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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Note: Incorporated "Book of Condemnation" dialogue from Suikoden V does not belong to me.

Chapter Nine: Shared Confessions

Euram stirred, shifting a little, when slowly he became aware that he was alone in the bed, the absence of warmth beside him pulling him to full wakefulness.

His eyes fluttered open finally, and he realized that he had slept through the night, and Gizel had gone.

Some strange disappointment briefly came over him, and he wasn’t sure where it came from. But he also realized that he was more confused than ever.

The former noble sat up, a slight pang of soreness rippling through him as he was reminded of his experience from the previous night. Yet again Gizel had made it nice for him. Very nice, in fact. Never before had he been taken to such heights, never had he felt such wonderful, beautiful things. He had never felt so alive and broken all at once, to the point where he could do nothing but weep and cling to the very one he kept telling himself he loathed. It was very odd…but at the moment, he almost felt—contented, in a way.

Oh, it was startling, terrifying! That he could be reduced to enjoying such things was nothing short of crushing, but he could hardly deny what he had felt. It had been too real and devastating, as if everything he knew, his deepest sensibilities, had been shaken, fragmented and torn askew. Every rational thought in his head cried against it, and yet his feelings and doubts and sensible notions collided with one another and scattered like glass dashed upon stone.

Why was he….why was Gizel doing this to him?!

He would almost rather endure Gizel’s outright cruelty than this. He didn’t like the things it made him feel, especially now that he almost felt as though he missed the man he had learned to grudgingly call his master.

“Damn him,” he spat, almost as though just to hear himself say it.

Whether he liked it or not, he was becoming used to his new routine. Dutifully Euram slipped from the bed and sleepily slinked to the table to find the letter detailing his latest task.

My pretty one,

I am afraid my bookshelves have fallen into disarray of late, and require organizing.
You will arrange them according to type, and then alphabetically. Most will likely need dusting.
This time, you have my permission to examine them as you will, as long as you apportion yourself sufficient time to complete the task.

I assure you, none of these tomes are cursed.

Your Gracious Commander,
Gizel

Perceiving Gizel’s stab at him in the last line, Euram cringed, wishing he had not been reminded. He blushed, sweeping the note aside. Still, there were small things to be grateful for, he guessed. At least this latest assignment was clean work, and wouldn’t force him to sully his hands and skin.

And it honestly was not so bad. Euram had never lent too much attention towards books. Of course he was educated, as were all young men of his status. His former status. But he had never taken much to reading for leisure, preferring instead to lounge about daydreaming in his spare time—of which he had always had an abundance.

All in all, he took to the task quite well. It was work that actually did not make him feel inadequate and worthless. At least he knew now that the option to peruse the volumes was fully open to him—unless of course Gizel changed the ‘rules’ on him again.

About mid-day, Reynald arrived with some food for him. It was a small bowl of tomato soup, a crust of bread and some grape juice. Euram’s mouth began to water at the smell of the soup before the tray was even set down.

“I thank you, sir,” Euram bowed, again concealing himself as best he could for the other man’s sake. “I hope you are well, and that you were not troubled much.”

“No more than usual,” Reynald spoke honestly, shrugging. The man did not leave immediately, but remained for the time being, watching him. “You seem in better spirits today,” he observed at length, his tone almost cold and flat in spite of his seemingly compassionate words.

Euram had seated himself, and he paused, considering the statement for a moment.

“Hmm. I suppose I am. In a way. It helps that I am not scrubbing his fireplace,” he admitted, with a bitter but honest chuckle. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he clarified, quickly. “It is not as though I still believe such chores beneath me. I did once, but not now. It is just…I feel quite…inept …when I attempt them. Ah, but I make little sense, Reynald, sir. Please, forgive me. I do not mean to waste your time.”

“No worries,” the other replied, casually, then nodded down at the food before the younger man. “Here, why don’t you try the soup before it grows cold.”

Euram nodded, deftly taking the spoon in hand and sampling the warm fluid. Creamy and tangy all at once, it was smooth and quite possibly the most delicious thing he had tasted since he had been made captive. For the young former noble who had tasted little other than bland breads and the very basics, it was just short of a taste of heaven. It was delicious, and actually felt nourishing to his body.

Hard pressed not to devour it rudely, Euram paused and savored the first swallow, allowing it to drain down his throat and warm him.

“It is…it is lovely, sir. And more than I deserve. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Don’t bother, then.” Reynald said, simply, then offered a final, brief sentiment before he turned to depart. “Only enjoy it.”

After the door had closed and locked, Euram considered the man’s treatment of him with curiosity for just a moment before he eagerly returned to the soup.

The prisoner returned to his task soon after finishing the small but nourishing meal, and he somehow felt uplifted, pulling and dusting the volumes with an energy he had not possessed in some time. He had completed the chore by mid-afternoon, yet again with a bit of spare time on his hands to flip through some of the works.

His father had owned many books. Luserina enjoyed reading as well. She had shelves and shelves of books, stretching clear to the ceiling. Euram had always wondered how his sister could read so much. How much could there possibly be to know that he did not know already?

Very much, apparently.

Some were more interesting to him than others. There was a guide to foreign wines that seemed appealing, and one about True Runes that he thought might be useful. He was however overwhelmed by the various volumes on war strategy and the convoluted histories among the books kept here. All of that was just too much for him, and he didn’t think he would ever be ready to learn about things like fighting and such. Sure, he had been taught basic skills and stances of ceremonial fencing, but anything beyond that was simply too messy, too beastly, too barbarous!

But still, he kept coming back in his mind to things he dearly wished he could forget...

***

I once nearly had my soul sucked out of me. How many men can claim that distinction, I wonder?

As you might guess, it is not a pleasant experience, having your life drained away. You weaken and your eyes dim, until all you see is blackness. Your thoughts go black as well, and then fade to nothing. It is a frightening feeling.

And I survived just such a thing. Lucky, am I not?

I hate being his prisoner here. I am forced to think far too much. And it does not help that he puts into my head things that I had hoped to forget.

It was not only my chore, but the words in his note that set me thinking about that stupid book—that cursed book that I tried to employ against the Prince. It is yet another embarrassment with which I will live for the rest of my life.

I am not surprised Gizel knows about it. As with everything I have done, I am sure all of Falena knows about it. I wish I could erase it, but I cannot. I was angry. I felt betrayed and hurt. Father and I had both been devastated at having the Prince abandon us, and I was reeling from the torrents of misfortune that had befallen me. First the Sacred Games had gone to Godwin, and then the shameful truth of the Lordlake ordeal had come crashing down upon my family. Luserina, my dear sister, had disowned us. I didn’t know what to do.

I suppose I felt that His Highness had cut me deeply when he left us. I had thought the Prince and I were friends! And then, when he restored Lordlake’s water supply shortly after, it felt like salt in the wound.

I realize now that it was I who betrayed him. And everyone else.

I felt so horribly frustrated, so helpless. It was wrong for me to lay blame on the Prince, but I think I felt the only thing that would make me feel better would be to destroy the person who had exposed Barows' awful secret, and brought such ruin upon us...

SEVERAL MONTHS BEFORE:

Euram had been relaxing in Yashuna Village, several miles safely from Rainwall. After all, what better way to help him feel better than to pamper himself by soaking in the therapeutic waters of the hot springs? Plus, it was a nice refuge when one did not wish to be noticed or recognized.

He had come to Yashuna to lay low, in other words.

It had been almost a month since the reveal as to his part in the Lordlake disaster. A month since the Prince’s forces (along with just about everyone else) had deserted Father. The only ones who seemed to remain loyal were the citizens of Rainwall themselves, made prosperous by their wealthy lord, and even a few of these were dubious. Even among these, Euram himself was not altogether popular; whispers blamed him for the departure of the Prince and the loss of a prosperous opportunity for their town.

It was enough to make a young aristocrat wholly miserable.

And so, Euram had taken a well-needed vacation away from Rainwall, away from Father (or Salum had sent him away, depending upon whom one talked to).

But as fortune would have it, he was one day enjoying his vacation, when the one person he had hated the most in the world at that moment had just happened to show his face at the inn in which he was staying.

Euram had turned away quickly. He was astonished almost to see him, and he almost did not recognize him. His Highness was outfitted differently than when he had last seen him, but he would know that angelic face, that beautiful silver braided hair, those large pools of blue that were his eyes anywhere.

‘What is HE doing here?’ Euram had thought, and he had scrambled through the jumbled mess that was his mind and came to the conclusion that the Prince’s presence just might be the perfect opportunity for revenge. But how? What…?

Hmmm…

He had had a certain book in his possession for quite some time, and had held onto it. It was actually quite ghastly: it was ancient and donned a demonic, goat-like skull on the spine. It was one of those things his father had amassed in his pursuit of strange, exotic and valuable items. Euram had heard some crazy old man going around Rainwall looking for a book that fit the very same description, and had refrained from telling him about it, thinking it might provide a good bargaining opportunity at some point. The peculiar old man had said something about the book being ‘cursed’. And now an opportunity had arrived for him to test that theory. And, if he just so happened to hear of the Prince’s unfortunate and untimely demise, then he could quietly say to himself: “What do you know? That crazy old geezer was right.”

But how to make the Prince take the book willingly? That was the trick. The true genius of Euram Barows had emerged, and he quickly devised the most brilliant of plans.

Thus, shrouding himself in his favorite silk robe, he gasped an exclamation and rushed across the lobby to the Prince.

“Oh, my, my, my! Oh-me-oh-my…how absolutely atrocious!” he cried. Seeing the predicted confused response on the young royal’s face, he continued. “Er, excuse me! I’m a traveling seer, you see. And your destiny is…I must say, you are completely doomed. What a terrifying destiny awaits you! Let’s take a closer look at your fortune,” he urged the bemused Prince, taking him by one arm and prompting him to follow.

“What? I…” the Prince began, clearly hesitant as he recoiled from the mysterious figure slightly.

“You don’t have to pay me a thing!” Euram promised, enthusiastically.

