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Chapter Text

They executed the jester on the third day. Dara gagged as he watched the execution from his cell window. The sun had risen on an eager crowd and a sleepless prince. Dara had been turning in his bed since night had fallen. Could anyone really sleep when they knew their head was on the chopping block? Maybe the next sunset would be his last. Maybe it already was.

His breath came in bursts at the thought. His eyes burned with tears already – he had cried himself out, screamed himself hoarse trying to get out, but no one had responded, not even the creak of a chair adjusting as his captors slept. No one to bring him food for two days, and a bucket of rainwater to ration out. He must have stank. Four measly days in the dungeons, and he had been reduced to a wreck. What kind of a prince was he to be brought so low?

Biting his lip, Dara fought to get himself back under control. They had killed Oratio , and what had the man ever done to anybody, aside from tell unfunny jokes and sneak candies to the kids? Everyone loved Oratio, and when they didn’t, they tolerated his presence well. He jingled, and jangled, and juggled his way through the palace every day without a care in the world aside from making them laugh. And now his head was in a basket. He would’ve loved the roaring crowd, though.

He grit his teeth. This was all Vaness’s fault, if the damn butler hadn’t been content with his lot in life then they wouldn’t be here, shackles around Dara’s wrists and some… some usurper sitting on the throne. Probably wearing his father’s crown. That made his stomach turn, and what little he had in him threatened to come back up.

His legs wobbled as he sank to the floor, his hands glued to the bars on his window. The stone was cold against his bare knees, digging into tender flesh, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t turn around and see the pile of hay that was his bed, the hole in the ground that was his bathroom. It couldn’t be real. How could it? No one killed princes anymore, not spares of spares like him. Four older brothers, two older sisters, and they wanted him for last, the middle of the family. He was only twenty-four, he couldn’t die.

The silence was the worst part. After the crowd had dispersed, having their fill of bloodlust for the day, he was treated to the sound of absolutely nothing. Not even birds sang. No footsteps echoed off the cold stones of the prison, no person dared come close to his window. He had been forgotten. That sent a chill down his spine. How long until the food ran out? The water? How long until he was bones in a corner, a reminder of times long passed?

The silence was the worst part, of course, until it was broken. Whistling drifted through the halls, bouncing off the stones until it was left a discordant memory of its former self, wrong and twisted and alive .

“Hello?” Dara called out, his voice stringy and weak. “Is someone there?”

The whistling didn’t falter, growing nearer.

“Please, Gods above, help me!” He hated the desperation in his words. “I’ll serve you, I’ll renounce my throne, I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” a familiar masculine voice rang out. Where had he heard it before? “Well, what a steal, Prince Dara. Or should I say, prisoner thirty six. You know, you’re slated to die tomorrow morning, before noon. They were thinking of doing it at sunrise. ‘Think of the symbolism’, they said, ‘think of how the people will cheer when his head rolls’. I have other ideas.”

A shiver went through Dara. “Are you going to kill me?”

The man laughed, entering the room. Cloaked in shadows with a hood pulled up over his face, he looked like one of Anata’s reapers. Taking a shaky breath to steady himself, Dara stood up, facing the stranger head on. There was a glint of a smile under his hood, though whether that was from seeing the prince caked in dirt and dried blood, dressed in a sack, or from his fearful defiance, he couldn’t tell.

“No, nothing of the sort,” the man cooed. Dara didn’t believe him. “I would never kill someone as valuable as you. I paid a pretty penny, mind, and your little butler lied to me. Tried to send me on a wild goose chase so I could come back and find you executed. Thus, I’m taking matters into my own hands. Come here, princeling. You can trust me.”

No, he very much could not. Even so, he approached the bars slowly, staring at the hooded figure. Anything was better than the execution. He didn’t want to look his people in the eye and know they were cheering for his death – he hadn’t done anything. A useless prince in a useless family, trying to keep the peace as the farmers rebelled. What could he have done? It wasn’t as though he had any real power.

Cool fingers held his chin. The hooded figure tutted as he turned Dara’s head this way and that, taking in the bruises on his face in the meager light. “They shouldn’t have beaten you. I told them not to.”

“Who are you?” The words spilled out of him, unbidden.

The man’s smile grew wider. “You don’t remember me? What a shame. And here I thought I was memorable.”

Parting his lips, Dara bit back a retort. Best not to antagonize the only person he’d seen for the last two days. The man smiled at that, giving his cheek a friendly pinch.

“Alright. Let’s get this show on the road. You, princeling, aren’t going to scream, or kick, or spit, or anything else that would cause a scene. You’re going to do everything I say, when I say it, how I say it, unless you’d rather be caught. I take it that’s not in your best interests.”

Hesitant, Dara shook his head.

“Good, you can be so well behaved when you want to.” The man’s smile widened. Fishing through his pockets, he dug a spare hood out. “Put this on over your head.”

He thrust it into Dara’s hands. Staring at him, Dara just gawked. “What?”

“Put that on, or I’ll put it on for you.” He shrugged. “You’re far safer with me than on your lonesome, everyone in the palace knows your face. They also know when you’re slated to be executed.”

“They’ll know it’s me with my face covered,” his protest was weak, even to his own ears.

Amusement dripped from the man’s voice. “Oh, of course. Everyone’s seen Prince Atadara in nothing but sackcloth prison garb, half naked and covered in blood. Please, princeling, let’s use our brains for a second. Unless you don’t want to come with me. I can always leave, come back to the palace when everything is sorted and demand my ransom back. I was promised a prince, and a prince I’m taking.”

Dara’s heart stuttered, beating loud in his ears. Numb, he pulled the hood over his head, accepting the suffocating darkness. Keys jingled, and he heard the unmistakable sound of the cell’s lock clicking. The door creaked open, and a strong hand grabbed his wrists, a chain snapping into the shackles.

“There. Was that really so hard?”

Dara kept his mouth shut.

Humming a happy tune, the stranger looped his finger through the chain, tugging Dara forward by his wrists. His legs wobbled. Traitors. Stumbling blindly out of the cell, Dara winced as the cold stone dug into the wounds on his bare feet. They had whipped his soles, making sure he couldn’t run. A gasp left his lips unbidden when they made it to the stairs. Four flights down. He knew that much, but could he really do that blindfolded?

His… captor? His new friend? Purchaser? Whoever he was to him, the man picked Dara up, throwing him over a surprisingly strong shoulder. Or maybe Dara was simply just that light. Waifish, he had always been described, elegant and ethereal and, well, small. It didn’t take much effort to manhandle Dara, something he had always relished in the bedroom, but now? Now he would rather vomit than have someone throw him around. Still, it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice.

It was strange to feel the breeze and hood on his neck. So many ears of having long hair, and they had chopped it all off – it was meant to demoralize him, yes, and yet he felt nothing but rage at it. Only commoners had short hair, commoners and servants. What had they done with the rest of his hair? It had gone to his knees before. He let out a snort of a laugh, uncaring for how piggish he sounded.

“Something funny?” his porter asked. “Or are you just having a laugh.”

Dara didn’t bother to fight the manic smile off of his face. “Thinking about what they’ve done with all my hair. They might be planning to hang me with it. That would be a fitting end for a prince, wouldn’t it? How’s that for symbolism?”

The man let out a guffaw at that. “If I saw correctly, they were handing it out as a memento. One strand for every peasant that swears fealty to the new crown.”

How macabre. “Did you get a strand, stranger mine?”

“I did better, I got the source,” crowed the stranger. “Come along, princeling. We have a very interesting time ahead of us.”

“Where are we going?” Dara found himself asking.

He could hear the smile in the man’s voice. “To my rooms, and then to my castle. Aren’t you lucky that I’ve been planning for this? It isn’t every day that I get to save the maiden in her ivory tower.”

Flushing, Dara squirmed, though not enough to be dropped. “I’m no maiden!”

“Calm, princeling, calm.” The man laughed. “You’re a feisty one, you know. I like that in you.”

His cheeks grew ever hotter under the hood. A time like this, and a stranger was flirting with him? What was wrong with this man? Did he not understand the seriousness of the situation? Did he not know that this was the only way Dara was going to live to see the next sunrise?

Taking his advice, Dara forced himself to calm down. If he needed to debase himself for a time, then he would debase himself. He had been raised on stories of princesses killing kidnappers in their sleep and fleeing, riding bareback to their home castles. Their parents would have forgiven them for that, as would their people and…

And Dara didn’t have parents anymore. Didn’t have people anymore. Not for the first time, he kicked himself for sleeping so heavily. Had he not woken up to hands shoving him out of bed, binding his wrists and ankles, and dragging him through the palace, he might have done something. What, he didn’t know – his sisters and eldest brother were best at fighting, never mind how many brawls Lyssa had gotten into, and their assailants had managed to subdue the entire family without much trouble at all.

His parents had been executed. His baby siblings, he didn’t know where they were. His elder siblings hanged. He knew his fate.

His eyes burned. Nothing would be the same again.

“What’s your name?” he managed out as the stranger jostled them down the last flight of stairs.

Setting him on his feet, the man flashed him a wide grin. “Zhen. But you can call me ‘Master’.”

Zhen.

Everything clicked all at once. Zhen Ankulat. The diplomat from Aritia. The man who had spoken no more than fifty words to him over the time they had spent at the palace together – Gods, Dara wasn’t even sure Ambassador Ankulat knew he existed , never mind that he had been in town the night of the coup.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Zhen’s rooms weren’t in the diplomats’ quarters. So much of Dara’s life had been spent wandering the palace halls that the unfamiliar feeling of bloodied and torn carpets under his bare feet was still enough to know where he was. The servants’ chambers. The silence was unsettling. So many servants poured into the hallways at all times of the day and night, anticipating the royal family’s every need. Dara could hear only his and Zhen’s footsteps.

And Zhen’s whistling. The sound would have been grating, Dara had a dim memory of finding it annoying in another life, when he was dressed in silks and had his hair brushed and baths drawn. Gods, what he would do for a bath. Now, though, the whistling was a welcome reprieve from his inner monologue, even if it rang as overly peppy. How Zhen could be so happy right now, he didn’t understand. Unless…

Unless Zhen was going to smuggle him out.

Dara breathed out a sigh of relief. Everything was going to be fine! Zhen was going to help him, and while he would be the last member of his family left alive, he would be blessedly alive — no one would ever find him, he would cut his hair short and never wear makeup and dress in roughspun linens every day if that was what kept him safe. He wouldn’t even complain! Ship him off to the country, he could figure out how to farm so long as his head was attached squarely to his shoulders and breath still lingered in his lungs.

“In a good mood, princeling?” Zhen hummed, tugging Dara along by his shackled wrists.

“Fantastic mood,” Dara replied, unable to stop the grin on his face. “Thank you for this, Zhen, I can’t begin to—”

His new friend stopped short. “Master. You call me ‘Master’ now.”

Dara’s smile faltered. “Right, for appearances.”

Zhen’s laugh was harsh. “Appearances? No one’s here, princeling. You said it yourself, you would do anything to get out, and look at that. You’re out. I’ll be taking my tithe now.”

“And what tithe is that?” Dara willed his voice to be steady.

“You, princeling.”

Silence.

“What?”

He could hear the smile in Zhen’s voice. The man took Dara’s chin, no doubt turning his face up to meet his own. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since I first saw you, and I saw my opportunity. If you don’t like it, then I can just as easily take you back to your cell, and in the morning you’ll be hanged by your own hair. Would you prefer that to me? Here, let’s turn around and—”

“No,” his voice said. “But… what are you going to do to me?”

“What are you going to do to me, Master,” he corrected. “Nothing terrible, I promise. I would never hurt you. I’ve gone through so much to get you, haven’t I?”

Dara swallowed. “Thank you, I suppose. Zhen, what is —”

A hard slap stung his cheek. His face flung to one side.

“You will call me ‘Master’, princeling, or I will take you back. Don’t test me.”

Biting the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood, Dara managed out, “Master, what is the plan?”

Zhen’s delight was plain to hear. “Why, the plan is for me to take you to my castle. You’ll be well kept, and no one will bother you. I have all the appropriate passes to cross the border, and if we move fast, no one will miss you. I need to stop by my rooms to finish some last-minute preparations.”

“We’re crossing the border?” And then, as an afterthought, “Master.”

“Of course we are.” It was obvious to Zhen. “How else can I protect you? It isn’t as though Vaness is going to stop searching for you, not while you still post such a threat to him.”

Dara blinked. A disbelieving laugh bubbled past his lips. “What threat can I possibly pose? I’m the fourthborn. Gods, I barely have a title. Mother and Father didn’t let me manage any of the lands, I had to wait until I turned twenty-four to even look at the books and meet the advisors.”

“You are the next in line, should the original royal family be reinstated. You alone have the divine authority to rule, and Vaness would prefer a clean break from the old regime. King Vaness, I should say. That is what he’s calling himself these days.”

“He’s a butler. What authority does he have?” Dara couldn’t help the scorn in his voice.

There was a thoughtful note in Zhen’s voice. “The servants, for one, and the military, for another. How much can you do with a musket at your back?”

“And you can get me out?”

“Of course I can.”

“How can you be sure we won’t get caught?”

Zhen tugged him forward, and they were walking again. “Simple: I have Vaness’s trust. Or, well, what meager emotion he calls trust. You had quite a shrewd butler, you know. I would never want someone with so much power over me to be so smart. It breeds discontent.”

“How do you have his trust?”

The smile was back in Zhen’s voice. “Don’t worry about it, princeling. It doesn’t concern a wonderful little pet like you.” A pet. “Why don’t you worry about looking cute and pleasing me? I’m sure that would be much better for your pitiful little brain.”

Stammering out broken off syllables, Dara flushed as he tried to come up with a retort. Everything seemed so… weak. Ineffective. And what little he did have would only serve to piss Zhen off. As much as he was growing to detest the man, he needed his help. On his own in the palace, he wouldn’t get to the stables, never mind past the walls. He needed help, though it pained him to admit.

He settled on saying nothing, allowing Zhen to lead him through the halls until they stopped. Keys jingled and a door unlocked. Pulling Dara in, Zhen locked the door behind them, tugging the hood off of Dara’s face. The light dazzled him, streaming in through bright windows. The suns were high in the sky, warming up Dara’s frozen fingers. He hadn’t realized how much the dungeons had chilled him until he noticed his trembling. How pathetic. No wonder Zhen thought he would simply roll over without a fight.

Looking around, Dara took in the ornate landscape paintings on the walls, and the elaborate carpets from far off lands underfoot. Ones that he was dirtying with his bare feet. Stained glass windows showed off the once opulent gardens. Now they had been scavenged for food and set aflame. The burned husks of his fathers rose bushes clattered against the windows. Dara grit his teeth hard. Those had been Father’s pride and joy.

The servants had done this, their own staff — sworn to loyalty and in the most trusted of positions — all because they thought the royal family had grown too… what? Complacent? Had done too much to befriend other countries? Had tried to help them all? Fuck that. The fear burned into his mind, the feeling of strange hands on him, the knowledge that his life as he knew it was over. He just wanted everything to stop for a moment, to give him a second to breathe.

The second didn’t come, not as Zhen packed up the remainder of the room with an unerring efficiency, leaving Dara to stare at the gardens aimlessly. He could almost smell the ash and soot.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Zhen’s words cut through Dara’s thoughts. Tears brimmed in his eyes, though he didn’t know when he had started crying.

“What?” Turning, Dara allowed the ambassador to thrust a set of clothing into his arms. “Already? I’m not dressed.”

“Then get dressed. Quickly, princeling.” Zhen tapped his foot on the floor. “And don’t tell me you’re shy. I know enough about your dalliances, you aren’t a shy man.”

Face flushing, Dara made his way to the corner, hoping for a meager shred of privacy. His ‘dalliances’ had been nothing, two warm bodies in a hallway or an unused room, finding what little solace in each other as they could. Servant, diplomat, noble, Dara hadn’t cared, so long as the other person had a gentle touch and a gentler kiss.

He shook his head, clearing it. That was a lost time.

The clothing Zhen had picked out for him was practical enough that they wouldn’t have been looked at twice sneaking out, boots and trousers and a linen shirt. It wasn’t the usual softness Dara was used to, but it would have to do. Stripping out of his sackcloth tunic, he ignored the eyes burning into his bare back. They had whipped him there, too. The welts would take time to heal.

Zhen tutted behind him. “What did they do to you, princeling? I told them not to touch you, and yet… I see Vaness’s word is far from his bond. I only hope you will come to understand how much I want to protect you.”

Holding his tongue, Dara just dressed himself, tuning out the sting in his feet and back. He was bound to get an infection. Wincing, Dara tugged on the boots. He could handle a little pain and a little degradation if it meant he made it out of this. With a shuddering sigh, he turned his attention back to Zhen. The man appraised him, as if he were looking at a fine piece of meat, fresh from the butchers. He wanted to eat Dara, take him apart and feast on his innards. At least he could rest assured that the suns would still rise in the mornings, and the moon in the evenings.

“Let’s go.” His voice was small.

Zhen grinned at him. “Well, I certainly can’t have you in the carriage looking like that. Come here.”

He sat down in one of the plush armchairs, and patted the ottoman in front of him. Dara stared at him.

“I’ll brush your hair.”

“No.” The word was out of Dara’s mouth before he could hold it back. “I can do it myself.”

Tilting his head to one side, Zhen just smiled. “It’s cute that you think you have a choice. Come here, I’ll brush your hair. I would prefer it if you didn’t make me come get you, princeling. I’m in a good mood right now.”

Dara stood his ground. “I am Prince Atadara, fourth in my line, and you will not talk to me in that manner. I am a member of the royal family — the royal family you purport to serve, and you will treat me with the respect I am befitting of and nothing less.”

Laughter met his words. Zhen rose from his chair, striding towards Dara. He didn’t flinch. When Zhen leaned in close, looming over him, Dara bid his knees not to shake. A prince didn’t tremble, even if he was freezing cold, in biting pain, and didn’t want to even think about how he was going to flee to the countryside. Perhaps an uncle or cousin somewhere would take him in, if he spun his story the right way. Peasants rose up, but he could still blend in with them, especially with his hair so mussed up and dirty. But Zhen wasn’t going to brush it, not if he had anything to say about it.

Zhen slapped his face, hard enough that Dara’s hands balled into fists. The man grabbed him by the chin, pulling him in, their faces mere inches apart. His smile burned.

“No, princeling. Prince Atadara, if you insist. You will get exactly the respect I say you do, and you haven’t done anything worth respecting. You belong to me now, and you will obey. Now, I will give you one last chance to make the right choice. Sit at my feet, and I will brush your hair. It really isn’t that hard, my darling Dara.”

“Make me.”

The words left his mouth before he could help it. Fuck.

Chapter Text

A strong hand wrapped around his shoulder, dragging Dara towards the chair. Zhen was bigger than him, stronger than him, less frail than him. Dara’s heart leaped into his throat, his breathing fast. This was it. This was how he met his maker. He stumbled over his own feet as the ambassador sat in the chair, flinging Dara over one knee.

He realized what was happening when Zhen pulled his pants down around his ankles.

“Wait! You don’t have to do this!” The words slipped out of him, unbidden. “Zh—Master Zhen, please!”

He could hear the smile in Zhen’s voice. “You can be so sweet, begging. You do catch more flies with honey than vinegar, even a prince like you should know that. Then again, you’ve never been one for honey, have you?”

“Master Zhen,” he tried again, “you don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, I do.”

Dara swallowed.

“You have such a perfect ass, you know that?” Zhen’s hand cupped Dara’s ass before giving it a swat. “You’ll beg for me to fuck you one day. Don’t you worry.”

He absolutely would not. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dara convinced himself this wasn’t happening. Or, at the very least, he tried to.

When Zhen smacked him, Dara flinched hard enough that he nearly dislodged himself. Firm hands hauled him back into position, held him down while his captor tutted.

“Now, now. Don’t be like that. Be a good boy and hold still, or this is going to hurt a lot more.”

Biting the inside of his lip hard enough he tasted copper, Dara held his tongue. Mercifully, Zhen didn’t test his patience. Once his… what? Once his family was back on the throne, Zhen would regret this? The thought hurt more than the blow. This was his life now, getting spanked by lowly ambassadors and told to be a good boy. He saw his life unfold before him, being dragged around the world like a pet, kept on a short leash and in skimpy clothing. People would murmur approvingly at Zhen for keeping such a handsome man, and he would be taken care of, but he would never be free. After a while, he wouldn’t want freedom.

Zhen spanked him hard. He didn’t hold back, hitting Dara hard enough that he flinched and yelped. At least he wasn’t being whipped, the thought echoed in his mind. Being whipped like this… it would be a nightmare. His hands gripped the armrest of the hair hard enough his knuckles went white.

It didn’t stop, not as Dara squirmed and gasped. He wouldn’t beg for mercy, not even as his skin stung and pain threatened to overtake his good sense. His breath came shallow, and his body jerked, but he still held his tongue. Dara had pride, even if Zhen would try his level best to beat it out of him. That was what masters did to their slaves, broke them down until they couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but blindly obey. That would never be Dara.

Even so, a tear trickled down his cheek.

“Oh, don’t cry,” Zhen hummed, rubbing his upper thigh. “I haven’t even started yet. Don’t tell me it hurts that bad.”

Shaking his head, Dara held back a sob. “I’m just thinking. It’s fine, punish me.”

The pain would have been better than Zhen squeezing his leg, free hand shifting to rub circles into his back. The tears flowed harder — why would he bother with this unexpected tenderness? Did he really think that Dara was going to, what, think him a merciful owner? What other option did he have but obey Zhen?

“Talk to me, what’s wrong?” Where did Zhen get off, sounding so caring? “I understand you’re stressed, Dara and you’re having trouble adjusting to your new life, but I do want you to be happy.”

Dara wanted his father. He wanted to run into his brother’s arms and hug his baby sister and that wasn’t an option anymore.

“I just want things to be normal,” he murmured, gripping the armrest hard enough his knuckles went white. “This isn’t normal.”

“It will become normal,” Zhen assured, like that would calm him.

A tremble worked through Dara until he was sobbing harder, shaking like a leaf. “I don’t want this to be normal. I want to wake up in my bed, not on the floor, and I want to eat real food, not scraps from the table, and… and…” a hiccup interrupted him. “I just want to be myself again. I want to go home. I want my family. I want to wake up.”

Zhen’s hand rubbed between his shoulder blades. In another life, it would’ve calmed Dara, but now? It made his mouth taste like bile. “You’ll have a bed to sleep in, you’ll just share it with me. You’ll have real food, and all the meals you want, anything your heart desires. I can’t bring back your family, but I can fulfill all your worldly desires. Anything under the suns, you name it and it’s yours. Just give me time to get it, first. Now, I understand you’re quite upset, so why don’t we treat your bruises so you can sit for our carriage ride? It’s long. And let me see your feet, we wouldn’t want those cuts to get infected, would we?”

With a gentleness Dara had rarely experienced, Zhen set him on the carpeted floor. He darted off, rustling through his packed up belongings, producing a small tin of cream. Dara stayed on his stomach, unwilling to look up at the ambassador. His cheeks burned. When Zhen sat down beside him, tutting at the bruises he had caused, the heat and redness, Dara fought down a fresh wave of shame. Gods, was this really necessary? He could apply the cream himself and…

And what would the use be in fighting? He wasn’t going to get himself out of this situation by bucking against Zhen — that was how he got himself killed. Vaness wouldn’t want him to survive, not after everything he had done to get him executed, and every moment longer he spent in the capital district was a moment his life was at risk.

Dara didn’t want to die, and so he would bear the humiliation. Zhen’s hands were steady as they smoothed the cream into his damaged skin, but a whimper still forced itself out of Dara’s mouth. A stray tear ran down his face into the soft carpet.

“Did that hurt, princeling?” No mocking.

Gritting his teeth, Dara just nodded.

“I’ll be gentler, then.”

He was. Those hands were thorough, with a featherlight touch, and Dara found his face heating up once more at the feel of hands on such an intimate part of himself. No one but his bathers would dare touch him like this, not even the myriad lovers he’d taken. He simply prayed that Zhen wouldn’t flip him over and demand sex out of him.

“There, all done,” hummed Zhen, setting the tin aside. “Now, onto your feet. The cream is dry, so you’re able to sit back, and I’ll take care of those cuts for you. I want you to be able to walk, don’t I?”

Holding back a retort, Dara did as he asked, pulling his pants back up and sitting down. For what it was worth, his ass did feel better. The ambassador hadn’t lied when he said he wanted to help, but there was only so much leeway Dara could give him. After a certain point, death would have been preferable, though that point was still far off in the future. He could handle a spanking, though he hadn’t done so for years.

Zhen fetched a wet towel and ointment, sitting and placing one of Dara’s feet into his lap. As he cleaned the muck and grit out of his wounds, Dara grit his teeth hard. If a molar broke, then a molar broke. Zhen sang softly as he worked, making sure there was no dirt left on his feet and letting out sympathetic noises when Dara fought to keep still.

“I know, I know,” soothed Zhen, rubbing Dara’s calf. “It’ll all be over soon. There was a lot of filth on your feet, and these cuts aren’t very kind. Let me put the ointment on. It won’t hurt too bad, I promise.”

Liar. Dara knew what ointment felt like, and he could smell the bitter herbs within once the tin was opened. He hissed when Zhen massaged the cream into the soles of his feet, the wounds burning. He wanted to squirm away, to do this himself, but that would just net him more punishment. It would waste time. Instead, he focused his gaze on Zhen’s face, scanning it as the other man kept his attention on Dara’s skin, wrapping one foot and then the other in bandages.

In another life, he would have thought Zhen a handsome man. He certainly carried himself like one. His dark hair was cut in a modern style, shorn short on the sides, and brushed back. His eyes were nearly black, and his olive skin was sunkissed. A very attractive man, though not one Dara had ever looked twice at.

“There we are,” Zhen patted the top of Dara’s neatly bandaged foot. “Doesn’t that feel much better?”

“Yes, it does,” his words were distant.

Zhen sighed. “Yes it does, Master. Come on, say it. It’s not that hard.”

Hands fists in the carpet, Dara heard his mouth say it. “Yes it does, Master Zhen.”

“Good!” A smile slipped across Zhen’s face. “See, you have room to improve yet! You’ll make a fine companion, given time. It’s alright, don’t you worry. I’ll give you plenty of time. Now, why don’t we put your boots on, and we can head out to the carriage. The longer we linger, the greater the chances are that someone will find you, hmm?”

“What about my face?” Dara’s voice was small. “Anyone who’s anyone in the palace will know what I look like.”

“Then you’ll wear a veil. Never mind that it’s traditional in Aritia for unblessed slaves to wear veils, people will just think that, in the chaos, I’ve taken a conquest for myself. Who would assume that I snuck into the dungeons, made a deal with the head of the guards, broke out the last prince in the royal dynasty, and have harbored him in my rooms? Please, princeling. Let’s be realistic.”

Dara was being realistic. Then again, he needed to leave somehow, and if the palace was as deserted as he had seen, then what was the real risk? If he failed, he was right back where he started, Vaness happily continuing on with his plans, and if he succeeded… if he succeeded, then he was stuck with Zhen until he died, or he was sold, or he managed to get away. Not very likely, considering the troubles the ambassador had gone through to get him in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, Dara nodded. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“I’ll wear the veil, I’ll play the part of the new slave. Let’s get out of here.”

Zhen lit up. A deep red veil was over Dara’s head before he could think twice, a parody of a wedding. The ambassador had to know the significance of red in Dara’s culture; no Kadin man would be caught dead wearing a red veil outside of the nuptial bed. And yet…

This was his life now.

Zhen looped his arm around Dara’s waist, like a leash. A knock on the door interrupted them. Dara’s heart leaped into his throat. Zhen sat him down in the plush armchair and answered the door, speaking in hushed tones with the person behind it. This was how Dara died. He was going to get caught, someone was going to recognize one of his birthmarks, or the way he walked, or his voice should he speak, and they would all be sent back to the dungeons, ready and eagerly awaiting their deaths. For escaping, Vaness would make sure Dara was looking forward to his execution.

The door flung open wide, and Dara got a glimpse of the person from under his veil. It was a servant, one he hadn’t seen before. Maybe she had worked with his brothers or sisters. One that didn’t know what he looked like so intimately that she could recognize him on sight. That, or maybe she wouldn’t care enough. Maybe she could be bribed.

Cutting off his thoughts, Zhen smiled at him. “Come along, favorite. Lya here is going to pack up our room. The carriages are ready.”

The carriages were ready.

Standing up on shaking legs, Dara fought to keep himself under control. He was suffocating under the veil, drowning in the soft, fine fabric. As he followed Zhen through the winding hallways of the palace, he wished every brick a fond farewell. It took everything in him not to start sobbing at the thought of leaving the place he had grown up in, been born in, went home to. He would never see his palace again.

When they stepped out into the meager, dying light, he saw the large carriage before him, painted with the colors of the Aritian high council — blue and gold. Hopefully, Zhen got enough leeway that no one would question him bringing back a slave. Slaves were common in Aritia, Dara assured himself, plenty of people kept slaves. No one would stare at him.

“Up, up. Let’s go,” Zhen was saying, tugging Dara along.

He was gentle, but Dara still wanted to linger. Dara didn’t get to look at the carriage much before he was thrust inside, onto the cushioned blue seats and the gossamer curtains pulled against the windows to keep from people looking in. The wooden boards creaked as the driver sat down at the helm, and Zhen hoisted himself up inside quickly, giving the signal for them to leave. Not even bothering to say farewell to Vaness. That could be a problem — though he could always say that conditions had deteriorated and his services as an ambassador had no longer been needed. It was dangerous to get caught up in a civil war, after all.

Dara held back tears as he stared out the window, the palace he had known so well rolling away, into the gloom of dusk. A few turns down the winding road, and it disappeared into the forests he had loved hunting in, exploring under the watchful eye of his minders. There went his family, his servants, the world he had known. He had loved.

Unable to bite the sob back, he swiped at his eyes under the veil. At least Zhen wouldn’t have to know how long he cried for, if he was silent.

“It’s going to be alright.” The other man reached over, taking one of Dara’s hands in his. Dara jerked back. “This will become normal soon enough.”

No, it wouldn’t. Dara would make sure of it.

Chapter Text

The carriage trip was beyond boring. Sure, Zhen’s prized Prince Dara held himself in check — he didn’t have a choice. His prince would behave, hold his tongue, and act like a good boy, if he knew what was best for him. A small smile crossed Zhen’s lips. Dara knew what was best, he understood. It was the simple truth: Zhen was his savior.

He didn’t care when the little prince squirmed under his benignant gaze, looking everywhere but his new master. Hair unbrushed, face still streaked with soot and grime against the fine fabrics of the carriage, it was Dara that looked the odd one out, as though he had never set foot in such a vehicle in his life. Funny. His princeling had been raised, ferried from one appearance to the other, subject to tutors in every conceivable subject and yet he had been unable to smell the wind when it turned. Such was life in the palace. One never saw the knife glint until it shimmered in one’s back.

Illun bless him, Zhen thought with no small degree of smugness, for having someone so capable as his ambassador. The high council of Aritia would be so happy to have someone as powerful as Dara for a bargaining chip. That was, if they knew. Hmm, now there came a thought.

His grin grew, and Dara paled, twisting around to look out the window. He slipped a careful, worried smile onto his own face, though it did little to convince anyone, for all its cuteness. “Where are we going, Zh—Master?”

Good, he was getting better at catching himself. Dara blabbered when nervous, Zhen remembered that from the other diplomats’ complaints. Not that it bothered him; it was endearing.

“To the border, princeling.”

The short answer, no details, would have been sufficient for Zhen, but evidently, that was not the case for former princes. No, Dara expected to have everything spelled out for him, to have an itinerary planned out weeks, months in advance. He would simply have to get used to going without information.

“To the border,” his voice was flat. “And then where?”

Raising an eyebrow, Zhen crossed one leg over the other. “We will stop by a temple so that Illun might bless our endeavors and that we may be sanctified before entering the Red City. Then, when we enter the throne district, I will report back to the council what has happened, and whether relations between Aritia and Kadras will degrade.”

“Will they?”

“Will they, indeed,” Zhen’s smile turned secretive. “That, dear princeling, is for me to know, and you to find out.”

Dara’s eyes went wide. “But Kadras purchases a significant portion of Aritia’s grain for the winters.”

“I am aware.”

“People will starve.”

“And? Kadras should have thought about that — King Vaness should have thought about that before lying to me.”

Zhen tilted his head to one side, taking Dara in. He was daring, though that was normal for a new slave. He would settle in due time. The veil lay in his lap, discarded the second they were past city limits — he would have to wear it again once they returned to civilization — and his shoulders were squarely set. Determined. For just a moment, Prince Dara had forgotten himself, his situation, and snapped back like the lively hound he was. Oh, Zhen was going to have fun with him.

Even so, his retort seemed to have taken the wind out of his little princeling’s sails. He likely missed his home, his family, his sense of normalcy, but things would come around for him, especially once they arrived at Red City. Zhen would ensure he was taken care of, had every need catered to, provided he obeyed.

“Please don’t cut the peasants off from the grain,” Dara’s voice was soft, scared. “That is my only ask on this front. Do whatever you like to me, sell me, rape me, beat me into incomprehension, I can’t let my people go hungry.”

Dara met his eye, amber on coal, unwavering. It was Zhen who looked away first, feigning disinterest. “I’ll think about it. You make a lot of promises, princeling, for someone who’s so afraid when someone calls you on it. Never forget, you do not command me, not anymore. You will be quiet when I tell you to, and you will speak when I say to speak.”

“You haven’t told me to be quiet.” Dara turned his slender nose up. How princely. “And I have things to say. The border is over a day’s ride from the palace, and I take it you wouldn’t want to spend it all in silence, would you?”

With a sigh, Zhen stretched his hands above his head, feeling his shoulders pop. When he brought his hands back down, he sighed.

“Actually, princeling, I was thinking of resting. Reading, even. We’re due to stop at a hostel in a few hours, and I expect you to sit still, not speak unless you are spoken to or there is a pertinent need, and rest. This is going to be a long trip, and I would rather you be rested when I present you to the council. They might not even recognize you, half of them have never seen you, and the other half last visited when you were an infant babe in your mother’s arms. I could just as easily say that you are a servant slave, taken in the conquest, and no one would be any the wiser. I could sell you the second we set foot in city limits.”

The blood drained from Dara’s face. “You wouldn’t.”

“Test me, princeling, and find out.”

The words hung in the air. Zhen didn’t like to threaten people, but sometimes, people ended up not listening to their better judgment. Dara knew his lot in life had changed, knew the situation wouldn’t be tenable if he did whatever he liked, roaming the countryside looking for someone to take pity on him, and yet he was fighting Zhen every step of the way. It was all so… unnecessary. He would do what was best for Dara, and what was best for their countries, but he would most certainly not be negotiating politics with a slave, even if he was a particularly well-educated one.

With a soft sigh, Zhen fished his book out of his pack and opened to the page he had left off on. It was going to be a long trip.

*

They arrived at the hostel as the sun crept below the horizon. Though they had stopped for lunch and dinner, Zhen was ready for a break and a good night’s sleep. It could be so stressful to live out of one’s carriage. Dara had eaten his meals like a starving animal, shoving sandwiches and soup into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten for days. The wild look in his eye gave Zhen pause. The prince stared at him like Zhen was seconds away from snatching the food right out of his mouth. What kind of monster did he think he was?

When they piled back into the carriage, Dara slept. He had eaten a full meal, enough that his stomach rounded out under his shirt. The servants they had brought with them were concerned at how much he wolfed down, but Zhen didn’t have the opportunity to ask before Dara rested his head against the window frame and closed his eyes. Better to let the man catch up on sleep, as much as Zhen wanted some entertainment. He needed to heal.

As the carriage slowed, pulling into the front of the hostel, Dara still slept. With the marks on his back, his feet, the bruises on his face, Zhen knew he would want nothing more than to rest for as long as possible. Healing took energy, and his little prince had been through quite the ordeal. Still, it would do him better to bathe properly and sleep horizontally.

“Dara,” Zhen’s voice was soft as he crept forward. “Dara, we’re breaking for the night.”

The man’s eyes flew open when Zhen’s hand brushed against his knee. Jerking back, hard enough he smacked his head against the wall, Dara let out an inarticulate shout. He blinked, sleep fading from his eyes, but there was no trust that replaced it. Instead, his prince just stared at him, gaze wavering as the horror and surprise slowly gave way to bleary confusion.

“Zhen?”

He would let the lack of honorifics slide, just this once. “You’re alright, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I… I was dreaming,” Dara’s voice was distant. “I was…”

When he looked down at his clothes, the carriage, the hope in his eyes died. So, it wasn’t a dream.

“You’re safe,” Zhen assured him. “Now, let’s get into the hostel so you don’t have to sleep sitting up. I can’t imagine that’s comfortable.”

Dazed, Dara let his master take his arm, guiding him out of the carriage. How long had it been since he had been able to rest? Dark circles under his eyes stood out in his pale face, and when he looked at something, it took him a moment to focus his gaze, stumbling forward. A couple of servants spared them a glance, though they knew Zhen well enough to leave them be. As Dara slowly woke, still streaked with filth and exhausted beyond measure, he allowed himself to be guided up the stairs and into the room.

It was a nice room for a hostel. It was done up in the Kadin style, with a bed flat on the floor, a desk in one corner, and a squat dresser for their clothes. A couple of servants had gone ahead and placed a few packs down for them with anything they might need. There was a bathroom through a door, one that Dara would be availing himself of at the first chance. The window’s shutters were drawn shut, but the cool night air flowed through the slats and —

And he heard Dara’s breathing speed up. A glance at his face as Zhen closed the door revealed paralyzing panic, amber eyes darting around the room and back to the door. His hands wrung his shirt hem, threatening to tear it into pieces.

“Everything alright, princeling?” Zhen kept his voice light and calm.

“Is this your room or mine?” A false hope lingered in Dara’s face.

Shaking his head, Zhen rested a hand on Dara’s shoulder. The man flinched away, and those eyes got ever rounder once he realized what he’d done.

“It’s alright,” Zhen soothed, “if you aren’t comfortable sleeping in the bed, then we can set something up on the floor.” It wasn’t what Zhen wanted, but it would have to do. “I would never force myself upon you. You have my word, Dara, if we have sex, it will be because you asked me.”

Though he trembled, Dara stood his ground. “I won’t be asking you. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

With a sigh, Zhen nodded. “Alright. Whatever you like, princeling. So long as you don’t kill me in my sleep — and people will know it’s you — I’ll yield to your demands. Now, why don’t we get you all cleaned up, doesn’t a hot, soapy bath sound nice?”

Hesitant, Dara nodded.

“Good. I will wash you, and don’t protest. You haven’t bathed yourself in years, and I can’t be sure you know how.”

“I know how to bathe myself,” Dara muttered. “This is humiliating.”

Zhen raised an eyebrow. “And you will grow to enjoy it. Never mind that someone has to wash the welts on your back. Let’s go, princeling. I will run the bath, and you will strip.”

“Do I really have to?” he whispered.

Fixing him with a stern look, Zhen patted his thigh, like calling a dog. “I said let’s go.”

Dara’s face went red, and he shoved his head down as he followed Zhen into the bathroom. It was a nice room, tiled with a large mirror set in the vanity. The bathtub was large enough to seat one person at a time, and servants had left myriad little soaps and vials of oils on the lip of the bathtub for them. Big, fluffy towels and a couple of hairbrushes sat on the vanity, along with two clean toothbrushes and toothpaste.

Zhen ran the bath, perfectly warm. Dara looked around, hesitating, but when he met Zhen’s eye, his cheeks darkened once more. His arms crossed over his chest, smoothing down his shirt. How maidenly.

“Come now, Dara. I can wait all night, but the water will get cold. You got yourself dressed, very impressive, so why don’t you get yourself undressed.”

Though his prince tried to stammer out an argument, Zhen’s determination won out. One stern look, and Dara’s hands stuttered to the hem of his shirt. He pulled it over his head, revealing lean muscle, flecked with blood, grime, and sweat. Here was a man who, though he lived in the lap of luxury, had been starved. His ribs stuck out, and his stomach had gone hollow, despite the meals he had eaten.

Tutting softly, Zhen let his eyes rake over his prince. “What did Vaness do to you, princeling? Have you always been so… skinny?”

That blush spread down to his chest, meager hair struggling to obscure it. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Zhen made all the noises of sympathy, sitting back on his heels, one hand in the water. Inviting. As Dara tugged off his boots and socks, Zhen noted that his wounds had started healing nicely. Gone were the little winces with every step, and he didn’t seem to be feverish with infection. Then again, it could be a matter of time.

He hesitated when he came to his pants but, with his gaze fixed to the floor, pulled them off. His cheeks burned, and he couldn’t meet Zhen’s eye. Ultimately, though, he clambered in and sank down beneath the water in the bathtub. Zhen’s hands alighted onto his shoulders, and there was a note of pride in his hum as he grabbed the soap. Narrating his actions, Zhen watched Dara’s embarrassment slowly fade from a fever pitch, replaced with a low grade humiliation.

“This isn’t that bad, is it?” Zhen murmured, smiling.

Silent, Dara balled his hands into fists under the water. His shoulders rose, tense, but still, he said nothing.

With a sigh, Zhen started on scrubbing his new pet clean. He let him. “You know, this is as good a time as ever to go over what I expect of you.”

“Sure. Let’s do that, Master Zhen,” he muttered, eyes on the rippling water.

Smiling as he worked, Zhen rolled up his sleeves. “First, I do expect your obedience. I honestly don’t care how you treat others, but you will listen to what I tell you, and you will obey me. Is that clear, princeling?”

A shallow nod.

“Good. Next, if there is something wrong, then you will tell me immediately. Be it injury, sickness, or even a bad feeling in your stomach, you will alert me to it. Is that understood?”

“I feel bad right now,” Dara’s words were hardly a breath, but Zhen heard them.

His hands stilled. “Why do you feel bad, Dara?”

The man’s breath stuttered. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

Tutting, Zhen finished getting all the grime off. “That is my final rule: no lying. I wouldn’t recommend that you push your luck with that one — I can’t abide a liar, and I certainly can’t harbor one. Now, I’ll ask you again, why do you feel bad, Dara?”

His response was barely audible, forced out. “I feel bad because I want this to be over.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Define hurting.”

“Cheeky, I like that.” If he could sass, then he was fine. “This might sting, but I’m going to put some creams onto your back. It will help with the healing. Hold still.”

To his credit, Dara did hold still. He held still as Zhen treated his wounds again, and held still as Zhen fetched a hairbrush. He even held still as he worked the conditioner and oils into his hair, working some of the bigger knots out with his fingers. In his princely days, his hair had been the jewel of his appearance, meticulously cared for and shockingly long. Ruddy and red, it had shone in the sunlight, often done up in elaborate styles that no doubt took hours to complete. Vaness had cut all that off, rendered hair jewelry and tortoiseshell combs useless.

“A shame,” Zhen murmured as he pulled his fingers through Dara’s hair, slippery with product and freshly cleaned. “You had such lovely hair.”

Dara turned to a statue, frozen in a hunched, tight position. “I haven’t seen a mirror yet. Is it bad?”

“It…” Yes, it was. “It isn’t terrible. It’s workable. If you would like, I can have someone cut it for you. I can’t say I have much experience cutting hair, or I would offer to do it myself. It makes you look younger, frankly, but you can make it into something.”

Quiet spread between them, the splashing of the bath was deafening. As Zhen brushed his hair, Dara let out a sniffle. A cursory glance revealed tears running down his face, nearly silent in his sobbing. It sent a pang through Zhen’s heart.

“Are you alright?” he found himself asking.

“Peachy.”

Zhen left it at that, working through the knots in Dara’s hair until the brush ran smoothly through it. He drained the murky water of the bath, and wrapped his prince in one of the white fluffy towels, taking in the surprised look. An unexpected kindness, then. For all Dara watched him with paranoia, like a cornered wild animal, there was a trace of trust in his eyes. Slow to grow, yes, but present.

“I’m going to get some food,” Zhen said, words steady and simple. “Would you like anything specific? While I’m out, you can brush your teeth and set up your bed on the floor to your liking.”

Dara just shrugged. “As long as it’s food, I’m happy.” And then, almost as an afterthought, “Thank you, Master Zhen.”

Rewarding him with a genuine, startled smile, Zhen stepped out of the room. He made his way to the kitchens in a daze, put in his order for some herbal tea, meat and potatoes, and bread, and lingered in the downstairs tavern of the hostel. Dara no doubt wanted some space, if only to relax, breathe, and take care of his personal grooming. He would grow used to having Zhen around — would end up allowing Zhen to take care of him — but for now, it would be enough to sleep in the same room as him. At least Dara had been able to sleep in the carriage.

By the time he had his food and stepped back into the room, his prince had set up the bed as asked, taking the spare pillows and sheets. Zhen’s bed had been untouched. An unexpected disappointment flooded through him; did he think he would be harmed should he touch Zhen’s things? He wasn’t a particularly harsh master, all things equal.

What surprised him the most, though, was Dara’s state. The man had his eyes closed, one arm wrapped tightly around a pillow, free arm under his head. It couldn’t have been comfortable to be in that position, nothing between his head and the floor but his elbow and a thin blanket. And yet Dara slept. His chest rose and fell, breathing even and serene, undisturbed by the light, the smell of food, or Zhen’s footsteps.

With a small, fond huff, Zhen set the food down and locked the door behind him. Gently, he took one of the copious pillows from his own bed, and lifted Dara’s head. When he set it back down, now cushioned, Dara’s eyelids fluttered, and he murmured something incomprehensible before rolling over, dragging his blanket with him. Adorable.

Chapter Text

They made it to the border in the morning, the carriage slowing as they approached the checkpoint. It was a squat, sturdy building, filled to the brim with guards dressed in black and white uniforms. The road on either side gave way to woodland, though Dara remembered passing through a town a little while ago, an hour’s walk on foot. They had been pushing the envelope with how fast the horses could travel recently, and Dara was sure they welcomed the break.

With an exasperated sigh, Zhen got up, motioning for the prince to remain seated.

“This should only take a moment,” he groaned. “The guards always want to speak with me, and with what King Vaness is doing, I can’t imagine they will just let us through without my say-so. He was talking about closing the borders last I heard, but who knows, maybe he hasn’t realized you’re missing yet.”

Fat chance. He was shocked the hunting dogs hadn’t been unleashed on them. Every knight in the kingdom had to be looking for Dara, hunting him down for the reward that would follow. Vaness knew how to manipulate people, he had proved that when he had thrown the court in jail, picking them off one by one as they shook and shivered in their cells.

Swallowing his protests, he watched Zhen leave the carriage. A muffled conversation followed, calm words with bored expressions. Had the guards been alerted that he was to be killed? What if they knew what he looked like? There were plenty of paintings Vaness could have sent out, and descriptions of him were hardly lacking. Gods, he could have told them about all of Dara’s little birthmarks, the man worked with the people who bathed him.

When a guard poked his face into the window, raising an eyebrow at Dara, his heart nearly stopped. He was a young man, hardly older than Dara himself, with long chestnut hair tied back. He looked like his brother. His heart ached at the thought. But this wasn’t Falcon, this stranger with his face. Falcon was dead, had gone screaming to the bitter end, fighting against the executioner until they wrestled the noose over his neck and shoved him onto the platform and… and Dara didn’t want to think about that.

“You alright?” the man asked, though he didn’t sound like he cared about the answer.

“Peachy.”

The man snorted at that. “Don’t look fine to me. You look scared half to death, so I’ll ask again, you alright?”

It was this or death. Meeting his eye, Dara kept his voice steady and sure, the pinnacle of princely grace. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

Noticing the conversation, Zhen called over, “Oh, that’s my slave. He’s new. I have papers for him, if that’s a problem. I take it he’s behaving?”

Though his words sent a shiver through him — the unspoken promise that any misbehavior would be corrected as Zhen saw fit — Dara kept his eyes fixed on the guard. For this moment, he was in charge. No one would be dragging him back, no one had to know who he was. As much as he wanted to scream and break down crying, Dara needed to survive, and getting himself captured and shipped off to his execution wouldn’t work.

“Oh, sorry sir,” the guard replied, not even bothering to look at Dara. A slave was forgettable.

“It isn’t a problem,” Zhen’s smile was clear in his voice. “You’re welcome to speak with him, he can be a good boy. Isn’t that right, Dara?”

With that, the attention shifted back to him. Planting a placated smile on his face, Dara replied, “Of course, Master Zhen. I love to behave.”

They were the right words, judging from how the guards chuckled at him. Like he was cute.

“Dara, huh? Did you name him after that prince? The middle one with the hair,” the guard closest to Dara asked.

Zhen laughed, and Dara’s existence faded into the background. Good enough. At least it would keep him from saying the wrong thing — however much he wanted to demand their respect. Peons like this should have bowed to be in his very presence, never mind the horror they would feel once they realized they’d made fun of the current heir to the throne. Yes, his family was dead and his court disbanded, but he was still the prince. He was meant to be in charge, not some nobody butler that got too big for his britches and…

And Dara took a deep breath, sitting back down. He let the conversation outside wash over him. What was he doing, playing along as they gossiped about the palace and the border, happy to stamp Zhen’s papers and send him on his way? He should be fighting, raising an army that would help him take back what was rightfully his, his name should send Vaness quaking in his boots, but… here he was. Hiding in a carriage.

As Zhen clambered back in, wishing the guards a fond farewell, they were off. Dara said nothing, just letting his thoughts circle and circle, like buzzards over a corpse. That was what he was, a corpse. He just happened to be walking around, talking, and thinking altogether too much. Someone was going to come and put him out of his misery soon, and nothing Zhen could say would stop it. Vaness had the military, the peasantry, the country. All Dara had was a couple of old flings that hardly remembered his name.

He would try harder. He had to

*

The temple Zhen brought them to was small, far smaller than Dara expected. He was used to the large, opulent churches of Kadras, not the compact, walled temple compounds that Illun’s worshipers built. Of course, he had been in a couple here and there, but few people came across the border to spread the good word of their god, not for a polytheistic land like Kadras. Everyone believed in something, but Illun worshipers were… different. They organized and built great complexes.

This temple was one for wayfarers. A master and his slave here for a blessing, they blended right in. As they passed through its front gate, Dara couldn’t help but gawk, staring at the colorful banners. Those were for passing souls, he remembered, red for constancy, black for unions, and white for departures. Something about the fire within all life tingled at the back of his mind, aching to be remembered. He would be damned if he asked Zhen.

Sparing the ambassador a glance, Dara found him staring out of the window himself, a pensive look on his face. Lost in thought. Dark eyes scanned the temple grounds, and found the worshipers, the holy people, dressed in their yellow garb, an echo of the second sun. The holier sun, according to them. The Gods didn’t pick favorites, they all had their own preferences, but Illun had his own intricacies to memorize. It was probably easier than remembering which god liked what.

“That’s the shrine,” Zhen spoke up, nodding his head in the direction of the largest building, a two-story affair in the center of the compound. “We’re going there.”

“Why?” the question slipped out of Dara’s mouth.

The look Zhen gave him bordered on condescending. “Because we need to be cleansed before we can enter Red City. Never mind that we need to have our union blessed before I take you into my home.”

“You’re religious, Master Zhen?” Dara immediately kicked himself for the question.

“Are you not?”

“Well… with the gods being what they are…” It was a lame response.

Zhen raised an eyebrow. “And what are the Gods, princeling?”

“Fickle? I don’t know,” he shrugged, “it was never important. Pray to Autenia for safe travels by land, Sysonne for sea. Pray to Kradamna for the safety of your family, pray to Julim for your friends. It’s too much to keep track of in Kadras. We were never supposed to show favor to one god over the other as royalty, you know that Zh—Master.” The correction came automatically, tasting mechanical and artificial. “I never had time for any of that.”

Those dark, almond eyes turned back to the window as the carriage slowed down. “We’re here. I would have assumed you would have nothing but time on your hands. You were the fourth-born.”

Dara opened his mouth to retort but thought better of it. He didn’t need Zhen to be pissed at him. The door to the carriage swung wide, and Zhen hopped out, flashing his attendant a winning smile. Dara was moving before he could think, sticking close to the ambassador. Soft grass under his booted feet, he trotted after Zhen, pleased to note that he didn’t feel a stab of pain with every step. The ointment worked wonders.

The holy people didn’t bother to gawk as they made their way into the shrine, Dara staring at the place around him. The shrine was made of wood, with large, ornate windows, covered by a lattice of intricately carved wood in various geometric patterns. It was painted a deep yellow, a similar shade to the holy robes. Surely, they got sick of the color at some point?

When they entered, though, the air was cool and fragrant with the scent of incense. Bells chimed in a soft breeze, and a giant wall of carved black marble stood at the far end. They had carved it with words, book-like, and veins of gold ran through it, showing the second sun shining down onto the world, bringing with it life force. Or something along those lines. Not for the first time, Dara wished he’d paid more attention in his lectures. Tutor Anise would be annoyed that he didn’t remember the first thing about Illun’s worshipers. The Mysteries of the Second Sun, she would have corrected his terminology, were popular in the north. One never knew when this information would become handy.

Ha. One really never knew.

A gilded statue of Illun sat in the center of the room, a four-armed man sitting with his legs crossed, ruby eyes boring into Dara. Two hands were outstretched towards the door, while the other two pointed to the sky, the first and second sun at true noon. Equilibrium, Dara remembered something was important about equilibrium.

“I’m going to pray,” Zhen murmured in his ear, breath hot. A flush dusted his face. Dara hadn’t noticed him getting so close. “You’re free to wander, but don’t leave the compound.”

Nodding shallowly, Dara played with the hem of his shirt. A nervous habit he had picked up as a child. All these years, and he still hadn’t dropped it. As he watched Zhen head to the wall, Dara stood in front of the statue of Illun, doing his best to recall what he had learned all those years ago. Illun was the lightbringer and the patron of light, the bringer of warmth. He had cleaved himself in two to create the suns, a holy suicide of sorts, and the suns… fought? Fucked? Both? Dara couldn’t remember.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a priestess and a beggar knight, a common sight around these parts. When the priestess noticed him watching her, she gave him a wide smile, walking over. The prayer beads around her neck, obsidian and gold, clinked together as she walked, and her bare feet made no noise on the wooden floor. Nothing creaked, perfectly constructed, and expertly maintained. Only the best for their god.

“Hello, young one.” Her voice was like the bells in the breeze, faintly accented. This close, Dara could see the wrinkles in her face, the grey streaks in her hair. “You have never been within a shrine, have you?”

With an awkward laugh, Dara looked at the representation of Illun, studying the whorls in the stone of the statue. “What gave it away?”

“Most pray, or send offerings, or bow their heads. It is the tourists that most often mill about. You do not know what to do with yourself. That is alright, young one, most your age and from Kadras are unfamiliar with our ways. I take it your master brought you here to be sanctified?”

Dara grimaced at that. “Not to be rude, but I don’t understand. How did you know I belonged to… my master? And that I was to be blessed, at that?”

The priestess gave him a sympathetic smile, “They rarely tell your lot why this is necessary. You bear your master’s mark, I anticipate you will be marked more permanently once you reach his home. Do not worry, it will be done with minimal pain — to do otherwise is to render you unclean. You need to be sanctified in order to bring in Illun’s good grace. You do not want for Illun to look directly at you, those in his line of sight are often destined to live an interesting life.”

“I would call my life interesting,” Dara protested. “For that matter, why don’t you want an interesting life?”

She looked at him like he had grown a second head. “Why, because I would rather not have to fight my way through hordes of enemies, or lead kingdoms, or speak with the suns’ light every time I open my mouth. It would get exhausting soon, no? I would much rather be a commoner than a king. Everyone wants to kill kings, but who would want to kill a commoner?”

“Another commoner?”

“Another commoner does not have access to an army, or a militia, or an assassin. Another commoner would need to look me in the eye when they slay me.”

Dara held his tongue. He had never needed to hold it so much in all his years at the palace.

Taking his silence for assent, the priestess smiled at him, matronly. “I would keep my head down, young one. Your master is a powerful man, and as much as he seems to think this will be a permanent arrangement, know that fate is fickle, and Illun can always turn to look upon you.”

“Thanks,” Dara mumbled. “I might take my chances with my own gods, though.”

She tutted. “Then you should know that, in your own stories, after Illun’s death, Lun and Ail were the mothers of the Gods. Do not mistake our worship of his spirit to be an insult to the Gods. Surely, you were taught this by your mother as she rocked your cradle?”

With a shrug, Dara looked away. “My mother didn’t rock me.”

“A pity.”

Smiling at him one last time, the priestess made her way to the wall, her steps silent and careful. Out of the corner of his eye, Dara saw the beggar knight approach, her sword clattering against its scabbard. She was dressed for the road, dirty from sleeping on the ground, and smelling like she hadn’t bathed in days. The sort this temple attracted. Her hair was shaved, black against the pale white of her scalp, and her eyes were blood red. He remembered something about one of Illun’s ranks having red eyes, but couldn’t for the life of him place the myth.

She didn’t bother to meet Dara’s eye as she approached, laying a small pile of one-cent coins at the base of the statue.

“Don’t let the old windbag get into your head, kid.” Her voice was rough. “I’ll bless you, if you want. It’s lucky.”

“Sure,” Dara said before he got a hold of himself.

As Zhen came back from the wall, Dara’s heart sped up. Would he be in trouble for this? He hadn’t left the premises — hadn’t even left the building — but Zhen never said anything about talking to other people. Maybe this was it, this was what got him beaten in public, not that anyone here would care. It was normal to discipline a slave, especially one as new and disobedient as Dara. They would be on Zhen’s side.

“Lo, mister,” called the beggar knight. “I was asking your slave if he would like a blessing. Fortune favors the downtrodden, and all that. My godname is Wrath.”

Wrath, how strange.

Zhen didn’t seem to think so. His face broke into a smile. “That would be wonderful, thank you, Dame Wrath. Please, go right ahead. I have had our union blessed already, but what is an extra blessing?”

Nodding, the beggar knight turned her attention back to Dara, muttering something under her breath. Before he could ask what she was doing, her hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and she had swiped fragrant incense ash under his eyes. She sprinkled more ash atop his head and, with a wry smile, clapped him over the shoulder.

“May Illun bless and forget you. There you are, kid. All done.”

Zhen fished a handful of coins out of his purse. As he handed them to Wrath, his grin was wide. “I am honored by your work. We won’t bother you anymore, come along, favorite.”

With a snort, Wrath let Dara go. “Favorite, huh? Aren’t you lucky. May our paths cross again, kid.”

