeyed, sobbing and dejectedly opening himself to more of this awful man’s abuse. Clenching his teeth hard, he attempted to brace himself.

***
Even Gizel himself flinched at this newest development!

Byron’s action was so deliberate, so deliciously cruel, and for a moment Gizel wondered why he had never thought of such a thing himself. The way it made Euram twitch and cry out in pain was beautiful, exquisite. The worthless Barows idiot: he deserved every shred of it!

The tingle he had felt while Euram had been pleasuring Byron returned tenfold, and Gizel removed his cock, wrapping a hand gently around it. Shifting, he leaned down closer and watched attentively through the small portal.

Euram jerked and howled in alarm with each snap of the whip, each strike kissing at his most private, sensitive point. Gizel could see the boy’s flushed face straining, his entire body quivering as he fought to hold himself open. Tears slid freely down splotched, red cheeks, eyes widened in distress. His body lurched and he cried out, his begging only seeming to prompt Byron to strike him harder. His poor slave’s distressed cries were laced with pain, and yet each yelp sent a new thrilling rush streaking through Gizel’s veins.

Idly the Commander stroked himself, watching quietly from his secret vantage point as his own breath grew more and more labored.

***

Euram gasped out loud, and was weeping fully by the tenth stroke. The boy’s babbled pleas hardly seemed to register to Lord Byron, who applied himself to the task coldly, his eyes intense and full of lust, enjoying how Euram snapped and writhed in response to the lash. Euram’s hands still clutched at his cheeks, obediently holding them apart for him in spite of his protests.

Attentively Byron lashed at the small, quivering hole, making his victim squeak and shudder and jerk. He was well aware that the procedure would make the sex more painful for the boy—this was of course his aim. There was something about inflicting pain, something about knowing the other person felt his actions keenly, that spoke to Lord Byron’s darkest fancies. And what made it all the sweeter was the thorough subjugation of a young man who had once been such a haughty, spoiled creature.

Euram had since tried to block out the hurt, to cast from his mind the shocking explosions of pain that burst through his nerves. Even Gizel had never whipped him there! Even Gizel had never done something quite so deliberately malicious and direct. It was as though the man had literally opened and exposed him, subjecting his very soul to his punishment.

“Sir! Pleeease!” Euram tearfully begged all at once, his body trembling feverishly. After no less than twenty sound snaps of the whip, Byron at last set the implement aside and allowed him to relax. Sobbing, Euram collapsed and lay weeping while Byron soothed him with small strokes and pats.

“There, now,” the man pacified him, a mocking attempt at best. The lad was a quivering heap of disgrace; hardly the boastful brat Lord Byron had seen so many years ago. He lay face down, his head turned into the bed to conceal his features as his shoulders shook with sobs. Leaning down over him, Byron sifted strands of blonde aside and nipped at his ear, listening to him whimper and feeling him shudder at the contact.

“Have you any idea how pretty you are,” he purred into Euram’s ear. He was rewarded with a defeated moan. Rising, Danver left him momentarily so he could strip himself of the rest of his finery, allowing Euram those minutes to recover. Settling himself on the bed, he lounged against the headboard and stretched out his legs, his member very stiff and requiring immediate attention.

“Come to papa, pretty,” he beckoned.

Euram cringed, thinking of his father and wishing Byron had not said that of all things. Gah! Euram shuddered. It was bad enough that he had to service this disgusting man, without having to endure his sickening words!

Oh, damn you, Gizel, for making me do this! Damn you, damn you, damn you!

Ruefully he pulled himself up and crawled over to Lord Byron, who reached out and stroked his cheek with a thumb.

“Take me in your mouth again, and slick me. I suggest you wetten it well: I am afraid I neglected to request any oil. Must have slipped my mind.”

If that was his attempt at a joke, it wasn’t funny. Apparently Lord Byron found it highly amusing, however, as he chuckled softly. Inwardly Euram grumbled, but leaned down to soak the man thoroughly with his mouth, slipping his moistened tongue out and priming the organ dutifully in hopes that he could at least lessen his own inevitable pain in the process.