Moments later, the two of them were in Euram’s private room, seated opposite one another at the table. The Prince looked uncomfortable. He glanced around the room in puzzlement, blinking with bewilderment as his strange host held his hands and “studied” his palms.

Euram shook his head, trying his best to appear ‘professional’.

“Oh, dear! Tsk, tsk, tsk. What a terrifying destiny, indeed! What an abominable, dismaying, ghastly destiny! I can’t even imagine where to begin! It’s all so terrible! What are you, some kind of mercenary? Oh, my! It’s simply unspeakable! I’ve never seen a person with a more unfortunate destiny in battle than you! Every time you enter a battlefield, the arrows will find you! Every time you use a magic Rune, it will explode! I can’t believe you’re still alive with luck like this! You could die any time! Maybe today! Tomorrow at the latest!”

“Um…that’s…nice,” the Prince spoke haltingly, glaring at him with obvious skepticism. Clearly, he would require more convincing.

“You recently did something utterly atrocious to a rich friend of yours, did you not?” He was of course talking about Father—and knew the Prince would pick up on this, too. “That has forever doomed your fortune, I’m afraid. When you said good-bye to that friend, you said good-bye to money!” He paused, wanting that part to truly sink in. If the Prince was fazed, he did not show it. And so, Euram pressed the point. “Your coin purse is like a bucket with a hole in the bottom. You make a lot of money, but you spend it even faster. You shall be besought by insurmountable debts! Your family name shall be forever ruined amongst creditors!”

The Prince shook his head some, and looked at him incredulously. “What?”

Sensing he was not persuading the young royal, Euram searched his head frantically.

“You’re surrounded by strong women, aren’t you? You probably think that’s a plus. Well, I’m afraid none of them will fall in love with you. But they’ll still jealously guard your affections. They’ll never let you close to a woman who could truly love you! Your destiny is to die alone, without ever knowing the divine taste of true love!” with that, he let out a dramatic groan, letting go of the other’s hands and dropping them flat in the Prince’s lap. “Oh, no more! It’s too gruesome to go any further! Honestly, I knew your fate was bad, but this is appalling!”

The younger man blinked again and looked at him questioningly. He seemed to be wavering between calling his bluff and asking for advice. “What…why have you told me all this?” There was something almost suspicious in his voice, as though he did not want to believe but his inevitable curiosity had been sparked. Euram had to think quickly.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that! There are ways to reverse bad luck, you know!”

With that, he had ‘generously’ handed over the book to the Prince, assuring him that the tome would change his luck. A gift, he had said, free of charge, out of the kindness of his heart and his honest desire only to help others.

And he had sent the bewildered Prince on his way, sleeping more happily that night as he thought of what would happen when the unsuspecting Prince found himself cursed to the very bone!

But that had been the problem: the Prince had never been cursed. He had simply returned the book a couple short days later.

Euram had been confused to find the item back in his room at the inn, and even more confused as to why his precious plan had not worked. He had stared at the book in disbelief. How had it found its way back here? Why had his most generous ‘gift’ not done as he had hoped?

Deciding perhaps the old man had been bluffing or insane, Euram decided to take a closer look, and opened the tome out of curiosity.

A blinding light had assaulted him, followed by swirling images of the most wonderful things he could imagine—princesses and palaces, and more princesses, followed by the most euphoric sensation he had ever experienced, as though he were being carried on a gently drifting cloud or over the calmest waters!

And that was the last thing he remembered, before he came back to consciousness.

Hazily he had drifted back, only to find the Prince himself and the old man who had sought the book in Rainwall, who had calmly informed him of his folly in opening the tome. He had been saved, by the very person he had attempted to harm.

Instead of thanking the young royal for rescuing him, Euram had been furious.

“How could it be that you’re fine, and I wound up getting cursed?!” he had demanded.

“Only he who opens the tome is affected by the curse,” the old man had explained for the Prince.

Humiliated and angry, Euram had had then dashed out of the room with a petulant, manic cry of anger.

***
Inside the room, the Prince and the old man had both winced upon hearing the terrible clatter as Euram apparently lost his footing on the stairs beyond the room. The sounds of him shouting as he tumbled down the steps could be heard throughout the inn. This was shortly followed by the voice of the innkeeper, questioning the unfortunate patron as to his well-being.

“Of course I’m not all right! Do these stairs look soft to you?!” shouted a very angry Euram. “Ooohh, my poor, fragile, gentlemanly body! But my resolve is undamaged! I’ll get my revenge for this pain, too!”

Hearing those last words, Prince Frey sighed. The old man, Alhazred, turned to him in confusion, his long gray brows furrowing deeply.

“What was that all about?”

“It…it’s a long story,” the Prince replied, sadly.

Alhazred had that very day become the Loyalist Army’s personal librarian. Euram Barows, however, had gone on to further scheme against the Prince.

*******

I sometimes wonder if it would not have been better had I succumbed that day.

And I also wonder: what would have happened, had I somehow succeeded?

Had my plans actually worked, then who knows what might have happened? Certainly there might be none now who would have the strength and power to challenge Godwin. And I could be suffering a far worse fate by now. Early in my captivity, Gizel expressed regret to me that his forces had lost Stormfist to the enemy, telling me what an amusing gladiator I would have been. Had the Prince not lived to gain allies and strength, I might have been cast into the Stormfist arena for the amusement of some noble. And there I would have died a messy, wretched and disgraceful death. I cannot fight, and Gizel knows this.

Oh, but how chills peel down my skin when I think of how I might have suffered such a fate! I am ever grateful that by the time I was captured, that option was no longer open to Gizel. And it is the Prince I have to thank for that.

I have much for which to thank him.

It is a good thing that he had the sense not to open that tome--unlike myself. I learned later that Frey had been forewarned of such a book—by that old man himself.

Looking back, I wish now that I had never seen that book. I am so dreadfully ashamed, of everything. I only wish that I had given up on my ‘vendetta’ then. After all, it wasn't Prince Freyjadour who brought about our ruin. It was Dad and me.

I am not sure whom I am addressing in this silly journal. Who do I intend to see it, when I would be mortified should anyone know my thoughts? Am I writing to myself? Perhaps. Maybe…maybe it gives me the comfort of feeling as though I am talking to someone. I do not know. One’s mind begins to work oddly when one is in captivity.

And it is likely these pages, along with my body, will soon be scorched to ashes, anyhow, should Lord Godwin or Gizel himself employ that thing. That damned Rune.

How fitting an end for me that would make, were I consumed by the Sun Rune’s power, now, after I have realized and acknowledged my mistakes. It makes me shudder to think about it and yet I am helpless to prevent it. I am tired of being helpless, tired of waiting with dread for the next terrible thing to happen.

I wish…I wish I could do more…

****

Gizel was in a favorable mood when he arrived and found Euram curled into the cushions by the hearth, perusing a somewhat lengthy volume.

“And what have you found, lovely?”

“Some interesting information on creeper vines, sir,” Euram returned. A small fire was softly crackling in the fireplace behind him. The candles were also lit as usual, the customary glow illuminating the Commander’s quarters.

“I see. Which of the collection has captured your fancy so?”

Flipping over the cover, Euram took a glance at the title. “An Encyclopedia of Falenan Flowers and Plant Life, my lord.”

“Ah,” Gizel chuckled, gliding into the room as the door clicked behind him. “Taken an interest in gardening?”

“No, my lord,” Euram shrugged. “It is just that…it has been a while since I was able to see such things. I thought it might be comforting to see pictures of them.”

The hint was not lost on Gizel, who laughed. “My poor little flower. Kept out of the Sun by the big, bad ogre of a Commander. Such a fairy tale. Why, he even awaits rescue by a Prince.”

Euram sighed, closing the book and setting it aside. “Gizel…” he said quietly, sadly. “I wish you would not mock me.”

“Now, now,” Gizel admonished. “That’s enough moping. Come, I do not treat you so terribly.” Slowly he approached his prisoner, sidling up to the younger man and leaning down to gently capture his chin. The touch was tender, Euram thought, more gentle than Gizel was wont to handle him.

Strangely, it was for this very reason that it nearly shattered him.

Gizel forced Euram to match his gaze. Large, sad eyes met his own, pink lips pouting at him. “Return that book where it belongs now. There are things I require of you.”

Unhappily, Euram nodded, rising and carrying the heavy book to set it in the slot he had designated for it. “What is it you would have me do, sir?”

“To start, my shoulders are quite stiff. The day has been long.” The Commander seated himself in his favorite chair, knowing that by now Euram would know what to do. Without further question the younger man slipped behind him and set his slender hands and fingers to work.

The touch was like a delicate reprieve from every other annoyance that troubled his mind. There had been so much to consider of late, things that Gizel did not want to consider.

A horde of possibilities hovered on the horizon, none of them good. It had seemed lately that invisible walls were closing in on him, pressing closer, tighter, with fewer and fewer options remaining open to him. And those walls cramped nearer every day, his only seemingly available option left one that would likely be much more final than he had once hoped.

Dashing those thoughts aside, he relaxed and simply let the skilled touch of his slave scatter and melt his concerns.

Euram detected something strange within Gizel, though he was not sure what it might have been. While Gizel seemed to be capable of reading him like a book, the same could not be said for the reverse. The Commander was like a walking statue, stone-faced and calculating. Rarely could Euram guess what emotions, if any, lay hidden beneath those cold green eyes at any given time. But now, oddly, Euram almost felt he sensed something was not quite right with the man, and it bothered him.

Bah. Why should he care? He didn’t really, not at all. He had no concern for this person who had held him here against his will, treated him like property and taken from him that which he would never get back. Why, then, did he feel compelled to ask Gizel what was wrong?

The younger man refrained from asking any questions, but concentrated simply upon his task, knowing Gizel would deny him anyhow. Small clusters of tension knotted his master’s muscles, and he worked his thumbs to knead them down as best he could.