May Illun bless and forget him indeed. As he followed Zhen out of the temple, he resisted the urge to ask a million questions, instead allowing himself to be washed in the sights and smells of the temple, sandalwood, and smoke, and marigolds. The suns were bright overhead, but Dara’s stomach still sank when he saw the carriage. They had a long trip to Red City ahead of them.

Chapter Text

Zhen loved Red City. It was home, with its crowded streets, chiming bells, and colorful banners. In honor of Illun, the city strung banners and bells across the street intersections, a riot of reds, blues, and yellows, interspersed with black and white here and there. The air smelled like food and incense, and sellers hawked their wares, shouting into the street. His city was right behind the main gate, and then they would be free to make their way to the Throne District.

The gate loomed before them, huge stone blocks carved with prayers to Illun, Lun, and Ail. In the suns’ light, crystals embedded in the blocks glittered, a marvel of engineering. Ancient masons had made it, and though it was pockmarked here and there from wars long since won, it was a majesty to behold. A testament to Aritian work ethic and capability.

As Zhen’s manservant took care of the paperwork, a city guard made his way to Zhen’s window. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dara shrink back, the sound of heavy boots on cobblestones enough to send his eyes wild. Without thinking, Zhen rested a hand on the man’s knee, giving it a slight squeeze.

“You’re alright,” he assured him, “it’s just a guard, they want to make sure no one is smuggling anything into the city.” And then, with a wink, “Nothing dangerous, that is.”

That didn’t help Dara’s pallor. Still, he said nothing. At least he didn’t pull away from Zhen’s touch, that or he knew better than to flinch back from his master’s affections. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to anger his master. There would be time for him to find out just how merciful Zhen was.

The guard cleared her throat, looking altogether bored. “Excuse me, sir. Do you have anything you would like to declare?”

“No, nothing.”

Looking into the carriage, her gaze skimmed over Dara, who could not look more terrified if his life depended on it. “Does that one have anything to say?”

Zhen shook his head. “That is my favorite. He’s new.”

“He isn’t on your manifest.”

“As I said, he’s new. I picked him up in Kadras, and he hasn’t had time to settle in yet. Surely, you’ve heard about what happened? I needed to get out, for my own safety, before the peasants revolted.”

The guard managed to look even more bored. “Sure. Make sure he’s declared on your manifest next time. Go ahead, you’re destined to the Throne District? Take the highway.”

He knew how to get there. “Thank you, have a nice day.”

“Mm.”

With that, they were off, pulled through the massive stone gates of the city. Dara marveled at them, taking in the intricately carved reliefs of the city’s founders on the interior. They had fought and bled for this land, wringing it from the territorial demigod who had reigned over it before. A child of the Goddess of Storms, she had fought hard to keep her land, but lost to the might of Aritia’s founders. Even now, a thousand years later, the jewels in their eyes glittered in the sun, honoring their hard work.

The city rose to meet them as they rode through the gate, its great towers looming high to protect the denizens from attacks. It was beautiful. They navigated to the highway quickly, leaving the coiling, crowded, labyrinthine streets behind. From this high up, Zhen could see the Academic Quarter, with its colleges and schools and libraries, the most extensive in all the land, and the snarl of streets in the Rumble, some too narrow to even bring a carriage through. It was the most expensive district to live in, history preserved. Some buildings even had archaic magic within them, still working hard to keep them safe.

And then, there was the Throne District. The shining jewel of the city — of the country. It sat in the heart of the Emerald Sea, a large string of parks, interrupted here and there by mansions and townhouses of the nobles. In the center rose the council’s palatial compound, their mansions in a center around a domed cathedral. Painted red as the setting sun, it was the beating heart of the country, where laws were passed, important trials held, and land allocated.

They rode along, skylines giving way to artisanal, manicured forest. Dara stared out of the carriage, a mixture of curiosity and dread on his face. He looked like he would be sick at any moment, and Zhen couldn’t help a pang of sympathy. Dara must have been overwhelmed at the sight of his new life, but he would grow used to it sooner rather than later.

“It looks a little like your old palace, doesn’t it?” He kept his voice calm and cheerful.

Glancing at him, Dara shifted in his seat. “A little bit. Are you allowed to hunt here, Master Zhen?”

Now that was a strange question. Zhen’s surprise must have shown on his face, as his prince waved the question aside.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, Master Zhen.”

“Do you like hunting, princeling?”

Dara just shrugged, returning to his usual silence. For a prince, he really was quiet; most royals Zhen had met loved to talk, prattling on about their oh-so-dreary days until their conversational partner died of boredom. Not Dara. Dara kept his questions close to his chest and didn’t bother to use his voice much, spending the time looking out the window or sleeping. The poor thing did sleep a lot, a side effect of healing and adjusting. A small wonder his dreams hadn’t been plagued by nightmares, not that Zhen could tell, anyway. Yes, Dara whimpered and whined in his sleep from time to time, but when he woke with a start, he didn’t immediately start screaming.

Soon enough, the carriage slowed before the domed cathedral, the parliamentary building. This close, he could see the fine marble columns and facade, inlaid with intricate nature mosaics and stained glass windows to match. Though Dara stared, there was fear in his face, as if this was it, this was how Vaness found him and extradited him back to Kadras. Like Zhen would let that happen.

As they exited the carriage, one of the servants greeted them. He was new, not a face Zhen recognized and, as Dara trailed after him, hands held firmly at his sides, he couldn’t help but notice his prince picking at the hem of his shirt. Nothing Zhen could say would make it better, he knew that, but there was always time later, when they were alone, to soothe him.

They arrived at the high council’s meeting room quickly, not bothering to detour through the winding halls, filled with art and treasures from Aritia’s storied history. As much as Zhen wanted to linger and tell Dara all about his country, the myths and legends he probably didn’t know, they had a schedule to adhere to. The high council hated to be left waiting; they had enough meetings that scoring an appointment with them was in itself a cause for celebration.

When Zhen and Dara entered the room, though, they found the high council displeased. The five of them didn’t smile — though that wasn’t strange, they were known for their stern gazes and clever, glinting eyes. They surely must have heard about what happened in Kadras by now, but would they know about Dara?

Well, only one way to find out.

Bowing low, Zhen smothered a nervous, wry smile. “Your Highnesses, I thank you for your time and attention.”

His overseer, Lady Faol, waved her hand for him to rise again. She was in charge of foreign relations, as well as the border region. Her hair long since gone grey with stress, she was among the busiest women he had ever met. Zhen knew her well, though, to her, he was just one of a squadron of ambassadors. He was easily overlooked, forgotten. Exactly what he wanted.

“You work with the Kadin throne, don’t you?” she asked, her raspy voice annoyed.

“I do, Lady Faol.”

Her grey eyes raked over him, exacting. “What happened?”

Someone got a little too eager about his place in the world and decided to institute a new regime at the cost of a family’s livelihood. Not that complicated.

“It seems as though the butler decided that he was a better fit for the throne than the royal family,” Zhen started, mindful of Dara beside him, “and so elected to kill them, my Lady.”

Dara stiffened, but didn’t speak. He was truly behaving magnificently today, keeping his head down and his hands clasped in front of him, the perfect picture of a new slave. The high council hadn’t even spared him a second glance, and he hadn’t complained, letting Zhen speak. Biting back a smile, Zhen resisted the urge to pat him on the back.

Lady Faol let out a distant hum, turning this new reality over in her mind. If relations soured, they would have a grain surplus, but a deficit in the budget. Zhen couldn’t wait to see what they decided on — no doubt they would give him a vacation to settle back in. He had just escaped a coup, he deserved it. Never mind that he hadn’t taken a break in the last year.

Clearing his throat, Zhen caught Lady Faol’s attention again. “While I’m here, my Lady, I would like to request a week of vacation, to ease my nerves and assist with getting the newest member of my household comfortable. He and I just experienced the overthrow of a royal family, and we would be eternally grateful for time to rest and recuperate after fleeing such a situation. As you know, I don’t do well with danger, my Lady.”

With a snort, Lady Faol eyed her council members, some of whom glanced at Dara with disinterest. A couple even laughed.

“I can give you until next week’s start. Four days, no more. There’s far too much to get done.”

Four measly days. Lovely.

“Thank you, my Lady.” He bowed low. “Once the week begins, what would you need of me?”

She raised an eyebrow, staring at him for the first time. Zhen averted his eyes, focusing on the marble floor and his polished boots, hoping that Dara would do the same. His prince was smart, he knew how to keep himself alive, given that he had survived a week in the dungeons, but there was only so much Zhen could do to protect him against Lady Faol’s ire. Though she wasn’t known to be a hothead, the situation in Kadras would only shorten her temper.

“What I need of you, ambassador mine, is for you to fill out paperwork, brief me and my advisers, and keep your mouth shut to everyone else about the situation. The more I know about what happened, the better. I certainly can’t send you back into an active battle zone, so tell me frankly: does it seem like civil war is about to break out in Kadras?”

Beside him, Dara hissed in a breath. Barely audible, it was enough for Lady Faol’s eyes to flick to him.

“Don’t tell me your new slave isn’t trained. You understand that only authorized slaves are allowed within the parliamentary building. We’ve made an exception just this once, since you didn’t have time to stop home, but it will be only this once.”

“He’s trained, my Lady. He is simply recovering from seeing his people in such disarray.”

Lady Faol didn’t reply, simply scanning Dara with bored eyes. She was a viper, Zhen had learned over the years, kept in check by her co-rulers. Even now, a couple of them squirmed in their seats, collecting their thoughts. Zhen had done this song and dance enough to know that, if he continued this path, one of them would pipe up and tell Lady Faol how to treat those who worked under her. They certainly liked to meddle in one another’s business.

Waving a hand through the air, she looked away, caving to the pressure. “Fine. Go, take your vacation. I will see you soon enough. A messenger will be at your house tomorrow so you can schedule a time to meet with me. I’m glad you’re safe, ambassador.”

Zhen blinked at that, but bowed low once more, leading Dara out of the room. Lady Faol likely didn’t know his name. She never learned anyone’s name, they usually fell out of her employ faster than she could remember them. In all his time with her, he had never heard of her asking about one of her diplomats’ safety, though she didn’t send them into war zones for the most part. A woman of few affectionate words, she had surprised him for the first time in years.

Once they were out of the room and ferried back into the carriage, Dara braved a glance at him. “She seems… nice, Master Zhen.”

“Mm, quite.”

“None of them recognized me.”

Fixing Dara with a look, Zhen gave him a sad smile. “As you yourself said, you aren’t the most important member of your family. Never mind that the last time your family visited, you were a child. Of course, the council doesn’t remember what you look like, it wasn’t important to them. I would be happy — the less they know about you, the safer you are.”

“What if I don’t want to be safe,” Dara muttered, quiet enough that Zhen almost didn’t make it out.

“ I want you to be safe, and now? It’s my word that goes.”

Cheeks darkening, Dara sputtered out a reply, “I don’t have a say in my own safety?”

With another melancholy smile, Zhen shook his head in disbelief. “Of course not. It is a master’s duty to keep their slaves safe, and I pride myself on being a good master. No one under my care has ever died, and they live happy, healthy lives. I learned that from my father, mind you.”

Dara let out a huff, turning his attention to the window.

“What’s wrong, do you miss your courtly life?” Though Zhen tried to keep his voice sympathetic, he winced at the traces of annoyance within.

He didn’t reply, simply crossing one leg over the other. His outfit, picked out by Zhen, flattered him, but it wasn’t something he would wear. Zhen remembered that much from the meager times they had passed each other in the palace hallways. This was utilitarian, something to blend in with the crowd, while the Dara he knew favored bold colors and revealing clothing. He had overheard many arguments between Dara and his parents about his outfit choice. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to give him some more clothes closer to what he was used to, rather than traveling clothes, especially since Dara would spend most of his time at home.

It didn’t take long for the carriage to slow, pulling up to the front of Zhen’s house. Peeking out through the trees, it was large, secluded, and spacious. The facade was done up in the traditional style, painted a nice, pale green to contrast with the white supports. The servants had emerged when they heard the crunch of carriage wheels on gravel, and with their smiling faces, welcomed Zhen and Dara back. Customary, after such a long trip.

As they clambered out, Dara stuck close to him. Head down, he flitted his gaze from servant to servant as Zhen introduced them. Lorie the cook, Darran the butler, Hes the head guard. Important people to know, ones he would be interacting with regularly. All they got were mumbled greetings, all of Dara’s courtly training forgotten. He trailed after Zhen, taking in the large house.

Zhen got the sinking feeling he would be hiding soon. The last time he was in such a big house, it had been the palace. Memories from his former home would mingle with the traumas Vaness had inflicted on him, clouding Dara’s judgment. Hopefully, he wouldn’t wash his hands of Darran. He would adjust in time. Even if the servants shot concerned looks out of the corners of their eyes as he marched through his home, showing off the paintings in the drawing room, imported carpets from all the places he had been positioned, and the keepsakes he had been given for a job well done.

Though Dara made all the appreciative noises Zhen expected, his mind was elsewhere. His breathing came faster than normal, or at the very least, faster than it was in the carriage with Zhen, and his pretty amber eyes round. He didn’t say anything, didn’t voice any questions, a far cry from the boisterous, lively prince he had known.

“And this,” Zhen did his best to drum up excitement as he brought them on a tour of the premises, “is your drawing room! It’s connected to the master’s bedroom, and you’ll be sleeping with me. There’s a daybed in here if you would like to nap, though, and plenty of books to read. I’m not one of those owners who don’t let their slaves read books, mind you, and if there’s anything your heart desires, you just tell Darran, alright?”

Nodding, Dara looked around. Bookshelves lined one wall, though they were mostly bare. He hadn’t known what Dara would like — or even if he would be successful in his plan, but he had guessed at some of the authors and subjects. Anything else could be taken from the library in his study. A desk and chair sat against the far wall, near the window overlooking the gardens, and there was a large closet full of all sorts of clothing. Anything Dara liked could be found there, a collection of collections.

It was a comfortable room.

“Thank you,” Dara murmured, those wide eyes darting to Zhen’s. They slipped away quickly, taking in the inoffensive paintings on the walls. “Do you, um, have a guitar or something here that I can play? I used to play when I got stressed.”

What an interesting request. “That can be arranged. I wasn’t aware you played. Do you sing, too?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, Mother always forbade it. But thank you for opening your home to me. I wasn’t expecting… this…”

“Were you expecting a blanket on the floor?”

Dara was silent.

Sighing, Zhen rested his hand on the small of his back. He didn’t flinch away. “I told you, princeling, I was going to take good care of you. I understand if you didn’t trust me before, but have I done anything to break what rapport we’ve built with one another?”

“No, you haven’t,” said Dara, like it was a grand realization.

“Then don’t treat me like a monster, because I’m not one. Now, why don’t you settle in, and I can have dinner brought up to you. Any requests? As the newest member of the household, it’s tradition to let you pick, though I would recommend the lamb meatballs. Lorie is quite good at those.”

Dara blinked, thinking it over. “The lamb meatballs sound good, then.”

“Alright. I’ll be in my study catching up on paperwork, in that case. Feel free to wander, but don’t leave the house. There’s a library in the study if you don’t find any of the books here interesting, and I’ll let Darran know you would like a guitar. If you get peckish, then you can visit the kitchen. I believe that’s all, but any questions can be directed to me or Darran.”

“T-thank you, Master Zhen,” Dara murmured. His eyes were fixed on the floor.

With a smile, Zhen left. Things were going well, and once Dara settled in, they could actually enjoy one another’s presence without worrying about whether or not he would be able to get caught by the border guard, or if Vaness would demand extradition. Not that Kadras had the authority to extradite slaves.

Chapter Text

Zhen had a big house. Dara could get lost exploring it, especially the grounds outside — and he no doubt would once he got the guts to wander around. For now, he stayed put. It made him laugh, almost. He had never been shy before, but he found his heart racing at the concept of speaking to a stranger, even one tasked with taking care of him. His hands shook when he heard strange footsteps, and he stuck close to Zhen when he could. For all Zhen had done, he didn’t want to hurt him. If he wanted Dara dead, or groveling, or fractured into pieces, then he would already have done it.

In a fit of humiliating fear, Dara had shown his hand when Zhen left for a meeting, suddenly busy now that he was home once more. He had looked at Zhen with utmost terror at the thought of being alone, and the ambassador had patted his arm. Once Dara had stopped flinching at his touch, it had come more readily.

“You can talk to the staff if you need anything,” Zhen had said, “and I’m just a messenger away. I’ll be back tonight.”

Though Dara hadn’t said anything, his new master could no doubt feel him shaking.

“You’ll be alright, Dara.” His name on Zhen’s lips would have to be enough to soothe him, however little it was. “I promise. You’re safe now, nothing is going to happen to you. How about I plan something nice for us tonight.”

Dara had nodded before he understood what he was agreeing to. With a smile, Zhen left. Dara’s stomach churned, but he was a grown man. He could handle being alone again — Gods, he was in a sprawling mansion with servants and a garden outside for him to get lost in, should he want to. No one was coming to beat him, and he just needed to say the word and he could have anything his heart desired. It was almost like he was home again.

Almost.

He couldn’t shake what the priestess had said about a more permanent marking. It would hurt, no doubt. Would Zhen brand him? Tattoo him? Cut off a finger? He had read plenty of horror stories, and the laws in Aritia were vague as to what masters could do to their slaves. It made his stomach churn with worry. At least he could be sure Zhen wouldn’t kill him, he had gone through enough to get Dara that killing him would be a waste.

Even so, it didn’t stop his circling thoughts. Pain was sure to come — Zhen wouldn’t be content with a simple necklace or bracelet, everyone would need to know Dara belonged to him at a glance. He just hoped it wasn’t something agonizing. As it was, Dara had been dressed in what he presumed were Zhen’s colors, in similar materials and patterns. A matching set. Maybe he would get the choice to wear what he liked once this was over, that meager freedom would be a small reward.

So it went for the rest of the day, Dara thinking, and thinking, and thinking but going nowhere. His mind ran and nothing changed, he paced and his thoughts paced with him, he tried to sleep and laid awake the entire time. At least he was given food whenever he liked. No doubt acting under Zhen’s instructions, the cooks made sure Dara was amply fed with whatever he liked. Mostly fruit, he had missed fruit the most while locked up.

As the sun crept below the horizon, there was a flurry among the servants. Glancing out the window, Dara saw a carriage arrive, and his heart sank before he realized it was Zhen exiting it. Alone. Dara released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, shoulders relaxing. As nice as Zhen’s servants were, they still looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and distrust.

He made his way down the stairs to the foyer. Zhen would probably like it if he was there to greet him, not that Dara was fond of the man. He just preferred to be with someone who he knew for certain wouldn’t whip him if he misbehaved enough. The butler here was stern and stoic and reminded him all too much of Vaness. He was waiting for Dara to slip up, for an excuse to withhold food or inflict pain. Dara knew the type.

When Zhen saw him, his face lit up. “Dara!”

Conscious of the servants’ eyes on them, Dara managed a measly bow, eyes firmly on the floor. Though he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He was meant to be a prince, the last surviving member of his family, and he couldn’t even greet someone. It was sad. Never mind that Zhen was his only friend these days, the man who owned him.

And yet, something in his chest fluttered when Zhen took his hands in his, smiling so openly, so eager to see him.

“I missed you, princeling,” he teased, and Dara’s eyes darted to his face and away. He couldn’t be bold here, not in front of so many people. The punishment he would receive… “As promised, I brought you something nice. Why don’t we go up to my rooms and enjoy it? Have you had dinner already?”

“Yes, Master Zhen.”

“Good.” And then, to his servants, “You all are dismissed, I will let you all know if we need anything.”

With that, they nodded and disbanded, going off to do whatever they liked. Dara couldn’t help but think that this was normal in this household, Zhen did know how to take care of himself, and though he enjoyed luxury, he wasn’t afraid to go without. At least, from what Dara had seen. It still made his heart leap into his throat to think about being alone with Zhen in such a big house, but the worst he would get was a spanking. If he could survive being whipped, then what was a red bottom?

Following Zhen up to his rooms, Dara kept his head down. His stomach hurt. Once they were inside with the door closed, the tension refused to abate. Gods, how he hated surprises, and now his… his master would expect him to act all grateful for whatever he had brought home. What if it was jewelry he would be expected to wear? Worse, what if it was a collar?

“Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable, princeling.”

He did. Sitting down on one of the floor cushions, Dara resisted the urge to chew on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. Zhen beamed at him, sitting down across from him and fishing something out of his bag. Producing a large bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, he shot Dara a winning smile.

“You drink, don’t you?”

Dara blinked. “I do…”

“Do you like wine? This isn’t a vintage, but Aritia is renowned for her vineyards.”

“I see.”

“Have you had Aritian wine before?”

Clearing his throat, Dara glanced away. “I have, once. I don’t remember what it tasted like.”

That netted him another smile. “Then it looks like I’m going to have to refresh your memory! Here, have a glass.”

Pouring him a glass of wine, Zhen handed it to him. Their hands brushed. Zhen’s was warm, and that heat sparked through Dara’s hand, warming him from the inside. He only just resisted the urge to snatch his hand back, taking a sniff of the wine. Fragrant and mellow, something anyone new to wine would like. So, Zhen had planned for him not to be familiar. Taking a sip, he found it strong, fortified, and fruity.

“It’s good,” he said after a moment of thought. “Different from Kadin wines, yes. Very… floral.”

Nodding, Zhen took a sip of his own glass. “Kadin wine is weaker, so do be aware of that. As safe as you are here, I wouldn’t want you to feel afraid of getting too drunk.”

How… honorable. He wouldn’t take advantage of him. Dara took another sip, enjoying the heat of the wine in his belly. And then, throwing caution to the wind, he drained the whole glass, much to Zhen’s surprise.

“More, please.”

“Are you sure?”

Fixing him with the most princely stare he could muster, Dara held out his glass. “I have had a terrible two weeks. I would love to drink to forget it. More, please.”

“If you say so,” Zhen muttered, topping up his glass. “Don’t blame me when you have a headache tomorrow.”

With a ghost of a laugh, Dara leaned back, allowing him the comfort of sprawling. “It’ll fill the time, at least. How long until you brand me, Master Zhen? Until you mark me up and break my will? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, having a helpless, obedient slave hanging on your every word?”

His words surprised him. They definitely surprised Zhen, and Dara’s heart sped right back up. His hands shook, and he shifted as if he could actually run away should the worst happen and Zhen thought him disobedient enough to lock up. Trembling, Dara tried to take a breath but found his chest tight and unwilling.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Zhen’s voice cut through his thoughts. “And I’m not going to mark you permanently. I’ve always thought that practice… distasteful. I like you, Dara, I like your spirit. While it would certainly be convenient to have a broken, obedient slave, that isn’t what I want. I want you.”

“Me.” It came out with a laugh. “And what’s so special about me?”

Zhen’s eyes turned soft. “Can I list all the stars in the sky?”

“A talented astronomer could.”

That got him a laugh, a genuine one. “And I hope that I can grow to be more talented in matters of you. Dara, understand that all I want is for you to be safe and happy.”

Safe and happy, that was all anyone wanted for him. Even so, Dara wouldn’t help the snort he let out. “Everyone always wants me complacent. My family, my advisors, Vaness. Is that what you’re going for too, Master Zhen?”

“I wouldn’t say so, no.” So, he smiled when surprised. “As I said, I want you safe, I want you happy. If that means I have to sacrifice some of the creature comforts I’ve grown used to, then I gladly will. Dara, if I meant you harm, I would already have done so. I have had no shortage of opportunities to hurt you.”

He was right, as much as Dara hated to admit it.

“And,” Zhen continued, “I hope you have found our little adventure to be interesting, at the very least. You have done new things, seen new people. I have fed you, clothed you, and given you ample room to rest. Don’t make me out to be the villain in your mind.” And then, when Dara took another sip, “Are you sure you want to be drinking so much? I won’t stop you, but I understand that you haven’t had this much in a while.”

When was the last time Dara had gotten drunk? Draining his glass, he poured himself another and another. Half the bottle, down the hatch. He deserved a little peace, a little relaxation. As Zhen had said, he wasn’t going to harm him overmuch, at the very least they were going to spend their night talking, and at the very most… Dara could live with that.

Would Zhen take advantage of him? His gut said no — if he meant to, then he would have woken up to the ambassador feeling him up or been forced to wear skimpier clothing, or been ordered to get on his knees and service him. So tempting, and Zhen had resisted. So what if Dara was a little more limber and loose, drunk and curious and bold? He wouldn’t remember this in the morning, he might as well have fun.

It must have been the wine. That, or Dara had finally gone insane, he had cracked in the cell and was imagining everything. He had lost it, and now Vaness would find him and snatch this last shred of hope right out of his chest, leaving him with nothing but the sackcloth on his shoulders and the gruel in its bowl. He wasn’t drinking fine wine right now, dressed in silks and resting on a comfortable cushion, he was deluded in his cell, ready to be executed, screaming gibberish.

That was what he told himself when he crept forward into Zhen’s space. None of this was real, so why not enjoy his insanity? How long had it been since he had spent time with an attractive man who seemed to care about him? So much of his life had been wasted with people who wanted the status being seen with him would give them, and yet, Zhen couldn’t care less.

Before he could lose his nerve, Dara leaned in, eyes on Zhen’s. In this light, they were almost red, dark enough that it could have been a glint of candlelight. Bringing his hand up to hold Zhen’s cheek, he parted his lips, trying to find the words. Not that Zhen had anything to say, afraid of breaking the moment. No, instead, the man stared at Dara, a look on his face Dara couldn’t read. Heart beating fast enough it might burst, Dara gathered his courage.

“May I kiss you?” His voice was small. Scared.

Zhen’s face creased into affectionate sympathy, leaning into his touch. “Of course.”

Gently, Dara pressed his lips to Zhen’s. There were no fireworks, none of the sparks and grabbing and heady moaning he was used to. In their place was a simple steadiness, Zhen strong and relaxed under him, his hands holding Dara up. Those deft fingers didn’t wander to his ass, his chest, didn’t feel him up.

Zhen smelled good, like sandalwood perfume and jasmine tea, smokey and floral, and he was warmer than Dara expected. It must have been the wine in his stomach, but Dara found himself enjoying it, the gentleness Zhen handled him with. He didn’t tug, or shove, or pull. Dara could lead. How long had it been since that had been his reality? How many months — how many years — had it been since someone allowed him to take charge, didn’t see him as the castoff prince, good for a fuck, and forgotten about in the morning?

Pulling back, Dara held his breath, waiting for the slap, the rejection. Zhen was going to throw him off, was going to tell him just what a failure he was, how repulsive kissing him was. People loved tossing around princes, degrading them, humiliating them, and Zhen had not been exempt. It made people feel powerful, Dara assumed. But he wasn’t a prince anymore.

Zhen took Dara’s hands gently, as if Dara would bolt at the slightest touch. He just might. Giving him a wide smile, the ambassador brought his knuckles to his lips.

“Thank you, Dara.”

“It’s nothing,” the words were out of his mouth before he could help it, an automatic response.

Zhen laughed, as if it were a genuinely funny joke. “It isn’t nothing. It’s trust, and I’m not going to squander it. Now, Dara, why don’t you kiss me again if you want, and we can do whatever you like tonight? If it’s sleep, then we can sleep, I won’t be upset. Your decision, unless you’d like me to lead.”

Opening his mouth, Dara closed it again, thinking his words over. “Can we… talk? I don’t… I want to take things slow. Everything has been so fast, and I want to get my footing. We can, I don’t know, have dinner or something? We can talk. Get to know one another, and kiss. I like kissing you.”

His cheeks darkened at that, the words had slipped out of him.

“I’m glad,” Zhen’s grin widened, and he gave Dara’s hands another squeeze. “I want you to be happy, I hope that comes across in my actions. I understand everything is so new, and it’s all strange, but I want you to have a place where you feel safe. You seem like a person who hasn’t felt safe in quite a long time.”

With a blink, Dara flushed more. It was true, however much he wanted to hide it. “I wouldn’t say that. My family loved me, even if, in the end, the servants didn’t.”

“Mm,” hummed Zhen, giving his hand another kiss. “Of course, favorite.”

“I have a higher title than you.”

“A meaningless title, these days. Especially given that it wasn’t particularly grand to begin with. The middle of nine, with your mother still so young. Frankly, I was surprised that she popped out one a year, every year. And the twins. I don’t think anyone expected the twins.”

Keeping his voice steady, Dara ignored the teasing note in Zhen’s voice. “We were blessed.”

That got him a wry grin. “I thought you weren’t religious.”

“I’m not. My mother and father, on the other hand, are.”

“Were.” And then, after a moment, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to remind you.”

Looking down at their clasped hands, Dara sighed. “It’s something I need to get used to. At least I’m alive. I can avenge them.”

“Is that what you want, vengeance?”

His vision blurred, but he willed the tears not to fall. “Right now, I want to live.”

Chapter Text

Zhen’s prince was perfect, and now that he wasn’t constantly petrified, trembling at the very thought of Vaness, he had proved himself to be as voracious a reader as he was a sleeper. It was like Dara hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years; he was dead to the world, not even stirring when Zhen got out of their shared bed and dressed. He snored softly as Zhen crept out of the room, heading to his study, or the gardens, to rest and recuperate.

He was in the middle of reorganizing his library — a fit of inspiration had struck him and he was going to ride that for as long as he could — when, like clockwork, Dara crept in. His steps were quiet and he opened the door slowly, afraid of what was on the other side, but entered nonetheless. When he saw Zhen alone, surrounded by stacks of books, he relaxed some, inclining his head at the piles.

“Are you doing some spring cleaning?”

The softness in his voice made Zhen’s heart ache. Where was the man he had grown so used to passing others by in the hallways, nose turned up at whoever he met? The man who wouldn’t hesitate before stating his opinion, regardless of how much his parents wished for him to settle down and keep from impacting relations with ambassadors, diplomats, and servants. No surprise that Vaness had saved him for last.

“I am,” Zhen said after a moment too long. “I thought it was about time to see what was gathering dust in my library. If there’s any book you’re interested in, feel free to take it to your room. I have far too many.”

Standing awkwardly in the doorway, Dara bit his lip. “Would you like some help, Master Zhen?”

With a beam, Zhen nodded. “I would love some. Here, why don’t you organize these piles by genre and then, by author? I’m trying to have one genre per bookcase.”

Dara nodded and got to work. He seemed happy to have something to do, rather than spending his day milling about, waiting for Zhen to be free from his self-imposed work, or for a meal to be served, or a servant to call him. The boredom must have been immense. There was little to get done until the start of the week, but then Zhen would be horrendously busy.

Thus, he resolved to enjoy what little time he had with Dara. Though the man might not have been completely comfortable sleeping in Zhen’s bed — making sure to fall asleep while Zhen took his nightly bath — he didn’t complain. He ate with him when Zhen asked for him, greeted him when he returned from an outing, and wore what Zhen recommended. No complaints, no biting wit. Zhen missed it.

With a quiet sigh, he breathed in dust and outside air, the breeze drifting in through an open window. With winter finally breaking into gentle spring and the stormy season over, the air was sweet with flowers and a hint of rain, but nothing was due to come down. Gossamer green curtains billowed inwards, floating on the fresh, crisp wind.

The study was his favorite room in the entire house, with its copious bookcases lining the far wall, the large oak desk with all his work product, and the plush sofas and chaises he had dragged here from far-off lands. Even the floor was comfortable, the carpets fine and soft underfoot. Giant windows overlooked the gardens, kept up by his groundskeeper, and in full bloom. A beautiful spring day.

Out of the corner of his eye, he snuck glances at Dara. The man was dressed differently than the outfits Zhen had picked out for him, a draping white shirt tucked into close-fitting black pants. While the outfit might have tempted a lesser man, Zhen simply admired Dara for his gumption. Not many slaves would dare tempt their masters like this, but here he was, flaunting himself. Perhaps he didn’t think of it that way. This was just an outfit he felt comfortable in. Zhen wouldn’t jeopardize the meager trust they had built between them for something as base as sex.

As he looked, though, he found amber eyes staring right back at him.

“Is there a problem, Master Zhen?”

“No problem at all, princeling,” his reply was smooth and calm. “I was merely admiring your fashion sense. It’s different from what I’m used to.”

He didn’t miss the flash of confusion in Dara’s eyes. His prince quickly suppressed it. “I see. These sorts of outfits are what I’m most comfortable wearing, Master Zhen.”

“Is it truly comfortable?” Zhen found himself asking, eyes wandering to Dara’s shapely behind. “While I see the appeal, I can’t say I understand the point.”

Though he blushed, Dara furrowed his brows. “The point?”

Zhen fought his own flush off of his face. “Well… princeling, I have seen you. Naked, that is.”

Sputtering, he turned crimson. “That isn’t the point of dressing like this!”

“It isn’t?”

“No!”

“Enlighten me, then. Why are you dressing to seduce?”

Glancing away and back at Zhen, Dara got himself under as much control as he could. “It… it’s because it makes me feel good. I like the way I look in the mirror. Call me vain if you want, but I prefer it. I look attractive.”

“You always look attractive, princeling.” Zhen waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Why would you need to prove it to yourself? In your past life, you had anyone you wanted.”

He was silent for a time, long enough that Zhen debated whether he was going to actually reply or not. He had been preparing an apology when Dara cleared his throat.

“I had anyone I wanted? Or did anyone who wanted have me?”

Oh, poor thing. Zhen’s eyes softened at that. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would.”

Tutting, he set the books in his hands down and folded his arms. “Is that so? You would stake your evening on it?”

Dara’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at, Master Zhen?”

“A wager: you can prove that you were a slut that spread your legs for anyone who wanted, and we do whatever you like for the evening. I poke a hole in your argument, and we do what I like. Does that sound fair?” He kept the humor out of his face.

“Fine. Deal,” Dara muttered.

Maybe it was just to get this over with, but Zhen liked to think it was because he wanted to play games. There was a note of amusement glinting in his eyes.

A grin spread across Zhen’s face. “You have never had sex with me, princeling, and believe you me, I wanted you. I still do, but I will wait until you beg me to fuck you. Does that sound like a slut to you? Someone who would ignore someone so ready and willing that they would save you from your execution?”

Dara stared at him like he had grown a second head. “You don’t want to fuck me.”

Zhen’s voice grew harder at that. “And what makes you say that?”

“You would have done it already. When I was drunk, or in the carriage, or while you were bathing me. You don’t want to fuck me, Master Zhen, you just want to hear me beg for it. That’s right, isn’t it? It’s not me, I’m just an available body and —”

Taking a step forward, Zhen cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. “No. That’s not it. I want you, Dara, but I won’t take advantage of you. I am a gentleman, not some vagrant eager to get his dick wet.”

That netted him a baffled stare. “I don’t understand.”

“Then let me rephrase. I want you to ask me nicely to have sex not because I like the sound of begging but because I want to ensure you want it. I want you to be eager, and willing, and ready. That’s all. I will accept nothing more and nothing less.”

His stare turned into a gawk. “Whatever you say, Master Zhen.”

He only just resisted the urge to sigh. Dara would understand soon enough. For now, though…

“I believe I won the bet, though.”

With a wince, Dara pressed his lips together and averted his eyes. “I suppose so. What would you like from me, Master Zhen?”

“A dinner conversation. Tonight, just you and me, in the dining room. Does that sound amenable to you?”

*

Dinner had gone well. Though Zhen was nearly sick of it, he had asked the cook to prepare some Kadin food, something Dara would easily adjust to. The rich meats and starchy vegetables settled in his stomach, soaking up the wine he’d drunk. Dara, too, sipped at a glass, eating like this was his last meal. Perhaps, in his mind, it still was.

“You don’t need to scarf your food down, princeling. There will be more,” said Zhen, and immediately regretted it.

Dara looked at him with those big, wide eyes, uncomprehending. For all his courtly training, a week of starvation had changed him.

“I know, Master Zhen,” was all he said.

Offering him a sympathetic glance, Zhen poured him more wine, hoping to ease the tension. The wine went with the venison they ate, he made sure of that. “I take it your mother and father always told you to slow down when you ate? I can’t imagine that they would want a prince to eat with such… gusto.”

Dara’s laugh was harsh. “They always wanted me to eat faster. I picked at my food.”

“You certainly don’t now.”

“Mm.” Another large bite, and his plate was cleared. “It’s tasty, Master Zhen. Thank you for this meal.”

Finishing his own meal, Zhen dabbed at his mouth with the napkin. “You don’t need to thank me for doing the minimum, princeling. I want you to eat well. Why don’t we finish the bottle and talk? You said you wanted to speak, and I would love your candor.”

“I have been nothing but candid.” He took another sip. “But I would be happy to sit and talk. Do you have any topics you’re interested in, or shall I start?”

Waving for him to go on, Zhen crossed his legs.

With a curt nod, Dara thought for a moment. “Are you going to continue being an ambassador for Kadras? After all this is settled?”

“Well, that depends on what my Lady demands of me. I am contracted to her for the next two years, still. That is how we do things here, ambassadors take five to ten-year contracts, and mine is up sooner, rather than later. If Lady Faol tells me to go back to Kadras, then I will. Then again, she may not, depending on what I tell her about this whole affair.”

That got Dara’s interest. “And what are you going to tell her, Master Zhen?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he mused, “there’s so much to get through. Do I mention you? Do I let her assume what she likes about you? I would almost certainly be fired if she finds out, and I do enjoy my nice, cushy job and my nice, cushy house. We eat on Lady Faol’s dime, you know.”

Dara’s voice was quiet. “Would you like my opinion, Master Zhen?”

How daring. “I would love it.”

Clearing his throat, Dara picked at the silken tablecloth, running his fingers over the embroidery. “I think you should tell her. About me, that is. I don’t want you to risk your life anymore for me, and there will be significant problems if you’re fired. Never mind if she decides to throw you into jail and send me back to Kadras. I wouldn’t survive that and… I wouldn’t want you to suffer on my behalf.”

To see it laid out so plainly, it stirred something in Zhen’s chest. Reaching out, he took Dara’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles gently. Dara didn’t flinch back. The poor thing had been through so much and here he was, worrying over Zhen’s safety. How sweet of him.

Offering him an easy smile, Zhen gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll tell her, in that case. She won’t be happy, but it will, ultimately, be alright. I promise. No one is going to hurt you anymore, Dara. They will have to go through me and mine.”

“Thank you,” Dara murmured. And then, debating it, he gave Zhen’s hand a small, tentative pulse.

Zhen beamed. “Of course, princeling.”

They were silent for a time, sipping their wine, hand in hand. Though he might have wanted to, Dara didn’t pull away, accepting the contact with a steadiness Zhen had rarely seen. Those amber eyes focused on the wine and the fire crackling in the hearth, anywhere but his master. Though Zhen didn’t say anything, Dara wilted under his attention, shoulders hunching forward.

“I hate being like this,” his prince murmured.

“Like what, princeling?”

Taking a shuddering breath in, Dara ran his free hand through his ruddy hair. “Like… this. So helpless, and changed, and broken. I wasn’t like this before, damaged. As bored as I was, at least I knew what was going to happen from day to day. It was normal.”

“I understand,” Zhen soothed, “these things are hard. It’s not fair to expect you to adjust so quickly to a difference. I wanted to give you time to settle in, but it seems like you’re still bored.”

Dara swirled the wine about in his glass. “I am, in a way. I like to work, I like to have tasks. Today was fun, genuinely. I liked working with you and having something concrete to do. Would it be possible to continue working on the library? I want to help out around the house.”

“How pedestrian of you. I would love your help,” said Zhen, smiling.

With a soft chuckle, Dara polished off his wine, refilling the glass. “Thank you, Master Zhen. It means a lot.” And then, after a moment, “And thank you for rescuing me.”

“Of course.” Zhen’s smile grew soft. “I wasn’t about to leave without you, princeling.”

Dara’s smile was tense with memories, but he still met Zhen’s eye. “You didn’t need to treat my wounds, or feed me so much, or clothe me in what I liked. You treated me like someone you actually care about, and not just a toy. For that, I thank you.”

“Dara…”

“I thought I was going to die when they beat me.”

“You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t know what I want.” Dara sighed, running a stressed hand through his hair. “I want things to be normal, but I don’t know what normal means anymore. I want to go home, but there’s no home left to go. I don’t know anything anymore, not even in my own country and household — Gods, I don’t even have a household . I want to sleep all day, but I can’t waste my life like that. Does that make any sense, Master Zhen? Am I going crazy?”

Lacing their fingers together, Zhen shook his head. “You’re not going crazy, Dara. It’s a perfectly normal reaction to such a stressful change in your life. Rest as much as you need, and I’ll be there when you want tasks. If you would like, you could ask Darran for something to do, too. He knows better than me what needs to get done around the house.”

With a nod, Dara let the conversation lapse, drinking his wine like it was water. Like he needed it. Well, what was a little indulgence now and then, especially after such a trying few weeks? Dara would drink less and less with time, most slaves did once they got into a house they felt safe and comfortable in. Once everything was settled, Dara would stop sleeping his days away, crying when he thought no one was looking, and eating like a wild animal when presented with food.

As the bottle emptied and Dara’s eyes started to droop, glazed and overbright with alcohol, Zhen spoke. “Princeling, shall we talk about the other night?”

“The other night?” His words blurred around the edges. Zhen waited a moment for the thoughts to connect. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, princeling, that.”

Wincing, he let out a groan. “Do we have to? Can’t we let it be and forget about it? I went over the line, I know, and I won’t do it again, Master Zhen.”

Zhen laughed softly. “I would love for you to do it again, princeling. When I say I want you, I mean all of you. Even when you’re drunk and want to kiss me and ask so sweetly, I want you, Dara.”

Perhaps the flush in Dara’s cheeks was the alcohol, or perhaps it was a blush of surprise. “Oh… So, if I were to ask again later when I’m sober and not falling asleep at the table, would you like that?”

“I would like that very much,” Zhen couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Now, let’s get you to bed. I don’t want to carry you all the way to the bedroom, as hungry as you are all the time, you’re no waif.”

“I can be waifish,” grumbled Dara good-naturedly, but still rose on swaying legs.

Together, they walked back to the bedroom, Dara looping his arm around Zhen’s waist to steady himself. The couple of servants they passed looked at them with no shortage of amusement, chuckling to themselves as Dara muttered encouragements to himself. Adorable. If only to speed them up, Zhen scooped him up into his arms, carrying him like the prince he was all the way back to the bed. Though Dara complained at first, he calmed, resting his head against Zhen’s chest as his breathing slowed and his eyelids drooped. Soon enough, he was asleep.

Chapter Text

Zhen had gotten used to waking up first most mornings. Dara slept like the dead and woke late, no matter when he had gone to sleep. This morning was no different. Chirping birds woke Zhen. Groggily, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Just past seven in the morning, around the same time he woke every workday. Lovely. He had gotten spoiled, sleeping in during his tenure working with the Kadin royal court.

A warm weight in his arms bid him to focus his mind. In his sleep, Dara had rolled over and draped himself over Zhen, his breathing now slow and steady. It warmed Zhen’s heart. He lingered, watching Dara’s chest rise and fall in deep, even breaths. Curled up against his chest, Dara rested his head on Zhen’s heart, no doubt listening to its beat as he slept. Limp hands held his sleep shirt.

Before long, though, the temple bells were tolling, letting Zhen know it was time to face the morning. Gently, he disentangled himself from Dara’s grip, letting the softly slumbering man mutter and roll over, his red hair splaying out on the silken pillows. Propping himself up on an elbow, Zhen brushed his hair out of his face, shoulder length and dark as the night sky, a fine contrast to his.

He rose, gingerly, slowly. Dara looked too cute to disturb. Padding through his bedroom on quiet feet, he made his way to the bathroom. Zhen brushed his teeth quickly, taking his reflection in. Well-rested, umber eyes stared back at him, his hair a tangled mess. His white nightshirt had untied in his sleep— it had gotten hot — and his legs were bare. The shift fell to his knees, rolled up at the elbow.

Cleaning up and washing his face, he made his way back to the bedroom, mindful of his sleeping companion. Picking out his clothing for the morning, he selected a comfortable chemise and underwear, yellow. The Corpse God, Illun’s favorite color would shine well on him, never mind that it went well with his olive skin. He brushed his hair, braiding it down one shoulder. It would suffice, too short for the elaborate styles of Kadin nobles, too long for the close-cropped cuts of Aritian commoners. It would be gauche to dress in the style of an Aritian noble with his station in life.

Shuffling blankets caught Zhen’s attention. Dara had tossed and turned, migrating into Zhen’s spot on the bed before poking his head out of the covers. His hair stuck up every which way, and those sharp, clever amber eyes were glazed with drowsiness. Rubbing one eye with the ball of his palm, Dara blinked in the morning light.

“Huh?” was all he managed to ask.

It warmed Zhen’s chest to see him so comfortable in his bed, so safe and sound. Adorable beyond words, Dara slumped, wrapped up in the blankets. His sleep shirt was rumpled, a loose button-up made of deep blue silks. It flattered his skin tone, cool against cool, drawing attention to the thin veins along the insides of his arms and the hair on his chest, peeking out of the unbuttoned front of the shirt. In the night, Dara had gotten too hot and unbuttoned the shirt in his sleep as well.

“Good morning, princeling,” Zhen chirped. He loved mornings.

Another blink. “What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty.”

Flopping down onto his stomach, Dara propped himself up on his elbows, still tangled in the covers. “Why are you awake?”

Zhen suppressed a chuckle. He finished buttoning up his tunic, making himself presentable, before ruffling Dara’s hair. “I need to go to work, princeling. I will be back tonight, so why don’t you figure out what you want for lunch and dinner, and Lorie can make something for you to eat. That guitar should be arriving today, too. I didn’t forget.”

Dara’s brows grew together. “You’re leaving already?”

“It’s going to be a busy day, I have a lot of people to meet with, never mind that the high council themselves asked to speak with me personally. Something about debriefing. Exciting, isn’t it?”

His prince groaned, his sleepiness slowly evaporating. “It’s not exciting, it’s dread-worthy. What are you going to talk to them about?”

“Oh, princeling,” affection lingered in Zhen’s voice, “don’t worry your pretty little head about that. Why don’t I give you a task: I would like you to organize the bookcases in the library. Do you think you can get that done by the end of the week?”

“I can do it by the end of tomorrow, probably,” Dara replied, his lips pressed into a pout.

He didn’t realize he was doing it, Zhen realized, his little prince acting the spoiled, adorable brat he was. It sent a shiver through him, the thought that Dara would trust him enough in these private moments to act so… open with him. Zhen’s lips quirked into a smile, though he tried to tamp it down. As he ran his fingers through Dara’s hair, he snuck a glance at the clock.

“I promised to cut your hair, we can do that when I get home, how about that? I’m sorry for forgetting, I got distracted with the excitement of everything.”

“It’s alright,” Dara replied, those bright eyes staring at Zhen. “It happens. I forgot, too.”

“Then we’re even.” Gently, Zhen’s hand wandered down to tip Dara’s face up to his.

Pretty pink lips pursed ever so slightly, Dara’s body moving without his say-so. Zhen watched him for a heartbeat, deciding. Press his lips to Dara’s, and it would be final, they would have permanently changed the tentative, trusting relationship between them. Or not. To leave him wondering whether Zhen cared for him, even as he slowly roused, leaving him for the rest of the day. Zhen hated these games.

He made a decision. Leaning in, he kissed Dara’s forehead, a compromise. His prince allowed him, though when he pulled back, those amber eyes glittered with calculations. Dara looked like he meant to ask a question, but Zhen smiled at him, pulling away.

“I have to head out, the high council hates to be kept waiting.”

His prince’s mouth closed. Nodding, Dara rolled himself back up in the blanket, protected against the morning chill, and let out a soft huff. “I’ll see you tonight, I suppose, Master Zhen.”

“That you will, princeling.” With a bright beam, Zhen ruffled Dara’s soft, clean hair and wrapped himself in a cloak, secure and comfortable, closing the heavy door behind him as he left.

Dressed, fed, and cleansed, Zhen summoned his favorite carriage and made his way off to the high council. They would be waiting for him, freshly rested from Kadras and ready to deliver his expert opinion on the situation. They had wasted enough time delaying already, and a decision needed to be reached sooner rather than later on what to do about the revolution to the south. If Aritia recognized Vaness as the new king, then that would bring its own host of problems.

Still, as he rode, reviewing his notes and formulating what to say, Zhen nurtured a pit of dread in his stomach. There was only one way to convince them not to recognize the new regime — and his Dara had given him his blessing to do so. Not that he needed a slave’s permission, but it was nice to have. Better that they were on the same page than fighting each other on what to do.

Zhen ignored the fear, though. He didn’t have anything to fear from the high council, at the very worst, they would take Dara away from him. No one would be killed, and his prince would be safe. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To keep his princeling safe?

When the old jester had tipped him off to unrest among the servants, Zhen had started planning immediately, figuring out how to keep his prince safe. Never mind that his prince hadn’t spoken more than three conversations with him. Zhen knew what he was doing; his trade was speaking, for Illun’s sake. He could persuade his leaders to keep Dara here.

Even so, as he exited the carriage and walked through the halls, his heels clicking against the marble floors, he couldn’t help his circling thoughts. What if Dara was a danger they couldn’t afford? What if Dara had managed to disgrace himself already, unlike the well-behaved, serene slave he was purported to be? So many possibilities, and so few certainties.

He was welcomed into the high council’s meeting room with all the fanfare he was accustomed to, his full name announced as he stepped through the large double doors. He nodded his thanks to the guards on either side. The high council watched him with interested eyes, the time they had to wait for his report piquing their interest. While they may have been sated with his paperwork, he had done exactly as he intended and spent the bulk of the day milling around the house, resting and recuperating. They weren’t used to waiting.

“Ambassador Ankulat,” Lady Faol said from her seat, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. “How wonderful it is to see you again. I take it your vacation has been restful?”

“Quite, my Lady,” he replied with a smile. “I hope my Lords and Ladies have been well.”

There were grunts of assent, and one of the elder members, Lord Hazan who oversaw the economic prosperity of the country, waved for him to continue. “Today, Ambassador Ankulat. Time is ticking. Is the new Kadin king stable — we have received a letter that hints against that.”

“A letter, my Lord?” Zhen’s eyebrows went up. That Vaness noticed his absence already…

“Mm, yes. A very strange letter, alleging that we must return one Prince Atadara to be executed, and that one of our ambassadors helped with his overthrow. Quite insane, truly, I have never seen anything like it in all my years serving on the high council. While we understand that you have had to do strange things to survive, I hope that this letter is incorrect in informing us of your part in the Kadin revolution.”

Zhen lied easily, skillfully. His silver tongue was his best asset. “Of course not, Lord Hazan. What do you take me for, some kind of warmonger?” He made sure the high council could hear the affront in his voice. “While I did what I needed to save myself, I certainly did nothing with this revolution. I heard whispers that the servants were attempting something and I sought to protect myself. I spent the night behind a locked door, knife in hand, ready to kill anyone, royalist or servant, who entered my rooms.”

“I see,” Lady Faol said, trying and failing to hide the interest in her eyes. “That must have been frightening. How did you manage to get out?”

“I made a deal with some of the servants who did not want the royal family to fall. You see, King Vaness, the new leader of Kadras, believed me sympathetic to his regime, and I did not see it fit to change his mind. I simply left as soon as I could, my Lady. I did not look back.”

Lord Hazan spoke up again. “And of your new Kadin slave? Where did you manage to pick him up? I take it there wasn’t much time between your flight from the palace and your arrival in Red City to go shopping. You made the trip in days, when it would have taken a week and a half. That is the pace of someone afraid, is it not?”

The moment of truth. “I was afraid, yes. My Kadin slave is that Prince Atadara you spoke about. He pleaded with me to save him — the man had just seen his court and family executed, and wanted to flee with his life. He agreed to become my servant in exchange for his safety. If you would like, I can bring him here and he can tell you himself, I have treated him with nothing but kindness and care.”

The room was silent. He had the full attention of every member of the high council; they stared at him openly, mouths agape. Lady Faol set down her pen, and her brow furrowed with something that could have been fury, had she not been so stunned. Beside her, Lady Damasia gaped with pride and no small trace of mirth. Lord Hazan looked like he wanted to shake Zhen’s hand.

It was Lady Faol who spoke first. “You… enslaved the prince. And kidnapped him.”

“There was no kidnapping, my Lady. It was all consensual.”

She shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and surprise. “You stole him, in that case. You understand what will happen when this comes out? The Kadin people living within our borders, fleeing the war, will want him returned to the throne, King Vaness wants him executed, by our hand or his, he wouldn’t care. You have turned yourself into a target, Ambassador Ankulat.”

“I understand, my Lady.” He smiled, brave and bold. “And I am willing to take this risk. I simply wanted to save the prince, anyone in my place would have done the same. I simply ask that I might be able to house him and keep him safe. Prince Atadara is a touch fragile at the moment, on account of seeing his court and family murdered, and has grown rather attached to me.”

Lady Faol bit her lip. “I see. I would recommend that we send over a few guards to help out, though we risk someone with a death wish figuring out where Prince Atadara is. Assassins, Ambassador Ankulat, are not a matter to take lightly.”

With a nod, Zhen schooled his features. “I understand, my Lady. I would happily accept extra guards.”

She barked a command to one of the servants standing by the walls, and he whisked himself out of the room. Just like that, it was done. Lady Faol drummed her fingers on the table before her, a great thing made of ancient mahogany wood and bound by golden inlays. It was a true work of art. She crossed one leg over the other, looking at her fellow council members, sharp eyes narrowed.

“Does anyone else have an opinion, or may we continue?” Her voice was stern.

No one spoke up.

“Alright. Does anyone have an idea of what to do in this situation?” Rubbing her forehead with her palm, she looked like she was staving off a migraine. “Personally, I think we should give him back. The less we antagonize Kadras, the better.”

“Now wait,” Lord Hazan piped up, “I say we keep him. I will not let a man be sent off to his own execution. It isn’t right, Faol, and you know it.”

She snorted. “Not right? I want to keep my country, Hazan.”

“And you can do that without killing him. Say we don’t have knowledge of him, refuse to give him up without a formal extradition request, and grant him asylum within our borders. The Fortuna royal family was kind to us, it’s the least we can do to repay them. The family is dead, Faol. Let us save a son, keep the blood from staining our hands.”

With a roll of her eyes, she turned her attention to the others. “Let’s put it to a vote, then. Those in favor of keeping Prince Atadara here, raise your hands.”

All except her raised their hands. A flush dusting her freckled cheeks, Lady Faol sputtered out. “You all can’t be serious. This is going to destroy trust between our countries if we harbor him. Think of how many would die if we go to war.”

“Then we’ll just have to be sure that we don’t go to war,” said Lady Damasia beside her, twirling her long, inky hair around her finger. “Really, Faol. Do you think peace is ever going to last? I say grant him asylum, and if there’s a problem, let it be his. If he wants to deal with the consequences of surviving, let him. Princes understand what it means to rule.”

“Damasia —” Lady Faol tried.

She cut her off. “Think of it this way: if things go wrong, we wash our hands of him and return him. If things go right, we keep this secret between us. And Ambassador Ankulat, of course.”

With that, the attention turned back to him. Clearing his throat, Zhen gave his leaders a smile. “Of course, Your Highnesses. I will not breathe a word of this to anyone. I’m sure Prince Atadara will be quite happy to know he has your protection. Thank you, Your Highnesses.”

A couple of the high council members chuffed at that, sitting up a little straighter in their chairs. Lady Faol waved a hand through the air. “You’re dismissed, Ambassador. I would recommend you get your meetings out of the way; there’s a good deal of paperwork in your office, if you get bored and find yourself with some free time. I’m sure you know how to fill it.”

“Of course, my Lady.” Zhen bowed low, suppressing the bite of annoyance. First day back, and there was already work to be done. “Thank you for your grace and kindness. I am sure Prince Attadara will be happy to hear that he is permitted to stay.”

As he walked out, he heard the council members whispering amongst themselves, voices low and concerned. Hopefully, Lady Faol would keep her mouth shut. The last thing he needed was bad news.

*

By the time Zhen got home, the sun was low in the sky. He rested his head against the window frame as the carriage swayed and rumbled down the cobblestone streets and closed his eyes. Not for the first time, he remembered how much he hated being back, the constant meetings and paperwork the high council needed of him was dizzying. Zhen wanted to sleep, to curl up with his Dara and have him read aloud. Dara probably had a nice reading voice — something to look forward to.

As Zhen rolled up to his estate, though, Darran ran out to meet him, his face pinched and drawn. He stepped out of the carriage, wishing the driver well, and let out a soft sigh.

“I take it that something has gone wrong, Darran.”

Darran bit his lip, scanning Zhen’s face for a trace of… something. Zhen was too tired to figure it out.

Nodding, the butler wrung his hands. “The guards were killed, Master Zhen. Several servants were attacked by the assailants, and your new slave has been kidnapped.”

“What?” Zhen’s heart stopped.

Darran took a shaky breath in. “There was an attack. We don’t know who it was, but there were too many of them to fight back. The guards tried, and they were slain. They didn’t go for the valuables, but they rounded up the servants and tied most of us up, swept through the estate searching for something. None of us saw your new slave, but we can’t find him now. Either he ran off and is hiding — with no clothes, no food, and no supplies — or he was stolen.”

Illun fuck this.

Chapter Text

Dara found himself in the study most days, reading on the daybed by the window, snacking on fruits from the gardens, or messing around with whatever task Darran had managed to find for him that day. The butler was kinder than Dara gave him credit for initially, and he didn’t seem to mind babysitting the prince now and then, when Zhen didn’t have time to entertain him. By the Gods, did Dara need a lot of entertainment. Boredom was anathema.

Today, he had been pleased to receive the promised guitar, wrapped in plain brown paper and presented to him by Darran. He beamed at the butler, the first genuine smile the man had seen out of him, and a couple of the servants tittered, excited to hear what songs he would play. It was a sore disappointment when Dara had plucked the first few strings clumsily, hesitantly. It had been weeks since he had even thought about the guitar, never mind being able to practice.

No one had bothered him when he took his guitar to the study, sat down on the plush, overstuffed chaise in the library section, and worked on remembering the chords and songs he had once known by heart. That part of his life was so long ago, mere weeks stretching to feel like years. Had it really been three weeks since the coup? Not even three. Gods.

Who was the person he had been? His biggest trouble was whether some nobleman liked him or not, or if a certain outfit would disappoint his parents, or what his homework was from tutors hired to keep him knowledgeable. No one had ever called him the smartest of the family — that was reserved for his sister, Tya, but he could at least be informed of current events when he was finally sent off to be wed. He laughed to himself. It was all a joke, now.

