Hi Friends!

Sorry it took so long. Thanks for your patience. I could go on and on about how much life gets in the way but I won't bore you. Just know that this story will be completed - never abandoned.

Please forgive any mistakes!

Enjoy!

The initial punch to his face didn't surprise Spencer at all. And though he knew it was coming, it didn't help to lessen the pain that blossomed as the king's fat knuckles made contact with his fragile cheekbone.

Two.

Three.

Four more hits made contact, knocking his head back and forth with each blow. Stars were shimmering in his eyes as he felt himself freefall to the floor. The cool stone swiftly greeted his already swollen cheeks, soothing the soon to be bruised flesh.

"How long did you really think you could keep up this ruse? Wait. Don't tell me. I bet you thought that Derek would actually be able to swoop in and rescue you. That's why you perked up so much after you found out he was alive. You thought you were going to get free," Charles taunted, kicking the youth in the stomach after each sentence.

Spencer, unable to answer due to the pain coursing throughout his body, could only writhe and cough as he tried to roll away from the strikes raining down on him.

Suddenly, the tyrant king dropped down on one knee and reached out and gripped the boy by his collar. He held the young king in place and leaned down in order to whisper in his ear. "Oh the agony you must have felt - what with seeing your husband within arm's reach, yet not being able to touch him. It must have been horrible," Charles taunted. "But what must be worse is knowing that you are about to die here all alone on this dirty floor when the one you love is just a stone's throw away," he proclaimed, unsheathing his sword and drawing back his arm.

"Now now, brother…don't be so hasty," Raphael called from his position by the doorway.

Charles tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword and squinted his eyes in anger. "What?"

The cocky soldier flashed his brother a crooked grin and slowly stalked over to the window that Spencer had been perched in before the king had thundered into the room. "Hear me out," he said, as he glanced out at the garden.

The king, realizing that his brother had a plan, stood up slowly and positioned the tip of his steel right above his slave's heart. "Speak," he ordered.

"Well, why would you get rid of a toy you enjoy before you're done with it?"

"Go on," Charles encouraged, intrigued by the evasiveness of his brother's question.

"I'm just saying…when we were children a toy ran out of its usefulness once it was broken," Raphael explained.

"And…"

"And, if you want to get rid of your toy that's fine; just make sure that it's broken – irreparable first."

A grin played at the king's lips, "I like where your head is at, brother." The menacing man sheathed his sword and placed his booted foot on the metal collar surrounding Spencer's neck. "I can think of quite a few ways to fracture this beautiful body beyond repair."

"I don't doubt that," Raphael stated smugly. "Huh…this is interesting."

"What is it?" Charles asked, turning toward his brother who was still standing at the window looking out onto the garden below.

"It seems as though your son may have made a few friends," Raphael said slowly.

Charles left Spencer sprawled out on the floor and stomped his way over to look out the window for himself. Once he arrived he leaned through the opening and peered down at the ground below. There he saw his flesh and blood sitting on one of the benches in the center of the garden having a serious talk with Derek and his entourage. Though the young prince did not seem fully comfortable with the group and their discussion, for he kept glancing around nervously throughout the conversation as if looking out for spies.

However, it wasn't until he locked eyes with his son below that Charles was sure that the prince was up to no good. For the moment their gazes met the anxious man seemed to lose all color in his face and his eyes went wide. Tobias then tore his frightened orbs away from his father and cut off the conversation, gesturing toward the castle as if to tell the group of visitors that it was time to go back inside.

Having seen enough, Charles pulled away from the window with a snarl on his lips and stormed back over to the sniveling slave he had abandoned on the floor. "What is the meaning of this? Have you turned my own son against me?"

Spencer, who was curled up on his side clutching his stomach, said nothing as he rode out a wave of pain that was emanating from his stomach.

"I asked you a question, you worthless piece of shit! Now answer me!" he roared, grabbing the chain attached to the collar and pulling the injured youth upright.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he managed to spit out.

"Do not lie to me," Charles growled right in his face, causing the young man to clench his eyes shut in terror. "What did you do to my son?"

"I haven't done anything to him," Spencer cried as his body was jolted back and forth with a vicious shake.

Exasperated, the king let his captive drop to the floor in a heap. "You are a liar. You must have done something to convince him to help you."