“That is enough,” Gizel waved him away at length. “You shall pour me a bit of wine. And some for yourself, as well,” the other man added to Euram’s surprise as he moved to fulfill this latest command. “You will join me in a drink.”

“Y-you wish…for me to have a drink with you, my lord?”

“Is that not what I just said?”

“Y-yes, Commander, of course.” Flinching at the irritation in Gizel’s voice, Euram nodded, moving to the cabinet and filling two glasses this time. His own mind spun, as he felt certain that there was something Gizel was not telling him. It was unsettling enough that the Commander had been so gentle with him the past couple of nights. No, he had been more than gentle. He had been amazing, had carried him to places he had never known he could be carried, and it was all so terribly bewildering. It made him wonder if there was something unthinkable for which he was being prepared.

What is he up to? Why is he—no, no, never mind. I don’t think I want to know.

As Euram was finishing his latest task, there came a knock. Gizel bid the visitor enter, and the man arrived with a rolling cart, much as had been brought on occasions before. Had Euram been paying attention, he might have noticed that twice the amount of fare was present on the cart this time.

“Very good,” Gizel nodded, dismissing the servant before he turned to Euram, his piercing jade eyes meeting his prisoner’s gaze sternly. “Our wine I suppose will have to be shared over dinner. I will be served at the table.”

Euram knew this routine. A time or two Gizel had actually chosen to eat here, as opposed to the palace’s dining hall, and Euram had served him, so he was acquainted with the task. Carefully he set Gizel’s glass at the head of the table, laying the second aside for now. Dutifully he set his master’s place, laying out the numerous steaming platters and trays. A single plate he set before the Commander, and arranged the utensils just right.

Gizel observed with intent how compliantly Euram served up various items onto his plate. The main course was cherry-glazed ham, along with oven-roasted seasoned potatoes, and sliced cucumbers and mushrooms in seasoned oil.

When his plate was sufficiently filled, Gizel held out a hand to halt his servant.

“That will do,” he declared, watching as Euram stepped away from the table and awaited further directions. He received them almost immediately.

“There is a second plate on the cart. You may fill that one as well, for yourself. You will dine with me.”

It was not a request. It was a command.

Taken aback, Euram blinked stupidly at the Commander and sputtered.

“D-dine with you, sir?”

“There is a particularly odd echo in this room tonight,” Gizel commented, sharply, his voice thick with impatience. “Do you intend to do as you’re told, or must you repeat my every command in the form of a question?”

“N-no, my lord, forgive me,” Euram stammered, scurrying to comply. He trembled as he filled the second plate, taking care to afford himself small portions. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly was conscientious about seeming greedy, having unexpectedly been offered something far more substantial and generous than he had been allowed in what seemed a very long time.

“Sit at the table,” Gizel clarified, when it became apparent his slave was uncertain of where he should go. “I should not have to tell you these things. You were a noble once, after all.”

A noble once…
Timidly Euram sat in the chair opposite Gizel and, taking up the extra knife and fork as though he needed to become used to them again, he tentatively complied.

Gizel watched Euram closely, though outwardly he did not appear to be paying him any heed. He was amused by how hesitantly the other indulged, as though he was afraid of being scolded for the slightest wrong move. It was entertaining how the younger man cast occasional wary glances up at him, cautious and meek. So unlike the brattish young lordling he was not so long ago.

He wasn’t sure why he was pampering Euram here and now, or why he was finding such satisfaction in watching him. It was almost as though this ridiculous creature had somehow unintentionally charmed him.

Euram dined with careful moderation, even as his hunger soared, renewed by promise of a dinner befitting one of his former status. Though thankful for the opportunity, he was also completely astonished at being allowed to partake in a proper meal at the table with his former rival. Almost like a guest.

Almost like a man.

Gizel allowed his pretty slave to dine mostly in peace, though periodically he would request a second helping of something, or a refill to his glass. The younger man would scurry to obey, much to the Commander’s satisfaction. Once Gizel had taken his fill, he shoved his own plate aside and watched the other.

“How is everything? To your liking?”

Cautiously Euram looked up. He seemed surprised to be asked. “I-I…it is…wonderful. Th-thank you everso much, my lord.”

A faint smile shadowed the Commander’s lips. “And here I was thinking I would be forced to scold you for devouring too much. You’ve hardly taken half of what I expected. But that is good. It is best you take a little at a time. Your body may think it is used to the amount you likely wish to consume, but your belly has thinned and shrunk. Not that you ever amounted to much,” Gizel threw in, knowing the statement would doubtlessly rankle the younger man but that Euram could not deny it, even if he wanted. Unlike his father, Euram was quite thin, all bones, almost. It continued to bewilder Gizel how Salum Barows could have produced such a slender and lovely son. Both Barows children were lovely and slim, traits they must have inherited from their mother. Their mother…

Gizel resumed the subject quickly. “Anyhow, I am happy you have not overindulged. I’ve got another treat for you,” he said slyly, watching as his prisoner regarded him with new curiosity. From a pocket within his robes he had tucked away a small, ornamented metal tin, which he drew forth. The item glinted in the candlelight, and Euram considered the tin with a mixture of apprehension and interest. Removing the lid, Gizel tipped the tin just enough that the other man could catch a glance at its contents.

“You enjoy chocolates, do you not?”

A sound caught in Euram’s throat. The boy eyed the small tin with bewilderment.

“Would you like?” Gizel prompted, taking an almost wicked delight in the way the younger man’s eyes darted from the presented treats to Gizel’s face and back again.

“I…I…y-yes, sir!”

“Come, then,” the Commander beckoned him over. Almost as though hypnotized, Euram rose from his seat and scampered to him. “Now, then. Kneel,” Gizel directed, smiling to himself when the other obeyed. “Hmm. Seems you are more eager than I thought. Perhaps I should make you perform some task for a taste, hmm?”

Euram nearly laughed, but he was far too tantalized by the tempting morsels being offered and then snatched away, like grapes on a vine pulled out of a starving man’s reach. The younger man whined in subtle complaint, his voice teeming with childlike impatience.

Gizel laughed out loud. “Very well. I suppose I can have mercy.” Deftly he selected one of the small treats and extended it to Euram between his fingers, coaxing him to nibble the chocolate from his hand. He watched the other intently.

Euram had not tasted such delicacy in a long time, and had tasted even less since his captivity. Somehow the small morsel was a comfort for him. The caramel was smooth and buttery and sweet, contrasting the light bitter chocolate. The tastes exploded and melted against his tongue, heavenly, a sample of the indulgent life he had once enjoyed.

He was more astonished yet when Gizel offered him another, which he eagerly accepted, this one filled with peppermint cream.

Without knowing why he was doing it or even being fully conscious of his actions, he appreciatively turned to suck the traces of chocolate from the Commander’s fingers.

“There. Good,” Gizel praised, idly sifting his other hand through the silken hair of his prisoner. The chocolates had affected his pet more profoundly than he had expected, and he smiled down at the younger man almost tenderly. “Here,” the Commander reached across the table and took Euram’s half-empty wine glass, filling it himself before re-filling his own. Handing the glass down to the young man at his feet, he took his own and languidly sipped.

Euram considered the wine a moment with another creeping spread of suspicion. He cleared his throat, choosing his tone cautiously.

“M-may I ask? Why all this, my lord?”

“Am I not permitted to indulge my pretty slave when I wish? To share wine with him when I choose? Would you rather I did not?”

“Oh, no, Master!” Euram quickly supplied. “I, I did not mean to complain. I only wondered…why you would choose to do so,” he went on, selecting his words carefully. “All I meant is—why am I worthy of this?”

Gizel studied the glass in his hand, lightly sloshing the contents and watching the burgundy liquid swirl along the rim.

“Hmm. And who said you were? I merely do so because it is my choosing. For my amusement. Or have you not figured that out by now?”

Although he would not tell anyone—least of all this fool Euram—Gizel did not have many with whom he could converse. His father was more preoccupied than even he, and more engaged in his almost fanatical analysis of the Sun Rune. The man was locked away in the Rune Chamber a greater part of the time now, pacing while the scholars finalized their observations. Something seemed to have come over Marscal Godwin of late, and it had grown more intense recently. It was like an obsession that had gripped the Lord Godwin’s fancy, and that grip grew tighter every day. That something, whatever it was, had come over Gizel as well, almost as though the Rune itself were taunting the pair of them, urging them, beckoning, although to what end and what fate was as unclear as it had been months ago.

Brushing thoughts of the Sun Rune away, Gizel pinned his focus back to the present. He could of course speak with Sialeeds on a level that was both stimulating and thoughtful, but she no longer spoke honestly to him. However deep their conversations may have seemed, they were nonetheless shallow, and false in the end. Even now, that woman held her own designs, and Gizel had little doubt these same designs were directed towards his destruction.

And the only other he would have trusted to confide in was little more than a killer.

Gizel knew Dolph was the one who had murdered his mother, those years ago. But he also knew that Barows had hired him to do so. Since Father had taken Dolph in, the young man had become the personal assassin for the Godwin family. Why Father had unofficially adopted Dolph was uncertain—whether it was to fill an emptiness left by Rosalind Godwin’s death, or some other benevolent streak within his father Gizel did not know—but since then, Dolph had been unquestioningly loyal, serving the best interests of the family for many years now. Gizel had actually formed what one might call a friendship with the assassin, but it was odd, and often more awkward than Gizel liked to admit.

Admittedly it was strange, Gizel maintaining such a relationship with the man who had killed his own mother.

Still, Dolph had been instrumental in Marscal and Gizel’s designs. Were it not for Dolph, snaring victory in the Sacred Games would have been far trickier. He had effectively thwarted the Prince on several occasions. And now, most recently, Dolph had dragged the last remnant of the Barows faction to him in chains, almost as a symbolic gesture. He had brought the prize to Gizel—the son of the man who had hired Dolph and Nether Gate to assassinate Gizel’s mother in the first place.

But Dolph was an odd conversation partner. He was, and had always been, a killer. His thoughts were focused upon things that were difficult to be made relatable to simple pleasures and emotions. The man had no emotion. It had been conditioned out of him long ago.