Dara caught a glance of himself in the window’s reflection, translucent and framed by the rain. He looked better, the sunken horror receding from his eyes, dressed in a pale blue chemise and tight pants, as per his usual. Barefoot, he pressed his feet into the soft carpets, grounding himself. He was here, in Zhen’s house, and though his life may look different, he was still alive.

Thank the Gods, he was still alive. Letting out a shaky breath, Dara strummed the guitar, putting one foot up on the low coffee table in front of him.

Zhen breezed through the world like a gift from the gods, but he knew how to decorate a room. The library had been mostly done, Dara still had a few bookcases to go through before he could call it finished, but Zhen had reiterated that he should take his time. There would be no rod coming down, no one would bend him over their knee for going slow.

The memory of that incident made him groan, red creeping into his face. His body flushed at how Zhen disciplined him, simply picked him up like he weighed nothing at all and threw him over his knee. Something pooled in his gut, a mixture of humiliation and heady fear. He had done something similar before once, a noble had insisted on spanking him, and he had hated it. Why was this so different? Thoughts of misbehaving, just so Zhen could discipline him, filled his thoughts.

Something was broken in Dara’s head, that much was obvious. Something had come loose during his time in the prison, and Zhen had managed to unravel him further. He should have felt humiliated, embarrassed, and he did! It just… wasn’t enough. Smothering his thoughts, Dara refocused on the guitar, strumming out a few more chords. He could lose himself in his hobbies. It had never stopped him before.

A knock on the door interrupted him. Dara looked up from his guitar to see a man in the doorway, dressed in simple, if fine, clothing. A servant, then. His tunic was deep green, buttoned up all the way, and his belt had a few tools on it. Fyor, the head gardener Dara had become fast friends with, wouldn’t have sent someone, she would have come herself.

“Hi,” Dara started, taking in the man’s close-cropped brown hair, his sun-tanned skin. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The man smiled, but it lacked warmth. “Yes, actually. I was looking for the newest slave in this estate.”

He had a Kadin accent. Even stranger. Dara wouldn’t have thought Zhen had any servants from Kadras — he surely would have mentioned that before, and would have introduced Dara to them. It would have soothed Dara, helped him settle and get used to hearing Aritian accents all around him, all soft and smothered vowels, compared to his sharp, crisp consonants. This man didn’t have a noble’s accent, though, nor a servant’s. It was commoner, through and through, and he used the incorrect register for speaking to a slave. He spoke to Dara as an equal, and it sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing.

Anyone could see that Dara was a slave. Anyone would know how to refer to him, and if this man had managed to get it wrong… was he from Kadras? Or Aritia, for that matter? Dara set down his guitar on the low table in front of him, keeping his attention fully on the stranger. Something cold lingered in the man’s eye as he took Dara in.

Smoothing his hands down the front of his draping, loose chemise, Dara kept his voice calm and steady, just like he had been trained. “That would be me. I’m the newest slave here.”

“Excellent,” his smile was too wide, “what is your name? I need to be sure I have the right person. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Dara very much did not. “My name is Dara.”

It was a common enough name, he told himself. Plenty of Kadin Daras littered the country, but there were precious few Atadaras. Even fewer Atadara Fortunas. Just one, actually. But in Kadras, ‘Dara’ was a plenty common name, a historical name, a prince’s name. No one would think twice about it, he hoped.

“Dara, perfect.” The stranger made it sound like a threat.

Sitting up straighter, Dara gave him a tense smile. “What’s your name, by the way? Since I’ve given you mine.”

Any Kadin person would have known to give their own name in return. It was a matter of trust — to give one’s name was to give a mirror into one’s soul. Only fair that he got a mirror in return. Even children knew that, but when Dara spoke, the man’s brow creased, his smile growing tense and strained. A faker.

“Oh, my name isn’t important.”

“Names are always important,” came Dara’s retort. Automatic.

It was a mistake, he saw that the second the stranger’s eyes darkened, but it was too late to take the words back. His mind took stock of where he was, sitting in his master’s house, in his study, not doing work. Not that Zhen would be displeased about that, but there were always servants willing to sell one out for a quick rise in reputation. Making sure everyone did what the master ordered became simple when one had a household all supervising each other.

A thought glimmered at the edge of his mind, though. He didn’t know this man. Didn’t recognize his face. Days, Dara had been at Zhen’s house, and he’d made sure to introduce himself to anyone who seemed worth being introduced to. Those people had made sure he knew every servant’s face, if not their name, position, and clearance. The butler, Darran, had taken him seriously when he had shyly asked to meet the staff. Never mind that he now knew all the groundskeepers, the guards, and the cooks.

“Do you need to talk to Hes? She’s out right now,” Dara tried. “If you’re looking for someone else, then I’m the wrong person to ask. I don’t know anyone’s schedule.”

“No, just you.”

Just him. “Why?”

“You’ve been sent for, isn’t that grand?” Though the man tried for another smile, it came out wooden. Unpracticed. “And my task is to escort you there.”

He was lying, Dara knew it in his bones. The knowledge came beamed into his head, as if the gods themselves wanted him to know. Dara couldn’t abide a liar, that was one thing his father had instilled in him. Without fail, he knew when people lied to him — it was a valuable skill for any prince to have, especially a fourth-born one who would be discarded in marriage the second a suitor presented themselves.

“Where would we go?” he asked, voice casual and light despite his swirling thoughts.

“You aren’t cleared to know that, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not cleared to know where I’ve been summoned to? What about who exactly summoned me? Master Zhen would have asked Darran to call me.”

With a sigh, the man met Dara’s eye for the first time. “These are all above my pay grade. I will need you to come with me, and I have my orders. I wish I had more answers for you.”

Another lie.

“Then you can come back with a note from my master and I will happily come with you.” Not that Dara knew what Zhen’s handwriting looked like. Or if slaves were allowed to read here. “You’re dismissed.”

He put as much haughtiness into his voice as he possibly could. In another time, it would have embarrassed him, but now? It was a defense mechanism. People hated dealing with haughty princes. If he could just speak to Hes or Darran and tell them what was going on with this strange man, then they would understand his reticence to go with him. Zhen surely wouldn’t be angry with him for denying the demands of a random man.

And yet… the man didn’t leave. Dara’s heart sank. He wouldn’t be forced, that much he knew about Zhen. His master hated forcing him to do anything not vitally necessary, he even let him pick out their meals and the outfits he was to wear. That couldn’t be what slaves were used to here. Unless Zhen was particularly kind.

Scanning over the man, Dara noted the dirt under his fingernails. He wasn’t dressed like a groundskeeper, but the tools on his belt certainly hinted at it. A hatchet hung on one side, and a pick on the other. Strange, it wasn’t as if they would need too much firewood chopped with spring in full swing. Absently, Dara noted the rain outside. The man wasn’t wet. Dara stood, eyeing the door behind the man.

Dara’s brows drew together. A shiver crept up his spine. “I said you can leave. I’m fine.”

“I’m afraid I’m not permitted to leave just yet,” the man took a step forward. Closer to him. Dara took a step back. “Your master sent me.”

“Master Zhen? Why would he need me? He’s busy at work, and he gave me a task to do.” Though he tried for a laugh, it came out high and tense. “I’m meant to organize the library, and I’m not dressed to go out.”

Shaking his head, the man frowned. “You’re dressed fine. We need to go.”

“Who are you?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter, let’s go. Your master sold you.”

“He would never,” he kept the doubt out of his voice. “Master Zhen said he would protect me.”

With a snort, the man rolled his eyes. “They all say that. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Dara took another step back, eyes darting from the man’s hands, suspiciously rough for a household messenger’s, to his utilitarian boots. They were muddy. Darran would never have let someone with boots that filthy into the inner portion of the estate. It would be a nightmare to get the dirt out of the carpets, Dara remembered how much the servants had protested when he offered to go out into the garden after the spring rains.

“I don’t think Master Zhen sent you.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could think. Stupid, stupid Dara.

It was slight, the change in the man’s face. His eyes grew darker, his frown that much deeper, his presence more menacing. Small, slight Dara didn’t stand a chance if this man — this stranger in his master’s house — decided that now was the perfect time to put the fear of Illun into Dara. The light died outside, the sun hidden by a cloud.

Dara’s world stilled to a pinpoint. Time slowed. He tensed, as did the man. No way out but the open window, the stranger blocked the door. Fuck it.

Acting on impulse, Dara spun around and darted for the window, praying, hoping, begging he was faster. The carpet was soft under his bare feet and, as he willed his body to move ever faster, his breath held in his chest. A hand wrapped around one ankle, tugging him to the floor. His fingertips brushed the windowsill. Fuck. Letting out a roar that sounded more like a sob, Dara kicked blindly, not bothering to aim. His foot connected with something hard, likely the man’s stomach or arm, and his free leg was manhandled against the floor.

“Hold still, you stupid brat,” the stranger growled.

Absolutely not. Screaming his stupid little head off, Dara clawed at the hands pulling him backward. Under the stranger's body, Dara squirmed and twisted, all knees and elbows digging into unyielding flesh. A hand clamped over his mouth, slamming his head against the floor hard enough he saw stars. Fingers wrapped around his throat, and Dara’s eyes bulged. The man straddled him, a parody of a lover, holding him down into the soft carpets.

Dara couldn’t breathe. His thrashing grew feeble as the air slowly staled in his lungs, darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. No. No, no, no. His cry came out closer to a whimper, begging anyone to help him, but poor, frail Dara was all alone. As his sight swam, eyes rolling back into his head, he tugged at the stranger, an unspoken prayer in his mind. Not like this.

Chapter Text

His servants convinced him to take dinner in his sitting room once the sun set. Chicken cutlet with roasted vegetables, a comfort meal. Lorie knew him too well. It tasted like ash in his mouth. Zhen choked down a couple of bites before setting the plate down on his coffee table, pressing his fingers to his temples.

Before long, Darran poked his head into the room. The man was still flighty; his hands shook despite his best efforts, and his short, black hair was tousled from running his fingers through it. Those pale blue eyes, normally so calm and steady, were wide and anxious. Smoothing his hands on the front of his suit, he licked his lips before meeting Zhen’s gaze. He blamed himself, and he was awaiting the punishment that would be sure to follow.

“Master Zhen,” he started, voice cracking down the middle, “is the meal not to your liking? I can tell Chef Lorie to cook something else, if you would prefer.”

With a sigh, Zhen shook his head. “It’s alright, Darran. I’m not hungry. Has Hes done her rounds yet?”

Nodding, Darran glanced behind him, looking down the hallway and beckoning someone over. “I have brought her, as you asked. Would you like me to leave? The servants all know what to do, and they know to expect a contingent of guards from the high council soon. Lady Faol and Lord Hazan are on their way.”

“Stay, Darran.”

And yet, he still hesitated. He probably thought Zhen was to punish him like a slave, bend him over his knee and whip his bottom until he couldn’t sit without wincing. All these years, and the ‘training’ Darran had received was still embedded in his mind.

Zhen sighed. “I don’t fault you. There was no way you could have known, never mind that it was such an aggressive attack. I want to sit, debrief with you, and talk about our next steps.”

“Our next steps…” Darran swallowed, but bowed low. “Of course, Master Zhen.”

“Please, sit.” Waving to one of the plush armchairs on the other side of the coffee table, Zhen offered him a tense smile. “I would prefer to discuss this as equals.”

Darran took a moment to process the request, as if they had never done this before, sat across from each other and spoke about the household, politics, and played games. Zhen liked to think they were friends — Darran was a capable, intelligent man and Zhen was proud to have him in his household. Never mind that he had been with Zhen, serving at his right hand, for nearly five years now. As Darran sat, wringing his hands and bowing his head, ready for whatever chastisement came his way, Zhen leaned forward in his chair. He rested his hand on Darran’s, offering him a tense smile.

“I’m not angry with you, truly.”

Darran bit his lip. “You should be. I failed to protect your household.”

“From a threat you couldn’t foresee. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I didn’t tell you the full truth of Dara’s identity. Hes, can you come in? Sit in the other armchair.”

The woman lurking at the entrance of the sitting room now darkened the threshold. Hes was broad-shouldered, taller and stronger than Zhen. Her body was a honed weapon, trained by the finest martial arts schools in Aritia. She wore her sandy blond hair in front of her eyes, bangs overgrown and shoulder-length hair shaggy. A sword hung on her belt, and she had dressed in her armor, ready to wage war against those who had killed her guards.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, Darran said you were ready to see me.” Her voice was a whisper. As punishment, a previous master had cut her throat. He’d nicked her voice box.

Sitting down, she glanced from Darran to Zhen. Zhen let his butler’s hands drop and straightened up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “What I didn’t tell you two, and what I should have told you, is that Dara is Prince Atadara Fortuna.”

Darran groaned, burying his face in his hands. “No, he isn’t.”

“He is.”

Hes sucked a breath in through her teeth. “Zhen, you didn’t.”

He forgave her indiscretion. “I did.”

Pursing her lips, she folded her arms, leaning back. One giant leg crossed over the other, Hes could have passed for a goddess on the terrestrial plane, one of war and battle. One hand played at the pommel of her sword, fidgeting. It was never good when Hes fidgeted. Beside her, Darran took a shuddering breath in, as if trying not to burst into tears.

“Zhen.” His voice was sharp, tight. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

He stared at his butler, the first time the man had ever slipped up. To chastise him like this, it would be unseemly, it would be unthinkable. A lesser man would have locked him in his room without food until Darran apologized — a lesser man had. Darran had been nothing but the perfect butler, even though he snuck the staff candies and covered for minor indiscretions, someone screwing someone else, someone breaking a plate, someone forgetting the shopping. And yet…

There was none of the jovial, ever-smiling man in him now. His pale eyes were round, and his skin took on a sickly pallor.

Zhen didn’t have an answer for him. Anything he could say would be easily rebuffed, and he couldn’t help but think: why had he kept this from them? For their own safety? Had Hes known, she would never have left the estate, would never have left Dara alone. Dara still bore his old name, and the high council was aware of his presence, a danger. For Zhen’s own peace of mind? Look at where that had gotten him.

“I don’t know,” his voice was quiet, non-threatening. “And for that, I apologize. I was ineffective in keeping everyone safe and informed, and now we have paid dearly for that. It will never, ever happen again.”

Darran’s face cracked with sympathy, and Hes offered him a tense exhale. She whispered, “The past is the past. We suffered seven casualties. You will have to let the families know, for the ones who still had them. Now, what can we do to get our Dara back?”

“That was my question exactly.” Zhen bounced his leg. “Darran, do you still have your connections to the lower quarters?”

Perking up, Darran nodded. “Of course. I maintained them after entering your service, Master Zhen, for situations like this.”

Zhen’s lips fell into a small smile. “If you could use them to see if anyone is trying to smuggle out a particularly prized slave, then I would be grateful. Take one of the horses from the stable and ride down, Hes — can you spare one of the remaining guards to help him? I want you here.”

“In case…” Darran trailed off. To his credit, he didn’t seem as though he was about to faint. Gathering his courage about him, he nodded once more. “I can do that. I should be back by morning. Shall I go now?”

“Wait, I still want you here to help plan the next steps. Then, we will work. Hes, what do you think would be the most effective thing you can do with this?”

She thought it through, tapping her foot against the coffee table’s leg. After a small eternity, she spoke, her voice a permanent whisper, straining to be heard. “I want to speak to the city guards. Let them know that someone is going to be transporting Dara, alive or dead, and to keep an eye out for him. Then, I want to speak with the contingent the high council has given us. They likely won’t respect me, but I can take a bit of insubordination.” Flashing them a quick smile, she laced her fingers together. “I think Darran’s contacts will be most important here, though. Who else would know about safe houses around the city?”

At the praise, Darran flushed. “Thank you, Hes. I will connect with my people posthaste, and we will have more information soon. I hope I will be as useful as you all seem to think I am.”

“Darran,” Zhen chided lightly, “you are incredibly useful. Now, I hear the high council’s carriage outside. Hes, would you welcome them in with me? Darran, change clothing and ride. We’re in for a sleepless night.”

The pair exchanged smiles, rising. Darran rushed out of the room, his posture shifting from the prim and proper butler to the brusque commoner he once was. The servants swept out of his path and, as Zhen and Hes made their way to the foyer, hoofbeats marked his departure. Knowing Darran, they would have a lead within three hours, maybe even before the high council left.

Grounding himself, he took a deep breath. Hes rested her hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. It was going to be okay, the gesture said, I’m right here. He offered her a tense smile, seeing the glint in her green eyes hidden under her bangs. All Dara needed to do was hold out, and the man was good at not dying. He had a feisty soul.

Servants opened the doors, allowing Lady Faol and Lord Hazan inside. The Lady glided along Zhen’s foyer as if she owned it — though her money certainly helped him maintain his lifestyle — her low heels clicking against the floor. Staring down her nose at him, she tsked, shaking her head in a mixture of annoyance and frustration. Beside her, Lord Hazan fussed with his glasses, adjusting them like that would help him see the situation better.

“Ambassador Ankulat,” Lady Faol’s voice was smooth, artificially calm. “Tell me you haven’t summoned us here because you lost a prince.”

What was he supposed to say to that? “My Lady, I didn’t lose him, my home was attacked.”

“I don’t see him here, do I?” She sniffed, disdainful. “Take us to your sitting room, we need to speak more about this. And do serve us tea, what is an emergency meeting without tea? I will take darjeeling. Hazan, what do you want.”

“Darjeeling is fine,” Lord Hazan waved her off. “I hope we can find him soon, Ambassador. I understand you went to a lot of trouble to get him out of Kadras, and I know I myself would be angry if someone filched him right out from under my nose.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Zhen bowed deep. “Please, come this way. Lady Faol is right to recommend the sitting room, it’s best to sit for these conversations.”

Leading them through his house, he ignored the way Lady Faol lifted an eyebrow at his eclectic decorations. He couldn’t care less what she thought of his house, nor what she thought of him. The rage within him threatened to spill over, and it was enough to simply keep that in check. Zhen didn’t need to snap at the most senior members of the high council, he didn’t need to be disciplined for his sharp tongue. It wouldn’t help get Dara back home.

He entered the sitting room once more, seeing the muddy footprints on his expensive, foreign rugs, the snags and tears in his tapestries, the spot where a golden vase had gone missing. With a frustrated sigh, he sat down in his usual chair, beckoning for the high council members to take their seats. Lord Hazan sat where Darran had sat, and Lady Faol in Hes’s spot.

Zhen spoke first. “I have sent out people to see if they can find out where Dara is being held — the attack was too soon for them to be out of the city, unless they took the highways first and managed to get through the gates with him in tow.”

“Which they won’t,” Lady Faol said, too convinced.

Raising an eyebrow at her, Lord Hazan rolled his eyes. “Like you would know, Faol. You haven’t left the Red City in years. The guards at the gates border on incompetent, they don’t have proper supervision. It would be easy enough to sneak a slave past them, especially if the slave is asleep or unconscious.”

Zhen shook his head, face set in grim determination. “Dara wouldn’t go willingly. They would have to knock him out.”

“And how are you so sure of that, Ambassador?” Lady Faol crossed her arms. “It isn’t like you two have been together for years, never mind that he is hardly properly trained. Perhaps he wanted to get away from you, perhaps he was willing to do away with you for the chance of freedom.”

“Faol!” Lord Hazan chided.

The pair silenced when Zhen let out a tight, high laugh. Like she had told him a funny joke. “Dara understands that I am the only chance he has — had — not to be executed. The people who took him? I’m certain they’re from Kadras, who else would want him? Who else would know where he is? King Vaness wants to kill Dara, simple as that, and an opportunity presented itself.”

The room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

It was Lord Hazan who broke the silence with a hesitant, “You have given this a lot of thought.”

“I have had a lot of time to think.”

Lady Faol took a deep breath, letting it out through her nose. When she refocused on Zhen, there was a trace, however slight, of sympathy in her voice. “I understand that you’re quite upset, Ambassador Ankulat, and that you have needed to think a great deal about next steps. What do you need of us, if you would like to take responsibility for this operation?”

“I would love to take responsibility, and I would need your military might. Have the guards check the carriages coming out of the city, we might be able to catch them yet. If we’re lucky, that is. If we’re not, I would love a task force to help hunt them down — if not, Dara is going to die a painful, public death. I can remain calm and draw upon my training in the service to lead this operation. If you two would be willing to assist, offer advice, and resources, that would be appreciated.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” Lord Hazan mused. “I wasn’t aware you served, Ambassador Ankulat.”

His smile turned forced. “I was in the Special Service, actually. I focused on hostage retrieval and close-range combat.”

That got their attention. Lord Hazan regained his composure first. “Oh, you were a negotiator? I can see how you would want to go into the Foreign Service afterward, the skills are quite transferable.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t negotiate. I was on the breaching teams.” At their stunned stares, he continued, “But I grew tired of that, and it can be such a pain on the body and nerves. I joined the Foreign Service with my commander’s blessing. He wrote my recommendation letter.”

Lady Faol crossed one leg over the other, looking at him in a new light. “So, you actually know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

“If there’s anything else you need of us, don’t hesitate to ask. Until then, I have to sleep, Ambassador Ankulat. Hazan, is there anything else you would like to tell our strange little ambassador?”

Lord Hazan let out a soft exhale of a laugh. “I wouldn’t call Ambassador Ankulat ‘little’, Faol. But no, there is nothing I can add that would contribute to the conversation. Whatever you need of us, be sure to send a missive and it will be done. I wish you luck in getting your man back, I’m sure he’s quite scared. Hopefully, you get him back in one piece.”

With a final, tense smile, Zhen bowed and allowed the pair to leave, guided to the exit by one of the servants. As the door to the study closed and he was alone, he deflated, slumping back into his plush armchair. Illun’s sight be damned, why did the God’s corpse have to turn his unseeing eyes Zhen’s way? Was it not enough to offer every week, to pray before bed, to visit the temples and have his household blessed?

And yet… he sighed. Such was life. If someone wanted to take Dara, then that someone would find out soon enough what Zhen was willing to do to get his man back.

His body moved without much input from him, rising from the armchair and striding through the halls, winding and labyrinthine, until he reached the lowest point of the cellar. The floor had turned to stone once he entered the basement, and the walls of his cellar were packed with preserves, vegetables, and wine. Nice and cool. His footsteps on the floor were the only thing he could hear. So quiet here, he could see why Darran was a fan of the cellar as a panic room.

He wasn’t here to panic, though. Off to one corner sat a shrine to Ail, patron of preservation, a small rug covering the ground so it didn’t have to touch the cold floor. Peeling the rug back with a muttered prayer, Zhen found the latch of the trapdoor. Just he, Darran, and Hes had a key here, and they were the only ones — aside from the builders — who knew this room existed.

Shimmying down a rickety ladder held together by ties and spite, Zhen found himself in his personal armory. There was no time to linger, to run the tips of his fingers over the edges of his throwing knives, or regale his reflection in his greatsword. No. He was here for a reason. Grabbing one of his pistols out of its display case, he double-checked to make sure it was clean and in fighting shape before tucking it into his belt.

His battle ax hung on the wall, his baby. Taking it down with loving, affectionate hands, Zhen examined the clean, gleaming edge. It had a comforting heft to it, and as Zhen fell into a familiar stance, he couldn’t help the smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Chapter Text

Dara’s world swam behind his eyelids, a riot of colors and sounds. Some strange voice in his head bid him to hold still, and so he did, keeping his breathing steady despite the smell of dirt and worn wooden floorboards. Dust tickled his nose, but he willed himself not to sneeze as reality came into focus, discordant noise turning to talk and carriages and chatter. The colors abated, leaving him with one single source of light behind his closed eyes.

He was inside a building. His name was Atadara Fortuna. His head was pounding. Drawing on his memory, he came upon fuzzy recollections, a stranger with a blurry face and a big hatchet, hands on him, around his throat, slamming him against the floor and… oh. That would explain the ache in his neck.

A slight, cursory movement revealed his wrists and ankles bound fast. The rope was scratchy. Biting back futile tears, Dara tried to think. Better to pretend and get his bearings than be roughed up, interrogated, and beaten. Or worse. His mind still echoed with the blind, wild animal terror at the strange man pinning him down, straddling him and forcing his body into the floor. His clothing was still intact, so nothing had happened. Dara hoped that would continue to be the case.

No one was coming for him. The thought burned into him like a brand — his family was dead, the Aritian high council didn’t care about a foreign prince, and Zhen hardly had the resources to track him down himself, never mind get him out. This was to be the rest of his short, pitiful life, being held for what? For ransom? For execution? Did it matter? Once they realized Zhen didn’t have enough money to justify owning a prince, it was all over.

A sob burned at the back of his throat, threatening to spill over. This was how the Fortuna line ended, not with statues erected in their name, but with a whimpering twenty-four year old, crying into the floorboards and praying to gods he barely believed for someone to find him, save him, help him.

A door opened and slammed shut, footsteps on the floorboards loud enough that he nearly flinched. They were at the far end of the room, three men at the least, five at the most. Fuck. Dara kept still, as still as possible with his arms aching and legs cramped. At least they hadn’t gagged him. He would have to escape, but he could hardly fight through the men if they were even half as strong as the stranger, and then what? He was in a foreign town, barely had any clothes, and no money. Before he could even find Zhen, he’d starve.

Voices echoed through the small room. Two speaking, one grunting his responses, about nothing in particular. As if having a man tied up in their apartment was as commonplace as a noodle vendor. Perhaps in the Red City, it was. Perhaps this shining jewel of the Aritian empire, this crèche nestled in the foothills of the Darunan Mountains, was secretly a place filled with devils and demons.

“I hate this town,” one man groaned, and Dara held as still as he could. “Too many tourists in everybody’s business. Fuck if I know where the Rallian Colosseum is.”

The other snorted, spitting onto the floor. “Can you blame them? Half the people here don’t bother looking up at the world around them. I’m sure the city doesn’t know where a third of the tourist attractions are. Never mind the ones in the mountains.”

“And if the tourists get lost up there?”

“Fuck them!”

A third man grunted, closer to a sniff.

“Aw, Kafi, don’t be like that,” said the first man. His voice was high and reedy.

The second man didn’t give the third a moment to respond, his nasal voice thick with amusement. “Kafi’s always like that. Just wants to take our new toys apart before we can put them back together.”

Dara’s blood went cold.

The man continued, “Then again, we weren’t given strict instructions. Who’s to say if he comes to the king with a couple of broken ribs.”

“Don’t get our pay docked.”

The third man grunted once more.

“You think so?” said the original man. “Well, if you think that, then I’m sure it’ll be on your head if things go wrong. Now, let’s get out of this city before that ditsy ambassador gets wind that we’re still here. I don’t know and I don’t care what he’ll do once his precious little slave is gone, but I’m sure he’ll be pissed off.”

A door slammed forcefully, and Dara’s body flinched. Fuck. The movement, however slight, caught the men’s attention. Wonderful, more things to ruin his life. Maybe he could convince them that he was a good bartering chip, maybe he could convince them to let him go, maybe pigs could fly around the moon…

“Looks like our little sleeping beauty finally woke up,” one of the men laughed, approaching him with thundering footsteps.

Ruse over, Dara opened his eyes, taking in the rough, creased faces of the men before him. Three, he had been right. They smirked down at him, as if he were a meal served to them on a silver platter, fit to be eaten. He grimaced, letting out a soft huff. It stirred the dust in front of his face, though he didn’t dare move. Everything hurt enough that he couldn’t withstand a solid kick from one of them.

“What pretty eyes,” another said, “just like the Divine Ail, yellow.”

They were fucking amber. Without consulting him, Dara’s mouth opened. “Thanks, they’re lucky.”

“It speaks! And with such a fancy accent,” the first man, one with a scar running through the corner of his mouth, cooed, reaching down to pinch Dara’s cheek.

He jerked away. Clamping his jaws shut, he gave the man his fiercest glare. It netted him a laugh.

“Aren’t you a tempting thing? What a shame I can’t do what I want, I’d keep you forever, you know. So pretty, so delicate. You’d grow to like it after a while, I know it.”

“Fuck you.”

The man laughed once more, a deep reverberation in his chest. “Now there’s an idea.” Looking at the other two, he raised an eyebrow. “What do you think, boys? Don’t you think that, should we rough him up a little, we’d get some bonus pay? That new king said nothing about delivering him broken, just that he wanted him delivered.”

Dara’s eyes went wide. His suspicions had been confirmed. Vaness had hired mercenaries to bring him back? What else, would he hire assassins if he managed to get away? How much of the royal coffers did Vaness have access to, if tracking down a rogue prince was a blink of his eye, something to order and forget about?

Or was this something that kept Vaness up at night? Did he wonder and worry and fret about where Dara was, whether Dara was planning an attempt to seize the throne? Dara could only hope he could achieve his home back. More than anything, he wanted his home back, but not like this. Not trussed up and delivered like a prize from the hunt. Even death would be worse than falling back into Vaness’s hands, at least the mercenaries would have slit his throat and let him bleed out. He couldn’t see his father’s crown on Vaness’s head.

He fought down a retch as the scarred mercenary grabbed his face, tilting it this way and that, examining. The man pried his mouth open easily, examining his teeth as one would a horse. A dog. Dara only just resisted the urge to bite down, to taste blood on his tongue. He needed to get away from these people, and he needed to get away from them before they crossed the border, before they left the city.

“Where are we going?” Dara managed to ask. “To the Kadin palace?”

Chuckling at his boldness, the men gave him pitying looks. The man in front of him spoke once more, their de facto leader. “It seems like someone knows what his fate is. That doesn’t mean we have to tell you.”

“You don’t want me to know?” Dara blinked, his eyes soft and watery. As much as he channeled fear into his face, there was a tell. There was always a tell. “Don’t tell me, then.”

His little trick proved unsuccessful. The men laughed harder, their smiles wide, teeth yellowed. “Then we won’t! You talk in circles, little divinity, like a politician. You could be the mayor of my hometown if you tried hard enough, you sound just like him. Isn’t that so cute? Kafi, doesn’t he sound just like him?”

A man to his right, with broad shoulders and a glare that could kill, grunted in response. He was a giant, with close-shorn black hair and eyes like mud. They didn’t so much dart as amble, bored. How could anyone be bored in this situation, Dara’s racing heart asked. There was nothing but pain and humiliation in store for him, and as the giant man’s eyes crept to Dara’s face, he smiled.

“Looks like my little brother.”

No love lost in that tone. Dara opened his mouth, but a harsh kick to his stomach sent him coughing and gasping for air. His ribs ached and his head pounded, and as he caught his breath, Dara shot the man a glare. Far too bold and daring — Zhen would have chided him for such behavior, and as the men around him laughed, the giant picked him up by the neck. Dara’s legs pedaled the air, breath coming in desperate pants.

“I don’t like my little brother,” Kafi murmured, his rancid breath in Dara’s face.

Unable to force words through his windpipe, Dara squirmed, fingers clawing at the man’s hand around his throat. His eyes bulged, and his foot connected with the man’s shin. Thigh?

The hand tightened. “Be still.”

Dara stilled. He was fucked.

Examining him halfheartedly, the giant let go, letting him crumple to the ground in a red-faced, gasping heap. Dara could feel bruises slowly forming, a persistent ache that refused to go away, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. With a shrug, the man glanced at his associates, unfazed and uninterested.

“Do whatever you want to him. Just make sure he lives.”

And with that, he left the room, off to have a pleasant night on the town. Dara’s stomach flipped. The other men looked at him with such hunger, such glee. His chest tightened, and he bit back a whimper. Crying would only encourage them. He was a prince, he was a noble, he was strong enough to deal with whatever torture they wanted to inflict on him. Never mind that Zhen would find him soon, would save him once more, and bring him home.

“Well, well, well,” the chattier of the two, the one who had taunted him before, crooned, “Now isn’t this exciting? A little divinity of our very own. A noble brat. I wonder how much he would go for underground — though the king would be unhappy if we… lost him. What do you think, Casse?”

The other, Casse apparently, let out a snort and spat a glob of phlegm onto the floor, inches from Dara’s nose. “I think we should break him in. You know how kings love their enemies.”

“That is true, but think of this: does our king want his precious cargo whole to break him in himself, or is he just going to execute him on the spot? That’s an awfully hard decision to make, isn’t it?”

“I think you should stop talking and let me take care of our precious little piece of divinity.”

The chatty man shut up quickly, and Dara had just a breath to brace himself before a foot was rearranging his innards. He let his mind disconnect from his body, a trick he had learned courting other nobles. He was not his body, he was not his flesh. Whatever harm came to it was unfortunate, but not a travesty. He would survive this, regardless of what the basal parts of his brain thought. He just needed to breathe, and breathe, and… a wheeze cut off his internal thoughts, a whimper in his own voice.

Chapter Text

Zhen stalked the halls of his estate, his steel-heeled boots clicking against the pristine marble floors. The servants stayed out of his way. Hiding from him was better than dealing with his baleful glare. He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled this week.

Old friends were due to arrive at any moment, and he couldn’t bring himself to dress in his usual silks and do his makeup. Day-old eyeliner flaked from his face. He had washed in the sink, laid down for an hour or two in a cold bed, and rose again. How could he sleep when Dara could be anywhere? Illun only knew what they were doing to him — or worse, who they were shipping him off to. No, sleep was a luxury Zhen couldn’t afford. At least the high council had given him time to find his princeling.

He dried his palms on his shirt, a black, cotton number from his days in the military. It felt right, comfortable. Better than the silks he had grown so used to. What would his friends think of that, how opulent and lazy he had gotten, rather than the hard-nosed, sharp-shooting soldier he had been? They would think less of him, certainly. No one else had gone into the foreign service, they busied themselves with less savory employment.

He needed them more than ever.

Movement at the corner of his vision alerted him to Darran’s approach. The butler kept his footsteps quiet, his head bowed with shame and respect. The poor man thought Zhen would detonate at any moment, fire half the staff and slate the rest to the dungeons. Not that he would ever do something so gauche.

Though Zhen had his moments, he did so love his staff. They worked hard to keep the estate running, none more than Darran. Even so, he looked for every avenue for redemption, working to keep himself in his master’s good graces. Meals were delivered on time, right to the minute, and consisted of Zhen’s favorites. They tasted bland, despite Lorie’s best efforts to spice them up, vegetables like mud and drinks ash in his mouth. It took everything in him not to spit anything back out. That would be disrespectful.

“Master Zhen?" Darran piped up, at his elbow as always. “Is everything alright?”

A sarcastic laugh bubbled past Zhen’s lips before he could think of a response. His mouth moved of its own accord, quite the bad habit for a diplomat.

“Everything’s wonderful, Darran. My prince is kidnapped, by whom, who’s to say, and all I can do is sit here and wait while information trickles back to me. I’m so thrilled.”

“Master Zhen…”

The chiding was mild, but the wind swept out of his sails. His shoulders sagged, and he licked his lips, unable to meet Darran’s eye. Here was a man who had served him faithfully — diligently — for years, had kept the home fires burning while Zhen was where the fuck ever, stationed at whatever faraway fairytale land the high council demanded of him. Darran ensured he came home to a warm, well-stocked house, no matter what, and hosted guests without complaint. Illun’s brood be damned, he would probably lie back, weeping with gratitude, if Zhen asked for something more, something his scruples would never allow him to ask for.

As if sensing his thoughts, Darran rested a hand on his shoulder, a small smile on his face. “It’s alright to feel upset, Master Zhen. This is quite the distressing situation. I assure myself that, were I stolen from you, I would warrant half the worry and search you have done for poor Dara.”

That broke something in Zhen’s heart. Moving on instinct, he pulled Darran into a tight hug. The man went stiff in his arms, heart beating a mile a minute, breathing fast enough to spark into a flame. Even so, he relaxed into his master’s touch, cautiously bringing his hands up to pat Zhen’s back. Zhen could smell tension, mingled with relief, in the air.

“For you, Darran, I would move mountains.”

His breathing faltered as he shifted slightly, clinging to Zhen like a child. “Thank you, Master Zhen.”

His voice was thick, as if he were about to start crying. Maybe he was. Though Zhen’s mind warred to snap and comfort, he chose kindness.

“It’s alright, Darran. I know this last week has been stressful — Gods, this last month, at that. I thank you for always keeping our home comfortable, regardless of whether I am here or not. I can trust you, and it wasn’t your fault we were attacked. Please, allow me to put my faith in you, and trust that I will help you if there is a problem. I care about you, Darran. I want us both to live well. Allow me.”

Darran choked back a sob. “It has been… hard, Master Zhen.”

“I know, Darran, I know.” Zhen rubbed his back, gently, slowly.

“I have missed you so,” the man wrapped his arms tight around Zhen, “and so has everyone else. I understand that this is beyond my station, but if there is anything you need, then just say the word and I will give it to you. Your happiness is my lifeblood, Master Zhen. Thank you for purchasing me so long ago, I hope I have earned my keep.”

Something in Zhen softened. “Of course you have. You have earned your keep and so much more. You have gone above my wildest dreams when I found you — Darran, you were a steal. Your former master didn’t know what she had.”

A breath of silence, Darran processing, greeted Zhen’s words. Pulling back, Zhen rested his hands on Darran’s shoulders, meeting reddened, weepy eyes with his own steady black.

“Trust me. I will make this all well, even though it will hurt like the high heavens come down until all is as it should be. You know more than anyone, my closest confidante, how much I care for this estate, and how much I care for poor Dara. Let me care for you, too. There is room in my heart enough for everyone.”

Darran nodded, shallow. “Yes, Master Zhen.”

And yet, those pale blue eyes, like glazed pottery from far-off lands over the sea, lingered on Zhen’s face, searching through every pore with hope so plainly visible. His gaze looped and fell with Zhen’s straight hair, danced across his nose, and swirled around his lips, turned up into a soft, easy smile, despite how much Zhen wanted to sulk and growl and lash out. Darran lingered on his lips long enough that Zhen parted them on instinct, acting to diffuse before his butler, his cherished butler, did something he might regret.

It was enough to snap Darran out of his daze. A light flush dusted his ivory cheeks, and he looked away. “Thank you, Master Zhen. I think I hear the carriage coming up the drive.”

They parted, and Zhen resumed his pacing as his thoughts turned to Dara once more.

The door opened, and the three closest things he had to friends strode in, swaggering and wet from the rain. Their boots were muddy. Servants knelt to wipe them, and his former squadron mates shot him wide, cheerful grins. In the middle, as always, was Rada. His tousled hair was slick, shaved on the sides and long enough that he tossed it out of his eyes. He was a lean man, deceptively strong and staggeringly fast. Not as fast as Zhen, though.

“My, my!” Arms wide, as if expecting a hug, Rada beamed at him. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Three long years with only letters to tide me over, and suddenly you’re back in Aritia; they sure keep you busy, don’t they?”

Zhen said nothing.

The man beside Rada, a beanpole of a man named Azh, elbowed his de facto leader. “Not the time, Rad.”

“Not the time? Come on, it’s Zhen, we’ve missed him, haven’t we?”

“We have,” the woman on Rada’s other side piped up, “but look at him. He isn’t smiling, is he?”

Zhen tried for a smile, but got as far as a grimace. “Astute as ever, Kaia. I have missed you all, please know that, but today is not a happy day. I need your assistance.”

With a sigh, Kaia pulled her hood down, revealing long, white-blond hair. It had been close-cropped the last time Zhen had seen her, and a deep scar cut across one cheek. Whoever had slashed her, they had just barely missed her eye. Her piercing, pale grey stare remained preserved. Shrugging off her cloak, she revealed a comfortable, dark blue tunic underneath, flattering her figure.

“No prosthetic? You always wore one back in the day,” Zhen couldn’t help the words out of his mouth.

Surprised, as if she hadn’t even thought to wear one, she glanced at her missing right arm. “I’m left-handed.”

That got a raucous laugh out of Rada. He always had such a loud laugh, and Zhen’s shoulders lowered incrementally. As shitty as this situation was, he could rely on his friends. Especially friends he had kept in contact with. Illun only knew how many acquaintances he had made and dropped the second they stopped being useful. Rada, Azh, and Kaia, though? He could trust them.

“That’s true,” he said, voice kinder. The tension in the room eased, and Rada let out a tense chuckle. “Come on, let’s go to my study. We can talk about everything there.”

As he turned, they followed him, Rada approaching from behind, arm outstretched, before Azh tugged him back by his coattails, shaking his head. Zhen bit his lip, but focused his attention on the steps forward. It was Kaia that took him by surprise, manifesting at his side, her steps light and airy.

“I heard about what happened in Kadras.”

Everyone’s attention flicked to Zhen, hard as they tried to hide it. To his credit, he kept himself stoic and calm. “It is what it is. Sometimes, countries degrade.”

“I also heard you brought someone home with you.”

He turned to look at her, black eyes on her pale white. “Did you now?”

She shrugged, wiping a stray droplet of rain off her nose. “Half the underbelly knows it. Your little friend is quite the sensation. King Vaness offered half a million shards for him. Twice that if he was alive. I’d be a fool if I didn’t keep my ear to the ground.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Her laugh was disbelieving. “By the time I’d heard about it, the deal was already off the table. I take it you’ve already been burglarized and your property stolen, no?”

He let his silence speak for him.

“That’s what you’ve called us here for, isn’t it?”

“You’re too smart for your own good, Kaia.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at Rada and Azh. “Not like those boneheads are thinking about anything more than what’s for dinner or their next job. You got lucky, Zhen. You landed a stable enough job doing something you’re good at. Don’t mistake my intellect for a lack of wisdom. I know you, and I know that the only person worth half a million shards to King Vaness is that little lost prince. My only question is,” meeting his eye, her grin was vulpine, “how did you do it?”

Azh watched them, eyes flicking from Zhen’s face to Kaia’s. Patient, waiting for any sign that their former close friend was about to strike her for insolence. Of course, he wasn’t. Zhen was a mature adult, and could handle being spoken to like this, even if his mind ached for him to step back and snap.

“I was very, very clever,” he smiled, “and if you would please step inside my study, I can tell you all about it.”

Rada shot him a wide grin. “Let’s just say whoever took your slave has the unenviable position of dealing with us. Fear not, old friend, we’ll get him back.”

That they would. For the first time in ages, Zhen allowed a genuine smile to settle on his face, all teeth and glinting eyes. Unsettling. He would become the flames at the gate and the axe at the neck once more. Only Illun, in all his bored, rotting glory, would be able to help those stupid, arrogant, detestable sellswords.

Chapter Text

His throat burned. Dara came to consciousness in an unfamiliar, dingy room. His heart fell. As much as he had prayed to gods he didn’t believe in, he hadn’t died in his sleep. Maybe that was it, his lack of belief — would the gods listen to him if he knelt down and swore to join a convent should they act in his life? Could Dara really force himself to believe like that? Maybe the situation wasn’t dire enough. Ha.

Blearily, he opened his eyes. His eyelids must have weighed a hundred pounds each. A dusty, dim space met his weary gaze, the wooden walls bare and the floor made out of stone bricks. No one else was with him. He nearly hated it more when they left him alone — nearly.  The boredom was going to kill him, if the hunger and thirst didn’t first.

Never mind that the mercenaries didn’t care how much he suffered, just so long as he stayed alive. Their pay would be docked if they delivered a corpse. That didn’t stop them from trying, though. His ribs ached with fresh bruises, and his split lip still bled periodically. He tasted blood with every breath, dried in his mouth from his slumber. Some wound was always aching, and no help was coming.

No help was coming. The thought bounced around his head like a ball. No one would ever know the poor little prince who tried to escape his fate. His name would go down in history as a footnote, the creaking of rope at the revolution’s end as bodies swayed sleepily in the wind. He was nobody. Nothing.

Drawing a shaky breath in, Dara sat up. He rested his back against the cold, wood-paneled wall. There was stone under the planks, he could feel the chill leaching into his bones. The mercenaries had thrown his limp body onto a straw pallet — thank the gods they hadn’t tossed him onto the floor. He missed his bed. He missed Zhen’s bed, as much as it mollified him. He was meant to be a noble, a prince, and here he was, broken down to nothing. Missing a mere ambassador’s warmth.

He bit back a sob. His mind swam with Zhen’s kindness, his patience. Yes, the man wanted to fuck him, and yes, he owned him, but he hadn’t been one to slap Dara around or starve him for misbehaving, or even kick him out of bed for snoring. No, he allowed Dara to curl up and sleep as long as he wanted, comfortable and safe in the warmth of the blankets and residual body heat. Things felt… nicer on Zhen’s side of the bed. Dara would never forget that, if he made it out of this alive. He would never squander Zhen’s grace again if…

Well. Wishes weren’t going to come true. Dara could feel as sick as he wanted, his stomach could churn and roil, what was it to the gods? What did they care about a disgraced prince? They would spit on his swinging body and laugh at how it twitched and danced when Vaness hanged him. Fuck the gods.

No. He shouldn’t think that. One never knew who was listening.

*

After being dragged from safe house to safe house, far outside of the city, Dara had grown used to the silence. That, and the reek of unwashed bodies. His own must have stank to the high heavens. Though he didn’t know exactly where they were, they must have been at least halfway to the border. How long until they crossed over? Until there was nothing Dara could do to free himself? All this hope, and Vaness was going to hang a hollow man.

Better to beg the mercenaries to kill him once he knew he was over the border. They would be kinder than Vaness, and they wouldn’t make such a spectacle out of him. At the very least, his death would be quicker. Easier. Faster.

With a sigh, he thumped his head back against the wood, relishing in the brief splash of pain. It was something, at the very least. He had taken to chewing on his lip, on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood just to remember he was still alive. The coppery tang had grown comforting. At the very least, it would be enough to steady his nerves when the mercenaries returned, eager to take out their frustrations on him.

A noise cut through his thoughts. A new noise. The shriek of metal on metal and distant shouts. It couldn’t have been help, not after the last two weeks of silence. Then again, the gods had a sick sense of humor, sending him a savior right when he had lost hope. Who would this one be? A woman who wanted to put him on a leash? A man who wanted to break him even further? Whoever it was, they must have been better than Vaness. A phrase lingered at the back of his mind, something about a rock and a hard place.

His eldest sister would have told him to buck up, to be bold. Kick ass, take names. Show the world what their family was capable of. She was a corpse, now. Even so, better to die in battle than on the executioner’s block. She had screamed obscenities at Vaness the entire time they had her on that stage, writhing and spitting as they forced her neck to the block. The silence after the thunk of the ax had rung in his ears.

Dara crept closer to the door. Jiggling the handle, he found it unlocked. Only one choice, then. He wasn’t going to spend the last hour of his life trying to hide in a bare room, cowering in the corner like a scared dog. He was a man — he was a prince — and he would go out punching and biting, if it came to that.

Dara went towards the noise. Screams and the acrid reek of blood were his path to salvation, hopefully. If he could convince whoever was foolish enough to attack his kidnappers — whoever knew he was here — to spare him, then maybe he had a chance at… what? Where would he go? No one would host him, and the Aritian high council would just send him back to… Zhen. There was always Zhen.

Rounding the corner, he skittered to a stop. It took everything in him not to laugh. Who was foolish enough to get him back? Who else wanted him like Zhen? And here he was, covered in blood, prying an ax out of a now-dead man’s head. Without faltering, he pulled his weapon free and whipped around, burying it into another guard’s chest, hard enough that Dara could hear the crack of the woman’s sternum. She fell like a sack of bricks and, one handed, Zhen used her body to block a blow from one of her comrades.

He moved through the battle like wind through leaves, scattering guards. Innards and blood made the floor slippery, and his face was painted red with spatter. Hair tied back, he spun on his toes and slashed through the people crowding him like they were paper. With his sleeves rolled up, Dara could see his muscles working, strong and capable.

The fury on his face sent a little thrill through Dara. All of this was for him, Zhen cared enough about him to kill. The thought made something in his chest ache, and he leaned against the cool stone wall, stunned to stillness, ears pricked for footsteps behind him. How long had it been since someone wanted him so much? Since someone had wanted to keep him safe?

Zhen had made it abundantly clear he would never hurt him, would protect him, and he had put his money where his mouth was. Would he answer Dara’s questions? Would he reveal when he had learned to use an ax with such deadly efficiency? Would he show Dara how to fight back, how to keep himself safe so this never happened again?

From behind, a man grabbed the hilt of Zhen’s ax, tugging it out of his grip. Zhen didn’t hesitate, whipping around as gunshots rang through the corridor. Dara’s world slowed. Zhen was bleeding out, Zhen was dying, Zhen was… fine? The man behind him slumped over, a trail of too-bright blood following him down the wall as Zhen stepped closer, plucking the ax from the dead man’s hands.

“Thank you, Rada!” his voice boomed down the hall, and received a grunt in response over the din of a scuffle.

Dara stared. Zhen’s face was a beacon, divinity. Those eyes glinted in the lantern light, pupils wide around black irises. They ate up every shimmer in the air, magnetic as they swept across the room, hunting for threats. Every twitch in the shadows was enough for him to focus on, smoothing over it. He looked capable. Strong. Bloody. Dara’s heart sped up, hammering out of his chest. Could Zhen hear it? Could the reinforcements coming their way? Would he be what gave them away in the end?

When Zhen’s ever-roving gaze landed on Dara, clutching the wall as he shook, his hands tied together, they melted into pure affection. Before Dara could think to speak, Zhen was running over. He pulled him into a tight embrace, running his blood-stained fingers through Dara’s ruddy hair. Kissing his temple, Zhen buried his face in the crook of Dara’s neck, breathing his scent in deep.

“Oh, princeling, my princeling,” he murmured, pressing his nose against the top of Dara’s head. “You worried me so much.”

A laugh burbled out of Dara’s raspy, dry throat. “I wasn’t having any fun, if that’s any consolation.”

Zhen laughed a single note, smiling wide as he pressed his lips to Dara’s hair, his cheek, his jaw. It was Dara who turned his head, met Zhen’s mouth with his own. He could taste his own blood mingling with his captors’ on Zhen’s lips, and as he clutched Zhen’s shirt, pulling him close, a strong hand wove through his hair, the other holding tight to his ax.

“I didn’t know you could fight,” Dara murmured as they broke apart.

“I learned while serving in the Aritian military. Mandatory conscription, and all that.”

“I didn’t know that, either.”

The corners of Zhen’s eyes crinkled. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Licking his split lip, Dara looked Zhen up and down, taking in the bloody stains on his clothing, the coppery reek that clung to him. “Are you alright?”

“I wasn’t hurt. Don’t you worry, my Dara.” Taking Dara’s bound hands with his own free one, Zhen put them to his face, leaning into his touch. “I made a career of being faster and better than my enemies. Ankulat Immortali, they called me.”

“Ankulat Immortali,” it tasted nice on Dara’s tongue. “I should call you that. It would be fitting, don’t you think?”

Zhen’s smile could set the stars alight at the dawn of time. “If you wish, it can be a nickname for me. Only fair, right princeling?”

He was silent for a time, almost too long. Leaning forward, Dara held Zhen tight, his head against the man’s shoulder. He could smell sweat, and strangers’ blood, and something so… so quintessentially Zhen that Dara had to collect his thoughts lest he burst into tears at a thought more.

“Thank you,” he whispered through a bloodied lip, “thank you so much.”

Chapter Text

A week later, Dara still woke in the middle of the night screaming, unable to be soothed. It shook Zhen out of deep slumber, and in his groggy state, he would hold a writhing Dara close, murmuring that he was safe and sound, no one would hurt him. It hardly helped. Dara would push and thrash and shriek until his waking mind caught up with his body.

Though Zhen could hardly fault his prince, it cut into his sleep. Zhen wasn’t a man who could stay up all night, soothing someone; there was hardly any time to nap during the day, unless he wanted to skip lunch. For his part, Dara took plentiful naps. Zhen had found him sleeping anywhere from their bed, to Dara’s private quarters, to the comfortable armchairs in the library.

Their dinners were stilted, Dara turning green at the very thought of food. He hadn’t let anyone touch him, servant or not, save from Zhen. He hadn’t shaved. A week’s worth of growth had given him a patchy beard, the stubble scratchy. It was a beautiful spring day when Zhen stumbled upon Dara in the study, sitting next to the swung open bay windows, breathing the garden in.

“Princeling,” his voice was pleasant, “I was thinking, you look like you need some help with your hair. Would you like me to cut it for you, and to help you shave? You might feel a little better if you look a little more like yourself.”

Amber eyes darted to look at him before flicking back to the garden. “I can cut my hair myself. I’m trying to grow it out.”

Sitting down beside him on the soft daybed, Zhen gave him a sympathetic look. “I can see that, but the ends are all uneven. Was this done with an ax?”

“Yeah.”

Oh. “Well, I think some evening could really help it. I’m rather skilled at haircutting, we did a lot of it in the field, and I think my hair looks rather nice.”

Dara turned to stare, as if this was the first time he had taken it upon himself to look at Zhen. Unbothered by his hollow, tired eyes, Zhen ran a hand through his long, loose black hair, offering a lock of it to Dara.

“Here, feel. It’s quite healthy, I assure you. Us ambassadors have to be at our healthiest, we are the windows strangers see our country through. When I served, though, I didn’t bother to take as good care of it. So easy to hide unhealthy hair with a topknot, no?”

Dara felt his hair halfheartedly, letting his hand drop back down to his lap. “Fine, cut my hair. Just don’t cut too much off, please, Master Zhen.”

Offering him a beam, Zhen produced a pair of haircutting scissors from his pocket. “You won’t regret this, princeling.”

“Here?”

“We can go to the bathroom, if you would like.”

“I would,” Dara sighed, rising.

They headed together to the closest bathroom, a comfortably-sized room in the corner of the study. A large, clean mirror hung over the porcelain sink, and there was enough room for the pair of them to stand, their feet bare on the cool, tiled floor. Years ago, Zhen had the walls painted a pleasant mint green.

Dara’s eyes flicked around the room, eventually settling on Zhen in the mirror. His robes were a deep blue, embroidered with all sorts of native flora, done up in silken thread. Expensive, but still tasteful for someone of his station. In another life, Dara would have looked down his nose at such fashion on a mere ambassador, but these days, his complaints were far and few between.

Dara himself wore a simple umber house robe, with a loose, flowing white top underneath, gathered at the neckline and cuffs. His pants hung around his waist, made for someone with a bit more meat on his bones. The poor thing needed to eat more. The pants cinched in at the ankles, giving him a dancer-like silhouette. He had applied eyeliner, subtle and dark, and they made his eyes pop.

Leaning forward, Zhen murmured in his ear, “Are you ready, princeling?”

His charge nodded, the gesture shallow.

“Good. I will be sure to preserve length when I can. Trust me, and relax. We’re having fun, aren’t we?”

“Mm.”

Though he waited for a further response, that was all he got. With a falsely cheerful hum, he started his work, making idle chatter as he measured hair, brushed it through, and cut it. Dara looked ragged, yes, but he had at least been taking care of his hair. It was well-brushed, clean, and smooth, even shiny — though he hadn’t been eating well. Zhen had walked in on the man far-eyed, brushing his hair by the window more than a few times.

“You seem to enjoy taking care of your hair, princeling,” he mused, leveling out the back. “You don’t want bangs, no?”

“No bangs,” Dara’s words came out quickly. “And it’s calming. It makes me think I’m back in the palace. I miss normalcy. I miss my family.”

Soothing, Zhen ran his fingers through his prince’s hair. “I understand, princeling. It’s hard to adjust to change, especially when such change is so unwelcome. Don’t you worry, the high council is sending us a contingent of guards to keep us safe. Nothing like this will ever happen again. You will never be hurt again.”

Exhaling through his nose, Dara’s eyes fell to the floor. “Is it bad that I want Vaness to pay?”

“I don’t think it’s bad, no. Do you?”

“I don’t.”

“Then that’s that, princeling. What are you going to do about it?”

That got him a flash of amber-gold eyes. There was something in them, dangerous and wild. Just for a moment, there was fire in those eyes, burning deep and bright. He smothered it quickly, gritting his teeth and balling his hands into fists. His gaze darted to his own face, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the hard set of his mouth, the scissors glinting in Zhen’s hand as his master rounded out his hair. For the first time, he looked alive. Awake.

“I…” he started, but stopped himself. Zhen raised an eyebrow, enough to prod more words out of him. “I’m going to kill Vaness.”

“Good. I would be honored to help.”

Dara’s lips turned up into a small, faint smile. He met his eye in the mirror, searching for… something. Whether he found that something or was left lacking, Zhen didn’t know, but he must have gotten some peace out of it. The corners of his eyes creased. With a soft sigh, he took a deep breath, and when he returned to reality, there was that fire Zhen had adored so much.

Smiling, he leaned in close to his prince’s ear. “Let that rage fuel you, my Dara. Vaness won’t know what hit him.”

“I want him to know. I want him to look into my eyes and know that this was his own doing. His death is his fault, he should never have taken up arms against me. I’m a gods-damned prince! I… I deserve respect and honor and finery, not to be thrown into a cell and executed! I haven’t even done anything worth execution.”

Biting back a laugh, Zhen set the scissors down on the lip of the sink and brushed the stray hairs from Dara’s shoulders. His lips followed his hands. Illun’s corpse, he was so gorgeous like this, fired up and alive and ready to fight back. Zhen wanted nothing more than to kiss his lips, and cheeks, and hands, to look into those bright, flaming eyes and know that his Dara was back. Vaness could traumatize him all he wanted, but his Dara was coming back, as always. He would give his princeling all the finery his heart desired.

As he pressed his lips to Dara’s shoulders, Zhen couldn’t help smiling. “Anything you want and more will be yours, princeling. Just say the word, and I will fetch you anything. I promise. All I want is for you to be safe and happy, and if I can do anything to ensure that, then you need only tell me.”

“Will you help me fight back against Vaness? It would make me very, very happy.”

But not safe. Hmm, well, if Dara was just going to sneak off and do it anyway… then Zhen supposed that having his allies with him would add to his lovely little prince’s safety. With a sigh, like the last of air leaving a corpse, Zhen let his lips drift up into a wide smile, pressing them to Dara’s neck in one final, binding kiss. His prince shivered.

“Consider it done, my prince.”

Dara looked at him in the mirror, really looked at him. Like he was searching Zhen for any trace of deception, for a hint of mockery. Finding none, he still didn’t relax, a stiffness in his shoulders. Zhen wanted nothing more than to rub them, to get all of that stress and worry out, but that wouldn’t be welcome, not at this moment. He contented himself with draping himself over Dara’s shoulder, his arms around his prince’s waist.

Pleased, he hummed, ”Now, what do you think of your hair?”

