Chapter 2

Darkness began to settle around them as Brady led Arciana through the quiet streets of Nero. Every time they crossed paths with anyone, be it man, woman, or child, Arciana involuntarily pulled closer to Brady. She didn't know who he was, or why he seemed so gentle and so unlike anyone else she had ever known. But at least with him she felt safe. The thoughts that she might grow to feel totally secure with her new master scared her, perhaps even more so then the sight of Lord Paul, coming home drunk, finding fault in everything she did or said.

"Where are you taking me, Master?" Arciana asked quietly, half afraid to speak. When she spoke without being spoken to under Lord Paul's ownership, she usually was beaten and locked in a small, confining cupboard until Paul found use for her, be it physical labor, or making up for whatever fault she had committed with sexual acts. Arciana shivered at the memory; that cupboard felt more like a cage which should be used to imprison wild or disobedient animals. It had been the greatest relief when Brandon, finally fed up with his father's mistreatment of women, slave or otherwise, set that damned cupboard on fire.

"For starters, I would ask that you not call me 'Master.' I paid for your freedom. But I could never own you," Brady stated again. "I am going to my... home now. But you are free to go wherever you wish. You may come with me, or you can go wherever it is you want to go. If you do come with me, you will be given a room, new clothing, and food and drink. But the length of your stay is entirely up to you," Brady continued. Arciana just nodded, unwilling to believe that someone would pay that much money to own her, then set her free. "If you so choose, I can arrange safe passage for you back to your home, wherever that may be. All I ask, is that you never call me 'Master,' or think of me as your owner."

"Then what am I to call you?" Arciana inquired. Brady hesitated, uncertain of her reaction to his true identity. "Well? What shall I call you, if not Master?"

"Brady," Brady answered quietly. Arciana stopped dead in her tracks.

"Brady? As in..." No, it couldn't be! This gentle, obviously caring and courteous young man could not be King Brady Black of Nero, the only son of the very man responsible for her seizure from the safety of her home, not to mention the years of torture under Lord Paul's ownership. As if to confirm her suspicions, a male voice called out to Brady from a tavern they'd just passed.

"Yo, Kingy, wait up!" Hawk called loudly, pulling himself free of the red-haired female companion from earlier and pushing Shawn along with him to catch up with Brady and the slave woman he'd bought. "Yowsar! Brady my man, you sure know how to pick 'em. Must be that royal blood coursing through your veins." Arciana turned to face Brady in total disbelief.

"You... you're..." Arciana stammered. Brady sighed, dropping his arm from her comfortable grasp. Breaking physical contact with her felt almost like dying, and yet, a surge of electricity still seemed to flow through her into him by a strong, unseen connection.

"Yes. I am Brady Black, King of Nero," Brady confirmed solemnly. Whomever said it was good to be the King was sadly mistaken. Arciana stood speechless, uncaring of the few onlookers, some attracted to the scene itself, others drawn to gawk at the young beauty's provocative clothing. So, that was it. That was why he seemed so polite and gentlemanly. He was no gentleman, but a manipulative deceiving bastard like his father. Out of no where, Arciana drew her arm back, delivering a stinging slap across Brady's face.

"Bastard!" Arciana yelled. She quickly turned on her heel, running in the opposite direction from which they'd just come. Brady, his hand on his reddening cheek, pulled himself out of his shock enough to call out to her.

"Please, wait!" Brady called. He almost started after her when he remembered his promise not to pursue her should she run.

"Busted," Hawk laughed, slapping Brady on the back. That was before he saw the utter despair in his friend's eyes, giving him an idea. "Hey, wait a minute. Nobody treats a King like that and gets away with it." With that, he dashed off in hot pursuit of Arciana.

"Hawk, no!" Brady commanded, storming after Hawk and leaving a rather confused Shawn in the dust. Hawk paid not heed to the King's order, picking up the pace. Arciana was fast, darting through the few villagers out and about in the market place and a few stray carts. But not fast enough. Hawk grabbed her by the waist, spinning her around in his arms as she let out a shrill scream.

"Let go of me!" Arciana demanded. Hawk just ignored her cries, pushing her roughly against the wall of some Inn or such, keeping a firm grasp on her wrists.

"They sure do make 'em feisty in the distant lands. Come now, sweet thing. Slapping a king is unacceptable. You will have to plead for forgiveness," Hawk stated. Of course, even he would not treat a woman like a possession to be forced to do what you demand of them. No, woman should want his affection--beg for it even. But he had to do something to keep the maiden from fleeing, and to make Brady out to be the hero he truly was. Any second now...

"Hawk," Brady practically growled as he came up behind his life long friend. "Get your hands off her now," Brady demanded. Hawk waved the command off yet again, keeping his back to his friend.

"Why? She is your slave after all. Got to teach her to have some respect for her Royal Master," Hawk stated, playing up the slave owner gig. Oh, how he loved playing matchmaker! Brady reached down to his brown leather boot, retrieving a dagger. He stood straight, raising the dagger dangerously close to the small of Hawk's back.

"She is not a slave anymore, Hawk. Now, get your filthy hands off her and let her go, or you will personally get to test out your theories of life after death," Brady growled. Hawk grinned, a grin of pure satisfaction and victory. Although of course Brady missed the look, Arciana did not. But she was too frightened to ponder it's meaning. Hawk turned to face Brady, concealing his look of satisfaction and keeping a tight grip on Arciana's right wrist.

"Would you fight me for her?" Hawk asked, a cocky smirk on his face. Brady lifted his eyebrow in question. What was Hawk getting at this time? He'd known this man most of his life. Even he, womanizer that he was, would never treat a person in such a manner. What was the game now? "Well, come on then. Would you fight for the freedom of one measly slave? Risk your life for this nameless stranger?" Hawk inquired.

"Yes, I would," Brady answered honestly. Despite the many years he had allowed slavery to continue, only for the sake of maintaining the crucial support of Nero's rich lords, Brady detested the sale and purchase of human life, even those slaves who were captured Muccheans. Yet another issue that drove him on in his vow to put an end to this pointless war once and for all. Perhaps now with the banding together of Nero, Rubino, and Supervisore, Brady could ban slavery in Nero without concern of being unable to fund the costly war. Hawk grinned, sharply releasing Arciana.

"Now, that's a King," Hawk said, an amused smile on his face. Brady, however, was not amused. He replaced his dagger in his boot, before grabbing Hawk by the collar of his showy orange and purple shirt, pulling him roughly away from Arciana. Ignoring the onlookers who were still gawking at the scene-- which would later be gossiped about as a brawl between a provocative woman's husband and secret lover-- Brady shoved Hawk up against a cart opposite the Inn.

"Don't you ever pull something like that again, Hawk," Brady commanded.

"Hey, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do," Hawk laughed, knowing Brady would take the comment as something perverse and sexual rather then it's true meaning. Brady narrowed his eyes at Hawk, pushing him away in disgust. He turned to apologize for Hawk's behavior, only to find that the mystery slave woman had disappeared. Brady's heart fell. Served him right he supposed for believing anyone who had been taken from their home and forced into the servitude of slavery would open up to him, love him. Wait... love? Where had that come from? Brady sighed, shaking his head.

"I'm going back to the palace now, Hawk. Inform Shawn he is more then welcome to stay at the palace. It would probably be the best choice," Brady informed, before turning away from Hawk and beginning his lonely trek home. Hawk caught the sad look on his friends face before he turned to go. But Hawk just smiled his symphony. Why would he be so insensitive? Why, because unlike Brady, Hawk had seen the mysterious young woman disappear. She hadn't disappeared at all actually, only hid in a small, dark alleyway up the street. Up the street, in the direction Brady was heading. With any luck, Hawk's plan to strike the young slave woman's curiosity would be just enough to get her interested in getting to know the real Brady Black...

