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Chapter 21

Distrust

The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one's own. ~ Willa Cather

There was simply nothing as beautiful as the desert at night, not the finest gems, not the most perfect of women could hope to compare. Skies not simply black but alive with infinite shades of blue and violet and covered with the specks of distant cold fire, the purple ribbon of thick stars across the night lighting up the sands below, casting shadow even in the darkness. This stretch of the desert was his favorite, the naturally gray sands turning to silver, dunes shading into deep indigo with striations of black. Here, there were no settlements, the open expanse too dry, too harsh for all but the occasional nomadic tribe. Starrk did not get to visit this place often enough, the chance of being needed here slim, but crossing it was required from time to time.

His squad knew how he felt, and the normally rambunctious group was mostly silent, spread out to provide him space with only the occasional creak or jingle of tack, the snorts of the horses, a murmured word or two. The sands were still, barely a breeze to shift them. Even the nocturnal hunters avoided lingering here, no water within two days journey in any direction, so no prey to draw their attention.

It was a slow trek, riding at an easy walk to spare the horses. They had been bred for centuries to thrive in the desert, but this was the first night of a four-day trek across the open sands with very little water, enough to ask without pushing for speed. He didn't mind the pace, reins dropped and head tilted back to watch the sky, he drifted off into the peace between waking and sleep from time to time.

In the silence, the small noise to his right was glaringly obvious, a series of short breaths and a quiet grunt. Posture still relaxed, his mind was instantly alert. He trusted the instincts of every permanent member of his squad, but none more than Lilynette. Outsiders commented on his own instincts, creating a little legend that he did not pay much attention to. The sobriquet 'Coyote' suited him, clever and tough desert survivor, and if the stories told about him increased his enemies fear, so much the better.

But there was one who caught even what his keen senses did not, sensed danger or opportunity seconds before he did, and she had given them an even greater edge. Watching her sniff the wind, attention fixed the northeast, he focused on his senses and waited to catch on or be told what he was missing. Without a word exchanged, horses started to drift in toward them, the experienced warriors picking up on tension, the less experienced following the lead of their seniors.

"That way. Probably not dangerous, just one person."

"Just one, no horses?"

One strangely colored eye met his for a moment, and he shut up. He'd long stopped asking how she picked up on something as faint as a breath or a stray scent on the other side of a dune, because all he got in reply was a pitying look, as if to say 'You poor thing. How do you survive with such dull senses?' It didn't help that she was still a child, a tiny waif that looked about as dangerous as fox kit.

A few hand gestures had a grinning Grimmjow heading straight in the direction Lilynette had indicated, Yllfordt and Shawlong heading out on either side at a quicker pace. The rest of the squad paused around him, watching the departing fighters. It would have to be one hell of a threat to stand up to Grimmjow alone, but he did not take unnecessary chances.

It was a less happy trio that rode back over the dune just a few minutes later, a look of boredom and slight disgust on the blue-haired man's face. Across the front of his saddle, a dark bundle hung limp and he sighed. Another cast-off child? Not likely this far out. A suicidal or ignorant traveler then to try this desert alone, or a survivor of a raided caravan or village, wandered off into exactly the wrong direction.

"Just this, still breathin', no sign of any trouble or company."

Grimmjow pulled the dark hair up, the captive unconscious which was probably a mercy. Holding back a grimace, he eyed the pale child, a girl he thought though it was hard to say. Small and thin, dark hair full of sand and dust, skin burnt, lips cracked, she would not have survived another day, maybe not the night. Most would just leave her, the effort of saving her life would cost more than such a small thing was likely to fetch in the markets. But after Lilynette, he found it hard to overlook strays. Who could tell what potential this one may have?

"Take care of her. We'll head west." Back to water and civilization, the strain of just one extra to care for too much on their water rations to continue the crossing.

"It ain't worth it, Starrk. Kid'll be dead by dawn."

Blue-gray eyes locked with sapphire. "You will personally care for the child through the night, then. I'm sure you can keep it alive."

"Shit!"

That and a growl was all the defiance he got. Grimmjow knew his own mouth had gotten him stuck with playing nursemaid when the task could have been shoved off on someone lower, and he knew better than to challenge Starrk over something so trivial. He held back a smile as the pissed-off warrior rode off with a snarl on his face, rode off slowly and gently after carefully setting the small head back down, dangling on the horse's shoulder. When he looked back a couple of hours later, he did smile as he took in the image of Grimmjow with the child now cradled comfortably in a nest of blankets, one arm holding the still unconscious form up against his chest while a damp rag was gently dabbed to parched lips. At the ferocious warrior's side rode an ever-curious Lilynette, no doubt chatting non-stop judging by the annoyance all over Grimmjow's face. He turned back with a low chuckle. Even if the stray died, the chance to make Grimm that uncomfortable was always worth it.