His prince’s hand came up, ran through the newly shorn locks. Amber eyes lingered on his own face, and he toyed with the waves in his auburn hair. In the sun, Zhen remembered, it looked like fire, flickering and bright. Not for the first time, he debated if it would be warm to the touch. His prince let out a soft sigh, the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips.

“I like it, I think,” Dara murmured, tucking it behind his ears. He looked adorable. “Were you around when I wore bangs, Master Zhen?”

Zhen flashed him a pearly white smile. “How could I forget?”

“It wasn’t a good look, was it?”

Pausing, he thought over his answer. “I thought you were attractive, but it was a childish hairstyle to me. Many children wear bangs as they grow up in Aritia, and it isn’t seen very often in adults. Women wear it from time to time, but even then, only young women.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “It’s the opposite in Kadras. Only wizened sages wear bangs. Or nobles, high ranking people. It’s fallen out of favor, these days, but I wouldn’t say that it’s completely gone. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of strange hairstyles on your journeys, though. How old are you, Zhen?”

“Twenty-nine,” he let his hands wander down to Dara’s waist. The man let him. “I will be thirty once the heat of late summer breaks and ushers in the fall. I was born on the Solstice, when the Illun’s children calibrated the world to the new year. We will have to celebrate, don’t you think?”

“The Solstice… how do you celebrate up here?”

Zhen couldn’t help the laugh bursting past his lips at that. “Why, the same way you do, princeling, with the biggest, drunkest party you can think of.”

“Good. I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun, then. Thank you, Master Zhen, for the haircut, for the support. It means a lot that you’d be willing to help me.”

“Of course, princeling. Think nothing of it.”

Chapter Text

Zhen had taken to eating lunch with Dara when he could. It usually fell on the weekend, when they were both free. After his kidnapping, the high council had taken a great interest in the little prince, and had conscripted him to tell them every single little detail he could remember about the coup. Meals with Zhen became a welcome reprieve from the barrage of questioning.

Today, they had opted for some salad and tuna sandwiches, a simple peasant meal, but a tasty one at that. Lorie had given Zhen a weird look when he put in his request, but had acquiesced, pleased to have something easy to cook. More time for her… experimental creations, she had said, and promised something grand for dinner. She had also slapped his hands away when he went to make the sandwiches himself.

As they sat on the daybed in the library, their plates in their laps, Zhen took in the warm spring breeze drifting in through the open window. A month had passed since Dara was kidnapped, and the weather had turned positively delightful. As cruel as the Aritian winters could be, the summers were perfectly cool and comfortable. Not too hot, like in Kadras, and just rainy enough.

Zhen let out a happy sigh, leaning back against the headboard of the daybed. He took his time finishing his meal and set the plate down on the floor, washing it down with a mouthful of white wine. Dara, for all his courtly manners, still ate quickly. He put his own plate down and sipped on his wine, the glass still nearly full. The room was quiet, interrupted only by the quiet rustling of trees and bushes in the breeze.

It was Dara who broke the silence, meeting Zhen’s eyes and flicking his gaze away. “Thank you for this meal, Master Zhen.”

Smiling, Zhen rested his hand on Dara’s. “Oh, don’t mention it. You deserve to eat well, princeling.”

Though he looked down into his lap, gathering his words, Dara didn’t drink his wine. How strange, he had been eager to imbibe in the evenings, drowning out all those pesky memories with wine or liquor. As much as Zhen wanted him to keep himself healthy, he understood the benefit of a glass now and then. Especially when one had been through such an ordeal as Dara.

And yet, he found himself commenting on it. “Let me know if you don’t like the wine, I would be more than happy to open a different bottle.”

“It’s not that,” Dara replied too readily, running his fingers along the soft, comfortable fabric of the daybed. “The wine is delicious. Everything here is.”

With a confused smile, Zhen tilted his head to one side. “Then what is it? You normally rejoice at the opportunity to eat and drink.”

“I should cut down.” Dara’s eyes flashed back up to Zhen’s. “I want to be sober for this.”

“For what?”

Dara closed the space between them, pressing his lips to Zhen’s. He was warm, smelled like orange blossoms, and gentle soaps, and everything Zhen had ever wanted. His arms came around his prince’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. He let his daring Dara slip into his lap, deepening the kiss. He tasted like wine and let out delicious little noises as Zhen took charge.

The birds didn’t sing, the breeze didn’t blow. The world stilled, and it was just them, in each other’s arms. Perfection. Running his hands through Dara’s hair, newly shorn, he marveled at its softness. Dara was just so clean, so soft, so fragrant. It wasn’t fair, there was no one in the world who could hold a candle to him. Letting out a quiet moan, Zhen let himself be overcome by affection.

As Dara pulled back, slowly opening his eyes, time started again. This close to him, Zhen could see his long, lush lashes, his freckles. Counting them would be like counting the stars, but Zhen would try anyway. Without thinking, he took Dara’s cheeks in hand and kissed him again, and again, and again, as soundly as he could.

When he let him up for breath, Dara’s face cracked into a smile. “I take it you missed me.”

“Dara, oh my Dara,” the corners of Zhen’s eyes creased. “I have missed you like the sky misses the moon.”

Those beautiful amber eyes blinked up at him, slow and languid. “I had another idea. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently.”

Zhen ran his thumb over Dara’s cheekbone. One freckle, two freckles, three, four. “Anything you want, and it’s yours.”

“I want to have sex with you.”

His smile stalled on his face, heart racing. “Are you sure?”

Dara let out the smallest huff, daring as he cupped Zhen’s cheek, hand trembling. “ Please, I want this. I want you. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I can explain why, I think, and we can have a big, long conversation and —”

Zhen cut him off with his lips. It was a short, chaste kiss, but Dara melted in his arms, his hands running through his master’s hair. With a groan, Zhen buried his nose in the crook of Dara’s neck, taking in the feeling of his prince, his Dara in his arms. He was skinny, but they could fix that. He was frail, and bony, and trembled with something in between nerves and want, and he was perfection incarnate.

“Yes, my Dara. We can have sex.”

A flush crept down his prince’s neck, staining pale skin a pretty pink, and when Zhen leaned forward, pressing him into the daybed, it only darkened. So many years of daydreaming this moment, and it had finally come. Zhen had imagined this every which way, Dara on top, beneath him, in him, around him, and now he could show his prince just how much he loved him.

Gently, so gently, he tugged Dara’s loose, flowing pants off, revealing comfortable, black underwear. Utilitarian and plain, they hid his prize. Zhen was a patient man, though. With a wicked grin, he tossed Dara’s legs over his shoulders, kissing up the inside of his warm, soft thighs until pulling away at the last possible moment. Dara let out a whine, resting his hand over Zhen’s on his thigh. Such delicate little hands, like a doll’s. Zhen wanted nothing more than to protect him.

“Aren’t you so cute like this, princeling?” he cooed, tucking a stray lock of black hair behind one ear. It had come loose from its braid. “So perfect for me, so pretty. You’re quite the pretty boy, hmm?”

Dara looked away, cheeks red as the sunset. Adorable. With a smile, Zhen lingered at Dara’s thigh, sucking and nibbling until a dark spot formed. His prince whimpered, letting loose mewls as his body woke. He tented in his underwear as Zhen left more hickeys on his inner thighs, tantalizingly close to where his prince wanted his mouth. Too soon, he pulled away. He wanted to spend the rest of the day ravishing his love, but Dara might kill him if he teased him for so long.

“Does that feel nice, princeling?”

A shallow nod, unwilling to meet his eye.

“Would you like my mouth elsewhere?”

That got Dara’s attention. His prince stared at him, shocked. “You would debase yourself like that?”

Zhen’s laugh came out surprised. “Debase myself? Princeling, please. Don’t tell jokes, you’re no jester.”

“I—er—but…” His cheeks were bright red. “It’s shameful.”

“In Kadras, perhaps, but not in Aritia. We do it for our lovers all the time.”

He saw Dara’s heart stop and start again, the thoughts turning in his precious little head. “Your lovers? I’m a slave…”

“You think I wouldn’t take you as a lover?” Pressing a kiss to his thigh, Zhen stroked his side, feeling the softness there. “Dara, what kind of man do you take me for?”

“Will you free me?”

“Whatever you want, princeling.” All in due time.

Hope glittered in Dara’s eyes, not an eagerness to be free of Zhen, but to be his equal. It brought a pityingly sweet smile to Zhen’s face as he drew back enough for Dara to shimmy out of his underwear. His cock sprung free, standing at attention. Grinning, Zhen pressed a kiss to its base, drawing his tongue up the shaft. Dara let out a whine, his hands wandering to Zhen’s hair and by Illun’s light, did that feel good, having his prince’s hands guiding him, instructing him on how to make him feel good. Zhen wanted his prince bold, ready to tell him what he wanted.

When Zhen popped the head into his mouth, Dara gasped like he had been struck. Glancing up at him, Zhen raised an eyebrow and stilled, but his princeling’s keen, wordless and needy, was enough to convince him. Lazily, he sucked and licked, more teasing than anything, tracing his fingers up and down the insides of Dara’s thighs.

Tossing his head back, Dara writhed and moaned, hands fists in his master’s hair. How long had it been since he had even touched himself like this? Since he had the time and energy to take care of himself? A small smile graced Zhen’s lips as he swirled his tongue about the head of Dara’s cock, about the shaft. When he took him down, Dara shouted like an animal.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “Zhen, please?”

Zhen hummed inquisitively, ignoring the indiscretion, and Dara’s moan was music to his ears.

“Please suck me off,” the filthy words darkened his cheeks with every syllable. “I need you, I need to cum, please…”

Well, who was Zhen to deny him? Languidly, he bobbed his head, sucking, and lapping, and licking when he saw fit. Dara’s back arched, and the poor thing gasped when Zhen, expert as ever, drew all sorts of torrid noises out of him, tugging on his master’s hair as those pretty amber eyes clouded over, unseeing. When Zhen took him to the hilt, his prince’s body twitched like a live wire, eager for more, eager to please.

“I… I’m going to…” Dara mumbled, voice breathy, desperate.

Humming his assent, Zhen allowed himself a bloom of pleasure as his prince’s spend filled his mouth. The little princeling’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he let out little mewls, curling his body around Zhen’s before, like a marionette with its strings cut, he relaxed, limbs falling limp onto the daybed. Gently, Zhen lapped his prince clean with slow, easy strokes. Dara whimpered, but kept still. He knew his place.

“Aren’t you such a good little prince?” Zhen mused, one hand coming up to trace his Dara’s cheek. Those golden eyes traced his face languidly, the poor thing catching his breath. “So good for me.”

A ghost of a smile darted across Dara’s face. “Thank you, Master Zhen.”

“Of course, princeling.” Tilting his head to one side, he beamed. “Now, hold still, why don’t you? You look lovely like this, and I have needs as well.”

Dara’s brows drew together and, as Zhen undid his pants, letting his own cock spring free, he squirmed.

“I haven’t… done that.”

Zhen just smiled. “And I will not ask you for that until you’re ready. I had something else in mind. You’re simply too pretty to leave alone.”

Straddling Dara, Zhen looked down at him, at the way those ever so clever eyes clouded with confusion, and relaxation, lost in the aftershocks of his orgasm. Taking himself in hand, Zhen let out a pleased sigh. Everything he had worked towards, everything he had ever wanted was coming to fruition. His Dara, his precious prince was safe and sound in his home again, and he would never have to worry about someone taking him away. Never again.

Zhen stroked himself, feeling the heat of Dara’s breath on his cock, tasting his salty spend on his lips. That was his Dara, perfect in every way. Illun’s brood, he wanted to kiss those plush, pouty lips and watch them form an ‘o’ as Dara tipped his head back in ecstasy and… that would come in time. A pleased smile crept across Zhen’s face. Little did his precious Dara know.

Stroking, languidly at first, Zhen sped up, letting out a soft groan. He watched Dara’s face, shifting from dreamy drifting to mild surprise. As he realized what his master intended, his surprise melted away into resignation, though not without a small grimace. Poor thing, he must have found this so distasteful, a precocious prince being laid so bare, being given such a gift.

“Aw,” cooed Zhen, smile broadening, “look at me, princeling.”

Dara’s nose crinkled, and he glanced away. “Just get this over with.”

“Look at me, Dara.” Zhen’s voice turned firm, strict.

And yet, his princeling didn’t. With his free hand, he took his prince by the cheeks, turning Dara’s face towards his. Dara flushed bright red, something approaching outrage on his face. Though he tried to sputter out a response, he still met Zhen’s eye with his own gorgeous amber, round with what could have been defiance. And then, as quickly as his prince had fought him, he withdrew, as if this would bring him over the boundary he had set for himself. It almost disappointed Zhen, how Dara let him win, willing to go with whatever his master instructed him to. Almost.

With a moan, Zhen let himself spill over, coating Dara’s face with his spend. The prince flinched, but accepted it, allowing Zhen to catch his breath. What a pretty little thing. Zhen would remember this. Maybe with a painting.

Chapter Text

Zhen’s friends, if they could be called that, came around to Dara after a week. Evidently, Zhen had said something to them, and they had left him alone while he and Dara settled into their new routine. In the mornings, Dara and Zhen had sex. In the afternoons, they had sex. In the evenings… well, what more could be said? A dam had broken within him, and all he wanted was pleasure. It quieted everything and, just for that one moment, it let him forget his situation. Never mind the humiliation of being someone’s…

No. Shaking his head, Dara cleared his thoughts. He was doing that more and more these days. Quiet was better than dwelling on everything, on how much he couldn’t change. Now and then, he would remember one of Oratio’s jokes, something the old jester had thought up at the moment. His jokes seemed funnier than they had at the time, and he tried to commit every one to memory.

How long had the servants been planning the coup? Had Oratio been in on it? It was hard to imagine the old man doing something so violent, never mind that Dara had been his favorite. The jester loved to make him laugh, juggling whenever he asked him and trying out his newest material on him.

Oratio had always said summer days were best spent laughing. Dara hadn’t felt like laughing much these days. His memories kept him company, that and Zhen. His master had kept close to him, as if Dara was liable to evaporate like fog in the morning sun should he not keep an eye on him. Not that Dara minded. Better to keep him out of his thoughts. So much time lost, staring off into space, thinking about the could have beens, would have beens, should have beens.

Today was much the same, Dara had spent the morning picking at his breakfast, and running his fingers over the worn, well-loved spines of the library books before selecting one at random and thumbing through it. Something about the literary tradition of Kadras. Dara skimmed over the words, not really reading, thinking too hard about the birdsong outside.

Even the birds were different here, this far up north. They twittered and danced about in an unfamiliar language, flashing by the window in a riot of color. Were they native to the Red City, or had they been imported to amuse the nobles sequestered within the Throne District? What did the peasants here wake to? What did his own peasants wake to? The rabble of the streets, sellers hawking their wares to morning travelers, or birds from deep in the woods, or nothing at all? What a horror to wake to silence.

“Dara?” Zhen’s voice cut through his reverie. Dara hadn’t realized he had entered. “I have been looking for you. Oh, that’s a wonderful book! Have you read Katelli’s Treatise of Eons before?”

“Treatise of Eons?” Dara repeated back, dumbly. Glancing down, he found that same name on the header of his page. “Oh, no. I was supposed to, but I disappointed my tutors. I have time to read it now, I guess.”

His mouth just made the shapes of polite conversation, something superficial to keep people from asking the questions that plagued him, but it delighted Zhen. Well, Dara supposed he hadn’t been talking very much recently. Aside from the sex. When they were having sex, Dara couldn’t shut up, touch him here, pull his hair, put his cock there. A demanding prince.

“We have it somewhere here,” Zhen was saying, “though I’m not sure if we have the annotated version. I read it in Classical Kadin, but I can look and see if I can find a copy in Modern Tongue.”

With a shrug, Dara supplied, “I can read Classical Kadin.”

Zhen clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! Now, I just wanted to let you know that we have guests. I mentioned this last night, remember?”

He was having his friends over again, that had slipped Dara’s mind, but it wasn’t like the pair were doing anything these days, aside from wandering the grounds, eating, and reading together. Who cared if Zhen wanted to have people over? It should have thrilled Dara, that his master was so excited about him being back in one piece that he wanted to show him off. That was what a good slave would have wanted, no? To be given the opportunity to demonstrate how kind his master was, how healthy he was under his care, how much he loved him?

Dara was a bad slave.

“Of course,” he mumbled.

Eyes soft, only for him, Zhen crept forward. He looked so out of place in the grand room, dressed in comfortable silks once more, clad in black from head to toe. Even his jewelry was made out of obsidian, the black volcanic glass winking in the sunlight. It made his eyes seem impossibly dark, inky pools that threatened to wash Dara away lest he stare for too long.

Having parked himself on the daybed by the window, Dara ran his fingers over the comfortable, velvet upholstery. Collecting his thoughts. This had become his seat, the first place people looked for him. He wanted to strip down, run naked into the river just to feel something, to feel the mud between his toes and the fish flitting through the water like he was a child again, but he had decorum to think about. He was no longer the ship sailing ever onward, but a sailboat dashed on the rocks, the lighthouse keepers laughing at the sea foam choking him.

“Well, they have arrived, and they would love to meet you properly,” Zhen smiled, “unless you have other plans.”

Zhen gave Dara too much leeway. He chose what they had for dinner, what shops they treated themselves to, how much they drank, when they had sex. Whether he was introduced to some stuffy nobles or not. He could deal with nobles, he could deal with whoever Zhen decided were his friends, and he could sufficiently impress them that they would be happy to spread the good word of Zhen’s kindness to the high council.

“Sure,” he closed the book in his lap, not bothering to note the page number.

Smiling all the while, Zhen called for his friends to enter. Dara sat up a little straighter, hands clasped together, the perfect prince as always. His tutors trained that into him, and Vaness had taken great delight in switching his feet when he stepped out of line. His pale yellow shirt was clean and smooth, tucked into black, close fitting pants. A Kadin fashion, but he had wanted a taste of home.

Close up, Zhen’s friends were nothing like what Dara expected. Nobles they were not, unless nobles in Aritia dressed like assassins and sellswords. The man in the center, one with short brown hair and a gaze like dying embers, donned a comfortable-looking white tunic, as if assuring Dara he would never get blood on such a pristine article of clothing. Rada, Zhen introduced him as.

The next was another man, this one with shoulder-length sandy-blond hair and eyes the same shade of yellow as dandelions, was named Azh. He spoke, and the words flowed through Dara like a rock dropped into a river, a stark contrast to Zhen. They could be a good pair, one to speak and the other to disrupt. But Zhen spoke with him, and the river detoured around the rock, carving a new path as natural as the one before.

The last was a woman called Kaia. When she turned her unsmiling attention to Dara, his heart stopped for a breath. A prey animal under the eyes of a predator. As time started again, he averted his gaze from her silvery one, instead watching the way her long hair fell over her shoulder, contained in a thick braid, white as freshly fallen snow. Under her cloak, she wore a close-fitting black shirt, closer to the Aritian style than Kadin, and flowing, wide-legged pants. Her boots were utilitarian.

“So,” said the big man, Rada, “you’re the eponymous Dara, pleasure to finally meet you!”

“Thank you, I’m pleased to meet you, too,” he replied automatically.

Kaia raised an eyebrow. “Speaks like a prince. You weren’t lying, Zhen.”

“I never lie.”

“Mm. Have you taught him how to protect himself yet? Or is he your little waif.”

“Kaia,” scolded Rada, “the man just got kidnapped.”

Clearing his throat, Dara found himself speaking. “I’d like to learn to fight. I don’t want to be helpless.”

Zhen furrowed his brow. “That would require hurting people, Dara. Perhaps even killing people. Frankly, I don’t know how I would feel about it, never mind that you would be more likely to put yourself in danger. Let my estate protect you, let me protect you.”

The words were out of Dara’s mouth before he could control himself. “Lot of good your estate did last time.”

Pin drop silence greeted his words. His cheeks went pink, and he ducked his head, staring at his hands, wrung together in his lap.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it, I’m just frustrated.”

Zhen stared at him, dark gaze inscrutable. It wilted Dara, and the prince brought his shoulders up to his ears, trying to hide behind his curtain of hair. Not that it would help, of course. Zhen knew him, Zhen owned him. If he wanted to discipline him right then and there, nothing Dara could say would get him out of it. And Zhen’s closest friends, the people he needed to agree with him, would see just how much he whimpered and cried when he was hit.

“I understand that you are under a great deal of stress,” Zhen’s words were calm, frighteningly so. “And I understand that I have allowed you a relaxed relationship. If you would like to treat me as your equal, however, then I will withdraw my protection entirely. Is that something you would like, since you seem to find it so ineffective?”

The blood drained from Dara’s face. “You wouldn’t.”

“If you wish to act like a prince, then have the resources of one. If not, then we will have a conversation when everyone leaves.”

One of Zhen’s friends, Rada, sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Little prince, I would recommend against making an enemy of Zhen. He knows what he’s talking about. Though, if your master permits, then I would be willing to teach you how to defend yourself — not fight, defend yourself.”

Mulling it over, Dara bowed his head low. The axe stirred against the nape of his neck. “I am very sorry, Master Zhen. I was out of line. It will never happen again.”

He could feel those stoic eyes on him, taking him in. His master was an expert at detecting lies,  he would have to be to survive in the Kadin court. Nobles adored a lie, and visiting diplomats were responsible for developing relations with them, bringing peace. Never mind that, from the tchotkes in Zhen’s house, he had been all over. Plenty of countrymen lied, but humans were the same everywhere. Humans adored getting things for free.

“Thank you for your apology, Dara. I appreciate that you have seen the error of your ways.” Zhen’s words were cool, the affection Dara had grown used to gone. “I hope you will understand that all I want is for you to be safe.”

Dara’s heart pounded loud in his chest. Hopefully, no one could smell his fear. “Yes, Master Zhen.”

Somewhere on the estate grounds, a horse whinnied. Zhen turned the possibilities over in his mind, determining Dara’s fate. He would pick whether his slave would be able to defend himself, whether someone would put a weapon in Dara’s hands, whether… whether Dara would be able to fight off Vaness, should it come to that.

With a sigh, Zhen waved a hand through the air. “Fine. Rada, you may teach him the basics — basics — of self-defense. No guns, no bows, nothing he can hurt himself with. Are those guidelines workable for you?”

Nodding, Rada smiled wide. “No problem, Zhen. Thanks for the challenge.” And then, to Dara, “Thank your master, little prince, he’s given you a rare gift. Isn’t Zhen such a good man, letting you learn to take care of yourself? Many wouldn’t, in his shoes.”

“Thank you, Master Zhen,” the words mumbled from between Dara’s lips. His cheeks burned bright red, “for this gift.”

“Of course, princeling.” Zhen beamed, showing off white, straight teeth. Dara kept his head down. “So long as you aren’t throwing yourself into danger, I will indulge you. Now, why don’t you help Darran with lunch preparations? I’m sure he would love the help, and regardless, there is always more work to be done.”

Dara’s nod was shallow. “Yes, Master Zhen.”

As he turned to leave, his master’s voice rang out, “Ah, ah, ah.”

When Dara turned back around, scouring his mind for any trace of an error, Zhen simply smiled. He beckoned him over, and Dara complied, conscious of his master’s friend’s eyes on him. They watched with barely suppressed grins, as if reading their favorite book. Zhen took Dara’s chin in hand, and tipped it up. Before Dara could breathe a word of protest, his master’s lips were on his cheek, soft and plump and warm against the cool summer breeze.

“Do be a good boy,” whispered Zhen, “my Dara.”

He couldn’t even squeak, his face flushing crimson and, as soon as he was released and dismissed, darting out of the room. His heart pounded in his chest — what was that? Zhen had never been so… forward with him in the past, and yet he had kissed him! Like they were equals! Never mind that Dara was… that Zhen was… that their roles permitted…

With a groan, Dara paused a few steps from the door, leaning his back against a wall and letting himself slide to the floor. Unbidden, fat, salty tears rolled down his cheeks and he hid his face in his knees. All this was too confusing. So much to get used to, and precious little time; Zhen had thrown him into this new life, no attendants to even wash his hair for him, and all Dara could do was take it. Gods — they’d had sex. Zhen must have thought him nothing more than a common whore.

The murmur of voices drew him out of his misery. Zhen’s, and his friends’.

“When are you going to tell him?” the woman, Kaia, said.

Zhen paused before replying. “Must I?”

“It’s important.”

“We can agree to disagree.” Kaia sighed, nearly unheard through the door. Her next few words were lost to the wood, but Dara could make out, “—will change everything. He’ll hate you for it.”

Zhen’s voice was pure confidence. “He won’t. Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

Blood ice water in his veins, Dara inched closer to the door, rising.

Zhen continued, steady as ever, “I did what was best. What can I do to convince everyone that I’m the villain? He will not hate me, I know this. He may despise me for a time, or curse my name to the Gods, or pray for anyone else to save him, but—”

Footsteps from down the hall bid Dara to jump away, walking naturally down to the intersection, as if he were tasked with doing anything here. Darran’s face greeted him, and Dara heard himself make conversation, informing the butler — the man who outranked him — that he was instructed to work with him in the dining room. Darran smiled stiffly. And yet, the door tempted him, even as he followed Darran to the dining room, chatting absently all the while.

Chapter Text

‘My Dearest Diplomat,’ the letter wrote, ‘I do hope this finds you cowering, quaking, and shaking under the weight of your own stupidity.’

Zhen grit his teeth. Tipping his head back, he breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. A desperate attempt to calm himself. It didn’t work. Vaness’s letter still rested on his table, the bastard’s pristine, steady handwriting peering out at Zhen. Of course, Vaness would know where he lived — the former butler had sent more than his fair share of packages and letters to Zhen’s estate.

With a groan, Zhen rested his cheek on his palm. The candlelight flickered steady in the study, his oil lamp casting shadows across his desk. The suns had long-since set, the house settling as most of the servants slept. Dara snored away in their bed when last Zhen checked, face down in the pillows. His princeling hadn’t even stirred when Zhen opened the door, fetching a comfortable house robe to keep out the night’s chill. Darran was still awake, though. Yawning and wishing for his master to go to sleep, but still awake.

Zhen let loose a sharp exhale. Now was not the time. He had a letter to respond to.

‘I am sure you are thrilled to hear from me, Ambassador Ankulat. Though, you did mention that I was to call you just “Zhen”. Thus, just Zhen you shall be. I will cut to the chase: you have Prince Atadara. I know this, you know this, and I am confident your high council knows this — you are hardly the type to let something like this slide. Unfortunately for you, you will not possess Atadara for long.

‘You see, I have access to the royal coffers of Kadras. Oratio may have drained them as much as he could before my predecessor’s timely demise, but there was only so much a fool could do. Kadras is quite the rich country. A stupid royal family, but they aren’t a problem anymore. Except for Atadara. He is the most idiotic of them all, moreso than his father; the only thing you could possibly be using him for is his mouth and his… well. Some things are better left unsaid.

‘I will cut you a deal. Bring him to me, I don’t care how, and I won’t tell him about what you did. Otherwise, I expect things will get… unpleasant for you.

‘Kisses, King Vaness Korion.’

Zhen stared at the letter for a time. Seconds ticked into minutes of stillness. And then, like a crack of lighting, he tore the letter to shreds. Teeny tiny flecks of paper with that stupid butler’s writing on it — how dare he! How dare he threaten him! Here was a man who knew nothing of the way the world worked, raised on courtly novels and rumors picked up behind curtains. Did he think the world revolved around who was fucking who? Who had an affair, who left their panties in whose room, who exchanged mournful glances in the stairwell — it was nonsense.

He swept the remains of the letter into the fire and took out his own quill and ink. If Vaness wanted to play this game, he would join in.

Taking a deep breath, he planted a smile on his face. It was closer to a scowl. He wrote his words neat, though not excessively so. Vaness knew him too well, knew his telltale relaxed, looping handwriting, contrasted with his distressed scrawl. Gritting his teeth, Zhen kept his hand lax, steadying himself.

‘Vaness, how good it is to hear from you,’  he wrote, the nib of his pen dancing over the page. ‘I can’t say I expected a letter from you — I would have thought you too busy to write to a lowly diplomat such as me. I should be flattered that you remember me at all, never mind where I summer. There are some points in your letter, however, that I have to question: what, exactly, have I done? Do you have anything, aside from your wild accusation, to show that I have done anything worth keeping secret from… a fourth-born former prince?

‘Never mind, Vaness, that I do not keep anyone against their will — though I seem to remember that the prince prefers “Dara” over his full name. If anything, I was surprised to hear that you had not executed him. You lost him. I would think that such an important political prisoner would be kept locked up, but I will not tell you how to run your kingdom. Congratulations on taking the throne, by the by. I’m sure it took a great deal of scheming and planning. How are the other servants taking this, if I may ask? Surely, they feel nothing but joy that one of theirs has taken the kingdom for himself, promoted them to nobility, and worked to solve the poverty crisis out west, no?

‘I will say this once, and once only. Behave yourself, Vaness. You are not the only one who remembers the time before.

‘Best, Zhen, Just Zhen.’

Without stopping to think, he folded the letter, stuffed it in an envelope, and stamped it with wax. A blank seal. Darran would mail it in the morning, ensure that it was delivered to Vaness. Planting a smile on his face, Zhen tugged on the bell to call Darran in.

He must have been waiting. Darran entered within minutes, brows drawn together. “You rang, Master Zhen?”

Waving the letter through the air, Zhen tried to shift his smile from ‘deranged’ to ‘cheerful’. It didn’t work.

“Yes, I need you to mail this as soon as you can.”

Glancing at the address, Darran’s eyes widened. “Master Zhen…”

“Is there something you would like to say, Darran?” Zhen’s tone held a warning.

Darran bit his lip, a small gesture, but steeled his nerves. “I think, Master Zhen, that responding to King Vaness’s letter is a bad idea.”

Dara was a bad influence on him, Zhen decided; Darran would never have been so bold as to speak against his master like this. Hot anger rose through Zhen, all the way up to his face. Surely, some redness marked his cheeks, and his smile froze on his face. He hadn’t heard right. That was it. Darran had misspoken, and he was about to punish the poor thing for nothing.

“I fear I misheard you, Darran. Could you say that again?”

“I think responding to King Vaness’s letter goes against our interests,” Darran’s voice came surprisingly strong, “Master Zhen.”

That smile fell. “Is that so?”

Forcing his hands behind his back, Darran picked at his cuticles where Zhen couldn’t see. He was supposed to have stopped that habit long ago. Well, Zhen had been too easy on him — had been too kind. Darran had gotten used to a placated, yearning master and, though he didn’t want to be the kind of master servants and slaves cringed under the gaze of, Darran could stand to learn some humility. A shred.

Zhen pushed his chair back from his desk and set the letter on the table. “Darran.”

“Yes, Master Zhen?” The man’s words were whispers.

“Pull your pants down and come here.”

He swallowed, but his hands still undid his belt, pushing his pants down. Head down, his breathing came fast. Zhen patted his lap, and Darran clumsily, shyly draped himself over it. Flushed, Darran balled his hands into fists. He hung his head.

“Darran,” said Zhen, “do you understand why I’m doing this?”

“I was out of line, Master Zhen.”

“Correct. Will you speak to me like that again, Darran?”

“No, Master Zhen.”

“Good. Count.”

Without preamble, Zhen struck his butler. Darran flinched, but counted as directed, voice wavering with shame and misery. He kept his head down, his hair a curtain over his red face. This would not be a pleasant punishment — Zhen did so hate giving these out to Darran, especially after everything the man had done for him.

And yet, they needed to be done.

Darran dutifully counted until his voice whimpered and broke from pain, skin red and bruising. He would have to think twice about sitting. No, Zhen couldn’t leave him like this. Sighing, he let Daran up, and the butler stood, head down, pulling his pants up. His cheeks were as red as his ass, humiliation tinged with embarrassment. All the servants would know his foolishness when he hesitated to sit.

“Get the cream, please.” Zhen waved a hand through the air.

If he showed too much affection, Darran would get the wrong message, but he could hardly leave his butler without proper care. Obedient as ever, Darran got it and came back.

“Let me help you.” Zhen watched his face, saw the held-back tears, the blush spreading down his neck, the hands balled up into fists. “I don’t want to leave those bruises untreated. I won’t mention this punishment, if you wouldn’t want me to.”

“I would appreciate that, Master Zhen.” Darran’s words were clipped and stiff.

Even so, he tugged his pants down again and laid himself over Zhen’s lap again. As gently as he could, Zhen smoothed the cream into his butler’s skin, moving with slow, careful motions. Though Darran drew in a hiss through his teeth, he didn’t flinch. It had been a long time since they needed to do this, since Darran had disobeyed so blatantly. No doubt, it brought up bad memories for him, the remnants of a life he’d thought abandoned long ago.

The woman Zhen had purchased Darran from hadn’t known what she had. If she did, she wouldn’t have needed to use the whip. Really, Zhen found that Darran responded well to firm, but gentle, words and, when absolutely needed, the palm of the hand. Never in his official tenure with Zhen had Darran done something needing whipping or solitary confinement.

“You know, Darran,” Zhen mused, rubbing the cream into his skin, “you’re quite a good butler. Don’t let this get in the way of that. I trust you, and I appreciate the work you have done for me, for this household.”

“Thank you, Master Zhen,” Darran whispered. As if he were afraid to speak any louder.

Continuing, Zhen set the cream down on his desk. He rested one hand on the small of Darran’s back. The butler was shaking.

With a soft sigh, Zhen tilted his head to one side. “The servants respect you, as do I. I want to be sure you know that. You are a very capable man, and I am thankful every day that you are in my employ. I wouldn’t sell you, not for anything. I would never find someone with your skills again — never mind one that I can trust. Do you understand?”

“I do, Master Zhen. Thank you,” his voice came slightly louder, though broken by emotion.

Zhen gave him a sad smile, though the man couldn’t see it. “I know you care for this household, and that you care for me. I hope I can give you the rewards you are expecting for such dutiful service.”

Darran was silent for a moment, but when he spoke, his words came slow, stunned. “I expect no reward for my services. It is my duty, it is expected of me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be seen for what you do well,” mused Zhen, resting his hand on the back of Darran’s thigh. “I certainly would want someone to compliment me on my fortes and make me feel seen in my work.”

“Thank you, Master Zhen.” Darran’s body still trembled, a small motion, but one Zhen felt in his core. “Is there anything else you need of me?”

“Just for you to mail the letter, thank you Darran.”

Helping him up, Zhen politely looked away as the man slipped his pants back on and buckled his belt. He took the letter from his master’s hands, ducked his head in a curt bow, and left the room. Better not to take it to heart, people got so grumpy after their punishments. Darran would recover, blow off some steam in the gymnasium, bury himself in a good book, whatever he wanted to distract himself from his aches and pains.

With a sigh, Zhen turned back to his work. It was late, but there were a couple more missives he needed to read and reply to. Those could be mailed in the morning. Muttering to himself, he got to work.

Chapter Text

Rada found Dara as he was eating breakfast, picking at an omelet. The broad man raised an eyebrow at that, leaning in the door frame. He had dressed in comfortable clothing, while Dara had opted for his usual house robe, undershirt, and black pants. Maybe he would wander the grounds later, see if he could find any animals on his journey.

“Are you going to finish that?” Rada’s deep voice cut through his musings. “It’s a waste of food otherwise.”

With a scowl, Dara pushed the food away. “Not hungry.”

“Why not?”

Because he wanted Zhen to be the one to teach him to fight, because he wanted to be home already, because he wanted the high council to speak to him about their plans. No one noticed him except for Zhen’s house guests, and they weren’t the sort of people one wanted to be noticed by. As nice as they seemed, Dara wasn’t convinced. They were mercenaries! Who cared if they were Zhen’s friends, they killed people for a living!

And yet, Rada stayed, unwilling to take Dara’s silence as an answer. Taking one of the apples from the fruit bowl in the center of the table, he bit into it loudly, gesturing for Dara to continue.

“I…” the words slipped out of him, “don’t know why. I’m just not hungry. Maybe I’m nervous.”

“What are you nervous about? If you’re done, come and walk with me, you want to learn to fight, don't you?”

Obliging him, Dara pulled his house robe, thin silk embroidered with a woodland scene on the back and sleeves, tighter around himself. In another world, he could have hidden in it, but with Rada’s attention focused squarely on him, there was no escape. The man towered over him, strong enough to snap an arm if Dara toed the line. His stomach churned as they walked through the halls.

“I want to learn to defend myself,” his voice was deceptively firm. “And I’m nervous about what’s going to happen next. I want to talk to Master Zhen about… everything, but he’s never home. At dinner, he just wants to talk about how my day went — that’s boring. I do nothing but worry.”

Rada let out a bemused chuckle. “Knowing Zhen, he wants you to worry less. Relax, he has everything handled. You’re going to be happy wherever you end up.”

Dara snorted. Unbecoming, but he wasn’t a prince anymore. “I doubt that. I don’t think I can be happy again.”

“What makes you say that?” Rada kept his voice light.

“My family is dead. My kingdom has a traitor on the throne. My life is within these walls.”

Rada’s brows knit together. “And you have food, water, exercise, stimulation. You have a man who loves you more than the suns burn. Have you told Zhen about your feelings? I’m sure he would be able to help.”

“I don’t want his help.” He hated how childish he sounded. “I want to fix this myself. Can’t I do that much? Everything else in my life, I ask Zhen for, I just want happiness to be something I achieve. I sound like a brat, I know, but… I want to feel at home in my own skin.”

“Have you ever felt that?”

Dara let his silence speak for him.

“Then you should figure out where to start. I understand that you want to do this yourself, but you might want to talk to Azh about that. He’s well versed in this sort of thing.”

Dara’s laugh came out harsh. “Fixing broken people?”

“You’re not broken,” Rada chided, ruffling his hair with a huge hand. “You’re human, is all. Let yourself feel your emotions. That’s what my therapist said.”

“You have a therapist?” He couldn’t help the disbelief in his voice.

Shrugging, Rada let his lips quirk up into a smile. “War is the mind killer, Dara. There’s only so much you can see before they assign you a therapist. To keep you stable and sane. Doesn’t the Kadin army do something similar? I know Zhen and Kaia hated their therapists, but I liked mine. Was sad to see him go.”

“What happened?” Dara’s curiosity got the better of him.

The man’s smile grew stiff. “He was captured by domestic rebels and executed. They sent him back to us. Piece by piece.”

Dara shuddered. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

“Fine by me, we’re at the gymnasium, it’s through this door here.”

Inside, it was huge. Enough space to run, never mind spar or practice a sport. Completely underground, Zhen must have gotten this commissioned. Not many nobles would have wanted a gymnasium for themselves. Dara’s family had one for the guards, and his sister, but he had only visited to fetch people. No need to be in a room filled with sweat and breathless panting unless he was hosting something more… intimate.

Shaking his head, he cleared his thoughts. In what he assumed to be the archery section, he saw Kaia, tossing knives into the air and catching them, one-handed. She had pulled over a chair from somewhere else in the house, and dressed herself in close-cut clothing, showing off her figure. Or letting herself move. Maybe after Rada was finished with him, they would have Kaia fight him too, just to make sure he knew every single person here could beat him up. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about this when he was back on the throne.

“Oh, it’s the little divinity,” Kaia called, throwing one of her knives into the targets. It buried itself hilt deep in the wood. “Eyes like Divine Ail. You’re all too similar to tell apart. Zhen has a…” she waved her hand in the air, “a type.”

“Princes?” Dara found himself asking.

She laughed. “Kadin redheads with pretty accents. None with your eyes, though. I think I’ll call you ‘divinity’.”

“My name is Dara.” He was a type.

“I’ll forget it, divinity. This is easier.”

With a huff, Dara shucked off his house jacket and turned his attention back to Rada. Together, they went through the basic drills — how to stand, how to throw a punch, how to kick. Dara hadn’t expected that there would be rules to all this, how hard was it to injure someone without injuring oneself in the process? Evidently, though, he had a knack for finding the exact wrong way to do something. Rada fixed his form, and fixed his form, and fixed his form yet again. At least the man was patient.

Kaia, for her part, teased and taunted, but ultimately focused on throwing her knives, the steady thump of them hitting their targets seemed to calm her some. What she had to be nervous about, Dara hesitated to ask. She made fun of his form now and then, but there was hardly any heat to her words — just enough to annoy him, rather than piss him off.

When Rada stopped, Dara was sweat-soaked and out of breath. How had he managed to get so out of shape?

“Alright, let’s try stringing everything together, hmm?” Rada beamed at him.

Dara wanted to bite him. How could a man be so happy out of breath and covered in sweat? Well, Rada certainly wasn’t winded. Used to this level of exercise, he hardly broke a sweat, simply chuckling as Dara gasped for breath. Fuck that. If he expected Dara to fight him, he was nuts. Better to just walk out than embarrass himself further like this.

“What?” was all he managed out.

Dropping into a fighting stance, he gave Dara a wide smile. “Spar with me! So you can see how these movements flow together. Unless you’re scared.”

Dara grit his teeth. “I’m not scared.”

Kaia piped up from the nosebleed section, balancing a knife on her finger, blade down. “You sound scared. Be glad you’re with Rada and not me. You would come away with a good deal more cuts and lumps. Go on, fight him, he’s not going to hurt you. Badly.”

Swallowing his pride, Dara fell into a fighting stance as well, Rada fixed his posture, and they were ready. The taller man exhaled softly, and the smile died on his face. Oh no. Dara wavered, but didn’t have time to think twice before a fist flew at his face. He ducked under it, tried to go for the ribs like Rada had taught him, only to be blocked.

“Faster, divinity!” crowed Kaia. “Rada’s going easy on you!”

Dara grit his teeth, watched Rada telegraph his motions, and wove through the strikes to land a blow on the man’s sternum. It was like punching a brick wall. Letting out a cry of dismay — he hadn’t even winded the man — Dara sent out a quiet prayer to anything listening. Maybe the Divine Ail, the goddess with his eyes, would want to see him not beaten to a pulp. For once.

Though he braced himself, no pain came. Instead, Rada placed a hand on Dara’s shoulder, let out a soft sigh, and ruffled his hair.

“Dara, why are your eyes closed?”

So they were. Opening them, he was met with the sight of a man pitying him. How many times had he seen that? People looked down on him as a prince, though they tried to hide it, and they most certainly saw a cute mascot at best as a slave. Dara noted all their stares, the way the corners of their eyes crinkled at him. He wasn’t cute. He was meant to be on the throne. Not that it mattered anymore, he was either a pitiable slave, or a spoiled prince who had everything handed to him.

“This is useless,” Dara muttered, focusing his eyes on the floor. It was padded. “You’re going easy on me, and I can barely touch you.”

The corners of Rada’s eyes crinkled, as usual. “You haven’t had much experience fighting, it’s natural that you would be a beginner, no? Would you expect someone who’s never heard a language to be fluent in it after the first lesson? Don’t worry, I spoke with Zhen and he gave me permission to continue training with you as we head down to Kadras.”

That got Dara’s attention. He jerked his head up, meeting Rada’s eye. “We’re going to Kadras?”

“Divinity, please,” Kaia huffed. “Don’t you know Zhen? Of course we’re going to Kadras. He’s never been the type to leave a stone unturned and a string loose.”

With a sigh, Dara nodded. “Can we do the drills again, then? I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of him. And can we talk during it? I… don’t know much about Master Zhen, aside from what I remember from his time at the palace.”

Rada nodded and shifted his stance. As they did the drills together, Dara focused on the feel of his muscles working, the sweat at the small of his back, his chest heaving for air. He had never exercised like this before in his life. Then again, when would he have time in the palace? Not many would want to see a ditsy fourth-born prince lifting weights, or running a mile, or with a sword in hand. The most exercise he got was hunting trips.

“How long have you two known Master Zhen?” he asked, blocking a well-telegraphed strike from Rada.

“Ten years,” the man replied.

“Eleven,” corrected Kaia, “nearly twelve. We met in the military, Azh and Zhen were in the same group in training, and Rada and I met him when we were drafted into special operations. I’m surprised you haven’t sparred with him, he used to love training with us.”

Military. Special operations. Dara’s head swam. “Eleven years is a long time. I wasn’t aware Aritia had a draft.”

“We don’t, not usually.” Kaia shrugged. “There was a war going on, and they needed people to put down domestic rebellions. That’s what our squadron did in special operations. Don’t ask Zhen about this, he doesn’t like to talk about it much, but he’s the smartest, toughest person I’ve ever met in my life. He was made for politics, war, and people. I wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he went into diplomacy.”

Nodding, Dara tripped over his own feet and landed on his ass. Rada helped him up, and they went right back to the drills. “I was introduced to him as a diplomat. He never talked about his past.”

Rada let out a chuckle. “Zhen is a man who lives in the future. Everything has its place in his world.”

“And me?” The words slipped out of Dara’s mouth. “Why did he pick me, of all people?”

Kaia offered him a small smile, the first one he’d seen on the woman’s face. She cocked her head to the side and tapped the blunt edge of her knife against her hip. Looking him over, studying him, she lingered on his hair, his freckles, his delicate hands.

“You give him hope, from what I read in his letters.”

“Hope?”

Nodding, Rada spoke up, “A reminder that there’s something at the end of the battle. He’s fighting for someone. Frankly, this is the most passionate I have seen him since the war ended — he needs a cause. Zhen doesn’t do well on his own.”

“I see,” Dara looked at his own hands, small and uncalloused, the hands of a prince. “I want to be able to protect him, too. I know he doesn’t need my protection, but he’s done so much for me.”

Kaia’s smile grew. “I’m glad to hear that. I can teach you to throw knives and Azh to shoot — not guns, because Zhen would kill me if he taught you to shoot guns, but surely you can use a bow and arrow?” Dara nodded. “Good. We’ll practice with that, then. Don’t you worry, divinity, you’ll be in fighting shape by the time you’re ready to face off against Vaness.”

Chapter Text

Exhaustion was a staple of Zhen’s life. Few people worked harder than a diplomat, never mind one harboring the last prince of a country folding under the weight of betrayal. The moon was high in the sky by the time he put his work away, locked up his desk, and blew out his candle. It had nearly burned out.

Darran had retired hours ago, swaying on his feet and yawning while serving Zhen yet another cup of coffee. He had sent the butler off to rest. The cup drained by now, he skimmed his gaze over the milk and sugar dregs at the bottom. As if he could see something of the future in its random spread. He had never been so blessed.

He made his way through the hallways silently, most of the servants deep in slumber. The path rote, he let his feet guide him to his bedroom. Perhaps, if he stayed up late enough, he would smell Lorie cooking breakfast for the servants. She had always been diligent, waking up before dawn so everyone could eat. Zhen had never heard a complaint about her, aside from that she used too many spices for some of the more southern members of their household.

His chambers were dark. Stripping down to his underwear in his living room and locking the door behind him, Zhen yawned. He wanted to sleep. Creeping into his own bedroom, he saw the window open, gauzy curtains billowing in a cool breeze. Moonlight filtered through them, illuminating a soundly sleeping Dara. His prince had curled up around Zhen’s pillow, helplessly tangled in the covers.

A smile crossed Zhen’s face. He slipped on his nightgown, white in the moonlight, and tucked himself into bed, nestled against his Dara. They would be leaving soon, the household just needed to sort itself out so nothing fell through the cracks. They would sneak away, off to the Kadin border, off to wage Dara’s little war. Zhen’s smile turned melancholy. What thoughts did his little prince have? What dreams flitted through his mind?

Extracting his pillow from Dara’s arms, he laid it under his head. Slowing his breathing and wrapping his arms around his love, he let himself fade off into dreams and darkness.

*

Zhen was in Kadras. In the palace. King Arrol was still on the throne. He had just been shown to his chambers for the next few years — breaks to return home not included. The high council had determined that Kadras needed a new ambassador, after the last one got into a screaming match in the street and managed to fall onto a knife. Three times. They hadn’t been able to heal him, and thus, someone fresh-faced, spunky, and able to defend himself in a brawl had been selected.

His first posting, and so close to home, many would kill for that. It tempted him, the knowledge that he could just abandon his station and ride for a few weeks to get back to his household. His new butler had quailed at taking the responsibility for the house, and Zhen couldn’t wait to find out what mess awaited him. His stomach hurt.

A knock on his new door prompted him to plant a neutral, pleasant expression on his face. He opened it, and found the royal family’s butler on the other side. Vaness Korion must have been a man generous with his time, stopping by the newest diplomat’s quarters like this. He was dressed in his usual uniform, an elaborate servant’s robe that marked him as high ranking, owned by the most important people in the land. That one robe had to be more expensive than half of Zhen’s wardrobe.

Vaness smiled, showing off his perfect teeth, and the corners of his bright green eyes crinkled. He was a young man, for his station. Hardly out of his twenties, about five years Zhen’s senior. Maybe six. A man Zhen would need to watch for, should he want to survive in the palace — he knew well enough how cutthroat politics could be, and he wouldn’t be washed out on his first job.

“Hail and well met, Diplomat Ankulat,” he said in the traditional Lower Aritian tongue, “I hope these chambers are to your liking.”

Returning his smile, Zhen set down his rucksack. “They’re lovely, thank you, Sir Korion.”

“Please, just Vaness. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other, after all.”

“Then just Zhen is fine with me.” With a nod, Zhen turned to his things. Two chests, a rucksack, and a smattering of welcome gifts from nobles.

Vaness lingered in the doorway. He stared at Zhen, as if he were working up the courage to say something very grand indeed. Zhen wouldn’t mind grandness, if he had the time for it. The king had given him until the end of the week to get settled in, and the first thing he wanted was to take a nice, long soak. He reeked of traveling from inn to inn. As used to communal bathing as he was, it was nice to have his own space.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked, after a minute.

Starting, Vaness shook his head. “No, of course not. I wanted to give you a welcome basket, though it seems I’m not the first. Please, soaps, hair oil, toiletries.” He waved to a servant Zhen couldn’t see, and presented him with such a basket. “I figured you would want some of the nice things in life after such a long journey.” And then, to the servant, “Artur, you may go now. Thank you.”

And yet, he didn’t leave, even as Artur’s footsteps receded.

Zhen took the basket from him. “Is that all, Vaness?”

The man drank the words in, the thrill of his name on someone’s tongue, as much as he tried to hide it. “I also wanted to invite you out on the town. See, the Imperial Core is a lovely place, if you know where to go. How about it? We could go to a restaurant? Or a bar, if you would like. I get off shift at five in the evening.”

He might as well make nice. “Alright, that gives me time to unpack and bathe. I take it you wouldn’t want to go out on the town with someone who stinks of horses, carriages, and second-rate inns.”

Vaness laughed a touch too hard. “That’s perfect. Thank you. I’ll meet you here. Enjoy your rest!”

With that, he left. A smile crept across Zhen’s face as he closed the door. He was going to like it here.

*

They ended the night in Vaness’s room, doing their best to be quiet and failing miserably. Giggling like school children at unfunny jokes, they slipped drunkenly into his chambers, locking the door behind them. Vaness stoked the fireplace, coaxing fire out of embers, and staved off the winter’s chill. It was nothing compared to his home, but Zhen appreciated the comfort nonetheless.

“Care for a nightcap?” Vaness offered, swaying on his feet. “I so rarely get to celebrate like this.”

“I trust you give every fresh-faced diplomat this treatment,” Zhen quipped, motioning for him to bring the booze.

Tossing his head back with a laugh, Vaness poured them both a glass of winterwine, much to Zhen’s surprise. A northern Aritian drink for a northern Aritian diplomat. He offered the man a wide smile, and accepted the cup. It was good wine, at that. Though Zhen couldn’t see the sense in wasting such good alcohol on someone who would barely remember it in the morning, if Vaness wanted to waste his booze, then Zhen would be more than happy to help.

“So,” he said as Vaness settled to sit with him on the floor cushions scattered about the chamber, “why me? A palace of people to drink with, and you picked the nobody of nobodies. Consider my curiosity piqued.”

Waving the statement away, Vaness took a gulp of the drink. “Oh, you’re no nobody. Just look at you! You carry yourself like you can read my thoughts. Consider my curiosity piqued!”

“You know that’s not the truth,” smiled Zhen.

“See, you’re doing it. Reading my thoughts.”

“Then tell me what I see in them.”

Vaness raised an eyebrow. Those green eyes shimmered like jewels.

“That would be cheating?” Zhen guessed.

Snapping his fingers, Vaness pointed at him. “Exactly! I want to know who taught you to read people like that. Look at us, we barely know each other, and you pulled the words right out of my head. It takes skill. That, and I’m pretty sure the royal family believes they’re the only ones with thoughts in their heads. A shame, when they rule over intellectuals like us.”

What delightfully treasonous words. When their gazes met, Zhen felt something in him stir. “Do you believe I’m an intellectual?”

“Of course, who else would be posted somewhere like Kadras?”

Who else indeed. Zhen’s smile could have been mistaken for the drunken thrill of compliments. The butler, who would have thought? No need for shenanigans, no need to humiliate himself before the throne to scrounge up some power and security for his home state, he had a tap to every stray action the royals took. It would make for some lovely upgrades to his chambers. All in time, of course.

Leaning back, he sipped his sake and offered the butler a cheery beam. “What else do you like about me? I simply must know.”

A flush dusted the man’s cheeks. “Why, I like the sound of your voice, it’s very rich. And your accent is intriguing, I don’t think I’ve ever heard one like it before.”

“It’s from the far north. High up, just inside the arctic circle.” Zhen took another sip. “Not many of us venture out of Aritia, it’s quite a chore. Now, is that all? The way I sound compels you to invite me into your bedchamber?”

Vaness let out a chuckle. “Well, you don’t look half bad. If I may say so, you have a finer face than some of the Gods these nobles pray to.”

Oh, this would be interesting. “I can show you more, if you would like. Of myself, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Vaness’s smile turned hungry.

Zhen parted his robe, undoing the elaborate buttons. He fumbled, though drooling Vaness didn’t notice. Letting it fall to the floor, he stood in his pants and white undershirt. Bared. Vaness’s eyes trailed over the swell of his arms, muscles on full display. A life of working and surviving on full display, scars and all. The butler licked his lips.

“I wasn’t aware Aritian diplomats had time to exercise.”

Flushing, he glanced away. “Most don’t, not more than they need to.”

“But you aren’t most, are you?” His smile was a wolf on the prowl. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Zhen, I find well-built men quite attractive.” He cut himself off. Eyes wide, he only just kept himself from clapping a hand over his mouth, Zhen could see it. Vaness’s own cheeks grew ruddy. “My apologies, that was out of line.”

Zhen couldn’t help a laugh. “Of all the things you told me today, that was out of line? Please, Vaness. I’m glad to know what you like. Now, if you would like to stop throwing coins into wells, I’m sure we can come up with all sorts of wonderful things to pass the time. “

A smile danced across Vaness’s features. “I haven’t heard that expression, ‘throwing coins into wells’, is it Aritian?”

A nod. “It means to waste time hoping.”

“Well, let’s not waste, dear diplomat.”

Faster than Zhen thought such a well-dressed man could, Vaness stripped down. Drunk hands breezed their way through tiny buttons with a practiced ease, clothes shucked to the floor until glorious, green-eyed Vaness stood before him, covered only by his black underwear. Fuck, it might have been the alcohol, but Zhen wanted nothing more than to bury his face into that thatch of chest hair and do unspeakable things until the run rose on their exhausted bodies and…

Vaness beat him to it, striding forward, all confidence and grace, to cup Zhen’s face in his hands. “Oh, aren’t you darling?”

Zhen was the one to lean in, all suave, youthful confidence, arms looping around Vaness’s neck, loose and languid and so very relaxed with the feel of liquid courage in his veins. He let his eyes slide closed as Vaness crossed the last boundary, pressed his lips to his in a brush, like lightning so electric that every thought in Zhen’s mind stopped expect for —

He startled awake, body willing and mind stunned. That… he hadn’t… it had been so long since he had a dream like that. His past rose to intertwine his present. Another man — a more superstitious man — would have taken it as a warning. A certain someone was thinking about him. That couldn’t be, though; it had been years since… since that night. And the nights after. And afternoons. Mornings, from time to time. Ages.

Staring up at the bed’s canopy, he took a tight breath in, willing his body to forget what he had been experiencing. He was hardly a teenager, unable to control himself. His lover slept beside him, snoring softly, curled up into a small ball. Dara liked to sleep like that, guarding his vital organs. Ignorant of Zhen’s disturbance, he made a soft noise, something between a sigh and a yawn. Rolling over, he bumped into Zhen’s arm, the most he had ever touched him in his sleep. A familiar voice in Zhen’s head insisted that needed a reward.

Well, what was the harm?

With a smile, Zhen tilted Dara’s chin up and pressed a kiss to dozing lips. The prince let out a small sound, opening heavy eyelids to fix his unfocused eyes on Zhen.

“Wha—?” he mumbled.

“Oh, princeling,” cooed Zhen, halfway done convincing himself the erection was currently for his prince, “you were being so cute, I couldn’t help myself.”

He mumbled something, still waking, but he nestled against Zhen, draping his arms around him and pressing his face to his chest. Zhen licked his lips, mouth dry, as Dara let out a pleased chuff. One of Zhen’s thighs found itself between Dara’s, greeted with a hardness. Amber eyes, nearly black in the moonlight, greeted his own.

“I had a dream about you, Master Zhen.”

Chapter Text

Zhen smiled down at his Dara, still bleary in the moonlight. Cupping his cheeks, he pressed a kiss to Dara’s lips, slow and loving. What a long way the pair had come, from a haughty prince to an obedient pet, and a clever diplomat to a kind master. How many else could boast such a pleasant result after a coup?

“Is there something you would like to tell me, princeling?” Zhen hummed.

Grinding his hips on Zhen’s leg, Dara hid his face in his master’s chest. “I… was having dreams about you.”

“What kind of dreams?”

Even in the sparse light, he could see the way Dara’s cheeks flushed bright red. “I can’t say.”

“Can’t?” Zhen turned his prince’s face up to face him. “Or won’t?”

“It’s not respectable.”

Laughing softly, he gave his prince a pitying glance, eyebrows turned up and a sad smile on his lips. “Oh, my Dara, you don’t need to be respectable. You left your old life in that cell.”

Dara chewed that thought over. After a moment too long, enough that Zhen wondered if he was going to speak at all, he murmured, “I dreamed you were… ah… playing with me. Down there. It’s unseemly, it’s untoward, I shouldn’t have dreamed it, but —”

“Oh, my darling prince,” Zhen punctuated his statement with a kiss, “it’s alright for you to have such dreams. It is hardly unseemly, just a sign that we care for each other. Now, would you like me to help you with your little problem?”