“Good,” Byron wove a hand in his hair. “I’m going to claim every inch of that hole,” he explained while Euram worked to prepare him. “You think Gizel works you over? Well, I’ll make you forget all about him for tonight. I’m going to split you wide open, fuck you in places you’ve never been fucked.”

A miserable groan muffled from the boy, a further shudder streaking through his body. Euram just wanted this over with, wanted to be allowed to roll over and sleep, or die if he wished. Anything but to have to endure any longer of this! But he knew it was far from over yet, and that the worst was only coming. Presently Byron released him.

“That’s good, Barows. Come, now. Come up here and sit on my cock.”

Sighing, the younger man obeyed, letting the large member slip from his mouth and crawling up and forcing himself astride Lord Byron’s legs. The nobleman took him by the arms, helping to balance him.

“There you go. Now. Place it at your hole, and slide yourself down.”

Euram trembled as he did as he was told, reaching down and positioning the man’s very hard penis at his sore opening. He tensed, feeling its heat against him and dreading the inevitable entry.

“What are you waiting for, Barows?” the man pressed, sensing his hesitation and delivering a light slap to his hip. Swallowing, Euram braced himself and carefully began to lower himself until the head popped through his entrance.

Byron watched the boy throw his head back and hiss, slender hands stretching out to grasp at his shoulders as the young man paused in his efforts. Euram quivered, struggling to get used to the sudden burst of heat and pain, trying to adjust to the invasion. His patience disintegrating, Byron took the boy by the hips and crushed him down, forcing him to take it all in one thrust.

“Ahhn!” Euram howled, gasping the shoulders tight. His mouth hung agape with pain, those pretty lips parted wide as he moaned and shuddered on Byron’s piercing length. The pain was made worse by Byron’s whipping, and Euram reflexively squirmed in the man’s lap as though he would relieve the ache. The older man eyed the pretty face, twisted in agony, flushed pink and glistening with the beginnings of a sweat. Unable to refuse such an invitation, the nobleman captured those soft lips once more.

***
Gizel swallowed the moan in his throat at his slave’s cry when the man penetrated Euram.

The sound was almost piercing to him, and he wasn’t sure why. Euram was always vocal when he was taken, but somehow it almost startled Gizel this time. In all honesty, he had not been quite prepared for the shock that ran through him upon viewing the sight. Euram had clasped onto the older man’s shoulders, his head flung back, blonde locks spilling down his shoulders. He certainly looked enticing, even if something about it felt suddenly wrong to him.

Dashing that sudden, odd feeling aside, Gizel tightened his hand around his own hardness, his fist working faster as he watched the unfolding show with lust.

***

Without giving him longer to get used to him, Byron began to thrust upward, clutching the boy’s buttocks in his hands to spread him open and pull him downward on his cock. Euram cried out, feeling Byron force his inner walls to spread and accept him.

“Work with me,” Byron instructed. “Lift those hips and ride me.”

Groaning with shame and hurt, the younger man reluctantly obeyed, shifting his weight and helping impale himself on the painful intruder. Unwillingly he raised and lowered his hips, sliding his ass up and down along the man’s thick member, his body quivering from the strain of it.

“Good, good. That isn’t so bad, is it?”

The younger man grunted in response, his pretty features colored with pain as he shifted his hips and fucked himself to match Byron’s sharp thrusts.

Lord Byron took him like that for several minutes, enjoying his expressions, reveling in the sensation of tight, reluctant flesh clenching around him. Then all at once Byron changed position, withdrawing from the former young noble, wrenching a gasp from him. Flipping Euram over, he shoved him down face first onto the covers, propping his ass high before spreading his cheeks and spearing him deep.