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One thing Shinji had not managed to do was secure an invitation to the wedding. Short notice, his own lack of an identity here, and the exorbitant price-tag of a black-market invitation had defeated even the established contacts he had in Las Noches. There would be several opportunities for the 'commoners' to see the royal company, the King and his household, even the nobility invited would parade through the streets. It was a slim chance that his target would be among them, but worth a look. A noble securing such a beauty just might make the young man a concubine to show off instead of keeping him under lock and key.

He sighed as he stared down at another unappetizing plate of bland food that he would dutifully eat and praise to stay on his landlady's good side. This woman must be the only person in Hueco Mundo that didn't spice the hell out of everything. He never would have believed he would miss having to suck down a gallon of water after every bite, but even that was better than unseasoned goat and plain beans.

Suddenly, a glass jar full of a chunky red and yellow paste appeared in front of him, along with a retreating hand.

"Try that. The food here needs a little extra, okay a lot of extra help. Just don't let her catch you or you'll never hear the end of it."

Dutifully, he wrapped a concealing hand around the jar, and lifted the top, powerful spices flooding his nose. As he took a spoonful to mix in with the horribly plain, stringy goat, he turned his head. She was worth turning to look at. Not everyone's type, he was sure, especially here where they liked their women tall and strong. Strong she might be, but small and on the thin side. Short blonde hair in a boyish cut, a little left long to drape over one startling emerald eye.

"Well, thank you, my new friend. Won't you please join me? Allow me to buy you some of this delicious food, or perhaps a drink?"

She chuckled, proving he was right not calling her 'my lady' or 'my dear.' He was a quick and excellent study, and immediately knew that she wasn't one for such flatteries. No, she was almost stubbornly proud of not being 'my lady.'

"I would love to, but I'm here to work, like I didn't have enough to do. Too many guests here for the blasted wedding."

"Careful. Seems to be an awful lot of royal spirit in the air."

An inelegant snort and those green eyes looked him up and down, lingering on his wide smile, which he knew quite well was his most ridiculous feature. Whatever she was looking for, it appeared he was lacking as she started to turn away. He rushed to keep the conversation going, suspecting this was, in fact, the landlady's daughter, serving girl to an illustrious lady. Too valuable a source of information to let go so soon.

"You don't seem excited in the least. I can see how it would be nothing but extra work for some people. Still, that means extra money, right? The landlady's charging me three times what the room is worth, definitely three times what the meal's worth if it hadn't been for your timely gift. Those folks by the fire are paying a silver each to sleep on this very floor tonight. Highway robbery."

Again, that appraising look, the polite smile turning to a false frown.

"You callin' my mother a thief? Try to find another bed tonight, then."

Perfect. A man apologizing for an offense would try to chat and compliment. That gave him an opening to question, an excuse to turn his attention to her more fully. Not too flirty, though. Something about her warned him against trying seduction.

"Now, now, no offense meant, my friend. I think I got a rather good deal, considering I came to town with no idea about this blessed event. No, all in all, I'm very much in your dear mother's debt for taking in this poor beggar. She tells me you work for a lady. You must be quite busy indeed. I assume your lady is attending the celebrations of the royal nuptials?"

"And yet, here I am." She compromised by cleaning up the half-empty plates from the table near enough to still talk to him. He spared a moment of admiration for the diners that made it halfway through.

"A good and dutiful daughter, no doubt." Another snort of derision, absolutely charming. "You will be attending the grand ceremony, then? All dolled up in ribbons and bows?"

"Hardly. You really aren't from around here, are you?"

"Really not. Ever heard of Rukongai? We don't have royalty there, or nobility. Got rid of them all a couple generations ago, never looked back. Name's Yuuto, by the way."

"I'm Menoly, I'm sure mother has already told you. Life without kings, huh? Sounds nice. Here, people like me get to do all the work. It takes rank, money, power, or beauty to get anything good out of life, no matter how hard you work."

The nature of their conversation had led her to lean in closer, their voices quiet. Confidants already.

"You must have a very early morning if your lady is attending. And yet you came to help your dear mother. Anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah, sure. You know how to clean dishes?"

It was said flippantly as she turned away. She knew a lecherous flirt when she met one and turned wide-eyed when he got up and gathered his own dishes.

"Hey, I was just joking. You're a paying guest."

"One in your debt for the best meal I've had since arriving. Just show me where to find things in the back and I'll take care of the rest."