Arciana observed Brady closely from her hiding place behind some crates in the alleyway. Every instinct in her being told her to turn tail and run as far away from Nero as she could get. No good could ever come to her in this place. But, even through the growing darkness, Arciana could see the look of total despair in Brady's eyes when he turned to discover her missing. That look, like all his hopes and dreams had been shattered in an instant, appeared so like the look Arciana saw in her own eyes every time she observed herself, and the bruises or cuts left by Lord Paul, in a mirror. Those eyes, the window to his soul, showed such pain and misery, much like her own. Such raw, guarded emotion could never be faked; Brady was truly suffering inside, for reasons known perhaps only to him. Until she heard him defend her, a stranger, to Hawk, and saw the pure agony behind the mask Brady kept up to give an image of a strong-willed king, Arciana had thought a member of the Black family could be nothing but a cold-hearted monster. Such belief was wrong she supposed. Being the daughter of Victor Kiriakis, who, in her eyes, was no better a man then John Black, the man responsible for her enslavement, left her with little right to judge solely by name. But Arciana was not raised by her true family passed the age of 8, thanks to Brady Black's father. Brady, on the other hand, was raised within the boundaries of his kingdom by his birth father, up until John's death 5 years ago.

Despite all urge to stay as far away from the Blacks as possible, Arciana was also drawn to Brady by some unseen electric force. Going against every instinct she'd acquired from her life of enslavement, Arciana quietly slipped out of the alleyway, careful to stay hidden from sight. Brady was just ahead of her now, trudging at a slow steady pace, undoubtedly to his palace. Arciana slowly crept forward, pressing against the building to remain in the darkest shadows of the night before ducking behind a vendors cart. When she felt safe enough to do so, she followed a few more feet, taking refugee behind two wooden baby cradles in front of the carpenter's shop. This method of following Brady continued until Brady made a surprising turn; left, away from the castle. Arciana watched him walk down an alleyway, towards the woods, before she followed. Brady entered the dark woods, putting himself on a narrow, barely visible path between the many rows of trees. Arciana slipped into the coverage of the trees, still behind Brady and to the left side of the narrow path. She kept an eye out, making sure she kept Brady in her sight, and making certain not to step on anything that might alert her presence. What she didn't know was that Brady didn't need to hear or see her to know she was there. He had felt her presence ever since she began to follow him. Brady couldn't for the life of him figure out why she would follow him after the scene she had made, but he wasn't complaining. Perhaps he still had a chance to unravel the mystery behind those enchanting blue eyes. About halfway to his destination, Brady spoke.

"Stalking a Royal is a crime you know," Brady stated. Arciana jumped at the sound; how had he known she was there? "If you are going to follow me, might I at least know the name of my stalker?" Brady inquired. Arciana hesitated. Perhaps if she stayed quiet, he would think her gone. Instead, Brady stopped walking and turned instinctively in the direction he knew she was hiding. "You know mine, now. It's only fair that I know yours." Hesitantly, Arciana stepped out of the safety of the trees and onto to narrow path where Brady could see her. The pale light of the moon illuminated off her golden outfit in such a way that she appeared heavenly, the rays of white light highlighting every luscious curve of her gorgeous body.

"Arciana," she replied. True, not her real name. No, she stopped being Chloe Kiriakis 14 years ago. Lord Paul had never referred to her by any other name but "you stupid bitch" or "my precious little whore." But Brandon had given her the name Arciana when she refused to tell him her real name. After that, the name stuck with her, even through her move to the freedom of Rubino. Brady studied her carefully, surveying a mixture of fear and uncertainty, while trying his hardest not to linger on her amazingly luscious... assets. He could read the lie in her eyes and voice the moment she spoke it. She was no Arciana. Most likely a name given to her by a former owner. But he wouldn't press the matter. He would find out her true name, sooner or later.

"Arciana. That is a very lovely name," Brady complimented, causing Arciana to shift nervously. "Well, Arciana, if your plan is to attack me again, I would ask that you not bother. Your initial blow was more then enough to forever crush my ego, and I shall have the bruise to prove it for quite some time," Brady stated. Arciana frowned, visibly regretful of her outburst. What right had she to judge him for his father's actions? It was true that her father Victor had died at Brady's hand. Everyone knew that. But everyone also knew that Victor had died in battle after dishonorably slaying young Isabella Black, who was honored in Nero as a true hero for her efforts to bring about peace for Nero as well as for Mucche. Brady's only actions against the Kiriakis family had been honorable ones. Lucas and Austin, her older brothers, had both died at Brady's hand during 2 separate battles. And yet, there deaths had been far more honorable then many of the slaying's the Kiriakis family had bestowed on the Black family. She had no reason to hate Brady. John had been the one to stoop to kidnaping defenseless children in his quest for vengeance. If Brady should forever suffer for his father's dishonorable actions, then so should she. Of course, she had been suffering all her life. But even though she did not know him, she knew from his shimmering, pained eyes that Brady Black had suffered as well. Arciana boldly stepped forward, stepping up to face King Brady.

"I am sorry for that," Arciana stated honestly. She brought her hands up to his face, gently brushing against the red mark on Brady's cheek. "I had no right, and I apologize."

"It's quite alright. I'm rather used to people hating me. Most aren't kind enough to merely slap me," Brady replied. His face burned and tingled, but not from her slap. Rather, he felt the electricity surging through him once again at her touch.

"I do not hate you. I haven't the right. You can't hate someone you don't know. Or at least, you shouldn't," Arciana replied. Arciana paused, looking deep into his eyes, despite her instincts telling her not to. "Are you really King Brady?" How could someone who seemed so... kind, yet so tortured, be a Black?

"Judging by your initial reaction, do you really think that's something I'd make up?" Brady answered, slowly reaching up to take her hand, reluctantly moving it away from his rather sore cheek. "It's not always good to be the king." Arciana looked down, away from his intoxicating blue eyes. Perhaps she did know that. Had she been raised in her rightful home, she would be Queen of Mucche now, ruling at her brother's side after their father's death. A fate she never wanted to bare. She would rather be fleeing from slavery all her life then become a true Mucchean; she could never, and would never agree with what her so called family stood for.

"I suppose you have many enemies along with the lavish royal life of yours," Arciana murmured.

"Many enemies, yes. Lavish life? No. No possessions can make up for the things I don't have," Brady stated, not even trying to hold back the inner sorrow he kept hidden behind a mask, for the sake of his kingdom. He felt he could never hide from this women, even if he wanted to. Of course, he didn't want to. He wanted to know her, and for once in his life, knew within an instant he was ready to allow someone to truly know him. It scared him, and yet felt so right. Arciana drew back slightly, perhaps for the first time realizing how close she was to Brady. "Well, Arciana. Despite the fact that I'm still not so sure you would appreciate the gesture, my offer does still stand. I would be honored if you would accompany me to the palace, where you can eat, bathe, and have a good nights rest. And I'll imagine you will wish to get out of those... interesting garments," Brady commented. Arciana blushed slightly, looking down at herself. Not only was she more then a bit dirty from her struggle with the slavers in Rubino, her... assets were barely covered by the almost non-existent flashy garment. She looked from her appearance back up to Brady, involuntarily biting her lip nervously. Should she? After all, what could it hurt? He certainly meant her no harm, or he would have let his disgusting little friend Hawk have his way with her. And he didn't know who she really was. As long as he never found out, Arciana could feel safe. Plus, he had offered to provide safe passage back to her home. Maybe she could get him to give her safe passage back to Rubino, or perhaps she would try Supervisore or Arcadia this time, or even somewhere in the distant lands.

