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Chapter 25

Consequences

A man does what he must – in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures – and that is the basis of all human morality.

~ John F. Kennedy

Staring at himself in the mirror above, he waited, breaths shallow and careful, teeth grinding, waited for quiet steps to fade and minutes more to be sure the prince would not suddenly return. Almost in slow motion, he watched his hand raised to his face, placed considerately over his lips to stifle the sound of the sob that he had been biting back, allowing himself to feel again.

He didn't regret it. Far from it. But he had underestimated the pain, tricked by the strange way it enhanced pleasure and letting the injuries pile up, encouraging them. Only now, bliss faded and everything, every inch of him was throbbing, stinging, aching, or cramping. It was far worse than the aftermath of the attack the night before, made worse perhaps by the recent wounds. Life had been nothing but building pain and confusion ever since he was taken away from home, and he sobbed again in longing for the comforts of security and family, the surety of knowing his place in the world.

It didn't help, the pained crying only adding new discomfort as his bruised throat constricted and his head started to hurt. He forced his eyes open, blinking away tears and looking at the stranger in the mirror again. It seemed ages ago, the journey in collar and chains when he had imagined the worst again and again, pictured himself abused by men and left broken. Never could he have predicted this, imagined this life or the unwinnable debate going on in his head at this moment. Yes, it hurt. It was awful. It was wonderful. His hand drifted down beyond the horror of his neck, the arm shaking a little, muscles exhausted and strained from pulling on chains.

Chest red, marks around both nipples, he'd had a chance to protest. He had not, had in fact pushed himself closer to teeth and tongue, demanding more. His fingers barely grazed the traumatized flesh and he shuddered. He was glad he had not fought the increasing aggression that had started there, for the cascade of building ecstasy had started there as well. Lower, his hand and eyes encountered the smaller, almost decorative marks left by nips on his ribs, matching adornments trailing down his inner thighs. Each little pinch had been a perfect embellishment of the sensations tearing through his body, and he wouldn't trade away a single one for a lessening of pain now. That larger mark on his hip, what an odd thing to do, biting down on the bone like a dog with a prize. That, at least, should have frightened him, yet it had been so fucking arousing at the time, so possessive, so intimate and raw.

Then, all of these external prices he was more than willing to pay. As for the unimaginable pain in his backside, that, at least, he had anticipated even if he had hoped it would not be quite this bad, and he was sure it would get worse. What did he expect, anyway, with such a small entrance being used by that beast of a cock? He remembered the careful entry, the patience of his lover working a little more in with each movement. Until he had pushed, broken the man's kind reserve and driven them both into a frenzy. And what a fine frenzy it had been, euphoria as far beyond expectations as was the pain.

Calm once again, he accepted everything, every pleasure, every pain, knowing it would be renewed again and again. He may become more resilient; every source said the first time was the most difficult. He tried, too, to accept the inescapable fact that he had enjoyed it, preferred it to the soft and gentle pleasures he had known. For now, he, too, had time working against him. He would not miss the wedding, would not let his owner know how weak he was. Carefully, he stretched legs and flexed his back, unable to hold back a few whimpers and more annoying tears as he tested and loosened muscles before rolling to the side and working his way to he edge of the bed.

Just as he was about to try pushing himself onto his feet, he heard the click of the lock. The male guard was leaning in, opening the door, blue eyes widening and then turning quickly away, blushing, mortified, offended by the sight of him. Of course, they had both heard everything. His yelling at their prince, the laughter in response, his wailing, shrieking, moaning . . . gods, what a life he had fallen into. Perhaps that was not offense he had seen. After all, if the guard found his body and his job repulsive, why the blush? More likely, the man was envious and aroused.

As if that thought wasn't irritating enough. Hanataro stood frozen in the doorway, face draining of all color and tears slowly filling shocked eyes. Great, just what he needed now when he was having a hard enough time not despising himself.

"Shut the door!"

It was meant to be an authoritative shout, but was more of an angry croak. He hadn't realized how hoarse he was, all that screaming he thought with a quiet huff of tired laughter. The guard came through for him, giving the healer a little shove to clear the way, not looking at him again as he pulled the door closed. Hanataro was going to be less than useless, the youth visibly shaking as if he was the one inching weight onto legs that might not hold. And yet the healer did rush forward as he wavered, and he accepted the help, arm going around the shoulders only slightly higher than his own, other hand staying on the bed for balance.

"Gods! Oh, gods, Toshiro, what . . . you should lie down. I'll get Unohana."

"No. The bath, Hanataro."