“Nn—oooohh!” Euram howled, burying his face into the pillow as he was roughly and abruptly impaled. His hands twisted the sheets to knots. Euram clenched his eyes tight, crying out again and again into the pillow as Byron rammed him from behind. He jumped and yelped when Lord Byron smacked him hard on the rump.

“Do not lie like a corpse. Thrust yourself back.”

Euram squirmed to obey, feeling terribly full, feeling opened and violated and shamed all at once.

“Come, you can do better than that! Work those hips, Barows.” Byron barked, spanking him again and prompting Euram to arch back and comply.

“Y-yes, yes, sir!” he cried, miserably, rocking his hips back into the man’s thrusts.

“Yes, that's it!” Byron praised, rewarding his unwilling partner with gut-wrenching strokes. Euram buried his face and bit hard down on the pillow, hoping to muffle his shameful cries.

***

Gizel was stroking in time with Byron’s thrusts, listening to Euram’s pitiful moans as they split the air, pushing him further from the edge of lucidity.

That ridiculous cur was only getting his due. The Barows family, the entire faction was responsible for so many of his sorrows. The loss of his mother would not have occurred had Barows not initiated that conflict so long ago. He remembered how he had locked himself in his room for days and cried piteously. That was back before he was the man he was now, back when he was weak.

His mother’s untimely death, his fiancés decision to abandon him at the threshold of their wedding...it was all Barows’ fault, and now that petty, spineless clown was getting his: his retribution, his comeuppance for his association with the faction that had been the source of so much grief for Gizel’s family, and all of Falena!

He was getting nothing more than what was coming to him!

But when a particularly mournful cry met his ears, suddenly Gizel felt something odd—a strange twinge of emotion he had not expected.

He had lent Euram to Lord Danver Byron primarily to punish him and break his will, but there was something that suddenly occurred to him: it should have been him who was forcing those sounds from Euram’s throat. It should have been him, not this bastard Danver Byron, making him bite the pillow and squirm and moan and cry.

His breathing grew more ragged as he fisted himself, quickening his pace even as his mind raced with these foolish emotions. Certainly the show before him was a stunning display, and of course the sight of Euram stretched out on the bed, his slender back arching into a fucking he was unwilling to receive was delicious. Frantically Gizel stroked his cock, fighting to keep his panting breaths quiet as the precome wept more urgently from the slit, warning of impending climax.

It was an incredible turn-on to him, seeing his prisoner helplessly speared on another man, but it also made Gizel feel something that was not quite as pleasant, and he suddenly felt a strange urge wash over him, an urge to burst into the room and strike Lord Byron and wrench his property from the man’s grasp.

But, why? It made little sense!

***

Euram cried helplessly, riding the man’s strokes and struggling to meet his increasingly painful rhythm. He felt raw, full.

“I’m about to come in you, Barows,” Byron warned, his voice raspy and broken as he quickened his pace with punishing strokes. “Get ready for it.”

Trembling, sweating, the younger man cringed and prepared himself for the final deep plunge, that despoiling spray that would coat his innards and complete his violation, his shame. All at once, it happened. Shuddering, Byron roared and roughly captured Euram hard by the hair, wrenching as he spurted deep into the trembling body beneath him. Euram whimpered, feeling with dismay the man’s hot completion filling him, finalizing his ravishment.

***

Just as Lord Byron bellowed his climax, Gizel’s own completion erupted from him. His body tensed, his head flung back as he bit back a growl of his own. A grunt escaped him, though he knew he did not have to worry: Byron was noisy enough and too engaged in his own pleasure to hear.

Panting, he sat back in the chair to regain his breath. Retrieving a handkerchief, he wiped the result of his orgasm from his fist. As satisfying as his climax had been, it still felt somehow...wrong. It felt wrong, and for reasons unexplained, he suddenly felt he hated Lord Danver Byron.

Tucking his member away and rising from his chair, Gizel left the room, feeling a little angry, disgusted somehow, though he wasn’t sure why. He was certain of this, however: lending his plaything to another was something he did not intend to do again in the future, no matter what his father suggested.

