These characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The plot and OCs belong to me : )

// This chapter contains slash and a swear word.

// It has come to my attention that some people aren't aware of this...but...~*SLASH = YAOI*~ or for you C++ers,

// bool Slash = true; bool Yaoi = true; if (Yaoi || Slash) {cout "This story contains slash/yaoi" endl;}

Fairy Tale

Roulade

Joren--

Come to my chamber and meet me. We have to discuss the "mission." This is urgent.

--Nealan of Queenscove

P.S. In case you are thinking of not coming, over here there is free food.

"Hmm," said Joren, glancing at the postscript notice. "He's appealing to my better nature again. Damn." Sadly, it was Joren's experience through various campfire nights that Nealan was a good cook. Sir Paxton, on the other hand-- Joren glanced at "dinner," turning green at the gills upon sighting the various arteries and oozing pores of the entree-- well, there wasn't much contest. Turning the note over in preparation of scribbling a note to Paxton should he return early from his conversation (though most likely he wouldn't come back 'til morning, thought Joren with glee), the boy cast around for a quill. They never seemed to have any about the apartments. With a sigh, Joren grabbed the silverware Paxy had oh-so-thoughtfully set out and selected the knife. The sharpened blade dove point first into the tip of Joren's index finger, rewarding him with a crimson droplet.

The slightly smeared and quickly drying note read, in what could be disconcertingly copper-brown scribbles,

Sir -- left early. Back tomorrow. Hope you aren't too sore from your "conversation."

He just hoped the ants didn't get to it before Sir Paxton did.

Striding briskly down the hallway -- Sir Alanna's rooms were in the wing opposite that of Sir Paxton's -- Joren allowed his mind to wander. What could Queenscove possibly want? He was apparently the "other boy" in the mission, but did they really have anything to discuss? They could always collaborate on the information twist, he decided, but Laurent didn't seem as though he had anything to hide. The Kangenesian really didn't seem the devious sort, so Joren assumed whatever reason the prince had for preparing to blast the other islands out of the water must be well-justified. Too caught up in his thoughts, Joren walked smack into someone else, causing the other to fall to the ground and the large stack of papers he was holding to scatter everywhere. Joren started to apologize, but caught himself in time as he realized who the other person was.

"Wrong direction, Lord Turomot," he taunted, smirking down at the elderly knight who sat sprawled inelegantly across the floor. "I think the funeral home is that way. Though I do commend you for getting a head start." With his usual need to rationalize his more rash actions, Joren's furtive mind at once came up with a simple diagram.

Lord Turomot -- Debt -- Need to work -- Job at Guillam's -- Meeting Laurent -- Dress.

That justified it.

"You," Turomot practically spat. "Hasn't your knight-master whipped you into something resembling human yet?"

"I'd offer to let you do it, but the exertion would probably kill you. For that matter, the walk up the stairs would probably kill you."

"You arrogant puppy! Someday you'll get exactly what's coming to you and I hope I'm there to enjoy it!" The knight was shaking with rage.

Joren shrugged. "Somehow that's unlikely, considering at your age you'd be lucky to make it another two minutes." He was unprepared for the hand that shot out to grab him by the collar, and to be pressed up against the stone wall. He fought the instinct to struggle and remained relaxed, allowing his features to curl into an elegant snarl.

"You listen to me, little prat," whispered Turomot, tightening his hold on Joren's collar 'til the boy began to choke. "An insolent little brat like you has no place even breathing the same air as nobler, more experienced and wiser folk than yourself. I've forgotten more than you'll ever know, do you hear me?" He seemed to want an answer and Joren couldn't breathe, so instead nodded weakly. "I don't know why you think you can get away with speaking to me like that," the knight continued, "and rest assured, you'll be punished. And the gods see all, so if you hope to lead a happy afterlife you'd best turn your life around while you can." That said, he released his hold on Joren and the boy dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. Gathering his papers, the old knight began to leave when Joren spoke.

"That's what you think," he replied snobbishly. "My daddy and Mithros--they're like this!" He held up two hooked fingers, allowed himself a smirk at Lord Turomot's completely scandalized expression, and turned to vanish down a corridor.

A knock sounded. *He's late,* thought Nealan, and pulled open the door to admit a slightly breathless Joren. "Where's the food?" asked the blonde, walking past Nealan and tossing himself on the bed with a bounce.

Neal scowled. "Where have you been? I sent that note for you three hours ago!" Joren spread out, laying his silky head against the pillow and sighing deeply.

"I think I'm in love with your mattress," the boy murmured sleepily.

"Wake up!" yelled Neal. "I asked you a question!"