"What? No, you can't . . ."

"Help me to the bath or leave."

That angry croak was a little effective, the cringing worth it as the healer finally stepped forward.

"Oh, Toshiro, you're bleeding!"

Had the man just noticed? There was very little blood, in fact, most of the bites not that deep, just the shoulder and hip aggravated by movement. He was stumbling less by the time they made it to the bathroom, though every step made his back and ass throb anew.

"What happened to you?"

He paused in amazement, one hand grabbing the door frame as he turned and stared. Hanataro couldn't be that naïve, it simply wasn't possible, and the pale cheeks flushing red told him that the young man realized how ridiculous that question was. Still, he was regretting making Hanataro pity him in the first place, seeing the tears still falling, the shame of it outweighing the possible benefits.

"Nothing that doesn't happen to every whore," he snapped. "Now, is hot water possible?"

"What? Uh, yes, you just have to adjust this and water will come from the roof tanks."

Cold water pumped up from the shade below, hot water gravity fed from tanks exposed to the sun. The desert dwellers were clever, resourceful, determined. Bloodthirsty, inhumane brutes with absolutely no morals, but he couldn't help but admire the ingenuity as Hanataro turned knobs and he carefully climbed down into the sunken bath.

"You shouldn't . . . just let me bring Unohana, okay? I mean, I can help but there's so many . . . you're just so . . ."

"Hand me a washrag, and then go make sure my suit is presentable. The wedding is in an hour. I'm going to need some kind of pain medication. Strong enough to get me through the ceremony and the dinner, but not so strong that I can't stay alert."

A gasp and a sob from the healer, and he resented both, wincing as he got down on his knees. He figured he could clean himself up a bit this way with the drain open before soaking and getting properly clean.

"Toshiro, you can't . . ."

"Dammit, Hanataro! This is life. My life. Deal with it or get out and don't return."

He didn't bother to look as the healer fell silent, focusing on the simple movements required to scoop water from the steaming stream and bring it to his filthy skin. When a washrag appeared at the edge of his vision, he took it and continued, the cloth a great help as he slowly rinsed away sweat, blood, saliva, cum. Despite his harsh words, he was not wallowing in self-pity and disgust, well, not much, each twinge of revulsion quickly followed by memories of what had put him in this state.

He was glad the healer had left the room when he worked his way to his backside, having felt the damp leaking as he had walked, knowing it wasn't just oil. Humiliating. Still, some dark part of him made him bite back a moan at the feeling, wet and sore as his fingers assessed the damage before moving the soaked rag to wipe off the worst of it. His owner would have tended to him, he knew, would have cleaned and soothed him. It only made sense. He was a rare and valuable pet, a toy barely played with. Of course, his owner would want to keep him in good condition. But he had hidden the fact that he was in agony, as always trying not to be a burden, not to be a liability. This was the consequence.

Closing the drain, he watched the water pool, remaining on his knees as his stinging skin adjusted to the heat inch by inch. Perhaps too hot, but he couldn't bring himself to call for Hanataro to cool it down, and the valves seemed miles away. Besides, it was hardly the worst inconvenience he was dealing with. Once the water was deep enough to earn a hiss as it scorched his dick and stomach, he twisted to get his feet out from under him and sit, happy to be boiled pink and clean.

By the time Hanataro returned, he had relaxed, adjusted to the heat and letting it work on softening muscles that were trying to knot up, particularly in his back. His arms, too, were tense from all the pulling, legs from the effort of pushing himself closer and closer. No, he didn't regret it, and he'd do it all again, though not anytime soon, he hoped. Eyes closed, he heard the metal squeaking as the valve turned, rushing water becoming a trickle and then just a few plops breaking the silence. Once the water cooled a bit, he'd find the soap and the fragrance his master liked.

"Toshiro, I'm sorry. I want to help, I really do."

"Will you show me a safe way out of Las Noches, then?"

He hadn't quite forgiven the healer for making him feel ashamed, even if that was the furthest thing from the man's mind. The question was unkind, and meant to hurt despite the teasing tone. The quick and firm response made him regret it.

"Yes. As soon as I can find a way."

Mind frozen in its tracks, he stared at Hanataro's face, eyes averted but calm, sad, sincere. He tried to formulate a response, completely unsure whether to encourage the idea. Voices stopped him, the sound of someone yelling his name and then yelling some more in an increasingly angry tone. He recognized the voice, and almost tried to get up before every muscle in his body warned him not to.

"Hanataro, quickly, go tell them to let her in. Now, Hanataro!"