"Well..." Arciana started. Brady's slightly solemn, hopeless look formed into a devious smile at the tone in her voice. She was instantly hooked; God, if he wasn't a Black... "I really do need to get out of this stupid, rather uncomfortable thing. And I could use a safe place to sleep. No safer place in Nero then your palace I suppose. You did say you could provide passage back to my home, didn't you?" Brady's hopeful grin slipped in cheerfulness some, but he nodded.

"Yes, if you so choose to leave, I will be more then happy to make arrangements for safe passage," Brady answered, although he would be anything but happy about the mystery woman leaving his life so soon, this time for good.

"Well then, since I know you can afford it..." Arciana smiled slightly, causing his grin to return again, "I suppose I'll take you up on your offer. Thank you."

"No no, my dear, thank you," Brady replied. Arciana looked confused as Brady held out his arm for her to take once more. "Gets lonely in a palace with only stuffy council men to converse with. It shall be refreshing to have someone to partake in intelligent conversation with that doesn't revolve around how I should rule my country." Arciana nodded, resting her hand in the crook of his offered arm.

"Intelligent conversation, huh? So, are you really one for intelligent, meaningful conversation, or do you just think you must be smart because you're a king?" Arciana asked. Brady chuckled, over-joyed to see her being so carefree and at ease with him, rather then uncomfortable and nervous as she had been before after the slave auction.

"I suppose we shall see, won't we?" Brady replied. Arciana smiled as they began to walk. She didn't know just what lay behind that mask he wore yet, but she'd already made up her mind; before she left in the morning, she was going to find out all she could...

"What is this place?" Arciana asked, clinging closer to Brady in the pitch black tunnel. After she had decided to take him up on her offer, Brady had lead her along the path through the woods until they came to a hillside. On the side of the tall hill, was a huge boulder. But, although it may have appeared huge, Arciana found it to be almost weightless when Brady pushed it aside with ease, revealing a large hole in the ground. And stairs. She found the place so unsettling, for reasons that went even beyond the obvious. It was as though she had been there before, though she knew for certain that was not possible. But if it were, she knew somehow she hadn't liked this place then, and so she feared it greatly now.

After helping her down the few steps to the bottom of the tunnel, which she found to be not dirt, but some sort of hard, gray material, Brady pushed the "boulder" back into it's place, leaving them in total darkness. Brady took hold of her arm, leading her confidently through the tunnel even though she couldn't see her hand in front of her face.

"A system of tunnels built by my ancestors. See... well, of course you can't see, but did you see the gray material that made up the floor?" Brady asked.

"Yes, I did. What is it?"

"It's called concrete. The inventors of my ancestor's time were true geniuses. They constructed this tunnel system should it ever be needed for an evacuation of the city. Instead of old tunnels, which were supported only by wooden beams, these tunnels are lined with the concrete. Reinforced, my father used to refer to them as. This tunnel leads into a room of the palace, near the dungeons."

"But, why would you have to use this tunnel to get into the palace? You're the King!" Arciana inquired. Although she did find the history of the concrete interesting, the mention of Brady's father had rather turned her off from learning more.

"Well, I may be King, but it's not exactly customary, or accepted, for me to join my people without guards around me. Which is why I choose to go out in disguise, using these tunnels. Of course, now, I'm trusting you to keep my little secret," Brady prompted. Arciana had to smile at his childish tone.

"Secret's safe with me," Arciana returned. They continued on through the tunnel system, making small talk as there was little else to do along the way. For once in her life, Arciana trusted Brady to lead her safely through the dark. She had never truly trusted anyone, not even dear Brandon. That frightened her, yet she would not fight it. In the morning, she would leave, and not have to worry about the things this near stranger made her feel. Finally, they came to the end of the tunnel. Brady stepped forward, pushing aside the slab of concrete with his shoulder. He climbed out, reaching a hand back in to help Arciana out. Soon they were both standing in a sparse, cold room. The only feature that gave the room any color was a red curtain and a large brown chest, which no doubt was made to hold clothing.

"Would you excuse me a moment? I have to change back into the "monkey suit" as I've grown to call it," Brady stated. There were certain clothing he was expected to wear; he had to always be dressed in the honored family colors. Black, of course, as well as blue and purple. He hated being told where to go and how to dress. But, alas, that was the sacrifice of being born into a royal family. One of the many sacrifices he'd had to endure... Arciana just nodded, taking her hand from his hold and letting him walk over to the chest. Brady pulled out his clothing, and stepped behind the red curtain to dress. Arciana attempted to look around the room, to concentrate on anything else but the handsome man stripping behind nothing but a red curtain. She also couldn't help be feel fear. Old habits die hard, she supposed. "I would prepare yourself for quite a few... shocked reactions. The council is not going to approve."

"Then why did you offer?" Arciana asked curiously, concentrating a bit to hard on the room's one wooden door.

"They disapprove of everything I do. I'm used to it," Brady replied with a slight chuckle, tossing his brown vest over the curtain to land near the chest. Arciana again had to fight the urge to fantasize as more clothing was tossed towards the wooden chest. "I'd ask that you try not to be offended by any comments that come your way. You are dressed rather... provocatively. But I don't wish for you to be offended by the close minded opinions of my council members. Hopefully no one will catch sight of us until you are in more... proper attire."

"Not much offends me these days," Arciana murmured. After a few more moments and a rustling of the curtain, Brady stood beside her. He almost took her breath away, though she'd never admit it even to herself. He somehow seemed so much taller now in his royal clothing. Larger then life, perhaps. And yet, he did not seem himself at all. These new clothes, though handsome, albeit intimidating, made him out to be something she knew he was not.

"Still, if anyone says something to upset you in any way while you are here, let me know. I shall deal with them accordingly," Brady stated, offering his arm to her. He opened the wooden door with his other hand, revealing a dreary corridor, lit by torches on the wall that lead to a stone staircase. "Ready for your grand entrance, Mistress Arciana?" Brady asked, turning his head to flash a gorgeous half grin at her. Arciana merely nodded, again resting her hand in the crook of his arm. Brady quietly led her up the stairway, and up yet two more before they were past the dreary dungeon to the elaborately decorated hallways of the Black family Palace. Arciana silently marveled at the full suits of armor, eloquently painted portraits, and priceless vases and other such treasures they passed along the way. They were nearly to the main hall before someone finally stopped them. Though they had passed many guards, who eyed Arciana with either disgust or sexual hunger, Lady Cynthia, the daughter of the richest and most esteemed councilman in Brady's Royal Council, was the first to stop them.

"Your Majesty, might I have a word with you?" asked Lady Cynthia sweetly, so unlike her true venomous nature. "In private," Cynthia added, her sugary sweet smile turning into a sneer of disgust as she glanced at Arciana. Arciana was as equally displeased as Cynthia; though she was dressed in a proper but low-cut dress, the woman just oozed sex and trouble. She was the kind you would never turn your back to, least you find a dagger in it.

