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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Author’s Notes: Obviously, I did not write the dialogue towards the end of the chapter. The scene is lifted directly from Suikoden V and is property of Konami, blah, blah blah don’t sue blah blah…

…enjoy! :)

Chapter 8: Strange Desires

He awoke in a long corridor, dotted with shadows.

Huh?

Pulling himself to his feet, he groggily took in his surroundings.

Curious portals loomed on either side of him, extending as far down the corridor as he could see. It was dark, like a night with a moon veiled by clouds. Whispers, unintelligible and obscure, raced swiftly past his ears,.

…dreaming? I must be…

All at once, the laughter rushed by him and disappeared down the hallway. Without knowing why, Euram followed. Glancing aside towards the swirling portals, he caught glimpses of familiar faces, things, people and events that had slipped in and out of his life, some intense and crisp, others vague and distant, like visions from far away. Somehow all seemed to meld into one great, swirling collage, mingled with sounds of contempt, murmurs of endless condemnation.

The laughter came again, high, mocking…and terribly familiar.

“This way!” the voice urged him, suddenly, fleeting, almost jubilant like a child leading to a secret place. Blindly he followed, somehow knowing where he was intended to go. The corridor seemed to lengthen as he followed, forcing him to a sprint. Onward he ran, aimless and determined, desperate to get out and almost not caring where he found himself, whether that destination was home or heaven or hell.

Perhaps this was hell?

Frustrated, he whimpered and followed the laughter. Suddenly veering to the left, he flung himself full through one of the portals, the odd mirror-like film swirling and parting like liquid to welcome him through.

He fell forward, landing on his hands and knees. Looking up, he glanced around and blinked.

He was knew this place. The walls, the carpet, the fine furniture, potted plants, the ornaments and the rather ‘eccentric’ specimens of what one might call art, he recognized every strip of it.
He was…home!

He was inside his father’s mansion, in Rainwall.

What the…?

“You’re pathetic!”

Euram was startled by the voice’s and whirled about. On a pedestal stood a young man of about nineteen, clad in the finest velvets and lace. Colorful and proud, he stood grinning and preening, a smug and satisfied expression comfortably splashed across his features. He was buffing his nails, and once in awhile a servant would lean up to feed him a powdered éclair. Another was bent polishing his fine shoes. Others scurried around him intermittently, fussing at him and seemingly catering to his every need, his every whim.

Dual strands of blonde framed the young man’s face, the rest pulled back into a fine, plaid bow.

Euram gazed up at him in shock. “You—what are you doing here? What am I…?”

“What am I doing here? I live here, you fool!” the other replied, haughtily. “And you, my friend, as I have said, are pathetic!”

Euram shook his head and rose to his feet, all at once defensive at the other person’s tone. “Who….you’re me! That means you’re pathetic, too!” he snapped back, suddenly defiant towards this apparition and wondering if that meant he might need some form of mental aid.

“Am I now?” the other smirked down at him. “Hardly as wretched as you! Oh, yes, like you, I may have lost the Sacred Games to Gizel. I may have lost little Lymmie; oh, that elegant, unplucked flower of loveliness! Oooohh, the tragedy of it!” With this, he sighed and swooned, the magnitude of his woe seemingly enough to stir the very heavens above as he swept an arm across his forehead in lament. Drawing a patterned lace handkerchief from his sleeve, he dabbed at maudlin tears. “Ooh, that contemptible, loathsome, nefarious Godwin! The foul, infernal, cheating scoundrel! I didn’t tell you to stop!” he snapped to the servant kneeling at his feet, who quickly bent back to his shoe-polishing task.

“Now, where was I? Oh, yes,” the young man snapped his gaze back to Euram. “It is true, I may have lost Lym; I also may have lost the favor of the Loyalist Army. And, like you, my every perfect beautiful scheme was destroyed by that damnable Prince! Even now, I reel from the death of my dear, sweet father! Oh, such a terrible calamity!” He sniffed, then recovered almost as quickly. “But you and I are quite different, my friend. Certainly I lost my father, and lost the Games to Gizel. But I am not naked, scrubbing his floor. I am not his plaything.”

Euram gasped, whisking his arms downward to cover himself before whipping his disapproving gaze back to his doppelganger with .

“Oh! What do you want? Go away, you!” he retorted, scowling.

“Go away? If I recall correctly, you followed me. And what a mess you’ve made of yourself. Tsk-tsk. How appallingly disgraceful!”

“I am doing fine, thank you!”

“Yes, it seems you have done quite well for yourself,” the decorated young man sardonically eyed him up and down. “Allying yourself with the Prince! Pah! Where has that got you? An invitation to Gizel’s personal bedchamber: a whore for him to use at will.”

“Shut up!” Euram cried at once, wanting to close his ears. “Why have you led me here? To mock me? Answer me, damn you!”

“My, my! Such a rude creature you have become!” The apparition pouted, as though deeply wounded. “And here I was only endeavoring to offer you some precious advice! I am your friend, Euram. Ever your loyal and trustworthy friend!”

“I doubt that,” Euram muttered, noting the ooze of pretension in the identical man’s honeyed words. Do I really sound like that?

“Ever you doubt. But, oh, you simply must remove yourself from the deplorable, undignified position to which you have sunk!”

“I had little choice! What would you have had me do? Let him kill me?”

“Oh, no, no! Goodness, no! My, my! Far too messy! Grisly! Not to mention inconvenient--and diabollically painful! Oh, I dare not think of it!” The apparition swooned where he stood.

“Then what? Tell me!”

“You can reclaim yourself, Euram! Appeal to him. If you are to lower yourself to this, then do it properly. Offer him your body freely if you must, but you must do so much more! Simply consider my proposal: agree to help him defeat that traitorous Prince, and redeem yourself from this lowly state!”

Euram’s eyes widened. “What? No! I--!”

“Tut-tut, allow me to finish!” the other waved a hand at him. “I know what happened to Father is a bitter thing--ooohh, such a tragedy! But, consider, my friend: his loss could well be turned to your advantage, hmm? Father’s death could present itself to be a most fortuitous opportunity, you understand.”

“No, I don’t understand.” Euram frowned.

“Ah! But I had forgotten how thick you are. Allow me to simplify.” He flourished a hand, upon which jeweled rings twinkled from almost every finger. With his gestures, his manner, he almost shockingly resembled Salum. “There is no favorable course for you this way. Gizel has the Sun Rune, and he plans to use it; you know this. And should he use it, the Loyalists are doomed. It would behoove you better to appeal to Gizel, and appear to aid his cause as you may. He might even reward you when it’s all done, you know! Why, he might even restore your status. With Father gone, you alone will be the head of your faction, the Barows line renewed. Think of it!”

Euram swallowed, his mouth dropping open at the other’s advice. “You’re…you’re insane. It will never…”

“And then, Euram, oh, then!" The other wasn't listening. "Once the rebels are trounced and your eminence returned, you can devise a plot to free little Lym yourself. You could easily betray him then, when he is unlikely to suspect. The greatest of regimes are crumbled from within, you realize. Gizel's popularity fades. You could find a way to remove him, and restore your good name in the eyes of a grateful Falena! Take back the name Barows, and restore it to honor and glory! And perhaps, just out of gratitude, Lymsleia will fly willingly to your arms. You could harness a following in secret, and have Gizel slain, along with his father! You’re aware already that there are those who would be willing to help. Not everyone here appreciates their current ‘leadership’. That wench who bathes you has said as much.”

Euram’s brow knitted in sudden, swelling anger. “What? Sherina! How dare y—!”

“And then,” the other interrupted him. “…then, my dear Euram, you will be free to reveal yourself as the mastermind! And on your hands you just might have a grateful Queen, who will wed you freely! With Gizel and Lord Godwin dead, you can easily resolve yourself of blame for whatever may befall the Prince. With Father out of the way, you are the head of your faction, after all, and with but a few simple designs, you could undoubtedly restore glory to the Barows name! An unlikely hero you could become, indeed!”

Euram stared speechless for a moment, astonished. But then, he supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him. As much as he hated to admit it, it sounded exactly like something he might have come up with. And, for all its ridiculousness, for all the plan’s certainty of failure…it almost sounded tempting.

“N-no! Shut up!” he cried at once, snarling up at the apparition. “And I won’t involve Sherina or anyone else in any stupid plot! I’m done with scheming! I’ll only end up hurting people. Hurting myself!”