Naturally, of course, he did not intend to tell Euram that, either!

“You’re not yet done,” Byron reminded Euram once he’d withdrawn and the boy collapsed. Euram looked up hazily to see the man offering his cock to him, and immediately he knew what he wanted of him.

He groaned. He was used to doing that kind of thing with Gizel, but this man…

“You refuse? Hmm, and what did your master Gizel say you were to do, Barows?”

“He said…I was to obey you, sir,” Euram admitted, sadly. Feeling the expectant eyes upon him, he sighed and leaned down to take him in his mouth and suck him clean. Large hands gently stroked his hair.

“Such a stately little thing you were, when I first saw you,” the man explained. “A proper little lordling. Though I must admit, I thought you were a girl, when first I laid eyes upon you,” he chuckled at Euram's groan of shame. “Well, you serve the purpose of a lass just as well.” At last Byron withdrew from the boy’s mouth and patted him. Defeated, Euram finally curled up and wept.

“Now, that is hardly the courtesy one would expect the personal slave of the Queen’s Knights Commander to bestow upon a guest,” he admonished above the miserable sobbing. “I know he has taught you better manners than this.”

Euram sniffled and forced himself up onto his knees, deferentially bowing.

“I-it was an...honor to s-serve you, my lord,” he choked. Clearly it was a lie; Danver Byron knew that Euram Barows would never speak such a thing and truly mean it. Still, the show of submission was delightful, all the more for its falsity.

Byron tilted his chin and studied the younger man’s splotched, tear-streaked face. Such a pretty thing Euram was even now, in his wretched state.

“I know you must lie with Gizel when he ravishes you. You will lie with me now. And should I wish to have you again before the morning, I will do so, and you will spread for me again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Euram sobbed, with an overwhelming lament for perhaps the first time that he had not simply chosen death at the executioner's hands.

***

Gizel was shaking by the time he had returned to his chamber. But why? What was wrong with him?

Something had happened while he was watching that man ravish Euram, something that he did not like at all. After all, why should he care what Byron did? How could he feel the slightest reservation about simply accepting it as purely business? That was all it was, after all: an exchange of mere property as a favor to a fellow nobleman who had been loyal to the Godwin faction for years. He was entitled to share his own property if and when he saw fit!

Why, then, did he feel so bothered by it? It should have bothered him no more than if Byron had borrowed a book from him, or some other such possession. To say nothing of the fact that the 'possession' in question here was a damned Barows.

Stupid, stupid Barows! And what made Gizel even more furious, was that the more he thought about that man buried within his prisoner, his slave, the angrier he became. How that disgusting man had his filthy hands all over his property...

No, he didn't care. He did not care in the slightest.

Forcing himself to calm down, he went and poured himself a drink. Grumbling, he tried to think of something else, and went to the unfinished documents he had left at his writing desk. He would occupy himself browsing these until he was ready to sleep. That would calm him. At least until the morning.

AND, MILES AWAY…

As a man who had spent his entire life fighting, Zegai was no stranger to the losses of war and battle.

He always remained awake at night to train, with anyone who wished it. Often his fellow former gladiators would all spar together, sometimes until the wee hours. It was a nice way to keep up their skill, keep their minds and swords sharp while they waited with both anxiety and eagerness to march on Sol-Falena at last.

Although everyone knew that the time to train was growing short. That advance was approaching each day. They awaited only the word from Lady Merces, and the go-ahead from the Prince himself to launch their battle: the battle that would decide the fate of Falena—and would very likely claim many of their lives.

Secretly Zegai wished it would come. He did not fear battle, nor death.

He was also not immune to the pain and grief the war had caused, however. Zegai had noticed Luserina earlier that day, looking stoic but sad. He would have said something to her, but...Zegai had never been one to know the right words, had never been one to know how to comfort. But he knew what troubled her. Everyone knew. And while everyone in the castle loved her and cared about her, not everyone was quite as sympathetic towards her sibling. However, Zegai, for one, bore him no hostility.