Barring his father, Lady Sialeeds and Dolph, there were few others he could speak with candidly. But somehow Euram—this idiot Euram—had provided a refreshing shift of pace for him. Certainly Euram was dishonest and petty. Certainly the shady and contemptible blood of Salum Barows pumped thick in his veins. But Euram possessed such a lack of guile and wit that all his attempts at scheming blew up in his face, and all his attempts at cleverness or mendacity were obvious to everyone who witnessed them. Obvious to everyone, that was, except Euram himself.

In all his falsity, Euram could not help but seep pure, pitiful honesty.

As ‘clever’ as the deceitful man believed himself to be, Euram Barows was as translucent as the morning. And something about that was enthralling to Gizel. And now, as he looked down at the younger man, naked and nestled at his feet, Gizel felt a smile tug at his lips. A genuine smile, even if it was still peppered with contempt and mocking.

“Do you remember the Succession War, Euram?” he asked all at once, not realizing he had asked it.

“Hmm?’ The younger man looked up at him, confused by the question. He held the wine glass in one trembling hand, and had been sipping hesitantly, as though he wished to savor it.

“The Succession War, over the throne. Do you remember anything about it?” Gizel asked again. “Go on, drink. I have more, should you wish for it,” he assured then. The younger man obediently indulged, pausing then as he considered the question.

“I…I know of the Succession War, Commander. But I cannot say I fully ‘remember’ it. I was…I was young. I remember a few things, but no actual details. I know that was when my brother died,” he added, thoughtfully. “That was when my mother stopped coming out of her room.”

“And it was when my mother stopped breathing,” Gizel spoke almost accusingly.

That ground the conversation to a halt. Euram was silent for a long moment.

“I…I had heard that. I am sure it was hard for you,” the younger man admitted, faltering. "I cannot imagine..."

All at once he felt a hand weave through his hair and slip down towards the collar round his neck. It rested there, idly.

“And you are aware…" Gizel spoke intensely, "...that it was your faction that robbed me of my mother?”

Strong fingers hooked inward and curled around the binding ring between leather and skin, almost threatening. Euram swallowed, feeling the collar constrict at his throat.

Something dangerous hovered in the older man’s tone, and it frightened Euram. Like the tide, Gizel could switch course without so much as a warning. He could be calm and serene one moment, harsh and unforgiving the next. And there was never any guess as to when such shifts might be triggered.

Now, the Commander spoke coldly, as though he meant to exact retribution for wrongs committed long ago.

“I…I do not know what to say to that, my lord,” Euram stammered, almost whispering. He shifted a little in the other man’s grip, beginning to panic. “I will not say that I doubt it. I do not. But, please…”

Gizel relented all at once, releasing the collar. He doubted Euram remembered much about it, truthfully. Gizel himself had only been twelve or so, which meant Euram would have been even younger at the time.

But Gizel had certainly not forgotten it.

How he had felt his world had fallen to pieces when he had learned of his mother's death, how he had locked himself away in his room and cried for days and days…no, he would never forget that grief. Nor would he forget those responsible. It was for her that he and Father strove to create a strong, unified Falena—one that would not be subject to such strife as the Succession War ever again.

Just as quickly as it had come about, Gizel’s hostility faded. The younger man felt the tension leave him and uttered a quiet sigh of relief. Gizel leaned back and took a long sip, draining his glass. Casually he poured another, and leaned down to top off Euram’s as well.

“All that conflict Lord Barows initiated. For all his claims of hoping for ‘peace’, and those were the lengths he was willing to go. Even at the cost of his own son: your brother, Hiram.”

Both sides lost loved ones, Euram wanted to say, but he did not dare. And he knew that not all of it was the fault of the Barows. Both factions had employed assassins to eliminate those on the other side, and goodness knew how many innocents were caught in the struggle. He knew this much, even if he had been only a young boy when it had all taken place.

Still, he never could and never would deny that it was probably true that Father had instigated the conflict. He had been shielded from much information, and he hated to think of what all he might not have been told over the years.

The younger man studied his glass for a moment. Realizing that Gizel wanted him to drink more, he took a deep swallow. It had been some time since he had tasted wine, and it was warming and welcome.

“The difference between my father and I, Gizel, is that I now regret my actions,” Euram finally admitted, finishing his own portion of wine and staring into nothing, it seemed.

Gizel observed him with detached amusement and reached down, taking the glass from him and filling it again.

“I wonder. Do you actually regret the things you have done, Euram?” he pressed, passing the wine back to the bemused young man. “Or do you only say so now because you are a prisoner, and you fear retribution?”

“I…I don’t know,” Euram answered truthfully, drinking idly. “But I know I was blinded. And if my family caused you that grief—then I am sorry for it. Truly sorry.”

Gizel stared down at him, hard. “How can I know you are sincere, Euram? How can you be honest with me, when you can scarcely be honest with yourself?”

“Again, I don’t know,” Euram admitted, not knowing the answer exactly since he knew that once again Gizel was right. "I wish I had a better answer for you, Gizel. Your Majesty."

Another silence meandered throughout the room, hovering painfully between them.

“Speaking of honesty,” Gizel suddenly set his own glass aside and leaned down to take Euram’s from him. Carefully he pulled the younger man into his lap, forcing the naked form to straddle him so that Euram could face him. He smiled, noting the apprehension in the former noble’s eyes. “…there are some other things I would like to know, Euram.”

“Y-yes?”

Gizel stroked the soft hair, brushing the backs of his fingers down pale cheeks. “I should like to know what you know, lovely. Or, more pointedly, what His Highness knows. What Lady Lucretia knows.”

Euram blinked at him, his eyes glazed by the haze of the wine. “I am sorry?”

“Oh, do not play stupid. You spent at least some time among those traitors who call themselves ‘Loyalists’. Surely some rumors were apparent. Whispers of plans? Leaks of information that tactician might have been harboring. I know she had Rune Scholars working for her as well. I say ‘Rune Scholars’, though a more proper term would be ‘treasure hunters’. And by ‘treasure hunters’, I of course mean ‘thieves’. What did she learn from these so-called scholars? Surely you caught whispers of it here and there.”

Euram’s brown eyes snapped wide, and he gazed at the older man fearfully. He knew now why Gizel had been supplying him with wine: the other hoped that he would reveal to him something that would betray the Prince and the efforts of his army. “Oh, I—! If you are asking me to…no, no, I know nothing, Gizel. I have been told nothing! And, and even if I had…” Euram swallowed, attempting to steel himself. “…even if I had…then I would not tell you.”

The Commander laughed, quietly. “What is this? A show of courage from little Euram Barows himself? This is unexpected. I am impressed by your uncharacteristic daring. But even so, you are a fool. For I could so easily use your loyalty against you,” he spoke to widening eyes. “You have no idea of the torments I could lay upon your lovely flesh.”

Visibly Euram gulped. “I—I would hate to think of it, my lord.” Gizel could feel him quivering slightly. “I can only hope that you would not….”

Gizel’s hands snaked around him to caress soft skin. A single finger played idly up and down the crease of his spine.

“The last time I had you whipped, my guards were quite gentle with the lash. I could have this beautiful back stripped of skin with but a simple command.”

A shiver rushed through the smaller man, and Gizel leaned into him and spoke against his ear.

“I could apply the thumbscrews, you know. Or better. I know you enjoyed your brand….” His other hand slipped down the boy’s flank until he came to the marked flesh. He fingered the skin, observing how it made him wince and squirm beneath his touch, and he grew aroused at the sensation of Euram’s writhing in his lap. The brand was actually healing well now. Perhaps he needed a refresher. “I could have fresh irons applied to your skin,” he purred menacingly, as his hands admired soft, trembling flesh. “...or how about a hot, glowing rod up your beautiful ass, hmm?”

Gizel saw Euram’s eyes go wide, felt his breath hitch and quicken. The boy’s heart thumped fearfully against him, such that he could feel it through his Commander’s uniform.

“G-Gizel…” his prisoner paled and whispered, stricken.

Sliding his arms round, he picked up Euram’s slender hands, holding them in his own. “Or these lovely, delicate hands, so fragile, like a porcelain doll’s. They could be pressed, the bone smashed to dust, your pretty nails splintered with strips of bamboo.”

“B-but you wouldn’t,” Euram tensed in his lap, eyes bright and wavering with deep trepidation. Gizel dropped his hands and again allowed his own to wander all over his body. Euram felt the Commander’s breath fluttering against his ear, compounding his shivers.

“I could have your feet roasted. Or better yet: have you ever felt the current of rune lightening, harnessed and pulsed through you? How that pretty body would dance upon the rack while the current zipped and hissed through your nerves. I would make you sing, my pretty bird.”

“Please…” Euram choked a little, nearly breaking beneath Gizel’s terrible descriptions alone. “I beg you…I beg that you will not!” He nuzzled against the solid figure in supplication, shuddering beneath the older man’s commanding manner and not certain whether to doubt that he would torture him now or not. Desperately Euram appealed to him, cuddling meekly against him and squirming in his lap. “Please, my lord, please do not say such things! You would not do those dreadful, appalling things to me? Please, please say you wouldn’t!”

Instead of answering, Gizel suddenly crushed his lips to his own.

The Commander swallowed the squeak that came from the surprised young man, reveling in the shudder that rippled through the slender figure in his lap. He prodded and prompted with his tongue, urging the former noble’s lips apart to allow him access. The taste of wine lingered on both of their tongues, colliding briefly with the taste of chocolate. Gizel pressed him near, holding him imprisoned until Euram was pacified into relaxing against him ever so slightly.

Drawing away, Gizel considered the befuddled and half-tipsy expression on his slave’s face.

“Hmm. I will say, Euram Barows, that I believe you. At least I do not doubt that you know nothing. Lady Lucretia has always been…close…with her strategy. She is a tight-lipped woman. And treacherous.” Gizel knew well about her. After all, she had once been his Father’s tactician, before she had betrayed them. “She would not allow her notions to be known by one such as you.”