"Hmm? Oh." Joren sat up and rubbed his head groggily. "Getting shagged by royalty, parading in drag, taunting the elderly." He grinned at Queenscove's shocked expression. "The usual." His corn silk hair was adorably tousled and he stretched languidly, revealing an ivory-white slender stomach. *Wait,* thought Nealan. *Did I just think of Joren and adorable at the same time? The stress must be affecting my brain...*

"Anyways," announced Neal hastily, before his mind could spew out any more traitorous thoughts, "about Laurent. Have you managed to get anything out of him? Has he let something slip, or told you anything during your excursions or during--"

"Pillow talk?" offered Joren with a mocking smile. He was rewarded with a blush and stammer from the older boy. "Just remember," he laughed. "The initials of Stone Mountain are S & M." Replacing his head back on the pillow and rolling on to his stomach, he shook his head slowly. "He always says the affairs of state wouldn't interest me. I think he thinks I can't understand it or something..." Gracefully ignoring Nealan's snort, he continued. "There were some letters on his desk, but they didn't say anything really useful." Belatedly a memory popped into his mind. "Oh, except for Juli."

"Who's Juli?" asked Neal, dragging a chair in front of his bed and sitting to face the other squire.

"Some girl who he's in love with, I think." The boy closed his eyes. "He said in the letter his loneliness was tearing him up, and he couldn't live without her. And they arranged to meet at some port."

"A girl? I thought he liked *boys*. Oh well...Which port?" Joren made no reply, yawning deeply into his mattress. Nealan shook him impatiently. "Wake up! This could be really important! When and where are they planning to meet?"

"Umm," Joren yawned. People had been waking him up all day. "The Apple Port? No, it was...Port de l'Pears? Port de l'Kumquats? I don't remember."

"Well, try to think. I know it's something you aren't used to, but give it a shot." Joren scrunched his face in annoyance.

"Port...no, Connexion de l'Orange, that's it! In two weeks, I think it was. And he got really, really mad when he caught me reading them."

Nealan froze. "He caught you?"

"Yeah. But don't worry, if he suspected anything, he wouldn't be planning to take me to the ball."

"He's taking you to the ball?" Even with his eyes closed, Joren could see that annoying smirk that accompanied Queenscove's inane questions. "Well, well, that explains the drag," mused the other boy. "The other two things you mentioned I don't want to know about, though." Then he lapsed in to silence.

"So, what could Juli and meeting at the Connexion de l'Orange have to do with his wanting to mutilate those islands?" asked Joren, out of idle curiosity. "And how will you be able to grab any further information out of him?"

"I'm thinking!" snapped Nealan.

"That explains the burning smell..." retorted Joren. He felt as though his body was growing lighter and lighter... *Drat! Is he asleep?* thought Nealan, glaring at the angelic sleeping figure splayed out across his bed. He had no wish to wake a completely sleeping Joren, having learned better at the last summer-outing as pages they'd had together. Cleon had been charged with the duty of waking Joren for breakfast--afterwards was one of the few times he'd ever seen the huge red-head cry. And this was when the two of them were thirteen...Joren was not a morning person. *Well, where am *I* supposed to sleep?*

***

"You're late," whispered Laurent, working quickly to divest the boy of his clothing. Philippe was still clad in Laurent's clothing -- which the prince found utterly charming, as well as a major turn-on -- though this time the boy had brought along a change of clothes for the next morning.

"I fell asleep again," replied Joren softly, bringing his hands up to unbutton Laurent's shirt. He was learning to actually like the Kangenesian. It wasn't often you met someone who paid you total attention 24/7. Laurent paused.

"Just a moment, I 'ave a gift for you." Reaching over to his nightstand, he grabbed a tiny jewelry box and handed it to Philippe. The boy looked at it and started to scowl.

"I'm not a girl you know," he began, but Philippe stopped his words with a kiss. Thus admonished, the boy opened the box to find a black velvet choker with a charm bearing the Kangen royal crest, a bluebird with wings spread in flight bearing a rose in its beak. He held it up to the faint candlelight that illuminated the room. "What's the matter, were they all out of spiked collars and leashes?"

Laurent smiled, taking the necklace and fastening it about the boy's slender ivory throat. Unbuttoning the boy's voluminous shirt -- his shirt -- Laurent quickly stripped the boy of all else. Beckoning his 'prize' clad in nothing but an open shirt and a collar closer, Laurent whispered, "I 'ave another surprise for you." The boy's azure eyes met his curiously. Reaching under the pillow, Laurent revealed the handcuffs he'd taken from the gamblers.

"Let's 'ave some fun, shall we?"

to be continued...

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