It was with some annoyance that he found her gone two hours or so later, as the dining room turned into a hostel and all the clean and shining plates, bowls, silverware, and cups were stored away for a few hours. They had exchanged a few jokes and comments amid the bustle, but he had been counting on sitting down and prying out a few more details, test a few theories. Well, his pruned hands and sore back from bending over the sink would not be entirely a wasted investment. She would no doubt return, and he could then see if she had by any chance spotted a new youth with white hair and eyes not too far from her own vibrant jewels somewhere in the noble crowds.

"Ah, Yuuto," the old hag . . . that is, the lovely landlady leaned against his side with no regard for personal space or how she smelled after sweating in everyone's food. At least that added a little salt. "Living up to your name, my handsome gentleman."

Gross. He smiled as he wrapped an arm around the thick shoulders to steer her to a seat, much to the woman's delight as she tried to summon a blush.

"I'd have to be a right bastard to watch you and your daughter working so hard while I just sat idle. You just relax your poor feet, dear, let me get you some tea."

"Oh, such a kind one! I'll make you a special breakfast tomorrow." Of course, she wouldn't offer a free night or anything. "Everyone else will just have to be happy with porridge. They'll all be gone first thing, anyway, to get a good view. Not me, I'll be slaving away while all the festivities go on. Maybe I can get some sleep while the place is empty, eh? And what will you be doing tomorrow, handsome?"

He repressed a shudder at the implication, remembering making excuses and finally pushing her out of his room the first night. She was incredibly polite and subtle for Las Noches, where more than one woman simply grabbed his dick with a leer as a way of propositioning.

"I'll be out with all the rest of the suckers, trying to catch a glimpse of the other half."

"I suppose it is a spectacle worth seeing once. I watched the show as best I could when King Aizen took his first wife, and I was just a child when the King's coronation ceremony took place." Yeah, right, just a child. "Too busy now for such things. I've seen them all anyway, even saw the prince a few times. Wouldn't mind a chance to see the new princess, I hear she's a beauty without equal. And the prince's lover is quite something, my dear sweet Menoly says, a small kid they swear is of age, you know how that goes, and hair white as the moon. The boy does seem to like unusual coloring, must be because of his own hair. Wonder where that came from? His mother, pretty lady, had brown hair. Must be a grandparent or something."

His triumphant grin would have alarmed her if she hadn't been wrapped up in her own yapping. How many small white-haired boys could there be, especially here?

"Here's your tea," he finally broke into her rambling. "So, I've heard about your prince. Supposed to be untouchable with a sword, right? I do hope to see him tomorrow, something to tell folks back home. Tell me more about this princess and the white-haired lover. They should be easy to spot, right? I'll be sure to tell you all about them when I bring you tea tomorrow night."

Tonight, no time to waste, he would send for support. The prince of Hueco Mundo, rumored to be nearly as ruthless as his father, a prodigy with the blade, a born strategist, and a heartless killer. Beyond legends, the throne of Seireitei kept records with stories and true accounts, proofs sent from agents within every great capitol. This prince's kills were innumerable, dozens of them carried out in secrecy along with so many more that were proven. He would need his team, and they would need to accomplish the rescue without directly engaging the deadly prince if at all possible.

Busying himself with final touches about the kitchen, he listened to the old lady prattle on, all the while scheming a rescue that would itself become a legend. Or get them all killed.

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Nothing could be as wonderfully erotic as the growing boldness shown by his little pet, to not just initiate intimacy, but to move so beautifully, to provide as well as accept pleasure with such confidence. What little shame was shown had been quickly drown in a playful lasciviousness he would not have expected for weeks or months if ever. It was quite clear that this luscious boy was capable of being more than a simple submissive or a broken slave.

The dazed youth stirred and he loosened his hold, arms unlocking from around the svelte frame, hands sliding across skin cooling under sweat and his own cum scattered half way up the shallow valley of the boy's spine.

"Poor thing. You were so clean just moments ago."

The sensation of the small body shaking with tired laughter was an interesting one, legs still spread on either side of him, the slight weight breathing shakily, cheek on his breastbone. Then that cheek lifted slightly, staring at the small left hand the boy had drawn up, the hand that had provided him such a novel and delightful release. His very happy cock twitched with renewed interest when a red tongue dragged along damp fingers, tasting cautiously, the dainty nose wrinkling a little as the pink lips closed.

"Good gods, that's sexy."

Big eyes turned to him, and there was a wide streak of mischief in those intriguing turquoise depths as his pet grinned at him.

"I wanted to know what you taste like. Is that alright, master?"