Thank all the gods, someone sensible.

oooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

She gave the pretty guard a haughty glare as she sashayed through the door. It was the other one that had really argued with her while the woman only asked her to calm down in a high, adorable doll-like tone that only pissed her off more. Rangiku wasn't a modest woman, not by a long shot, and she was used to being the one that turned heads. Bad enough the new princess was so pretty, at least the girl was very different from her with eyes only for her fiancée, an air of innocence and shyness. This one, on the other hand, was gorgeous, ample assets barely covered and an aura of confidence and comfort with the astounding body, interesting features, fun hair . . . she hated the guard, though she really wanted to play with that hair. Maybe she should try layering like that, probably looked amazing in the desert wind. On the other hand, the woman was the one who stepped out of the way, even holding the door with a smile and a quiet "My lady" when the mousy little kid came to tell the guards to let her in. Okay, she liked the guard. They could be friends. Gods, just imagine the way jaws would drop if they walked into a room together!

The room was empty. Well-appointed, large, reeking of sex, and empty. Whistling low, she admire the bed, large enough for a 10 person orgy, okay, maybe 6 people. The whistle cut off when she saw the shackles hanging open from the headboard above messy bedding. She looked around, finding the little guy trying to be invisible behind her. He was nicely dressed, good, dark green linen with silver thread, just showy enough to mark him as more than an average palace servant. If it was fit correctly, that is, instead of just noticeably too short in arm and leg.

"Well? Where is he?"

"Um . . ."

"Rangiku? In here."

Brightening, she left the kid to hide or trail after her, making for the barely open door. She'd hoped to get free sooner, but Gin had kept her close until the king beckoned him away. Everyone knew Gin was influential, as close to a friend as the king had. Still, she had stared after him wide-eyed as the king leaned in to say something and the two walked away talking like bosom buddies. She hadn't promised she would wait just where he left her, hadn't even nodded in response to the command. Thin excuse if he came looking for her before she could get back to the throne room, but she'd hold to it.

"Oh, sweetie, it's so good to see . . . I'm going to kill that royal rat-bastard and hang his scrawny hide on my wall where I can spit on it every night, fucking swine."

A sardonic snort and faint grin made her pause. It then occurred to her that she had been staring at all the wounds, the pale body mottled with red, blue, purple, black and fully visible, naked in clear water. Toshiro hadn't taken invitations to the open baths she loved at the Serpent, had barely lowered the edge of his shirt for her to bandage his shoulder once. Now he seemed not to mind her keen gaze in the least as she took in more than the damage, appreciating the small but well-built frame, the white hair making him look clean shaved and slick except between his legs where the silvery hue just accented the pretty alabaster cock. He was definitely worthy of being a royal lover on the purely physical level, never mind the prejudice against short and light.

She took a step back, looking for the mouse and finding him hovering a few steps into the bedroom.

"You. Bring me a chair and then help your lord wash. Do you have any medicines, bandages? You can lay all that out when you're done washing. Come on now, don't dawdle. Good gods, Toshiro, how hot is that water? Are you going to the wedding? Probably should just stay here and rest. I can't avoid it, though, but I'll see you taken care of first."

As she talked, she ran some cool water to bring the bath to a more tolerable temperature, Sniffed a few bottles and smiled when she found vanilla and sakura, dumped a bit into the water, and settled into the chair the boy dragged in as if it was the heaviest thing he'd ever encountered. Toshiro, meanwhile, had leaned back with that mild frown which she knew was not at all disapproving, closing his eyes and seeming to relax.

"Hanataro is actually the healer's apprentice, Ran, he'll take care of that stuff."

"Really? Then are you supposed to have that bandage on in the water? Good thing he's just an apprentice."

She stood and then knelt at the edge, her shiny red nails peeling the damp tape as Toshiro leaned a bit to let her remove the bandage. She held back a grimace. At least the brand was healing now, but it should be a lot further along. Obviously, it was getting irritated frequently, slowing down the necessary scabbing. Her hand so close to the blackened neck brought her eyes back to the most obvious damage, the severe bruising that could only come from a serious attempt at strangulation. No simple bed-play, that, the harm deep enough to effect the usually smooth voice.

"An atrocity to deface such a work of art."

Toshiro flinched, just a bit, when her hand brushed the injuries.

"It isn't what you think, Ran. He didn't do it. I was attacked by some monster called the Kenpachi. I would have died if my master hadn't fought the brute off."