He did not permit the relief that settled upon Euram to last, however.

“I shall spare you the terrible torments I have described, at least for the time being. Nonetheless, I want you to answer me instead, in this.”

The older man paused, allowing the renewed dread and curiosity to register within his young prisoner’s bright eyes. Grinning darkly, he lowered his voice almost seductively and leaned in close again, his warm breath fluttering against Euram’s ear.

“Tell me exactly how I made you feel, last night. And when I say exactly…I mean, in the fullest detail.”

Euram's cheeks warmed with embarrassment. Or perhaps it was the wine. Still recovering from his fright, he regarded the other man warily, shifting uncomfortably in his lap. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I said, lovely,” Gizel returned, tweaking pink nipples that hardened beneath his touch and enjoying the way it made his prisoner gasp and move against him. The younger man’s chest twitched with the manipulation, his hips squirming as small whimpers hummed from his throat. “I want to know exactly how you felt when I did the things I did to you. The sensations you experienced, and how your body responded. How your mind responded.” Gizel took great care molesting Euram as he clarified his demands. Even so, Euram continued to regard him blankly, not fully comprehending what was being asked of him.

If Euram thought he was going to wriggle out of this by playing the fool, he was mistaken.
Gizel’s mouth tilted into a clever smirk.

“Perhaps I should pose a more specific question to help you begin. How did it feel when I parted your cheeks, and slid my tongue across your asshole, hmm?”

Euram gasped. His blush deepened, and Gizel saw him swallow.

“Oh! Th-that!? Is that what you—oh, no! No, no I couldn’t! I…oh, I would be too ashamed…!” He shook his head, burying his face in the Commander’s shoulder as though attempting to hide his head in the sand. Casually Gizel pried him loose and hoisted him to sit upright again.

“I care little for that. In fact, I am aroused by your shame. It is that which I desire. Or perhaps a good spanking will loosen your tongue? Now come, my dear Euram. Answer me.”

“Oh, no! P-please, do not make me…”

Gizel had no patience for his ridiculous appeals. He would have the responses he required, no matter what form of persuasion was necessary to get them. “Would you rather experience the dungeon again?” he warned, twisting fingers tight through long golden tresses. He felt the younger man tense against him, felt his quivering return in a clear indication that the alternative was not an option Euram liked. “Now. Speak.”

“I….oh, Gizel!” A furious flush spread over the boy, who refused to meet Gizel’s gaze and instead continued attempting to hide his face, only to find that Gizel held him hard. He swallowed again, his mind dashing from thought to thought as he struggled with what he should say. “I—oh, how can I speak such a thing—it felt…very naughty, my lord!” he spat all at once, shifting under Gizel’s gaze and hoping that his explanation would be enough. It wasn’t.

“And? Go on. How did it feel when I slipped inside?”

Euram shuddered with deep shame. “Oh, I…it felt, sort of…l-like something living was invading me. It…it was mortifying.” If possible, the boy reddened further as he spoke. Gizel could see he was utterly miserable as he shifted, seeking in vain to evade his scrutiny. His gaze he had fixed upon the floor, the arm of the chair—anywhere save the Commander’s face.

Gizel pulled Euram closer against him. “Yes, those are the answers I am looking for. And why did you feel so ashamed? Why did it seem so ‘naughty’, as you have said?”

He perceived a small sob heave from his prisoner. Euram bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to face him. He almost looked as though he would seek to shut his own ears, so as not to be forced to hear his own admissions.

“Because…because…oh, I had never thought that….it had never occurred to me that you would place your tongue there, that anyone would! It was so awfully personal, the worst kind of assault. I felt…violated. Claimed, opened, owned. I-I couldn’t bear it.”

“More,” Gizel prompted, his cock twitching to arousal. “Keep going. Once you overcame that humiliation, once you submitted yourself…how did it feel?”

“Gizel, please!” Mortified, Euram looked away, and attempted to tuck his face into his own shoulder. A deep, harrowing humiliation pricked over him. He sank, withdrawing into himself, his face hidden from Gizel by a spilling veil of blonde.

“Ah-ah,” Gizel chided, sifting through that veil and hooking his fingers beneath the other’s jaw and turning his chin, forcing him to face him. “I want you to face me. Honesty, Euram. That is what I require from you now. I know that is a difficult concept for you, but you must give in to it.” He was answered with a groan. “There now, Euram. Speak. Reveal yourself,” he commanded. He desired to know his slave inside and out, to know his inner workings and feelings and fears and hates. He desired nothing hidden from him. Most of all, he desired absolute and unguarded surrender.

“I….oh, Your Commandership! I…” Euram curled a fist towards his own mouth, a gesture he had grown to perform in self-defense when there was little else he could do. His chin quivered slightly before he regained his composure. “It…it wasn’t so terrible, after the shock of it settled. But it was crushing, feeling you spread and taste me so intimately, as if not even my most private territory could be spared your touch. It was as if I were exposed and laid bare beneath you, and I-I relinquished myself to it, because I had no choice, but I-it was actually… it made my heart flutter, and fail me. Surely that is enough?”

“Not yet,” Gizel replied, much to Euram’s dismay. The younger man groaned yet again. Gizel stroked loose fingers up and down Euram’s flank, making him shiver. “I would like to know how it felt when I took you. When I lay you on your back and thrust into you.”

Euram was positively scarlet and burning with shame. “Oh, no, no, no!” he all but sobbed, prompting a sharp but teasing pinch to his rump.

“Come now. Speak.”

Euram whimpered. Oh, this was torture far worse than anything else Gizel could have ever inflicted upon him! Breaking beneath the Commander’s gaze, Euram forced himself to talk, and it seemed as if another voice were confessing his innermost feelings, his deepest shame.

“It…it was the same, my lord. At least at first,” he said, feeling the wine swirl inside him and his belly tingle with a blend of drunkenness and embarrassment.

“Did it hurt?”

“Y-yes. Like being split up the middle,” he admitted with a wracking shudder of humiliation. Gizel’s hardness swelled further upon Euram’s shameful admissions. The younger man felt the flesh thickening beneath him, and knew by now what it meant. It filled him yet again with dread, but this time there was something else that flickered along with it, like a terrible anticipation that thrilled and frightened him all at once.

“But was the pain so terrible after awhile?” Gizel prompted now, leaning in and muttering into his ear. Euram shuddered and closed his eyes, swallowing the extra moisture that had suddenly gathered in his throat. He felt the Commander’s cock rubbing against him from beneath Gizel’s uniform

“No, no, Your Commandership,” Euram admitted. He hardly realized it, but his own body had warmed and begun to respond to his own confessions, and Gizel’s reactions to them. He writhed ever-so-slightly against the older man, feeling fingers trickle down his skin to play about the curves of his waist. “It…it wasn’t so dreadful, after…after you had…stretched me, m-made me yield to you.”

“And when my cock was pounding you?” Gizel’s voice was raspy, almost grating with lust. His cock strained against the binding of his robes, further teased by the squirming of the pretty slave sprawled across his lap. “How was it when I was fucking you deep, splitting your hole and making you moan?”

“Oh!” Euram gasped, gurgling in his throat and not realizing how desperately he was panting and quivering as he spoke. “It, it was…I don’t know. I felt… helpless, at the mercy of your lust and your command. And yet—I felt myself consumed by it,” he swallowed, his heart skipping. “I had never thought that it could feel anything but awful, but…but…I…oh! Gizel, Your Majesty, I felt so powerless against it, I thought I would surely faint! You ruled my body, and I-I had no choice but surrender. It was both terrible and incredible. To be so fully at someone else’s mercy, to be so overcome by another’s power…oh, I never felt so utterly, horribly, dreadfully undone in my life. And yet…yet I never…c-came so hard. It shattered me, and I thought I would die!” Euram gushed all at once, clinging to Gizel hard and almost breaking into a sob. “Oh, oh, my! I-I cannot say any better than that, please! It was just….it was just….please…please…!”

On the surface, he was begging to be allowed to cease in his confession. On another level, Gizel knew he was begging for something more, and he recalled himself from his own exhilaration long enough to place a silencing finger to his prisoner’s parted lips.

“Shh, shhh,” he soothed, gently smoothing the younger man’s hair as he whispered sentiments of approval. “That is good, sweet Euram. That is was exactly what I wanted. I have heard enough.”

At long last, Euram’s gaze slipped to meet his own. His eyes were glazed, beautiful, the prettiest amber. The wine had helped to play a light flush along his cheeks, but it was the flush of his embarrassment that was the true beauty. His moistened lips pouted at Gizel invitingly, their owner not even comprehending how tempting it was. Euram’s own erection had swollen to attention, and Gizel doubted that the silly young man even realized that, either.

Euram was so much more beautiful without all the ridiculous rouge and powder, so much more lovely lacking the frills and the arrogance and the smarmy grin he had formerly worn. This humbled and disgraced creature was so much more delicious and stunning than the clownish, prideful noble who was once Euram Barows.

Humility was a quality that wove wonders: there was no denying that. Even if that quality had been wrenched from his prisoner by force, Gizel had to admit, he was now more than pleased with the results.
“Have you any idea how enchanting it is, watching you squirm and moan and blush as you bare to me your soul?” Curling his arms around Euram’s waist, Gizel lifted them both from the chair and carried the smaller man to the bed. With a playful lunge, he flung his captive down onto his back. Giddy from wine, the younger man gave a startled yelp as he flung backwards onto the mattress. Swooping down over him, Gizel buried Euram beneath him and graced the glowing flesh with kisses and caresses both gentle and demanding. Euram may have had his status stripped away, but he was still soft, beautiful, his skin an aristocrat’s skin.

Feeling the younger man grow increasingly excited by his ministrations, Gizel rose and stripped himself of his uniform, shrugging the black and gold fabric from his body and tossing it aside to reveal his own glistening flesh. He sank back down upon the bed, lounging beside Euram, his erection drumming lightly against his thigh.