The usually deep and smooth voice took on a higher tone, a childish questioning that had to be a deliberate tease. And oh, how well it worked, making him fight not to throw the boy over and fuck that nasty, coyly smiling mouth. This day had shown him more sides to his little pet than he had ever dreamed, from despairing and crushed child to noble and precocious lord, but this naughty, impish Toshiro with teasing words and a wicked smirk, this innocent devil was his current favorite.

"And how do you like it, little minx?"

"Hmm. Like the desert heat, like the spice that saturates everything here, I find it strange and unsettling. But so quickly, one could become addicted to such exotic flavors."

It didn't seem to matter anymore, his grand plan to educate his gift, guide the boy slowly in the direction of his choice. With such ease, his pet overthrew his reason and made him forget that each time he rushed ahead was a risk, a very real risk of ruining the end product just as a careless craftsman can shatter or forever blemish the strongest diamond with one hasty blow. He knew this, tried to remind himself every time he started to drown in desire, but once again the intense hunger he felt for this gorgeous young thing made it nearly impossible to think rationally.

What was it? As he cupped the soft and damp cheeks of that perfect, virgin ass and pulled the boy up his abdomen, he couldn't find an answer. Beautiful, yes, and fiery, brave, clever, sensual, so many more qualities that he found attractive. But he did not know these things when he first laid eyes on the devious whoremaster's birthday present, and he'd been nearly as obsessed then as now. At first, he'd assumed it was only familiar lust, as he may have for any lovely and accessible body. Yet for years the most stunning men and women in the kingdom had been throwing themselves at his feet, some that would make gods tremble with want. Even with such sinful temptation, Ichigo had always pursued sexual relations with the same caution that ruled his life and had never found restraint or even denial of desire to be any real challenge.

Until now. Until he found himself twisted in knots of carnal desire for a man he already owned, found himself wanting perfection to last instead of simply enjoying, consuming, and moving on to the next delight. And this defenseless, refined vision of temptation met his lips eagerly, only pushing closer when his hand moved into silken tresses to keep the sweet mouth close as he let his control slip.

There had been crystal-clear intentions only an hour ago. The boy had just lived through a day that must have been like Hell, enough stress for a year packed into a handful of hours. He was to provide quiet company, a warm presence, perhaps talk things over but only if the boy wished to relive such nightmarish events so soon. Any touching beyond simple comfort was not on the agenda, and then the boy would have a night to himself tomorrow, time for both of them to think.

Yet here he was, intentions swiftly discarded, telling himself things had already gone too far this evening while ardently tongue-fucking the eager little demon and groping like some sex-deprived lecher. Delicate hands, now obscenely sticky which only served to fuel the fire, came to rest firmly on each side of his face, small thumbs stroking his cheekbones. And gods, how perfectly the small globes fit into his palms, how wonderfully his tongue filled the small mouth, leaving no room even for the muffled sounds to take proper form before he smothered every potential protest.

The little imp yelped when he turned, shoving the boy down and holding him by the shoulders as he moved in to devour his pet. He froze as he saw the wince, pain flashing across the pretty face before being hidden, and only then it registered that the sound was not surprise or excitement. He growled, hands tightening on the thin shoulders, the sight of the lacerations and bruises like freezing water thrown over his heated body. There was no struggle, lovely eyes startled but not frightened as he struggled to rein in his anger. Not at his pet, but at his own lack of restraint, rage at everything that led up to his precious gift wincing in pain.

"You're hurting. This is why I tried to keep my distance."

"You didn't try very hard, master."

He flinched. He, prince of the desert, peerless killer, heir to the evilest bastard alive, he flinched at the soft voice that intended only to tease yet pointed out his massive error. So expressive, he saw the sudden concern in the eyes he could easily drown in, the eyes still tight with pain.

"Stay," he growled inches from the alarmed little angel's lips. "Do not move one inch or I'll have you back in chains."

He ignored the panicked whimper, and the guilt that accompanied it. He didn't mean to scare the boy, particularly after such mutual enjoyment. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. He should have stayed in his room, but had thought to share one more night, only share warmth and closeness, and they had much to talk about. Moments later he had gathered what he needed and made his way back along the passage connecting his room to Toshiro's.

His pet had calmed down, but remained exactly where he had been left, only the white-crowned head raised, eyeing the open door and dark hall before fixing on him, then turning away. Well, he had been marching about naked, and he supposed just a few days wasn't enough for the awkwardly modest boy to get used to it. Toshiro didn't object to seeing his body bare, judging by the half-hard flesh on display between creamy thighs. He sat on the edge of the bed, dumping a packet of powder into the glass of water at the bedside and swishing it.