Hiding her surprise and curiosity, she focused on the practical as she went back to her chair. The little healer took her place, soft sponge in one hand, cake of soap in the other. At least he wasn't an attendant by training, or she'd have to complain about that, too. At least the boy was competent enough to wash a wounded shoulder without making Toshiro do more than hiss.

"You call him master. And the rest of it? Those are ligature marks. And don't tell me Kenpachi left love bites on your thighs and sucked your tits raw." They both ignored the little squeak from the blushing mouse. "How bad is it, Toshiro?"

"As bad as I wanted it to be, Ran. He didn't do anything I didn't want. He never has, I swear it."

"Is that why the healer had to be called the first morning? Is that why you have a healer as an attendant?"

"The healer came because of that fucking snake Ichimaru. Because I had a fever from being branded like livestock. Because I was drugged and starved and senseless. He didn't hurt me, though he could have. He didn't even fuck me until . . . until just now."

Another squeak, an awkward moment as the healer scrambled away, washing Toshiro's back evidently exhausting his abilities or more likely pushed too far outside his delicate sensibilities by two whores conversing.

"Go get the medication and bandages ready, then. Useless," she muttered under her breath, polite enough to wait until the kid was out the door, getting up and kneeling again to fetch the pitcher near the edge of the tub.

"Rangiku, don't. You'll ruin your dress. You look stunning, by the way, sorry for not saying so earlier."

"'Course I do."

She filled the pitcher with fresh water, sighing when the white head dunked under the water and Toshiro reached for a jar of cleansing soap, ruining her efforts. She sat the filled pitcher within his reach as he scrubbed his hair, he could at least use it to rinse. His arms moved jerkily, obviously hurting, and she eyed the red that would certainly add more bruises to his pale, abused body, thinking of the chains and handcuffs.

"Some people, a lot of people I'm guessing, enjoy their first time. Maybe that's another right reserved for the privileged, the ones with money or power. I was 13 when the landlord threatened to throw us out and have my father marked a slave to pay the debt, then suggested an alternative. Father took my mother and little brother outside, but he bought me a new doll after, and we lived a little better for a while with the rent paid for with my virginity. I did not enjoy my first time. But now, I may not always enjoy my clients but I always enjoy sex. It's the easiest pleasure to get when you're beautiful like us, and it doesn't take much to gain control of most men. The point is, you don't have to let it ruin things for you, sweetie. Sex is as varied as food, something for everyone's tastes. It isn't all pain."

The handsome, battered youth had a strange expression on his face as he rinsed his hair out and listened. He may think he meant it when he said he asked for this. Manipulative men, and women for that matter, were good at making the victim feel at fault; she'd seen it a thousand times. And they didn't get any more manipulative than the men surrounding them, the king, the prince, the whoremaster.

"I can teach you some things, sweetie. Tricks that can make him more gentle, and tricks that will definitely make him finish faster if he gets mean again. But don't you let him make you think this is okay."

"You're not hearing me, Ran."

She reached forward to help him up, his arms shaking as he pushed weight slowly onto his legs, every bruise and bite now on full display.

"I loved it. Every second. He gave me so many chances to back down, to choose what would happen, and then he did exactly what I asked. The only marks on me I don't want are the brand and this," startlingly white fingers against blackened neck, "and my master didn't put them there."

Fetching a towel and helping the tiny thing out of the bath hid the shock. Toshiro was not the first to like it rough; she knew the value of a bit of impact play. She just hadn't expected it from the noble forced into a life not far removed from whoring. He'd been so proper and polite, yet so easy to offend and quick to anger, she just couldn't picture him submitting to such treatment, let alone inviting it. But the pretty little aristocrat spoke with calm assurance, and he hadn't been here long enough to be broken so thoroughly that he could say and believe it with conviction if it was not true.

"Well. In that case, I have an entirely different set of tricks to tell you about. Come on, let's patch you up and make you presentable. You are going to the wedding, I presume?"

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Seriously, Rangiku, stop. I don't need to hear about your . . . exploits."

He was adorable when he blushed, especially when trying to look dignified and angry. How dignified can you hope to look half dressed with a towel wrapped around your head? Not very. She giggled again, enjoying teasing but also determined to keep him distracted as he struggled to sit gingerly at the desk for the healer to work on his upper body.

"And then, try sticking your finger in his ass just when he's about to cum. Even the dominant ones like that. They may yell about it, but they can't deny the evidence. Some of the best orgasms I've ever seen were macho guys who screamed like little girls when I shoved my . . ."

"GAAH! Shut up! That fucking hurt!"