With a quick nod, Dara gasped when Zhen reached down and cupped his manhood. He had skipped his underwear this time, worn just his nightgown to bed. How cute. Stroking slowly, Zhen pressed kisses to Dara’s lips, long, slow, exploring. His prince whimpered under his touch, but relaxed into it, pulled his master closer. He buried his face into the crook of Zhen’s neck, breathing him in deep. Perhaps his master’s scent calmed him.

“Why don’t you tell me all about your little dream, dear,” crooned Zhen, free hand drawing slow circles on his prince’s side, “tell me what you would like me to do to you.”

Dara let out a whimper, pressing his face harder into Zhen’s chest. “You were, um, playing with me down there. Not like this, but something further. I… have only done it a few times, and never on the receiving end. It seems like it’s pleasurable.” His confidence dried up, but he pushed through. “I tried it myself, before you came to bed.”

“Did you like it?” Stroking his prince’s hair, Zhen took in the heat of his breath against his chest. “I can make you feel better, dear prince.”

“I liked it,” Dara squeaked.

“And you would like my touch there?”

A shallow nod.

“Then roll over, princeling, and spread your legs.”

Though he took a shuddering breath in, Dara obliged him, rolling onto his back and spreading his legs wide. Zhen situated himself between them, drifting his hand up Dara’s shin, giving his thigh a squeeze. In the gloom, Dara was made of moonlight, pale face flushed and hands clenching at the bedspread. Those pretty amber eyes pleaded with Zhen, and his perfect lips parted in a gasp as Zhen trailed his fingers, touch featherlight, down the inside of his thigh.

“Are you going to ask nicely, dear?” Zhen cooed, tilting his head to one side.

Hiding his face in the pillows, Dara let out a muffled, “Will you please play with my ass, Master Zhen?”

“Of course.”

A quick hand swiped through the nightstand drawers, finding the oil easily. Coating his fingers in it, Zhen brought his hand to Dara’s hole, finding it slick with the remnants of his experimentation. Gentle but firm, he pushed a digit in, running the pad of his finger over Dara’s insides. The poor thing let out a squeak, grabbing his pillow and shoving it over his face. Cute.

So many Kadin denizens were so embarrassed of this; such an act would be tantamount to complete submission. That Dara had found people willing to be fucked was a wonder, though for a prince, it must have been easier. People eagerly swallowed royal seed. But, for Dara to be in this position, on his back with his master’s fingers against the most sensitive part of himself, it must have made his little prince’s head spin.

“Does that feel nice?” hummed Zhen, dancing his finger against the soft, spongy tissue of his prostate. Light enough to be a tease. “Would you like more?”

“Uh-huh.” Dara nodded hard, eyes unfocused. “Please, Master Zhen, it feels good.”

Obliging him, Zhen pushed another finger into him, rubbing circles against that most wonderful spot. Dara let out a broken moan, cock twitching. Leaking.

“Oh, you’re so adorable like this, dear Dara, I wish you could see yourself.” Zhen couldn’t help his cruelty, pausing his ministrations. “Beg me to play with you. I wonder if you can cum from this, just penetration?”

Dara’s muffled, heavy breathing rang loud in the room. It took him a moment to compose himself enough to speak, though when he did, a note of a sob lingered in his voice. “P-please, Master Zhen, make me cum like this, play with my prostate, make me your bitch. I deserve it, I need it, please. Please, Master.”

A reward, Zhen resumed, adding a finger. Dara clenched down on him, letting out a groan. A curse slipped past his lips as Zhen’s free hand wandered up under his nightshirt to play at his chest, circling his nipples. Poor cock forgotten, Dara leaked onto his stomach, precum glinting in the moonlight. His whines only grew in volume as Zhen toyed with him, touching here, touching there.

Pinching his nipples netted him a half-controlled ‘fuck’. Dara’s body came to life under Zhen’s touch, tantalizingly eager to obey, to show its appreciation to its master. When Zhen brushed his hand against the crook of Dara’s neck, the princeling leaned into him, whimpering. Stray pleads left his parted lips, and Zhen wanted nothing more than to see his face, eyes unfocused with pleasure, the barest scraps of control left.

“Look up. Let me see you.”

He did. Hesitant, wide-blown eyes refused to meet his own.

“Look me in the eye.”

Slowly, Dara worked up the courage to comply. That amber gaze wavered, needy and desperate. He begged silently, closed his mouth, bucked his hips on his master’s hands. Zhen pressed his hips into the bed, a small, knowing smile on his face. Dara would comply, Dara always did. The little prince knew what was good for him.

His fingers rubbed that perfect little spot inside Dara, drew soft moans out of his precious thing, gentle, inexorable. Dara would finish tonight on Zhen’s fingers. Perhaps Zhen could train him to only cum with something in his ass or mouth. That would be adorable, to have a needy pet, eager to be filled, or played with, or positioned. Zhen would think about that, see if that was something he had the time for.

Dara’s hands knotted the blanket, and he let loose a louder groan, eyes still on his master’s. “Feels good, Master Zhen.”

Oh, his name on his lips was intoxicating. Zhen moved faster, harder. Rewarding.

“Good, you’re doing so well for me, my Dara.”

“Mmh,” was all he could manage out, twitching and bucking against the hand holding him down.

He panted hard, lost in the sensations, the pleasure building up until he let out a whine. Too cute. His fingers wandered towards his cock, but Zhen tutted.

“So little self-control, dear. Let me give you the pleasure, hmm? Hands where they were. You will cum like this, or you won’t cum at all.”

A fresh wave of desperation entered Dara’s face. The poor thing let out a noise, something between a mangled cry and a broken-off moan, tightening around Zhen. Those pretty eyes fluttered, lost focus as his head tipped back. He gasped when Zhen curled his fingers harder into him, unable to hold still under the onslaught of pleasure. His chest heaved, he let out all sorts of inquiring noises, until…

“I… I need to…” Dara panted, back arched, “I’m going to…”

“Then do it. Cum,” Zhen soothed.

All it took was a few more curls, and Dara let out a whimpering cry, his precious little cock spilling over and making a mess on his stomach. As Zhen massaged that spot inside him, Dara panted and twitched, hands gripping the bed sheet hard enough it nearly tore. He keened, loud enough that the servants must have heard him, but Zhen kept drawing such wonderful noises out of him, even as Dara’s broken, embarrassed moans turned into cries, his eyes unfocusing and rolling back.

That might have been enough for his poor little princeling. Another night, Zhen would show him just how heady pleasure could feel, how overwhelmingly potent a cocktail one’s body could make. Dara would learn just how much Zhen adored him, would learn just how easily his master could play him. Zhen was well versed in all sorts of games.

Cleaning up, he was gentle, wiping the spend from Dara’s stomach, though the prince whimpered as he came back to himself. When Zhen left to wash his hands, Dara piped up with a disoriented groan.

“I will be back in a minute, darling,” he called, washing up quickly and returning to bed. “Patience is a virtue, did you know?”

“How did you do that?” Dara’s words came out languid and slow.

Tucking the poor thing in, Zhen cocked his head. “Dear, you have a prostate. I merely massaged it.”

Dara turned that over in his mind. When he spoke, his cheeks were ruddy. “Can you do it again?”

“Of course, my darling prince,” Zhen smiled, “anything you like.”

As Zhen settled back into bed, his prince curled up against him, basking in the glow of his orgasm. His muscles relaxed, though those clever amber eyes watched him steadily. Dara was too smart for his own good, even if his previous life hadn’t been conducive to showing it. Zhen liked that about him, his intellect.

“You didn’t finish,” Dara murmured.

Zhen simply shrugged, arms around his prince. “I didn’t feel the need to. Seeing you pleased was enough for me.”

“Why?”

“Why…?”

Dara looked away, fiddled with his cuticles. “Why is my pleasure so important to you? You outrank me.”

Zhen’s laugh was disbelieving. “I may outrank you, dearest Dara, but I adore you. I cherish the ground you walk on, I am reborn with every kiss, and I am remade with your pleasure. Yes, there are times when I have to punish you, and I hope you understand that those are for your own good.”

“You… love me?” Pure, naked hope glittered in Dara’s voice.

“Of course I do. Have I not said it enough?” Zhen held him tighter.

Silent, Dara burrowed into his chest, hands gripping his master’s sleep shirt. Illun’s corpse be damned, if Zhen could spend the rest of his life holding him, he would die happy. He would ascend to godhood the second his soul left his flesh, the joy would carry him to the heavens. Pressing a kiss to his prince’s forehead, he brushed Dara’s hair out of his face, the silky smooth strands sliding through his fingers like they belonged there.

“Can I ask you a question, Master Zhen?” His words came out small, nearly lost between the pillows.

“Anything.”

Dara kept his eyes on Zhen’s chest. “Do you like to punish me?”

“I like to watch you squirm, and I like to hear your noises. You are beyond adorable. I don’t like to correct you, but I know that I must. Why do you ask?”

He took a moment to collect his words, slow and wavering. “I think I like it.”

“Oh?” A smile slipped across Zhen’s face. “How so?”

“Pain is close to pleasure, and while others have asked me to… hurt them… during sex, it was never something I found myself on the receiving end for. When you hit me, I feel small. I think I like to feel small, at least, with you. You’ve taken care of me, even when I’ve been an ungrateful brat. You went out of your way to save me when I was kidnapped, and I owe you.”

He sniffled, and Zhen came aware of a dampness on his chest. Slowly, he rubbed Dara’s back, holding him tight.

When Zhen spoke, he chose his words carefully. “I’m beginning to understand. You want me to punish you, but in a controlled way, yes? A way that you can stop if you so choose?”

Dara nodded.

“That can be arranged. Why not pick a word, one that will tell me to stop should you want me to? That may make you feel more in control. Your pleasure is mine, Dara, never forget that.”

“How about… ‘shield’. I don’t imagine I’ll be saying it much during sex.”

“Shield would be perfect.” Planting another kiss on his forehead, Zhen rested his chin atop his prince’s head. “You should know, dear, that I do love it when you’re bratty. I love your spirit and your fire. It’s what drew me to you originally.”

Dara parted his lips, thought better of it, and thought better of that. “I see, thank you for telling me. I wouldn’t want to piss you off, Master Zhen.”

“You could never. Now rest, we have a long day in the morning, what with the preparations to leave. You will need your strength.”

Chapter Text

The preparations to leave took most of the morning, but Dara woke early. As usual, Zhen had been long gone by the time Darran nudged him awake, the butler helping him dress in flowing pants and a loose top, an unreadable look on his face. Blearily, Dara strained to make out what he was thinking.

“So,” he started, voice raspy from sleep, “have you worked for Zhen long?”

Darran started, staring at him like he had asked an offensive question. “Master Zhen.”

“What?”

“You and I are to refer to our master as ‘Master Zhen’. It is what he prefers.”

Dara held his tongue, instead going with, “Alright, have you been working with Master Zhen long?”

Darran’s pale eyes shifted to the ties on Dara’s shirt. “I have. Five years — six in the fall. I am honored and grateful for his care, and for the opportunity to serve him. He is a good master, as I’m sure you know.”

“Five years, that’s a while,” Dara mused. “I don’t remember who the Aritian ambassador was five years ago. You had that war, didn’t you? With the domestic rebellion? I think I remember my father complaining about that, how it was interfering with trade.”

Letting out a sharp exhale, Darran buttoned up Dara’s pants, draping the fabric just so. “While you were concerned with trade, others were concerned with their lives. Master Zhen did his part to bring peace, and for that, I am grateful.”

“Were you in the war?” Dara found himself asking.

Darran hesitated, fingers frozen on Dara’s clothes. The spell lasted but a moment, and Darran stirred back to life again. “I was.”

“In the military?”

His eyes, startlingly blue, fell on Dara’s own amber. “I was a rebel.”

Dara’s world stilled. “A rebel?”

“I don’t believe I stuttered.” In a sudden movement, Darran stood, smoothing Dara’s clothes out. “There. You’re dressed. Breakfast is being served in the dining room, and then we are finishing packing. Expect to be on the road before noon. Have a good day, Dara.”

He didn’t linger to hear his response. A freedom fighter — a rebel, by his own admission. His side had lost, of course, and now he worked as a butler for the enemy. Seemed to love working as a butler for the enemy, if the way he looked at Zhen, always waiting for his next command, was any indication. Dara couldn’t imagine putting such faith into someone who could kill him so easily.

Maybe Zhen was just crazy. Maybe he didn’t know. Distracted, Dara walked to the dining room, ate his breakfast, and set out to find his master, or his friends. All the servants bustled about, packing up necessities for their trip. Going to Kadras, especially when it was so close to civil war… that hardly helped anyone’s nerves.

Dara sighed, heading out into the garden. He would miss it here, despite everything. It was nice here, calm and quiet, and people hardly bothered him. If he closed his eyes, laid down on the grass, and pretended hard, he could imagine he was back at the palace, nestled in a hidden part of the grounds, hiding from his responsibilities. Ha. Not that he’d had very many. The bulk of running the kingdom fell on his older siblings and parents.

Dara’s wanderings took him to the rose garden, a lovely place. His mother had loved roses, had decorated tables with elaborate centerpieces. She had stripped the thorns off their stems and wove them into her hair — the Queen of Flowers, the newspapers had called her. Dara missed the smell of her perfume, the steady cadence of her voice as she instructed the children on what their days would look like. He missed her speeches during festivals.

A tear had trailed down his cheek, and he wiped it away. If he started crying now, he would never stop. Tears were too much, they would make his face red and puffy, and everyone would know he had spent his morning bawling his eyes out. If he wanted to be a prince, rather than a pleasure slave, he would need to start acting like one.

As he wandered deeper, the wind ruffling his hair, he bit back a sob. He wouldn’t balk like a coward at his own emotions. He was Prince Atadara Fortuna, he would survive this, and he would see himself on the throne. He would be changed, of course, but he would still be himself. Hope, against all odds, blossomed in his chest, petals unfurling and threatening to choke him. Maybe, if he gave himself to that feeling, it just might.

Reaching the center, Dara jerked back. A man — Azh — sat on a stone dais, carved with astrological constellations. Maybe a sundial. The man cracked an eye open, meditating, apparently. Dara hadn’t been aware that people this far east meditated. Then again, he didn’t look like a local. Much to his annoyance, Dara hadn’t met enough people from the Western Steppes to know their ways of dress or speaking. After warring with Aritia for so long, the Western Steppes had decided to break contact with Kadras when he was a child.

“Er, hi,” Dara managed out, taking in Azh’s clothing.

It differed from what he was used to seeing, neither flowing Kadin silks and cotton or utilitarian Aritian wool and linen. His clothes seemed to be made of cotton, but left him with room to move without getting in his way. Leggings under a tunic, fabric cast off one shoulder with wide sleeves. The hems had been embroidered in a language Dara didn’t speak. His undershirt, a long-sleeved one, was dandelion yellow, complementing his pale blond hair. When their eyes met, Dara couldn’t help but note how pale Azh’s yellow eyes were, like an imitation of sunlight on a cool winter’s day.

“Hi,” the man’s voice was low. He sighed, shifting to get himself comfortable again. Clasping his hands, he murmured something, and closed his eyes.

Dara stared, despite his better judgment and, after a few minutes, Azh opened his eyes again, glancing at Dara.

“Are you going to stand there gawking until the suns collide?”

Until the suns collide… where had he heard that phrase before?

“No,” he started, sitting down on one of the stones beside the dais. “Do you want me to leave?”

With another sigh, Azh rolled his shoulders. “I suppose this is the Wind telling me to quit trying to focus. Do you know how hard it is to be alone at this estate? And then I have to share a carriage with Kaia and Rada.”

“What’s wrong with that? I’m sharing a carriage with Z—Master Zhen.”

Though he noted the mistake, Azh simply replied, “Evidently, you don’t know Kaia and Rada that well.”

He let it drop.

“You mentioned the ‘Wind’, what does that mean?” Dara put the same respect on the word as Azh had, and the man smiled at that, a sad smile.

“That would depend on how much you know about religion in the Western Steppes.”

Dara shrugged.

With a groan, Azh let one foot hang down from the dais, stretching his back out. “Well, it’s believed that the First Sun sends out a solar Wind to the Second Sun. Through meditation, your suffering can be taken away by the Wind and replaced with impartations of knowledge. There’s more, but that would be our core tenants.”

“Oh,” Dara said, quiet. “You don’t have gods?”

“We don’t, no.”

Nodding, Dara sat cross-legged on the stone. “I should try that sometime. Taking away suffering would be nice, as would some extra knowledge. Maybe I’ll meditate.”

A smile flickered across Azh’s face. “I could teach you, if you would like. Later, of course. The Wind hinted that I’ve had enough meditating for now.”

“Sure, I’d love to.” To Dara’s surprise the sentiment was genuine. “Have you been here all morning?”

“Since the day broke.”

“Is that normal for you?”

Azh lifted an eyebrow. “I like to rise with the First Sun, I find it hard to sleep when it’s light out. It gives me more time in my day.”

“I see,” Dara mused, “I sleep in, though I should probably be better about that. I’m sure people wouldn’t want to wait for me to finish sleeping before getting on with their days. Darran seems irritated about it.”

Again, a smile flashed across Azh’s face. “Darran likes the house to run on time. I appreciate his efficiency. All he wants is to do a good job for his master — I would be lucky to find a servant as faithful and effective as he is.”

“He does have his strange moments,” the words were out of Dara’s mouth before he could help it. His eyes went round. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way, I, er, I’m simply not used to Aritian customs and everything is so different and—”

Azh cut him off with a laugh. “It’s fine, Dara. Darran has been through enough, I would say.”

Silent, Dara stared down at the grassy ground.

Azh continued, “Darran has been nothing but the perfect butler for years, and he is adjusting as best he can to change — and yes, it’s a sizable change to have you here. I have never known Zhen to live with someone so totally.”

Brows drawing together, Dara chewed on his lip. “I see.”

“Mmh.” Azh tipped his face to the sky, soaking in the sun. “I’m sure you do. How have you been holding up, by the by? Big changes are hard to process.”

“I’m fine,” the words came rote, automatic.

“Are you?”

“I’m fine.” A reassurance. “Master Zhen promised to help me…”

Azh lifted an eyebrow, peeking at Dara out of the corner of his eye. “Help you do what, exactly? Take back your throne? What happens after that, Dara?”

“I take my rightful place back from that usurper.”

“And then?”

“And then, I rule my kingdom.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Azh’s face. “Have you any experience with that? Or will you be relying on your allies?”

Dara kept his mouth shut.

“I see. You’re still that little prince, aren’t you?” Amusement lingered in his voice. “The one with hair like fire and eyes like molten gold, to hear Zhen describe you. He wrote about you a few years ago, and never stopped.” He laughed. “Funny, how everything turned out. I’m sure Zhen is a very happy man indeed, to have you beside him.”

Turning the realization over in his mind, Dara’s mouth spilled out, “He wrote about me?”

Azh nodded, a true smile on his face as he met Dara’s eye. “Oh, did he. I couldn’t get him to shut up about you. And letters to where I lived were expensive! Not a lot of post coming up and down the Northern Tundra, just one shipment a month. If you’re lucky.”

“You lived in the Northern Tundra?” Dara couldn’t help but ask. “I thought the land there was nearly uninhabitable.”

“Nearly is the operative word there,” he smiled. “Zhen’s from the North, you know. From higher up than I was, you should ask him about it.”

“I might,” Dara murmured. “I haven’t been outside of the Imperial Core much. Being with Master Zhen was the most I had ever set foot outside of Kadras. It’s been… exciting. Different. I didn’t know there were so many cultural things I didn’t know, and it makes me wish I paid more attention during my lectures.”

Azh’s laugh was loud and genuine. “The world knows I understand. It gets easier, don’t you worry. You have the best teacher you could wish for. Zhen was a great help for me, I hope you can get the same care from him as I did. Ah, you’ll probably get more care than I,” he punctuated his words with a chuckle. “Zhen would rather cut off his hand than let you be harmed. You’ll be perfectly fine, don’t you worry.”

Just as Dara paled, opening his mouth to say something about not needing to cut off anyone’s hand, a gardener popped her head into the rose garden.

“There you are,” she said, her voice cheery and high and heavily accented in the lingering vowels and rolling consonants of the Aritian dialect. “Master Zhen sent me out to look for you two. Everyone’s getting ready to leave, so you two better get a move on! The carriages won’t leave without you, but Master Zhen wants to head out as early as possible.”

With a nod, Azh got up, stretching his arms above his head. “Thank you. We will be there shortly.”

She returned his nod, offered them both a smile, and darted off to whatever she needed to get done.

Lacing his fingers behind his back, Azh slowly loped off, looking back to check if Dara was following. At that, Dara rose and wiped the dust from his loose pants. He trotted after Azh, walking beside him, sparing him an occasional darting glance.

The man kept a neutral expression on his face. “It was nice to speak with you, Dara. I hope we have another chance to.”

“Me too,” Dara replied. Shocked, he realized it was the truth.

Chapter Text

The carriage bumped along the road, taking the long way to Kadras. They needed to take their time. No bribery could convince the border guard to overlook a caravan entering a country on the brink of a civil war, especially with a slave that looked so much like the lost prince. Vaness would have alerted the border for Zhen’s likeness, for Dara’s. They wouldn’t make it far before Vaness could prepare.

With a sigh, Zhen watched the passing scenery, turning thoughts over in his mind. They were safe so long as they stayed in Aritia, but then… they would have to cross over into Kadras sooner, rather than later. There may have been a gap closer to the Western Steppes, where Aritia cared about border security and Kadras did not, but it was too far away. Vaness would get a foothold.

Across from him, Dara bounced in his seat, enraptured by the teeny tiny towns they passed and the endless miles of forest the road took them through. It warmed Zhen’s heart, seeing his prince so excited to see the world outside. He had kept him cooped up for far too long.

“Have you been out in the country much, princeling?” Zhen hummed, resting his hand on his knee.

Startled out of his reverie, Dara stared at him for a moment. “Er, no, I haven’t, Master Zhen. My family wants to keep us safe, and few of my siblings ever leave the Imperial Core. My eldest brother and sister, the twins, leave to tour with them when they’re needed elsewhere, but that’s only because they’re the heirs.” He let out a soft noise in the back of his throat, eyes lowered. “Were the heirs.”

“And now, you are next in line,” Zhen kept his voice sympathetic. “It’s what they would have wanted, no? Their family lives on with you, keeps the throne safe from people like Vaness.”

“Yeah,” Dara ducked his head, “it’s what they would have wanted. I just hope I can live up to their memory. They were popular.”

Zhen’s eyes softened at that, and he reached out, resting his hand on Dara’s knee. The prince looked up, biting back tears. The poor thing.

Soothing, Zhen gave his knee a squeeze. “I’m sure you will. I can help you, darling Dara, and I can ensure that your family will be remembered fondly.”

“How can you promise me so many things?”

“I know what I’m doing, is all.” Zhen smiled. “I have been trained as a diplomat, an assassin, and a soldier. A tinker, a tailor, a soldier, a spy, as the old song goes.”

Dara thought this over, brows drawing together. “Have you ever been a spy, then?”

That gave Zhen pause, and he wavered for a tinge too long, as something lit up in Dara’s eyes.

“So, you have. To whom?” His silence broke the dam of his prince’s frustration. “Do you want me to succeed, or are you just stringing me along until you deliver your defective pleasure slave back to someone who has no issue slaughtering him in front of the waiting masses?”

Zhen forgave the indiscretion. Too much, he forgave Dara’s indiscretions. “Princeling, take a breath. Calm yourself.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Dara’s voice inched ever higher. “Who are you? Who have you been?”

A small, sad smile crossed his face. “No one has ever asked me that, you know. If you would like, I can tell you about myself, precious Dara. You’re right, I have spent too long keeping my past closed off from you.”

Breathing fast, Dara stared at him, stunned. “You… what?”

“Is this not what you wanted?” Zhen tucked a stray lock of Dara’s wavy, fiery hair behind his ear. “To know more about me? If it will make you feel more safe with me, then I will answer any questions you have about me, my past, my future. I will not answer anything about my friends, though. Their stories are theirs to own.”

“Alright,” Dara’s voice wavered, but he kept that gilded gaze on his master’s. “Is Zhen Ankulat your real name?”

He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. “Of course it is, princeling. What else would it be?”

Though he didn’t get a response, Dara had the wherewithal to look mollified. “What did you do before you were a diplomat?”

“I was in the secret services.”

“What did that entail?”

With a sigh, Zhen crossed one leg over the other, turning to look out the window. “You are aware that Aritia and the Western Steppes went to war years ago, no?” Dara nodded. “Good. I was a soldier in that war, and I did well enough that I was promoted. There were domestic rebellions, especially along the western border. I was sent out to put those rebellions down, Dara.”

“Were you happy with that work?” Dara stared, quiet, small.

“It was good work, keeping my country safe. Did you think if your guards were happy with their work?”

“I didn’t.”

Zhen spread his arms, a knowing look on his face. “It’s quite important to make sure your servants have something they can look forward to. A happy servant is a loyal servant.”

“And Darran? Do you think he’s loyal?” The words slipped out of Dara. An unbecoming trait for a prince.

The smile died on Zhen’s face. “He’s loyal, Dara.”

“But do you trust him?”

“As if he was my own hand.”

Silent, Dara turned that over in his mind. He opened his mouth to speak a couple of times, starting and stopping, brow furrowed. Finally, he settled on, “Why?”

“Why do I trust my butler?” Zhen only just kept the incredulity from his voice. “Why, Dara, why does one trust anyone? Darran has proved to me his loyalty and devotion. He has served me for years without faltering, what is there to doubt?”

His prince hesitated, mouth falling open and closed as he mulled his thoughts over before finally settling on, “I don’t think Darran likes me.”

With a laugh, Zhen waved the sentiment off. “Oh, please. Princeling, is that all? Darran will like who I tell him to, there is no need to worry. If you wish, I can summon him when we break for a meal and tell him that you two are going to be good friends. Would that assuage your worries?”

“Would that really fix it, Master Zhen?” Dara mused, the words falling out of him. “I’m not sure that Darran would be so happy to spend time with me, even if you commanded him to — humans don’t work like that, to my knowledge.”

Raising an eyebrow, Zhen offered him a knowing smile. “Darran is obedient, precious Dara, he will obey.”

Dara said nothing, clasping his hands in his lap tight enough that his pale skin grew ever paler. Eyes cast down, he turned this information over and over in his mind, trying to formulate a response. It made sense how unfamiliar Dara was with this — the servants in his palace had joined in a coup against him, after all, and few had wanted to spend time with spoiled, haughty princes who had the world and wanted for nothing.

Letting out a soft sigh, Zhen took one of Dara’s hands in his. “It will be alright, my Dara. Believe me, I know Darran, and I will make sure you are given the kindness you deserve.”

“I… don’t know that I deserve any.” His words were a breath.

Zhen’s brows drew together. “Of course you do. What doubt is there?”

“I’ve been nothing but trouble,” Dara’s voice cracked right down the middle, like a crevasse in the ice. “Vaness wants me, and he’s going to stop at nothing to get me. Don’t you think I’m better off, I don’t know, left guarded somewhere? He kidnapped me. You had to save me, again. All I do is get saved, these days.”

Rubbing his thumb over Dara’s knuckles, Zhen tutted. “I wouldn’t say that, my dear. You are being taught how to protect yourself, and I am always more than happy to come to your rescue. I want you, Dara, and I want you to be safe. Let me do that for you as best I can. Keep in mind your future — together, we will take the throne from that traitor, and you can take your rightful place.”

“I haven’t done anything in my life. Vaness knows the kingdom, probably better than I do, and I’m sure he’s bought the loyalty of the servants already. I’m nobody’s choice and nobody’s favorite. The discarded, forgotten prince who’ll never amount to anything.”

“I don’t think that’s true. You’re my favorite, for one. You have been for years.” Zhen smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. “And you can show them all what happens when they underestimate you. I know the kingdom nearly as well as Vaness does, you know.”

Dara’s mouth was still a hard, frustrated line. “And I don’t. If I’m going to be on the throne, doesn’t it make sense for me to learn how everything works?”

“It does, but I would rather you focus on getting to that throne safely, first,” Zhen soothed, eyes gentle.

Dara’s face twisted for an instant, settling into placidity. “What else would I do? I don’t know anything, I’m helpless, I can’t even rally troops. I’m useless.” He bit the inside of his cheek hard, staving off more tears. “I’m nothing and nobody. I never had true power — my family kept me so safe… too safe. Let me take a risk, Master Zhen. Let me try.”

Bringing Dara’s knuckles to his lips, Zhen mulled it over. His lips were warm against Dara’s skin. “Alright. I have already allowed you to fight, but I won’t hide you away from the peasantry. It’s important for you to learn how to speak with them, and I will assist you in learning the art of speech crafting. Is that what you want, my Dara?”

With a shallow nod, Dara swallowed. “What’s the price I’m paying for this?”

“Why must everything come at a cost?”

“Nothing in life is free.”

Zhen laughed, the sound spilling out of him, long and loud. “My Dara, nothing in life is free, and yet you had scores of servants waiting on your every whim. What cost did you pay for the circumstances of your birth? That you were sheltered?”

He could see the rage simmering just under his princeling’s skin, the way his cheeks reddened that little bit, and how his eyes went wide. He contained it well, for someone so transparent. Zhen would have to teach him to keep a better game face — if he could see Dara’s emotions so plainly, then what would Vaness, a man who raised him, be able to read?

“My Dara,” he smiled, “you’re right. Nothing is free, and to allay your fears, I will ask a simple price: I want your compliance, is all. I will teach you to rally troops, hide your emotions, and remain in control. Is that a high enough cost to justify what you will earn? Else, I will set it higher.”

Dara licked his lips, met Zhen’s eye, and flicked his gaze away. Evidently, he didn’t want to dwell on the serious, keen look he had seen.

“Yes. That is enough to ask.” He took a ragged breath in. “I accept. My compliance for your knowledge.”

Zhen’s face split into a wide smile, beaming. “That’s wonderful. I’m so glad.”

Though Dara watched him for a hair too long, he smothered whatever doubts bounced around his head long enough to reply, “I am, too.”

Allowing his smile to turn dastardly, Zhen, opened his arms. “Why don’t we seal this deal with something a little more concrete. Princeling, kiss me.”

Realization dawned in Dara’s face, fear mingling with desire. Without a word, he leaned forward in the cramped carriage space and pressed his lips to his master’s. Zhen cradled his face in his hands, holding his dear, darling prince steady as they bumped and rattled down the road. Breathing deep, he inhaled Dara’s fresh, clean scent. As they parted, he couldn’t help the grin on his face, the way he held his Dara’s hand like it was a tether tying them together.

Chapter Text

They pulled into an inn late in the night. Dara had leaned his head against the window, let his eyes slip closed, dozing. His dreams twisted in his mind, malformed and half-born. His sisters’ faces shouted at him to move, to fight back as scores of guards leapt to grab him. Too many arms held him down, and axes hacked him to pieces, and yet, he remained. Distantly, he could hear Vaness laughing, a quiet sound Oratio had always been so keen to draw out.

As they rolled to a stop, something brushed against his knee, and he started awake. Zhen had tapped him, but drew back quickly as Dara jerked, getting his bearings. Carriage around him. Night outside. Zhen across from him. He was safe — or safe as he could be.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, voice rough from sleep. “I had a nightmare.”

Zhen’s eyes went soft, as they always did. He never saw the man melt to anyone else, not even his friends or servants. Just Dara. “That’s alright, princeling, we all have bad dreams sometimes. Just know that you’re safe. I will protect you.”

Out of his mouth, it didn’t sound like a lie. Dara wanted to believe it, that no one would ever hurt him again, but there was little Zhen could do if Vaness found where they were and sent a squadron of soldiers to take care of the little problem of Dara’s continued existence. Would he want Dara killed? Or would he be brought back home alive, struggling and straining against his captors, only to be publicly executed?

He had been silent too long, and Zhen was staring at him expectantly. Had he missed something?

“I…” the words slipped out of his mouth, excuses, “what did you say?”

“Are you ready to enter the inn? Darran has taken care of the arrangements for us, and we will be staying together. I’m sure you would like to bathe, no?”

Nodding, Dara let his master lead him out of the carriage. Together, they walked into a nice, if small, inn, breezing past the welcome desk. Darran met them at the stairs and led them to their room without a word, something bubbling under the surface. Dara looked, for the first time, at Darran’s eyes, searching. Was that jealousy? A note of revulsion popped in Dara’s gut, like a soap bubble.

Darran looked away, a tense line wrinkling his brow. “Here you are, Master Zhen. I will be staying in the next room, so if there is anything you need, please let me know.”

“Thank you, Darran,” Zhen’s voice was calm and easy, ignoring or ignorant of the moment passing between his… what? His servants? His slaves? “That will be all. Princeling, why don’t we get you in the tub? I’m sure you must ache from sitting all day.”

Before Dara could respond, he had been whisked inside. Glancing back at the doorway, he glimpsed Darran’s face, subtly twisting in something approximating rage. He hid it as soon as he caught Dara looking. And then, the door shut, and he was alone with Zhen, the ever-smiling master, the owner, the mystery he was too tired to solve.

The room they had been afforded was sizable, likely the biggest one in the inn. A king-sized bed took up one wall, with a nightstand on either side. A desk and a wardrobe sat beside it, and through a door was a bathroom. Tired, Dara allowed himself to be led inside the bathroom, finding a well-kept porcelain tub and sink, along with any toiletries they might need. Hair oil, bath soaps, and conditioner. A knock on the door got Zhen’s attention.

“That must be Darran with the hairbrushes. Why don’t you run yourself a bath? Wash the road off,” he hummed, breezing past Dara to get the door.

Dara complied, filling the tub with blessedly hot water and undressing. In the other room, he could hear a quiet conversation, Darran’s tense tones beaten back by Zhen’s sunshine. Whatever they were discussing, he couldn’t bring himself to care. His very bones sang for him to sink deep into the bath and never get out, and with a quiet groan, he obliged their voices.

As he let out a pleased sigh, the heat leaching into his skin, Zhen returned with the brushes in tow, Darran banished to his own rooms. He didn’t seem annoyed at Dara’s clothing strewn around the room. To Dara’s mild surprise, Zhen unclasped his robes, letting them fall to the floor. He gave him a sunny beam as he stripped out of his underthings, standing bare before Dara.

This was the first time he had seen his master naked, Dara noted. He stared, raking his eyes over strong muscles he had thought to be fantasy, a thatch of hair running down his stomach to end in… well, that organ he had grown intimately familiar with over the last few weeks. Scars criss-crossed Zhen’s body, rumors of a life well-lived.

“May I bathe with you, my Dara?” he asked, ever the gentleman.

Nodding, Dara let his gaze creep back up to those fiery eyes, the wide smile, the ease with which he handled him. Zhen climbed into the tub smoothly, allowing him to ogle his body to his heart’s content. As it sank beneath the water, Zhen let out a pleased sigh, tipping his head back and breathing in the steam. An afterthought, he let his hair down, the dark strands pooling around his shoulders.

At Dara’s staring, he let out a chuckle. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” jarred to speech, Dara’s words came out stilted, clumsy. “I haven’t seen a naked person in a while is all, Master Zhen.”

“You see yourself every night when you bathe, do you not?” It was a joke, and yet Dara’s heart raced. “Are you alright? You seem distant today.”

His mouth dropped open to reply before he could stop himself. “It’s just the dream I had. I don’t want to talk about it.” Drawing his knees up to his chest, Dara went through the motions of washing his limbs. “Will we cross over into Kadras soon?”

“In the next few days, yes,” Zhen assured, scrubbing the smell of the road from his body. “Would you like me to wash your back, princeling?”

Bathing him like a servant, what a picture. Dara almost laughed. Zhen wanted to be his master, his owner — and he was — but would degrade himself so, over and over? What next, would he ask Dara if he could wash his feet, too? It was a foolish thought, that Zhen would be so happy with Dara’s obedience that he would want to reward him like this. And yet, Dara found himself nodding, turning so his owner could see the pale, smooth expanse of his back. Unmarred by scars.

Zhen’s hands were gentle, but firm on his skin. They cleaned, feeling all the knots and tension along his spine.

“Aren’t you stressed,” he cooed, voice barely a murmur. “Let me fix that, my princeling.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, rubbing at the painful twists in his muscles. Sucking a breath in through his teeth, Dara let himself relax into his touch. It felt good. Those strong thumbs made their way up his spine, working out knots, until they reached the column of his neck. A gasp left Dara’s lips as Zhen worked the hot, sore muscles there.

His body stirred at the sensation of his hands on him, handling him, fixing him. Dara’s heart beat that bit faster as his muscles eased, the soreness fought off. He could feel the heat of Zhen’s breath on his back, hot and cold and close enough that his mind swam with possibility. He was no stranger to Dara’s body, and Dara no stranger to his. They could take care of each other as easily as any pair of lovers — and was that what they were? Lovers? When was the last time either of them had taken someone like that?

“Are…” the word slipped out of Dara’s mouth, lips loosened by the heat of the fragrant bath and those wonderful hands on his back. He thought better of it.

And yet, those hands proved insistent. “That isn’t a sentence, princeling. It isn’t even a sentiment.”

Swallowing his pride and fear, a heady mix, Dara stuttered out, “Are we lovers, Master Zhen?”

Hands stilling, Zhen thought it over. His breath was a tether on Dara’s back, keeping his thoughts from wandering. Trust, he remembered someone telling him, years and years ago, was a funny thing. You had to have trust in someone, and they would give you wonders. Trust the wrong person, and then your life would be a carnival of horrors. And even so… Dara trusted Zhen. He slept beside this man every night, allowed this man into his body, into his mind, and followed his instructions. If that didn’t count for something, anything, then he would scream.

After a stretch of silence that bordered on too long and far too long, Zhen let out a sigh, laughing. “I suppose we are, my Dara. At the very least, I would like us to be.”

Traitorous hope fluttered in Dara’s chest. “Alright.”

“And you? Would you consider us lovers?”

That hope multiplied, one butterfly straining against his ribs into two. Into four. Eight. “I would, Master Zhen.”

“Good,” he could hear the smile in his voice, “I’m glad to hear that. All I want is for you to know how loved you are, my Dara, and if I can spend the rest of my life adoring you, then I will die a very happy man indeed.”

Adoring him. “Thank you,” something cracked in his voice. “I… hope I can do the same for you in turn.”

“You will, I’m sure of it.” Pure confidence soaked his words. Leaning forward, Zhen pressed a kiss to the back of Dara’s neck, lips cool against overheated skin. “I love you, dearest, I have and will always love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

A tear trickled down Dara’s face, and he could only whisper out, “I’m not sure I know how to love anymore.”

The water lapped against the edges of the tub as Zhen pressed himself to Dara, wrapping his arms around him. “I don’t think that’s true. I can show you how to love, if you would like it.”

“I…” he murmured, the very words sounding like a prayer, “I think I’d like that. Thank you, Master Zhen.”

“Of course, my Dara. Think nothing of it.” He pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck, gentle, caring. “You are my world. Your safety and happiness is mine, and I would rather chop off a hand than see you so upset.”

Letting out a miserable sniff, Dara wiped his tears away, hesitantly resting his hand over Zhen’s at his waist. “Why are you so nice to me? Why me?”

With a steady hand, Zhen released him enough to brush his fingers through Dara’s hair, putting the shoulder length strands up as he spoke. “Because you are a sun come down to this world. You are a burst of passion and fire, full of opinions and life. You make me feel alive, my Dara; I look at you and the world comes into color.”

His cheeks were pink, be it from the steam of the bath or the kind words. “I don’t think I’m that great.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Zhen’s breath was hot on the back of Dara’s neck. Dara shivered. “You are my north star. Everything I do, I do it for you. For your love. That’s the effect you have on people, my precious prince. This is what you do to me.”

His hands wandered down Dara’s neck, checking for any knots in the muscle, across Dara’s shoulders, and down his sides, landing at his hips. Taking a shaky breath in, he steeled his nerves. He turned, facing his master. Zhen, cloaked in the steam of the bath, looked like a spirit, his hair inky in the water. With a trembling hand, Dara reached up slowly, cupping his cheek. Zhen’s face was smooth, clean-shaven, and soft under his palm. He pressed himself into Dara’s touch, those dark, almond eyes watching him with nothing short of adoration.

“Can I kiss you?” Dara murmured, voice hushed.

“You don’t need to ask.” Zhen rested his palm over Dara’s hand. “The answer will always be yes.”

Closing the distance between them, Dara kissed him. Zhen’s lips were soft and plump, and he scooped Dara into his lap, running his hands up his back. Though Dara let out a sigh, deepening the kiss, his master kept himself restrained, his touch gentle and reassuring. Dara couldn’t help the way his body responded.

As he pulled back, just enough to kiss down Zhen’s neck, he sucked a hickey into his collarbone. Zhen let out a deep chuckle, reverberating against his lips.

“You are something else, my Dara.” His hand ran through Dara’s hair. “Alright, I’ll play with you, if you want me that badly.”

Chapter Text

Dara had needs. Zhen was hardly blind to that, and those needs had gone unmet for too long. With his hands on his prince’s hips and his prince’s mouth on his neck, Zhen smiled. He had died and gone right to the land of plenty, the idyllic paradise philosophers had only dreamed of. Warm, relaxed, and pampered, he had the good life.

Giving Dara a squeeze, Zhen let his hands wander to cup his plentiful ass. Illun’s teats, how had he gotten so lucky? His Dara cared for him enough to lean into his touch, to kiss and suck at his neck, to give him pleasure without him needing to ask for it. He let out a pleased purr, pressing himself against Dara’s chest.

What a fine figure he cut, half submerged in water, the steam in the room curling around his hair, fogging up the mirrors. As much as Zhen would have wanted to watch, he could figure that out later. Dara watching himself get fucked… it stirred something in him.

“You are far too attractive for your own good,” he hummed, voice low. Could he feel it, his lips on Zhen’s neck?

Amber eyes turned up to look at him, drawing back just enough to say, “Thank you, Master Zhen.”

His name in his mouth was a balm. “My Dara, my precious Dara, do you know how much you mean to me? Do you know what I would do for you? I would move mountains, level kingdoms, tear the suns out of the sky for you, if it would make you happy.”

He was rambling, but with the heat of the water, the steady pressure of Dara’s body against his, his insistent touch, he couldn’t bring himself to care. So long, he had kept himself pent up, unwilling or unable to speak his mind. Here Dara was, presenting himself on a silver platter, here for Zhen to touch and take and caress. 

Still stunned, Dara rocked his hips against Zhen’s thigh, straddling it. His body had stirred to life.

“Thank you for picking me,” he murmured, nuzzling his master’s neck. “If you hadn’t, I would be dead. Executed publicly.”

“Let’s not think of that,” Zhen chided, light and gentle. “Why not talk about happy things?”

Nodding shallowly, Dara wrapped his arms around Zhen, touching, exploring. “What do you like? In bed, that is. We’ve done what I want, but I don’t know anything about your preferences.”

What he liked, well, that was a question not often asked. With a hum, Zhen collected his thoughts. “I like you, first of all. I like anything you do. As for anything else, I’m a fan of oral sex and hand jobs. I enjoy playing with power, though you know that already… hmm,” he let out a soft laugh. “It appears you’ve caught me on something I’m a bit ignorant about! What a shame.”

“We’ll have to rectify that,” murmured Dara, lips splitting into a wicked smile. “Would you be opposed to having me in a more dominant role, just to experiment?”

How long had it been since someone had conquered Zhen? Plundering his body for all it was worth?

With a sly smile, Zhen tipped his head to the side. “So long as you don’t forget yourself, my Dara. It’s been quite a while since I have done this, and I would prefer to take it slow.”

“Of course, Master Zhen,” Dara met his eye, “I want to show my thanks.”

“Go on, then. Show your thanks.”

Meeting his gaze for a second, Dara summoned his courage. “Turn around and put your back to my chest. I want to jerk you off.”

“How vulgar,” Zhen cooed, complying. “My, my. I didn’t know you had such a filthy mouth, Dara.”

A glance over his shoulder revealed a flushed, embarrassed prince. Good. Zhen wanted him, wanted Dara to want him. As he pressed his back to Dara’s damp chest, Dara’s arms wrapped around him, holding him steady. One hand wrapped around his member, already hard, while the other ran up his side. Zhen twitched, letting out a strangled yelp as he reached a particularly sensitive spot on his hip, and Dara muffled a laugh.

“Are you ticklish, Master Zhen?”

Cool and level, Zhen moved his lover’s hand to his stomach. “I would counsel you against that avenue of questioning. I like to be touched on my stomach and chest, if that’s what you were looking for, though.”

Dara didn’t move his hand back, caressing his stomach as he pumped his master slowly, patiently. When Dara’s hand brushed his chest, though, Zhen let out a soft noise, one that surprised even him. How sensitive had he gotten, keeping people from touching him, after all these years? Not even Darran had touched him like this, sensual and caring. Zhen hadn’t let him.

When Dara pressed his lips to the shell of Zhen’s ear, kissing and nibbling, he murmured, “Like that, Master Zhen? Or would you like me to be rougher?”

“Be gentle,” Zhen let out a gasp as Dara traced his nipple, “I like it when you’re sweet to me.”

“I like the sounds you make.” Dara’s hand stroked him faster, and Zhen let out a lewd moan. Who cared if he was loud. “They’re enticing. Makes me want to see you blissed out, strung along on pleasure. I’m sure you’d make such beautiful sounds.”

“Mm, I’m sure I would,” he hummed, resting his head against Dara’s shoulder. “I love it when you pleasure me, princeling, you were made for it.”

Trailing his lips down his master’s neck, Dara kissed and sucked spots into his rich, olive skin. Fondling Zhen, he whispered encouragements in his ear, watching with glee as Zhen’s thighs went taut and his breathing came faster. As Zhen trembled on the edge, he grabbed the back of Dara’s neck, pulling him in with a vice grip. A growl left his lips as Dara’s hand stalled, and that hand went back to its pumping.

“Don’t you dare stop until I…” Zhen trailed off, eyes unfocused.

He spilled over with a groan, loud and long and satisfied. His prince was so well-behaved, taking care of him like a proper lover. Allowing himself to bask in the glow of his orgasm, he gave Dara a smile, letting him go with a kiss. His prince needed more love, and they were most certainly going to do this again. Parting, he turned to face Dara once more.

“Now,” Zhen purred, a grin wide on his face, “why don’t I return the favor? I would hate to be a selfish lover.”

Eyes wide, Dara stammered out, “Oh, you don’t have to. I just wanted to show my appreciation and… ah… if you want to, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Caressing his prince’s cheek, Zhen tipped his head to the side. “When have I ever passed up the chance to give you pleasure? Your moans are an ambrosia, I want nothing more than to hear them. Would you be so kind as to provide?”

His face flushed, both from the heat of the bath and the kind words. “I suppose I could. I still don’t know what’s so special about me, but if you want to, then I’m not going to tell you ‘no’.”

“Good boy,” Zhen cooed, and Dara bit his lip. “Why don’t you sit on the edge of the tub, it’s wide enough to support your weight, isn’t it?”

With a start, Dara nodded. As he drew himself up out of the water, sitting on the lip of the bathtub, Zhen took him in. His skin was dewy from the water, pink and clean, and while he seemed a little skinny from what Zhen remembered of his time at the palace, he had filled out with muscle. Birthmarks dotted his body here and there, places where Zhen’s lips could land, like stars in the night sky. And then, there was his cock. It stood to attention, much as it embarrassed Dara, head flushed with need and hair damp from the water. Zhen only just held himself back as he watched a bead of water run down the length of the shaft.

“You are so gorgeous,” he kept his eyes on his darling’s member. “Did you know that?”

Dara’s hands tightened on the bathtub, cock twitching. “You say it sometimes, yes.”

“Not enough. I’ll have to show you, then. Spread your legs, dear. Let me treasure you like you deserve.”

He did, spreading his legs wide. As Zhen approached, kissing up Dara’s leg, the princeling let out a breathy note. His eyes averted, he watched his master with passing glances, unable to stare for very long. How cute. Giving one of his freckles a kiss, Zhen made his way to the apex of his lover’s thighs, he took him in. So many years, he had waited for this opportunity, and now he got to have him, over and over again, in any position he wanted, in any way he wanted. His perfect Dara.

“You are amazing,” he breathed, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock. “Just perfect.”

The blush spread down to Dara’s collarbone. “I’m not, but thank you.”

“Take the compliment,” Zhen’s voice had an edge of command to it, and Dara swallowed. “I want to hear you say it. ‘I’m perfect’, it isn’t that hard, is it?”

“I-I’m perfect,” Dara mumbled.

“Louder.”

“I’m perfect.”

Zhen beamed. “Was that really that hard? Thank you, princeling. Why don’t I give you a reward for your troubles? Your body seems happy with that.”

Nodding, Dara gripped the rim of the tub. “Yes, please. I would love a reward.”

“My perfect,” murmured Zhen.

He lapped up Dara’s length, teasing, before popping the head into his mouth. The sound Dara let out was obscene, and he could taste salty precum on his tongue already. Dara, precious, precious Dara was on his tongue, letting out little whimpers as he bobbed his head, slowly sinking down his cock. Swirling his tongue, Zhen draped his lover’s thighs over his shoulders, holding him by the small of his back.

Fuck, he wanted to taste his Dara, he wanted to hear him, delirious with pleasure, digging his nails into his back as his master fucked him insensate. For now, though, he would content himself with a simple blowjob. It was the least he could do, after riling him up. Dara let out a low moan as Zhen buried his nose in the thatch of hair at his pelvis, swallowing around his head.

“Oh, gods,” he cried, hands tight against the tub. “Fuck, can I… can I touch you?”

Humming his assent was nearly enough to undo his Dara. Evidently, their antics had been enough. What a good boy, so focused on pleasing his master. Zhen would have to keep him pleased and content, breathless and draped over his pillows like the pretty little whore he was. To have Dara in his bed when he came home, regardless of how Zhen’s day had gone, it would be markedly improved.

As Dara’s hands wove into his hair, Zhen let him set the pace. Brisk but not painfu. His whimpers, high and needy, told Zhen everything he needed to know. He worked his mouth, flicking and tracing and sucking, and was rewarded for his efforts with a loud moan. In another world, he would have worried about the volume, but for his Dara? He couldn’t give less of a shit.

“I…” gasped Dara, eyes on his master’s, “I’m going to…”

The corners of Zhen’s mouth turned up. He pushed him over the edge, his salty spend filling his mouth. He swallowed, of course, lapping his precious thing clean. Dara whimpered with every touch of his tongue, legs squirming in a vain attempt to get away.

“It’s too much,” he whined, and Zhen pulled off of him with a lewd pop.

“Did my darling enjoy himself?” hummed Zhen, meeting his eye steadily.

With a shallow nod, Dara slid back into the water, kissing Zhen. “Thank you. For this, and for everything. I don’t think I would have survived without you.”

“Think nothing of it,” he let his arm drape over Dara. “Why don’t we dry off and get to bed? Before the sun rises on us.”

Though he pouted, Dara obliged. Zhen took the time to take in his Dara, so perfect, so beautiful, as they toweled themselves off and got dressed. He would never take him for granted.

Chapter Text

They had been on the road for what felt like forever. Dara relished their brief interludes of stretching and lunch, everyone gathering to chat, gossip, and help him train. He and Azh had become friendlier, chatting during their off time while Rada goaded Zhen or Kaia into sparring. Half the time, he ended up with his face in the dirt, someone pinning him down. The other half, he got the better of Kaia. Never Zhen, though.

Dara had learned fighting with Rada and archery with Kaia — she was good with her prosthetic. Even better at correcting people on their form. He hit targets, worked himself until he was sore, and fought past the exhaustion in his limbs to get stronger, better, faster. He would protect himself, he would kill Vaness.

And yet, he couldn’t even lull himself to sleep. In Zhen’s bedroll, he lay on his back, staring up at the top of the tent. The moon cast its dim light through the fabric and the fire flickered past the entrance, just bright enough to make out his master, his hand in front of his eyes. Dara wanted to rest, how his body ached to submit to the blank lure of sleep, but his mind resisted. He didn’t want to see his family’s faces, looking back at him. His sisters would mock him, his brothers would look at him with pity. His parents…

With a soft sigh, he rolled over, facing his master. In the meager light, he could see his face, half shadowed and relaxed. Zhen’s breathing came slowly, a steady in and out, his arm draped over Dara’s middle. So protective, even in his sleep. It brought a small smile to Dara’s lips. In another life, his mind would have raced at this, at someone caring for him so much. Nothing to worry about now, though. Zhen loved him. Gods above, Zhen loved him.

Taking in his face, Dara traced his eyes over the softness it held. Asleep, his master looked so much younger. Freer. Dara hadn’t noticed how much he worried. Gently, Dara brushed a lock of hair behind his master’s ear, out of his face. His eyes fluttered, but didn’t open. A heavy sleeper.

His cheeks were round, did he have a grandmother who had pinched them as he grew? And the bow of his lips, slightly parted in sleep… how many people had kissed them? Taken him like Dara so wanted to? A sudden stab of jealousy speared his heart. Dara wasn’t just someone to have, he knew that much, but did Zhen ever think of other people when they were together?

Who filled his dreams when he slept? Sparse mumblings had told Dara nothing, but Dara hadn’t spent much time awake while Zhen was asleep. Did scenes of Dara play out in his mind, or visions from his past, or would have beens, could have beens, anything? Did Zhen even dream? He had never seemed hesitant about going to sleep, when work permitted him to come to bed, and Dara knew enough about tiring men out to keep him satisfied.

Zhen let out a snuffle, pulling Dara close and burying his face in his chest. Letting out a pleased mumble, close to ‘my Dara’, he returned to sleeping soundly, leaving Dara to slowly, gently card his fingers through his master’s hair, admiring the soft strands. Even on the road, his hair was flawless.

The murmur of conversation outside caught Dara’s attention. He could pick out Azh’s voice, and Rada, though he couldn’t make out their words. The up and down pitter patter of their voices was soothing, after a while. Azh was on guard duty right now, and if Rada couldn’t sleep, then it made perfect sense that he would come out to talk to his old friend.

And yet, it tempted Dara. Especially when he picked out Zhen’s name in their words. After what felt like hours, but realistically ten or twenty minutes, Rada made the sounds of farewell, and his footsteps crunched away from the fire. As he passed by Zhen’s tent, he paused, sighed, and kept going. Gingerly, Dara disentangled himself from Zhen, and while his master grumbled something, he kept on sleeping.

Exiting the tent, Dara was met with Azh’s form, blanketed in the warm glow of the fire. The man looked up at him as he approached, but kept his face unreadable. He always did, his commentary kept to himself. Or, at times, he whispered things in Zhen’s ear, too low to be heard by anyone else, as Zhen’s face twisted in focus.

“Dara,” quiet as ever, he scooted over, patting the log beside him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

With a shrug, Dara let out a sigh. “I never can. It’s hard, sometimes.”

He sat down beside Azh, taking in the man. He wore a tunic and pants, made out of comfortable cotton. Still too hot during the night for wool, too cold for just a shirt and pants, but he didn’t seem to mind the chill. Dara wished he had gotten a wrap. In the firelight, he looked timeless, his face cast in shadow and orange, flickering light.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Azh asked, barely audible over the crackling fire. “Or would you rather sit in silence until Kaia relieves me.”

Opening his mouth, Dara couldn’t force the words he wanted to say out. Instead, he managed, “How long have you known Master Zhen?”

Tutting, Azh poked at the fire with a stick. “Oh, it would be around ten years, now. How the time flies. We met when he was nineteen and I was twenty.”

“Ten years, that’s a long time,” Dara mused, staring into the flames. “I don’t think I ever had that kind of friendship with anyone, before…”

With a shrug, Azh tutted once more. “You’re still young. You have time.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Why not?”

Dara’s words dried up in his mouth. Folding his arms around him, he rubbed his shoulders, trying to warm himself up. It didn’t work, of course. Suppressing a shiver, he tried to think of the words. Why not, what was ticking down his clock, besides the inevitable? The unenviable, the knowledge that if he showed his face in his former home, his head would be separated from his neck come morning. The lack of progress in sparring — Vaness would have soldiers, would have guns. What could a kick do against that? The way he still froze up and faltered when his blood rushed to his head, when Rada swung at him, when he was on his back in the dirt…

“Dara?” Azh cut into his thoughts. “Are you still here?”

Nodding, he wet his lips. “I am. I just have a lot to think about, it seems. Can we talk about other things?”

“Of course.”

“Has Master Zhen ever…” he hoped the heat of the fire hid his ruddy cheeks, “been with someone else? Like he’s been with me?”

Azh let out a snort, sudden and amused. “Been with others? Sure, he’s slept around. Especially back before he transferred out to be a diplomat. Like he’s been with you, though, that’s different. The closest thing I can think of is Rada.”

“Rada?” Dara couldn’t keep the name in. “Really?”

“What’s wrong with Rada? He’s plenty nice.” A cheeky smile, the first of its kind, slipped across Azh’s face. “Now that I think about it, both Kaia and I have also been with Zhen. Nothing permanent, just a fling here and there. Letting out steam. But he and Rada, those two were close. If memory serves, they liked to sleep in the same bed, too. Rada said it helped with their nightmares.”

They slept in the same…

Dara stared at Azh, his embarrassment long forgotten. “I just can’t see the two of them like that. They seem so different. So…”

“Distant?”

Dara nodded.

With a soft, sad laugh, Azh continued, “Zhen’s been awfully busy in Kadras until recently. Frankly, I’m surprised they haven’t rekindled that old flame. Then again, you’re here now. They have other things to focus on, and they aren’t teenagers anymore. Zhen’s changed, too.”

“How so?” the question slipped out of him.

“Before you, I only ever saw him smile with Rada. Not that often, either. A shame, he has such a nice smile. I was worried he went soft, too. Only so much you can do as a diplomat to keep your reflexes sharp, but I see that he hasn’t let himself go to waste.”

Drawing a breath in, Dara set the words he wanted to ask free. “Why won’t he teach me how to fight himself, then? If he’s so good…”

Azh turned to him, a soft look in his eye. Without warning, he reached over, ruffling Dara’s hair. “He wants to protect you. Is that too much to ask?”

“He wouldn’t have to if he taught me.”

“That isn’t the point.”

Dara exhaled sharply, through his nose. “Then what is? Does he want me helpless and weak forever? How am I supposed to keep myself safe if the only thing he lets me do is fuck?” His cheeks darked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Don’t worry, princeling,” Azh chuckled. “I’m sure the whole camp knows what you two get up to. Think of it this way: he cares about you so much that he would rather fight your battles himself than see you hurt. Zhen wants you to be happy, and he’ll stop at nothing to see a smile on your face. Let him take care of you. It would do you both some good. I haven’t seen him this happy in… ever, now that I think about it. You don’t seem to be doing too shabby either, for someone on the run.”