Having watched Gizel disrobe, Euram was now gazing at him in boyish admiration. Blonde brows arched innocently above roving brown eyes, his cheeks flushed through with drink and shyness.

“You may explore my body if you wish,” Gizel granted permission, noting the desire on his face.

Almost reverently, Euram reached out and touched a hard bicep, traveling over taut flesh, allowing himself to study every detail as his hands traced firm pectorals, and lower to the line of abs.

“You envy it, don’t you?” came the question at length.

Euram swallowed, his gaze dropping sadly. Could Gizel see through him so easily? As much as he hated to admit it, it was true; he envied the older man's physique, just as he'd always envied everything about Gizel.

“Yes, Your Commandership,” he quietly admitted, withdrawing his hands with a sigh. Reaching out, Gizel stroked a soft, flushing cheek.

“You are a beautiful creature as you are, Euram. So soft, so smooth and pretty. You are a pearl, my little one.” All at once a wicked grin spread over Gizel's thin lips, and he suddenly rose and pushed Euram down on his back again. Euram gasped at the abruptness of it, but nothing surprised him as much as when Gizel slid his hands down his waist and between his thighs, gently taking his stiffened member in hand.

A deep chuckle rolled from Gizel as he leaned down and, without a word, closed his lips around Euram's length.

Euram nearly sprang up off the bed.

“Oh! Oh, my…! Gghh…Gizel…!”

With his free hand, Gizel pressed him firmly back down, forcing him to accept the new sensation. Euram gasped, overwhelmed. His eyes fluttered, and he fell back helplessly, clutching sheets at his sides.

His hips reflexively sought to buck off the bed. He had not expected this! Certainly he had done it for Gizel several times, but he would have never imagined or hoped Gizel would return the favor. Nor was Gizel certain why he had felt compelled to do such a thing. He believed it must have been to see the younger man's reaction, nothing more.

Smiling wickedly, the Commander took him deeper, swallowing him briefly before pulling back to tease needy flesh beneath his tongue, listening to his prisoner’s whimpering croons and gasps.

It would not do to have him come too quickly, though. There was much more fun to be had with him this night.

The younger man whimpered a complaint when Gizel ceased his efforts, leaving Euram’s erection glistening and begging for more.

“My lord, please…!” Euram croaked, causing Gizel to laugh.

“Patience, sweet.” The Commander lied back and stretched out, admiring the overwhelmed expression on his pretty slave’s face. “Pleasure me,” came the simple command, and Euram scrambled to his knees over his lord’s waiting erection. “No,” Gizel halted him, suddenly. “Lie on top, only facing away.”

The younger man blinked stupidly. Reaching over, Gizel urged him into position, pulling him to lie over him end to end and forcing the boy’s legs to straddle his chest. This brought Euram face to face with Gizel’s swollen need—and Gizel face to face with his own prize.

“Now. You may put that lovely mouth to use.”

Obediently Euram leaned forward, his tongue snaking out to taste his master’s cock. He was rewarded with something between a growl and a groan.

Gizel sighed as Euram’s lips went to work, amazed at his talent, as compared to the incompetent fop he had been. Euram had grown surprisingly good at the task, and had learned just how to please him.

Dutifully Euram began servicing him, the subtle musky scent of Gizel’s groin now more than familiar to him.

“Good,” Gizel hummed in approval, then turned his attention towards the soft buttocks spread conveniently in front of him. Parting them further with his thumbs, the Commander leaned in and gingerly applied his tongue to the helplessly exposed pink hole.

As expected, the action elicited a muffled gasp of surprise. Again the small ring fluttered at the contact, and Euram’s moan reverberated on his length, buried deep in his throat, as Gizel dove inside.

At the Commander’s urging, they worked together to form a rhythm. Stiffening his tongue, Gizel plunged in and out, simultaneously thrusting his hips into Euram’s warm mouth. Encouraged, Euram's efforts compounded. He drew Gizel in further, imploring moans spilling from his occupied lips as he eagerly serviced his lord.

Just like that, Gizel plundered him at both ends, cock and tongue working in unison. Euram rocked between the double invasion, whimpering as he sought to take yet more of Gizel. And the Commander was more than willing to aid him, thrusting upwards, forcing him to take more inside.

Euram was lost. Gizel’s tongue, wet and stiff, demanded he open and submit, and somehow that smallest action was capable of reducing him to mush. His cock had stiffened almost impossibly and now throbbed, trapped between their bodies. He could feel himself quivering violently as he attended to his task. And as that tongue slithered in deeper, he took Gizel in deeper still, until the bitter taste of precome coated his throat, the curls around the base tickled his nose.

Euram’s croons, combined with his efforts, were almost enough to bring Gizel over the edge. Quickly he withdrew his tongue and reached down, pulling the younger man off of his length.

“That is enough. Turn around.”

He helped the wobbly young man maneuver until he was seated astride him. Reaching onto his bedside table, Gizel hastily found his vial of oil and coated himself, placing the bottle back where it belonged.

“Guide me inside you,” Gizel commanded then. With shaking hands, Euram obeyed, reaching down to take the older man’s length and position it at his opening. Holding his breath, Euram lowered himself until the fat, slickened tip breached his small ring.

Throwing his head back, Euram hissed, his hands flinging to brace themselves on Gizel’s chest.

“Ahh! Oh…one moment….please…my lord…” he begged through clenched teeth, shivers of initial pain trickling through his nerves.

“Very well,” Gizel agreed, pausing and playing his hands along the other’s back, stroking along the gentle curves. His urge was of course to plunge upward and skewer his slave in one thrust, but somehow he refrained, allowing the other to adjust. His patience quickly diminished, however.

“You’ve had plenty of time. Come now,” the Commander admonished, but not harshly. “Sit down, fully.” His instructions were actually gentle, encouraging, and Euram obeyed, allowing his weight to carry him farther downward and impaling himself slowly and thoroughly. A tortured sound escaped his lips.

“Ohhh…!”

“That’s good, take it all.”

Euram trembled against him as he sank completely onto his length. Gizel suppressed his own lustful moan as he was swallowed by the clenching heat of his prisoner’s quivering bowels.

“Ahhh, there you are. Now, then. You know what to do.”

The younger man bit his lip and lifted himself, sitting back down again with a high, pitiful moan.

“Ah—hhaa!"

“Good. Again. Faster,” Gizel directed, and Euram complied, steadily beginning to ride his hardness in spite of the pain. Somehow, even past the hurt, he almost felt he wanted this. He didn’t take time to wonder why, but instead braced himself and did as he was told. And slowly he began to absorb and accept the ache and work with it.

Humming with desire, Gizel peered past Euram’s form and towards the mirror that hung from the wall just in front of the bed. He had used that mirror when he had first raped Euram, when he had stolen his virginity, his manhood forever. And it was no less enticing now.

Euram’s back was to the glass, the detail presented there for Gizel’s viewing pleasure. And what a view it was! Euram’s ass, spread apart on his length and accepting him completely as the boy fucked himself was truly a sight to behold! Gizel’s mouth watered as he watched in the mirror, watched intently as his cock disappeared up Euram’s split ass. The boy’s slender back, the curve of his spine, the swell of his rump all played together to paint the most erotic and lovely picture Gizel had ever seen.

The sight from the front was exquisite as well: Euram’s face twisted in an enraptured mask of pleasure and pain, his slim cock bobbing and his nipples hard and pink upon his flushed chest. The Commander barely knew where to look. Reaching up, Gizel caught those pink buds in his fingers and thumbs and pinched, eliciting a series of yipping cries and forcing Euram to twitch, making his asshole contract on his cock.

“Faster, Euram,” he demanded.

“Y-yes!” Euram gasped, much to Gizel’s approval, splaying his hands on his master’s chest and increasing his pace.

Peering in the mirror again, Gizel observed his partner’s asshole, stretched wide around his glistening length as Euram slid up and down, those plump asscheeks quivering and bouncing as the younger man’s hips dipped and swayed.

His patience dashed, Gizel took Euram’s hips firmly and lifted him, controlling and guiding him. Euram panted, moaned and gasped, his lithe body alive and gleaming with sweat. The Commander shifted, hitting that sweet spot inside the other until he had Euram shuddering.

“Make yourself come,” Gizel husked, panting. Obediently Euram curled a fist around his own neglected length and stroked, controlled now by Gizel’s powerful hands. It did not take long. Pleasure that had been building and climbing suddenly coiled through him and burst into one bright explosion. His belly tightened and his toes curled, and yelping with unbearable thrills, Euram came, spurting over Gizel’s stomach. His insides spasmed with the climax, massaging Gizel to his own peak. The Commander gripped him by the hips and thrust himself in deeply, emptying his seed within his slave as Euram collapsed on top of him.

Both men lay panting for a long time afterward, their bodies damp and heaving with spent desire, both, it seemed, aware that something strange was happening between them, and yet neither willing to admit it.

***

It was several minutes before their breathing had subsided, and yet more before Gizel slipped from Euram fully, drawing a whimper from the younger man.

“You’ve left a mess,” Gizel commented, finally.

“Hmm?” Euram looked up, dazedly. Gizel chuckled and urged Euram to sit up. He reached down, sweeping his fingers along Euram’s belly and his own to gather some of the cooling cream that had been squished between them when his prisoner had fallen over him. Gizel lifted his hand to the younger man’s mouth, humming with approval when Euram parted his lips and unquestioningly sucked his fingers clean.

“And the rest,” Gizel commanded. The other obeyed, sliding down to lap up the remainder of the mess from Gizel’s stomach with his tongue. “Clean my cock as well,” he added, and Euram slipped lower to comply. Such a beautifully submissive thing Euram had become.

After he had finished, Euram simply collapsed where he was, resting his head upon Gizel’s lap and closing his eyes in exhausted contentment. The older man observed him, how he practically curled up in his lap like a trusting dog, so seemingly resigned to his relegated condition that it was actually quite charming. Idly Gizel settled a hand upon the blonde head and patted him softly. He lay there, simply stroking his pet and trying his best to ponder nothing, if just for a little while.

