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Chapter 11

Friendship

It hadn't been intentional. If he had known that the quiet and somewhat small new kid was the favorite royal bastard, he would probably have just avoided the brat and made fun of him when he was reasonably sure it was safe. Renji wasn't a nice kid. He was loud, quick to anger, and constantly getting into trouble just to prove that he existed to the family that didn't want him and the world that didn't need him. He was big enough and violent enough to earn a second look from the military instructors, and he wasn't stupid. He latched onto the thought of glory through arms early, and by the time he was 10 he was selected for elite training at the academy. His parents had praised him for the first time. A solid military career would make him worthy of the family name.

He poured himself into his training, and went into his second year at the top of his class in practical skills. Tactics was a bit of a challenge, but finishing fourth in classroom work in the elite class was nothing to sneeze at. Then came the new kid. Renji didn't care at first. The boy was too silent, too calm, too small to be liked or hated. He was too easy to torment to be worth Renji's effort, and he let the weaker ones make fun of the boy's hair, his name, his silence. There were no royal insignia then, just a uniform like everyone's, and really it wouldn't have mattered. There were royal bastards everywhere.

The aptitude tests for the new year went smoothly, and Renji strutted to the board to enjoy the admiration of his peers and the envy of his rivals, only to have his little world come crashing down. For there, at the top of list for physical aptitude where his name belonged was another, Kurosaki Ichigo. And excited voices all around pointed out a further blow to his pride, the same name at the top of the academic aptitude list. Face reddening in outrage, Renji glared at the crowd. Ten feet behind the gathering of students, in the shadow of the tall pillars, stood one orange haired pipsqueak with a very limited life span.

Two pairs of brown eyes clashed, one angry and threatening, one calm and clear as the desert at noon. An orange eyebrow rose, and a quick, lopsided smirk was flashed before the shrimp turned away, showing Renji his back.

The class gossips would have told Renji who the boy was, would have told him the rumors that the boy had killed several rivals already, and perhaps things would have turned out differently. But no one dared come near him. All his classmates had learned to stay away when he was pissed. The next day training began, and nearly every day involved one-on-one fights to practice the day's lessons. A few students moved to pair up with the new kid, but they backed off when Renji stepped forward, once again facing that smirk but this time over crossed swords.

Most people would have been humiliated, cowed into submission after getting soundly beaten in sword, spear, mace, hand-to-hand, wrestling . . . hell, the damned bastard even out-rode him and out-shot him with the bow. But Renji wasn't most people. He just kept challenging Kurosaki. The instructors stood back, exchanging knowing glances. He managed to wound his enemy several times, and landed in the infirmary more times than he could count. It was only a matter of time before both boys were bedridden side-by-side.

"You're a fucking cheat, Kurosaki."

"Oh? How so?"

God, how he hated that calm, mocking tone. If he had stopped to think, he may have realized that he was the only one Kurosaki ever used that tone with. The teachers, the upperclassmen, even the first years heard only polite, even speech from the boy. And perhaps then he would have wondered what it meant that he was the sole person that the royal bastard spoke to like an equal.

"Throwing sand in my eyes? That's a coward's trick."

The low chuckle was twice as irritating. He considered tackling the brat, but they had both gotten quite a lecture from the healer and the man was only one open door away.

"Does that mean you got beat by a cheating coward? Wake up, Renji. No one fights fair. Not me, not you, and definitely not the one that someday kills you. What I did was not cheating. Nothing I did or could have done would be cheating, because I won."

Renji froze with his mouth open to argue, then caught himself thinking that there was more to those words, a truth he had heard in the classroom but arrogantly ignored, a truth he needed to stop denying. His mouth snapped shut and he stared at the ceiling, barely noticing an orange head turn toward him.

"Huh."

"Glad to see there's a brain in there. I was starting to wonder."

"Shut the fuck up, you spoiled, good-for-nothing little princeling."

"So, you do know who I am."

"Yeah, what of it?"

"How long have you known?"

"Oh, a few months now. So?"

There was silence from the next bed, and Renji was determined to ignore the little shit. His resolve lost to curiosity within 30 seconds, and he turned to see clear brown eyes studying him.

"The fuck you starin' at, Kurosaki?"

A smile. Not a smirk, a genuine smile.

"Call me Ichigo."

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Though he was habitually late for just about every meeting, dinner, party, or anything else that he could put off, Renji was always five minutes early when Ichigo was waiting. It was a lesson he didn't need to be taught, though his parents had certainly drilled it into his skull. The day he had visited home and offhandedly mentioned that he'd made a new friend, a royal bastard kid with crazy orange hair and a girly name, his life had radically altered. Suddenly, the useless fifth son was the subjected to personal tutors, an unwelcome amount of attention and advice from his elders, and an even more unwelcome amount of envy from his siblings. He soon regretted ever wishing to earn his place in the family, and longed for the days when he was ignored.