"Hanataro already gave me medicine."

"Don't care. You're still in pain. Drink it."

He held out the glass and the boy huffed in annoyance.

"May I move, master?"

"You may, pet. And I do not mind your spirit, but if you ever again hesitate to obey me when your own safety and health are concerned, I'll have you over my knee and beat you until you scream an apology."

A small choking sound came from the boy who had just started to sit up.

"You . . . what?"

He raised a brow and moved the glass a bit closer. The two pale hands wrapped around it and the boy drank, finally obedient, watching him like he was keeping an eye on a wolf that had so far been peaceful, but in the end was still a wolf. He smiled as he brought a warm, wet towel to clean the boy up a bit. They'd made quite a mess, which normally would not concern him. But his brave, fragile hero was injured, and he wanted to ensure they were both comfortable for the rest of the night.

Ichigo took his time to gently stroke over barely defined muscles, down the flat stomach, along and around the pretty cock which earned another strangled cough. Tempting, feeling that sensitive reaction, the awkward squirming of thighs, but no, he would stay on track this time. His hand pushed the boy to lean forward, and he wiped off the nearly flawless skin, clenching his teeth at the sight of the bandaged shoulder, the redness along the spine from being slammed against a wall, the forming bruise around the willowy throat just beside his cheek which he could not help but turn and kiss gently.

Moving away from temptation, he took the glass, stood and wiped off his own stomach before walking around the bed to the side where he had originally placed his pet. Adjusting the scattered blankets, he settled and looked to his wary Toshiro, turning slightly and opening his arms. Instantly, the boy moved, crawling over to him once more. He folded his arms around his treasure, the small body leaning into him, cheek above his heart.

"Now then, you have had a very eventful day. But now that you are . . . relaxed, you will tell me everything that led up to this, my fierce little dragon."

A huff of breath, a barely concealed snort of amusement. He was glad to feel it, happy that they were finally where he had intended to be from the start of the night.

"That hardly suits me, master."

"Hmm? It is perfect. What is your complaint now, little dragon?"

"For starters, dragons are huge and powerful, not tiny and weak. Not to mention they are so rare they're practically mythological, and they'd never be in the desert."

"Wrong on nearly all counts, pet. Dragons thrive in the desert. While they are not overly large, they are fierce, dangerously intelligent, and deadly. I've always found them too beautiful to kill. As I say, perfect for you, my little dragon."

One fine hand had pushed against his ribs, propping the boy up to stare. The white brows curved down, and he wanted to kiss the severe lines above the pert nose.

"That doesn't sound at all right. I've never seen one; the few that have been spotted live far to the north in the mountains. But I've seen a skeleton, and many paintings and sketches. The biggest ones cast shadows over entire cities with their wingspan. Their breath is ice and they are freezing cold to the touch."

"Are even dragons so different in Seireitei? Ours are creatures of fire, stunning colors, fast but wingless, thank the gods. I'll have to show you one soon. They aren't as uncommon as they were, thanks to restrictions on hunting, but they are masters at avoiding humans."

Delicious lips parted, features thoughtful and animated with excitement of a very different kind than earlier. He laid a finger across those soft petals, tightening his hold just for a second to interrupt.

"We've gotten distracted . . . again. You fought just like a dragon, turning the enemy's weaknesses into your strengths, resourceful and smart. I've waited long enough to hear this story."

It obviously took some effort for Toshiro not to ask another question, falling silent for several several seconds before nodding. Then, his pet sighed and relaxed against him again, cheek over his heart. He ran his fingers lightly over the boy's neck again and again as the tale unfolded, dreading the inevitable darkness that would mar that porcelain column.

I the boy's voice he heard no blame or anger directed at him or his fiancée. The anger toward the Kenpachi was evident, and bitterness at feeling powerless. Even fear bled through as Toshiro described the violent confrontation. The boy seemed so honest, his entire body tensing with the memory of facing certain death. This could not be a spy, not with a tender heart so easily exposed, he was nearly certain of it. He had also seen the pretty face locked down, emotion wiped clean, broadcasting clearly that the boy had some secret or was evading telling the truth. Too raw a response for a trained spy, too obvious a tell.

"I was so sure he would kill me, and I couldn't even move. I remember thinking that I would die in a comfortable bed, the way my uncle always says he wants to go, though I am certain his plan doesn't involve being crushed by a drunken brute. My only consolation was that I managed to hurt him, not nearly enough but at least I wouldn't die without fighting back. Then you were there, and he was already down by the time I could think. How I wish I had seen it, you must have been truly magnificent."