"Would you excuse me a moment?" Brady asked Arciana quietly, noticing her instant dislike for Cynthia. He couldn't blame her. Brady loathed the troublesome deceiving temptress with a passion. Arciana nodded politely, letting her hand drop from its comfortable position in the crook of his arm. She felt a twinge of regret, as if her body missed the delightful current of energy physical contact with Brady brought her. Brady stepped forward, lightly grasping Cynthia's arm and leading her further up the corridor, but not completely out of earshot. "What is it, Lady Cynthia?" Brady demanded warily, his voice dripping with sarcasm at the word "lady." Cynthia was no lady; cheap whore fit her personality better.

"What do you think you're doing, bringing your trashy dates here to the palace?" Cynthia hissed. Like Hawk, Cynthia held little respect for the title which Brady held. Hawk respected his friend for the person he was underneath the "monkey suit" and title. Cynthia respected what lay beneath Brady's clothing as well, but in a far different sense. All men were good for only one thing in her eyes. "I mean, I understand when a king's gotta get some now and then, but my father will never tolerate the palace being a haven for your cheap whores." Brady had to suppress the burst of laughter threatening to overcome him at her sense of hypocritical irony. Instead he kept a stern, serious face.

"Why, Lady Cynthia, how dreadful of you to speak such despicable things of my honored guest. I should not tolerate you speaking so disrespectfully about Princess Arciana."

"That's a princess?" Cynthia burst out, pointing accusingly at Arciana. "Why of course. Do you really think a commoner could wear such an elaborate outfit made from gold silk?" Brady asked. "This, Lady Cynthia, is Princess Arciana, come to us as a diplomat from the distant lands." Brady lied in such a prideful manner that if Arciana didn't know otherwise, even she would have believed it. Brady pulled the protesting Cynthia back to face Arciana. "Now, Lady Cynthia, I must ask that you apologize to the Princess this instant. I have enough trouble on my hands as it is without dealing with a war against the distant lands because of your rude, manner-less behavior." Cynthia eyed Brady through narrow slits, obviously loathing his power over her. Despite her hatred for him at the moment, Cynthia obeyed Brady's command; she didn't want to lose her source of funds because of some stuffy trash. With utter disgust, Cynthia curtsied politely, forcing back the sneer she felt was beginning to form. "I beg your forgiveness, Princess. I did not mean to offend. Your clothes are so unusual for Neroean society. I assumed the worst of you. I am sorry. I hope I did not offend you, your Highness," Cynthia lied as honestly and courteously as she could manage. While Cynthia's head was bowed in false modesty, Arciana flashed Brady a thankful grin, who returned with his own deliously sly grin that just screamed "Am I good or what?" Arciana forced the playful grin away, standing as tall and regal as she could manage.

"Please arise." Cynthia did so gladly. "No offense was made, my dear. I understand that my culture is difficult from yours. I had some difficulties on my journey, which is why I must look a mess. There is no need for apologies. I understand your mistake," Arciana stated in a bold, wise and regal tone. She was surprised how regal she actually did sound. She supposed it must have been repressed memories of how a proper lady should speak that were now coming to the surface.

"Thank you, Princess," Cynthia said sweetly, forcing another "humble" curtsey of "respect."

"Now, with that settled," Brady interrupted. "Cynthia, would you be so kind as to seek out Harold and ask him to meet with me in the Throne Room?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. It would be my pleasure," Cynthia lied. Anything to get away from this. Besides, although immune to her charms, Harold was very easy on the eyes. Cynthia turned and was halfway down the hall when Brady called out to her.

"Oh, and Cynthia?" Brady called. Cynthia stopped, turning her head to look back at Brady and Arciana. "Lord Hawk asked me to inform you that he is a little short on funds right now, but he will get you the money for last nights... "services" as soon as possible." Cynthia's face turned bright red with rage. She stormed off as quickly as she could, a loud "grrrrrrrrr"ing sound signifying her hurried exit. Both Arciana and Brady burst out laughing at the look on Cynthia's face. Elsewhere, Cynthia stopped just outside of the conference room where she knew Harold was still discussing boring ideas with Lord and Lady Deveraux. She had half a mind not to deliver Brady's message. But then he would tell her father, and she couldn't have that. She leaned against the doorframe, still flushed with rage as she glared back in the direction she came.

"That, was no Princess. I don't care what kind of a show that so called King puts on. I'm going to get to the bottom of this. And when I do, I'm going to make Brady Black and his little tramp wish they were never even born. No one treats me that way and gets away with it," Cynthia vowed venomously, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. Had anyone been in the hallway with her, they would have instantly noticed the distinctive tattoo on the base of her neck, which was normally well hidden by her hair. The tattoo was all in black, consisting of a 6-pointed star enclosed in a circle. Sets of 3 equally sized dots were placed in a triangular pattern surrounding the circle, as were 3 curvy lines with accent marks. Anyone, no matter rich, poor, well educated, or illiterate could have immediately told you the meaning of the bold symbol. In the ancient language, it meant Mucche volontà alzarsi a vittoria. Translation: Mucche shall rise to victory, the mantra of all Mucchean nobles, soldiers, commoners, and a band of rebel supporters. Most of the rebels consisted of Neroean Lords and their families who were fed up with the Black Kings, although many were just commoners willing to fight for whatever side paid the highest bounties. Though her father loathed the group more then any other, Cynthia was one of the rebels. Cynthia quickly moved her hair back, covering her tattoo, before knocking on the conference room door.
"Come in," called a male voice from inside. Cynthia opened the door, sticking her head and upper body in the doorway.
"Harold, King Brady wishes to meet with you in he Throne Room," Cynthia said. Harold nodded, standing up and excusing himself from the table. Cynthia disappeared without another word, but Harold most definitely didn't mind. He always hated that wench. She gave off such a disturbing vibe. That girl was going to cause a great deal of trouble one day, Harold just knew it.
"I think you've just made a vicious enemy," Arciana stated through her giggles.
"I think I can handle her," Brady laughed, attempting to calm his laughter. Composing himself, Brady took hold of Arciana's hand, more of a move of instinct rather then anything else. "Come now, this way. We shall wait for Harold in the Throne Room," Brady stated. Arciana nodded, allowing him to led her through the hallways, silently delighting in the flow of electricity that flowed through her at his magical touch, but scolding herself for allowing such thoughts to enter her mind.
"Who is this Harold guy anyway?" Arciana asked curiously. "And, who was the walking bitch-on-a-stick?" Brady chuckled, turning them around a corner into another corridor.
"Harold is my head advisor. I also prefer to send him on personal errands. Unlike the palace's many servants, Harold is here because he chooses to be and wants to be," Brady answered. That was understandable; slaves and servants rarely had any other choice. But Harold held Brady, whom he considered to be a true friend, in the highest respect. "The woman, was Lady Cynthia Banks, though there is nothing lady-like about her. Her father is Nero's richest and most powerful, Lord. Safe to say, Cynthia uses her father's status to the fullest extent. Ah, here we are," Brady announced, stopping in front of two large wooden doors with golden seals. The seals, which were also displayed on the massive wooden entrance door to the castle, form the shape of Nero's honored symbol.