"Ooops. Big baby, crying about a scratch when obviously you're into pain. Hey, breathe Hana. Here, let me take that. I've had plenty of practice, unfortunately. Well, not that I mind little bite marks like those. Geez, the shoulder's almost as bad as the hip. Fucking cannibal. But hey, live and let fuck, I always say. So, anyway, I was thinking, have you given him a blow job yet?"

The white head fell with a thump against the desk, a nice accompaniment to the choking noises coming from the flustered healer. Honestly, it was like the virgin boys' club in here. Well, Toshiro wasn't a virgin anymore. Still kinda acted like one. She taped the bandage over the freshly bleeding wound, grabbing the numbing salve for the brand. It didn't look bad now that it was clean, anyway. Ugly thing, such a crude design. Brands could be pretty, if done right.

"I'll take that as a no. You know who you should talk to? Yumi! Even I took a few lessons from him. Boy knows how to please a cock, let me tell you, not that he's shabby at working a clit, either."

"Ran! Please."

"Hey, you should come to his farewell party! He'd love to see you, and you won't get another chance to talk shop with the best. He'd have been here today, but with his freedom date so close, he got away with telling Gin he wouldn't come. Some of his women were offering a fortune to have him as an escort for the wedding. Gods, I'm going to miss that stuck-up princess. But now I have you, so I guess it all works out."

"What are you . . . I can't just go, I'm a slave. And what farewell?"

"Huh? Sure you can. You're the favorite mistress of the prince; you can do just about anything. Everyone will be there! It's nothing grand like this, just a really fun party. Bring a present, that's a tradition, it should be something meaningful or something to help him get started. You can just give money, of course, but friends should give something more personal. Oh, you might not have anything, huh? Don't worry, we'll think of something."

"I don't understand, where's he going?"

"Contracts up. He's going wherever he wants to go, starting a new life. Actually, I know what he's planning, but he swore me to secrecy. You know about contracts, right?"

"Um, I heard something about citizen slaves."

"Exactly. Yumi and I are both citizens. I signed up for ten, needed more money and they usually offer longer terms for girls. Yumi signed for five years, but he negotiated another two. That was genius. His debt was long paid, so he's getting a huge payout for it. Top male in the city ever year but his first, he got Gin to agree to some good terms. Anyway, times up. He's almost free. The party's in two days, at sundown. I'll get you a real invite sent tomorrow."

The jacket looked good on him, though as she gave him a hug to button it she eyed the mess of his neck and shoulders. Flaunting lover's marks was good, a show of devotion or rebellion when married or owned, a proof of talent for a professional or mistress. It was the strangulation marks that would raise eyebrows, that and the sheer number of smaller bruises, the bites. Many would declare Toshiro the most skilled and valuable lover ever to grace a royal bed. It wouldn't do the prince's reputation any harm to be thought a brutal lover, either. But she could imagine Toshiro blowing up at anyone who commented on the bruises in a way he would think accusatory of his 'master.'

"I don't know, Ran."

"Aawww, you have to come, it would be such a great surprise. Yumi talks about you all the time, you really impressed him which just never happens. So, sweetie, you do know everyone is going to want you or want to be you when they see this, right?"

Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, fingers brushing gently over purple and red. White brows knit together.

"Don't you lower your head, cutie. I've seen how you blush. Not over these. These are badges of honor to show off in Hueco Mundo. Each one tells the world that your prince is on your leash. Doesn't matter if it's true, only what they believe. You're going to have the court dying of envy. What a debut!

"Now, since you don't know the proper way to do anything, listen. Never take a gift straight from anyone's hand. Anything sent to you through servants is fine. Never promise anything, not even that you'll consider it, no matter how reasonable the request. Anyone gives you too much or asks for something against the family, tell your prince. Be polite or rude or both, ignore them or fawn on them, keep them guessing. Except the king. Never try to play with him. Don't flatter him, either. And don't let on if they offend you unless they're doing it to your face. The prince will hear any slander, he doesn't need you to defend him or his property."

She started brushing the thick, wild hair, wondering if there was any chance of getting it to lay a little neater. Maybe if it was longer, the weight would make it droop a bit. Or oil, yes, not too fragrant since everyone would be perfumed.

"I should wear a scarf or something. Oww!"

She whacked him on the head with the brush again. "What did I just tell you?"

"Yes, but it's Lady Orihime's day. I should just stay here like I'd planned. Stealing any of the attention from the bride, that's simply rude."