The boy tensed again, though how Toshiro could imagine such praise would offend, Ichigo could not understand. He kissed the thick hair since his pet did not look up to see the approving smile. He felt the faint shiver and realized why the tension had returned. Just the thought of him, or the imagined vision of him in battle? Or was it being saved from death that had the boy aroused once more, after stoically enduring closeness and tender petting along his neck and shoulders? Whatever the cause, he stilled his hand, simply holding, still determined to keep the remainder of the night restful.

"You did quite well, pet. The cut on his cheek was deep, all the way through. And that kick, I would feel sorry for the man if I did not know better. It will be weeks before he can eat solid food. And you did this with no weapon but a comb and a slipper. What I achieved with a sword from behind pales in comparison."

The small head stirred, perhaps debating looking up to see if he was mocking. He was not. Whatever else may be said, the boy was clever and brave as any man he knew to face a monster like that.

"I have a confession. I have wanted to fight that man for years, and I am now ashamed to say that I liked him the moment I met him. Had I been there to hear the things he said, I would not have been so merciful. But I do wish it had not happened this way. No healer will ever fix the damage I did to the Kenpachi's leg. So, I find myself regretting the events of tonight. I will never get to face the brute at full strength now."

"I think I can understand that."

He held back a scoff at such a tiny, pretty thing thinking to understand a warrior's drive to battle. Had he not just deemed the boy brave and admired the way his little dragon fought? Maybe Toshiro did understand. Certainly, his pet did not deserve to be laughed at for showing a little nerve.

"As I said, you did well, little dragon. Have you had some type of combat training, or was it merely luck and fast thinking?"

There it was. Though he could not see the boy's face, he could feel the stilled breath, the complete lack of movement, even the heart which had started to speed with warmth and desire seemed to stall. This was the boy stopping to think of a lie, of a way to evade a straight answer and protect some secret from him, and he would not have it. Yet the anger, the ever present just at the edge of his every thought anger, was not at the boy for lying as he thought it would be. It was at himself, for giving a shit at all about Toshiro lying, for wanting a slave to trust him. They both drew breath to speak, but the tightening of his fingers on the narrow shoulder stopped the boy.

"No! Never lie to me. Don't speak if you cannot tell me the truth. Ever. You understand, slave? If you can't or won't be completely honest, just keep your fucking mouth shut."

His pet had frozen, then lunged back as if bitten, weight thrown first against his arm, pushing, twisting, legs and hips scrambling and hand shoving on his ribs until at last the lithe body seemed to collapse out of his grasp. He halted the arm reaching for the boy, closing his eyes for just one second, suddenly hearing how malevolent and hateful his own voice had been, how threatening. He had never spoken so harshly to Toshiro, and now he had verbally lashed the boy simply for protecting himself from a man who held his tender life hostage.

Opening his eyes, he saw the fear of him renewed in the dark turquoise depths. The stunning, naked youth shook, on knees thoughtlessly spread, backed up into a piled ridge of blankets. But it was not only fear, not only heavy tears dragging down long lashes, gilding black with shining silver as they struggled not to fall. Hurt, wounded as if the tiny heart had been crushed. Why? What would a slave boy given to him only days ago care for his judgment? Fear his wrath, struggle to please, yes. There was no reason he could find for the injured heart, and the anger building as his own died.

"I have never," words hissing between clenched teeth, tone angry but gaze so heartbroken, "never lied to you."

Slowly, he drew himself up and back from the boy, who watched cautiously somewhere between weeping and lunging forward to bite his throat open. He was much better at stilling his features, hiding his thoughts, but in the background his mind raced for clarity and the best way to proceed.

Unwittingly, he had exposed deep vulnerabilities today beginning with the devastating breakdown brought on by the collar and the way the boy was treated by himself and the three merchants. He was still not satisfied with the young man's explanation, that it was what Toshiro perceived as harsh treatment returning to upset him. No, there was a good deal more to it than a proud slave raised kindly and then collared and branded. He had put many men through that experience himself, and he knew what it took to bruise pride, to break it, and to shatter it completely.

Then the unforeseeable disaster that nearly resulted in the boy's death. Not even he was immune to the terror of a battle that seemed to be one's last. His experience and his nature kept that fear suppressed during the fight, but always such realization of mortality came to haunt him after. Toshiro seemed to handle it well, yet the young man had to be facing the devastating horror of a violent death. All while trying to navigate through pride and shame, obviously far from understanding or accepting the life the boy had not sought, the life he nearly lost.