“Don’t be a fool! How much more damage could you possibly cause yourself? And you would flout a perfect, golden opportunity! Surely you are not so stupid as to ignore that!”

“But…I’ve friends with the Prince! What about the others? What about Luserina?!”

“Oh, pish-posh! Do you actually think they care one snip for you? And Luserina! Has she ever been anything but a nuisance to your family? Has she ever supported you? Only months ago she severed ties with you! And yet you endeavor to appease her. How pitiful.”

“You! I’ve had enough of you!” Euram cried, suddenly hating this person and wanting him out of his sight, wanting nothing at all to do with him! “I’m finished with you! Get you gone, you—you ridiculous fop!”

Flaring with abrupt fury, the other swept his arms in a grandiose gesture, flinging the servants catering to him aside with a broad flap of his cape. The servants fell away like scattering raindrops on a windowpane, parting the way for him as he stepped down threateningly from the pedestal and advanced on him until he was face to face with his irrational double.

…whereupon he produced a white silk glove from a pocket.

Euram smirked. He knew this move well. “If you strike me with that….” he warned the other.

“You’ll what?”

“Then…” Euram thought quickly, trying to imagine a threat that would strike fear into his heart. “Then I shall sully your cravat, muss your hair, and tell everyone how you play with little dolls and practice kissing princesses on them!”

At this, the apparition screamed in horror and whirled to flee, streams of white ruffle trailing behind him before he disappeared up the stairs. He was immediately followed by an entourage of servants, who likewise disappeared in a flurry of appeals and dotted cries of “Master Euram!”.

Euram stood stunned for a moment, blinking incredulously.

My, my, my! He thought. What an unpleasant fellow!

****

“Who invited you here?” the young Queen snapped, as soon as her so-called husband entered her room. As usual, his guards accompanied him. She knew there was no reason for him to have them here. She was ten years old, and hardly posed a threat. She knew they were here to intimidate, and nothing more.

“Now, my dear. I am your husband, after all. You should not greet me so harshly, Your Highness. I want only what is best for you. For us. I only want what is best for Falena.”

“Is that why you are still keeping that Barows boy prisoner? Is that for the good of Falena?” She had heard rumors. Of course the more carnal nature of Gizel’s relationship to the boy was not known to her, but she knew he was kept and likely tormented, and for some reason, even if she felt little more than disdain for him, she felt she pitied him. Maybe that was because she, too, was a prisoner. A prisoner in her own Palace.

Gizel chuckled at this. “Well, in a way, yes. You should thank me, that I hold him here so that he may not hinder your brother further.”

“Hmmph! My brother will arrive any day now. And then you will be finished. I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you.”

“That was what I came to discuss with you, my dear. The scholars have been quite diligent. We have almost definite results now—and those results will be put to the test. Time is running out for your brother. When he attacks, we will be prepared.”

“Don’t be so confident, yet! I can’t wait to see the look on your face when he storms this Palace. And he will come, and so will Miakis, and Kyle, and all of them! Then you’ll be sorry!”

Gizel sighed, knowing well that she was not going to listen to what he had to say next.

“I wanted to warn you, Your Majesty, once more: things will get very ugly when the rebels arrive. And I am going to ask you again: are you certain you would not rather leave? There are things that one such as you should not be made to witness. And I do not wish to force you to do so. Will you accept my offer to have you taken elsewhere, to safety?”

“I will take great pleasure in witnessing your utter and humiliating defeat. Leave me. This discussion is over.”

He had known she wouldn’t listen.

Masking his disappointment, he bowed. “Very well. I will leave you to your solitude. But I hope you will reconsider.”

Turning with his men, Gizel departed. He had business to deal with.

Queen Lymsleia continued scowling at the door long after Gizel had left her.

***

It was not long before Euram woke.

The first thing he remembered was the strange, disturbing dream.

What was that all about?

At the same time, he was harshly reminded of how different things currently were compared to the life he’d once enjoyed. He had been deprived of so much recently that the excess and extravagance of what he had witnessed in his dream had somewhat shocked him. Euram had almost forgotten he had once lived a life pampered and lavish.

For some reason, he then remembered his experience with Gizel the night before, and how his captor had treated him without cruelty, how he had actually brought him pleasure. But why...and how? And worse--how had he allowed himself to enjoy it?

Pushing those questions aside, Euram rose and slid from the bed, moving to the desk where Gizel’s usual letter waited.

A simple chore today for you. The fireplace requires cleaning. All the tools are present on a rack by the hearth. Empty the ash into the bucket, and then scrub the inside. The facing and mantle should be polished.
As always, I shall inspect your work when I return, so be thorough.
I should not have to tell you this by now, however.

Your Commander,
Gizel

Euram sighed. I suppose I’d better get to work, he thought.

The task was not difficult, but it was grueling and dirty. It was a chore to which he was unaccustomed as well, and as such, it proved to be more messy than was probably necessary. The flawless white skin on his arms and hands had become soiled with black and gray ash, and flecks of soot smeared his face and hair and much of his body by the time he was done.

He had only just finished when he heard the key in the door, and the servant who had apparently become his designated food deliverer arrived, carrying with him a small tray. Euram at one time might have moved to find something with which to cover himself, but now he had become so used to being naked in the presence of others that it now barely occurred to him to feel shame. Instead he simply lowered his arms to conceal his most private area.

As usual, the man plopped the tray onto the table and turned to leave. Without thinking, Euram abruptly called out to him.

“Wait. Stay, only a moment. Please.”

“What do you want?” the man asked, neither angry nor impatient nor kind: simply without emotion at all.

“W-would you keep me company, for a time? Or have you obligations elsewhere?” Euram’s words were hesitant, but earnest. The man paused a moment and looked as though he would wordlessly refuse and stride out the door. Instead, he actually turned to look at him, his expression distant, plain.

“My only obligation is to bring your tray. I have no obligation to converse with you.”

“I…I see,” Euram sighed. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t bother you. I will let you be.”

The man caught the sliver of disappointment in the prisoner’s voice and stalled. He looked at the other man, noting the ash and soot marring his skin and was suddenly unavoidably aware of how wretched he looked. Certainly he did not appear as the same person he once had been. He had never liked Euram Barows, but for a brief second, he almost felt pity for him.

For whatever reason, he remained where he was. “You are lonely,” he pointed out, not actually having to ask.

“Of course I am,” Euram admitted, quietly, moving to the table. “He keeps me here, each day, with no one to talk to, until he should arrive. And even then, I cannot converse with Gizel as one would an equal. I am able to speak only when he speaks to me, and only about what he sees fit. So yes: I am quite lonely, sir.”

“Pardon me if I am poor in sympathy,” the servant suddenly added, a tinge of contempt edging his voice. “I support Godwin, and I always have.”

Out of courtesy, Euram sat, placing the table between them to hide his nakedness.

“I cannot fault you for that,” he admitted, without meeting his gaze, demurely staring at nothing in particular as he spoke. “Any more than I can fault anyone for supporting the Barows.”

The man seemed a bit surprised to hear him say this, but elaborated further with his own position, nonetheless. “I would fault anyone for supporting Barows. Lord Barows was weak and dishonest, his lies poison. Lord Barows and his ilk.” The servant let the last words linger on his tongue, his gaze settling accusingly upon Euram.

The prisoner felt his eyes upon him. Subtle as it was, the look pierced him, and he flinched a little and shifted some beneath the disdainful glare. He said nothing, only nodded in silent acknowledgement.

“I know enough, have seen enough on my own,” the man continued. “I never needed to know the things I have heard from Lady Alenia and Sir Zahhak. There is enough damning proof to make me hate the Barows sect for a lifetime. Barows’ weakness, his fraudulence, has caused too many wars, too much grief. My lord Marscal Godwin seeks to end that grief and protect Falena. And I will remain loyal to him as long as that remains his goal.”

‘Do you really believe that?’ Euram wanted to ask. But there would be no good in it. Godwin had his followers every bit as programmed as Barows had his own. Each faction’s propaganda did its best to smear the other, each side thinking it ‘all for the good of Falena’. But Euram knew better now. He knew now that they both were wrong.

But now Godwin had the advantage of having been the victor in the rivalry. Naturally to their subjects, the Godwin faction was made to appear the more benevolent of the two opposing Senate branches.