Euram sighed, purring at the touch. He felt sore, spent, but somehow it did not matter. Some strange, glowing feeling had settled over him, although Euram had not quite the clarity to name it. He didn’t bother trying, either, but felt content to simply drift off into unconsciousness, and would have done so had Gizel’s voice not brought him back from the haze.

“Here. Why don’t you fetch a glass of water.” Still a command, albeit a gentle one. The younger man was loath to rise again, but he found his body betraying him as he wearily rose from the bed.

Gizel noted with satisfaction the slight limp in Euram’s step as he moved to fill the order. He must have given him quite a working over. That was just as well. It never hurt to keep him aware of his place, after all.

In no time the younger man returned and offered the glass.

Such a charming servant he was turning out to be.

Gizel took the glass and beckoned the other back onto the bed, offering him a drink as well once he had taken his fill. Euram gulped several swallows and, at the Commander’s urging, settled into Gizel’s arms and snuggled against his chest.

As the two of them lay in silence, another flood of emotion abruptly overcame the sleepy prisoner. It was something profound and indescribable, like a knife carving into his belly and hollowing him out. He wasn’t sure what to think of it, since moments ago he had felt content and strangely euphoric. Now it was a terrible feeling of emptiness, and his chest tightened and heaved, forcing a sob from him.

He tried in vain to stifle the flood of weeping that followed.

Gizel felt the shuddering and glanced, puzzled, down at the figure in his arms.

“What is it, my pretty one? Why are you crying?”

“Oh, I—” Euram hesitated, shaking his head. He struggled in his mind, not knowing exactly what it was that had brought about this sudden melancholy. No, he knew, or at least he thought he knew. And he was afraid of saying it. “I am…confused. I don’t understand how I should feel. You have made me a slave, and I feel I cannot let myself submit to this. But I feel myself losing. Just as I have lost everything.”

It was Gizel’s turn to sigh. What a fool Euram remained, even now. He supposed however that his was a legitimate complaint. He was actually surprised by the younger man’s honesty.

“I understand,” the Commander stroked delicate skin as if to reassure his pretty concubine. Euram had, after all, been of noble upbringing. His current situation must have taken some terrible getting used to, and he was sure the prospect of acceptance was frightening to the younger man. “That is only in your nature. But it will pass, with time,” Gizel confirmed quietly, attempting to pacify him with gentle voice and tender touch.

“But I don’t want it to pass,” the other noble sighed, miserable. He clung to Gizel as though he would plead the Commander to tell him otherwise, that he was not resigned to this and that it was not forever. “And now…if I no longer care about having you own me…what then for me, Gizel? What then?”

Gizel did not miss the desolation in Euram’s words. Smiling, he stroked him, tenderly brushing his fingers along slender arms and shoulders. “My poor little dear. Don’t you understand? This is the best there is for you, now. Your faction is finished, in ruins. There is nothing left in Rainwall for you,” he explained further. “There is nothing for you now, do you not see that?”

Euram wanted to scream, to protest. He did have something back home! He had a family with whom he desperately needed to reconcile. He had people, his father’s subjects, suffering because of Salum and himself, with whom he wished to reconcile. And in that castle in the lake, he had a friend in Prince Frey, who had shown mercy on a poor noble wretch, and whom Euram had promised to aid in ending this war.
There was so much he had to do, things he could never achieve while imprisoned here.

“Besides, lovely,” Gizel purred, almost smugly, as if penetrating his thoughts. “This is the way of things. The weak must submit to the strong. Otherwise there can only be chaos, disorder. It is simply how the world works, and all are ultimately better off for it.”
Euram bitterly sighed upon his Commander’s assertion of his beloved philosophy. That damned Godwin philosophy!
“Do not forget as well, Euram, that had you remained with those traitors, you would now risk having your lovely flesh sizzled and scorched by the Sun Rune. Had you remained with them, the fate they shall soon meet would also be yours. So you see, sweet Euram. I have done you a service.”

The reminder was not comforting to Euram, and his sobbing actually caught in his throat, strangled by renewed and fresh dread.

“Oh, no!” he gasped and clung tight to the older man in supplication. “Please, Gizel, don’t use it, you mustn’t! Do not use it, I beseech you!”

“Oh, come now,” Gizel admonished. “Would you have me allow them to simply march upon Sol-Falena unchallenged? That is not how I deal with traitors. No, they shall receive a grave welcome, and a fitting reception for their audacity. Imagine the irony when young Prince Falenas meets his fate at the hands of the Rune which his own mother so recently bore.”

Euram felt his blood grow cold, a blanket of horror settling over him.

“No, oh no, my lord. Please, you mustn’t! I have seen what it can do. I have seen its light.” He had never forgotten the flash from Lordlake, nor the flash that had blazed from the Sun Palace itself, the night Godwin had wrested control of the crown. The night Queen Arshtat had allegedly employed the Rune in her madness and desperation to defend her castle from Godwin’s assassins.

Euram had later learned that she had unintentionally killed her husband, Ferid, in the process. And it was because of that horrible, unpredictable Rune. He also knew from his history that the Sun Rune was capable of destrying entire nations, as it had done the Ancient Armes Kingdom.
“It ….it could destroy us all,” Euram appealed further, his eyes wavering with tears. “I beg you, Commander…I know you must fight back, but not that way. I do not think…it cannot be controlled so easily, I don’t think. It…”

Gizel chuckled, lightly. “Have you so little trust in me? Do you think I would be so careless? Honestly, Euram. Why should we fear to use that which is in our grasp, if only for the sake of protecting Falena? But why should I be surprised? You are a Barows. Your kind would sooner conduct dealings with our enemies than deal with them. Of course you should fear confronting such things directly. Your kind prefer talk to action. And, as you have seen, that is a weakness that led to your undoing.”

Euram was at a loss. Of course both he and his father had attemped to wield the Dawn Rune, which rejected them both utterly. How could he ever hope to dissuade Gizel from something like this, when he could not even form words for exactly what it was he feared?

“Please, my lord. It…it frightens me.”

“Hush,” Gizel kissed him then, almost tenderly. The older man wiped at his tears, tilted his chin to look at him. “That is enough. There is no need for you to worry about it. You would do well to remember that I could have simply executed you.”

At this reminder, Euram subsided.

“There, now. You see? There are worse things that could befall you, certainly. I suggest you sleep. There will be things for you to do in the morning, you know.”

Euram sighed, his mind a jumble of fear and confusion. And he knew it would only get worse with each passing day, until the day came when everything he knew just might come to an end. How could Gizel expect him to sleep, knowing that?

Something terrible was going to happen, he just knew it. And the worst part was, he felt powerless to stop it.

He was tired of being helpless. He had to think of something! But what?

*****

JUST THEN, AT THE SINDAR CASTLE:

Roy had never known such privilege as luxury. The streets had been his only home, his meals what few scraps he could steal.

Honestly, he was still getting used to living in the fancy, so-called ‘castle’ here in the lake. He had scoffed at such a thing at first, but now he had to admit, it was nice.

He was quickly growing accustomed to three square meals a day, and more to boot! Plus, there was the little added bit of amusement to be had. With his uncanny likeness to the Prince himself, Roy had found he could get away with almost anything with a little disguise. How he enjoyed himself, parading about as the royal, and how angry people would become at his pranks, believing him to be the Prince himself. How often had Prince Freyjadour come to him, exasperated because he had been scolded for something that Roy had done! The entertainment he had gained from it was beyond priceless.

Not to mention, he felt quite important when sent on field missions disguised as the royal. It was amazing how enemies never knew the difference.

To be honest, he had never before enjoyed his resemblance to the Prince. Roy had grown up poor, a waif on the street, and when people had pointed out his likeness to Prince Falenas it had always made him angry. That rich, clueless boy was nothing like him, knew nothing about reality and its hardships! And yet, Frey had taken him in, and proven to be nothing like the spoiled, uncaring jerk Roy had once taken him for. So how had he wound up here, fighting for the Prince and his rebel army?

It was, in a large way, thanks to an idiot noble named Euram Barows.

He remembered jumping at the opportunity when that clownish rich dandy had come to him, offering him a lot of money and, even better, the opportunity to “sully the Prince’s name”…

FLASHBACK:

Roy had been simply going about his business one afternoon, wondering where his next meal might come from, when he was approached by one of the strangest looking fellows he had ever seen.

Roy had never seen the young man before, but he was obviously rich. His hands were laden with jewels, and his clothes were made of garish bright materials and fine ruffles. He was all blues and reds, and upon seeing him, Roy had laughed at him—something that had visibly miffed the man.

At first Roy had thought he had found a convenient mark: clueless noble fops were always simple to pickpocket. But a pair of men-at-arms stood several feet behind the young man, as though at his beck and call.

“Ah! Hello there, young sir. Roy, I presume?” the person addressed him. At first glance, this noble seemed polite enough. But at the same time, there was something almost shady about him. Roy had learned never to trust the wealthy, so this hardly surprised him, but the shifty look in the man’s eye was enough to immediately make him even more suspicious.

“Yeah? What the hell do you want?” Roy had demanded, bitterly.

“Oh, my, my, my!” the frilly ‘gentleman’ swooned a little. “Really, there is no need for such crude animosity. Especially when I, Euram Barows, have come to you as a friend!”

It was a lie, Roy could tell. He could smell a lie as quickly as he himself could conjure one. What could some privileged dolt like this want from someone like him, unless it was to use him?

“I’ll bet,” Roy answered, his voice teeming with sarcasm. He didn’t give a crap what his name was, and forgot it as soon as he heard it. He spat, inwardly snickering as the man unsuccessfully tried to hide his wince of disgust. “Well, spill it, pretty boy. I got no time for the likes o’ you, so make it quick.”