“I’m not…” the admission came out of him. “But…”

“Then don’t worry about it. He’ll make sure Vaness’s head is on a pike, just make sure he has someone to come home to. This is what Zhen does best, strategic strikes, hopeless situations — and your situation without him is quite hopeless.”

Dara pulled his arms tighter around him, turning back to the fire. “What if I can’t do even that, though? What if I’m just a pathetic little slut who can’t get anything done?”

“Who told you that?” An edge crept into Azh’s voice.

With a shrug, Dara muttered, “It’s obvious in the way people look at me.”

“Then they’re idiots who should know better.” He said it so matter of factly that Dara almost believed him. “You’re a quick study, princeling, and you’re doing an impossible task. Let us help. Let us in — let Zhen in. Trust us, our expertise. I’m having a fun time, keeping you out of Vaness’s hands, and I doubt that anyone would be faring any better in your situation.”

“I could be doing better.”

“Focus on doing what you can.”

Facing him, Dara tried to ignore the way his voice wavered. “Do you think I’m going to survive this, Azh? Given your expertise.”

Azh was silent for a breath too long, staring into the flames. “You will.”

Dara kept his face calm as he nodded, fighting down the emotions rising up within him. Azh was a liar, and a good one, but Dara had grown up around liars. Nobles loved to make him believe anything, and his tutors had been no better, teaching him whatever was convenient for him to know — he was a fourth-born prince. No one would ever need him to do anything important. And now, no one would ever need him to know anything.

“Thanks, Azh,” he mumbled. It wouldn’t do to panic.

“It’s nothing,” replied the man, warming his hands on the fire. “Count yourself lucky, not many people have a team out to protect you.”

With a hum, Dara rose. Azh turned to look at him, eyes steady, scanning.

“Thank you for tiring me out,” Dara explained, a little lie. “I should head back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, when Rada and I practice my forms before breakfast.”

Offering him a smile, Azh stretched his arms above his head. “Rest well, then.”

Dara crept back into his master’s tent, toeing out of his shoes and tangling himself in the blanket, on his back. He must have woken Zhen, as he let out a mumble, propping himself up on his elbow. In the meager light, Dara could see his hair falling over one eye, an inky waterfall, pooling on the bedspread. He wanted to touch it, to run his hands through Zhen’s locks until his heart stopped aching for home and his mind stopped racing with possibilities.

His master let out an inquisitive noise, eyelids heavy. “Did you need to use the bathroom?”

“Yeah.” Another lie. “I’m fine, you should go back to sleep.”

With a contented purr, Zhen ran his free hand along Dara’s cheek, a surprisingly gentle smile on his face. “The Gods don’t know how much I adore you. If they did, they would know their ballads don’t begin to capture love.”

“Thank you.” He ignored the prickling in his eyes. “You still need to rest, I see the way you work in the carriage. I wouldn’t want you to burn yourself out before we…”

“I will sleep, only because you asked me to.” He settled back into bed, his arm around Dara’s middle. “You get some sleep too, my Dara. You deserve to be safe and happy.”

Before he could respond, his master was snoring into the crook of his neck. It warmed something in Dara’s chest, the way Zhen slipped into sleep so easily when they were intertwined, his nose buried in Dara’s hair, or his back, or his neck. That someone could derive that much comfort from him…

Dara couldn’t imagine it. Comfort. Relaxation. Foreign concepts, these days. Instead, he stared up at the tent once more, his heart heavy and chest aching as his master slept. He could feel the rise and fall of Zhen’s breathing against him, and in another world, it would have soothed him, lulled him to sleep. His mother used to do the same when he was a child, pressing him close to her when he woke up with a nightmare and just breathing with him.

A stray tear trickled from the corner of his eye. Did he want to avenge her? His family? Or did he just want to feel safe? Which was more important? What would he be able to live with? What would he tell his heir?

Heir.

He was still thinking when the sun came up, its warm beams illuminating the inside of their tent, shedding light on the dark, puffy circles under Dara’s red eyes. With a sigh, he disentangled himself from Zhen, wiped the tears and crud from his eyes, and went to face the morning.

Chapter Text

They reached the Imperial Core in the middle of the night. Azh, Kaia, and Rada had gone on ahead, paving the way for Zhen and Dara. Darran had hung back, preparing camp and medical supplies should they need them. Safe rather than sorry, that was what had been trained into him. A small smile graced Zhen’s face as he crept through familiar streets, a hood over his head, his hand clasped in Dara’s.

The prince had been outfitted in armor and a cloak, hiding his face. Here, people would recognize him — as much as he had stayed in the palace for the bulk of his childhood, he was paraded out for events, speeches, portraits sold. Lucky charms. Tempting as they were, Zhen had always resisted such an impulsive purchase. Now, with the suns long set and the claw moon rising high over them, no shops were open. A sad note hurt Zhen’s heart. Even this late, the Imperial Core had always been awake, if not lively. Taverns opened their doors to late-night workers and revelers, and he would have been able to get a stiff drink anywhere he wanted.

Creeping closer to the palace compound, he didn’t hear an alarm raised. So, Kaia and Azh had gotten in undetected, half an hour was more than enough time for them to infiltrate. Rada would be their way out, a distraction for the guards. Easier to get in than out, in his experience, especially after a king was dead.

A small smile slipped across his face. Glancing at Dara, he only saw grim determination. So, his little prince was ready to kill. His form had gone from skinny and frail to lean and well-maintained. Still slight, he was strong. His sword didn’t droop when he held anymore, and he was able to hold his own in a fight against Rada or Azh. Kaia was still out of his wheelhouse. Hard to fight a woman with a wooden arm.

“There,” Zhen’s voice was a murmur. “The front gate. Shall we invite ourselves in, or would you rather go in through the back?”

“The back’s more guarded, what with the woodlands. Here, it’s a well-lit street. The guards would see people coming in. That’s what I overheard, at least.”

Beaming, Zhen rested his hand on Dara’s shoulder, encouraging. “Good. I’m glad to hear that you’ve always been interested in the goings-on of the palace. Your expertise will prove useful. The most sneaking around I’ve done around the palace was getting back in after a night of drinking.”

A tense smile flashed across Dara’s face. “I liked night hunting.”

“You couldn’t sleep?”

“I’ve always been bad at that.”

Zhen pressed a kiss to the top of Dara’s head. “Then let’s go. Let’s get your throne back.”

He nodded, and they inched closer to the front gates. No guards. Zhen’s heart sank. They could creep in through the entrance. No one would be around to see them, but no throngs of tourists browsing the bars in the area, no guards keeping them out of the palace, no one guarding the long driveway… had someone tipped Vaness off?

They walked through the open gate, playing at normal. Inside, it was different — redecorated to Vaness’s tastes. Tapestries highlighting the skills and history of the royal dynasty had been taken down, walls bare. Utilitarian. Zhen suppressed a shudder. It reminded him of the butler’s rooms, he had refused to put up paintings, or tapestries, the books on his shelf blase and unobtrusive. The perfect butler, taste bowing to his masters’.

Dara’s mouth set into a frown. Even the carpets had been ripped up, revealing ancient stone floors. How much blood had been spilled in these halls? How many people had fought for Dara? For his parents, his siblings, his lineage? Vaness would have taken care of any naysayers, executions all around.

Silence cloaked the palace. Only their footsteps marred it, too loud on the stone floors. Where was everyone? The palace was a riot of people, though the servants tried to be quiet at night, going this way and that. Nobles snuck out of their rooms to mess with each other, had late-night meetings, filched bottles of wine and spirits from the kitchen. The quiet rang in Zhen’s ears. 

Creeping through the hallways, his memory faltered, bereft of the landmarks he had used to get around the labyrinthine halls. The palace shifted rooms and passages around, uncomfortable with the pair slinking through its innards. It knew them, and it rejected them.

The poor prince’s shoulders were up, and he gripped a knife in his hand. As if he could fight off a guard, or a noble. Or a ghost. A shudder ran down Zhen’s spine. There were no restless dead in the palace, Vaness wouldn’t have such a blatant challenge to his rule. And yet, the back of Zhen’s mind ran amok, flinching at shadows. Dara touched his arm, and he jumped, eyes wide. His prince’s eyes narrowed, a question.

Smoothing his shirt down, Zhen nodded.

“We’re at the throne room,” Dara hissed. “I hear someone inside.”

Hand on his axe, Zhen rested his hand on the small of Dara’s back. Wordless, he pressed a soft kiss to his temple, before kicking open the doors.

That bastard butler sat on the king’s throne, one leg crossed over the other, resting his cheek on his knuckles. Relaxed. Zhen grit his teeth. Vaness’s hair was cropped short, the dark curls swept back out of his eyes. Gone was the ponytail of his butler days, replaced with something bordering on decadent. His outfit, too, seemed raided from the back annals of the old king’s closet. A chemise nearly ten years out of date, and heavily embroidered, wide-legged pants. Not good for fighting in. Zhen’s eyes narrowed.

Vaness beamed at them, sprawled out on the throne. “Ambassador Ankulat, what a pleasure. And you’ve brought your little runt with you, too. Wonderful.”

Dara’s hands tightened on his dagger enough that his fingers shook. He kept silent.

“Aw, did you teach it manners?” Vaness cooed, smile too wide. His eyes were tense at the edges. “Thank you for returning it to its rightful home. I’m sure you’re thrilled for me to take our dear Attadara off your hands.”

“He prefers Dara,” voice calm, steady, Zhen met those glittering eyes with his own placid gaze, “and I’m afraid I’m keeping him.”

“My, my,” Vaness’s smile twitched. “Aren’t you two the little troublemakers, then? Well, I must thank you: no need for war with Aritia, and after those long, arduous peace accords, too. I can just destroy you here.”

Dara made to move, to lunge forward, but Zhen stilled him with a glare. A little thrill ran through him. This was what he had been made for — fighting with words, the threat of violence looming over them, and delivering him and his loved ones to safety. Kaia and Azh hadn’t been caught yet. They must have been in the gallery, high above the throne room, their bows and guns trained on Vaness. That would be too easy.

A sliver of a smile pulled at the edges of Zhen’s lips. “Is that so?”

His question hung in the air like the last note of an opera.

“You dismissed your guards, it seems like,” Zhen continued, words sure as daggers. “I know you, Vaness, you have no arms training.”

Something lit up in Vaness’s eyes. “You know me, do you? How well, would you say?”

“Well enough.”

“Right!” He clapped his hands, loud, and Dara flinched. The poor prince’s eyes darted from Zhen to Vaness, insistent, ready. Vaness paid him no mind. “You know me well enough to know how I fight. Not many do. Wouldn’t it be a shame if you told your precious Attadara…?”

Silence. Zhen’s smile died on his face, and yet he paraded it like a corpse. Like he would Vaness.

Dara’s voice cut through the air. “Tell me what?”

His heart stopped.

“Tell him, Ambassador Ankulat,” Vaness crowed, “or I will. Which mouth does he want to hear the truth from?”

“What truth?” An edge crept into Dara’s words.

“Shut up.” The command slipped from Zhen’s lips. Curt. Dara had never heard him curt.

Vaness laughed hard, his back hitting the throne. “Why should I? Thank you for taking such good care of my runt, but it’s time this game is won, don’t you think? You walked right into my palace, and right into check. Well, checkmate, lover.”

Sick to his stomach, Zhen leaped forward, axe drawn. Dara didn’t move, didn’t even flinch as Zhen aimed for Vaness’s head — clumsy, inelegant, obvious. Stupid. Vaness dodged easily, stepping into Zhen’s personal space like a madman. Reaching for his daggers, his new king’s hand grabbed his wrist, grip strong.

“Ah, ah, ah. I don’t think so.” Vaness’s free hand came up to Zhen’s chin, turning his face to Dara’s. Disgustingly intimate. “Don’t you think you owe your pretty little runt an explanation?”

Dara still stood, eyes flicking from Zhen’s to Vaness’s. He knew Zhen, they were meant for each other, and here Vaness was. Problematic.

“My dear Zhen,” Vaness purred, close enough that Zhen could smell his cologne. Expensive, Kadin, and old. “I never got the chance to give you my thanks.”

“For what?” Dara breathed, the words faint and raspy in his throat.

“For all of this. For being my guiding star, my arrow. My knight.”

Zhen swallowed. “You’re a traitor to your people — ”

“And what are you, then?” Vaness mused. “Taking little princes in under your wing, tearing their lives apart… did you tell him how his father begged for your mercy when you…” he paused, taking in Dara’s face with glee. “No? Well, I think you two need to talk. Guards!”

People swarmed from the shadows, hidden doors, all over the throne room. A few of them held Kaia and Azh, tied and gagged. Hatred burned in their eyes. Hands grabbed Dara and Zhen, too many to fight against. Vaness walked away, standing in the center of a moonbeam from the high, vaulted dome. Zhen would kill him. That was the only thought bouncing around in his head. He would kill him, parade his head around the Imperial Core, and burn his bones to ashes. Not even the Gods could put him back together.

“Show them to the Hag’s Forest. I don’t need the runt anymore, he’s outlived his usefulness — who would expect a little prince to survive months on the run? He’s dead already, anyway.”

Dara writhed against the hands, thoughts racing. Zhen’s heart ached for him, even as the prince spat venom at anyone who tried to come near. One of the guards holding him struck the back of his head, and he fell, limp and silent, into their arms. His name spilled from Zhen’s lips as he strained against the guards’ grip, and Vaness beamed at them.

“I won’t be seeing you again, now will I? Make sure they’re deep in the forest. And blindfold our dear Ambassador Ankulat.” Perched on his throne, he waggled his fingers at Zhen. “Bye-bye.”

A cloth covered Zhen’s eyes, and the world went black. Guards shoved him out of the door, and the six-hour march began.

Chapter Text

A sharp ache in his head woke Dara. Dimly, he remembered shouting. Zhen’s face, contorted with horror and worry — a new expression on the man — screaming his name. Guards holding them apart, Vaness laughing. The man laughed as he taunted him, dangling revelation above his head like Dara was a dog.

Groaning, he rubbed at his eyes and sat up. Hands immediately grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back down, but retreated when Dara thrashed, wriggling out of their grip with enough rage to set the suns alight. Curses left his lips, and he kicked hard, connecting with someone’s shin. A swear marked his assailant, Zhen’s voice. He kicked harder.

“Dara, please,” Zhen started, shielding himself from his blows. “You need to calm down.”

Blinking in the meager, dawn light, Dara let out a growl. “I need to get the fuck away from you. You killed my family.”

Something flashed in Zhen’s eyes, but he smothered it before Dara could get a good look. “I didn’t know what Vaness was planning. He asked me to procure items for him, and he ranted to me about whatever political theory he was interested in that week when he got drunk. That’s all, Dara. I didn’t hold the axe, nor did I weave the rope. That was Vaness’s doing.”

“He called you ‘lover’.”

Zhen sighed, a tired sound. “He called most staff at the palace ‘lover’. So I slept with him years ago, I wasn’t committed to anybody, and he was a decent lay. Do you genuinely believe what he said? He wants us to fight, to be at each other’s throats, my Dara — ”

Rising on wobbly legs, Dara ignored the way his head swam. “I’m not your anything.”

“Let me help you.”

Dara snatched his hands back, crossing them. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even fucking look at me.”

Zhen’s expression… stuttered. Faltered. Died on his face. With a soft, almost tender huff, he tugged Dara to his feet, ignoring the cry he let out. His grip was tight on Dara’s bicep, bordering on painful, and Dara let out a wordless shout. It didn’t convince him to let go. No, a glance Zhen’s way revealed grim determination.

“Dara, listen to me.”

Squirming, Dara’s fingers scrabbled on Zhen’s grip.

“You are my responsibility, and you are under my purview. I am not going to throw you away, simply because you had an outburst. That being said, this is no way to treat your master.”

“I am a fucking prince!”

Zhen slapped him across the face, hard. “You are my slave. Come to heel, and then we can have a calm, rational conversation. Until then, we will make our way out of this damnable forest, and hopefully, by the time we get out, Azh, Kaia, and Rada won’t have assumed that we’re dead. Is that understood?”

“You slapped me…” Dara’s voice came out small. His heart raced.

Searching Zhen’s face for a trace of the sympathy he had gotten so used to, the gentleness with which he touched him, Dara found nothing. A chill trickled down his spine. Here was Master Zhen, then, the man who ran his household with an iron fist, the man who expected obedience, who had trained Darran. Would Dara end up like that? Quivering under his master’s will?

“You weren’t listening.” Zhen’s words were cool. Calm. “Let me take care of you, Dara. I would hate to punish you. We can make it out of these woods, and then we can have as long a conversation about what happened with Vaness as you want, but now? We need to survive. Is that understood?”

He nodded shallowly. “Let go of me. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Let go of me. Please, Master Zhen.”

He did. With one of those familiar smiles, Zhen looked into the sky, at the rising sun, and started off in a direction. Dara kept up. No sense in getting lost. He’d die out here alone, and what good would that do for him — what good would dying of starvation or thirst help anything? Vaness would be on the throne, and the man Dara had… been seeing was a part of the plan to kill his family.

Silently, tears ran down his cheeks, no matter his will for them to stop. Gods, he wanted them to stop, but they rolled down his face, dropping down his chin onto the forest floor. His boots felt like leaden weights on his feet, but he urged himself to motion anyway. Zhen led the way, walking confidently, stopping now and then to look into the sky, or at the forest around them. With a weak sniffle, Dara tried not to fall to his knees, bawling his eyes out. Where did they put the corpses of his family? Did they have a proper burial? Would Zhen end up killing him? Was this how his life finished?

“Is there something wrong?” Zhen cut into his thoughts, looking back at Dara.

Dara bit his lip. Said nothing.

“Dara.” It was a warning.

“I just miss my family.”

The corners of Zhen’s lips drooped. “I can understand that. There are times in which I miss my family, too. They died during the Great Northern Famine.”

Looking at his feet, Dara tuned out the sympathy threatening to build up in his heart. Zhen had betrayed him — had sold his family out to Vaness. He was the reason they were trudging through the Hag’s Forest, hoping that some spell-crazed wild animal would storm across their path and rip them to shreds. His sisters would have called him pathetic, the way he pleaded with the gods to halt his suffering.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Master Zhen” was what he muttered out instead. Nothing if not polite.

Zhen had slapped him. Across the face. At least he hadn’t done worse. What next? Would his master ask him to drop trow in the forest and bend over a log? Would he even ask Dara if he wanted sex anymore, now that the cat was out of the bag?

Taking a shaky breath in, Dara focused on the path ahead of him, stepped over logs and undergrowth, marching forward. For his part, Zhen attempted to strike up a conversation.

“They led us in here for six hours, but they led us in circles. It’s a common trick.”

Dara’s mouth mumbled out, “So how do you know where we’re going? Master Zhen.”

“The sun, my dear Dara. The Hag’s Forest is located west of the Imperial Core, so once we reach civilization, I can lead us back to camp. I doubt they would have found us by now, Rada has always been good at keeping a home base safe.”

Dara kicked a rock into a thicket, and flinched when a squirrel dashed off. “Why is it called the Hag’s Forest anyway? Witches aren’t real.”

The question was more for himself than anyone else, but Zhen answered still. “There was a legend years ago about an elderly witch who made her home here. She turned the forest into her home, and the old Gods within to her cause. The forest spread and nearly overtook the Imperial Core, and the queen at the time fought her back into this area. It remains untouched, except for the occasional sacrifice. Surely, your tutors taught you this.”

“I never paid attention.” He couldn’t help his misery. “No need for a useless prince like me. I thought the good times would never end — I didn’t even realize they were the good times.”

“Common in royal broods,” Zhen hummed, “many noble families hardly realize how easy they have it, don’t they? I’m sure you can think of a few Kadin families who could stand to be brought down a peg or two.”

“What are you going to do to them, then?”

Zhen turned, and Dara regretted his words immediately. His master’s expression was unreadable, but he projected amusement. It was forced.

“Me? I don’t need to do anything to them — how could I? I am simply an ambassador, nothing more, and an ambassador likely to be stationed to a new country sooner or later to boot. Perhaps, if I am lucky, they will send me off to the Northern Archipelago, over the pole. Would you like to see the world with me?”

Dara kept silent. Mercifully, a rustling in the bushes distracted Zhen before his hand was forced to respond. A familiar woman peeked out from a bush, and stood seeing that it was only Zhen and Dara. Kaia. Her gaze was unreadable when she met Dara’s eye, but evidently, she hadn’t died yet. Good. She’d managed to keep hold of her prosthetic, at that.

Suitably distracted, Zhen’s face broke into a wide smile. He walked right up to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Kaia, glad they didn’t kill you.”

“So am I,” she huffed, stepping out of the bush. “Here I thought they had come back to finish the job. You know the way out, don’t you?”

His laugh nearly genuine, Zhen helped her. “I found them fun, though I never imagined I would need them in my day-to-day life. The city is that way, but we broke for camp north of it. Once we find the outskirts — and we would want to head in a north-easterly direction — we should be able to find Rada. Was Azh with you?”

She nodded. “He went east, too. Care to take the lead? My eyes aren’t what they used to be, and Azh was our tracker. If anyone can find his footsteps, it’s you.”

“Flatterer,” and yet, Zhen puffed himself up, an easy smile on his face, “You came from that-a-ways?”

Another nod, and they were off once more. Zhen led, as natural for him as breathing, and Kaia hung back with Dara. Her face was inscrutable, however much Dara tried to make sense of it, and she kept a knife in her hand, bow on her back. Belatedly, Dara realized all his weapons were still on his person — had Vaness expected them to kill each other? Two birds, one stone. Without his weapons, Dara would have probably ended up strangled with Zhen’s own hands, should he have attacked his master. Even he knew what happened to unruly slaves.

Kaia glanced his way, brows knitted together. Looking him up and down, she let out a snort. Nearly a laugh.

Dara frowned. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Aside from some dirt? No.” Her tone was cool, controlled. Everything Dara was not. Had never been.

“Then why are you staring?”

“I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

Sending his gaze skyward, he wished the gods would strike him down. “So am I. Doesn’t mean I have to say it.”

She snorted once more, a corner of her lips quirking up into a wry smile. When she spoke, her voice was low enough for just Dara to hear. “I thought you would have tried to gut him by now. I would have. And then, I would have died an angry death. Good work holding yourself in check.”

“He doesn’t make it easy,” Dara found himself muttering.

“That, he does not.” Her smile widened. “His ego is… he’s gotten better at remembering that other people exist. I was shocked when he and Rada shacked up.”

Bait. Something to dangle in front of Dara’s face to forget his rage. “Did you know? What he did?”

The smile died on Kaia’s face. She said nothing. Lies of omission were perfectly fine, of course, but a direct falsehood? Then they clammed up. Funny. Dara would have done the same thing, in their shoes. Then again, was Dara really important enough to avoid lying to? He was a slave, their friend’s, yes, but a slave nonetheless. Who cared what he thought?

“Ah,” Zhen piped up from the front, “I believe I found our Azh.”

Kaia and Dara approached, looking over a small ledge to find a fuming Azh, clutching his swollen ankle. Oh, joy.

“I’ll carry him,” Dara found himself saying, voice harder than necessary.

People frowned his way, but he was already sliding down the small cliff, controlled, just like he had as a child. He’d show them. Dara was someone to be reckoned with, regardless of if he belonged to someone or not. It would do good for Zhen to watch his fucking back. His gaze said that much when he met his master’s eyes from the bottom of the cliff, closed off and hard. The old Dara was gone and dead, just like the rest of his family.

Chapter Text

They walked to camp in a foul mood. Dara carried Azh on his back and, while his breathing had gotten ever heavier, he refused anyone’s help. For his part, Azh kept quiet, aside from when the occasional jostle of his ankle drew a sharp inhale from him. Poor thing. His brow was slick with sweat, and his skin had lost its color, replaced by a sickly pallor. Zhen tried to lead them through the thicket faster.

The sun sank to the horizon by the time they made it to camp. Darran and Rada had kept the fire going, and along with the servants they had brought, they made dinner. Fragrant, clean laundry hung on lines, and tents had been set up. As he made his way through the camp, greeting the meager force they had dragged out into the Kadin boonies, no one spoke. A few offered him tense, pursed smiles, but the rest stared openly at the filthy, bruised party emerging from the forest.

Rada rushed forward the moment he saw Azh, taking him from Dara’s arms with a quiet murmur. Zhen assumed it to be gratitude. Burden taken, Dara rushed off, stomping, to the fire, grabbing a bowl of food from one of Rada’s servants. Kaia rested a hand on Zhen’s shoulder before following, sitting a fair distance away.

With a sigh, Zhen stretched out his arms, finding his tent. Darran had taken care of everything, even going as far as leaving freshly cleaned clothes out for him to change into. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Azh and Rada together, by the fire across from Dara, Rada dressing his friend’s wound and treating him with whatever herbs they had. Running a hand through his messy hair, Zhen redid his ponytail, centered himself, and walked over.

Azh’s eyes went round as Zhen approached, and he wriggled out of Rada’s grip. The larger man grabbed him, muttering for him to hold still — it was so unlike him to squirm while getting medical treatment — but when Azh let out a quiet whimper, looking past Zhen’s head to something off to the left, Rada let out a sigh.

Though Zhen glanced back, all he could see was forest. “Is there something wrong, Azh?”

The man trembled, lips parted, mouth failing to make words. To even make syllables. He clawed at Rada, hard enough to leave little red lines on his arms, kicking out with his good leg. He scraped himself back, unafraid to use the ankle Rada had just bandaged up, much to Rada’s cry of frustration.

“Azh, what do you see?”

Unable to tear his eyes away, he made the sign of his faith, fishing a protective amulet from inside his robes. “We’re all going to die.”

With a sigh, Rada scooped him up, placing the lean, thin man into his lap. Though he squirmed, Rada held him fast, rubbed his back. Slowly, Azh settled into stillness, breathing fast.

Turning to Zhen, Rada tried for a caring smile. The frustration bled into it. “I’m sorry, Zhen, the only painkiller we could find was frightroot. His ankle is broken.”

“Even so, frightroot wouldn’t have this severe a reaction,” Zhen muttered, crouching down to offer Azh a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be alright, no one is going to die, save Vaness. You will be just fine, I promise.”

Azh paled. His eyes remained fixed at a point beyond Zhen, and his eyes welled up with tears. Really, Zhen hadn’t seen him like this since their first night together, the first time they broke to sleep after being sent to the front lines, investigating Aritia’s spy problem. Azh had cried silently, terrified of the bullets whizzing past his head, of the death and destruction all around him, but hadn’t made a sound, not even as he curled up into Zhen’s bed, face pressed up against his chest, body wracked with sobs.

Voice barely a whisper, Azh murmured, “He killed the jester.”

The smile froze on Zhen’s face. “I’m sorry?”

“He follows you,” Azh managed out, trying and failing to break free of Rada’s grip. “He wants to say something? I don’t… I’m going to die. And so is Kaia and Rada and…”

Squeezing him tight, Rada rested his chin atop Azh’s head. “You’re going to be fine. It’s just the frightroot, we gave you too much by accident. You’re going to be alright, Azh, just breathe. Why don’t we breathe together?”

Azh couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spot behind Zhen, and as Rada breathed, nice and slow, he refused to comply. Even so, he steadied himself in the larger man’s arms. A distant part of Zhen stabbed at his heart; how long had it taken Rada to replace him with Azh? How long had those two been so close? Would they even want him around after this, messing up their dynamic?

Planting a soft, gentle look on his face, Zhen knelt before Azh, reaching out. The man cringed away. He tried for a quiet, calming voice — frightroot was such a pain to deal with.

“It’s going to be alright. I will protect you, Rada, and Kaia.” He smiled, resting his hand on the ground between them. “You know me, Azh. You know I would rather cut off my own hand than harm you — we’re brothers of war, and I want nothing more than your safety. In the future, do you want us to give you something other than frightroot? We have stronger painkillers, but they would leave you unable to defend yourself. Then again, you have Rada will keep you safe, too.”

Azh nodded shakily. “Something stronger, yes. I… apologize. I don’t mean to scare you.”

A lie, but he didn’t care.

“You didn’t scare anyone.” Zhen reached out again, and this time, Azh didn’t flinch. “Why don’t we have a chat, Rada, could you please ask Dara to go to my tent so Darran can take care of him? I would like for him to rest, he has had as long a day as the rest of us.”

Though he hesitated, common sense won out. Rada gave Azh a squeeze, reassuring.

“I’ll be back soon.” He scooped Azh out of his lap, sympathetic to his whimpered protests, and rested a hand on his head. “I’ll be back soon. You’re safe with Zhen. Tonight, if you would like, you can sleep with me, in my bedroll. Does that sound nice?”

Nodding once more, Azh bit his lip. “Yes, that sounds nice.”

Rada beamed, and went off to hunt down Dara. As he left, Zhen caught Darran’s eye. The butler had been stoking the fire, helping to cook and distribute meals, dressed in a comfortable tunic and carrying a knife at his hip. Funny, did Darran even know how to wield it? He had been a fresh-faced adult when he had entered his new role as slave to his former master, and a shattered husk when he had taken up the mantle of Zhen’s butler. One never knew what servants were capable of.

“Darran,” Zhen’s voice was steady, but carried, “please wash Dara. He’s filthy.”

Bowing his head, Darran was a hair too slow to hide his facial expression. Something burned and seethed inside him at the mention of Dara, eagerness chipping at the edges to reveal frustration and scorn. Zhen kept his eyes on Darran’s, and as the man straightened once more, off to accept Rada’s help, Zhen turned his attention back to Azh. The man stared at him.

As Zhen lifted an eyebrow, he spoke, just for Zhen’s ears. “You’re good at that.”

“Good at what? I simply gave my butler an order.”

Those pale yellow eyes scanned his before flicking down to the ground. “You read people like books.”

Sitting down, he crossed his legs, resting his hands on his knees. Open. “That skill has benefited us time and time again. I prefer it to being ignorant.”

Azh was quiet for a moment, staring at the dirt. “It makes me wonder how you really feel.”

“About what?”

“About all this. About Dara, us, Vaness… you have never been the type to let sleeping dogs lie, and I wonder what your plan is for getting out of this mess. You never told Dara — ”

Zhen cut him off. “I was going to. Vaness beat me to it. Is that all?”

With a quick glance, Azh nodded. The courage left him. “I can wait for Rada on my own. Good luck with your slave, and with your jester.”

Sighing, Zhen rose, dusting himself off. Azh’s eyes tracked him as he left, boring into his back. He picked up a bowl of soup, eating on his own, as the camp around him settled. Darran cleaned Dara. A couple of servants, part of Rada’s household, chatted with him about nothing in particular, their words probing and curious. Indelicate. He tolerated it, wondering what they must have heard about him from their master. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Rada grab Azh a meal, helping him to the fire so they could warm up together.

Rada’s servants excused themselves to help, and Darran circled the fire like a shark. His sleeves clung to his wrists, damp. He glanced at Zhen now and then, but Zhen stood up abruptly, and headed back to his tent, handing his empty bowl to Darran. The butler stood attentive for his next command, his expression veiled.

“Darran, run another bath, please. I will talk to the princeling, and then I want to wash.” He gestured to his body, boots caked with mud and burrs clinging to his pants. “Would you be a dear and take care of my clothes? These boots will be necessary tomorrow. We’re packing up camp first thing in the morning.”

With a nod, Darran lit up. “Of course, Master Zhen. Consider it done.”

“Good.”

Dismissing the servant, he entered his tent. Dara was awake, staring blankly at the entrance. He didn’t react as his master entered, his breathing level, hands bunched up fists in the blanket. Freshly cleaned, he smelled of orange blossoms and sandalwood, and his bedclothes lay soft against his skin. Even the bedroll was fresh, Darran taking their absence to take care of as much laundry as he could. And yet, he didn’t stir.

“Evening, princeling,” Zhen offered with a smile. “Don’t you feel that much better after a bath?”

“I can bathe myself. You don’t need to send Darran after me,” he muttered, rolling over.

He let his smile fade. “Good, then I won’t. Remember your place. I will warn you once, I do not tolerate rudeness.”

The prince remained silent. Insolent. Biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper, Zhen tugged his own boots off, washed his hands in the cooling basin of water Darran had left for him, and turned his attention back to Dara. It had been a long day for everyone involved, but Zhen couldn’t let this level of misbehavior slide. Dara had grown complacent, had found a crack in him to take root in, and Zhen simply would not abide that.

“You are expected to serve,” his voice came low. Dangerous. “To be pleased when you see your master.”

Dara’s reply was flippant. “You haven’t given me anything to be pleased about.”

Zhen’s blood simmered. Bubbled. Boiled over. He didn’t think when he ripped the blankets off of his princeling, nor did he think when he grabbed the man by his collar, grip only tightening when he tried to squirm away. Those amber eyes flashed fear, and the only thought in Zhen’s head was his words, echoing back. Nothing to be pleased about? He wasn’t dead like the rest of his family. That was enough to fall to his knees, extolling Zhen’s every virtue.

“Wait, wait!” Dara cried out as Zhen threw him over his lap. “We can talk, I love to talk! Anything you want!”

“I have little to say to you.” He hardly recognized his own voice.

A small whimper left Dara’s lips. “I’m sorry, Master Zhen? Please, don’t do this.”

“I will let you grovel after your punishment.” He held his prince’s shoulders, down with an arm, shoving his pants down. “Maybe then, I won’t have you sleep outside and naked.”

Without stopping to let him respond, Zhen slapped Dara’s ass hard enough the prince yelped.

“Count.”

“O-one.”

He rewarded him with another slap. How had he not thought to pack a paddle? Dara had behaved, but one could never be sure with unbroken slaves — Zhen had been spoiled long enough with Darran’s good behavior, and now Dara would understand his place. Soon enough, his precious voice twisted with pain and tears, and still he counted. Good. So even a willful thing like him could learn. Zhen could be quite the teacher.

A sniffle from Dara bid him to slow his hand at the twentieth smack. Resting his palm on Dara’s freshly ruddy skin, Zhen looked down at him coolly. “Is there something you would like to say?”

“I’m sorry, Master Zhen,” his words dripped with misery, “I won’t be rude again.”

Fondly, he gave Dara’s ass a squeeze, ignoring the hiss the princeling let out. “I have given you so much, my Dara. You aren’t dead, you have good food and a warm bed to sleep in, you have a home to come back to. Never mind all that I have done to help restore you to your throne.”

Dara remained silent, but the tears flowed faster. They dripped down his chin, leaving little wet spots on the floor.

“It hurt my heart to hear your cruelty,” Zhen traced the curve of his ass with light fingers. “Would you rather I have left you with the rest of your family?”

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Dara let his head drop. His body shook with the force of his sobs, and his skin had grown mottled with bruises. Perhaps Zhen had been a tad too harsh. Then again, Dara needed to learn his lessons, and if his master never raised a hand to him, how would he know what was truly unacceptable behavior? If not for Vaness, this wouldn’t have happened. No one would have put these stupid, useless ideas into his mind, if not for that stupid king, and they would have been happy.

Scooping him up into his arms, Zhen wiped his tears away with steady thumbs, pressing his lips to the top of Dara’s head.

“You are forgiven, my Dara. Now, let’s get some rest.”

Chapter Text

He was in his bed, lounging on the innumerable pillows and soft blankets, stripped down to his small clothes. Dara’s stomach was full, his chambers warm, and his home safe and secure. Not a worry in his head. All was well. He was Prince Atadara, heir to a comfortable life in the palace. Never-ending comfort marked his life, food when he wanted it, sleep when he laid his head down, sex whenever the mood struck him…

And lo, how the mood had struck him. A courtesan — maybe his name was Artur — had batted his eyes at him, and what lovely eyes they were. Bright and brown like melted chocolate, with a  charming smile. He held Dara’s attention, and the prince had invited him back to his rooms with his own smile and a crooked finger.

He had been met with gentle, exploring fingers as soon as the door closed. Artur ran a reverent touch across Dara’s shoulders, in awe that someone like him could be given permission to touch a prince. With hooded eyes, Dara took Artur’s face in his hands, running his thumbs over his cheeks, rough with facial hair. What a figure Artur cut, strong and broad-shouldered, with a close-cut beard to match. Rugged. A courtesan who had made it from the furthermost lands of Kadras all the way to the palace.

Daring as ever, Dara pressed his lips to Artur’s. They were soft, warm. The courtesan let out a gasp, quiet and breathy, and carefully wrapped his arms around Dara’s waist. How bold, Dara smiled into the kiss, to touch a prince with such calloused, hard working hands. Perhaps he could reward him for that, let him touch more, and more. Dara deserved it — he had worked so hard to throw a party to honor the new delegation from Aritia.

And what a nice party it was. The drinks flowed, people danced, and his eldest sister complimented him on the effort he had put into it. His mother, characteristically, ignored him as she greeted the new ambassadors, diplomats, and their entourages. While a stab of jealousy had run through him, hard and piercing, he had planted a smile on his face, shook hands, and made small talk. And then, he met Artur, his fling of the summer. No sense in building up a long-term relationship with the courtesans, they were good for a fuck or three, and then they were off, their time at the palace over.

Artur’s lips were insistent, bringing Dara back from idle thought. He kissed him like he needed his touch to breathe, and those strong, well-muscled arms hoisted the slender prince into the air, onto his hips. Dara noted the courtesan’s member, pressing into his thigh through their clothing. His own, too, was at attention, ready for what was to come.

His courtesan laid him in his bed, reverent as he slowly took off Dara’s shoes, hands cupping the sole of his foot and lips trailing up his ankle. Tugging off his pants, Dara let a smile cross his face as Artur kissed up his calf, to his thigh. Gently, he sucked spots into Dara’s fair skin, his hands a caress as he set Dara’s legs on his shoulders. So skilled, Dara had to note, and so calm, courteous. He couldn’t help the little giggle falling from his lips as he tossed his head back, drinking in the pleasure of the worship.

Gods, it felt good. Sighing into the touch, he slid his eyes closed, and the laces on his breeches came undone under gentle, insistent fingers. When he felt the courtesan’s breath on him, in that most intimate area, he licked his lips, eager and ready. A prince like him need not worry about being needy — however unbecoming it was to suck him off, to leave him wanting was tantamount to treason. He was the body of the nation, royal blood in his veins. Nothing would ever change that.

Artur traced the divots of his hips, as if working up the courage, and pressed a kiss to the base of his shaft. Sucking a breath in through his teeth, Dara let his mouth drop open in a gasp as those hot, soft lips trailed up his member, culminating in a slow, languid lick across his head. Though he wanted to call Artur’s name, to insist that he treat him to a truly entertaining night, nothing came out but low moans and gasps. Well, no shame in doing too good a job, it wasn’t as if Dara had anywhere to be later tonight. Maybe he could even fuck Artur, if the courtesan would lower himself enough for that.

His hand found Artur’s hair, but before he could grab, the courtesan pinned his wrist to the bed, a sly look on his lips. Without a word, he went back to laving kisses onto Dara’s member, bringing it to maddening hardness. He would burst if he didn’t have someone’s mouth on him soon, and Artur knew that. Impossible not to, given his moans and cries.

As Dara wished, Artur did. Kisses became licks, and licks turned to mouthing as Artur gasped out his own pleasure. Sucking a prince’s cock was something to remember, even if the prince was a slut. A kindness few people of Artur’s status were afforded. It brought a smile to Dara’s face, the way the courtesan pressed himself against the bed, humping sheets and pillows with Dara’s scent on them.

“Fuck,” the curse slipped past Dara’s lips. “Oh, gods.”

Artur let out a purr, his voice hauntingly familiar. Where had Dara heard it before? Surely, not at court — he was a fresh-faced courtesan, and the chances of running into him as part of an entourage, or while he had applied at the palace were slim to none. So… why did his voice send equal parts shivers and chills up his spine?

The thought only grew into a fixation as Artur took him down. His mind twisted and scoured every ounce of their interactions. Nothing but a trailing sense of forgotten knowledge followed him. He knew this man. He knew this touch, this mouth, this pleasure, had he fucked Artur already? But looking closer, thinking deeper, he couldn’t remember Artur’s face. Only the lapping of that expert tongue, and the moans it drew out of him came to Dara’s mind.

Awareness crept into Dara’s fantasy, a familiar mouth where there should have been a stranger’s, hands too daring on his precious skin, a chill when there should have been none. Blearily, he blinked his eyes open, willing them to focus on the dim ceiling above him. No, not a ceiling, a tent. His muscles twitched as he came closer, but a look down between his legs made him flinch back.

“Master Zhen?” his voice was ragged from sleep.

Those eyes, dark and clever, met his. The corners crinkled, and steady hands held him still — held him down — as his master lapped at his length, taking him down to the hilt. Dara turned his gaze skyward, ignoring the flush in his cheeks as his body responded, brought him closer and closer until… with a whimper, he allowed himself to spill over, tensing up, and going limp against the bedroll. His stomach hurt.

Lapping him clean, his master propped himself up on his elbows, watching Dara’s expression with a smile. “There you go.”

Dara didn’t want to meet his eye, gaze fixed on the center of the tent, on the moonlight filtering through the cloth. Distantly, he heard his mouth say, “Thank you, Master Zhen.”

“Of course, my Dara.” His name in Zhen’s mouth didn’t sound like a cool summer breeze anymore. It was winter wind. “What were you dreaming of?”

“Home.”

Zhen beamed, rubbing Dara’s thigh with his thumb. “I miss home as well, our nice, warm bed, hot food whenever we want it, and the comforts of the study. Don’t you worry, we will be back soon enough. Or we can find a new home. Anywhere you are is enough for me, my Dara.”

He didn’t correct him. “Thank you, Master Zhen.”

Nausea bubbled up in his throat. What would his family think, seeing him like this? What must Vaness have thought, to see Dara controlled so utterly, so easily, with a wave of his master’s hand? No one would think twice about an Aritian and his bed toy, especially if that toy had a pretty face. At least Zhen hadn’t collared him. Yet.

“Penny for your thoughts, princeling?” Zhen’s voice cut through his worrying. “Are you still angry with me?”

Yes. “No, I’m not.”

“Then what is it?”

Willing his heart to slow, Dara cast his gaze to his master. “May I ask a favor, Master Zhen? A small one.”

He broke into a beam. “Of course, my princeling, anything you like shall be yours.”

“I would prefer not to be collared. I understand it’s a common practice in Aritia, but I don’t want to be treated like a pet. This isn’t my place but…” he swallowed his emotions, projecting a small smile onto his face, “I would like the choice to love you, rather than be forced to.”

Zhen was quiet for a moment, and when Dara dared to look, those black eyes were round and wide. Shocked. “That can be arranged, dear. I wasn’t aware you felt that way.”

Mouth shut, Dara scanned his master’s face for a trace of deception, for a hint that he knew what he was doing. Nothing. Either Zhen should have been an actor, or he believed him. That Dara loved him. The thought brought a complicated snarl of feelings up into Dara’s ribcage, sickening and desiring in equal parts. Gods, how could he still want Zhen to love him, after everything the man had done? How could he betray his family like this?

“Why did you…” he trailed off, words small in his mouth. He could barely taste them.

Resting his cheek on Dara’s thigh, Zhen looked at him like Dara had set the stars alight. “You are mine, and I want to show you my affection, princeling.”

His. The word seized Dara’s heart, held his thoughts captive, laid siege to his mind. “Yours.”

It had slipped out of him, affect flat enough to hide his swirling thoughts.

Zhen smiled again, still running his fingers over Dara’s skin. Goosebumps trailed in his wake. “I will make sure no one will ever hurt you again, my Dara, I will take such good care of you. I have had an eternity to plan how, and I promise you, all will be well.”

Though Dara held his tongue, some of his doubt must have filtered through.

Rising suddenly, like a teenager with a new lover, Zhen leaned over Dara, those almond-shaped eyes wide and eager. They searched him for something, piercing. For a moment, his mind swore they would see right through him to his fears, his thoughts, his alarm, but their corners crinkled, and Zhen brought a hand to his cheek, stroking Dara’s cheekbone with a gentle thumb. Always so gentle, except when Dara misbehaved.

“I will protect you, my Dara.” He had gone through so much to get him, hadn’t he? “You mean everything to me. Vaness threatened to take you away from me, and for that, I will destroy him.”

Frighteningly serious, Zhen stared at Dara. Had he forgotten himself, lost in the heady haze of lust and fatigue, or was this a way to control Dara still, cementing in his mind that Zhen was his master, completely and absolutely? Then again, he hadn’t been so skilled with Vaness. Wrong-footed, he had made mistake after mistake. Funny, how that worked.

Planting a smile on his face, as genuine as he could make it, Dara leaning in, pressing their lips together. He bit back the thoughts in his mind, screaming at him to pull back, to slap Zhen’s hand away, to wriggle out from under him and… what? What else could he do? His master was stronger than him, oversaw the camp, had everyone on his side, and all Dara’s power came from being his master’s… pet.

Zhen pulled back first, an easy grin on his lips. Overjoyed. Dara could smell the hint of alcohol on his breath. Ah, so that was it.

“Rest, darling, and I will make tomorrow easier for you. I swear.”

Pets could bite, the thought echoed in Dara’s mind as he bedded down, allowing his master to curl up to him, slotting Dara’s back against his chest. Pets could be quite dangerous indeed.

Chapter Text

Under Zhen’s orders, they packed up the camp by dawn’s light. Rations distributed to groggy, growling stomachs, they packed into their carriages, and took off, leaving only dead embers and char. Sitting across from a drowsy Dara, Zhen allowed himself to breathe once more — one couldn’t know when their camp had been spotted, and the executioner’s axe tickled the nape of his neck. Vaness toyed with them like a cat with a mouse. His stomach churned. He hadn’t eaten.

Tired amber eyes spared glances his way now and then, but he kept his face turned to the window, watching the sun slowly rise. His dreams had been turbulent. Azh’s words echoed in his mind, refused to let sleeping dogs lie. So what if he had seen that old jester? That didn’t mean he needed to lay awake at night, tossing and turning, head filled with visions from the past.

As they rattled along the road, Zhen spotted a half-eaten deer carcass, entrails strewn about. The reek of death and old blood wafted in through the window, catching in the back of his throat. He fought down a gag. It reminded him too much of his childhood, the hollow rumbling stomachs and listless, exhausted bodies of his village, laying themselves down to sleep and praying they would wake up the next day. On one occasion, he heard his mother whispering her prayers, begging the Gods to let him pass on in his sleep, spare him another day of aching hunger.

Zhen didn’t like death.

The smell didn’t abate. Growing stronger, he gazed down the road, expecting a bigger carcass, but saw nothing. Across from him, staring out of his own window, Dara seemed unbothered. Not even the suns shone down on them, the clouds thick and dark, dunking them into gloom. Something in the trees caught his eye, a scrap of colorful cloth. It fluttered in the wind, catching the sunlight.

His blood chilled. Eyes heavy and unfocused, he ignored his heart racing in his chest. Dara didn’t react, not even as the stench of death and decay filled the carriage. Nothing else smelled like the grave here, deep in the woods. And yet, Zhen couldn’t shake the heaviness on his shoulders, his ears popping like they were high in the mountains. A glance into the carriage showed it darker than before, as if they were traveling through a glade, without clear skies and the first sun rising to meet them.

Zhen’s heart nearly stopped when his eyes landed on Dara. Where Dara had been.

Dressed in his uniform, belled hat on the seat next to him, Oratio smiled at him. In the flesh. His short, black hair hung in his eyes, hollow and glimmering like embers, a dark, orange light bubbling up from within his pupils. His pale skin was streaked with dirt and cuts. A thin, bruised line circled his neck. Little drops of blood fell to the carriage floor from his fingertips. The only sound in Zhen’s ears.

He must have paled. Muttering out a prayer, his lips moved without his say-so. The Divine Ail couldn’t hear him, not with this… thing here, watching him. Something in his own belly spasmed, quickly suppressed by chilling nausea. His breath came quickly, eyes on the thing in front of him. It wasn’t Oratio — it couldn’t have been. Oratio… he loved to be seen as a gentle, caring man. Easily swayed, but gentle enough that no one kept him away from the children.

The thing before him smiled, and thick, red blood dribbled down to the floor. It pooled, inching towards Zhen’s boots.

Hello, Ambassador.

He felt its words in his mind. Gritting his teeth together hard enough they threatened to break, Zhen pressed himself against the carriage wall.

“You’re not here,” the whisper slipped out of him, heart beating so hard it might stop entirely.

I am. I can tell a joke about it too. I can juggle, spin plates. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Hands gripping his seat firmly, he kept his eyes on the creature. Said nothing. This was how he died, by a hungry ghost devouring his soul. Nothing would be left, not even a memory of who he was. His life? All for naught.

No. He hadn’t done anything to spawn a hungry ghost. A trick of the light, that was all this was, his mind told him. It did little to quell the panic.

This was it. He was going to be eaten, and the Gods would laugh and laugh at the foolish ambassador who thought he could have a pleasant life. This creature wearing Oratio’s face would take his form, and devour his household, too. 

It rose, stumbling forward in the swaying carriage. One ankle had been twisted around. You pray to your Gods, but I doubt they like you very much. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I…

Its hand shot out, and Zhen let out a tight shriek, screwing his eyes shut. Nothing. Was that all there was going to be? Was he doomed to nothingness, darkness clouding his very being. He would watch from inside this thing as it devoured everyone he had ever cared for. Absence. Nothing. Soundless.

“Master Zhen?” Dara’s voice cut through it all.

Coming back to himself, Zhen found that he had curled up, arms protecting his face. He didn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed, his heart racing fast enough to burst. Dara peered at him, frustration ebbing, replaced with concern and confusion. Yes. He was fine. No ghosts, no spirits, no stray maledictions. He was alright, and he needed to be present for his precious Dara. Limbs trembling, he smothered his terror and put himself into order, hands tight on his knees to hide their shaking.

“Dara, hello.” His voice didn’t sound like him. It came young. Childish.

“What happened?”

Offering him a false smile, Zhen got himself back under control. “Nothing. Why don’t you get some rest? We have a while to go yet.”

Dara’s brows drew together. “What I saw wasn’t nothing. Did you see something?”

“A memory from the past.” His prince was happier not knowing.

Though Dara asked more questions, Zhen clamped his mouth shut. He had said too much already. Forcing his eyes out of the window, he turned his back to his prince, his heart thumping. Dara could almost certainly hear it, echoing in the cramped carriage. Would this be what undid him? Was this a sign? A portent? The restless dead could be held at bay by the Divine Ail, and so long as he had pretty, blessed Dara with him, he would be safe. He had to believe it.

They rode into the village after silence had taken root. As much as he loved his Dara, escaping his watchful gaze was the first thing on Zhen’s mind. His prince had a keen eye, for someone who spent the bulk of his day entertaining himself with books or combat practice. Dara would have been a good noble — a good king once Zhen placed him on the throne.

Around them, the woods broke into a clearing, and the road turned from dirt to cobblestones, lined with small buildings. A general store there, the tiniest inn Zhen had ever seen here, and houses peppered the clearing. Few were marked, though the inhabitants were likely unused to travelers. Who else knew about this little island of habitation in the sprawling Hag’s Forest?

As they rolled to a stop outside the inn, Zhen hopped out of the carriage. His legs sure under him, he turned his face up to the sunlight, breathing the fresh air deep. Oh, he had missed this, the fragrance of the woods, the warmth of late summer, the feel of packed earth under his boots. It wasn’t home, but it was familiar. With any luck, he would see someone he knew here; the villages out in the forest never changed much, not even when an usurper made it to the throne.

It was beautiful, just as it always was. No voices carried to them as they arrived in the town square, only the idle chatter of his own people. She emerged from one of the buildings — the apothecary — old as the ground they walked on. White hair, deceptively dexterous hands, and heavy wrinkles. The oracle’s eyes, dark as the night sky, traced their faces, carefully neutral.

The oracle let out a low hiss when her eyes landed on his, lips twisting into a grimace. “You.”

She sounded as she did all those years ago, like a creaking door in a settling house. An old hag in her forest — who was to say she didn’t grow the trees up around her? Building up the town out of spellwork, the people out of clay and mud. No one spoke here, no chitter chatter filled the streets, no goats bleated, horses neighed. Not even the birds sang.

“Lady Arana,” Zhen bowed low, a slick smile on his face. “It is a pleasure to see you again. I hope time has treated you well.”

Spitting on the ground, she muttered a ward. “You come here replete with new ghosts. What do you want from me, Ankulat?”

“Please, just Zhen is fine.”

“Cut to the chase. You’re burning daylight.”

Straightening, he raised an eyebrow. “Lady Arana, why don’t we head to your clinic, and we can have a nice, long conversation about this. I fear this is not for idle ears.”

“Idle ears are for corn and children. We have none about us today.” She folded her arms. “What is your issue, and who is this? Pretty thing, blessed by the Goddess with such golden eyes.”

She strode forward without fear, taking Dara’s chin in her gnarled hand. Though he started away, a tut from her bid him to hold still, meeting her dark eyes with his own fiery amber. Turning his face this way and that, she furrowed her brow, glancing occasionally from Dara to Zhen and back again. For his part, Dara seemed to calm some, regaining control of himself. Befitting of a prince, he kept his back straight and his expression as placid as he could.

“Now, now, now,” muttered the oracle, concern hidden in her voice. “Where did you come from? A divine kiss on your brow, but you’re traveling with… him.”

Dara blinked, his eyebrows drawing together. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“The Goddess’s protection,” she hummed, reedy, “so old it might as well have been given at birth. How did I miss this? Who are you, little thing? Where did he find you?”

Before Dara could respond, Zhen cut in, “In the palace dungeons. I’m sure you can extrapolate the rest of his story.”

Her eyes went wide. “One of the nobles?”

“Aim higher.”

Letting Dara go, she backed away, eyes fixed on him. “The Divine Ail does not frequently meddle with mortals. Those blessed by her are not born to leaders. She weaves, but…” and then, to Dara, “Boy, have you met a beggar knight?”

Dara’s mouth set into a strange line. “I have. She said her name was Wrath.”

“Her godname, you mean,” the oracle corrected. “Oh, this is the birth of a new era. You will find your Wrath at the tavern. I suggest you make haste. As for you, Ankulat, I have advice: you will get everything you want and more, and you will lose yourself. Take stock of your desires, and ask yourself it’s worth. Now, fuck off.”

Chapter Text

Zhen sent Dara to the tavern on his own. Though Dara smothered his stunned surprise, it must have shown on his features — his master could read him like a book. Zhen said nothing, simply walked further into the village. Maybe he was off to find an inn, or chat with friends. The town seemed… odd. No one spoke, no one even breathed too loudly. The birds barely sang. A shiver prickled between Dara’s shoulder blades.

Alone, for the first time in ages, he made his way to the tavern. People stared, heavy gazes lingering on his hair. The Divine Ail had blessed him, had kissed his brow and given him her protection. He was alive. Zhen wanted to protect him. From what? Vaness? What would happen when…

He shoved the thought down.

Entering the tavern with a smile planted on his face, he sat down at the bar, and ordered a drink. A carara twist, whatever that was. Silent, the bartender made it for him, setting a bright green drink down. Muttering out a thanks, the only voice in the entire tavern, Dara looked around, finding eyes deftly avoiding his, faces returning to their silent conversations. Could they even be called conversations, if no one spoke or signed, simply gazing at one another?

Sipping his drink, he refrained from curling his lip. It was so sour and strong. More of these and Zhen would find him passed out at the bar, insensate and whimpering for his parents’ hangover cure. His father had never taught him what went in it. His heart ached at the thought, and he suffered through more of the swill, draining the glass before ordering some beer, something strong enough to dull the ache.

He was three drinks in when he saw her. That woman, Wrath. Way in the back, she sat, nursing a beer and watching him with no shortage of mirth in her blood-red eyes. They glowed in the dim room, pinned him down. As the bartender cleared his glass and set down another drink in front of him, she beckoned him her way.

Feet moving without his say-so, he grabbed his drink, got up, and walked over. He sat down across from her. A smile on her face, she tipped her head to one side, waving a server over. A young woman came, calm and collected, with a small smile on her face. Motioning to the beggar knight, she held up a pad.

“Two bowls of noodles, please.” Her voice rasped like carriage wheels on gravel. “Make mine extra spicy. I doubt the boy can handle what you have here.”

Dara’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t even say what I wanted.”

“And do you not want noodles?” She smiled, all teeth.

He closed his mouth. Noodles didn’t sound terrible. The server nodded, and rushed away to fill their orders.

Interlacing her fingers, the beggar knight rested her chin on them. “What are you doing here, kid? No one goes this deep into the Hag’s Forest without a death wish.”

“Who says I don’t?” Did he? “You’re just as far in as I am.”

She laughed like she hadn’t heard a joke in years. “Correct. You’re clever. I like you, kid. The Divine Zdra told me to come here, and who was I to protest?”

Dara’s brows drew together. “The gods speak to you?”

“Don’t you hear them? Chatterboxes.” She let out a dry chuckle. “Go here, go there, heal him, kill her.” At his blank look, she sighed. “I feared so. Doesn’t the Divine Ail speak to you? A harbinger like you… it should come second nature.”

“Sorry,” Dara drew back, lips loosened by liquor, “I try to ignore my dreams.”

Her grin turned vulpine. “Your family didn’t raise you religious?”

“None of the royals follow a particular god in Kadras.”

“You should. The Divine Ail has given you her kiss. I doubt you would have survived your childhood without it.”

With a huff, he downed the rest of his drink. “And how would you know that? Did the Divine Ail tell you? Or was it the Divine Zdra? Or, let me guess, Illun himself came down from the heavens and showed you the way here.”

She laughed once more. “Don’t be silly. I just saw the mark.”

“The mark.” Sarcasm weighed him down.

Wrath moved faster than a blink, gripping his cheeks in one hand and holding their gazes together. Dara squirmed, but her hand only tightened. A warning.

“There. Right in your eyes.” Her breath smelled like blood. “Deep down in there. I can see it.”

Dara shivered. His skin crawled, like a holy hand had scooped out his innards with a melon baller, stripping him of tendon, muscle, bone, until only a layer of sweat-slick skin remained. Shaking like a freshly born faun, he stared at Wrath. The corners of her own eyes creased into a smile.

“What a happy day,” she hummed, and all the people in the tavern turned their attention to anything that wasn’t them, “you understand. I have to teach you to swordfight — you look like you haven’t held a blade a day in your life.”

“You would have to convince Master Zhen,” Dara murmured, voice small. “He determines what I do with my day.”