Instead of bothering to question the man’s blind loyalty, Euram nodded. “What you say of us…of Barows…is true. Every word of it. And I understand your frustration having to deal with me, even if only briefly each day.” Euram took the small sliver of bread from the plate he’d been brought and nibbled idly. There were a few sticks of celery from the look of it, and a bowl of apple slices. “Would you care to have something? It isn’t much, but I will happily share, in exchange for the company.”

The man shook his head. “No. You are fed little as it is, I assume, especially if all you receive is what I bring. I won’t take of what small portions you are allowed.”

Euram only nodded at first before replying. “That is kind of you, sir. Can you tell me—what is it like, outside? I cannot tell much: this window shields much from me. The pane is patterned, and obscures the view.”

“It is…well, it is fair, and cool. But it is nice.”

“Hmm. How I would love a walk in the garden. But he would not allow it, I am afraid. Of course I have never asked him, but…” Euram trailed, sounding almost as though he were talking to himself. “I used to spend a lot of time in the gardens at Rainwall. We had a beautiful garden there. Chuck tended it, and he was amazing. If there is anything I miss about home…I would have to say I miss our garden. Of course once Chuck left us, it began to wither. Dad never did find a replacement.” Euram sighed. The servant regarded him oddly, long after the younger man had stopped speaking.

“You are…strange. I have made you aware of my feelings toward you. And yet you would confide in me, and even offer me part of your meager sustenance, just for me to remain with you but a few moments? Why would you still wish for my company, knowing that I despise you?”

“I have told you, and you guessed it before: I am lonesome here. And beyond that, you do help me, whether you know it or not. The least I can do is know those who tend to me, and bring me food…even if they cannot stand me.”

The servant watched, noticing the prisoner’s endeavors not to wolf down the food in his presence when he was clearly very hungry, as if some deeply-ingrained politeness forced his hand. A spark of compassion swelled in him then, and he softened just a little.

“Would you like something more? I might bring it for you.”

“No, sir. This is…perfect. I would ask nothing else of you. But you are kind to offer it. I appreciate the company more than anything. If only for someone to talk to for a moment.”

The man thought of this, of how sorry and pitiful it suddenly seemed for the young Barows heir to be reduced to such. And he hated him, and would have said what he felt: that he deserved this, and that this was a comeuppance long overdue. But somehow he could not vocalize that thought. There was something about Euram’s demeanor, his uncharacteristic humility that stopped the words on his tongue.

“You realize I would be ridiculed by my peers if they were to learn I am here conversing with you,” he confessed instead.

Euram paused and nodded. “Yes, I understand,” he said, sadly. “I understand, and I am sorry. I will keep you no longer. Go. I would not have you scorned or mocked for my sake.”

“I’m sorry,” the man said, sounding almost regretful as he turned to head for the door.

“Do not be. It is I who should be sorry. For all the evil that has been done in the name of Barows.”

An awkward moment of silence passed before the man finally moved to leave.

“One thing more,” Euram said, just before he stepped out the door. The servant stopped and looked back. “May I have your name, sir? I would at least know this.”

The man hesitated, as though he would refuse. At last he replied.

“The name is Reynald.”

With that, he was gone. The key latched in the lock, and Euram was alone again.

***

I wonder why he insists upon reminding me of things that are humiliating to me. Things that I now wish I had never done.

No, I know why he does it. He enjoys it.

I wish he had not brought up Jidan Guiso. It is bad enough that I dealt with him at all.

Father had somehow fallen in thick with him. And I hated him. That snorting, mouth-breathing, corpulent swine. I realize now he was like an Armes version of Father…I hated the way he spoke, I hated the way he walked, I hated the way he leered at me, saying things like “This had better work, Barows.”

Oooh, that awful man! That he even thought about using me in such a way makes me boil with fury!

But then, I guess I can understand his anger with me. I wish I had not followed Dad’s designs so readily. I wish I had been able to see through him.

***

Having lost his parents during the Godwin coup, the Prince had taken refuge in Rainwall. Barows had eagerly harbored him, and had provided him troops to stave off the Godwin forces that tracked him down. But Salum Barows had plots of his own brewing. He was a man who knew opportunity when he saw it.

The plan had been simple. Following Godwin's victory at the Sacred Games, Salum Barows had given up the idea of harnessing power through the Falenan crown, and thus had designed an alternative. Forming a shaky alliance with the neighboring country of Armes, long an antagonistic force to Falena, Salum had hoped to shape a new kingdom from the Eastern portion of Falena. His wish was to manipulate the Prince into forming an alliance with Armes. Barows would then set him up as King of the new border region.

But his plans were even more involved and clever than that.

Since his hope to marry Euram to the Princess had failed, Salum had instead turned his sights upon his own daughter. After all, the royal family’s living son remained un-betrothed. He would instead appeal Luserina to the Prince’s tastes.

Still, Euram could yet be of use to him, possibly...

Salum had sent his son to wait alongside General Guiso of the Armes, directing the boy to act as an ambassador and commander to the troops. Knowing Euram’s ineptness for battle tactics by now, Salum had basically left him with a simple task: he was to issue the order when the time was appropriate for Armes to attack on the Prince’s behalf.

Disgusted by her father’s selfish aims, Luserina had brought her concerns to the Prince. But she had learned the Prince had astute allies on his side as well.

The Prince’s tactician, Lady Lucretia Merces, had also sensed a problem, and the fugitive Knight Georg Prime had information to confirm her suspicions when he arrived and secretly informed them that he had seen Euram with Armes soldiers. As if this evidence was not damning enough, Salum had gone to the Prince the night before General Novum’s troops advanced. He had appealed to the young royal, encouraging him to simply work with him. This, along with Salum’s constant prying into the Prince’s feelings towards Luserina, solidified everyone’s suspicions: the man was attempting to establish the Prince as a ruler of this new “kingdom”, and marry his daughter to him, securing himself power by default.

However, he was soon to learn that he had on his hands a Prince who did not desire such power for himself. The Prince had long ago accepted that he, as a male, was not eligible for the Falenan crown. He wanted only to re-take Falena for the sake of his family and rescue his sister, the rightful ruler.

In spite of His Highness’s refusal, the Armes troops had hid out in the woods. If the Prince would not agree willingly to Salum’s plans, then he could still snare him into them. He would still have the foreign troops aid the Prince against Godwin’s forces. This would make the Prince appear as though he had agreed to the alliance, and would alienate him from a Falena currently distrustful of Armes. It would practically leave the Prince with little other choice than to accept Lord Barows’ arrangement, since he then would seem a traitor.

Needless to say, it would have pushed the Prince into an awkward corner, and would have given Salum Barows a great deal of leverage with which to manipulate him.

Lucretia had other ideas, however.

When Godwin’s General Novum advanced, she had ordered a messenger from the ranks. The messenger was to alert the Godwin forces of the presence of the Armes troops—and to request a cease in hostilities so that together they could remove the mutual threat.

It had worked. General Novum had ordered his troops instead to attack the Armes forces, and the Prince’s unit had advanced on them as well. This shift in events had been unexpected. Jidan Guiso had turned upon Euram, demanding to know why both armies were advancing upon them. Euram had fled, abandoning the Armes ranks and leaving them to defend themselves against both units at once.

Overpowered, the Armes forces had withdrawn. But General Novum’s men had caught sight of Euram Barows and taken pursuit, chasing him across the countryside, though he inevitably proved too fast for capture.

Euram had arrived in Rainwall much later, breathless, humiliated—and furious. Just as Lucretia and Frey were confronting Salum Barows over the presence of Armes troops, his son had inopportunely barged into the house…and stupidly demanded that his father use the Dawn Rune against Novum’s men for disgracing him.

And so, after two long years, the whereabouts of the missing rune was revealed--long after the innocents of Lordlake had paid.

Shocked and horrified, Luserina had demanded access to the basement. Chuck had faithfully guarded what he had believed to be a wedding present for Luserina, and had challenged the Prince, only allowing them to pass after a brief melee.
What they found astonished everyone.
The Dawn Rune was revealed, and chose its bearer, attaching itself to the young royal’s wrist.

The detective Oboro had arrived, along with someone neither Euram nor Salum had wanted to see: Norden.

The entire story came out, then, to Salum and Euram’s horror. As the shock and disgust registered and the condemnation began to surface, Euram had grown angry. Powerless to stop the disclosure, he had attempted to protect his father in the best way he knew how: he pitched a screeching, flailing tantrum.