Now, was it only the repeated traumas of the day that had his pet so exposed, every reaction visceral, the conflicts obvious in the anger and tears, the terror and desire? Had he orchestrated everything perfectly, he was certain he could never have achieved this beautiful state of defenseless need. The boy stood on crumbling ground, one push and his pet would fall in any direction he wished.

Pin the boy down, finally take him, rough but with plenty of ecstasy for the crying slave, and he would have a very good chance of creating an obedient and intimidated pet. The boy would become completely dependent, forever locking away secrets of the past so carefully hidden. In time, the previous life would be forgotten. It would be easy, the resulting pet one that required little thought or tending, never disturbing his time or thoughts to this extent again.

Or return the boy to chains, make him fight and then lose. He could thoroughly break the boy tonight, steal the last of his will to resist, to even care about resisting. There were significant advantages to this, though the resulting pet would grow dull over time. It would definitely kill the part of him that gave a shit about the feelings and well-being of a slave, free him of any obligation.

But then there was that image he recalled every waking moment, the shining jewel on black velvet and the vision of what that alluring gem could become, purest diamond cut and polished to blind every eye. And the newest vision, the lithe body contorting to wrap itself around a monster's arm, the fire in those eyes burning away pain and fear of death to attack. So many other signs, the regal bearing, wise and courtly words, placing honor above safety. Was it worth convenience? Could he throw away that dream of creating a strong and loyal lover that would have the entire court kneeling at his perfect little feet?

No, he would not settle for a lesser prize so soon. He would not turn his back on paradise just to spare himself the struggle to reach an understanding with the mysterious, beautiful angel before him. Such would be unforgivable. He leaned back against the headboard, lifting his arms again, beckoning to the trembling youth.

All these thoughts presented and carefully considered in just a few breaths. How many such considerations passed through the young and vibrant mind facing him? And which ideas took hold to cause fear to fade and resolution to take its place, for anger to dissolve into a type of sorrowful pleading not unlike that of an enemy subdued, resigned to die but still silently hoping for life?

"Come, pet. Forgive my anger and let us try again."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Tired. He was so tired. Today seemed endless, with such dark and deep lows, such glorious and bright highs, a lifetime between sunrise and this moment, alone in the dark with a prince who may be a demon, but a demon whose embrace brought peace. Toshiro told himself he had no choice but to move forward into those open arms, and the wiser part of himself laughed, knowing full well that he did not even stop to think of alternatives. He wasn't doing what he had to do, but what he wanted to do.

A long sigh left him as he was folded into the waiting, warm arms. Then he gasped as he was suddenly lifted and found himself sitting across the prince's lap, legs draped to one side, back supported by strong arms, cradled like a child. Swallowing the protest that was in his throat, he glared at the handsome face that managed to look stoic and smug at the same time. The last thing he wanted was start another fight, cause more tension and distrust.

After one long glance at him, the brown eyes turned away, looking off into the gloom beyond the lace curtains. He took deep breaths, relaxing as much as he could while acutely aware that he was completely naked, sprawled over the lap of an equally naked man. Mercifully, there was only a slight firmness under his thighs, and the emotional turmoil had killed his own erection. Now, if he could just keep it that way.

"I had nearly 40 half-siblings when I was born."

There was a distraction. He studied the faraway expression and focused on the velvet voice.

"The numbers grew and then dramatically shrank. Less royal bastards are born these days, my father content with the brood he already has. Still, two mistresses are currently with child, and likely many true bastards are due from whores, dalliances with servants and even noblewomen who think to gain influence by bearing the King's children.

"There is no age that is sacred. Babies are murdered in their cradles or at their dying mother's breast. Infanticide is considered vile, an offense against nature which is punishable by a gruesome death, but only if you are caught. That seems hypocritical, doesn't it? We turn against those who kill a newborn for their own gain, but do not blink at parents who discard the same child a few years later for the crime of weakness."

It was monstrous, far worse than mere hypocrisy, but he did not give his opinion voice. He had the distinct impression that the question was rhetorical, his owner lost in his own musings rather than looking for an answer.

"I was overlooked, for the most part. My mother was an official mistress but of the lowest standing, without the ambition required to keep the King's interest. She had only me, not enough influence or a large family to push my claim and so we were not a significant threat. Until a few months before my seventh birthday. One of my oldest brothers, Ginjo, thought himself the favorite for heir. He was the type who used elaborate schemes to get others to do what they want. His rivals died or were disgraced, and the tools he used to accomplish his goals were dirtied or destroyed in the process, his hands always clean.