"You're a real piece of work. This is Las Noches. Sex is power, desire is a weapon you can use or a gift you can bestow, and no one will bat an eye if you flirt, or kiss, or suck your prince off right in front of the throne. Don't do that, though, now that I think about it. You're too refined, keep that unattainable aura for a bit. And for fuck's sake, stop thinking like a foreigner. The princess doesn't, I guarantee it. She won't be the least bit offended. Any honor you acquire, any respect, it adds to hers."

He looked completely baffled.

"Honestly, where are you from? If the court admires her prince's lover, it just means she runs a perfect household, keeps her man taken care of. If you're that good and he marries her, she must be much, much better to win a man who has such a prized mistress. As long as you aren't challenging her, that is. Just take my word, sweetie. Make a huge splash as the first mistress, get them all on their knees. She'll love you for it."

"Can you at least stop calling me 'mistress?' I am still a man, despite . . . that."

Blushing again, his voice trailed off, embarrassed. She chuckled; the modesty was misplaced, but it was cute. Probably wouldn't last long at the rate the kid was going.

"Get used to it, and don't argue. Sure, 'lover' may be slightly more masculine, but 'royal mistress' is an honored title. Own it. Now, let's see what we've got to work with."

The jewelry case was large, that was promising. She twisted the little key sticking out of the lock, the lid went up, and her jaw hit the floor.

"Oh, good gods!"

She drew back her trembling hand that reached in desperate want, and tore her eyes away to see a rather smug smirk. She didn't even blame him, the fortune in jewels making her as green as the emeralds with envy. The emeralds! Everyone knew that a single emerald was the most valuable item in Hueco Mundo, the mark of a member of the royal household. Those not born to it may rarely earn more than one, a sign of the highest favor. She stared, trying to count, losing track every time her eyes moved to a new item. There were other gems, and plain silver, but who cared?

His hands reached and took the fanciest piece by far, a collar of tight metal lace, a myriad delicate strands of silver, probably platinum, hanging in loops of various lengths, strung with diamonds and twelve teardrop emeralds. Twelve!

"Help me with the clasp."

A high squeak was her reply, fingers eager but nervous as she touched the magnificent collar, fastening it high and tight. Oh, it was beautiful! The fine silver choker was two inches wide, the loops of silver and gems hanging to make a glittering web, each loop free to swing and sparkle. It partly masked the severity of bruising, yet drew the eye to notice all of the marks.

"Toshiro . . . that . . . I've only seen anything close on the queens."

"Do you think I should just wear this? I was planning on these, too."

It was difficult to even look at the earrings, but she did. A pair of fat teardrop emeralds on silver clips to dangle below pale lobes. His hair would be such an excellent backdrop, and his eyes would shine green and bright.

"Is it too much? I saw the king's favorite. She wears a necklace with a single emerald pendant, earrings, and two hairpins. Five emeralds, the most I saw on anyone except the king and prince. She may see just the collar as an insult. Hell, the king might be offended."

She picked up a silver bracelet, not unlike the cuffs hanging from the headboard of the bed. Except for the band of crushed diamond and emerald, that is. Her final pick was a simple silver ring with a square emerald that would look huge on his small hand. Toshiro's introduction to the court of Las Noches would be a legend.

"This, too. And this. Not the king. His honor is more tightly bound to his heir than his mistress. Lady Shutara will be livid; she's a harpy. But the king likes it when she's pissed off. Besides, you're ranked far above the rest of us, and barely high enough for him to bother noticing. He can't get offended by you, it would hurt his pride."

"Really? How do you know these things?"

"Che. I'm the Queen of Whores, sweetie. Men love to talk about themselves, so I know everyone's secrets. Trust me, my lord."

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The Great Hall was quiet and cool compared to the parade, though a few hundred people whispering, cloth rustling, feet shuffling did not make silence. The slight irritation of the pomp was countered by the reverent bows, this proof of his victory adding to the contented humming of his ego. His goals were far from met, but he had fought, schemed, bled, and wept for each reward. A name, a crown, a lover, a wife, the rewards poured in along with the gold and gifts piling at his feet, along with the defeated heads of his enemies bowed low, along with the proud heads of his friends lifted high.

On his arm, the most beautiful woman in the room of beauties could not keep her eyes veiled, joy and awe of him, pride and nervousness, and timid heat that had been driving him to distraction with the desire to thoroughly violate tradition. There was so little point to this, the entire day wasted. She was shown off like a prized broodmare, every eye in the room judging her strengths and weaknesses, her worth as a queen and as a breeder of royalty. Every mind here entertained the thought of their consummation, and he amused himself slightly by imagining what each of them was picturing instead of allowing himself to get angry at his inability to shield her from their leers. No doubt, the vast majority of them were insanely jealous.