Attacking everyone, he loudly accused the Prince and his retainers of ingratitude, of not appreciating Salum’s generosity in helping them. Finally, he spouted what amounted to an ultimatum:

“If you have so much to complain about, then you can all just get out! GET OUT! NOW!”

And they had done just that.

Lucretia, the Prince, his loyal Queen’s Knights, the allies from Raftfleet, even Salum’s most trusted ally, General Boz Wilde, had one by one filed from the Barows mansion. Even Chuck had followed, deserting his employer. And Luserina, disgusted and devastated by her family’s actions, had abandoned her father and brother, leaving Salum and his son alone and without allies, their plans in ruins.
Long after all had gone, the Lady Sialeeds’ final warning to the pair of them rang in their ears:

“Be grateful for Luserina. If it weren’t for her, I’d have torn you both limb from limb.”

And they had no reason not to believe her.

***

I should have repented then. I should have helped the Prince restore water to Lordlake, which he did soon after he parted company with Father.

What did I do instead? I spent my time devising plans to destroy him.

I blamed him for ruining us.

I guess it had to come out sooner or later. I had dreaded it for two long years, known that it would finally come out somehow, some way. I thought my world was shattered when it did.

Father was not happy with me. I can understand that. It was I who ruined his plans. It was my big mouth that revealed the Dawn Rune’s presence.

Luserina. She disowned us both that day, as did the Prince, and even Father’s former allies. And we deserved it.

I never questioned Dad's plot to use Luserina in that way. I suppose it never occurred to me that he was using her. But now that I think of it, his actions can hardly be described as anything else. He was attempting to marry her off to the Prince without considering her wishes, or the Prince’s.

It now occurs to me that Father was using me, as well, only I bought into his ideas. I believed that was what I wanted, too. And I think it was, in a way. But I realize now that I was not in love with Lymsleia. I was in love with what she represented. I was in love with power. And…I am ashamed to admit it, but most of all, I think I simply wanted Father’s approval.

I wanted to marry her because Dad wanted me to marry her. But I believed I wanted it. His obsession had become my obsession.

I knew Jidan Guisu was angry with me. I had heard his yelling as I fled. Though I’m not sure if he actually wanted to have revenge upon me. I have no way of knowing if Gizel said those things simply to get at me, or if that had been Guiso’s intention. Now that I think of it, it would not surprise me if Gizel was simply toying with me, as he enjoys doing.

All I know is this: that person I was before, that person who shames my memories and continues to taunt me in my dreams is a part of my past, and I intend to keep him there. I never, ever want to be that man again.

I know this—state—that I am currently in, has to be my punishment. It is a bitter thing, but I accept that I have earned it. I will admit, I never imagined I would be here in the Sun Palace, naked and covered with ash from my former rival’s hearth. My, but it is cutting, and so difficult to bear. Damn Gizel!

And yet, there are strange things about him, too. The last time we were together, he behaved in a way that seemed amiss. He was not his usual, cruel self. He was almost…tender, which was almost more startling to me than his severity. I was not sure how to take it, and am less certain how to receive him when he arrives. It makes my throat tighten with dread thinking that he might counter his gentleness with twice the austerity when next we meet. Oh, how it makes me shudder!

He confuses me. But I guess that is his aim. I can only wait in fear for him to arrive and ravish me. Or for him to announce that I am to be ravished by another, some other putrid noble in his favor. But how can I hate him?

How can I condemn him, after I spent so much time as my father’s lackey? I’ve not the right to condemn anyone. I am…pathetic. I never used to believe that. Now there is no getting around it. There are a lot of things I’ve come to accept.

But I ramble. I should cease for now. I expect he will be arriving soon. I simply needed some way in which to express my thoughts. Without it, I think I might go mad with sadness, and anger.

Ha. Strangely, I feel better already.

When Gizel arrived, he appeared almost in an ill humor. Reflexively Euram cowered back. He had finished his chore, but he knew that Gizel could easily find small details that displeased him when his mood was foul. But when the Commander entered the room, he did something unexpected.

He laughed.

Yes, Gizel took one look at Euram, smudged with black and gray, and he laughed. Only it was a sound of genuine amusement, almost pleasant, had Euram not felt such a swell of indignation from it.

The younger man’s lips curled into a frown, but that only seemed to amuse Gizel further. The way his prisoner pouted was actually rather enchanting.

Unable to stand it, Euram wheeled on him and glowered. “Hmmph! I’m happy this is funny for you! Er, my lord,” he quickly supplied, adjusting his tone.

Annoyingly enough, Gizel did not even seem fazed by the brief display of defiance. In fact, he seemed to ignore it altogether. The Commander chuckled as he strolled over to survey the fireplace, carefully inspecting the gold facing and sweeping his gloved fingers across the polished wood of the mantle.

“Hmm. This will suffice,” he casually declared, after a time.

Euram looked as though he might pop. Suffice?! He had assiduously worked all day long, dirtied himself and ruined his beautiful nails, now crusted with ash, and all he could say was that his efforts ‘sufficed’?!

The former noble bit his tongue with much strain, fearing what might happen should he bark a retort. His lips twitched with animosity, and several curses threatened to spill from his tongue.

“I…I hoped it would please you, my lord,” he managed instead, shaking off his incurable pride.

Gizel turned on him, observing how Euram fought to maintain his façade of submission and amused in how miserably he was failing. The spirit of a spoilt young aristocrat still boiled beneath the surface of Euram’s skin, the wrath of a broken noble tested. Gizel was well aware that the only thing that kept Euram in check at this point was the threat of being executed, or punished.

With cold, imposing strides, Gizel advanced dangerously upon his prisoner, enjoying how quickly the other withered and retreated in fear.

Slowly he backed him into the wall, observing how Euram coiled into himself in his pitiful efforts to keep a comfortable distance between them. Gizel trapped him, watching Euram cower. He was contemptible and hilarious, broken and beautiful. Soft white shoulders trembled under Gizel’s hard glare. His body splayed along the wall, his chest pumping, lithe limbs vulnerable and his delicate skin smeared with the black soot of Gizel’s fireplace.

The Commander reached up and took the boy’s slender chin in his hand. Tilting his face, he stared hard into large, golden eyes.

“You’re filthy,” he pointed out, swiping a finger across Euram’s nose and lifting a smear of black onto his digit. He rubbed the smudge together on his thumb and frowned. “You need a bath.”

*****

Sherina needed only to take one glance at Euram.

“Fireplace detail?”

“How ever did you guess?” he replied, sheepishly.

Soon he was brought back to Gizel, who was waiting for him, seated in his favorite chair.

But something was different. He had shed his Commander’s uniform and changed into a soft, silk black robe, comfortable and grand at once. His gaze was cold, but somehow there was feeling behind it, like a distant sparkle of the man he used to be had peeked to the surface. Even in his robe he looked commanding, but handsome. Ice-green eyes pierced the younger man, both beautiful and withering. Euram found himself staring longer than he’d intended when Gizel rose and moved to him, glass of wine in his hand.

“Ahh. My pet,” he spoke smoothly, sauntering nearer. What might have been a smile played thinly along his narrow lips, his sharp cheeks and jaw almost softened by it. Euram swallowed, suddenly feeling terribly vulnerable beneath his gaze.

The Commander reached out and, with tender fingers, caressed the smooth skin of Euram’s neck, tracing the collar, the hollow of his throat. The touch was delicate, and Euram shuddered, weakening. Strong hands moved to his shoulders, fingering the cotton robe and slipping the fabric down. The white robe began to fall away, baring soft naked white of shoulders, then back and chest. The cool air of the room hit Euram’s bare skin and he shivered. At last the robe fully slipped away, falling into a rumpled pool at his feet.

Gizel’s eyes wandered all over the naked form, his hands caressing flesh warmed and scented by recent bathing. He felt Euram shiver and grinned hungrily, like a wolf closing in for the kill.

“Mmm, now you are suitable for me, I think,” he commented, enjoying how the other man shifted. “You are beautiful. Or didn’t you know?” Gizel’s arms went around him, sliding down the slender back and over the curve of his waist. His hands lingered there, touching the skin appreciatively before gliding around to cup soft, quivering buttocks. He held him close, breathing in the delicate perfume of scented hair. He could feel the smaller man trembling against him.