Spencer felt something break inside of him at the outlandish accusation. Heatedly, he pushed himself up off the ground and defiantly trained his gaze onto the monarch. "I. Didn't. Do. Anything! It was you! You're the one who pushed your son away. You're the one who belittles him day in and day out. You're the one who has never shown him an ounce of love. You're the tyrant king who has a heart of stone and couldn't give two licks about anyone but himself and the size of his coffers. How can you possibly be surprised that the prince turned on you the second someone paid him an ounce of kindness? He was attention starved and dying for some appreciation. All I did was befriend him and show him that he is worth something. So no, I'm not a liar and I didn't convince him to do anything. It was all you!"

Charles, whose face was a brilliant scarlet by the time Spencer's tirade was over, was so furious at the youth's insolence that he rushed over to the fireplace, grabbed the poker and thrusted into the flames that were licking at the logs. He pushed the enflamed wood around for a few seconds before he clomped back over with the metal rod in hand.

"I'll teach you to disparage me with that filthy mouth of yours," Charles uttered in a low menacing voice as he raised his weapon above his head.

"You can beat me all you want, but it won't change the fact that you brought your son's rebellion on all by yourself," the angry slave retorted boldly.

Crushing the grip of the poker in between his hands the king brought it down and hit Spencer across the face with it. His captive instantly toppled over onto his stomach, cradling his bruised jaw in his bound hands.

Charles eyes flashed with delight at his toy's reaction and proceeded to take advantage of the boy's prone position by flogging his bare back with the burning end of the stick. Over and over he brought the makeshift weapon down, eliciting cries of pain from the slave as the heated point left burns and bruises in a crisscross pattern across his back.

Finally, when the king was winded from doling out a seemingly endless beating he dropped the poker to the ground and toed the boy's battered body over onto his back. The smirk he was wearing on his face was quickly wiped away when he saw threads of insolence still woven throughout the boy's pained visage.

"I can see it in your eyes that you haven't learned your lesson yet. But that's alright, I have all day to break the spirit that still stubbornly resides inside of you. By the time I'm done you'll be a whimpering mass of tears and mucus – so black and blue that your husband won't even recognize you. And speaking of your husband, I'm going make him regret that he ever entered my lands. I am going to kill you right in front of him and then I'll use the same sword that pierces your heart on him," Charles gloated.

"But wait, brother, I have a better idea," Raphael intervened, breaking the silence he had kept ever since he had discovered the prince out in the garden. "How about a joust?"

"A joust?"

"Yes."

"Whatever for?"

"Well, think about it. Who are you angrier at? Derek or the kid here?"

Charles looked down at the beaten boy and seethed, "Him."

"Exactly. So why not break your toy and rid yourself of an advisory in one fell swoop?"

"And how will a joust accomplish that?" Charles asked, intrigued.

"By killing King Derek out on the tilt yard as he participates in a seemingly harmless match with yours truly," the knight said with a devilish grin.

The cold-hearted monarch matched his brother's smirk with one of his own, "You truly are a genius. A Goddamn genius!"

Spencer, who had been forgotten on the floor, pushed the throbbing aches that were assaulting his body to the back of his mind as he forced out one last remark, "Your plan won't work! Derek is too smart to fall for your treachery. He'll see right through your plot and when he does he'll make you regret the day you decided to attack our kingdom. Face it Charles, your end is near – and it will be at my husband's hands."

For once the king didn't rise to the taunt that the slave laid out before him. Instead he turned toward his most trusted knight, "Dear brother, would you be so kind as to go down to the smithy and have him make those adornments I ordered yesterday? Tell him I want them by dinner tonight. Oh, and I want him to use rubies as caps at both ends."

"Of course, Your Highness," the man said, bowing low before he left the room to run the king's errand.

Once the door closed tightly behind his brother's back, the king's eyes narrowed to slits. He slowly knelt down and grabbed the back of the boy's head, tilting Spencer's bony chin upward. "He can try," Charles stated before he leaned in close and captured the youth's bruised lips in a vicious kiss that he ended with a hard bite to the puckered flesh, causing it to bleed. Charles then used his free hand to loosen his belt which allowed his hardened cock to spring forth from the folds of fabric that surrounded it. "But I highly doubt he'll be successful. Anyways, even if he does manage to kill me, why would he want your filthy mouth back? Once he finds out the things you've done in my service – how well you serviced me – I'm sure he'll turn you out on the streets. For what type of king would want a whore for a wife? Now, close your mouth and keep it shut. I don't want to hear a peep out of you while pommel your ass into the ground."