Brady pulled the huge doors open, revealing the grand Throne Room. The door was situated behind the two identical thrones situated at the end of a long red carpet that seemed to go one forever. Arciana marveled at the large, vibrantly decorated Throne Room as they made there way inside. Obviously, despite the costly war, Nero managed to remain a very well off country. Or at least that's the image the room gave off. Portraits of past royal family members and amazingly detailed landscape paintings decorated the walls, along with a few large mirrors whose golden frames were accented with beautiful jewels of only the purest, perfect varying colors. Many statuettes, gold or glass figures, and other such seemingly priceless object pulled the room together.
"Wow," Arciana breathed without thinking. Not even the wealthy Kiriakis family had had such an amazingly beautiful castle. Rather then decorating the castle with that which pleases the eye, the Kiriakis family had a tendency to surround themselves with artifacts that symbolized only the bloody wars they lived to fight. Brady smiled slightly as Arciana stepped forward and away from him to inspect her surroundings.
"My mother redecorated this room before she passed away to suit her tastes, since she spent most of her time here. Before my mother's time, the king alone made judgments on all crimes in the public square. Mother convinced my father to eliminate that law. Now civil disputes are settled in the privacy of the Throne Room, by both the King and Queen. More serious crimes are brought to attention away from the public's eyes and ears in the new courthouse," Brady explained. It didn't take much to see how proud he was of the mother he never knew.

"Mother didn't like throwing her money around, especially when she knew people in her country were starving to death. Most of this stuff is either fake, made cheaply to look elegant and pleasing, or was given to her as a gift of friendship. Although they never met, she and my half sister were so much alike; both handed out anything of real value to poor beggars seeking to feed their families that happened along their path," Brady continued. To hear Brady speak so fondly of his lost family, Arciana's heart broke. He obviously had never done anything to deserve such torturous heartbreak. As Brady gazed at a portrait of his mother aside yet another portrait of his sister, Arciana once again caught the look of raw, usually guarded sorrow in his eyes. At that moment, she wanted to reach out to him, comfort his lose. Perhaps they could cope with their pain together. But, no. She could not. To allow him to help her deal with her own ghosts, she would have to tell him who she really was. Not the mere slave girl Arciana. But instead Chloe Kiriakis, would be Queen of Mucche. If Brady were to know that truth, he would hate her. He'd been nothing but kind to her, a first in her life. Even Brandon had not made her feel the security Brady did, and that was after knowing him for years. She had known Brady for only a matter of hours and yet felt so much safer then she ever dreamed she could. Arciana could not stand to have Brady hate her just because she was unfortunate enough to be born into the Kiriakis family. Though she had initially done that exact thing to Brady, she now knew better, and cursed herself for her former predisposition. Arciana's thoughts were distracted when she caught sight of a beautiful pink glass butterfly.

"What's that?" Arciana asked, stepping forward to reach out for the glass object. Brady was about to call for her not to touch it, when something gave him the feeling he should allow her to do so. Arciana was, for some unknown reason, drawn to that particular object.

"My mother made it. She could never find anything of glass in such a color that felt like it wanted to be in the Palace, so she learned to sculpt her own."

"Felt?" Arciana questioned, holding the butterfly lovingly in her two hands. Brady nodded.

"Yes, felt. My mother had a very unique view on life. She believed that every person and every thing would tell you where it wanted to be. Everything here in this room wants to be here. Or so my father told me my mother believed."

"You don't remember her?" Brady paused; he was sharing so much with her! After his precious Belle's death, Brady closed himself off completely to the outside world. Only his few dearest friends, Shawn, Jason, Hawk, and now Harold, knew the real Brady Black. But he would not speak a word about of his lost parents and sister, even to them. But... she was different somehow. Someone he believed he could trust, believe in. True, the chance that she would shatter what was left of his soul was very high. But she was perhaps his last chance at feeling complete again. Brady wanted only her, feeling as though it was his destiny to meet her.

"No, I don't. I was too young when she... passed away. Marlena, Isabella's mother, married my father after that. So the only motherly memories I have are of her. But, Father told me many stories of my real mother and their time together, to keep her memory alive," Brady answered, stepping up beside her. Ever so gently, Brady took the glass object from Arciana. "This was part of my favorite story. You see, my mother was very proud of this butterfly, having made it perfectly on the first try with her own two hands. Mother loved it so much, in fact, father claimed her spirit stayed inside it so she could keep her favorite possession and keep watch over her family all at the same time. I never believed that, until one day... the day that Isabella was killed. I came back here, completely crazed. I damaged a lot of items in the palace in my fit of rage, to tell the truth. And then, I picked this up, and hurled it with all my might against the wall over there. And yet, it did not break. Didn't even so much as chip. No other object, glass, wood, stone, or otherwise, could have survived that in one piece. That was when I was convinced my mother's spirit really was watching over me from her favorite glass butterfly," Brady stated. Arciana watched him closely, so unsure if she should allow him to continue. He had told her so much, and she knew in her heart she wanted to know everything about the poor, tortured man, so like herself. But, she also knew, in the morning, she would leave, adding another painful heartbreak to Brady's long list of sorrowful lose. Before she could protest, Brady pushed the butterfly back into her hands. "Here, you take it."

"What..."

"You were drawn to it, and it to you. It wants to be with you now," Brady interrupted. Arciana shook her head in protest, trying to push the object back into his hands. Seeing her turn away his heartfelt gift nearly split him in two. "Please? Mother would want you to have it

"Why are you doing all this?" Arciana whispered. Before Brady could reply, a breathless Harold burst through the wooden doors.

"Oh, thank Heavens! I thought I'd never get rid of him!" Harold breathed, without noticing Brady and Arciana at first. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he finally did notice the duo. "Oh, Your Majesty, I am sorry I took so long. Lord Jack started in on that bogus new idea of his. Imagine, being able to send a message instantaneously to anyone, anywhere, without a messenger. Ridiculous!"

"It's quite alright, Harold. Arciana and I have been having a rather intriguing conversation." Brady stated. Harold, for the first time, noticed the sexy, slightly disheveled Arciana. Of course, he didn't find her attractive in that way, but he was very curious as to who she was and why she was here.

"Ah yes, and might I ask who this delicious young lady is?" Harold asked, causing Arciana to blush, since she did not know there was no sexual meaning behind the comment.

"All you need know is her name is Arciana. Princess Arciana from the distant lands if anyone should ask, though it remains our little secret that she is not a princess. She will be staying with us tonight," Brady replied, stepping forward to usher Harold out of ear shot. "I would like you to fetch a night gown and a new set of clothing for Arciana, and bring them to the last guestroom on the left side of the hallway which hold my chambers and the royal guestrooms. Also, have some of the servants bring hot water for you to help wash and bathe her," Brady instructed. Both of them had lived so long with Harold's... sexual preference, that they thought nothing of Arciana's reaction to Brady sending a man to bathe her. Harold nodded, dismissing himself to retrieve new clothes for Arciana. He already had her perfect color in mind. She was definitely a girl made for the color purple. Brady turned back to Arciana, who was still clutching the glass butterfly with utter disbelief. "Would you like me to show you to your room now? You must be exhausted." Arciana just nodded. Brady sighed sadly, hurt that she kept herself so closed off to him, while he, for the first time in years, was being completely open with her. He took her gently by the arm, leading her out the door. "Oh, we should stop by the kitchen. I'm hungry myself, so I'm sure you must be famished.. ."

After grabbing a quick bite to eat in the kitchen, Brady led Arciana into the corridor which housed the plush guestrooms, used only for royal or high status guests, such as kings, queens, princesses, princes, and occasionally visiting lords, stopping in front of the last door on the left.

"This will be your room. You should find new clothes and a hot bath waiting for you," Brady informed, pulling open the door to her room for her to reveal a plush, elegant room. The finest, most exquisite, vibrant light woods made up all the furniture, which consisted of a large dresser, a writing desk, and a vanity with a gorgeous mirror. The bed was absolutely humongous with a black comforter over the best black satin sheets and softest pillows in the land. A beside table was on the right side of the bed, and to the right of that on the far wall was a door to the bathroom. To the left of the bed was a comfortable looking black couch built to seat 2. Portraits and landscape paintings on the walls gave the room color. "Should you need me, I will be in my chambers, going over some important documents. That's the door at the very end of the hall, just next to this room. If you need anything at all, let me know."