Gizel’s hands were both firm and warm, and made Euram shudder at the touch. He swallowed, wondering where this tenderness had sprung from and wondering how long he had to wait before it dissolved again. Gizel leaned down then and spoke in a whisper, sending another shudder through Euram’s belly as his breath fluttered warm into his ear:

“Go, upon the bed, lovely. I want you on your knees, that pretty ass high and waiting for me.”

The younger man whimpered at the command, dread and dismay skittering through him as he moved to obey. His legs felt shaky, wobbly. Why was he feeling so odd, so strange about all this? And why had the way Gizel just touched him and spoken to him sent such shivers over his skin?

Sighing, he crawled onto the bed and knelt, leaning down on his elbows, as Gizel had instructed. What has that wicked, terrible man got in store for me this time? he wondered, miserably. He supposed he should have felt thankful that he had been spared the night before.

He could hear Gizel maneuvering in the room, and wondered with anxiety what he could have been doing. He waited there what seemed like forever, until he sensed the man draw nearer. The bed dipped, and he almost jumped when a pair of warm hands stroked his sides. A small whimper escaped him and he twitched, drawing a chuckle from Gizel.

“You should learn to relax, my little one,” he said, almost purring. Hands slid down Euram’s back along his spine, and gently Gizel pressed him further into the mattress, making his back arch and his rump curve up. The same pair of hands slid down his thighs, sweeping inward, caressing sensitive flesh as they urged his knees farther apart.

Euram could feel the older man lean in close. Both hands went to his buttocks, and worked gently to spread them apart. His heart pounded into the bed beneath him and nearly flipped in his chest when the sensation of warm breath fell across his crack. Euram tensed, sucking in a tight gasp, and his surprise only heightened when something warm and wet dragged gently up the cleft. Then that very same wet, hot something brushed against his tender opening.

Immediately his cheeks warmed, and he gasped a whimpered protest, trying to wriggle away.

“My lord! Oh…no! Please, no…!”

Gizel maintained his firm grip on the soft buttocks, grasping them tighter in warning. “Now, now. Calm yourself, lovely. You don’t want to make me have to punish you, hmm?”

The younger man groaned but ceased his struggles, knowing well that the Commander would make good his threat.

Gizel dipped between the spread cheeks again, and carefully circled the hole with the tip of his tongue, prodding, tasting, examining the creases and grooves of the tiny pucker and savoring the little whimpers of complaint he received from its owner. He laughed to himself. How those complaints would soon melt away, when he brought the boy to the very highest reaches of pleasure and desire.

For a moment he remained thus, relishing the taste of him before slipping the tip of his tongue inside.

Euram gasped, his eyes flinging wide at this strange new sensation. “Oh! G-Master!”

Hands clutched at the covers beneath him, and he once more tried to wriggle away from the slippery wetness invading him, but Gizel held him tight. Something of his proud aristocratic sensibilities screamed against allowing such a thing. Deep embarrassment flushed over him, coloring his skin a brighter, livid pink. That Gizel would put his tongue there…it was mortifying, it was unbearable!

Gizel held him. The small hole quivered and clasped at his tongue, and he used his thumbs to spread him further, feeling the little opening flutter. Euram groaned, his most intimate and private region invaded in such a thorough, personal manner. He felt his hips squirming, almost of their own free will.

The Commander’s tongue shot further into him, parting his delicate opening and forcing its way inside. Gizel could feel the younger man’s body trembling beneath his ministrations and laughed quietly. With the most profound shame and dismay, Euram felt his body relenting. He should not have enjoyed this. He didn’t want to enjoy this! But the wet, slippery muscle demanding access, spreading his hole and slithering up his passage sent shudders along his spine, making him moan and writhe, even as his cheeks burned hot. Warm currents of pleasure fluttered through his belly, weakening him, dragging honeyed mewls from his throat.

Encouraged and amused, Gizel parted him further still, worming deeper, claiming yet more of the tight channel. Clenching flesh gave and split for him, surrendering to his probing and opening like a fresh blossom. That stiff, wet muscle pierced him, began to slide in and out and plundered him while Euram helplessly succumbed.

Mercilessly Gizel continued his attack, holding the cheeks open and spearing him repeatedly, his own lust responding to the shivers that rippled through his prisoner’s willowy frame, bent in submission. Only when something that almost sounded like a pleading wail escaped from Euram did he release him and withdraw, his chin glossed.

Rising, surveyed the younger man’s body, arched up and trembling, his ass wet from the recent intrusion. Euram’s cock had swelled in response, and now drooled a glistening sliver of precome from the tip. Gizel chuckled. That was exactly what he had hoped for.

Lying on the bed beside him, he physically turned Euram from his upended position and dragged him towards him, forcing the other noble to face him. Euram’s cheeks were bright with shame, and beautiful for it. Gizel leaned in for a kiss.

“Taste yourself,” he commanded, softly, closing his lips over Euram’s and sliding his tongue inside. His prisoner whimpered complaint, shaken with disgust. But eventually his reservations faded, his tongue hesitantly twisting around Gizel’s, tentatively accepting. Curling his hand to the back of Euram’s golden head, Gizel deepened the kiss, urging Euram to contribute more fully, and finally he surrendered, sucking all traces of himself from Gizel’s tongue and rewarding him with little whimpers.

Such a delight he was to train to obedience, Gizel thought.

Gizel eased from the contact, leaving Euram’s lips swollen and wet. Gizel’s own cock had stiffened painfully from the rimming alone, though Euram’s moans and writhing had certainly helped the process.

“You enjoyed that, hmm?” he asked, watching with satisfaction as Euram’s blush deepened.

“Oh—I…!”

Without waiting for the ridiculous lad to splutter an answer, he reached down and wrapped his hand around Euram’s throbbing erection. The younger man gasped and fell back, his head dropping back onto the pillows, hips rising off the bed to meet Gizel’s ministrations.

“You did. How very hard you are, you naughty thing!” he chided, watching with intense delight as Euram whimpered and helplessly thrust upward into his gently stoking hand.

“Please…my lord, please….” The begging was almost a whisper. Euram almost felt as though the voice came from another, far away.

Those words were all Gizel needed to hear. He shrugged away the robe and cast it aside. His muscled chest and stomach, framed by candlelight, captivated the younger man, and Euram felt his breath catch in his throat as he admired the naked form above him. What he felt was almost envy, but it was also…something else. Something that made his stomach churn with need.

The Commander saw the expression on Euram’s face and knew that he had him exactly where he wanted him.

“Prepare me,” he commanded.

Swallowing, Euram immediately moved to obey, leaning over to take him in his mouth. Almost eagerly it seemed, he parted his lips and dutifully began bathing his cock. Gentle fingers wove into his hair, a low moan escaping Gizel’s throat. He could not let him do this long, however: he would come quickly at this rate.

He allowed Euram to pleasure and prime him for only a minute. Leaning over, he took a bottle of oil in hand and stopped Euram’s efforts. He withdrew and, pressing him down again on his back, he studied the panting noble’s face, observed his still-swollen cock between the delicious thighs.

Maneuvering round, he situated himself between his prisoner’s spread legs and poured a drizzle of oil into his hand, coating his fingers. Slipping his hand down the crack, he found the little ring and oiled him well, preparing him for his entry as Euram gasped and bit his lip.

Smirking down at him, Gizel replaced the stopper and set the bottle aside. He then lifted Euram’s legs and spread him wide, parting the soft cheeks so he could once more find the flushed hole between them. Gizel positioned his own pulsing erection and studied his prisoner’s face as he thrust his hips forward in one gliding motion, smoothly skewering the younger man on his length.

Euram gasped. Gizel watched, shuddering with pleasure at his slave’s heat. Euram’s expression was colored with pain, as always, but he held still for a moment, deliberately giving him time to adjust and get used to him. The other noble’s parted lips trembled, his eyelids fluttering shut. Gizel shifted slightly inside of him, prompting another gasp.

“Oooh! You…so big…Gizel! I…please! Please…” Euram trailed, biting his lip and squirming. But he was not struggling to escape, not protesting and begging him to stop, even though by all rights he should have been. He had been raped several times over the past week and a half. He should have been resisting with everything in him. But there was now a genuine need in his voice, and Gizel responded accordingly. He began to move his hips slowly, dragging himself out just a little before driving back in.