Being groomed to earn the favor of royalty was too much for anyone to endure, let alone someone with his temper. He and Ichigo grew closer as Renji sought every excuse to avoid home. And his parents couldn't even complain; their son was constantly in the company of the favorite son of the King. His life was better thanks to Ichigo. The competition between them continued, but the nature of it changed. He still tried to beat Ichigo, but now his rival helped and taught him, and the duo were soon untouchable and inseparable.

He knew that Ichigo valued the way he had not backed down when he was beaten, and not shied away or allowed Ichigo to win just because of his status. By the time they rode together on hunts and raids, a normal part of military training, they had a good deal of trust in one another. The first time he saw Ichigo take down an assassin at the age of 12, his world view altered again. The first time he took a life to defend Ichigo at age 14, he realized that his path in life no longer led where he thought it would.

When Renji turned 15, Ichigo was at his side to celebrate his formal acceptance into the Abarai family, much to the pleasure of his parents and the dismay of his siblings. Nearly a year later, he stood at Ichigo's side, and vowed to himself that he would move Heaven and Earth to be certain his prince survived the five years required to earn his family name and his crown. And when Ichigo turned 20, he did not even think of being anywhere but at his prince's side. It was his life, his privilege, his pride to serve and protect his friend.

So much history, such an unexpected road he had walked to stand here. He was happy with his place in life, content with past and future. How many men could say that?

His sunny mood was eclipsed by sudden clouds when the door to the prince's quarters swung open.

"Oh, if it isn't little Renji! Long time, no see, right tattoo boy? Come in, come in. Hey, I said move!"

He was yanked into the room by the same woman who had kicked him out of bed this morning, the same woman who had moaned and danced on top of him last night. Oh god, he was an idiot. Ichigo had told Chad to send for his cousin. Why had he not put two and two together? What could Ichigo want with the she-devil?

"Renji. I see you've met the new captain of my household guard."

The wicked smirk and the mischief in the brown eyes told Renji that his friend was quite aware just how familiar he was with the golden-eyed vixen.

"Guess that means I'll be guarding your pretty ass, too, eh, Renji? Not my official job, but it would look bad if the prince's best bud got his throat cut. Too bad, that makes you business, and I never mix business with pleasure."

"Will you shut up, woman!"

She smacked the back of his head, hard, while Ichigo chuckled.

"I'd better get going, sir. I'll round up the team and be on duty within three days. Keep this one in line, he's a rude little shit."

He gave a deep sigh of relief when the door closed. To think, he'd have to deal with Yoruichi nearly every day if she stayed in the prince's service. Forget the years of history with Ichigo, and all the fond memories. It wasn't too late, he could still make a living in the military.

"Why? Of all the women and men in Hueco Mundo, why her?"

Ichigo looked as innocent as a lamb as he made himself comfortable in one of the plush chairs and motioned for Renji to sit. He nearly fell into the chair.

"I like her. And you do, too, I hear. More importantly, she's the best assassin in the business. Well, the best one with any honor, that is. What better guard against assassins than Shihoin Yoruichi? Plus, if she and her team are in my employ, it stands to reason no one else can hire her to kill me or mine."

"Then why didn't you hire her 5 years ago?"

"You know why. I would have preferred surviving with no guards at all. You and Chad are exceptions. Come on, you'll survive. My fiancée has very little training in self-defense. I can't have her getting killed before the wedding, and I'd prefer if she was never killed at all. Yoruichi will keep her safe, you won't have to work with her much."

"She mentioned a team?"

"Yep, security will be almost fully staffed at one fell swoop. Chad's getting a couple of personal guards, too, if you have any suggestions. And since Yoruichi will be living here indefinitely, we'll get Urahara Kisuke as a bonus."

"No. Oh, god no. Have you met him?"

Ichigo just grinned. "You having a bad day, Renji? Want me to cheer you up?"

He braced himself for more bad news. Sometimes, Ichigo could be a real sadist. The prince tossed a bag of money at him, and he did cheer up a bit when he felt its weight.

"I've got a job for you. Go make some new friends at The Desert Rose. You've been there before, right?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. It's a cheap knock-off, I'd rather go to Gin's."

"Cheap? Only in comparison, I've been told. You've turned into a whore snob, Renji. Should I hire someone else for this?"

"What do you want?"

"Like I said, make friends. Spend money, more where that come from. Once you have a reputation, I'll let you drag me along to the cheap knock-off whorehouse."

"Uh-huh. Do I get to know why?"

"Payment of a debt. I owe Ichimaru, and I really don't like owing that man a favor."

"This about your birthday present? You going to buy out the best of Nnoitra's lot and give them to Gin or what?"

"Not quite what I had in mind."

"Oh. Ooooh, life for a life."

"But Nnoitra's too cautious. I need to lure him away from his guards, make it clean. Go play nice, and if he doesn't warm up to you after you become a star client, then we'll see if he can resist it when I show up."