Her smile only widened. “He will agree. I will accompany you on your journey, and I will teach you how to use the abilities the Divine Ail has given you. I would recommend you learn to pray first, and collect yourself second. You Kadin royals are all the same, never giving thanks to what you’ve been given. The Divine Ail appreciates grace and humility. She will give you everything you need to succeed, and as one of her brood, you thrive under her watchful, steady hand.”

“You evangelize,” Dara muttered, prying his face from her grasp.

Downing his drink in one gulp, he ignored the tremble in his hands. The alcohol sat in his guts. Anxiety inducing.

His voice spoke for him. “I will pray, if that makes you happy.”

“It would make the Divine Ail happy.”

A nod. “Fine. Yes.”

Wrath beamed. “She has invested so much into you, and will reap the rewards only when you die. Believe you me, when your soul enters into her grasp, she will be pleased. She enjoys her brood’s success as her own.”

People refused to look at them, the only voices in the building. His chest ached.

He wouldn’t cry. His mother and father, may their souls rest in peace, they would have wanted him to take back his throne by any means necessary. His sisters would have called him weak if they saw him, tormented by his master, his thoughts, their ghosts. His brothers… they would hardly recognize him. The weak link of the family, forged by strange hands into something gnarled and new. Drawing breath, he imagined himself strong.

“I’ll humor you,” his voice was firm. Princely. “But in return, don’t lie to me. Ever.”

Letting out a bawdy laugh, she cast another smile his way. “I don’t lie. I doubt you and I will have that particular problem. I’ll train you well enough that your little nemesis won’t know what hit him.” She eyed him, raking her gaze over his lanky hair, his grime-streaked skin. “I will settle the schedule with your master, so you have your first day off. Congratulations. Now go, pray. I’ll take care of the bill.”

Before he could convince himself otherwise, he stood on wobbly legs and left the silent tavern. Heads turned to follow him as he walked, their gazes following him through the streets. The suns shone overhead, warming Dara’s shoulders. Was this the Divine Ail watching over him — her domain the first sun hot on his neck? How many revolutions had a god’s blessing? He dared not think about his death if he failed.

It was almost funny. How had his family let their own butler lead a coup? A man so trusted, with their children, no less, and they had all fallen for his games. Dara’s stomach churned, and he heaved on the side of the road, but nothing came up. Too tired to even vomit. Pathetic. A stronger prince would hardly be in this situation — he would have fought back, led the charge, rallied troops and goodwill and been executed fearlessly, his head held high. Dara was a coward.

A chuckle, dark and low, left his lips. He had fallen for the act, too. Worse, likely. His family might have overlooked Vaness rising up to kill them, but Dara had taken Zhen’s hand with stupid, naive hope, had allowed him into his innermost parts, had thought to love him, and yet… and yet. No crying over spilled milk. If his master wanted him to beg and kneel and proffer himself up to his altar, then he would comply. He would bide his time. He would survive. Zhen would never know what kind of beast he had taken in.

A smile, toothy, slipped across Dara’s face. Yes, he would have a good time if he played. Zhen could be useful — his master had quite the talent for slaughter and courtly eloquence. Though, happily for Dara, Zhen was less skilled at wringing truth from courtly eloquence. Dara’s tutors had told him he was born to be at court, if he applied himself. Here he was, applying.

He found himself at the entrance of the inn, Zhen’s carriage in the lot behind it, horses drinking up and nickering for treats. Without a word, he walked in, ascended the stairs, and listened. Behind one of the doors, he could hear Zhen humming to himself, muttering under his breath as he worked at whatever task needed doing. Behind another, Darran unpacked his own things, silent, except for the shuffle of clothing and fabric.

A game, a most wonderful, grand game. One he knew the rules for. Did Zhen know? Did Darran? And what of their loyalties to one another? True, Darran worshiped Zhen like any good servant, but did Zhen care overmuch what the butler did? What, he wondered, would Zhen do if his Dara chose someone else?

Smothering his grin, he ran his hands through his hair, pulling it out of his face. It might have been his imagination, but the nape of his neck felt hot to the touch. He was going to have fun. He owed himself that much.

Chapter Text

The day had passed easily, though the oracle hadn’t wanted to discuss matters further. Oh, well. She would request to talk with Dara later. Just before they left tomorrow, Zhen knew. Now, though, was time for celebration — his Dara, his precious prince, had taken up the mantle of conversation with him once more! After the days of stony silence, it was a welcome reprieve.

And, to top things off, his Dara had negotiated to be trained by the beggar knight. Everything would be well, even if Azh flinched and tiptoed around him, and Rada kept a watchful eye for anything untoward. Kaia kept out of it. If his friend wanted to be frightened, better now, when they had the energy and attention to deal with it, rather than burying it under the floorboards until fear’s beating heart drove them all insane.

Zhen had taken up the liquor bottles from the bar downstairs, paying for them without batting an eye, and drank deeply while Dara bathed. His head swam nicely, and he tipped his face up to the ceiling, breathing in the night air. Sitting on one of three floor cushions, he leaned his back against the wall, letting a smile slip across his face. The woodlands here smelled so good .

He didn’t need to think about politics, who was fucking whom, who hated whom, or whether the king was going to send him back to Aritia with his dick in his hands, a national laughingstock. His household remained in check, reaping the seeds he had sown. Fruitful rewards hung on high branches, he nearly had them.

Dara left the bathroom, clean and dressed in loose, comfortable clothing. His hair was damp. Glancing at the plundered alcohol, he raised an eyebrow, sitting down across from his master on another floor cushion. Wordlessly, Zhen handed him a bottle of strong Kadin spirits, distilled grain alcohol that burned the back of one’s throat as it went down. Zhen loved it. Kadras made such better spirits than Aritia, almost as good as the far north’s icewhiskey.

Popping the top off of the bottle, Dara took a big swig, face unchanging as he downed the spirits. A laugh bubbled past Zhen’s lips, and he smothered it with another big sip of his own bottle, Kadin whiskey. Dara raised an eyebrow.

“I should have expected that you would be used to the taste of alcohol,” was what he said, a sly look on his face. “Not many are fans of unmixed Kadin spirits.”

Letting out a snort, Dara rolled his eyes. Familiar. Comfortable. “I am Kadin. It makes sense that I like what we have on offer. The parties nobles throw, they’re all strong drinks and smoking out on the balconies, and then, when everyone gets rowdy later into the night, that’s when all the fun happens.”

Zhen tipped his head to one side, content. “I was not privy to most noble parties, simply the royal family’s. Not many want to invite an ambassador.”

“Really?” there was something in Dara’s voice, it pricked at the last sober parts of Zhen’s brain. “I wouldn’t have thought that. You know what, I’ve never seen you drunk. It’s a right of passage for us nobles, we have to drink ourselves insensate before entering polite society.”

A wicked grin slipped across Zhen’s face. “Then I will grant your request. I feel like it. It has been quite a long time since I have let loose.”

“Will Darran mind if we drink without him?” How sweet, the concern of a slave to his fellow servant.

“He won’t care.”

“Are you sure? How long since he’s had the chance to let his hair down?”

Fixing him with a look, Zhen waved a hand through the air, dismissing Dara’s points. “Darran is a grown man. He will live. Now, why don’t we work to enjoy our night? If my butler has something he needs of me, then he will stop by. Don’t let that bother you. He’s very discreet.”

That last bit had just slipped out of him, but Dara didn’t care. Dara knew, surely, that Zhen hadn’t kept himself whole just for him. There was too much to get done, too many people to seduce, too much information to be gleaned from idle pillow talk. He already knew about Vaness’s seduction. He had forgiven his indiscretions, the weaknesses of a fresh diplomat, emerging from wartime.

“What drew you to me,” Dara asked, cutting through his dizzying thoughts, “when you first saw me?”

The words tumbled out of Zhen, honest and bare. “Your light. You have such a fire in you. You walk like the world is an extension of you, and we are all in the temple of your body. You have a grace.”

Dara’s cheeks turned pink. “I don’t remember the first time I met you. You became the Aritian ambassador… five years ago?”

“Seven,” Zhen corrected, “eight in the winter.”

“Winter court, then. You must have been introduced, but I can’t remember if I was there, or if I was paying attention.”

“You were there, but that wasn’t the first time we met,” Zhen let his memories sweep up around him, cloaking him in the familiar chill of winter at the palace. “I was still unpacking, my third day at the Kadin palace, and I had gotten lost trying to find the exit to the library — your palace is a maze. I rounded a corner, walking a little too fast, and ran straight into the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His hair was done in intricate braids, all the way down to his calves, with the finest clothes and jewelry I had ever seen.”

Dara’s cheeks darkened further.

Continuing, Zhen smiled to himself. “Of course, my books went tumbling to the ground, and as I scrambled to pick them up, he took one from my pile. ‘Alio’s Treatises,’ he said, ‘those are dry. I hated reading them, the language is so boring.’”

“I did not say that,” protested Dara, a laugh in his voice.

“You did!” Zhen’s smile widened. “You set the book back on my pile, patted the top of it, and gave me such a perfect smile. ‘You must be one of the new courtesans. Let me know when the work gets tiresome, I’ll entertain.’ Such boldness, the sheer audacity to flirt with a man you barely knew, nearly six years your senior! I never took you up on the offer — I had thought you a stray noble, but when I learned your position the next day, well… it would be unseemly to be seen with someone as lowly as me — but I considered it.”

Covering his mouth with a hand, Dara laughed hard. “I don’t remember that at all, but I believe it. Lots of courtesans in my bedroom, it drove my older sisters insane. At least I didn’t produce any heirs, that would have been…” He smothered a laugh with his hand. “I don’t want to think about what my mother would have said about that. She would have lost her mind.”

The snort Zhen let out was improper. “I was not aware you were so prolific.”

Though Dara let out a chuckle, he simply smiled at his master over the bottle of booze. “I do have a question for you, if I may. You know so much about me, and I know so little about you.”

“Ask away.”

“Why do you never talk about your family?”

The smile froze on Zhen’s face, but he covered it well with another big swig. He needed to be far drunker to talk about this. He let out a sigh, pushing his hair out of his face with his free hand. Gave it a tug, centered himself in pain.

“Because they’re dead, princeling.”

That gave Dara pause. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

Lifting his bottle to Zhen, Dara clinked them together. “Then a drink to orphanhood. Care to talk? I want to know more about your past, about the people who raised you.”

With a shrug, Zhen swallowed another mouthful of burning, numbing whiskey. “They died in the Northern Famine. My town did. As far as I know, I am the only survivor from Atka.”

Dara sucked a breath in through his teeth. “The only one, that’s something. Has it been resettled?”

“I wouldn’t know. I enlisted when the council of elders died. The army had food.”

“The relief provisions were that bad?” His surprise stung. Nobles did not go hungry.

Shrugging again, Zhen let his eyes wander to the floorboards. “In the far north? There were none. Why bother? The people are a blight to the country.” His voice came out bitter, harsh. “We do little to further the economy, aside from the occasional tourist wanting to see the way we live, and we certainly aren’t Aritian. We’re Northern. We hunt our own meat, grow our own food in greenhouses, and take supplies from the south to build. That year, there was no summer. The food ran out.”

“You don’t have to talk about this.” The concern in Dara’s voice warmed something cold and dead in Zhen’s heart.

He let out a breath, almost a sigh. The words came regardless of will. “I don’t want to. Few outside of Aritia know about the famine. The north was decimated, most people fled south, joined the army, or died. Elder ate young, young ate elder. No pets, no children — my mother was pregnant when she died. Not enough food to walk, the baby ate her from inside.”

“Did you have any other siblings?” Dara’s voice was quiet. “What were your parents’ names?”

“Only child. My mother’s name was Nauja. My father’s was Amaruq.” A small smile, wavering and tired, pulled at his lips. “Seagull and wolf. That’s what they translate to.”

Dara opened his mouth, hesitated, but continued, “Were you born Zhen Ankulat?”

“No one has ever asked,” Zhen let out a bitter laugh. “No, I was not. I took the name when I went to the army. It’s written on my face that I’m a Northerner, but I needed to blend in more. I was born Akuluk. ‘The Loved One’. Northerners don’t have last names, we use our town names.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Akuluk of Atka.” It hurt, his genuine pity. “I’m Atadara Fortuna.”

He found himself crying, tears tumbling down his cheeks. “Thank you. Please, don’t call me that.”

Dara’s smile faltered. “Do you not like it?”

“I haven’t been Akuluk for over a decade.” He tried to twist his lips into a smile. It came out weak. “I am a different man.”

Hesitant, Dara reached out and rested his hand on his master’s knee. They were silent for the rest of the night, drinking until Zhen started to breathe deeper, eyes slipping closed against the lanternlight. Sleep took him quickly, and in his half-dozing daze, steady hands moved him to the bed. Blankets came up around him, and he allowed himself to drop into the darkness, dreams incoherent visions of barely remembered faces and the familiar ache of hollow hunger.

In the morning, he woke after the second sun rose, head pounding, the evening a blank slate. Dara handed him a pill to take, and he downed it with nary a grumble, the light streaming in through the windows far too bright for him. A bath later, he felt more human. Dressed in traveling clothes, he helped set up the carriage, squinting in the bright light and wanting nothing more than a nap and to throw up his breakfast. He remembered why he didn’t like to let loose.

Beside him, Dara hovered at his elbow. Something in him wanted to ask if he had said anything, given his prince’s fussing over him, but Zhen couldn’t bring himself to care beyond the ache in his head. If Dara wanted to look at him like he was made of glass, he was welcome to, so long as he was quiet. Piling into the carriages, they set off.

Chapter Text

Wrath hit hard. She grabbed, struck, and shoved, and Dara spent more time sprawled out on the ground than standing. And when his head slammed against the dirt again, thoughts ringing in his ears, he picked himself up, grit his teeth, and tried not to think obscenities too loudly. Best way to learn was to do it. Again, and again, and again. Zhen would kill her if she bruised him, but he could only fault himself.

“Hit me, kid.” She wrinkled her nose. “What have they been teaching you?”

“Self-defense,” Dara ground out.

“You’re shit at it.”

“I know.”

She smacked the side of his head. “Fight. Be bold.”

Dara breathed in through his nose. Steadying. “I am.”

“You’re scared of hurting people.” She darted forward as he tried for a punch, ducking under his fist and pressing her hand against his sternum. The wind left him. She smelled like the road. “Don’t be.”

She needed to mind her own business. Shoving her off, he kicked back. “Then I’m scared. You won’t teach me if I’m a coward?”

A laugh burst out of her, and she swept his legs out from under him. “The opposite, kid. Don’t trip over your morals.”

She loomed. He liked training with Rada, but he hadn’t prepared him for actual combat. His hits were gentle, his moves telegraphed. Wrath didn’t pull her punches. Dara’s stomach ached from exertion, and his lungs threatened to shudder to a stop. Sweat-slicked, he picked himself up and wiped the dirt from his face.

“Is that it, kid?” she chirped, breathing even. “Or are you going to learn something today?”

His voice was a wheeze. “Can we take a break? Just for a second.”

Folding her arms, she groaned. “No breaks in a fight. But for your sake, five minutes. Don’t get used to it.” And then, rolling her eyes, “Are we going to talk about our feelings next?”

He held a snap at the edge of his tongue and sat down on the ground. “I was just going to ask where you were from.”

“The Western Provinces, Kadras.” The answer came blunt, emotionless. “My hometown was destroyed in a siege. The Divine Zdra saved me, and I dedicated my body to him. That’s my story, happy?”

Dara stared at the ground in front of him, watching ants scuttle about. “Very.”

With another sigh, she sat down next to him. “Why do you ask?”

“I didn’t know,” he muttered.

Red eyes landed on his own golden, expression inscrutable. “And? People here will follow you — or your master, at least.”

“Loyalty runs out.” Dara picked at the dirt under his nails. “I’m learning from my parents.”

Wrath was silent for a time, seconds stretching long. “Good. Keep learning. Why do you want to know about people?”

With a sigh, Dara watched the ants. What lie to tell this time? Wrath wouldn’t like any answer he gave, no matter how convincing thought himself. And when Zhen asked the same questions, could he remember his answers? Dara had his tells, his hands trembled, his eyes fell to the floor. His sisters had made fun of him for it.

“I like knowing,” was what he decided on. A half-truth. “I like people’s stories, opinions, ideas. I was sheltered.”

Wrath hummed, watching the ants with him. “Parents think sheltering a child is best, but all it does is leave it vulnerable. I don’t believe in keeping the truth from people.”

“Noble words, beggar knight.”

“Thank you.” Her face split into a wide grin. “Now get up. I said five minutes, not an hour.”

And so, they fought once more. Wrath spoke as she sparred, and Dara’s mind raced to keep up with both conversation and sparring. Faster than him, stronger than him, and twice his age in experience, she laughed as she beat the wind out of him. His stomach churned and he only just remained upright, but he willed himself not to fall.

He got in a hit now and then, standing his ground against the onslaught. She was going easy on him. Under Rada’s tutelage, he had been hopeless. Even with all the practice, he still flinched away from strikes half the time, unable to hit back, or block, or dodge without telegraphing his blow. It was hardly fair, but life wasn’t fair. Zhen wouldn’t always be there to protect him.

He managed to kick her punch away, closing the distance between them. Her grin twisted like a knife. And then, he saw a flash of metal, glinting in the setting sun. His blood ran cold. The tip of the blade dug into his stomach, a lesson learned.

“Wrath — ” his mouth moved without his permission.

“Be attentive, prince. Always be aware of your surroundings.”

“Stop — ”

The word slipped out of him, tasting of magic and sunshowers. His head cracked against the dirt. Wrath stopped, and her eyes went wide with… pride, or frustration, or both. Dara didn’t care. The world shimmered and swam about him, tinged with the sound of bells and giggling. Rain-smell filled his nose, soaking him to the bone. And yet, when Wrath knelt down, he gagged. Something burned in his veins, hot and painful, lighting his body up with every beat of his heart. As he breathed out, his breath clouded up in front of him, as if in winter. His eyes unfocused. Hands trembling, he vomited up rainwater, flecked with golden flakes, body unwilling to rise.

Laughter echoed between his ears. His mother’s? He felt her hands on his shoulder, as if trying to rouse him, and her soft, warm lips against his temple. That hum she made when he was being silly. Spoiled.

“My Dara,” her voice, so close, “will you come home?”

“Yes,” had he said it or merely thought it?

“Then be brave. Do not hesitate. My little Dara, growing up. Rest.”

A black, heavy blanket covered his thoughts, and Dara was gone.

*

The world returned, murky and dark. Heavy and thick. Voices murmured over him, whispering. As if he needed the rest. Dara could have laughed, if his head didn’t pound like the dead themselves were trying to force their way through his skull. How much had he had to drink? He didn’t remember a drop passing his lips — just training with Wrath and then…

He had done something. He had fallen. He had seen something. His stomach flipped, and Dara, blind to the world, leaned over to retch onto the floor. Hands grabbed him, and a bucket was shoved in front of him, but nothing but bile came up. He was trembling like a lamb caught in a winter storm.

“Dara?” Zhen’s voice came soft in his ear, almost scared. “We nearly lost you.”

“—m fine,” Dara’s words were a slurred grunt.

As he opened his eyes, the world swam before him. The colors nearly glowed, and the air was thick in his lungs, like soup. His mouth tasted like dust and days-old meat. Sunlight was a spike right through his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut against the spinning, allowing gentle hands to lay him back down against the bedroll.

“I’m fine,” he tried again, raspy. “I just need water and rest.”

His head landed in Zhen’s lap, and those sure, steady fingers pet his hair. The feeling brought a fresh wave of nausea over him.

“You will get as much rest as you need, my Dara. What happened? What did you do?”

The fight left him. Zhen just sounded so… afraid. Not of him, but for him. “I don’t know.”

“You nearly broke your head open. You were bleeding heavily.”

“I’m sorry.”

Zhen sighed. The fingers in his hair stilled. “Be careful. I understand this training is important to you, but I will not allow it at the cost of your health. I wish to spend the rest of my time with you, and I would rather not be left alone in this world.”

No argument coming to his lips, Dara’s body went slack. “I just need to rest.”

“Then rest. I will be here when you wake. I promise.”

“Don’t have to…” he murmured, thoughts slipping through his fingers.

Had it always been so hard to think? Each concept seemed as slippery as a fish, darting away at the slightest focus — not that his focus was doing much better. Opening his eyes was too much for him already, the lanternlight in the tent too bright, and the smell of cooking meat on the campfire churned his stomach. The sound of Zhen’s breathing, the feeling of his chest, rising and falling, was the pitch and fall of a ship in a storm, and Dara held as still as possible. Best not to vomit more. It would only make his head hurt more, the sensations intolerable.

“You know I care for you,” Zhen was saying, voice soft and quiet. As if he were soothing a small child. “I want you to be well. That is what lovers do.”

Dizzy, Dara formed his words carefully. “Thank you, Master Zhen. But don’t keep me from my training. I want to protect myself, and protect you.”

His master’s free hand landed on his shoulder, and Dara willed himself to relax into it. “Of course, my Dara. I just ask that you don’t work yourself to injury. Rest until you are better. Then, once you are back to health, you may train once more.”

Good enough.

“Thank you, Master Zhen,” Dara murmured.

His body begged to sleep, despite his master’s ministrations.

“Just rest, darling,” Zhen hummed, stroking him. “Rest and recuperate.”

The world went dark once more, and Dara plunged into the icy cold of unconsciousness. Distantly, he heard singing, a voice he couldn’t recognize, but hauntingly familiar, singing him to sleep. He hoped it was his mother. Dara chose to believe it. She still loved him, and she would always love him. He just needed to come home to her.

Chapter Text

“Darran, could you come in here, please?” Zhen kept his voice light. Casual.

In the other corner of the tent, Dara jerked his head up, away from his book. It had been a gift from him, the book. Something to stave off his incessant need to act. Already, Dara had read it, reread it, and had flipped right back to the start again. It couldn’t have been that interesting, a primer on Aritian cultural groups and history.

As Darran entered, Zhen shifted in his small chair and gestured for the butler to sit on the floor. The man did so, and Zhen rewarded him with a smile.

“You too, princeling,” he met Dara’s eye, “come here.”

Wordlessly, Dara set his book down and knelt before him as well. He fixed his gaze on the floor, sneaking glances at Darran out of the corner of his eye. For his part, Darran kept his attention squarely on his master, sitting with his legs tucked up under him, hands prim on his lap. Perfect as always.

“I’m sure you two have been bored. There isn’t much to do in the forest,” started Zhen, unable to suppress a smile. “And so, tonight you two will put on a performance. You will entertain each other and myself.”

Dara flew to his feet. “Absolutely not.”

“Sit down, princeling.” Zhen remained placid.

His prince’s voice rose. “No!”

Breath coming fast, desperate golden eyes on Zhen’s black, he chipped under the silence. When his master next spoke, there was no grace or forgiveness.

“Sit down, Dara.”

Darran flinched, ducking his head down. Slowly, eyes still on Zhen’s, Dara took a seat, cheeks already turning pink. Zhen rewarded him, pressing his lips into a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Good boy. Not that hard, is it? Now, move closer together.”

They obliged silently. Darran looked to him for further instruction, eyes low, hands clasped together. Dara fumed, no doubt thinking about his righteous indignation. Well, he could fume as much as he wanted. Everyone had been bored enough, here was something to occupy their time.

“Darran, touch Dara’s face, gently. Cradle it.”

Darran complied, his own cheeks reddened.

“Look at him, not me. Tonight, you two are each other’s world.”

Eyes fixed on Darran, Dara bit his lip so hard Zhen worried it would split. Even so, the touch made his skin grow ever pinker, waking up under such caresses. It had been weeks since anyone had brushed their fingers over his face. Aside from Zhen, of course. And Darran… how long had it been since he had taken a lover? A good servant, he had always asked his master’s permission first.

“Just like that, good work, Darran. See how he looks away? He likes it.” He drank in the thrill of waking blood. “Lean in, look each other in the eye. Get acquainted, won’t you?”

Shifting closer together, Darran met Dara’s eye, icy blue on rich amber. Dara’s breathing stuttered, his body understanding the gift. Darran swallowed, wetting his dry mouth. The poor things had been left to their own devices for far too long.

Zhen could fix that.

“So obedient,” he hummed, crossing one leg over the other. “I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

Leaning forward, Zhen ran his hand through his prince’s hair, ignoring the way he stiffened up. What a well behaved pet, not flinching away. One day, he would be perfectly trained.

“Dara, kiss Darran.”

Those amber eyes flicked to his face, and darted away just as quickly. Drawing a shaky breath in, he steeled his nerves, shut his eyes, and complied. Darran’s hands still cradling his face, Dara barely brushed his lips against the other man’s. He pulled away, only for Zhen to push his head right back, pressing their mouths together.

“Do you call that a kiss? Please, Dara. Show Darran how grateful you are for everything he does. Surely you think Darran’s done a good job, no?”

Dara let out a muffled sound, but as Zhen loosened his grip, he stayed. His kiss this time was long and slow. Darran’s body came awake at it, responding in kind. A small whimper escaped him, and Dara let out a ragged breath. Oh, the poor things. Zhen would allow them this indulgence, and allow them to seek relief afterwards. It was the least he could do.

“Darran, reciprocate please. Isn’t Dara doing wonderful?”

He did, and Dara let out a muffled groan as Darran’s thumbs caressed his cheekbones, holding him fast. Without Zhen’s command, Dara rested his own hands on Darran’s waist. Zhen bit back another command, letting them get to know one another. Pants grew tight, hands unsteady.

“Good boys, both of you,” he praised, and Darran let out a quiet noise.

One of them, Zhen couldn’t tell, deepened the kiss. Dara’s fingers dug into Darran’s sides, and Darran gasped, holding Dara’s face more firmly. His prince moaned into his butler’s mouth, and Darran, in a fit of desperation, released Dara, only to haul him into his lap, legs spread.

“Stop,” he chided as Darran’s hand wandered down.

The pair stilled for his next command. Both their eyes were wide-blown, pupils nearly eclipsing the color. Dara panted, thighs tense, heart hammering fast in his chest. Darran was no better, his face a wash of red. Oh, it was too cute. All Zhen wanted was to watch them kiss, and kiss, and kiss until their precious little minds shorted out with desperation and the pair leapt upon each other like dogs. What a sight that would be.

“Have patience. Only kissing for now.”

A breath later, they returned to the moaning, groaning mess they had been, and Darran’s hand, rebellious, palmed Dara’s ass. Though something in Zhen’s core rankled at that, he swallowed it into his own arousal. He didn’t touch himself. That would be hypocritical. Instead, he just watched. And directed.

“Darran, pull Dara’s hair.”

He did, and Dara let out a broken moan, head moving with the tug to expose his neck. Wasting no opportunity to impress, Darran mouthed Dara’s neck, alternating between kissing and nibbling. A good butler knew exactly what his master wanted to see.

“Bite him,” commanded Zhen, “hard enough for him to remember who he belongs to, won’t you?”

As Darran’s teeth closed around his pulse point, Dara let out a yelp, those needy, gorgeous eyes turning to Zhen. Crossed between a plea and a bargain, they didn’t focus on his face.

“Good work, Darran. Why don’t you thank him, Dara? Let him know how grateful you are.”

Dara’s first attempt at speech came out as a faltering, breathy moan, but he tried again. “T-thank you, Darran. I’m very grateful.”

Sucking on his neck, Darran groaned an acknowledgment as Dara panted. Little gasps left his lips, encouraging. Gently, Zhen ran his fingers through his pretty little prince’s hair, soothing, calming. Dara let him, melting into the familiar touch. As Darran’s hands wandered to his back, scratching over his clothes, he let out a shudder, mouth falling open in a loud, broken moan. Zhen took the opportunity to tug his head back that little bit more, giving Darran easy access to his collarbone.

“Good, Darran,” Zhen crooned, placing a kiss against Dara’s hair. His prince accepted it, breath hot and heavy against Zhen’s skin. So tempting. “You as well, Dara, so well-behaved for me.”

A wet spot had formed on the front of Dara’s pants, his poor little cock leaking at the sensations and praise. Zhen twisted his head to the side and gave his prince a kiss, gentle and claiming. His precious, wonderful Dara. His prince’s hands grasped at Darran, back arched to keep his balance, fingers digging into the butler’s shoulders as he sucked hickeys into his neck.

Zhen broke the kiss, satisfied with the taste of Dara, the afterimage of Darran still in his mouth. He hummed, voice quiet enough to be lost in their pleasure, commanding enough to heeded. “Stop.”

Darran froze on Dara’s neck, and Dara let out a soft gasp.

“Darran, off.”

Obedient as ever, Darran pulled his mouth off of Dara, leaving behind a wet spot. He looked to Zhen for further instruction, hands unsteady. Only through his willpower was he keeping himself in check, compliant and docile, not tearing Dara’s clothes off and…

All in good time. When both of them had proved to Zhen that they deserved such a wonderful reward, Zhen would allow it. For now, Zhen simply smiled down at him, running his hand through his dark hair. Mussing it up. Darran arched into his touch, all but purring as Zhen’s hand wandered down to cup his cheek, hold his chin, bring his face up so their eyes met.

“Thank you, Darran, you have been a very good boy today. Why don’t you retire and take care of yourself? You have earned it.”

“I-I…” Darran’s words came hoarse, his mind struggling to follow along. “Thank you, Master Zhen. I am grateful for your kindness.”

Caressing the man’s cheek, Zhen raked his eyes over his face, over the mindless bliss he found there. “I see your loyalty, your devotion. You have earned tonight’s pleasure. Take pride in yourself.”

Darran nodded, spellbound. High on his own endorphins, he untangled himself from Dara, bowed low, and left for his own tent, steps wobbly. Turning his attention to Dara, he found his prince stunned, eyes wide and glassy. His hand was still in his prince’s hair, and as their eyes met, he found no sparking embers in Dara’s eyes, only a low, needy burn. Adorable.

“Would you like me to take care of you, princeling?” Zhen carded his fingers through his hair, gentle and insistent.

Tongue tied in knots, Dara gave a low moan.

“Use your words.”

His mouth dropped open, obedient. “Yes please, Master Zhen.”

Zhen smiled. “Then come here. Take off your pants and sit in my lap. I can finish what Darran started, hmm?”

Nodding, Dara complied, shoving his pants and underwear down. His cock sprang free, painfully hard and dripping. He sat down in his master’s lap, his back to Zhen’s front, feeling his master’s hardness pressed against his ass. The memory of their lovemaking must have been loud in his mind. As Zhen brushed his fingers up Dara’s side, mouth wandering to the side of his neck, his free hand closed around his member and stroked slowly.

The noise Dara let out could have made a lesser man cum on the spot. His hands grabbed at Zhen, legs spread wider. Zhen’s fingers wandered up Dara’s side to slide under his clothes, playing with his chest. His cock jumped, mouth falling open in heady pleasure, presenting his neck for his master. What a pleasant little pet he was, leashed by his cock.

Swiping his thumb over Dara’s leaking tip, Zhen pressed chaste kisses against his neck, murmuring, “Aren’t you my good pet? So well-behaved, so wonderful. I love having you like this, my Dara, I love seeing you so delirious from pleasure.”

“Mmh,” was all Dara could say, lost in the sensation of his master’s hand, his fingers toying with his chest, his mouth on his neck.

He couldn’t help a happy, contented hum. “Does it feel good? Would you like it to feel better?”

“Yes please, Master Zhen.”

Zhen gave his nipple a pinch, and Dara let out a keen. As a reward for such a lovely sound, he sped his hand up, jerking him off faster, harder. His prince wriggled in his lap, searching for more sensation before Zhen gave him another hard pinch.

“Be still, princeling.”

With a desperate whine, Dara babbled out, “Please, I want more, I want to cum.”

A laugh slipped out of Zhen, pitying. “So eager to finish, aren’t you? Have you been good today?”

“I have, please I have,” Dara only just kept his hips still, legs tensing. Right on the edge.

“Do good boys cum without permission?”

“No, Master Zhen.”

“Good.” Zhen stroked idly, slowing down, taunting him. Dara was near bursting. “Perhaps I will have you wait. A lovely reminder for who owns you.”

A truly pitiable noise left him. “No, please, I’ve been good. I obeyed.”

“Have you?” Even slower. “You did not seem obedient earlier.”

He sobbed out a plea, hands grabbing at Zhen’s legs. “Please, Master Zhen.”

Pressing a kiss to Dara’s neck, he pulled his hands away. “Let this serve as a lesson. Good behavior is rewarded , pet.”

He punctuated his words with a squeeze of Dara’s sides, and the poor thing let out a broken cry, digging his fingers into Zhen’s arms. He begged, even as Zhen rose and kissed his forehead, setting him onto the floor, his cock hard and red.

“And remember,” he tipped Dara’s chin up to face him, “no touching. Aren’t you so cute? We will bed down soon, so wash up.”

Chapter Text

Footsteps outside his tent jerked Darran awake. Light and soft, they stopped just outside. It was the middle of the night. Sitting up in his bedroll, Darran crept closer to the front of the tent, ears pricked. The sweet, fruity scent of perfume on the other side, though he couldn’t place whose. Everyone smelled the same after weeks on the road.

“Darran?” Dara whispered. His blood ran like ice water. “Are you up?”

Opening the tent, he beckoned Dara inside before the night watch noticed. The man was dressed in nothing but his nightclothes and slippers, his shift falling to mid-thigh. As he crouched down to fit in the small tent, Darran got a glimpse of his underwear, that lacy thing that he had washed a few days ago. Zhen had requested it. Darran bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste came as a comfort.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Darran hissed, brows furrowed.

Those amber eyes, wide in the dark, turned pleading. “I… needed help. It’s been a week. I thought you would be willing to help out, even just a little bit. Please, Darran? I need some relief.”

“A week is nothing. Return to your master.” Darran ignored the welcome rage prickling at his fingertips. “I am not going to go against our master’s wishes. If he wants to keep you like this, then like this you will be. I am his servant and an extension of his will.”

“Darran, please,” his words came out pleading, whisper hoarse. “I can’t take it anymore, I feel like I’ll burst. Just touch me, gods, I’m begging. Touch me, I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

Darran paused, hands hovering above Dara’s  bare shoulder. To do this… would be to disobey. Master Zhen would know, would understand what his butler had done. Where was the dutiful servant, the man who bowed before him, who shined his shoes with a smile. Gods below, Darran would have fucked himself on Master Zhen’s boot had he told him to, and yet here he was, seriously considering disobeying for his —

No. Not his replacement. Dara would not survive a day as a butler. The former prince was good for sex and entertainment, nothing else.

Even so… sex and entertainment would be welcome. He rested his hand on Dara’s knee. His skin was warm.

“Fine. No one can know. If Master Zhen finds out…”

“Yes, thank you Darran, thank you one thousand times,” Dara exhaled, turning his face skyward as if thanking the Gods themselves. “You won’t regret this.”

He already did. Before he could think more on how stupid this was, he closed the distance between them, grabbing Dara and locking their lips together. The former prince gasped, but the sound was swallowed up by Darran’s mouth. His lips were soft, pliant, and willing. Hands came up to paw at Darran’s nightgown, fingers deftly wandering under the hem to feel the softness of his stomach, the give of his chest. This, without a girdle, was the most exposed anyone, save Master Zhen, had seen him in years. His heart raced, hatred blending with desire into a storm-drain slurry.

Pulling back, Dara kissed up his jaw, pressed their bodies close together. His heartbeat matched his own. As kind a master he was, Master Zhen had limits. Fucking his treasured pet… Darran didn’t want to think about the punishment he would net for that. Spilling Dara’s food would leave his ass aching. For this? He would be lucky to remain conscious.

And yet, when Dara’s hands groped his chest, he allowed himself a quiet moan. It had been so long since he had been with someone without his master’s permission, he might as well enjoy it. Grabbing Dara by the back of his neck, he mashed their mouths together, rough. The former prince let out a whimper.

Shifting, he pecked up Dara’s cheek to nibble on his ear. “Do you want me to fuck you, Dara?”

“Please, please, please,” it came out closer to a sob. “I need it.”

Darran’s touch wandered down to Dara’s underwear, finding the man’s cock achingly hard. Careful not to rip them, Darran pushed them down Dara’s thighs and over his ankles. His own underwear, utilitarian boxers, went the same way. Much to his shame, he had stiffened up, ogling his master’s property like this. He should have rejected Dara, should have told Master Zhen right away, but… he had needs, and they had lain ignored for too long.

“Dara,” he murmured, “shut up.”

Nodding, Dara spread his legs, showed off his already slick, used hole. So, their master had played with his pet tonight, likely his fingers, probing and clever and perfect as they rubbed against that wonderful spot and... Darran put those thoughts out of his mind. Of course their master would pick the lithe, well-bred Dara over him. What else was Dara useful for?

He muffled a moan with his hand, letting himself be handled as Darran flipped him onto his belly, burying his face in the pillows of his bedspread. With his ass in the air, Dara’s cock twitched, distracting and aching as he let out tiny whimpers. Darran rested his hand between the slave’s shoulder blades, pressing him down into the mattress easily.

“I’ll be good, Darran,” Dara whispered, “please, just fuck me.”

A small smile crossed his face. Leaning over, he murmured in Dara’s ear, “You’re a pretty thing, useful for pleasure and little else.”

Slowly, he slid his cock into Dara, the man’s desperate gasps muffled by the pillow. A stream of quiet curses slipped out of him, begging for relief, to be fucked, to be satisfied. When Darran bottomed out, he let out a high, tense whine. Darran grabbed the back of Dara’s head, forcing his face into the pillow.

“Shut the fuck up,” he murmured, setting a comfortable pace. “Don’t you want to be useful?”

A muffled ‘uh-huh’ was his only reply.

“Then learn when to shut your mouth.”

Darran sped up the pace, fucking into Dara hard enough to force little noises out of him. Lost in the pleasure, all Darran could do was thrust harder into Dara’s tight, slick heat. Oh, they were so fucked for this, Master Zhen would flog them himself, but Darran couldn’t help himself. The little squeaks Dara made trying to keep quiet, the sensation of him, his hair in Darran’s fist, it was too much.

“Shit,” he hissed, shoving his head down with both hands, throwing his weight into the thrusts.

Darran spilled over quickly, burying himself deep inside Dara. He didn’t make a noise as he finished, instead bending over Dara, panting hard. The idiot smelled like their master. It should have been Darran’s job to pleasure Master Zhen like this, to carry his scent with him like a talisman. Instead, stupid, ungrateful Dara was chosen. His master loved a spoiled prince who couldn’t serve to save his life. If he was lucky, Darran would be the one to whip him once they were found out.

He didn’t voice his thoughts, simply pulling out of Dara and letting him up. The man gasped for air, face red.

“Gods, Darran, that was…” Already, he was talking again. “I… I think I came.”

“You think?”

Dara sat up slowly, shakily. Sure enough, he had. Right in Darran’s bed. He flushed when he realized the mess he had made, stammering out that he would clean it up right away, that it was no problem, that he would do anything, just so long as Darran kept quiet, if they could see each other like this again and —

“Get out.” Darran’s voice was a steel blade.

Dara froze, wild-eyed and uncomprehending. “What?”

“Get,” Darran shoved his underwear into his hands, “out.”

“I’m sorry.”

Keeping himself quiet, Darran didn’t bother softening his gaze. Dara’s wavered. “You can either get dressed, get out, and let me clean my damn bed, or I can speak with Master Zhen tonight. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to see you with my cum in your ass.”

“You wouldn’t,” there was a high note of fear in Dara’s voice. “Darran, please. We’ll be punished. He’ll hit us.”

“He’ll do worse.”

Dara swallowed. “Don’t.”

Darran’s smile had no warmth in it. “I was foolish. Our punishment is for Master Zhen to decide. I will never keep secrets from my master — no matter what pretty nothings a slut tells me. All things come at a cost, and I will accept responsibility.”

“Then why did you fuck me?” His voice rang, too loud.

“Because the night watch knew the moment you snuck out of our master’s tent. I may as well have a treat for the punishment I’ll receive.” Darran snorted. “You’re so… princely. Everything must be yours, doesn’t it? I was here first. I loved him first. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Dara’s panic turned to outrage. “The right place? I’m a pleasure slave, Darran. You want my life? I don’t have a bed.”

“You have Zhen Ankulat,” Darran spat. “So get out. Don’t dare look at me like that again.”

Mutely, Dara put his underwear back on and left to clean himself up, taking care not to wobble. Darran didn’t hear him re-enter their master’s tent. Taking a steadying breath in, Darran left his bedroll, the drying cum on it a damnation, and walked calmly, quietly, and politely over to his master’s sleeping area. He didn’t have time to announce himself before Master Zhen’s voice came from within.

“Enter, Darran.”

Biting his lip, he obeyed. Inside, Master Zhen lounged on his bedroll, dressed in his sleeping clothes. Handsome, serene, and closed to him. Darran didn’t let his gaze linger on his slender hands or his shapely legs. Master Zhen propped himself up on one elbow, a book in his lap, wholly unhappy with him. Darran knelt immediately, hanging his head.

“Master Zhen, I have something I need to confess,” he started, voice wavering.

“Spare your breath.”

Darran’s jaw clacked closed.

“We will discuss this in the morning.” Master Zhen’s voice held none of its usual warmth. “I am disappointed in you, Darran. You are dismissed. Don’t wash your bedsheets, I want you to appreciate the mess you made.”

Rising, Darran bowed low. “Yes, Master Zhen. I am sorry, and I accept and understand whatever punishment comes to me. I am your obedient servant, and I hope to please you.”

As he left, Master Zhen sighed, “Focus on pleasing me, then. Go to sleep. You have a long day ahead of you.”

Chapter Text

Dara slept little that night, laying beside his master and meditating on the dread in his stomach. A bird not fledged yet, realizing the hours since the parent returned to the nest. When the sun finally rose, and Zhen jerked to wakefulness, chased by some nightmare, Dara tried not to think of the punishment to come. With any luck, it would be a spanking, or writing lines, or kneeling for an hour or two. 

They performed their morning ablutions. Rote. Before Dara could change into his day clothes, though, his master held up a hand. “Strip.”

Ignoring the dread crystalizing to ice, he complied, tossing his sleep shirt off over his head, leaving himself in just his lacy underwear. Zhen had ordered him to wear them to bed.

“Smallclothes, too.”

And so, off it came. Dara’s cheeks were on fire, flush spreading down his neck as he stood bare before his master.

“Darran,” Zhen raised his voice, “come in here, please.”

Not this. Anything but this.

Dara’s voice was hoarse. “Please, no, Master Zhen.”

Darran entered, dressed in his travel uniform: boots, simple black breeches, and a loose, white button-up shirt. His eyes widened when he saw Dara, averting his gaze quickly. Staring at his master’s feet, he ducked his head low. The ever-obedient butler. Zhen pulled on his own boots, grabbed something out of a chest, and held it behind his back, both hands obscured. Like a general.

“Darran, strip as well. Small clothes and all.”

Complying immediately, Darran took off his clothes in a rush. His back was crisscrossed with whip scars, and Dara swallowed. Had Zhen done that? Whipped to within an inch of his life like that… surely, he would have been more scared of Zhen. That, or… Dara swallowed, shoving thoughts of Darran’s mindless obedience as far as he could.

“Outside,” Zhen commanded, clipped. “Now.”

Both men stared at him blankly. He didn’t mean… they couldn’t… this wasn’t…

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Their only warning.

His own cheeks dark red, Darran stared at the ground, blinking tears away. “N-no, Master Zhen.”

“But nothing. The camp saw your disobedience, and they will see your punishment.”

Dara willed at him, thinking as loudly as he could for him not to do this. It did nothing. Zhen took a step forward, his hands emerging from behind his back, and Dara caught sight of a black, leather flogger. Divine Ail save him.

Her uncaring silence replied.

Darran turned and exited the tent. Unsmiling, Zhen grabbed Dara by the back of his neck, dragging him out of the tent. People stared at them, two naked slaves, dragged out by their master. Dara’s cheeks burned, and he kept his face squarely on the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rada and Azh staring, disappointed. Kaia rested her one hand on her hip, pursing her lips. She leaned over to whisper something into Rada’s ear, and he nodded. Azh’s features betrayed nothing.

Two poles had been set up in the center of camp, and expert hands tied Dara’s wrists to one. Darran got the other. Dara’s heart nearly beat out of his chest when Wrath emerged from her tent, a frown on her face. Even she didn’t dare to intervene. Biting back emotion, he hid his face in the wood of the pole.

Beside him, Darran stood, grim determination on his face. As if this were nothing, as if he deserved this, as if he knew the end would come soon enough. How many times had he gone through this?

“Boys,” their master announced, “I am punishing you for slipping out of your tents and fucking each other without permission. Thirty strikes to each of you. You do not need to count.”

Darran got the first hit, without warning. Letting out a choked off cry of pain, he sunk his teeth into his lip, eyes fixed on the tree line. Dara was next, too busy staring at the butler to notice the swish of the flogger’s falls before blinding pain, white hot, fell across his back. He let out a strangled gasp, digging his nails into the rope binding his wrists. If he got loose, it would be much worse.

He let his mind drift off, numbed by pain, eternally startled by the next slash of agony across his back, listening to Darran’s breathing. It was fast, coming in busts and pants. His pale eyes were unfocused, lost in the forest as he took his punishment. So well behaved. Dara had never been like that, not even at the palace. He had never licked his wounds with grace.

Master Zhen’s strikes seemed to get harder as the punishment wore on, and Dara sagged against his restraints. Tears dried in his eyes, replaced with quiet understanding. He wasn’t a prince anymore. He could not be bold and noble. He was just a slave, one who needed permission to fuck, jack off, and leave. A bad situation. His cards were few and bleeding through. And yet, he noticed Zhen’s strikes to Darran were harder than those to Dara. A little laugh threatened his illusion, and he smothered it well. What was Zhen’s love worth? What would he pay for Dara’s?

The experienced Darran took his punishment like he was made for it, ready for anything their master threw at them. In contrast, Dara was childish, unable to hold himself together in the face of a little pain. The camp would think him useless. Inept. Their miscalculation was his good fortune.

“Please,” he sobbed out, somewhere around the twentieth strike. His governess has always praised his acting. “I won’t do it again, Master Zhen, I promise! I’ll be good!”

The onslaught stopped for a moment, and Darran turned his head to him. Their eyes met. His blue gaze was filled with nothing but hatred, seething and boiling right under the surface. Dara couldn’t help a little crinkle at the corner of his eye, the only tell for a smile. Darran flinched. A hand on the back of his head broke the spell. His master turned him, pressing his forehead to the wood of the pole, voice a whisper in his ear.

“Learn your lesson, please. It hurts me to do this, darling, so help me keep you safe and sound.”

It would hurt Zhen all right.

The last strike hit him nearly too soon. His back was on fire, and he prayed he wasn’t bleeding. Zhen’s gentle touch after such a harsh beating… it made his stomach twist. Familiar hands undid the restraints, and his legs gave out. The ground caught him. Someone pulled him up, Rada? No. Zhen. He didn’t flinch away, despite his innermost voice demanding it. Voices spoke rose around him, and as he collected himself, he tuned into their conversation.

Zhen wanted Darran bathed, his wounds treated, and brought back to his own tent. He would take care of Dara. Someone was to draw a bath for him. Unbidden, Dara remembered his first punishment, the sting of Zhen’s hand on his ass, and the tenderness with which he had taken care of him afterwards. His master liked that. Hurting, then coming to save his love from pain and overheated skin.

Body weary, he allowed his master to pick him up, carrying him back to the tent. His head lolled, and he met Darran’s eye, the world upside down, the other man’s face contorted in something between frustration and rage. Their eyes met, and pure revulsion bloomed in him. Darran wanted this, for his master to hurt him, and afterwards, take care of him until that gentle touch erased all the stinging aches. He didn’t look away until he was placed inside Zhen’s tent, in a small tub that had been set up for them.

“There, is that a good temperature?” his master hummed in his ear.

The warmth of the water leached into his bones, sapping at the chill and the trembling within him. He shook like a leaf. The bath had a medicinal smell, and herbs floated in the water, evidently there to help him heal. Hands on his shoulders bid him to lean forward, and his body bent in acquiescence. Almost in prayer.

“It isn’t too bad,” Zhen murmured, a lock of his hair falling onto Dara’s bare shoulder. “No skin broken. It might sting, but I will apply some salves to help.”

Dara’s mind fell into a chant, heard long, long ago, when his parents still had aspirations of religion. Divine Divinity, rulers of the world, hear my exaltation.

His master pressed his lips to the back of his head, and Dara bit back a snap. “I understand your frustration, dear. I would be upset, too.”

Gods on high, you are the creators of flesh, you are the takers of breath. I bend before you in supplication.

He could hear the smile in Zhen’s voice. “Next time you find yourself wanting, tell me. Darran is not a man you would like to get involved with. Not like that.”

I am the barking dog, I am the gasping fish. I beg you to hear my prayers.

“He is a loyal, effective butler, but he… has his own issues to fret over. He is likely still cross with me for leaving him in Aritia when I left for my post in Kadras.”

Allow me my breath still, allow me my beating heart. Silence those who speak against me. Still those who move against me.

“There is no need to fight over me, either. I am yours already. It will take Darran time to understand this, but I am yours. Never forget that.”

May my will be yours. Thank you, Gods on high.

Dara turned, meeting dark eye with golden. “Swear it.”

“You will look lovely on the throne.” Zhen kissed his temple, a smile on his face. Sitting back on his heels, he spread his hands open, the epitome of Aritian perfection. “I swear to you, Atadara Fortuna, that my heart will always belong to you. I will follow you to the ends of the world, and further, if need be. This is my gift to you.”

Quick, he sealed it with a kiss, lips pressed to Dara’s. An electric tingle ran down Dara’s spine, and his vision distorted for a moment. He nearly saw it, the elysian, golden fields of the Gods, the future within his grasp. His limbs trembled when Zhen pulled back, resting their foreheads together. His hands cradled Dara’s face, rubbing his cheekbone.

“You will be a magnificent king, my Dara,” he sounded genuine. “I hope to be a good help to you.”

Remembering to breathe, Dara pulled him in close and draped his arms around his neck, dampening his shirt. “Thank you.”

In the back of his mind, that golden light seemed to smile.

Chapter Text

Zhen sighed when Dara and Darran entered his tent, heads down. They stood before him, Darran dressed in his uniform, prim and proper with his bandages neatly hidden. Dara, however, had elected to wear only pants. He smelled of poultices. Safe from pesky infections. Their medic would have her work cut out for her.

Where Darran demurred and deferred, pliant in his master’s hands, Dara only watched the floor and clasped his hands together. His shoulders were relaxed. Zhen had caught his eye as he recovered. Unflinching, Dara’s glinted with something seductively bright. Tantalizing. Zhen left him be for as long as he could. Resisting was half the game.

“Come here,” his voice was brisk, his glee painted over, “and hold still.”

The two obeyed immediately, hands folded in front of them. Zhen rustled through his things. He took out twin collars, and a chain to connect them. Made of soft leather, they were the nicer collars he owned. The boys had already learned their lesson in pain. Now, they simply had to learn it in humility.

Dara let out a short, tense exhale as he fastened the collar around his neck, his eyes darting away from his master’s gaze. Adorable. As he turned his attention to Darran, the butler perked up, tightening his clasped hands. Zhen had to pity him. Fastening his collar around his neck, Zhen let his fingers linger on Darran’s soft skin, brushing against the underside of his chin, tipping his head here and there. So well cared for, so obedient. Well, for the most part.

With a knowing smile, he patted Darran on the cheek. “Good boy.”

He clipped the chain to Dara first, and then Darran. Eyeing each other, hesitant, they kept their attention on their master. Without a word, he tugged until they knelt, obedient in tandem. Stripping his pants off, he couldn’t help his glee at the looks on their faces. Darran nearly salivated — really, it had been too long. Zhen had neglected him. Though Dara dreaded it, he still stared, breath quick and cheeks pink. Perfect.

Zhen sat back in his chair and stroked himself to hardness. Their eyes fixed on his cock. Darran tracked it as it bounced and bobbed in his fist, lips slightly parted. Dara looked with the first few twinges of hunger. He wanted to be good. Zhen could see it in his eyes, the way he lit up when his master praised him, the way he relaxed into Zhen’s touch. Soon, all this would be a distant dream, and he would have his Dara back, and his Darran serving him.

“Will you two watch me take care of myself, or are you going to service your master?” Zhen teased, and they flinched, looking to him for further instruction. Unwilling to move without his say so. “Go on, suck.”

They needed no further prodding. Clumsily, jerking against each other, they came forward, Dara hesitating before Zhen’s cock. Darran took the free moment to kiss the insides of Zhen’s thighs, touch as reverent as a worshiper at an altar. 

“Is there something wrong, Dara?” Zhen cooed, running a hand through Darran’s hair. The man arched into his touch like a cat, eyes sliding closed in bliss.

Shaking his head minutely, Dara readied himself. He stuck out his tongue and licked up from the base of Zhen’s cock to the very tip, drawing a pleased note out of his master. Zhen hadn’t even needed to fuck his mouth. As his princeling popped the head into his mouth, Zhen’s hand went to his hair, pulling him ever so gently up and down.

He tipped his head back as Darran kissed up to the apex of his thighs, mouthing at his length. “Aren’t you two so good for me? It has been a long time, hasn’t it? I fear I have been neglecting myself. Won’t you two take care of me?”

Twin hums marked their agreement. Each shot the other a glare, but Dara popped his head out of his mouth and lapped up the side of Zhen’s cock, leaving Darran to mouth at the other. Fuck, it felt good, and what a sight for sore eyes the pair were. Together, they lapped at him, those pretty, obedient eyes watching for his next command. When he ran his hands through Darran’s hair, the man melted into his touch, letting out a soft moan. How cute.

“Good boy, Darran, so eager to please, aren’t you?” he cooed.

“Uh-huh.” He kept his attention on the task in front of him, unwilling to slack.

All these years with Zhen, and he hadn’t gotten used to his master’s kindness. Another man wouldn’t let such a lowly slave even get off, never mind touch him in such a manner. Another man would use Darran as a ragcloth. Lady Halen did. Zhen enjoyed his precious servants. Their pleasure could be just as entertaining.

Without a word, he tugged on Darran’s hair, pulling his mouth down. The man swallowed it like he was made for it, those pale blue eyes watching his master with nothing short of adoration. Dara pulled back, but Zhen cupped his cheek, meeting that beautiful amber gaze with warmth and love.

“Don’t be jealous, princeling, Darran has worked hard for this. Why don’t you give him a hand? You can leave marks on my thighs, or share, when Darran comes up for air. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Hesitant, Dara nodded.

“Good boy.”

With a whimper, Darran pushed back against his hand. Allowing him to withdraw, Zhen took his chin in hand, soaking in the pleasure as Dara sucked hickies into his thighs.

“Don’t you look nice? Go on. Suck. Let’s see how good a job you can do, Darran.”

The poor thing’s voice was breathy, pupils blown wide. “Yes, Master Zhen.”

Taking him down to the hilt, Darran bobbed his head while Dara kissed his master’s thighs. Zhen let out a low moan, his hand resting atop Darran’s head, grabbing his hair. The poor thing groaned, his own member hard between his legs. If Zhen found himself in a giving mood, he might even finish him off. Then again, this was meant as a punishment.

Just as he was about to spill over, he took himself from Darran’s mouth. The man let out a whimper, chasing it with his lips before Zhen's warning hum stopped him. His anguish nearly convinced Zhen to return it. Best not to reward bad behavior, though. Instead, he stroked himself in front of Dara’s lips, Darran laving kisses on the inside of his thigh until…

With a gasp, Zhen let himself finish, right onto his prince’s lovely face. Dara made a choked off sound as he braced himself, likely thanking whatever Gods he believed in that his master’s spend hadn’t gotten in his eyes. A wry smile on his face, Zhen took Dara’s chin and turned it to face Darran.

“Isn’t he pretty like this, Darran?” Zhen cooed. “Tell him how pretty he is.”

Darran’s voice took a moment to start. “You’re very pretty with our master’s cum on your face, Dara.”

“Dara, where are your manners? He paid you a compliment.”

Dara blinked hard. “Thank you.”

Zhen’s smile widened. “There we go. That wasn’t hard, was it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Now, we can’t have you walking around like this, can we Dara?”

A note of panic entered the princeling’s eyes.

“Darran, why don’t you help.” As Darran moved to uncollar himself, Zhen took his wrist in hand, just hard enough that the man could feel the force of his grip. “You have a tongue, don’t you? Go on, clean it up.”

The pair stared at him for a heartbeat, debating rebellion. They didn’t get very far before Darran cracked under the weight of his master’s expectations, surging forward and dragging his tongue across Dara’s face. The prince flinched away, but the chain dragged Darran down as Dara fell. Atop the prince, Darran kept licking, like a dog, lapping the cum off of the prince’s face.

Zhen laughed at that, at the way Dara’s nose crinkled in disgust and he tried to push Darran off. Their collars didn’t allow that and, as he groaned and squirmed, Darran glanced to Zhen for guidance. What a perfect servant.

“Good boy, Darran, what a very good boy you are!” Patting his hair, Zhen grinned at how the man arched into his touch. “If our little princeling gives you too much trouble, then hold him down. He needs to be tamed, doesn’t he?”

Darran grabbed Dara’s wrists in one hand and pinned them to the floor above his head. He straddled Dara’s hips, keeping him in place. Before long, the mess was all gone, and Dara was only letting out little squeaks, still flinching when Darran’s tongue swiped across his face. Spit-slick, he looked to Zhen with pleading eyes now and then, hope lying bleeding in his chest. Darran was thorough.

“That’s enough,” Zhen smiled wide. “That wasn’t all bad, was it?”

“No, Master Zhen,” Darran’s words came immediately.

Dara kept quiet. Zhen’s smile faded as he stared at the man, tilting his head up by the chin so he could meet his eye. “That wasn’t all bad, was it, Dara?”

Gaze hard, Dara shook his head. “No, Master Zhen.”

“That’s what I thought. Your body agrees, doesn’t it?”

Dara’s cheeks grew red as he looked down, seeing an erection straining against his pants. “I… it was the grinding, Master Zhen. Darran was humping me.”

With a laugh, Zhen ran his fingers through Dara’s hair. “Isn’t that adorable? It seems the two of you are even better friends than I thought. Perhaps I will have you two take care of one another again. Some stress relief.”

Both their faces begged him not to. Cute. He unclipped the chain from their collars.

“Keep those on. Dismissed. Dara — go train with Rada, he was looking for you. Darran, coordinate with Hes to make sure the camp is secure.”

Silently, they rose and left, Dara’s cheeks flushed and Darran’s pants too tight. They had no right being as sweet as they were.