Slowly, steadily Gizel developed a rhythm, forcing himself to go slow for two reasons: one, he did not want to come too quickly, and the wet, gripping heat of Euram’s bowels was almost too much. But he intended to make sure that this was a fucking that Euram would remember for a very long time. He would remember this, and the memories of Lord Byron would simply crumble and scurry from his thoughts forever.

His breaths deepened and he began giving his partner long, deep strokes, appreciating how the boy obviously felt him, watching the pretty face intently as he buried himself deep inside him, only to impale him thoroughly again.

Euram shuddered, feeling a new burst of sensation as slowly, very slowly, the pain faded, and for once, it was not entirely terrible.

No, it was! No…well, it was indeed awful, but he had to admit, it was also almost…nice.

No, no no!

But it was, and he could not deny it. It was unbearable, it was horrible, it was mortifying and painful and degrading…but it was also now somehow…good. It was thrilling, it was delicious…it was wonderful!!!!

Seeing the younger man on the cusp of a full surrender, Gizel quickened his strokes. And Euram met those strokes with responding moans. His body ached with pleasure, his back arched, his need pulsed, new thrills dipping his belly each time Gizel thrust into him, battering that delightful spot inside him.

“Ohh! Oh, oh, Gizel! Ahhhn!” the prisoner cried, shuddering beneath the man who by now knew his body too well.

That cry was too much for Gizel, and he began to ravish him properly, driving into him with full, deep strokes, hard and fast. Euram’s mewls were like warm honey, his shuddering insides tight and hot and wet around him. The delectable moans and cries and whimpers grew ever more urgent, swiftly evolving into desperate wails.

Gizel had him inescapably speared, taking him more forcefully than he ever had, Euram thought. He felt so undone, so utterly full! Here he was, helpless to Gizel within him, pounding him, almost as though claiming his very soul. Suddenly, and without realizing he was doing it, Euram wrapped his legs tight around Gizel’s waist, locked his arms around the other man’s shoulders.

The older man smiled with satisfaction. Sweat sheened on his chest and on Euram’s as he claimed his now-willing partner. The bed rocked with the force of his thrusts, the headboard banged against the wall. His prisoner’s cries pierced the room, cries filled now with so much more than pain, so much more than agony and shame and defeat.

Glancing down, Gizel noticed the state of Euram’s bobbing erection.

“Touch yourself,” he puffed, huskily. “Grip your cock and bring yourself to completion.”

Unable to disobey, Euram withdrew one hand from Gizel’s shoulders and reached down, curling a hand around his own weeping member. He might have shuddered in shame, but neither of them noticed, or cared.

And Euram rocked to his strokes, whimpering and crying unintelligible babbles of encouragement and pleas to his rival, his lord, his master…

His lover?

He moaned, writhed, precome drooling from his cock as he caressed his own flesh in time with the pounding thrusts, the crystal droplets that slid from his lashes at once tears of defeat and abject pleasure.

Gizel’s breath chopped to fragments. He thrust almost desperately into his slave’s heat, dominating him thoroughly as he felt the other surrender completely to him.

Warm flutters spread through Euram’s belly at every strike of Gizel’s punishing cock, his body receptive to every detail, his nerves alive and on fire. He trembled with electric thrills, like a delicious current pulsing through his body, mastering him, making him writhe and moan and wail. The rapturous feelings inside of him, the pounding of his innards as Gizel rammed him again and again and again, it was too much for him to bear! And he grew to love it, to want it….and gradually, he heard himself begging for it!

“Pleease….G—Gizel…!”

Gizel heard the gurgled supplication, saw the agonized and desperate look on his prisoner’s face. The younger noble’s eyes lidded, his moist pink lips parted in throes of intense pleasure. He had lost himself, Gizel realized with satisfaction, and the knowledge nearly broke him. To have Euram beg him, not from coercion or cruelty, but of his own shredded will…it was lovely, more gratifying than anything he could have hoped for.

Euram’s body swayed with abandon, endeavoring to match his master’s thrusts, his fist working in a blur.

Tendrils of pleasure threaded through his belly and spread out to his limbs, and he felt himself coil and release. At that moment, Euram shattered. A wracking climax seized him, and he heard himself hollering Gizel’s name.

“Oh! Gizeelll… my lord, my Master!”

Euram was owned, the most complete and perfect submission Gizel could have hoped for. He felt and heard the younger man’s orgasm and Gizel came, powerful bursts flooding the boy’s channel with his scalding release.

They collapsed, both panting and exhausted. The other noble crumbled beneath him, weeping. The warmth and wetness of the slave’s seed spread between them as their bellies crunched together.

Euram clung to him, sobbing as he recovered. Gizel lifted his head slightly and captured the younger man’s lips. And Euram opened his mouth, accepted his kiss, welcomed it, even as a powerful sense of emotion and doubt overcame him.

My, my! What has happened to me?

Gizel himself needed time to recover, and he released Euram’s lips and fully dropped on top of him, huffing for breath. He could feel the vibrations of his prisoner crying quietly beneath him, their hearts thundering together. The other was trembling, still clutching Gizel’s shoulders tight.

After several long minutes, the Commander carefully withdrew from his pet. The move drew a moan from Euram, who seemed to melt there into the bed, his limbs falling limp, his legs sprawling out as he softly sobbed in utter defeat.

Gizel surveyed the sight with a surge of triumph. His pretty slave was the definitive model of surrender: spent and spread before him, a thin stream of Gizel’s seed weeping from his conquered and abused opening. His cheeks glistened with the fresh tears of unbearable, devastating pleasure and its rippling afterglow. He looked so beautiful, so undone, that Gizel leaned down and rained kisses upon his cheeks, his lips, his nose, his forehead.

As Gizel moved to lie aside, Euram suddenly crushed himself to him, clutching at him as though he were some sort of anchor. Slender hands curled around a muscled bicep and he buried his face in Gizel’s shoulder. This gesture, so filled with need, came as a surprise to the Commander, and almost startled him. Of course Euram was by nature emotionally fragile, but even so Gizel was almost astonished by this sudden show of dependence towards him.

Normally it would have annoyed him. And it did, in a way. He was done with the foppish twit for the night. He had claimed and broken him: he had taken his pleasure, and was quite through with him now. Why, then, did he feel compelled to respond to that desperate show of affection?

For whatever reason, Gizel curled a comforting arm around him. Euram snuggled nearer, his limbs tight against him as though he feared he might slip away. Sighing, Gizel lifted a hand and brushed away tears, stroking him calmly.

“There, there, little one. There is no shame in surrender.” He had heard Euram’s rapturous cry, had heard his wail as he came, naming Gizel as his master. It was an admission that could not be denied, even should Euram endeavor to retract it. It had been said, and the truth in it could not be refuted now.

But of course he had finally yielded to him. Even in the face of all his former arrogance and boasting, Euram Barows would cling to anyone who demonstrated to him the slightest affection or approval—particularly if that individual possessed a measure of power. It was something that came naturally to him.

The pitiful fool.

Gizel supposed he couldn’t blame him. Euram had lost the only source of guidance and perceived power he had ever known when he had lost his father. Without Salum, he suddenly had no one from whom to leech his strength. Everything in Euram’s world must have crumbled then.

It was only natural then that he had initially turned to the Prince—the first figure of power who had approached him after that event of Salum’s death. And it was just as unsurprising that now, being separated from the rebellious royal, he would endear himself to Gizel instead.

Such a treacherous and fickle creature.

Telling himself it was only to humor Euram, Gizel held him. He held him and caressed him, and drew the covers over both of them. Though he had to admit, he was more than pleased with his slave’s beautiful surrender.

Even if he knew it was only fleeting and false.

***

Lady Sialeeds never slept well sober. That was why she often found herself awake in the wee hours, and why she often slept well into the afternoon.

By now, most save the Queen’s Knights on patrol were turning in for the night. Not Sialeeds, however. She had decided to emerge from her own quarters after hours of thinking wakefulness. Now, she glided down the corridors with much on her mind.

She was thinking of her niece, for one. She knew the girl hated her now. And that was fine. It was painful. She loved Lymsleia almost as she would her own daughter. She had vowed for the good of Falena to never have children of her own, and could not say for certain how she would have felt about her children, who were never to be.

Just the same, she loved her sister’s offspring. They were the closest things she would ever have to a son and a daughter. Especially now.