This was his wife and future queen, not a mistress. There would be no rough handling. There would be no teasing build-up as with his pet, no quick passion that might frighten the carefully shielded purity. Her virginity was the one small price for her crown and it must be paid tonight. And it must be done properly, not in the haze of lust he could easily fall into when she looked at him like that again and again throughout the parade and now as they walked arm in arm toward the throne. And that brought him again to the irritation that they would endure more hours of public display when he should be wooing the poor girl who had only seen him for the first time yesterday and had no choice in any of this.

It wasn't like he really gave a shit about what people chose and what was forced on them; that was the way the world worked for him and everyone. His will and his path to power and freedom were all that mattered, and she had a key part to play whether she cared to or not. Yet he liked the young woman on his arm, found her innocence refreshing even while it worried him. More importantly, she seemed genuine, not like she was in this for personal gain. It wasn't like it cost him anything to show a little consideration in return.

Thank the fates for his pet. Ichigo wasn't a weak-willed man dependent on sexual gratification. Compared to most, he was practically celibate. Yet had he not found his unexpected gift waiting for him earlier, had he not distracted himself thoroughly with decadent pleasure culminating in unbridled passion, getting through the formalities of the next several hours would have been Hell.

A slight squeeze of her hand in his and a nod of his head toward the thick lines of noble spectators reminded her to look away from him at least a few times. The crowd expected this silliness, taking a glance, a smile, a nod as favor. At least the stupid, vain ones did, when really just the fact that he did not kill them was compliment enough. His eyes sought out those who deserved recognition, allies and enemies. Of course, those of the greatest importance would be nearer the king, but many of his supporters were not that high in the social order. Yet.

His eyes found several of them, gracing some with a nod, including the elusive Nnoitra. For some reason the man was sporting a toothy smile and had gestured with his eyes toward the girl being pushed into an awkward curtsy by his hand on her shoulder. Scrawny, as small as his little pet, hands clenched into fists and grimacing at the floor, the girl looked seriously out of place despite the finery she wore. Did the whoremaster hear of his new pet and think to present a similar gift? He would have laughed at the conclusion that he had a 'type,' and that his preference was for tiny lovers, but this may be a good opening to meet the secretive man in a nice private place where he could behead that scarecrow without much fuss, tie a ribbon around his head, and deliver it to Gin. A faint lessening of his scowl, a barely noticeable raising of his brows as he looked at the girl and back at Nnoitra made that creepy grin widen before he moved on, the seemingly endless line rippling, heads bowing and raising as they passed, moving at a slow, dignified pace toward the throne.

Impeccable discipline over his reactions kept his stride even and his face still when he spotted white and blue silks, white and blue-green eyes. He had not expected his pet to be present but was glad to see that Toshiro had been given a place of high honor near the throne, the glittering web of emeralds demanding it. He held back a grin when he noticed emeralds hanging from ears, a bracelet with small emerald chips mixed with diamonds, a ring with yet another flash of green. He did not look at the king's mistresses on the opposite side of the aisle, but he could imagine the sour expressions of envy. Clever pet.

Graceful, practiced, a bow perfect in form but much deeper than required, bruised neck bent until the nape was fully exposed as one of low rank would bend to the king, much lower than a favored mistress to a prince. Nearby royal advisers, lords, and mistresses caught the gesture, which could not be taken as a faux pas after the young man had been standing witness to so many others making their gestures of respect.

Clever, clever pet, wearing so much royal favor and then scraping the ground in a show of more than dutiful homage. Toshiro had just shouted his worth and allegiance in the same breath, and Ichigo could not have been more pleased.

A second squeeze of his hand to alert his bride, and he stepped away from the straight path with her arm not wavering atop his as she followed. He listened with glee to the barely hushed exclamations all around, the others not bowing as deep able to stare in astonishment as he reached down, fingers brushing through soft hair to seek the rounded cheek, pressing under the chin to lift his pet's pretty face and keep lifting until the young man was the only one near who stood upright.

Bright eyes met his, glittering with mischief, then slid to the side with a wide and seemingly joyful smile for the bride. He searched, but could find no deceit, no resentment or scheming as he would be certain to see in the eyes of any of his father's mistresses when they simpered at one another. He looked at the woman who would be his wife, hopefully his partner, and saw another genuine smile, no hint of jealousy or spite. Once again, he praised the luck that had graced his life.

