These characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The plot belongs to me. : ) Some notes to my beloved reviewers!:

Jishoshojo (say that 3 times fast): Don't worry, though I may imply something will or has happened, I won't describe it or say things while its happening because that's way to brave for me and I am still a minor, after all : )

Caia: Yeah, the names are French as well as some of the streets and things (though I don't take french or anything, I hope I didn't mess them up too badly ^^;;) because when I wrote last chapter, I really liked the names Laurent and Philippe but thought it would be odd to have Laurent and Philippe with Frank and Butch. Oh, and Blaise is my dog's name (after Blaise Pascal, my parents are nerds)

QueenOfTheRogue: Heh heh heh. That was my favorite part...

Oh, and a slash warning if you didn't figure it out by now...

Fairy Tale

Concerto

"Anger anger anger," muttered Joren, a dark expression painting his angelic features as he stomped down the busy streets of Corus. Fellow city-dwellers took one look at the scowling moon-haired boy and quickly crossed the street. Sir Paxton hadn't killed him, only laughed and cheerfully reminded his beloved squire that Joren had is own bank account, and therefore replacements would be no problem. So much for my hard-earned wages, scowled the squire, trying to remember where that particular potter's had been. He was in the wrong area; this street was known for its pubs and casinos, a breeding-ground for crooks and thieves but a favorite of young nobles nonetheless.

"Joren! Hey, wait!" A hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Joren looked up into the suntanned face of Zahir. His friend was dressed in a black tunic and leather pants, ebony hair greased back and gold studs lining his ears. The shorter blonde stared meaningfully at the hand Zahir had placed on his shoulder.

"Ten coppers a touch," he said coldly when the Bazhir didn't get the hint. Zahir ignored him.

"Joren, you owe me a favor from last week," he said quickly, "remember? I finished off your homework when you had to work and you said you'd be my eternal slave?"

"Yeah. What about it." Joren had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn't like this. Zahir began dragging him to a casino on the corner of the street, a seedy joint known as the Dragon's Egg.

"Well, I need to borrow your services. I need you as collateral." The tribesman pushed open the doors and led Joren to a table to the left where five men of questionable character were sitting. One, with a dark tunic, numerous scars and greasy brown hair turned when he saw the boys enter and growled something at Zahir. The room was dark but for candles, and the music and voices were so loud Joren couldn't hear a word of what was being said. Zahir gestured towards Joren to the gambler, who looked the blonde over appraisingly then nodded. "He'll do," he mouthed, still inaudible amidst the cacophony. The others at the table nodded. Zahir steered Joren toward an empty chair beside the man with scars and said something.

"WHAT?" shouted Joren. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU?"

"I SAID, YOU STAY HERE! I'LL BE BACK IN JUST A COUPLE OF MINUTES!"

"EH?! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"
"TO GRAB SOME MONEY. I RAN SHORT SO THEY'LL KEEP YOU UNTIL I COME BACK."

"*WHAT?!*" Zahir had to be joking. The man with scars leaned over.

"Any later than thirty minutes and we start bartering with HIM, got that Ibn?" 'Ibn' was the slang term for Bazhir. Zahir nodded.

"Hold on, what was that about barter?" Joren didn't like this idea at all.

"Well, if I don't come with the money in time, you become my payment instead," explained Zahir. "So they keep you unless someone else shows up to gamble for you. But don't worry, it won't take me more than ten minutes."
"It better not," Joren grumbled. Some of the other occupants in the room were eying him the way a vulture eyes roadside carrion, which was not a pleasant feeling. Zahir disappeared and Joren shifted uncomfortably in his chair, watching the dice game unfolding upon the table with an extreme sense of foreboding.

"Hey Garvey, what's wrong?" Zahir had barely stepped out of the casino when he spotted the ginger-haired boy across the street. He ran to catch him, only to find his friend's eyes red and pink face blotched. Garvey hung his head and muttered something about Joren and the Summer Festival. Immediately Zahir understood.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you," the Bazhir consoled sensibly. "Joren's so oblivious he probably doesn't even know you're upset with him. Besides, he ought to have a good reason." Garvey shook his head, hands tugging at the edge of his gold tunic.

"He just said, 'I don't feel like it,'" he whispered, bangs hiding his eyes. Zahir put a comforting arm around him.

"We all know Joren's a complete ass most of the time. He probably has something else he has to do but doesn't want to talk about.