Chapter Text

They rolled into a town, and Dara’s heart soared. A town, after so long camping on half-forgotten roads in the deep woods… maybe they would even have a tavern. He needed a drink. As their carriage rumbled through the streets, finding an inn, Dara stared openly at buildings, the people walking by staring up at them before politely averting their eyes.

Zhen was less thrilled. A scowl etched into his face as he watched the scenery pass them by. His jaw tightened. Fiddling with the hem of his shirt, his hands alternated between picking at the fine stitches and smoothing down his pants, and his eyes flicking from face to face.

Something was wrong with him. It set Dara on edge.

“Master Zhen?” he tried, keeping his voice soft and agreeable. “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine.” Liar.

He stayed silent, waiting for a follow-up. His master sighed, covering his eyes with a hand. “What is it, Dara?”

“Are you angry with me?” Laying it on a little thick, he let his eyes go round. “I’m sorry, Master Zhen, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was simply worried — you seem stressed.”

Zhen faltered, one dark eye peeking out at him under loose hair, surmising. Evaluating. It flicked away, and Zhen sighed again, rubbing his face and twisting his hair into a bun. A costume of togetherness. Tearing his attention away from the window, he opened his mouth to speak before his tongue froze, eyes locked on something behind Dara. For an instant, Dara feared a repeat of earlier, the screaming, the thrashing, the terror. He recovered in a heartbeat, pale as snow.

“I didn’t sleep well, is al.,” Another lie. “My eyes play tricks on me.”

“May I ask what you saw?”

Zhen wavered, giving in. “Do you remember your jester? Oratio?”

Dara’s brow furrowed. “I do.”

“His ghost is haunting me.”

Oh.

“His ghost is haunting you?” Dara repeated, gentle and slow. 

Misery, plain and simple, coursed through his master. Dara smothered surprise at the way Zhen’s eyes tightened into anguish and fixed back onto the window. His hands resumed picking, chest rising and falling with uneven flutters. Zhen hadn’t slept well in days. His nightmares had interrupted Dara’s own sleep, and his tossing and turning so frequently gave way to pacing around camp.

“I… It’s fine,” his words came out strange. “It’s nothing. I’m just being silly.”

The balance shifted. “Of course. I’m always here if you’d like to talk about it, Master Zhen, but I wouldn’t force you.”

His master hesitated, thinking it over as if a genuine offer. In another life, Dara would have pitied him. Raking a hand through his hair, Zhen stiffened. Paled.

“It’s nothing,” he said again, fixing a smile onto his face. “I’m sure Oratio misses you dearly, you were always his favorite.”

“Thank you. He was a kind man, it was a shame how he died.”

With a nod, Zhen looked down at the red nail marks in his hands. The carriage rolled to a stop. “Oh, an inn. Wonderful, I will check us in. Would you like a meal, or would you prefer to wander around the town? You must be so bored.”

Dara allowed the sudden shift. “I would love to take a stroll, thank you, Master Zhen.”

“Of course, my Dara,” he said, helping Dara out. “Now, please be home by nightfall, or I will send Darran after you. Here, money for lunch.” A joke. His master was joking with him and handing him a small pouch of coins.

“I will,” Dara accepted the help, feeling his master’s clammy skin on his, “thank you.”

Though Zhen’s touch lingered, he let go, and the carriage pulled away to the stables. They parted, and Dara was out, alone, for the first time. No one in the palace would have ever let him wander a strange town unattended, but Zhen seemed familiar with the area, and trusted the townsfolk at least. The leash had slackened, thank the gods, and he was exhausted from pulling. Whatever had wormed into Zhen’s mind was in Dara’s good books.

Then again… was it really safe to have his master in such a state? Darran would want to hear about it — but Darran didn’t want to speak to him, not since their master had decided that the two made a cute pair. And yet, when their paths crossed, Darran unpacking a carriage, Dara found himself slowing. The butler glared at him. Dara still stopped a few feet away, patiently waiting for him to speak.

Dressed in his usual uniform, he had rolled up his sleeves and taken off his jacket, hung over the same post they had tied the horse to. His white shirt was dotted here and here with sweat and his boots were freshly shined, clean of mud and dust. He had shaved before they left camp. Zhen enjoyed his men clean-shaven.

“Yes?” Darran asked after hauling a chest down. “Can I help you?”

Dara reached for concern. “I’m worried about Master Zhen.”

He stilled, back to Dara, shoulders tight. “You’re what?”

“Worried about Master Zhen,” he repeated, voice low. “Have you noticed his behavior recently? It’s been… erratic.”

Like chewing gravel, Darran spat out, “Erratic. Is that so?”

“I’m serious, Darran. Has he mentioned seeing things that aren’t there? Talking to people who died?”

Facing him, he stared at Dara openly. “No, he hasn’t. Our master isn’t erratic, and he has good reasons for his actions. Master Zhen is sound and sane. I would hold my tongue. Speaking against your master like this has dire consequences in Aritia.”

“We’re not in Aritia.” Dara met his eye. The butler looked away. “I spend my day with him, all day, every day. I see his fitful sleeping, calm him after his nightmares, and soothe him after he sees Oratio in the woods. Do you know who that is?”

He replied through gritted teeth, “Who?”

“My family’s elderly jester. I saw his execution from my cell. I saw his head into the executioner’s basket. And Master Zhen saw him today, in the forest. I’m going to ask again: has he ever seen things or people who weren’t there?”

Silence. The gears in his head turned slowly, machinating. “If he has, he never told me. Are you sure he saw him?”

“He did.” Dara kept his voice low. “Let me know if you notice something concerning.”

And yet, it wasn’t enough for Darran to trust him. “Are you sure you understand our master’s plans? He must have known that you were partial to the jester, was it common knowledge within the palace.”

He shook his head, ignoring the rise of supreme annoyance. “I will keep an open mind and an open eye. Let me care for our master. Please tell me if you see him acting of. This is all I ask of you.”

A beat of silence, and then, “Fine. Don’t tell anyone I’m informing for you — don’t even think it too loud. I would rather not have a repeat of our last… argument.”

His cheeks darkened as he said it, and Dara found his face heating up as well. The memory of their humiliation stayed, an uncomfortable, irritating pearl in his mind. He didn’t want to think about it. Another layer of lacre, the rage pushed down deep into his being, and it worried at him less. Soon.

“No repeat performances. Thank you, Darran.”

Heart lodged in his throat, he gave the other man a tight smile and walked away. He needed a drink.

The town was pretty, a tiny thing in the heart of the forest, but the people were friendly enough. An older man directed Dara to the nearest tavern, making sure to ramble for a bit about how it had been the first one built in this town, a family business, transferred through the generations. Dara gave him the dignity of listening. With a shallow bow, he politely excused himself, and the old man set him free with a clap over his shoulder. The tavern was right where he said it was, a single-story building, decorated with carved vines. It was called ‘The Silly Calf’.

Sitting down at a random table, Dara ordered a beer and something called a ‘fox heart steak’ to eat. The drink came quickly, as did the food, the server giving him a winning smile. She was young, around his age. As she made to leave, he cleared his throat, a question on his lips before he could hold it back.

“Do you like it here?”

She paused, pursing her lips. “In Addana? I do like it, yes. It’s a lovely town.”

“Why have you stayed here?”

With a sympathetic smile, she leaned on the table, her serving tray against her hip. No one else patronized the tavern. “I was born and raised here. Maybe I’ll leave, or maybe I’ll stay for the rest of my life. Now, I’m happy tending bar and serving people their food. I listen to their stories when I can, and try to lighten people’s mood. It gives me a purpose. What makes you ask?”

He opened his mouth, but thought twice. “Nothing. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I’m sure you’re a busy woman.”

She gave him a second, but sighed. “Alright. The fox steak is coming right out, dear. Hang in there, I’m sure everything will turn out just fine. You look like a smart cookie.”

“Thank you,” he said. He hoped she was right.

Chapter Text

“Zhen,” a singsong voice, familiar and saccharine, cut through his thoughts, “won’t you come here?”

He came to awareness. He sat in chambers at the Kadin palace, across from Oratio, still in his bloody, patchwork uniform. The jester tipped his head to one side, the bells on his hat jingling. A small smile rested on his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. He interlaced his fingers, deep in thought. His mind ticked away along the clock, steady. Inexorable.

“There we go. Good evening, Ambassador. So sorry to disturb you.”

Zhen was dressed in his usual courtly silks. His knife hadn’t manifested at his hip or boot. “Oratio?”

“That’s my name.”

“You should be dead.”

“I’m not.”

Gripping the armrests of his chair, Zhen stared at the living corpse before him. “Why me?”

“Why you? You haunt yourself , Ambassador. I’m merely a friendly face.”

His heart beat in time with the clock’s tick. Words spilled out. “Why would I do that? I am not so wea — ”

It sounded like his words — a him less paralyzed — but his mouth didn’t move to say them. Almost annoyed, Oratio waved a hand and the voice stopped immediately, speared in the middle of a syllable. Zhen dug his fingers into unyielding wood. Everyone knew the perils of vengeful ghosts.

Reading his thoughts, Oratio laughed. “I don’t want to kill anyone. I never have, Ambassador.”

“You never called me ‘Ambassador’ after the first month.” At least the truth came from his own mouth . “What do you want?”

That smile touched the old jester’s face again. “A good question. What does this dead man want? A conversation, at the core.”

“Everyone wants a conversation,” the snap came out harsher than intended.

With a deep, rumbling chuckle, he sighed. “I want to talk about fate and futures. About Dara.”

“A title for me and none for the prince.” A bow string plucked on command, Oratio drew snips out of him.

“He isn’t a prince anymore. You made sure.”

“You helped.”

Sadness glittered in Oratio’s deep brown eyes. “I took my blame with dignity. Have you?”

“I have.”

Oratio raised an eyebrow. “Have you? You wanted him, and you have him. You convinced Vaness to take the throne, you promised the Artitian army. Who put the idea of executions into Vaness’s mind?”

“I never suggested executions.” He would not make Zhen a liar. “You talked about how ineffective the royal family was. You told Vaness to seduce me.”

“Did I?” Oratio chuckled, resting his cheek on his knuckles. “I suppose I did, but I didn’t call for a cull. I never promised a militia. I didn’t bring in guns. Did you smuggle those crates in yourself, or did the servants help?”

Zhen met his eye. Too sharp for a dead man. “People wanted the royal family gone, and no one would miss a prince. Would you rather Dara had been executed with the rest of them?”

“I would rather Dara be happy.”

“He is.”

“Is he? You barely know him. I helped raise him.”

Zhen’s lip curled. “And you still know nothing.”

The smile died on Oratio’s face. “Then why would Dara rather fuck your butler than you?”

“You will not get under my skin.”

“It was my job, Ambassador.”

“You were too good at it. Vaness killed you over it, so mind your tongue.”

Oratio paused, thinking his response over. Those brown eyes, perpetually glittering, traced the edges of the room as they fluttered and warped, passing through Zhen’s memories. Knickknacks appeared, disappeared, reordered themselves, and paintings on the walls shifted around, as if playing tag. Hide and seek. How many times had he reorganized his chambers?

“Vaness did execute me,” Oratio conceded. “Do you know why?”

Easy. “You were in the way.”

“He said that?”

Death hadn’t made him any more pleasant in conversation. “You wanted everyone to live — coups don’t work when you send people into exile. If the royal family would waltz back in, asking for their throne back, then what kind of king could he be? Kowtowing to them, even as he ruled the country? They needed to die.”

“An interesting theory.” Oratio shrugged, drumming his fingers on the table. “You voted to kill them.”

“Vaness never listened to me.”

“You frustrate, that’s why he never listened.” Oratio gestured to Zhen, and his clothes shifted color, form, through the ages. “You fight, and hope no one will see you stacking your hand against them. No one likes a schemer. Frankly, I’m surprised he killed me first. Funny, isn’t it? The last joke of my career.”

“All you did was make digs at people. Why keep you around?”

The room got smaller. Imperceptibly so, but Zhen could feel it. The air was thin.

“Because,” his smile came like the frost, “I know how to rule. Vaness never sat in on meetings with ambassadors, diplomats, nobles. I was there for them all. I learned while he was doing payroll, scheduling dinner, and picking up after snot-nosed children.”

Zhen’s lips split in a toothy grin. The room around him rippled, the acrid taste of blood in the back of his mouth. His heart jittered, distantly located somewhere in his chest. Each beat sent the room shimmering and creaking. Dead men’s nails traced the nape of Zhen’s neck, almost Dara’s touch.

“Oratio,” his voice choked him. “Why are you here, really?”

Leaning forward, Oratio’s smile was the world, showed too many teeth. “Why do you think, Zhen?”

The table between them had disappeared, and he could smell the other man, the sickly sweet stench of decay. Zhen’s stomach flipped, threatened to bring his dinner back up. Looking closer, the corners of Oratio’s eyes had flaked away, revealing bleached-white bone. Deep in his pupils, dead man’s fire burned, bright and orange, Illiun’s mark.

“You want Dara on the throne.”

A skeletal smile.

“He loves me.”

Oratio took Zhen’s hands in his. His flesh was cold. Like butchered meat. “You believe that?”

“Try again.”

Blood dripped from his fingertips to the floor. It burned like acid. With a scream, he wiped them on his clothes, but the crimson had already seeped in, staining his skin with prickling, bubbling pain. Oratio’s laugh pierced him like needles.

He shot up, eyes snapping open to darkness. His hands burned and he jolted out of the bedroll, rushing to the washbasin. Scrubbing, he could hear only his own breathing in his ears. Soap and freezing water, he scoured his skin. He could smell Oratio on him. The rot. Putrid rot.

Dara, jarred out of a deep sleep, sat up in the bedroll, pushing the covers aside.

“Master Zhen?” his voice came dreamily. “What are you doing?”

“Go to sleep.” His hands burned, and the water sloshed. He needed to be clean.

Gentle hands took his out of the washbasin. The skin was broken and bleeding. His own, right. Yes. His own blood, as it should be. At Dara’s touch, the burning subsided. A small, undignified noise left Zhen’s lips and, an afterthought, he noticed the unfamiliar sting of tears in his eyes. His hands hurt.

“Are you alright?” Dara asked, gentle.

“Yes, I am,” he lied.

Running his thumb over his master’s red knuckles, Dara’s eyes went soft. “Did you have a nightmare again?”

He must have thought him insane. Hated him for this, despised his master for ripping him away from his home, of his bed, and dragging him around the woodlands. Zhen wouldn’t be seeing Oratio if he had let Dara die with the rest. Even now, the reek of death lingered in the tent, trapped in the back of his throat. He tasted it with every breath.

“Yes,” the word came out, strangling. “I… apologize. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Dara was too gentle with him. The inexplicable feeling of a snake bite. A slow drip of venom into his veins. “It’s alright. Let me wash your hands for you, I want to help you.”

Like cotton bandages in the mouth, wrapping the dead’s jaw to keep from chattering. Dara had never been good at chess.

“Alright,” he managed out.

“Thank you,” Dara murmured, “it’s the least I can do. You’ve taken such good care of me when I’ve been scared.”

Without thinking, Zhen grabbed him, pulling him into his arms. He buried his nose in the crook of Dara’s neck, the tears flowing. What a sight the pair must have made, a master sobbing into his slave.

“Don’t leave, my Dara.”

“I won’t.”

Liar.

Chapter Text

“We can’t have a repeat of last time,” Dara said after dinner, a glint in his gaze. “It was a disaster.”

In the large tent, Zhen shaved at the washbasin, eyes on his reflection. This had become a rote conversation. “No, we cannot.”

“So?”

Darran had long since cleared their food, and the night had set in as the camp bedded down. Having brushed his teeth and changed into his bedclothes, Dara should have slept. His thoughts still circled, like buzzards. How many times had he played that horrible night over in his mind, walking through the darkened palace?

“We,” Zhen was saying, leaning in to get the hairs on his neck, “will ambush him, and I will put my axe through his skull. Don’t you worry, my Dara, I have gotten myself out of worse scrapes. Just ask around.”

“I believe you,” he was a capable fighter, Dara less so, “but how will you be sure?”

With a sidelong glance, his master wiped the shaving cream from his neck. “Simple: move faster, more accurately, and more precisely. He will die with shock on his face. If you would like, you could finish him off. Vaness was never good at fighting — he loved the comforts of meals and wine too much.”

And yet, those buzzards still searched for their corpse. “What if we attack the guards around the palace too, and we recruit people? I’m sure you have plenty of contacts from your soldier days. Why not ask?”

Zhen stared at himself in the mirror. “Don’t be silly. We don’t need anyone else.”

“We need help.”

“With what money? My pockets are not infinitely deep, Dara. The coin loses its luster eventually.” His words came with an edge.

“I’ll have access to the royal coffers. Provided Vaness hasn’t drained them yet, we could pay. My father was foolish, but he was an adept spendthrift.”

Though Zhen chuckled, it was more akin to rapping on hollow metal. “I will speak to some friends, but I cannot promise anything.”

Dara forced his hands, balled into fists, to open. His fingers ached. “Thank you, Master Zhen.”

“Of course. I want you on your throne again.” He finished washing up, patted himself dry with a too-soft towel, and set out his bedclothes.

He didn’t change into them immediately. They stared at each other, like wild animals circling the edges of their cage. Vaness had its key around his neck. The dirt under Dara’s nails itched like old blood. He would never win against Vaness. And here was unhinged, brilliant Zhen. Losing his mind, jumping at shadows, and happy to maim. How long did they have before those wide, perpetually moving eyes turned on Dara and recognized nothing? His axe in Dara’s chest would come as an inevitability. Relief.

Unthinking, he leaned over, fingers brushing against Zhen’s chin as affectionate as a lover’s, and brought their lips together. His master melted into the touch, entering bed. His hands found Dara’s waist and squeezed. Sliding into his lap, he allowed Dara to take charge. Zhen shuddered, his fingers only just keeping from leaving little bruises in his skin.

As he pulled back, Dara couldn’t help his sympathy. Tucking a lock of hair behind Zhen’s ear, he looped his arms around his neck, running a light finger over his soft nape. A light flush settled over Zhen’s cheekbones as he fought back a shiver.

“Do you ever think about it?” his voice was a murmur, wind through the trees.

His master’s eyes were on the curve of Dara’s jaw. “Think about what?”

“What would have been under different circumstances?” Dara followed the fall of Zhen’s hair over his shoulder with a loose finger. “I wonder if we would have met, had Aritia not had its — ”

“Not now.” Zhen’s hand closed around Dara’s wrist. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

And yet, why were his eyes so terrified at their core? “What do you dream about? You toss and turn all night.”

“Dara…”

Truths danced at the corners of his mind, whispered by familiar voices. “Do you dream of me? No, you don’t. Not Vaness, either.” And then, someone else’s smile slid over his mouth. “You still dream of Oratio, don’t you? Your feared jester.”

His face went white.

“What does he say to scare you so?”

“My dreams are not your concern.” Zhen’s voice had a wobble to it. His breath came shallower. “You are being silly. This conversation is over.”

And yet, when Dara met his eye, he saw that fractal, dizzying psyche laid bare before him, sent spinning in refracted light. Worry, there, splintered into a carefully plotted eternity of knowing smiles and hands tugging on leashes. Incessant fear, with its clanging alarms and chipped nails, pacing ruts into its corner. And at the center of it all, the ceaseless watcher planned, running probabilities against hopes and preparations and contingencies and survival, its stomach hollow and fingers trembling thin.

“How old were you when the famine struck?” the question left, formed in another’s mouth.

Silence pinned them together, a spear through Dara’s ribs, pushed into Zhen’s stomach. His bluster stalled, the sails fell. “Thirteen.”

“When did you head south?”

“Sixteen.”

“Why did you wait?”

The fight drained like water from a tub. His fingers grew cold and clammy. “Why are you asking this?”

“I want to know you better.” Dara pressed his hand to Zhen’s cheek. “You spend so much time looking after me, after us all, but I know so little about you. Tell me. I want to know the real you.”

“How can you be so certain?” Hook met fish.

Dara feigned care, concern, love. “Do you believe the Divine Ail watches you? Are you truly devout?”

Zhen’s words were a murmur, his eyes glancing at the space within Dara. “I do. I am.”

“Why?”

A splinter of rage, cocooned by web upon web of assurances, pricked at his words. “I have been so fortunate, the Divines deserve my adulation.”

“Do you think yourself fortunate, Akuluk?”

The last of the air left Zhen’s lungs in one defeated shudder. The blade pushed out his back. His lips stilled and allowed words to rot, sticky sweet and nauseating on his tongue. All the necessary beliefs, the mantras, the affirmations in the world couldn’t stall the truth of the matter. His trembling only drew, his pallor, his dark-ringed eyes. A dead man wrapped in the shell of life.

“I must be,” his voice was a murmur.

“Because there is nothing, otherwise?”

“Because there is everything, otherwise.” Dara held his gaze, watching words pile atop each other. “I have never had a choice in the matter.”

Dara smiled. “There is always a choice.”

Shaking his head, Zhen’s hands tightened in the bedspread. “No. Not for me. I obey the Gods and follow the path they set me on. I am their hand. I serve them dutifully. This is the way to joy.”

All rote, memorized mantras. “Do you want joy?”

“Do you not?”

Dara’s features turned sad, and he rested a hand on Zhen’s forearm. “I want peace. Prosperity. Serenity. Joy, nice as it is, will never sustain itself. Joy is meant to be devoured, not nurtured.”

Another small, ginger head shake. “If I am to eat joy, then I will by the grace of the Divine Ail. Peace is not for my touch.”

“Why not?”

He trembled under Dara’s fingers. “The Gods do not wish it.”

“That isn’t an answer. Why is peace barred from you?”

A tear welled up, threatening to spill over. “I am the Gods’ instrument, and they will not wield me in peace. I am to be useful.”

“Everyone wants to be useful,” the words in Dara’s mouth were gentle, sweet, “and everyone has a use. You are so skilled in war, and you are equally skilled in prosperity. No, don’t shake your head. I will find a use for you.”

“Do you swear?”

A smile, so familiar and so strange on his face, bubbled up and he squeezed Zhen’s fingers. His hands were so cold. “I swear. I will find you a use, and you will excel beyond your wildest imaginings. Do you trust me?”

“No.” The truth, for once.

“Good.” Dara pressed his lips to his master’s cheek. The kiss was chaste and burned his lips. “Your lies are springwater, but your honesty nourishes.” His mother’s idiom. “Will you humor me once more? Pretend to trust so we can start again?”

His breath stuttered in his chest. “Start again?”

Dara let his smile turn warm and gentle. “Of course. You are so capable . So smart. You will do so many feats, I know it. I would be remiss to leave you be.”

His axe would find Dara’s flesh in any life, his hands would hold Dara’s neck centuries over, his blade would slip into Dara’s bed without fail. The secret to keeping dogs, everyone knew, was to give them the choice. A beating begot only resentment. A choice conscripted the dog in its own training. Dara had always loved hunting.

“Yes,” Zhen breathed, dipping his head into Dara’s shoulder. “I want to try again. I love you so much, my Dara.”

His heart kept steady in his chest, calm as the morning sun. “You are like no one else, Zhen Ankulat. Akuluk. Whomever you want to be with me, I have never met anyone like you.”

Tears spilled over, turning to tight, painful sobs.

As Dara pressed his hand to Zhen’s back, he listened to the tiny hitches of his breathing. “You are such a skilled man — you have done everything you set your mind to and more. I admire that in you. You have ambition. You want . Show me how to want, Akuluk.”

Sobs turned to ragged gasps, and Zhen pulled back, eyes red-rimmed and unfocused. Dara pressed a hand to his overheated cheek and kissed the other. Saintly. Kingly. Zhen would behave, or kill himself trying. Perhaps Oratio would leave him be, or perhaps Oratio would drive him further into Dara’s arms. Surely, the old fool would understand the game. He played it often enough.

“May I ask one last question?” Dara’s voice was a blanket, warm and assuring.

A shallow nod.

“How did it taste, the first meal you had?”

Those black eyes fixed on his, chest hitching. “Like divine ambrosia.”

“You haven’t been eating lately.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Does that alarm you?”

He came back to himself, like a curtain drawn across a window. The wind blew in all the same. “Go to sleep, Dara. It’s late.”

Rising, he pulled rumpled clothes on quickly, chewing on the edge of a nail. Blood bubbled up, staining his lower lip. It would be a flaky smear by night’s end, and a healing wound by tomorrow.

“You aren’t going to bed?” Dara settled into his skin again, the pearls of knowledge glittering underneath like delicious treasures.

Zhen didn’t look at him. “I… will speak to Rada tonight. Go to sleep, I will return quietly. Peaceful dreams.”

He didn’t let Dara respond before he fled, that strange look in his eye still glinting in the light. Good. Time plenty to turn those pretty pearls over in his mouth, find what had given him the knowledge of what to say, and the gifts for allowing it. With a sigh, Dara sprawled out on the bedroll, happy to have it all to himself. Sleep came slowly, creeping in. His thoughts buzzed and stirred in the crucible of his mind, alternating between dozing and inspiration, shifting prisms in the light. Perhaps the gods did shine down on him, and perhaps he was not nearly as stupid as Zhen’s company thought.

As he drifted in his thoughts, the night crept on. The moon rose, the fire outside burned to its embers, and the forest settled down to sleep. Zhen returned hours later, smelling of tobacco, alcohol, and the campfire. A soldier’s cologne. Dara hid his smile in his pillows.

Chapter Text

Zhen hadn’t slept through the night in weeks. Just after midnight, he would startle awake, a scream on his lips, scaring Dara awake. A single cut-off shriek, and he lay there, watching ghosts taunt him from the roof of the tent. His hands dripped in dreams, hot and black. It soaked the bed when he woke.

Hungry ghosts’ distorted voices growled in his ears. They scratched their claws down the spongy contours of his brain, threatening to dig in — he almost wished they would. Dara thought he was going mad, and had told Rada or Azh. The three of them had grown close. Darran handled him like a glass figurine, cracked.

Zhen wasn’t made of glass. Fresh from a dream he shoved from his thoughts, he sat down before his breakfast, some Darran-made food. An omelet with cheese, herbs, salt, and pepper. Edible. It all tasted of ash these days, crumbling in his mouth and burning like cinders. He took a bite. Dara, as always, ate quickly and made all the sounds of enjoyment. He even looked Darran in the eye. Their fights forgotten.

Clearing his throat, Darran clasped his hands behind his back, keeping his head bowed low as he waited for the meal to be over. He needed to clear up.

“Is the meal to your liking, Master Zhen?”

His voice responded, perpetually serene. “Of course it is, Darran. Your cooking is satisfactory.”

A small, uncertain smile graced his face. “Thank you, Master Zhen. I noticed that you haven’t been eating too much recently, and I was wondering if you wanted me to serve a different fare. I wouldn’t want to displease my master.”

“You haven’t displeased me,” Zhen replied, managing to choke down half of the omelet. It sat like sawdust in his stomach.

Dara and Darran exchanged a glance. They were odd, now. No statements, naturally, but the two worked in tandem without naked hatred. The hairs on the nape of Zhen’s neck stood on end. Cordial relationships turned to knives and flame so easily. Did Dara know?

“Today,” he pushed his plate away, “I shall speak to Azh. Dara, as for what we spoke about the other night, I will send messenger birds and see what I can do — and I will ask Azh and Kaia, as well. If you would like, ask Rada if he would do me the favor of reaching out to some friends. That is all.”

Darran’s brow furrowed, nearly imperceptibly. “Are you asking for more favors, Master Zhen?”

“I am.”

“Please, make use of me,” he leaned forward, eyes alight, “I can fight for you. I am a tool in your hand, Master.”

“You forget yourself.”

The butler insisted. “I beg of you, let me help, let my blood be spilled to keep you safe. My master is my world, my word, my bond. No price is too high to pay for the life you have given me — Master Zhen, please, I want to serve you.”

Cutting him off with a hand on his shoulder, Zhen met his eye. Fire smoldered there, flickering in pitch. It would catch. Was this how he looked before he had been captured, a revolutionary on the war path, a young man with his whole life left to lead? Surely that eager, arrogant man had been long-beaten out of Darran. Zhen had no use for fools.

“Darran,” his voice was soft, “I don’t need your blood.”

His face fell. Clinging to hope with stubborn fingernails, he tried again. “Then what do you need of me, Master?”

“I need you to live.” It almost tasted like truth. He was slipping.

A blank stare met his words. Darran loved him so, and would love him into Zhen’s own grave, adoringly dug by his butler’s hand.

“You have served me admirably for so long.” He smiled, the warmth surface-deep. “You are too important to die needlessly.”

That broke the man, and he let out a sniffle, just keeping his sobs in check. “Yes, Master Zhen. Thank you. I will serve you — and if you need more, do not hesitate to ask. My will is yours, and I am yours to use.”

“Of course, Darran.” Frost crept up the back of his throat. “I value the trust you have in me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dara watched them as he sipped his tea. The prince said nothing, but his eyes darted from Darran to Zhen. His attention came as prying fingers. As those clever, amber eyes fell on him, Zhen fought down a shiver.

Zhen rose, appetite stalled. “Good day, boys.”

He left. The warm, summery air blanketed him — gone were the days of frigid summers and frozen winters. He would never return to the far north, not after Kadras was sorted. His precious Dara would sit on the throne, or the both of them would end up in a ditch somewhere, rotting together in bliss.

The sun was out, and people milled about camp. Kaia practiced with Rada, her prosthetic still in her tent. The servants prepared to leave, though they still had an hour yet before the carriages would roll to another town, gathering supplies, arms, and new friends. Zhen knew this area well, plenty of acquaintances happy to shelter their little squadron as they waited for a signal from an old debtor. Just days ago, Zhen sent a letter. The guards would not bother them this time.

Heart light with tentative hope, he found Azh meditating in a patch of sunlight, perched on a large boulder. The man was dressed in comfortable travel clothing, pale yellow. It went with his hair. Bare-footed, he kept his eyes closed as Zhen approached, his breathing slow and deep, focused on the natural world around him.

It was only when Zhen cleared his throat that Azh cracked an eye open.

“What?” he asked, curt.

Leaning against the rock, Zhen offered him an easy smile. The edges dug into his lips like glass. “Can’t I say hello to a friend?”

“Here I thought you were giving me space.”

With a nonchalant shrug, Zhen kept his eyes on the man’s face. He was calmer than when they had last spoken, but moods came like the weather, and the storms of Azh’s temper drew clouds so quickly. Perhaps Zhen could learn some about his burgeoning friendship with Dara, so… kindhearted, in its meddling.

Sighing, Azh tipped his face up to the suns, drinking in their heat. “I’m not angry with you. Water under the bridge.”

Zhen kept that smile up. “How wonderful.” He hadn’t done anything wrong. “I wish to apologize, when we last spoke, I scared you fiercely. I’m glad you have recovered. I wanted to know if you would like to speak about what happened — you are so clever with spirits.”

Yellow eyes lazed to him, Azh moving like a jungle cat ready to pounce. “Really.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Really,” Zhen beamed. “Your knowledge is valuable, and I simply wanted to speak with you about some… worries I have been having. Given that there is peace between us, I hoped that I could call on my friend to aid me.”

Crossing his legs, Azh narrowed his eyes. “Out with it.”

Zhen’s heart hammered. “I have seen the old Kadin jester. He was executed before I saved my Dara.”

“The one lurking behind you?”

Zhen bit his lip. Nodded.

Azh said simply. “Do you know why?”

“He doesn’t approve of my relationship with Dara, or my support, but our princeling wants to be back on the throne. This is his own choice.”

Letting out an exhale of a laugh, Azh shook his head. “Is that what you believe?”

“What else could it be?” Annoyance crept into his voice like poison into a well. “If I knew how to sate him, I would! The old fool manifests just to frighten me — nightmares every night, I haven’t slept well in weeks! I can’t think clearly, and we’re soon to make our first forays into the Imperial Core. Does he wish for Dara to die?”

“Settle down,” Azh soothed. “Vengeful spirits strike when they will be heeded. Your panic does nothing but fuel him.”

The sun slanted through the dappled leaves, right into Zhen’s tired eyes. It stung. “How do I rid myself of him? He will get us all killed.”

“Give him what he wants.”

“What he wants is impossible to give.”

Azh tutted. “Does he want Dara on the throne, or does he want Dara safe?”

“Dara will be safe on the throne,” it came out as a groan. “And Dara is safest with me.”

Azh tipped his head to one side, feigning idle conversation. “Is that true?”

Ice water trickled down Zhen’s back.

Waiting for an answer that never came, Azh sighed. “Do you believe this unsteady peace will last? What in his heart stops him from killing you in your sleep?”

“He will not do that,” it was a weak murmur.

“Even a worm will turn.” Turning back to the sunshine, Azh watched Zhen with a cracked open eye. “Can’t sleep, can’t eat, and unwilling to give in. How long until the spirit has won? Is that all you wanted to speak about?”

Zhen’s head spun. A question slipped out, stupid. “When did you grow so close with Rada?”

“When you left. You know what it’s like in our work — you need someone to keep you sane, or you risk losing yourself.”

His flinty gaze lingered too long, studying Zhen’s face. In another time, they would have bickered. He would have returned the slight, but here he was, insane, haunted, sleepless, and starving. Going to Azh for counsel. Had it been Zhen, he would have no shortage of crowing.

“Thank you, Azh. This was enlightening.”

Nodding, the man returned to his meditating. As Zhen left, he piped up, voice carrying. “No one here wants you to suffer. We’re on your side.”

Of course. Shooting a strained smile over his shoulder, Zhen stumbled back to camp, combing matted thoughts straight. Give Oratio what he wanted. Let Dara survive. Do not be forced out of the mortal coil. Subtle glances snagged at him everywhere, now, conversations artfully switched and topics discussed in the shadows of words.

Dara met him by the campfire, helping Darran with their tent. Working together, the two men had put everything away, murmuring to each other under their breaths. From afar, Zhen caught his name on Dara’s lips, and Darran’s perpetual frown deepened. So, it was true. They were permitted to speak of him — were expected to — but how much had Dara told Darran about his condition? How long until Darran decided on mercies, and Dara allowed him?

The axe grazed his neck.

Chapter Text

Dara woke to shouting. He jerked awake, sitting up in bed fast enough to make him dizzy. Zhen’s voice, loud enough to ring in his ears, boomed just outside the tent, his screaming in a language Dara didn’t understand. Northern?

Forcing himself out of bed, Dara tugged on his boots. His bedclothes, thin and lacy, clung to his thighs He grit his teeth. He couldn’t leave his master alone for an hour without him snapping at some poor soul, now. Muttering curses under his breath, he followed his ears to the front of the tent, opening it to find a looming Zhen and a cowering Darran. The butler wilted in on himself.

Zhen’s face was a man possessed. Spittle lingered on his lip, eyes wide and wild, and his throat rasped from the force of his voice. Darran muttered little placations in Northern, hoping against hope to soothe him, but they only came as fuel. This close to their plans, Zhen had cracked right in half. Dara refused to accept this.

Stepping between the two, Dara raised his own voice. “Calm down, both of you!”

Terrified, Darran put some distance between himself and his master, picking at his cuticles until they bled. “Stay out of this, Dara.”

Still jealous, even now. As if Dara were impinging on some wonderful quality time that Darran had to scrape for.

It jarred Zhen into sensibility. Stammering himself to a stop, his words approached something closer to coherence, and their master was back. Partially. He fixed his gaze to the side, taking in the servants and mercenaries politely pretending that they hadn’t seen anything. The camp pretended all was well. Zhen forced his hands behind his back, prim and proper, donning the cloak of an ambassador once more. Mitigating the situation. Remembering himself.

“As you were,” his voice was hoarse. “Dara, did I wake you?”

Dara forced his face into neutrality. His jaw ached. “What was all that screaming for, Master Zhen?”

“He…” Zhen trailed off.

Darran filled in for him, like swallowing rennet. “I spilled your lunch. My apologies.”

“Then we can make another.” No love lost in Dara’s voice. “Is that all? He spilled lunch? Was that enough to disturb the entire camp for?”

“Do not speak to our master that way,” Darran snapped.

Eyes blown and fidgeting, Zhen interlaced his fingers, grip tight on himself. He barely heard the outburst. “I want to make sure you eat well, and we have precious little food to waste.”

The money was running out, then. Dara let out a tense exhale, and Zhen backtracked.

“Putting a prince on a throne is an elaborate affair, and you need to be well-fed, well-groomed, and fit to rule. The populace must be convinced of your superiority!”

“Yes, Master Zhen.” Did he sound as tired as he felt? “Please, I beg of you, keep the peace until the deed is done.”

Zhen’s face darkened, the frustration back. “I am your master, and you will treat me as such.”

Before Dara could respond, he flinched, gaze fixing on the forest behind Darran. His skin went pale.

He muttered, so tight it hurt, “I will eat lunch. Darran, clean up the tent.”

Without waiting for a response, Zhen settled in the heart of camp, hiding from the ghosts that tailed him. Rada glanced at the pair huddled outside the tent, but said nothing as he went to intercept their master. He, too, had his doubts. Perhaps he would give some needed stability. As he watched his master shrug off his friend’s concern, Dara turned to Darran. The butler trembled, heart racing so fast Dara worried it might burst. The poor thing looked like a beloved pet learning its master had a hard kick.

“Are you alright?” Dara said, low.

“I worry about him.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Dara led them into the tent. Better to wash the blood off of his fingers before he got an infection and lost a hand. Or worse. Darran complied, quiet and shaking, eyes flitting from here to there and landing on random locations. Would he still meet Dara’s attempts at alliance with anger, even as he washed the dried blood off of his skin and wrapped his cuticles with bandages?

“Why are you doing this?” Darran’s gaze prickled.

Dara didn’t meet his eye. “Because I don’t want you to get an infection. I know that much about wound care — I used to hunt at the palace. We lost a couple of nobles to infected wounds. We don’t need any more risks.”

His voice hardened. “Why are you tending to me?”

Sighing, Dara wiped his hands on a towel by the sink. “Because — ”

“Look me in the eye when you give me excuses.”

Amber eye met pale blue, hardened from years of longing, aching servitude. Something in them did twist around anger and hatred, but the determined conviction had chipped and oozed, leaking out weakness. Could Zhen see it? The rage Darran turned into himself, a knife flensing imperfection away? Not true imperfection, of course, but the satisfying cut of self-sabotage. Vaness had failed in teaching Dara that lesson.

“I’m tending to you because we’re in this horrid situation together. If we don’t get along, then our lives will be in yet more danger. I’m not trying to replace you. I’m not going to, either.”

“I never said that,” Darran flinched.

Letting his eyes soften, Dara sighed. In the court, he learned the intricacies of performance. “I don’t want you to hate me, Darran. I want to be your ally. We had to do horrible things to each other, and I want to put that behind us to help our master.”

Darran stared at him, waiting. A lifetime of never letting anyone get close, and now a miracle had come down from the sky, a promise of friendship, assistance, hope, and all he had to do was accept. Those pale blue eyes searched Dara’s face for any trace of a trick, his shoulders tense enough to cut diamonds. He would find none. His skin had taken on a queasy pallor, scrabbling for any purchase that would help.

“I’m worried about our master,” Dara tested.

“As am I. What are you going to do about it?” For a moment, he was no simpering butler. In another life, Zhen said, Darran had been a revolutionary. That life was meant to be beaten out of him long ago.

“I’ll talk to him.” He needed to convince. “He’ll see how he’s hurting us. Darran trust me, I know how to keep him calm.”

Darran’s hands gripped Dara’s. “How do we fix this, then? What happens when you’re on the throne?”

The tiniest of smiles poked at Dara’s lips. “Have you ever thought about being a royal butler?”

“I had bigger aspirations as a youth.” His words came out hard. He hadn’t thought about his life for years.

“Then… I have you train under the chief of security. Protection for Master Zhen and I, with room for you to have whatever position you want. Think of what you could do in the palace. You won’t be a servant. You’ll be free. You could have Master Zhen as an equal. I don’t need an answer now, but I trust you. I want it to be you.”

He stared, silent and unreadable. And then, returning to his usual self, he perked up like a prey animal. “Master Zhen is returning. I will make myself scarce.”

Ripping his hands from Dara’s grip, he ducked out of the tent, walking calmly, but briskly to the other servants. Left behind, Dara strained his ears and there it was, the distinctive sound of Zhen’s boots on the grassy meadow they had camped in. He stopped just outside the tent, evidently thinking over what he wanted. Dara’s fingers returned their color, complete with crescent moons from Darran’s nails.

“Dara?” His voice sounded so small. “May I enter?”

Dara planted a comfortable, calm expression on his face. “Of course, Master Zhen. As you wish.”

Though he had calmed himself down from his tirade, Zhen had run his fingers through his hair enough times that it had come out of its low ponytail, hanging loose around his shoulders. Dark circles ringed his eyes. Almost awkwardly, Zhen sat down on the bedroll, hands tight on his knees. His gaze dropped to the floor, evading Dara’s. He didn’t look up as Dara drifted before him, the dutiful lover.

Zhen’s words were stiff. “I had a lapse in control. For that, I apologize — to Darran, and to you.”

“Thank you,” Dara kept his eyes trained on his master, “I wasn’t expecting an apology.”

Coal-dark eyes flashed up at him, torn between rage and adoration. “What kind of monster do you take me for?”

Dara stayed silent.

Zhen didn’t need an answer. “Now, I wish to tell you something. I had a productive chat with Azh, and I realized: I have kept you at my side for far too long. You will be a king soon enough, and I hope to remain in your life.” He swallowed, the slightest wobble in his voice. “Though you may wish for another path.”

Staring at his master, Dara couldn’t think of anything to say.

Eyes on him, Zhen took Dara’s hands in his, squeezing his fingers. “I want you to be free.”

“I… what?” He couldn’t bring himself to feel relief.

His master gave his hands another squeeze, fighting down tears. “I want you to choose me of your own volition. I love you, my Dara, more than Gods and men can understand. My heart aches when you are far, and whatever I do, I do it for love of you. I beg of you, let me stay in your life. All I have done was to protect you.”

Dara’s mind moved fast. Zhen had lost his mind, and when he came to his senses, how Dara had acted would be held against him. A flogging — worse — would be in store.

Or, a traitorous thought bubbled up within him, Zhen could be telling the truth. For the first time in his life, yes, but what if? His heart raced. His freedom, at the price of Zhen in his life, close enough to keep an eye on and useful in politics. How long until he grew bored of Dara’s kingly love? Though, as king Dara could ensure Zhen didn’t stray from his commitment…

“Akuluk,” he said, and Zhen’s breath caught in his chest, “I accept your offer. Stay, be my consort when I take the throne.”

The tears in Zhen’s eyes ran down his cheeks, and he pulled Dara’s hands to his lips, his kiss slow and purposeful. Binding.

“Thank you, Prince Atadara. I will love you well.”

Chapter Text

Zhen slept like the dead, uninterrupted by dreams or nightmares. Right through breakfast and lunch, he woke up around dinnertime, stomach growling and throat parched. Dark, deep, and dreamless. Scarfing down something to eat, Zhen rubbed sleep from his eyes, sparing Darran a glance.

Confused and pleased at his master’s slumber, the butler kept his head down. He clung to Zhen, a tail perpetually wagging, while Dara trained with Wrath. Every day, gone for hours. Zhen’s chest ached at the loss. He could have taught his lover to fight, it would have brought them closer together, but Rada and Wrath took that role from him.

No. Oratio wouldn’t permit that. Freedom for sanity, and a prayer he made the right choice. And that was why Zhen deserved to eat well today, asking for seconds as his lover entered the tent, freshly washed from his training.

“Dara,” his words were so sweet on his tongue. “How are you, precious?”

The prince startled, but let a smile of his own spread across his face. Artificial. How many had been artificial lately? “You’re awake. I was getting worried — you haven’t slept for so long in a while.”

“I needed it,” Zhen hummed. “The food is delicious, Darran.”

Darran’s cheeks went ruddy, eyes round. “Thank you, Master Zhen.”

The prince and butler had settled their differences, it seemed. Darran didn’t tiptoe around Dara, nor did Dara plead for his understanding. If his prince wanted to keep his butler around after claiming the throne, would Darran grow used to a second master? He would be a fitting replacement for Vaness. Zhen suppressed a smile.

He ate, and Darran served Dara his food. Taking their meal in silence, interrupted by occasional small talk, Zhen finished his bowl of stew and licked the spoon clean — Gods, it was good to sate the hunger gnawing at his ribs. His clothes hung loose on his form, ribs aching. No more. Maybe Rada would be willing to go for a wrestle, like old times.

After they finished, Darran took their plates and went off. Zhen shot Dara a smile. “I hadn’t realized how narrow my world had gotten. Funny what mere sleeplessness can do.”

With a hum, Dara met his eye, so calm. “I wonder why the nightmares stopped.”

“As do I.” Zhen’s smile was all teeth.

“No more hauntings?”

No. No more hauntings. “What do you know of Vaness?”

Dara startled. “He ran the staff, set schedules, and ensured everything was in its proper place.”

“And of his friends?”

“You.” A pause. “My father, though he was wrong.”

Zhen softened his gaze. “Did Oratio never speak of their friendship?

His expression didn’t change, not outwardly. Careful, calm, and precise — how he had grown during Zhen’s madness — Dara filtered through memories of another life.

“I didn’t know Oratio was friends with Vaness,” he said, plainly.

“They were cordial.” Not a lie.

Dara remembered a different, kinder Oratio. “Were they?”

“They had their arguments, certainly. Vaness had ideas about what the revolution — ”

“The coup,” Dara interrupted.

Zhen gave a dismissive nod. “ — should be. You understand the risks of leaving a royal family still extant when you seize power.”

Those eyes went dark. “Kadina’s Revolution.”

A fitting historical analogy. They had thrown the royal family into the river, hands and feet bound with manacles and decorated with stones. “Vaness enjoyed the story of Queen Kadina, though Oratio was… less enthused. He thought it cruel.”

“Kadina killed the old parliament,” stated Dara, eyes squarely on Zhen’s, “and every noble’s firstborn child, along with their first wives.”

With a shrug, Zhen fought a flush down from his cheeks. When did Dara make him nervous? “Oratio wanted no fatalities. I wanted you to live.”

Dara picked across his words, “It looks like you got your way in the end, Zhen. Was Oratio in on the coup from the beginning?”

A nod. “Vaness conscripted him before I was in Kadras.”

Anger flashed in his eyes, hot and quickly smothered. Dara’s good graces remained in far-off sight. How much power would the king’s consort have? How would it feel to be Dara’s lover, guiding him through to the right decisions, insulating him from harm, ensuring no one touched him ever again?

His words were steady. “And how did Oratio feel about Vaness’s plans?”

“This is such a sad story, my Dara, would you rather not plan out how we will storm the palace?”

“How did he feel?”

There was that fire he fell in love with. “Oratio thought Vaness was… prone to excess. He intended exile for the royal family, but Vaness worried that they would come back and lay claim to the throne once more.”

“As was our right.” And that was why.

“As was your right,” he agreed, pulse torn between joy, anger, and nerves. “What else would you like to know?”

Dara tipped his head to the side, watching Zhen with fresh eyes. “What did Vaness say to convince you?”

Zhen’s expression was all placation. “I knew no one at the palace. Vaness presented as my ally, and one is so easily convinced when there are none around to befriend.”

“There were nobles, other servants, other ambassadors.”

“And what did they care about a fresh-faced Aritian ambassador?” Zhen’s laugh hid the bitter ice. “With such little political power I held, my Dara, I was a buzzing fly to their plans. Vaness was the first to see me beyond meager offerings of sex, power, and money. I would think you understood.”

Something flitted in Dara’s expression, quickly repressed. “I doubt I could be brought to such betrayal..”

“Fate makes orphans of us all.”

Rage, smashed down in a heartbeat and a deep breath, flashed in his eyes. “I suppose it does. Then again, I can name those who orphaned me. Why did Vaness not kill you as he did Oratio?”

Here was a game he knew well. “The palace is large, and he never looked for me in the servants’ galley.”

“You hid.”

So naive, even still. “Some servants weren’t keen on his plans. Some preferred the royal family, and when word got around that I wanted to save you… well, here we are.”

Dara let out an aborted snort. “You must have been convincing to make the servants go against Vaness, he was quite persuasive.”

“Love has a funny way of working out.”

His smile betrayed his doubt. “They helped you because you loved me, what a romantic tale.”

“Dara, I do love you. I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you.”

“I see,” said Dara, falling silent.

A confession spilled out, an absolution. “I love you more than anyone else in my life.”

“More than Darran?”

Another laugh fell past his lips. “More than Darran, my love. More than a thousand Darrans.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Despite it all, a smile tugged at Dara’s lips, its genuineness smothered so deeply it merely glinted in the gloom.

“He will behave.” Zhen’s lips curled into a returning smile. “He always does. Do you have plans for him when you take your throne back? He would be a fitting replacement for Vaness.”

His lover let out a soft, thoughtful hum. “When I am king, will you give him to me? He has a fine mind, it would be a shame to waste it. Of course, you will be able to see him whenever you like, and I’m sure he will want to stay, but he will be a free man — how long has he been an owned man?”

“His adult life. I worry that, without instruction, he will not succeed..”

“Trust me,” Dara, confident as ever, rested a hand over Zhen’s, “and my wisdom. I have gotten to know Darran well, and he will be able to adjust. What is a king if not the people’s master? He’ll be alright.”

Zhen searched Dara’s face for reassurance. “And what plans will you have for me?”

His lips tugged into a grin. “Have you ever thought about the role of a monarch’s adviser?”

A genuine, stunned laugh left his mouth. “It would certainly be a welcome career change from ‘ambassador and fugitive’. Aritia would be pleased. I would happily take on that role, my Dara, if you would offer it to me.”

“Good.” He gave Zhen’s hand a squeeze. “Then I look forward to seeing what our relationship will become, Zhen. We will be quite capable at running a nation together, don’t you think?”

Nodding, Zhen leaned in, eyes wandering to Dara’s lips. “Vaness won’t know what hit him, will he?”

In lieu of words, Dara sealed their deal with a kiss, firm and claiming. Tentatively happy, Zhen let him, hands gripping his lover’s hips as his precious, wonderful Dara kissed him until the pair could barely think about anything else. Forgiveness, sweet and treasured.

Chapter Text

They made it to the Imperial Core under cover of darkness. Zhen’s contacts had made it to the city and thinned the guards. The populace would have left for the growing season. The remaining guards were plied and bribed with flask and coin. Vaness was inside.

Dressed in mundane, forgettable clothing, loose enough to hide linen armor underneath, Dara padded through the familiar streets. Zhen hung back. The sellswords would take care of their entrance, and the pair would find the front door cracked open, find Vaness, and ‘solve’ the problem he posed. That was the agreement. It would be over soon. Dara’s thoughts came light and airy, as if walking through a dream. Maybe he was.

The palace guards lay on the steps, their blood cooling under their slit necks. Quick and easy. Dara breathed deep and sent a prayer to the Divine Ail. The goddess steadied him. If he strained, he swore he could hear her working in his mind, slow and encouraging, smoothing the path. Zhen’s hand found the handle of his axe.

A cold breeze disturbed the muggy summer air, flowing in through the open palace doors. People within, so alive, some even still sleeping in their beds. Others found rest in the city of the dead. The alarm had yet to be raised. Dara’s feet took him over the threshold. His family smiled upon him, his sisters’ footsteps faint in the distance. His stomach ached with fear, but the Divine Ail bolstered him, promised safety. Darran, farther behind, would provide them an escape if they needed it, and ensure no one outside raised the cries.

It was cold inside, like winter.

“Do you feel something?” he asked, barely a whisper.

Zhen nodded, his own eyes dark and glittering. Dara’s breath came from far away, and each step was a float. Like he was underwater. A film stuck to everything he saw, hazy and grainy. His breath clouded before him, steam trailing from his nose like a dragon, wandering through the freezing wind blowing through the palace.

“In there,” Dara breathed, and his words didn’t come with a fresh puff of white. Just his breath. “He’ll be in the royal quarter.”

Zhen’s brows drew together. Everything moved so slow. “Is there a path?”

“Of course.”

Dara slid his hand along the wall until he found a latch under a tapestry, some gaudy thing that he would burn after Vaness…

The latch clicked open, and Dara led the way. The hallway was cramped and dark. Memory led him up the time-worn steps silently, Zhen close enough to feel the warmth off his body, footstep in footstep. Was Oratio watching them now? Did he guide their feet? Through that fork, left, and Dara slowed, pressing a hand over Zhen’s mouth. A sleeping quarter there, for the royal servants. Be quiet.

Zhen complied. He belonged here, sneaking through passages, blade in hand, ready to execute a murder. As a diplomat, he was an ill-kept pet. He would never thrive in a court. A lovely fixer for Dara. They passed the servants’ quarters and crept along. There would be his youngest siblings’ rooms. There, the door to his own. His elder sisters here and there. His mother. His father. Vaness would be in his father’s room.

A servant peeked out of a doorway and, upon seeing Dara — his face serene, princely and holy — fell to her knees in supplication, tears in her eyes. No need for pleading. Loyalty born of duress was hardly loyalty at all. Dara rested his hand on the crown of her bowed head, a blessing. The tears spilled over. He smiled.

His voice was more suggestion than sound. “All this is over. All this will be well.”

Lips splitting into a watery smile, she nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He drew his hand back, and she darted back into the rooms she came from. Her walk was energized, drunk on secrets. Dara let a smile play at his lips. The rightful heir was home, and the interloper would be dealt with.

Beside him, Zhen went to take his arm, but hesitated before their skin met. “You’re cold. I can feel it from here.”

“I’m not cold.” The truth. “The Goddess protects me.”

Zhen faltered, fingers still an inch from Dara’s arm, and murmured a prayer. The heat radiating off of him lulled Dara, comforted him. It almost brought a laugh to his lips. His former master drew his hand back, though, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. The goddess had willed their victory.

A faint, familiar jingling rang out, urging him along. How many times had he made this trek, from the palace entrance, through old passages, to his parents’ chambers, eager to leap into their beds and tell them about his adventure du jour? A guard slumped against the wall, a bolt in his chest. Dara ducked under her arm. The mercenaries had done their work well. The king was home, and an usurper lay in his bed.

Approaching the door, he paused, and listened. The jingling again. Whispers echoed around him, spirits and gods and ghosts, all vying for his attention. Could his family see him now? Could they hear his footsteps on the other side, taking back what was theirs? His sisters would be proud of him, would want to celebrate with him. An offering in their name would not suffice. This offering would.

The bedchamber door was locked. Within the room, he heard the thump of a crossbow bolt through a heart, and the sudden silence of a sleeper awoken. Another thump, Vaness falling from bed and scrambling to hide. Scared, then. As scared as Dara’s father was? His youngest siblings?

A hand pressed over Dara’s on the doorknob, colder than he. Oratio. The jester placed a frozen kiss upon his brow. He had tried so hard to keep him safe. Dara forgave him.

His words hung in his mouth. “Rest. You have done well.”

The cold ebbed. As he pressed one hand to the wood of the door, the lock clicked. The door swung open.

“Dara…” Zhen murmured, barely a whisper.

“I know.”

Calm, Dara strode into the now-unfamiliar room. Vaness had taken down his mother’s paintings, his brother’s tapestries, his father’s books, replacing them all with useless trinkets and toys. Gone were the glory days of the royal family, replaced with landscape paintings of far-off lands and oceans. The carpets remained the same, rich, ornate ones from the Steppes, before the war. The walls were the same stone as always, and dimmed lanterns illuminated scraps of paper on the desk, old treaties, legal textbooks, statutes. What one would need to learn to rule. How unprepared.

The bedsheets torn and hanging on the bed marked Vaness’ flight from slumber. The washroom door was open, as was the door to the living rooms. The closet was undisturbed, fabrics tossed across the threshold and had no lock. Just one place to hide.

Standing before the dresser, Dara tipped his head to one side and smiled. He had hid in this same dresser once, when he didn’t want to attend his tutors’ classes as a child. Vaness had given him a lashing for it, and Dara never did it again. He opened the doors, and there was Vaness, curled up in the corner, staring up at him. He was so… small. Dara was not small. As he leaned in, Vaness pressed himself further against the wall, eyes darting from Dara’s serene face to his unarmed hands.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, darting glances at Zhen.

Dara’s former master had stayed in the common room, giving the pair their privacy.

“Settling the score,” said Dara, his voice tinged with the Divine Ail’s influence.

He quailed, and a pang of pity ran through Dara’s chest. Vaness wasn’t an old man, but his brief rule aged him. His face had gone sallow, while dark circles hung under his eyes — had Oratio visited him, too? How long had he been unable to sleep, be it from work, spirit, or guilt? Dara almost pitied him. Almost.

“You killed my family.” The words came like an execution, but his voice floated along, peaceful. “And you tried to kill me. Is there anything you atone for, Vaness?”

The man blinked, wet his lips, and tried to speak. It came out in a stammer. “You’re being foolish. I’m the king, the guards… don’t do this. You don’t want to do this, Dara.”

With a smile, Dara spread his arms. “I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

He was silent, eyes darting from Dara to Zhen, thinking hard enough Dara thought he might break his poor mind. Before he could speak, though, Dara raised a hand, beckoning Zhen to return. As Zhen stared down at Vaness, cowering on the floor, as helpless as the children he helped to raise, his lip curled. No, he never liked the pathetic much.

Dara inclined his head to him, hands folded behind his back. “Zhen?”

“Yes?” His voice cracked down the middle.

“Take care of him.” Dara turned his gaze to meet Zhen’s eye, glinting amber on wide, uncertain black. Holding his hands — so warm, Dara gave his fingers a squeeze. “For me?”

He hardened his gaze. Nodded. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to Dara’s before squaring his shoulders. Dara breezed past him, no longer the wraith in the palace. Distantly, he heard Vaness pleading, voice breaking with terror as Zhen took a step forward and…

He no longer needed to worry about Vaness.

Walking through the halls, Dara smiled. A chorus of corpses whispered in his ears, his family brought closer by the Divine Ail’s influence, all whispering his joy, his claim, his inheritance. The fourth-born prince, home again. On the throne. He would miss the council of his family, but they could rest easy once more. Oratio could rest easy.

Well done, the Divine Ail’s voice hummed in his head, prince-crowned king, take your throne. All will follow.

He flowed through hallways like a sleepwalker until he found himself in the throne room. His father’s — his — throne sat in the center, his mother’s beside it. The family crest had been taken down, replaced with a now-forgotten mistake. Sitting down, he beamed at his ghosts, and they bowed low, heads against the freezing stone floors. All was well, and all would follow.