"Thank you," was all Arciana could manage. What could she say? She was over-whelmed by his kindness. No one had ever treated her so well and with such respect. Brady nodding, closing the door behind him, leaving Arciana alone in her room for the night. Arciana delicately set the precious glass butterfly on the vanity, picking up a brush which was laid out on the vanity beside many other objects. She turned it in her hands, silently marveling in it's simple beauty. She couldn't wait to get out of the skimpy gold outfit and into a hot bath; she felt so dirty, both because of the actual dirt left from her previous struggle with the slave traders and because of the outfit itself. Arciana set the brush down to inspect the other items; a crystal hand mirror, pins for long hair, a beautiful white rose comb with a black pearl to put in her hair, and a blue, black, and purple butterfly broach. Upon inspection of the desk, obviously provided for a male occupant, she found papyrus scrolls, writing quills, two ink bottles, and a few assorted art supplies. Arciana sighed deeply as she closed the desk drawer, skipping over the couch to approach the bed. She ran her hand along the silky soft comforter before coming to the clothes which Harold had laid out for her.

Arciana picked up the nightgown first. It was a rich, deep purple silk with thin straps. It would hang to mid-thigh when put on, and would conform to every curve on her luscious body. Arciana laid the silky smooth nightgown down, picking up her new dress. It was a light purple, with black laces and exquisite black beadwork on the bodice. The black beadwork traveled in horizontal rows to the very bottom of the dress, which would reach to the floor. Also on top of the elegant dress were matching black earrings and a pair of black shoes, since her own shoes had been stripped of her earlier at the slave auction. A tear threatened to spill down her cheek as Arciana held the dress close. How could someone who did not even know her be so kind and generous to her? What had she done to deserve such care, let alone such a precious gift as Brady's mother's pink glass butterfly, which she'd treasured so deeply while she was alive. Arciana's thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the bathroom door, from which Harold emerged.

"Ah, there you are! I was beginning to wonder where you went. Come now, let us get started. First, take off those dreadfully flashy clothes..." Harold didn't get to speak any further as Arciana, misinterpreting his meaning, slapped him hard across the face.

"How dare you, you pig! Out! Get out of my room!" Arciana screamed, pushing Harold towards the door.

"But I..."

"Out!" Arciana demanded, literally shoving him out the door, where he landed flat on his ass. She then preceded to slam the door in his very startled face face. Brady was just rummaging through a stack of papers when he heard the noise. Curious, he got up and opened the door to inspect the hallway. Harold was just struggling to his feet when Brady approached.

"Harold! What happened?" Brady demanded, helping him the rest of the way

up. Harold steadied himself using Brady's shoulder as support, shaking his head to clear the fog.

"I don't think she thought I only wanted to help her bathe," Harold murmured in reply. Brady sighed, cursing his stupidity. Of course she didn't know Harold wasn't your ordinary male.

"Wait here please Harold. I'll talk to her," Brady stated, turning to face the door. He knocked lightly, but got no answer. "Arciana, it's me, Brady," he called, knocking again. Finally, when he heard her call 'Come in,' Brady opened the door, finding a fuming Arciana sitting with her arms crossed on the bed. "I am sorry..."

"Don't apologize. He's the one that should be sorry," Arciana grumbled. Brady smiled despite himself.

"Arciana, he meant no offense. I sent him here to bathe and clothe you," Brady said. Arciana still looked mad, but also a bit confused.

"You would send a man to do that, instead of a female servant?" Arciana inquired.

"I told you, I don't like asking my servants to do most things. They have to do as I say, because I am the King. Harold on the other hand does so out of friendship," Brady answered. "I am sorry about this, Arciana. I didn't realize... well, I'm so use to Harold, I forget a woman might be offended by him bathing her."

"What do you mean?' Arciana asked, no longer angry, but instead very confused. Brady chuckled, further confusing her.

"Well, let us just say, that Harold does not play from the right side of the fence when it comes to courtship," Brady replied. After a moment, realization dawned on her.

"You mean he's..." Brady nodded, confirming her unanswered question. "Oh, my... oh no, but that means that I slapped him..."

"When he was only trying to help you?" Brady finished. "Don't worry, he understands I am sure. He's been slapped by many a woman. Only usually in their case, Harold made the mistake of hitting on their husbands," Brady joked with a grin that caused Arciana to smile as well. Actually, Harold rarely hit on anyone, though he often wished to. Very few people actually knew of Harold's sexual preference, at his request. Harold always said he feared the displeasure of the townspeople should they find out their King's advisor was only attracted to men. Such behavior was not often found in Nero at the time, and was never approved of by the masses. No matter how many times Brady insisted he did not care what the public thought because Harold was damn good at his job and a damn good friend, Harold would not allow the information to reach public ears. He had many "friends" and was happy enough with his life that he did not need to shout it out over the rooftops. "Believe me Arciana, I would have to worry more about Harold making advances on me then you would. Would you like Harold to come back in now, or would you prefer I call for a female servant?"

"No, no, that's alright. Harold's fine. And I'd like to apologize to him," Arciana replied. Perhaps Harold had some information on the mystery behind Brady Black... Brady nodded, opening the door to leave.

"Alright then, I'll call for him to come back in. Is it alright if I stop by later, after your bath? I'd like to discuss some things with you. That is, unless you're too tired."

"Depends. What things do you want to talk about?" Arciana asked, half joking, half serious. Brady grinned deviously.

"You will just have to wait and see," Brady replied. "So, what is your answer, Mistress Arciana? Yay, or Nay?"

"Alright, I suppose you may," Arciana replied with a slight smile.

"Good." Brady said. "Have a nice bath, Mistress Arciana," Brady added with a grin before departing the room. He nodded at Harold, signifying everything was straightened out, before disappearing back into his own room. Harold cautiously approached Arciana's open door, standing in the doorway and knocking on the side of the doorframe.

"Knock knock," Harold called. "May I come in?"

"Yes Harold, you may," Arciana replied. Harold took a few steps into the room, careful not to get too close to her just yet. "Please forgive me for before. I didn't know you were only here to give me a bath."

"It's alright, Arciana. My mistake for not making that clear. I'm often a bit too blunt and to the point." Harold stated. Arciana smiled. "I also take it that he told you I was..."

"Yes, he told me. Now, I do not have to worry about you coming on to me," Arciana said, still smiling. Harold chuckled as he closed the door.

"Well now, I most certainly would be if I were your typical male. If I may say so, in all respect, you are very easy on the eyes," Harold stated. Knowing the statement was only friendly, Arciana just laughed.

"Why thank you Harold. Might I add that you aren't too shabby yourself," Arciana stated. "Alright... may we get started now? I don't wish to keep you too long, and I am dying to get out of this horrid get up!"

"I should imagine so. Come this way," Harold instructed, leading her into the bathroom. The elegant tub was huge, steam from the hot water Harold and some servants had filled it with rising to meet the cool air of the room, creating a misty, muggy, yet relaxing feel. "It might not be quite as hot as it would have been now. The servants are on their way with more water. Are you allergic to anything? Because I put some wonderful minerals into the water. They do marvelous work to condition ones skin and calm ones nerves." Harold stated, closing the bathroom door. Arciana smiled brightly; this bath would do her wonders!