She could have been happy. And so could have Gizel. Sialeeds had to wonder if all this would have happened, had only she been wed to Gizel as planned all those years ago. She had loved him at one point in time, and he had loved her. It might have been difficult for anyone who had not known him to believe, but Gizel had been a sweet, innocent person back then. And they had been in love.

But no. It would have been no different. Regardless of whether or not she and Gizel had been wed, there would have still been that struggle for power. Her rejection of marriage had only prolonged the inevitable. Both Godwin and Barows had continued to wrestle for power, each constructing its own disgusting plots, willing to lie, cheat, and kill in order to achieve its end. And that end was always the throne.

Yes, the inevitable had still occurred. It had stolen her sister from her and wrested the crown from her immediate family. Sialeeds had deliberately given up her one desire to prevent such strife and war and bloodshed. But in the end, it had not mattered.

The inevitable had made happen all she had hoped to prevent by forsaking a ‘normal’ and happy life. Everything for which she had sacrificed her wishes to avoid was taking place now.

And it had to end. By the Sun, it would end.

When her nephew and his Loyalist retainers arrived, she knew that Marscal Godwin and Gizel would be ready for them. And she would be ready for them, too. But she would also be ready for whatever Godwin had planned.

The Barows faction was all but eradicated, just as she had intended. But her agenda was not yet finished. There still remained one other prominent, corrupt Senate branch that had yet to be dealt with.

As for Euram Barows, she was almost glad she hadn’t torn him limb from limb, as she had promised. His fate with Gizel was more priceless and fitting. Besides, it had the added bonus of distracting her former lover. The layers of irony were neverending: all the more fitting, considering Gizel’s own love of irony.

She glided towards the terrace—one of her favorite places—desiring some solitude outside. The gardens of the Sun Palace were especially pleasant bathed in moonlight, she had discovered. And it was there she wanted to be at the moment, where she could clear her head and not be burdened by disturbing thoughts. Just as she approached the glass doorways leading to the gardens, a voice broke through her contentment.

“Unable to sleep, as usual?”

There was no concern in the voice, but bitter rancor. Casually Sialeeds turned.

The other woman stood rigid, as usual, her hair, the color of ripe flame, braided tightly behind her. Her sword was strapped and flung over her back, the black and gold drapes of her Queen’s Knight uniform flowing with a livid calm.

Sialeeds crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, well, Alenia. And what brings a lofty general like you to patrol at this hour? Are there not others to see to the menial nightwatch?”

“Unlike some Knights, I do not take my duties lightly,” Alenia spoke harshly.

“Mmm hmm,” Sialeeds returned dismissively, which seemed to vex Alenia further.

“You know you should have killed that worthless Barows when you had the chance,” Alenia put in. “Now he distracts my Commandership. He should not be here.”

Sialeeds laughed, softly. “’Your’ Commandership, hmm? And shouldn’t a Queen’s Knight have more faith in her Commander? Do you truly think that idiot capable of diverting Gizel’s attention from more important things?”

And are you jealous that it is not you who warms the Commander’s sheets nightly? she wanted to supply. Idly she studied the rune attached to her wrist, as though harboring some unspoken inclination.

Alenia did not miss the gesture, and was reminded again of her own failed attempt to wield the Twilight Rune: the rune that had rejected her and chosen Sialeeds instead.

The Knight seethed, but her training and discipline aided her in concealing her emotions. Or so she thought. Sialeeds could sense her contempt through her body language, the flashes of hate in her eyes.

“I simply feel sparing him was a mistake,” she forced.

“Well, seeing as how Barows was brought here, the decision to let him live was ultimately Gizel’s, now wasn’t it? I simply left him in Rainwall to rot.”

“That is my point. He should not have been spared in the first place. It might speak of weakness to those who would defy us. And his Commandership should be allowed to focus at the moment. This is a crucial time.”

“You go about your business, Alenia, and I will go about mine. And leave Gizel to go about his. Or do you question his capability?”

At this, the Queen’s Knight barely contained her snarl. “I offer only my concerns,” she all but spat. Turning on her heel, she strode away down the corridor without another word.

Watching Alenia leave in a huff, Sialeeds muttered a single word beneath her breath.

“Bitch.”

***

IN THE SINDAR CASTLE INFIRMARY:

The Prince’s personal bodyguard, Lyon, was finally recovering well. She had not been able to fight alongside him, and was not permitted to leave her bed yet. But soon she would. Before the Royalist Army advanced on Sol-Falena, she would be ready. She had promised herself that, and had promised Doctor Silva and Doctor Murad alike that she intended to participate in the battle whether she was healed fully or not. This had seemed to hasten their efforts in helping her.

Nonetheless, it pained her that she could not fight this moment. She wanted to protect the Prince: she was his bodyguard, and it was her duty. And it was simply something she wanted to do. Miakis would look after him in the meantime, but it should have been her.

So much had happened since her injury. She knew of Lady Sialeeds’ betrayal. That, after all, was one of the primary causes of her injury at the assassin Dolph’s hands. And she was aware that the war was nearly over, and that odds had tilted heavily in their favor. The taking of Stormfist had been a major blow to Godwin. After all, Stormfist was the Godwins’ very stronghold and hometown, and was a major victory for the Royalists. She had also heard of Lord Barows’ murder.

But perhaps most surprising thing, aside from Sialeeds’ treachery, was that the Prince had decided to forgive Euram Barows—that shady young aristocrat who had caused them all so much trouble throughout the entire war.

She had decided she did not like him even before the Sacred Games, when he had ‘proclaimed his love’ to the Princess Lymsleia at the Senate Building...

FLASHBACK:

Lyon was with the Prince, who was accompanying his sister Lymsleia to the Senate Building. Sialeeds, the Queen’s Knight Kyle, and Lymsleia’s bodyguard, Miakis, were all there as well. At the Senate Building, they were to get the first look at the list of applicants for the upcoming Sacred Games tournament. The Games would determine the winning candidate for Princess Lymsleia’s hand in marriage, and would establish the next ruling couple of Falena: Lym as monarch and Queen, and the winning entrant, who would stand beneath her as her husband and Commander of her military.

It had been an exciting outing at first, a slight departure from the mundane of Palace life. But no sooner had the small group arrived at the Senate Building than the excursion suddenly grew decidedly less pleasant.

They had hardly been there five minutes before they had run into Lord Salum Barows.

He had rambled over to them, bent in his accustomed obsequious pose as he spoke flattering words. “Oh-ho! If it isn’t the Princess! A most fortuitous meeting, yes, yes!” the man brayed, expressing his further delight at the presence of Sialeeds, the Prince and Sir Kyle. “Such a pleasure to run into so many people that I usually do not get a chance to see. Oh, yes, indeed! I, Salum Barows, am a very lucky man today, if I do say so myself! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

The man was stuffed into a gold-trimmed, embroidered purple coat, his shape in the finery giving him the distinct appearance of an eggplant. He was mostly bald on top, what remained of his gray hair having slipped down into a flare just above his ears. His fine white blouse was too small to house his sizeable paunch, but this did not seem to bother him. He had his wide red belt fastened several rungs too loose, as though this would somehow mask his heft. It only served to further pronounce his rotundity.

When he laughed, his belly swayed up and down like a great, bobbing balloon. And he laughed a lot. No one could quite figure out what he was laughing about most of the time, as he seemed to punctuate his every few sentences with spills of chortling. Most present simply stood mesmerized by the almost hypnotic roll of his bouncing belly, or the twinkle of the countless jeweled rings on his fingers. There was even something unnatural about the feel of his laughter, as though it were forced, false.

Just as the group was growing tired of him and were prepared to swiftly take their leave, a young man dressed in lurid reds and blues had swept towards them.

“Come on, Dad! Hurry up!” a high voice whined. “Let me say hello to the Princess, too!”

Waving his father aside, the young man proudly presented himself. He was thin, adorned in waving ruffles and lace. A short blue cape hung from his shoulders, and his legs were swathed to the knees in white silken stockings, which disappeared into fine black breeches. Lengthy blonde hair, well-groomed and styled, was pulled loosely into a silk ribbon behind him, and his feet were clad in the finest of polished black, heeled shoes.

He might even have been described as handsome, had his theatrical gestures and flamboyant dress not distracted from it.

“Greetings, everyone! I hope you are all well. I am Euram Barows, son of the great Salum Barows!” He rattled it all off as though he had rehearsed it, proudly waving a flap of his cape. With a flourish of his arm, he swept into a deep bow, and then immediately turned his attention to the ten-year-old Princess, kneeling reverently before her and wooing her with honeyed words. “Ah, fair Princess! Do you remember me, perchance?”