FLASHBACK:

Zegai had heard rumors that the Prince had taken in that Barows child—the one for whom Zegai had been bought after he had been captured and made a gladiator. Although he had been surprised of the Prince’s decision, he had not begrudged it. While many had viewed the Prince’s acceptance of the boy a foolish move and an error in judgment, Zegai had not. The Prince was a good leader, and a good man, and most important of all, he was merciful. His Highness understood the power of forgiveness: it was a power that could carve the most solid friend out of the most passionate enemy.

Though Zegai had considered Lord Salum Barows a dishonorable and evil man, he had never truly felt any animosity towards his son. Yes, the child was spoiled and thoughtless, but it was Lord Barows himself who could truly be blamed for that. He was surprised, nonetheless, when he saw young Euram Barows approaching him one evening, very soon after Freyjadour Falenas had welcomed him into their ranks.

He had calmly watched the boy draw near him. By outward appearance, Euram looked just as ridiculous as ever, his clothes themselves almost an assault on the senses. But there was something strikingly different about him.

For one thing, he appeared nervous. No, scared. His steps were small, hesitant as he approached, but there was a strange determination that seemed to propel him forward in spite of this. But that was not the only thing that seemed oddly out of character for him.

He also looked genuinely contrite.

Normally proud eyes were downcast, what was usually an expression of smug confidence absent from his features. In its place was a subdued, somber and miserable countenance unlike that which Zegai was used to seeing on his former “owner”.

“Zegai...” Euram began, as though he was not sure how to say what he wanted to say. Then, he did something even more surprising: the boy bowed to him, fine white ruffles deferentially drooping along with the gesture.

“What I did to you...the things I said...it is unforgivable.”

Zegai eyed the boy, almost puzzled. Euram trembled as he spoke, as though expecting to be struck.

“I have been—terrible. And I know that, now. I beg that you accept my deepest, humblest, most heartfelt apologies, even if you cannot forgive me. I’m sorry. I am sorry, Zegai. If there is anything I can do…”

“This…this is not necessary,” the older man said, simply.

It was Euram’s turn to be puzzled. He straightened and blinked.

“Er, what…?”

“I have already forgiven you,” Zegai told him.

Euram looked up at him, incredulous, his eyes swimming with disbelief.

“B-but….Zegai! I…I used you! I lashed out at you, without knowing the truth. Worse, I, I ordered your eyes removed—your death! I was inexcusably, indefensibly thoughtless and cruel! I--"

“It is over, and no harm has been done,” Zegai said firmly. “What is past, is past. Your apologies are not needed. One cannot mend a damaged blade by sharpening an edge that is unblemished.” Seeing Euram’s puzzlement deepen, he re-thought his assessment. “Do not worry about my thoughts toward you. I have forgiven you, and you need not continue to apologize. You should simply focus upon what is important, and other things that require mending more. Go, and be with your sister,” he advised, hoping to clarify his point and giving the boy only a reassuring nod in response to his questioning stare.

***

Once Zegai’s words had sank into his head, Euram had brightened gratefully. He had smiled—a genuine smile, almost childlike, free of any cockiness the boy had once carried. Bowing and thanking Zegai one last time, he had hurried off to act upon the former gladiator’s advice.

And from that gesture, Zegai had known beyond a doubt that the Prince’s decision to welcome Euram had not been erring, but that the child had truly changed. No, perhaps not changed: rather, he had discovered the person he really was, beneath what his father had made him over the years.

Not everyone within the Prince’s army shared Zegai’s conviction that Euram could be trusted. Certainly there were a few, but most who expressed concern for Euram’s current well-being did so only out of respect and concern for Luserina.

But while everyone in the Sindar Castle collectively kept the little Queen Lymsleia in their thoughts, Zegai reserved another small thought for Euram—and not only for Luserina’s sake.
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)