"A joust?" Derek asked as he swirled the wine in his goblet.

The sun was just about to start its descent down toward the horizon. The last few yellow rays were shining in through the windows and casting shadows about Derek's receiving room, signaling to the king and his friends that supper would be served in about a half an hour.

"Y-yes, sire," Tobias said with a slight stutter. "My father said he wanted to celebrate the amicable joining of our two countries and the contract that you two signed this morning to share the profits generated by the westward expansion. He plans on announcing it tonight at supper. He's going to invite you to participate in it. He wants to pit our best rider against you in a mock battle."

"But we are leaving in two days – all of us. When does he propose to have it? Surely not tomorrow! That would ruin everything," he said slightly panicked at the fact that the rescue plans they had devised that morning might be foiled by Charles's showmanship.

Gingerly, Tobias croaked out an apology. "I-I'm sorry, sire. He has already ordered the servants to start preparing for it."

"And there is no way we can talk him out of it?" Derek implored before he downed the rest of his drink in one big gulp.

"I highly doubt it. Once my father has set his mind to something he usually doesn't change it," Tobias said, shutting down the young man's hopes before they could get too high.

"What if I refuse to participate? Would he still hold it then?"

"Probably. He'd just poke fun at you for bowing out of a challenge and carry on with the rest of the festivities," Tobias explained.

"Damn it!" the king swore. "Now what? We had it all perfectly planned!"

The Georgian prince flinched at the other man's tone. He never reacted well to anger and the fact that it came from the headstrong monarch in front of him didn't help a bit.

Lord Rossi stepped forth before his sovereign could get too heated and took the empty goblet from the youth's hands before he could refill it. "Honestly Derek, this might work out in our favor."

The king sputtered as he reached out and snatched back his chalice. He then walked over to the porcelain jug that held more wine and poured himself a fresh cup. "H-how?" he asked before taking a huge draught of the honey-sweetened drink. "We've spent days planning this down to the tiniest detail. Everything has to play out just right for us to get Spencer out of Charles's grasp and safely back to our camp. Now we have a huge celebration…a joust no less…to work around."

"Well, you've been to your fair share of festivals before...you of all people should know the chaos that ensues throughout the whole day," Rossi said matter-of-factly as he walked up to the king and seized the goblet from the young man's hands. He then walked over to the potted plant by the door and dumped the remaining drink into its black soil.

Sir Hotchner then moved his body in front of the refreshment table that had been set up in the room and folded his hands across his chest. "He's right, Your Grace. There will be so much going on that it might make getting King Spencer out undetected much easier than we thought."

Derek looked back and forth between his faithful soldier and mentor. "Lady Penelope, what do you think?"

The bubbly blonde rushed over to her dear friend and said gently, "Sweetie, I think they're right. This could work to our advantage." She turned her bright eyes onto the prince and asked, "In fact, I'm going to lay odds that the best time to spirit our adorable king away will be during your match against King Charles's man. Everyone in the kingdom will be watching and no one will be paying attention to someone as insignificant as a slave."

"Lady Penelope is right, Your Highness," Sir Hotchner complimented, supporting her claim. He turned toward his king and added, "All eyes will be on you, including Charles's."

"And how will we guarantee that Spencer won't be at Charles's feet during the match?" Derek asked, pointing out what could be a major flaw in their plot.

"I-I could take care of that," Tobias pipped up, seeing an opportunity to help. "M-my father usually puts me in charge of him anyways. I'll just excuse us right before your match and take him to your wagons instead of my father's chambers. You'll still be able to dress him in a spare suit of armor and he can still march out of here with the rest of your men just like we planned."

"See!" Penelope chirped as she pulled Derek into a hug. "Everything is going to work out in the end. We'll get our cutie pie back and Charles will be none the wiser until he sobers up the next morning."

"And by then we'll be long gone, having left before the crow of the cock while the household was still sleeping," Rossi adjoined.

With a heavy sigh, Derek relaxed into the warm embrace of his good friend, "I sure hope you guys are right."