"No, no allergies. Thank you for being so thoughtful," Arciana said honestly.

"My pleasure, my dear. Here, let me help you with this," Harold offered, gesturing for her to turn around so he could get to the tricky clasp of her top. She did so, moving her long hair aside so he could get to the clasp. "My, you have such beautiful hair!" Harold said as he undid the clasp, slipping the scarce garment off her shoulders.

"Even more so when it's clean," Arciana replied.

"Oh my..." Harold gasped as he saw the deep scar which ran horizontally across her entire upper back, from shoulder to shoulder. It had been just barely hidden by her top. "What happened to you, you poor thing? That looks dreadful!"

"I'm afraid it's not the only one..." Arciana murmured, wriggling out of the tight-fitting bottoms of her outfit. Sure enough, she had more, smaller scars, on her thighs, lower back, and the back of her legs. Upon turning to face him, Harold also discovered the large scar that ran right down the middle of her chest, between her ample breasts. "My former owner... he had a passion for knives and foreplay. He tended to combine the two, more often then I care to remember." Despite that she was standing before him completely nude now, she felt no discomfort. After her initial shock, Arciana was left able to see what kind of man Harold really was. A kind and dear man who had respect for everyone, even those he did not know. She felt at ease with Harold, somehow knowing that he would be the type of person she would be glad to consider a friend.

"You're a slave?" Harold asked, astonished. Arciana nodded, stepping up on the tub's platform so she could get in. Harold moved forward, helping her ease into the soothing warm water.

"Since I was 8. My owner was a very evil man," Arciana replied, leaning back against the tub and letting the waters calm her. She breathed in the soothing fragrances of lavender and chamomile, feeling instantly at ease.

"I am so sorry my dear. Both King Brady and I detest slavery, but it's necessary here. A main reason Brady wants this war to end, so he can put an end to slavery without fear of losing the funds needed to keep up the army. One of the many sacrifices Brady has had to make in his short years," Harold said, reaching for the soap and wash cloth. "Here, set up on the platform to the side. I'll wash your back so you can wash off other areas. Then I'll wash your hair." Arciana nodded her thanks, pulling herself up onto the platform within the huge tub. Down on the bottom, the water had reached to her neck. On the platform, only her bottom half was covered, leaving her back exposed to be washed. Harold lathered up the wash cloth before he began to scrub her upper back. It pained him to see the scars that no doubt held even more painful memories, but he supposed many slaves weren't so lucky to escape with only a few minor scars, let alone escape into the luxury of a lavish palace. "So, will you be staying with us long? We don't get many visitors here that aren't stuffy uptight Royals," Harold stated.

"No, I'll be leaving in the morning," Arciana answered. Harold was glad her back was to him, least she see his disappointment. Anyone who wasn't blind could see the attraction between her and Brady. And, seeing the late Isabella's precious glass butterfly in Arciana's hands had confirmed Brady's attraction to her; Brady never let anyone near that thing after his sister's death. If this girl was leaving come morning, it would shatter Brady's tormented heart. All those close to Brady knew one more blow could very well kill their heartbroken king, inside and out.

"King Brady will be very disappointed to see you go. He has so few people he can depend on in his life, now that young Princess Isabella is gone. Such a beautiful spirit, that girl. Some say she was the reincarnated soul of Brady's mother- a theory which began to prove why she was named after her. Too pure and good to be true," Harold said fondly. He always liked young Isabella, one of the few women who never did anything to get on his nerves. Arciana sighed sadly, feeling so guilty that her father was responsible for Isabella's premature death. How could she be here, allowing these people to be so kind to her, when her father was a despicable murder who had so wronged all the people of Nero in but a moment? "Brady misses his beloved sister very much." At this point, Arciana turned to face him, grasping his wrist to halt his scrubbing.

"Tell me about him," Arciana pleaded, her eyes showing Harold intense interest, almost as if she needed to learn more.

"You want to know more about King Brady?" Harold asked hopefully, setting the soap and wash cloth down on the side of the tub.

"Yes, I do. Please, tell me everything." Arciana inwardly chided herself for caring. Even if she did grow close to him, they could never be together. He would hate her once he found out she was not only Mucchean, but the rightful Queen of Mucche.

"Why the interest in Brady Black?" Harold asked curiously.

"I... I honestly don't know. If you want the truth, I've never been able to trust any man after what my owner did to me. Not even his son, who protected me from his father for years. I don't understand why I feel so drawn to Brady, why I feel I can trust him, after knowing him only a few short hours," Arciana replied.

"Brady is very easy to trust," Harold stated. "Not many know the real Brady Black. He's kept himself locked away so long, I fear he will begin to forget himself completely. If you know anything at all about the real Brady Black, you are very fortunate."

"Why is he so untrusting?" Arciana asked, slightly unnerved. It seemed to her that she was not the only one who felt all insecurities melt away when they were together.

"Brady has suffered a lot of unbearable pain in his few short years. He once told me he felt cursed, doomed to lose everyone he ever allows himself to love. First the mother he never knew to poison meant for John. Then his step-mother to a fire started by Mucchean solders. Then his father fell in battle with Victor Kiriakis. And finally his beloved, innocent baby sister at Victor's own hand. Even the strongest man, can only bare so much before he breaks down, and gives up. Each death caused Brady to loose a piece of his soul, changing him from caring, generous, brave, and loving, to bitter and lonely. One more blow, and I fear Brady will lose the last piece of himself," Harold said, hoping to get through to Arciana. But she just turned her back to him, unable to let him see her torture at his words.

"I feel terrible for him. No one should have to go through so much," Arciana said. Harold shook his head, realizing he would have to be completely blunt with her.

"You can stop it," Harold said.

"What?" Arciana breathed, turning to face him again, astonishment in her gaze.

"You can put an end to Brady's pain. A blind man can see the connection between you two. Brady had so many dreams, all long since shattered. But you could renew those dreams, if you wanted to. He just needs someone to love him who won't turn their back on him. But, I'm warning you, Arciana. If you can't, or won't, be that for him, then stay as far away from him as possible. Brady could not take the pain of opening himself up to someone, only to have them willingly reject his love. If you have any doubt you can give as much of yourself to him as he is giving you, then leave Nero now, before you destroy what's left of the real Brady Black," Harold said firmly. No more words could be exchanged on the matter as the door was opened by 4 servant girls, bringing more hot water for Arciana's bath. Arciana silently lowered herself back down into the tub, taking the wash cloth to clean herself before Harold washed her hair. All the while, she replayed his warning over and over again in her head, until she reached her final decision. She would not allow Brady to open up to her anymore. Nor would she to him. The way, her departure would not hurt him any more then he'd already been hurt. She felt the need to protect Brady's fragile heart, but Arciana also couldn't stand to risk her own...

"Go away, Jan. I'm not in the mood for this," Philip stated, pushing his self-proclaimed mistress away in disgust before standing from his bed. He'd retired to his chambers early. But Jan, as she often did, had other things in mind that had nothing to do with sleep.

"Philip Kiriakis not in the mood? What a shock! Come on, Phil, you never want to do anything anymore," Jan whined.

"Don't call me that! I am the King, Jan, and you will address me with the respect I deserve!" Philip boomed. "Perhaps I've tired of all your limited tricks. You might wish to consider trying something new."

"So, you want to get rid of me?" Jan pouted, setting up on one elbow.