The moment was stolen; there would be time for words later. He had already broken etiquette, not that he cared. Pausing to acknowledge Toshiro was a breach of protocol that served a purpose, and he did it deliberately. The ridiculous formalities that had been invented and reinvented over the centuries were borrowed from other courts to make the crown of Hueco Mundo seem more stable and majestic. Time was, the wedding of a chief would involve a few duels to the death and a very public deflowering of the bride. The lords of the desert were barbarians who had traded hides for silks, tents for palaces, nothing more.

Turning back, he saw the amazed amusement in Renji's eyes, next to the watching smirk and hidden eyes of the king's right hand, the man who had given him his pet only a few days ago. His eyes passed over the countenance that remained smug even when tilted down in deference, and he knew the adviser would count what had just happened as a major victory. He agreed, in fact. Gin had found an incomparable treasure and was justified in expecting more than just appreciation for delivering such a priceless gift. Hopefully, that debt would be paid at least in part quite soon.

Finally, it was his turn to not only bow but kneel to the one man who still had more power than he. His father was alone on the raised dais, no adviser, mistress, or wife shared the honor at formal occasions. He did not ignore the deep growling in his mind when the king ran salacious eyes over his princess. The man was a lecher, a selective one that preferred young, innocent, well-bred girls and didn't hesitate in taking what he believed was his due as lord and master of the desert. Yet he was not unduly concerned. The king had enough bodies for his bed and would not damage the stability of the monarchy by touching his own heir's wife, he was certain.

There was no hint of emotion behind the kind-looking smile, and no hint of the threat he wanted to shout at his father in his own prideful expression as he looked up at the king. The unreadable dark eyes shifted up to the crowd as the thankfully short speech began. He had always been grateful for the long dead queen who had waged a two-year war against the priesthood. Las Noches harbored a dozen and more religious sects, each intent on influencing the crown. The queen had killed nearly every priest and zealot down to the lowest acolyte to free the crown. Now the priests who would have loved to spout their authority with long-winded speeches and claim the right to bestow the crown with the favor of whatever deities paid their bills stood silent in the back of the throne room, the gods banished from on high.

He only half listened to the words on duty and family, hypocrisy dressed in ceremonial splendor. Not that marriage was a sham in Hueco Mundo; most husbands and wives were fiercely loyal even if monogamy wasn't common or expected. But family? Certainly, those children strong enough to not be thrown away would swear by their family name. It was the rest of them that made him want to roll his eyes, the ones left in the desert, the ones sold into slavery or treated like servants in their own houses, the ones forced to kill their siblings for the favor of their parents so that they could kneel at the feet of their fathers.

His smile was full of conviction and satisfaction as he took his father's blood-soaked hand in his own, standing as the king symbolically raised him to his feet. He turned to his bride, smiling as soft, white hands alighted like doves to be captured in his own palms forever stained with murderous deeds, lifting her to stand with him, for now a step below the throne. He took the delicate crown of gold and emerald from his father, looking into those adoring eyes, the shade of rich earth in sunlight, warm and welcoming with the promise of life.

Perhaps it was the emotionally charged atmosphere, the romance of the moment. Perhaps it was a true sentiment, one that would undoubtedly cause a vulnerability in his armor. Whatever the reason, he made his own answering promise in his heart as he gently, firmly placed the circlet, fingers lingering to brush hair brighter than the gems. He swore to himself that she would not know the pain his own mother had endured as she watched her only son fight and kill for the right to live. If she was loyal, he would repay her with honor and protect her children from the trial by fire, eliminate fratricide and sororicide as a means of refining and proving the royal line.

It would upend centuries of tradition and make his entire family targets of those who believed them weak for not spilling one another's blood. But he would make sure he was king by the time his first children were old enough to face such challenges, the rules his and his alone to enforce or to break. And they would not be weak; together they would face the consequences of his actions. They would be a pride of lions, fiercely bonded to one another, invincible, tearing apart any who dared challenge their rule.

A/N

Hi, DenIchi! You're like the only one who has reviewed the last couple chapters. Not that I'm complaining - sure as hell ain't no requirement to review stuff, and I'm guilty of reading tons and not leaving reviews (bad, bad H'ekwos!), and the story has a handful of followers so that makes me happy. Anyway, you think I rushed the relationship? I kinda think I did, but it was driving me up a wall, another simple idea turning into a 25 and counting chapter epic. I just had to do it. Now I drag my feet as I add the details to my first ever heterosexual scenes (yep, plural) due in a chapter or two . . . yikes. Wish me luck!