"Why don't you just send your new pet assassins after him?"

"Where's the fun in that? Besides, this requires a personal touch. You don't repay a gift like that with a hired killing."

"So he's good, is he?"

"Let's just say that I value the quality of the merchandise and leave it at that."

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Cheap knock-off was an exaggeration, of course. The Desert Rose was luxurious. If it weren't for that one blessed week 5 years ago, when he and Ichigo had Gin's manor all to themselves, then he would have given his left arm to be a favored client at such an establishment. Okay, maybe not his arm, but a pinky finger at least. It wasn't like he had any trouble finding sexual partners for free, but there was a reason one paid for professionals - skill, lack of inhibition, discretion, and the ability to walk away free of any obligations or resentments.

This place was expensive, but not exclusive, no invitations required. If you were well known, as Renji was, you didn't even need to flash money to be shown into a comfortable sitting room where your many options would be presented to you. It was tawdry compared to the way Gin arranged things. When one walked into The Crowned Serpent, it was like attending a casual but elegant dinner party. You could roam room to room, dine, dance, play various games, swim in the grand baths while the refined professionals made you feel comfortable. There was no hurry, no blatant advertisement like there was in this place. But Renji relaxed into an oversized throne of a chair, with a glass of wine in hand, as women arrived in small groups. There were no surprises, a wide variety of outstanding beauty, some eager, some seeming shy, some trying to appear disinterested to increase a certain type of customer's desire.

Renji really had no criteria when it came to whores. If the cheap, disease-ridden streetwalkers were here, then sure, he'd have a preference. But at these types of establishments, he was offered a choice between sweet, spicy and sultry but all of it top quality. He enjoyed himself, making a show of being pickier than he really was but not insisting on being shown the priciest, most exclusive women. That would come later, when he had spent enough to establish a reputation.

Once he had gotten tired of the pointless selection process, he chose a tall, pale, and comfortably plump blonde, as different as he could find from the demoness he had slept with the night before. It was a very pleasant evening. She was soft spoken and soft skinned, not too pushy or boringly compliant, and quite easy to get off. Not that he usually cared if his whore had decent orgasms, but there was something to be said about the way a woman's muscles locked then became so sweetly wet, so welcoming for more.

There was nothing extraordinary about her or the couple of hours he kept her busy. He even made an effort to talk with her, to do something he had never done and had to force as part of the plan. He bragged a bit about all of his newfound wealth and influence now that his best friend was confirmed as heir. It was funny, here he was paying for sex, but it was boasting about himself that made him feel cheap and dirty.

He made his way back to the wide entry area to let the madam know he was pleased and would return. Oh, the hardships he endured to dutifully serve his prince!

"Oi! Watch where you're going, jerk!"

He looked around in anger at first, his normal first reaction to any insult. Then confusion took over when he spotted the source of the outraged voice. There, kneeling on the floor not five feet away, was a ragged, dirty little street urchin. He would have thought it a boy broken into the manor to steal, except that the voice was definitely feminine, and the small hands were gripping a scrubbing brush. Looking behind him, he saw his footprints clearly through the damp sheen of a freshly polished floor.

The girl scooted forward, not appearing to care that her knees were getting wet, to scrub again at the trail he had left in his wake.

"Damned pervert nobles, don't give a shit about what anyone else has to do to get through the day."

Her aggravated mumbling was just loud enough to hear, just quiet enough that she may try to pretend she had said something entirely different if confronted. His brow twitched in annoyance, but his anger was drowned by curiosity. Just like at Gin's, the maids here were attractive, if not up to the standards of the professionals. And just like at Gin's, all the staff were on the menu, so to speak, should a customer find one interesting.

Why, then, was this one in a shapeless rag of a dress, little more than a coarse potato sack? Dirty skin and hair, unkempt, bare of makeup or adornment, bare even of shoes. She was an eyesore by the standards of a lower-class whorehouse, certainly by the standards of The Desert Rose.

And to speak that way to a customer! A dozen retorts came to mind. The scamp should be corrected for her behavior. But what came out of his mouth was nearly apologetic.

"My shoes are quite clean, you know."

The little maid sat back on her heels with an exasperated sigh. Her pinched expression suddenly changed to an obviously faked brightness, and she looked up with a wide smile and a flutter of eyelashes.

"Of course, my lord! I'm so sorry to have gotten in my lord's way. Please do forgive me, my good lord!"

Any possible response was forgotten as he stared into big, violet eyes. Even with her false saccharine attitude, such rage, pride, and intelligence shown through that he found himself frozen in place. They were the eyes of a queen, of a general, looking up from a dirt smudged face near the floor of a whorehouse. Who the fuck was this girl?

By the time she dropped the act and her head, returning to scrubbing the already spotless floor, his brain had restarted and he turned and walked away. He heard more low curses as he laughed.