"I'm sick of your games, Jan. You'll pull just about anything to get me to marry you and declare you Queen. God knows you may be a passable mistress, but you'd make a horrible queen." Jan flushed with anger, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

"Ha, you should talk! At least I'd try earning my title. The only reason you're King is because your brothers and father got the axe, your sister was lost years ago, and your crazy mother is too old and senile to rule anymore, although I'm starting to wonder if maybe the kingdom would be better off with her still in the throne," Jan huffed. Philip turned his back to her, the mention of his depleting family wounding him.

Philip was far more immature then his ancestors had been at his age. Though he could fight well enough, killing man, woman, and child without any guilt, he was a terrible military leader. His commanding officer, Michael Horton, was the brains of every battle. He had married Austin's wife, Lady Carrie, after Austin's death, so that they could both remain in high status in Mucche. Philip took his advice in all affairs of war, then took credit for a victory, pushing all blame on Michael for a lose. Michael didn't care, as long as he remained in control of the vast Mucchean army. Perhaps the only thing Philip was capable of was the simple task of handling slave trade and stamping the royal seal on documents prepared by his council. Philip's mother, before she got too old to know what was going on around her, blamed the premature lose of his twin sister Chloe at an early age for his immaturity. Perhaps it was true. Philip believed the theory. After that lose, and growing up with the knowledge he had almost suffered the same fate as his dear twin sister, Philip remained that scared little 8-year old boy who needed his sister to get him out of trouble. Physically, he grew up a strong leader, but that mental immaturity kept him from putting his life-time of extensive training to good use. He cared nothing for the lose of his brothers. Truth was, he didn't really care about Victor's death either. Though he had respected and loved his father as any son should, praising him for his excellent military leadership, Victor's death had not held the meaning that it likely should have. He told himself that he still grieved to work up the anger he needed to go head to head with the strong King Brady. But his real hatred for Brady came from the sin's of his father. Chloe's honor would only be restored when Philip triumphantly displayed Brady's head on a pole throughout the roads of Mucche. Philip's thoughts were interrupted by a knocking on the door.

"Your Majesty, a message from Eric just arrived," Michael called from behind the door. Eric and his twin sister Sami, as well as their father Roman and a man related by marriage to the DiMera family, Abe Carver, were all spies for the Mucchean army. They, along with a few others, "vacationed" in Nero from "the distant lands" so they could keep an eye out on the events in Nero to report back to King Philip. The spies were Kate's last sane idea before old age rendered her incapable of rule as Queen. If Brady was ever out of Nero, a few spies usually trailed him while the rest stayed to watch over activity within the castle. Philip hurried to the door, ushering Michael in before closing the door again. He completely forgot to send Jan, who was always looking for info to use to her advantage, out.

"What news does he have for us?" Philip asked. Mike looked very displeased.

"See for yourself. This could cause us some terrible damage," Mike replied, handing Philip the scroll in his hand. Philip took it, unrolling it to read Eric's bold handwriting.

"Brady snuck out of the castle as a commoner again," Philip mumbled as he read. "What's with that guy anyway? Hrm... so Shawn's back in Nero?" If Mike wasn't so use to Philip talking to himself, he would swear the man was completely out of his mind. Then again, he still did believe that from time to time. "Holy... Rubino and Supervisore are uniting with Nero against us?" Philip demanded. Mike nodded grimly.

"Yes. We have reason to believe Arcadia will also unite with them. King David is in close relations with King Jason through his daughter Miriam Lockhart," Mike replied. Arcadia was a more recent addition to Salem. Unlike the other 4 countries, Arcadia was a mere century old. But their army was as sufficient as that of either Rubino's or Supervisore's.

"Damn. I was afraid this could happen. I thought Isabella's death was enough to keep King Shawn from Nero forever, but it looks as if I was wrong. Supervisore must know of our plans to go after them as a chip against Nero once Rubino is under my control. Are they meeting anywhere?" Philip asked.

"Keep reading," Mike prompted. Philip nodded, picking up where he left off reading. "A slave girl? Brady doesn't own slaves, what would he want with one now, especially a mere woman?"

"We are unsure. Eric says she looked familiar. She may be of some importance to the union. Brady paid far too much for her to be a common slave."

"So I see..." Philip murmured, catching the part about paying 500 gold pieces; even the most valuable of slaves never sold for over 300, and those were generally male slaves. He skimmed through the part about the dispute between Brady and the girl, apparently named Arciana. Strangely, talk of the slave beauty interested him, but he didn't think her important to the union. Finally, he came to the last part. "So, King Brady is leaving tomorrow with King Shawn to meet King Jason and King David in Arcadia to discuss the union," Philip stated, rolling up the scroll and handing it back to Mike. "Send order for Eric and Sami to take the rest of the spies to Arcadia. I want to know everything about that meeting. But, send word for Roman and Abe to stay in Nero. If this slave girl could be a threat, or could in any way be used against Brady, I want to know about it. I get a strange feeling she is of significance. There may be something else lurking in the shadows. I don't want to take chances. If Rubino, Supervisore, and Arcadia do unite with Nero, we can't afford to make any mistakes. We need every advantage we can get. Send out the order, and tell them to report back to me as soon as they learn anything new," Philip commanded. Mike nodded, bowing his head in respect before exiting to carry out his orders. Philip moved to the pitcher of ale on the bedside table, while Jan moved forward, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

"Hmmm... you actually know what you're talking about this time. You almost pass for a real King. I didn't think you were capable of doing your own thinking. I like the change," Jan cooed. Philip rolled his eyes, ignoring Jan's seduction and pouring himself a drink of ale.

"This girl, Arciana, may bring us more trouble then the union. I have a bad feeling about her, like things will end in tragedy," Philip stated worriedly. Why this stranger troubled him more then the impending union he did not know.

"You never get gut instincts about battle tactics. I would normally say you're out of your mind to worry so much about a slave girl, but it sounds to me like she is very important. No body shells out 500 gold pieces for a common slave," Jan stated worriedly. True, she had a tendency to merely sleep her way to the top, but Jan was intelligent enough. Not Queen material, no. But her opinions usually should be taken into consideration. Philip closed his eyes in deep thought. God how he hated slavery. To think this age old war began because of it both astounded and disgusted him. It was more then that now of course; this war was about vengeance and honor now. The only reason Philip didn't end slavery was to uphold the honor of his father's memory. Unlike his father, Philip could not approve of and support the sale of other human life, no matter who they were, or where they were from. He'd come far too close for comfort to being sold into it himself.

"I have a feeling my past is going to bite back because of this. I need to put a stop to this union and figure out who this girl is. Perhaps I should consult Mother. She still knows what's going on somewhat, she's just harder to understand now."

"Hmmm... you know what I think? I think, you shouldn't ruin this intelligent streak with too much thinking. You know what they say; all work and no play..." Jan cooed seductively, planting a light kiss on Philip's neck. The action was too sweet and gentle for her tastes, but she knew the sensation drove Philip wild. And, it always worked to get his attention.

"They do say that, don't they?" Philip smirked, setting down his ale mug. "So, Mistress, what perchance did you have in mind?" Philip asked, an evil, suggestive and sickeningly dimpled grin on his face. Jan smirked, her hot breathe raising the hairs on the back of his neck, as well as beginning to cause a far more significant rise. Men. So easy to manipulate.

"I think you know what's on my mind," Jan breathed.

"Indeed I do," Philip stated. With all thought of the slave girl and impending union between Nero, Rubino, Arcadia, and Supervisore gone, Philip quickly spun around in her arms to face her, pressing his lips hungrily to her and pushing her roughly back onto the bed, he on top. His mind was on a far more different union. "Let's play..."