"Too young to know better, too naïve and kind to cause much trouble, that is how he saw me, and he tried to use me along with a couple of the other young ones. It was simple, giving us attention and childish gifts, getting us to spread rumors and slander to drive three of his rivals into conflict. Other parts of his plot were more involved, my role was very minor. Most saw that they were being used but played along. Some just took what gain was offered, others joined in maliciously, and a few were too stupid to figure it out. I waited and did not do as Ginjo wished, which of course angered him and would make me a target, I knew. I was watching and learning and growing increasingly pissed that anyone would try to use me in this way. That plot was partly successful, severely injuring one rival, disgracing another.

"There are no innocents among my kin. Those that do not learn quickly, die young. But few strike boldly at rivals stronger than they. It had to be done. Alive, Ginjo would quickly have made an example of me, making it clear the consequences for defiance. Ginjo reveled in his victory, hiding his guilt but not his satisfaction, his last moment of glory before I struck. As two sycophantic courtiers and three of our siblings listened to him gloating, I made certain he saw my face before my dagger sliced across his throat. I was gone before the others could react."

"Did they come after you?"

He'd been unable to stop the breathless question, so caught up in the tale. It was not told with bitterness or with a plea for sympathy. It was told as one might recite a story of adventure and vengeance, one of those dark tales the prince's mother had told to teach a babe that the world was not a kind place.

"Loyalty is not won by those who work from the shadows, for everyone knows they may be the next victim of the smiling, vicious coward. So, none of Ginjo's allies attempted to avenge him. Only one pretended righteous anger as an excuse to attack that night, the very fact that he needed some excuse to kill was a foreshadowing of failure. I was more than ready. It was artless, for the fool did not expect a child to be able to fight back. I hardly needed to fight, having been prepared for several attackers. It was simple to lead him into one of many traps. Thus, my second kill, another half-brother, was anticlimactic.

"But another watched the drama unfold from the beginning, and it was then I earned my father's interest. My first two kills paved the way to the throne, and many more kills kept that path open. That is the way of all families here, the royals in particular. Not one of them did not earn death at my hands. They came after me through any means they could find, from outright assassination attempts, to plots subtle and crude, to poisoning my own mother, my only ally."

Toshiro could not help but wonder as he sat comfortable in the embrace of a murderer, would this prince discard his own children? Those that were kept, would they have to fight for the right to exist and feed their ambition with the blood of their siblings? The story was told as if it were the history of a stranger. But under his cheek there was the occasional stuttering of the heart, a pause in even breaths. There was not only deep mistrust, but a still bleeding wound. Soon, this man would have children. Would he allow such damage to his own offspring? Would they watch their mothers die and never heal from the loss?

"I tell you this, pet, so that you know and truly believe that I do not trust you. I will not trust easily, nor will I believe that you are not as steeped in lies and treachery as nearly every man and woman ever born. That is how I survive. I cannot prove dishonesty in you, but I do sense it. And should the day come when I find you false in word or deed, you know your fate. So, I say again, do not speak if you cannot tell the truth."

It was rational. It was only sane. Most people did not really trust others; it is the only way to defend against betrayal. With only a glimpse of the prince's history, he forgave the chains, forgave the games, and forgave the deep ache that made him want to curl into a tight ball of pain and grief. He realized now, no matter what twisted circumstances led him here, he had wanted something, a connection beyond the guarded friendships he had barely allowed. He did not trust easily, either, but he had started to lower his defenses only to find that the one he was trying to reach was locked behind even higher walls. And it hurt.

At that moment, he was eternally grateful for his careful use of words. He had not told much truth, but he was certain he had never lied. He considered what to say, if anything, knowing that another profession of honesty would not be believed or welcomed. The last days had taught him one thing, that his first impulse was likely the correct one, untainted with too much reason. So, he did what he wanted to do, his cheek gliding against satin skin as he lifted his head to press a kiss to the strong jaw, short stubble sharp against thin-skinned lips.

"Thank you for telling me, master."

He said no more, instinct telling him that confessing his own truths was not what was called for. It would be selfish to turn the attention to himself, and it would belittle the gift he had been given. The smile told him his response was acceptable, the hidden pain showing just a little as his lover turned to gently move his weight, leaning into him and he thought he would be laid down under his lover once more. Instead, the stretching body blew out the candle, the sudden darkness blinding.

A bit of shifting, willingly being guided by the large hands, and he was on his right side, face to face in the pitch black with the tender monster who owned him. One warm hand was between his neck and the pillow, one arm draped over his waist. His own arms were bent in between them, tangled comfortably around the tanned arm. His eyes adjusted just enough to see that easy smile still lingering before he gave in to exhaustion.

A/N - I'm not dead. And I'm sorry for being gone for like fucking ever and a day. Updates to my other stories coming soon, I hope, I hope.