The Princess Lymsleia regarded him warily, retreating slightly. She seemed unsure of how to receive him, and she was not alone: everyone in the room was gaping at him in troubled disbelief.

“Um, y-yes—we met a few times, at the Sun Palace banquets, I think,” Lymsleia stammered, uneasily. At this revelation, Euram sprang to his feet with an exaggerated gasp.

“Oh, Princess!” He staggered back, as though stricken by the most profound, shattering thunderbolt. Euram swept a dramatic arm over his forehead, seeming to swoon back a little. Lacy ruffles dangled from his sleeves like fine, dainty little curtains. “You do remember me! My, my, I am truly the happiest man alive! And I, too, have never once, not for one day, no not even for one moment, forgotten how you looked! And now, with the elegant object of my affection standing before me—oh!—my heart is about to flutter away!”

Euram once again seemed to swoon, his melodic voice flourishing into a high, breathless sigh. The young aristocrat gestured so much that Lyon actually found herself glancing around for an audience.

Again the colorful boy swooped to a kneel in front of the young girl, reaching out to her. “Oh, Princess! You are like a precious gem in the heavens that someone such as I could never hope to reach! But please, if you would just permit me to kiss that lovely hand of yours, I…ahh!”

His smooth words were suddenly broken by a gasp of distress. Very quickly, everyone was aware as to the cause of young Euram’s distress.

Lady Miakis, Lymsleia’s personal bodyguard, had seized Euram by one frilly arm mid-gesture, twisting it back behind him.

“That’s more than enough of that,” she declared, calmly. “The only gentlemen allowed to touch the Princess are His Majesty Ferid and His Highness the Prince. If you still insist upon doing so, you’d better be prepared to face the consequences.”

“C-consequences?” Euram stammered, now beginning to sweat beneath his décor and his powdered brow as he strained uncomfortably in Miakis’s grasp.

Without a beat’s hesitation, Miakis brandished one of her sharpened daggers and held it threateningly above him. “The waters of the Feitas River are very cold, you know,” she warned, proving once again that in spite of her girlish appearance, Miakis was steadfast in her duty, and deadly.

The dagger glinted dangerously above Euram, forcing a gulp from the young man. Subdued, he withdrew accordingly. Everyone could see him almost crumble.

“I’m s-s-so sorry! Her beauty must have dazzled me so that I lost my wits!”

As if he had any to begin with, Lyon thought to herself.

Miakis eventually released him, and he almost seemed to pout as he obsequiously cowered and rubbed his arm. Daunted only in his actions, he continued to work his tongue, causing all to secretly hope that Miakis would do them all a favor and remove it. To everyone’s disappointment, Miakis sheathed her weapon and Euram rose again and addressed Lym.

“Please, forgive me! But allow me this, Your Loveliness! Allow me to predict our future, with all those present as our witnesses! I, Euram Baorws, will some day be the third man to touch you!”

Lyon had felt Sir Kyle actually shudder in disgust behind her. Poor Lymsleia was at a loss.

“Um…what are you talking about?” she wanted to know. This was where Salum Barows interjected, informing her of Euram’s entry into the Sacred Games.

“He’s one of the applicants, you see!”

“I…I see…” Lym replied, looking none-too-thrilled.

“Fierce competitors will gather from all over the country—from beyond its borders, even—but I do not fear them!” Euram proudly declared. “In your name, Princess, victory shall be mine!”

At this, Lymsleia, ever the astute girl, had eyed the young noble doubtfully. “Wow. You, uh, must be stronger than you look,” she said, glancing his thin form up and down. “Can you really, you know, swing a sword?”

Lyon had nearly laughed at this. But even if she had, she doubted Euram would have noticed. He laughed as well, placing a slender hand upon his finery-clad chest and tilting his head back.

“Ha ha ha! Her Highness jests! A sword? Me? I’m no barbarian! We have found a mighty champion! He shall carve my way to your heart!”

But Princess Lym’s expression soured. She scowled up at her potential suitor, her large brown eyes narrowing angrily. “My heart’s got no place for a wimp like you!” she spat.

Lymsleia was never known to be a subtle one, either.

Euram looked positively crushed, devastated. “W-wimp?! Wha—You—Your Royal Highness—!”

“You want to be my husband? Why don’t you earn the right yourself, like my father did?!”

Salum spoke in defense of his son. “It’s a long-standing tradition that one may have a representative compete in the tournament for him. Otherwise, noble Falena’s royal family would be filled with barbarians who were only good at one thing: fighting! …Not to call His Majesty Ferid a barbarian, by any means…”

The Princess had not missed the obvious jab at her father, however. Ever cunning, Lord Barows had gone on to appeal to her higher sensibilities. “I’m sure you know of Her Majesty’s difficulties with the Godwin faction. I am a Senator too, you know, and let us not mince words: Lord Godwin is a bloodthirsty maniac! He thinks only of wringing more taxes from the people, expanding our army, suppressing rebellion. And he would subjugate our neighbors with the Sun Rune itself, use it to rule the world! If we cannot hold back his lunacy, our enemies will multiply, here and abroad! Falena will fall apart! But together, you and I can stem the tide of his madness!”

Lymsleia looked at the fat old man doubtfully. “But that’s…only if Euram’s champion can win the Games.”

“We understand each other, then,” Salum concluded, a crafty glint in his eye. “But oh, my! I must be getting old, all this rambling. You must all be so weary of me,” he admitted, correctly. With his son in tow, he had turned to leave, but not before Euram had whirled about to offer his final, parting promise to Lym:

“Princess, we shall meet again, for such is our destiny!”

The small group watched them go as Salum bounced from the room, Euram swaggering behind him. Everyone was silent for a long time, until Lyon breathed a sigh of relief at their departure.

“I feel so tired all of a sudden…!” she said aloud.

***
Lyon, along with everyone else present, had unanimously vocalized their sentiments that they hoped the winner of the Games would not be Euram Barows. In fact, it was generally agreed that there could not be any worse a candidate for Lymsleia’s hand. Lyon had actually been deeply disturbed by Euram. Though now she had to wonder….could Barows have truly been any worse than Gizel?

No. It would have been the same, only different. Euram was incompetent and incapable of fronting the Queen’s Knights. Had Euram’s champion won, Lord Barows would be the true Commander, and he would be just as ruthless, only more subtle. Either option had not been a favorable one, which was why the royal family had secretly been hoping for the victory of the foreign champion, Belcoot—which would have assured against either a Godwin or a Barows.

But it had not happened that way. Godwin had emerged victorious, thanks to Gizel’s clever scheming, and the following coup had eliminated the Queen and Commander Ferid.

But Barows had been a distressing source of problems as well.

Since then, the Barows had been revealed to be largely responsible for the tragedy that fell upon Lordlake. And Euram himself had proven over and over to be un-repenting and spiteful towards the Prince, ever since the Royalists’ separation from Rainwall.

It angered Lyon how Euram, with his father, had sought to use the Prince. But it angered her even more how Euram had taken it upon himself to personally cause the Prince harm after the Lordlake reveal and subsequent falling-out. That he had tried over and over to injure the one she was sworn to protect made her seethe with anger unaccustomed to her nature. Euram had attempted to kill the Prince through a curse, had tried to damage his reputation through that bandit boy, Roy, and had even hired Maxmillian Knights to dispose of the Prince, all in the name of misplaced revenge.

Lyon had truly been led to believe that he was a man incapable of admitting his wrongs.

But the Prince had come to her, happily explaining how Euram Barows had come to his senses and begged forgiveness. And how he, the Prince, had welcomed the questionable man into their ranks.

She had then heard since that he had been taken into Godwin custody, and she had very mixed feelings about that.

Dare she hope now that he would be well? Would he betray those sentiments? How could she or anyone else be certain that Euram’s so-called ‘change’ was sincere? Lyon, of all people, had little reason to trust him, after he had so often attempted to harm her charge.

But if the Prince could forgive and trust him, then she guessed she could, too.

She hoped he would be all right. But if he should prove himself false again, so help her…

If he thought Miakis had scared him, then just let him attempt to bring His Highness harm one more time. So help her, should he endeavor to damage the Prince again, in any way, Euram Barows would cease to breathe, and he would join his father. She would see to it.
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)