A brief glint of indignation flashed across the noble’s face, but he suppressed it swiftly. “Oh, but I think once you hear me out, you will find you have more than enough time. Oh, but you do look like him, indeed! Uncanny! Oh, my, but you are simply the spitting image! Dear me, but I would not have believed it!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Roy demanded, his patience wilting as he watched the foppish weirdo’s theatrics.

“Pardon me,” the noble replied, courteously. “But it just so happens,” he gestured, sweeping his arms out wide, “that I have a proposal for you.”

“Sorry, but I don’t swing that way,” Roy declared with a smirk.

It seemed to take this fop longer than necessary to absorb Roy’s meaning, as he stood blinking in puzzlement.

Obviously he wasn’t the sharpest fellow, either.

Finally the insult settled on him. “W-wha…? Insolent rogue!” he hissed, his delicate features twisting into a scowl. “You dare…oh, but wait, please wait!” the man’s tone turned to honey again as Roy moved to walk away. “Surely you must be hungry!” he suggested. “I imagine it must be tiresome, never having enough to feed yourself, or those you hold dear?”

Angered, Roy wheeled on him, sharply. “What would you know about it?!” he snarled threateningly at the noble. “You want me to bust that nose o’ yours?”

His fist clenched, and the man squeaked and faltered, flapping back from him.

“Now, now, now! Only hear me out!”

At that moment, two of Roy’s most trusted comrades emerged from the darkened alleyway beyond, where they had been set to work scrounging and picking pockets—anything needed to help them survive. They were at his side in moments.

“What’s up, Roy?” the first asked, eyeing the young nobleman with similar suspicion. She was a thin, waiflike girl with large and bright eyes.

“I dunno,” Roy shrugged. “Pretty boy here says he’s got a ‘proposal’ for us.”

“Need us to rough ‘im up, Roy?” the other, a large and unkempt young man, supplied, smashing one meaty fist against his palm.

The noble visibly gulped, backing from the trio. “N-no, no! I assure you, that will not be necessary!” As if in answer, the soldiers behind him brought their hands to their weapons.

“Then talk,” Roy warned, folding his arms and pretending not to concern himself with the armed men. “…or else I’ll let Faylon here bust them pretty teeth right outta yer muzzle. Just what are ya gettin’ at?”

The noble relaxed then, his confidence swelling once more. “Only this!” With a flourish, he produced a bag brimming so full with potch it was bursting at the seams. It made a jingling sound as it dangled from the frilly wrist, and actually looked as though the thin young aristocrat was having trouble holding it up.

Three pairs of eyes widened at the bulging sack of coin. Roy’s fist lowered and he stared as though hypnotized.

“I’ve never seen that much money!” the girl beside him gasped.

“M-me either!” Faylon almost whispered.

“Aw, don’t act impressed, you two,” Roy growled, recovering, even though he too was staggered by the sum being dangled before them.

“I am prepared to offer you every scrap here in my hands,” the aristocrat promised. “A pittance for me, of course, but to you, I am sure it would provide for you quite handsomely. If only you accept my simple, humble proposition.”

Roy wetted his lips, eyeing the bag skeptically. What was this about? He could hardly believe this person was sincere, and he briefly considered robbing the man right then, knocking him on the head and making off with as much as he could carry. It was only the presence of the noble’s goons that truly deterred him. Even so, he was curious now. Besides, something told him if he played along, there might be more than even this to be gained.

“Are you sayin’ yer just gonna hand us all o’ that? What’s the catch?”

The noble smiled now, seeing he had captured Roy’s interest. “Well, now. I am sure you are aware of a resemblance you carry to a certain royal?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard,” Roy replied with annoyance. “What’s that got to do with all of this?”

“You resent him, don’t you? Living in all that luxury, while you are forced to scrounge for a living?”

Roy leered at him. “And what of it?”

“Well. How would you like the opportunity to sully that Prince’s name, hmm?”

“To what his name?”

The noble sighed. “To blacken his reputation among the populace…er, the people.”

Roy pricked up his ears. What was this? Blacken his name? This might actually prove interesting. “And what do I have to do?”

“Simply do what you do best, of course! In fact, do it more. Rob, swindle, mug, as often as you like. The more conspicuous the better, in fact. You want to be seen. Should a merchant happen along, rob him of his wares. Should you catch a hapless noble unawares, strip him of all he carries. I care not how you conduct yourself, only show the citizens of Sable terror as they have never known! This, my friend, is your ticket to infamy—and to comfort!”

Roy shook his head, still skeptical and wondering why he would ask him to do this.

“Look, I got no love for the Prince. But why? Why the hell should I? And what do you want me to do this for?”

At this, the young noble’s features darkened, his eyes narrowing. “It just so happens I harbor my own complaints with the Prince. Let us say only that he has affronted me in a way that is most hideously unforgivable. I seek your aid in enacting revenge upon him. In return, I shall reward you most handsomely.”

“Bah!” Roy waved him off. “What do I care for your stupid, petty fights? I got enough troubles, ya fool. And if I do this, they’ll catch me sooner or later! They’ll string me up! I, I can’t--! “

“But that, my dear friend, is the beauty of it!” the noble interrupted him. “It will not be you they are angry with. No, no! You will do these things not as yourself, but as Prince Freyjadour. And the one who suffers the blame will be noneother than the Prince of Falena himself!”

The young thief paused. “Go on,” he urged and settled back, intrigued now.

“You see, I shall provide all that you need to complete your disguise. All you shall need is a wig, and some clothes. My dearest friends in Haud Village have whipped up some lovely garments for you. You need only to wear them, and none will be the wiser. You will have reign of Sable, stealing and reaping the benefits as you wish, and in the process, you will be harming no one's reputation but the name of that stuck-up, rotten Prince Freyjadour! Think about it! A chance to put him in his place, while earning yourself that which you deserve, hmm?”

Roy considered the proposal thoughtfully. Of course he had long harbored a festering resentment towards the young royal who had allegedly looked so much like him. And he could not imagine what this person must have had against the Prince, but he seemed sincere and determined enough. Still, even Roy had scruples.

“But won’t people be hurt?”

“It matters not. As I have said, what you do is to your own discretion. As long as you raise enough ruckus to make yourself known. As the Prince, of course.”

Roy was silent for a long time. It was an awful lot of money…and he was very hungry...

“Roy, should we trust this man?” the girl beside him whispered, obviously uneasy about this.

“Quiet, Faylen,” Roy shushed her before turning back to the noble. “What’ll ya pay me up front?”

***

And so, Roy and his fellow thieves had assumed the role of full-fledged bandits. They had accepted the noble’s instructions and even the costumes he had given them—although Roy’s was the only one that wound up being worn. Faylen had refused to wear her replica of Lady Lyon’s uniform, and her brother Faylon had been too large to fit into his Queen’s Knight disguise.

Still, the stupid citizens had bought the ruse, and soon the people of Sable believed the displaced Prince had taken to banditry.

And for that short time, he was no longer Roy. He was Prince Freyjadour, the notorious rebel Prince, terrorizing the citizens and reveling in the fact that he was tarnishing the image of one he had resented. One who shared his likeness but not his unfortunate upbringing.

Voices clamored for justice, to see the Bandit Prince captured. It was grand, it was beautiful…until the Prince himself had heard of the disturbance and arrived to investigate for himself.

That was when Roy’s fun had ended. The Prince and his retainers had confronted Roy in his hideout, and in exchange for a pardon, he had revealed the true culprit behind the “plot”.

It had been Lady Sialeeds who had exposed Euram Barows as the “mastermind”. She had set the noble up, asking Roy to lure him. It was done, and as arranged, Euram arrived at the city gates. There, Sialeeds confronted and humiliated Euram in front of the citizens themselves. And those citizens, realizing they had been duped, had instead turned on Euram, and chased him from the city with full intent to punish the deceptive noble; promising to pummel him within an inch of his life, and perhaps even tar and feather the dirty rascal. Roy had watched it happen. He had almost pitied the stupid fool as he'd fled for his horse, but he never knew whether they caught him or not. It would have been one hell of a show, at least.

And thus, the Prince’s name was cleared among the citizens of Sable, and Roy was absolved of blame—provided he lend his services to the Loyalist Army.
Since then, the Prince had taken in not only Roy, but his two close friends as well, Faylon ad Faylen. Roy had been welcomed into the ranks as a decoy, one to distract and mislead the Godwin Army. And he had enjoyed his role. Pretending to be the Prince legitimately had been both fun and exciting. What’s more, it had given him the chance to actually feel like he was doing something worthwhile.

Still, Roy had been just as surprised as any to learn that the Prince had recently allowed that scumbag noble who had manipulated him into his ranks.

But then, who was he to judge, really?

Even if Euram had put him up to it, Roy had gone along with the plan of his own accord, after all. He had accepted Euram’s proposal out of pure greed and vindictiveness. And he had based his decision upon his assessment of a Prince he had never even met. He had assumed the Prince was spoiled and uncaring, and had set out to hurt him because he was bitter that his own childhood had not been so comfortable.

He had no more right to be here than Euram.

And now, thinking about it, Roy realized he was probably more similar to that stupid noble than he was to the Prince. Both had felt animosity towards Freyjadour. Worldly wealth aside, both had harbored anger in their hearts and wished the Prince ill, and had conspired together, even if Euram had technically used Roy to that end.

Thus, Roy had to pause. Could he really judge that imbecile now?

He had recently learned that Euram had disappeared from Rainwall, and was likely a prisoner of war, if not dead. Young Master Barows had repented his ways, and still fallen to enemy hands.

Hmm. How ironic. How ironic that the most meager among them, like himself, remained free and a part of Frey’s team, while one of the wealthiest among their ranks had lost so much--his standing with the people of Sable and now the people of Rainwall hated him, too. That ridiculous fop had lost his political standing, his Father, and now his freedom and possibly his life, for all anyone knew. And here was Roy, living a more comfortable life than he had ever known.

Fate was not such a discriminating force after all.

Roy sighed, deeply.

“Hmmph. What an idiot,” he mused. “Still…I wonder if he’s okay?” the young thief wondered, surprised at his own concern.
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)