He wouldn't be so awful to one of his friends if he knew what he was doing." Garvey said nothing, so Zahir leaned over and hugged him. "Tell you what, let's teach him a lesson..."

***

Ten minutes came and passed. Then fifteen, then twenty. Where is he? wondered Joren nervously, pretending not to see the leers thrown his way by the gamblers. He said it wouldn't take more than ten... The brief thought crossed his mind that Zahir had decided to sacrifice Joren and skip the debt, but he dismissed it immediately. Zahir wasn't poor, he could afford anything easily enough...

"Looks like yer half-hour's up," murmured a soft voice beside Joren, close enough that the breath tickled his earlobe. He turned in surprise to see Scar-man. "Guess that makes you ours, kid," he added with a smile that sent shiver's up the boy's spine. The man leaned closer. "I have to admit, I prefer ya to mere cash..."

"No way!" Joren shot up from his seat. "He'll be here any minute!"

"Yeah right." The man to Joren's left had red hair and an eye-patch, as well as a knife with a curved blade he kept nicking a toothpick with. "Sorry, kid, you know the rules. You're ours now." Joren's eyes narrowed.

"Try and stop me," he growled, heading for the door. Wrong choice of words. In a flash, fifty-seven shining weapons were pointed at him from all directions of the room.

"Sorry, cutie, but them's the rules," laughed Scar-man, reaching out and pinching Joren's cheek. "Ask any policeman and they'll be sure to set ya in yer place." A scowl alighted upon Joren's delicate features; he returned to his seat with all the dignity he could muster under the smirks of the gamblers.

Zahir, you're gonna die...

+++++

"I'll set two hundred nobles against Blondie there," announced a man with long black hair and desert-tanned skin.

"Yer outta yer mind!" Scar-man growled. "He's worth at least three hundred!" Joren wondered if he should be flattered, but the prospect of being sold into slavery or any form thereof was too concerning. Through the swinging doors of the casino, he caught a glimpse of ginger hair and a gold tunic.

"Wait!" he shouted, bolting up and running to the door. He had almost made it when a hand roughly grabbed his arm and yanked backwards, sending the boy off his balance.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" snarled Scar-man. Joren ignored him and called out for his friend, disappearing into the throngs of people crowding the street.

"Garvey! Hey Garvey, come back!" The head turned; the face did belong to Garvey. The hazel-eyed squire pushed his way back to the casino doors and shoved them open.

"Joren? What are you doing?" He gave the scarred man a look up and down. "Interesting choice of company, I must say."

"Listen, Garvey, you've got to rescue me! Bet your ring against me, you'll win and I can go free! It'll only take a couple of minutes." Garvey looked puzzled, so Joren hastened to explain. "Zahir owed these guys a debt and paid it with me instead; he was supposed to come back to pay but he didn't, so they're using me as a betting item. If you don't win me, I'll wind up belonging to one of these guys!" Garvey glanced at the gutter spawn inhabitants, the greasy hair, the eye patches, the bodies bristling with weapons, then turned to Joren's worried yet hopeful blue glass eyes. He smiled apologetically.

"No."

"EH?! Why the hell not?!"

Garvey grinned evilly (something he'd gotten from Joren, of course). "I don't feel like it."

+++++

"Neal!" Joren spotted the unmistakably figure paused in front of the Dragon's Egg. "Hey, get in here!" Neal turned to look at him, and pushed the doors open.

"Joren? What are you doing in here?"

Joren explained as briefly as he could. "So, will you help me?"
Neal paused, considering. "Well, that all depends. Did you tell Kel what really happened yesterday?" Joren froze.

"Well, you see..." he trailed off. He had started to, anyway, and that was important. "It went like this--"

"I don't want to hear it," Neal waved him off. "If you didn't help me with something that's your fault anyway, I'm certainly not going to help you! Good luck." He strode away, leaving Joren steaming and slightly panicked.

+++++

By now Joren belonged to the redhead with the eye patch, though he had gone between Scar-man, a brunette with only one leg, and a grizzled pirate with no teeth and one good eye. Three hours had past since Zahir's promise of coming back in ten minutes.

"Joren? What are you doing here?" The fair-haired teen turned to see Sir Paxton, holding a crate and clucking his tongue at the atmosphere disapprovingly.

"Sir Paxton! Thank the gods you're here! I need you to save me!" Had he not been handcuffed to the chair as a result of his attempt at escape an hour before, he would have leapt to hug his knight-master.

"Come again?" Joren explained the situation; when he had finished Sir Paxton sighed and shook his head. "How do you get into these things, boy?"

"So, will you help me?" his valet pleaded, looking up at him with soulful pale eyes.

"I don't have anything to bet with--"

"Yes you do! You've got that vase with you right here!" Paxton looked at Joren, at his vase, then at Joren again. Then at his vase. His beautiful, brand new EXPENSIVE vase, then at Joren, also beautiful, but who had gone through and systematically destroyed his last forty or so beautiful brand new expensive vases. Then he looked at the vase again.

"Is this a trick question?" he laughed.

+++++

Three o'clock -- AM, that is, and nearly closing time. Joren yawned, having been passed between about forty or sixty players. "One final game," announced Scar-man, Joren's current 'owner.' "If nobody gets 'im this time, he's mine."

"I'll play," said a new voice, one with an odd accent. Joren looked up to see the green-eyed man from the restaurant and let out a groan. The man ignored him, focusing on the dice in Scar-man's hands. Scar-man rattled them, tossed them in the small cup, shook it vigorously then placed it upside-down on the table.

"What'll it be?"

Laurent glanced at Joren and grinned briefly. "Evens," he replied. Joren smirked; he knew the dice had been enchanted to make them come up odds at every turn.

"Very well," leered Scar-man, and lifted the cup. He jerked in surprise. "What is this?!" Joren leaned over and peered at the dice; snake eyes. One spot on each dice. The green-eyed man smiled.

"Looks like the boy's mine, then," he remarked, with a grin. Scar-man stood stunned, probably trying to determine what was wrong with his dice. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key, handing it wordlessly to the stranger. Laurent waved it away.

"No thanks, I think chains rather suit him." To Joren he smiled. "Looks like we'll be seeing a lot of each-other after all, Philippe."

***

"Welcome to your new home, Philippe! Don't worry about where to sleep, you'll be sharing my bed." Laurent laughed softly at Joren's scandalized expression. Joren scowled.

"I told you, it's JOREN. Not Philippe, JOREN. It isn't that difficult to pronounce, even for some stupid foreigner." He wasn't working; manners weren't required. Laurent laughed.

"I prefer Philippe. Don't worry, you will too after a while." The brunette chuckled and fell upon his bed, pulling Joren down with him. The boy sat up indignantly, scooting away and glancing around the chamber. Laurent's flat was rather nice; it was on the third floor of a building in the wealthy side of town, overlooking Rue de la Cours, was spacious, with wide windows, and a large canopy bed with light blue and silver covers and curtains. Joren folded his arms.

"First of all," he began, "Philippe is a dumb name. I'm not Kangenesian or whatever you call it, so don't give me an awful unpronounceable Kangenesian name! Second of all, I'm not staying because I live somewhere else, and third of all I'm most certainly NOT sharing your bed! If you want me to sleep in your bed then you will sleep on the FLOOR. And besides, I--" he cut himself off with a gasp, feeling something warm and wet tracing the outer rim of his ear. A tongue. "STOP THAT!" He tried to turn away, but Laurent grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him closer till Joren was wrapped in his embrace.

"Come on," the man whispered, his husky voice purring in Joren's ear. "You're so cute...you'll like this..." Joren ignored him, struggling to escape the grasp but to no avail. Laurent kept murmuring, soothing whispers floating into the pale boy's ears. "I'm a prince, you know...stay with me the rest of my trip and I can guarantee you'll live the life of a god." Joren stilled at the word 'prince'--and mentally smacked himself. Of course! From Kangen, with the trademark black hair and emerald eyes of the royal family.

"The prince?" he muttered dazedly, and his blue eyes alighted on documents scattered across the desk facing the window. They looked like...letters? If Joren could get rid of Laurent long enough, he'd be able to read them and probably find something out. His thoughts were cut off by a hand sneaking under his shirt and slowly tracing the sensitive skin of his chest.

"Take your clothes off," commanded the prince in a whisper.

Well, don't let them say I didn't do my job properly... thought Joren, slipping out of his tunic.

to be continued...

/*  See?  There is some slash…not too much for anyone, I hope.  Thank you very much for reading and please review with comments or questions…because they are very much appreciated!  */