Victor: Tsar/Emperor - His Majesty/His Well Born

Yurio: Tsesarevich/Prince Heir - His Highness

Mila: Tsarevna/Princess - Her Highness

Georgi: Tsarevich/Prince - His Highness

Lilia: Grand Duchess - Her Grace

Yakov: Grand Duke - His Grace


Sick of all these people talking

Sick of all this noise

x

Oh, all these minutes passing

Sick of feeling used

x

And now my neck is open wide

Begging for a fist around it

Already choking on my pride

So there's no use crying about it

x

Halsey -Castle


The merchant was a living paradox, Yuuri remembered, a particular bad memory streaming back in into his head when he needed it the least.

It was after one of the worse beatings that Yuuri had found himself on the floor, his arms weak, but his will adamant on keeping his body upright. Braced on his hands and knees, he had coughed loudly, and blood started to pool on the floor under him, dripping from his mouth, its scarlet color becoming a familiar sight.

He didn't fall or give up to the pain; his pride didn't let him, so Yuuri did the only thing that he could do, he spat on his own reflection through the liquid, allowing more amounts of blood to join the others.

'You shouldn't let your beautiful face become filthy like this,' the merchant had said, and the fact that he sounded utterly serious, not a trace of sarcasm accompanying his words, astounded Yuuri completely. 'Here,'

The merchant had thrown a clean cloth at him, and Yuuri, completely speechless to that man's madness, only stared at it, its pure whiteness the opposite of the scarlet filth next to it.

It wouldn't clean him, Yuuri had thought desperately, it wouldn't erase his shame, and it wouldn't save him. Nothing did and never would.


A private performance, that's all it was.

There was no music, no orchestra, no clapping, and no praise. But it didn't matter; Yuuri never needed them anyway.

His index finger trailed her skin softly, caressing her cheek and moving down to her bottom lip, stopping there and pressing ever so deftly. In a slow movement, he let it continue down to her jaw, the girl's shivers obvious and empowering the longer he went.

The room was silent, but her breaths were so loud. So Yuuri persisted, bringing his other hand to rub on her bare arm, up, and up, and up, leaving shallow touches on her bare shoulder, her collarbone, the clothed front of her breast, until she swallowed audibly.

He locked his eyes with hers, and their color only seemed more vibrant from up close, violet and saturated, her pupils dilating the longer he kept looking unashamedly.

"Tell me," he used the voice, the voice that was tuned specifically for these occasions. It was a voice that had nothing in common with his soft, innocent one, but the counterpart of it that he was trained to use, gentle and silky, but deep and masculine, "What do you want to see?"

The affect it caused was immediate.

Her cheeks turned bright pink, her eyes widening as she heard him speak each syllable. His Italian was accented, but Yuuri knew he spoke it perfectly. "I – I don't – You can – err, show me how-"

His other fingers joined the one resting on her jaw, cupping it with his palm, "Oh, Sara," he said, pronouncing her name as suggestively as he could, "Pretty Sara, what do you want me to show you?" His hand moved down and covered the side of her neck, "Do you want to see my nakedness? Do you want to see what I can do with my fingers?" he pulled her head to the side, bringing his mouth directly against her ear and whispering with heat, "I can have four of them inside me, do you want to see that?" he wanted to vomit with every foul word he said, the foreign language only making it sound more revolting. But he resisted the urge as hard as he could, "Do you want to see what I can do with my mouth?" he bit on her earlobe softly, and the quiet gasp he earned from her was disgusting, "Or, Sara, do you want to see how I can pleasure you? Ah, you make me want to do very sinful things…" he kept his tone playful, despite how he was starting to hate himself so passionately. "Our Tsar is no woman, but I'll have you know that I was trained for Queens as well."

"K-Kissing," she squeaked. "At the very least… I'll have to see if y-you can kiss."

"Oh, Sara," he chuckled mockingly, its fakeness obvious but she did not notice it. His dominance was blinding her. "You think you have to teach me?"

For a few moments, Sara did not blink, did not even breathe, her face turning cherry red with each passing second. Yuuri held the back of her neck, almost frowning in dismay before he reminded himself to keep his face fixed on one expression, sensual.

Her lips were wet, opened, and eager. It wasn't the first mouth he was forced to kiss, not even close to his tenth.

Yuuri took control, remembering everything he was taught, and let his tongue slide across her parted lips. Licking the roof of her mouth - where he learned was the most sensitive. He pressed his own lips and sucked into hers, firmly and with a tad bit of harshness.

She moaned, and Yuuri winced agonizingly, hoping this could really end, once and for all, if he did all this.

He pulled away when he couldn't handle it anymore; but Yuuri made sure it was longer than it usually took. He watched her breathless, flushing form, and reminded himself of the next step of the plan he spent the past few days perfecting.

Yuuri tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, and his mouth forming the most provocative smirk he could muster. "Can I leave now, Sara?"


Everyone stared, everywhere, whenever.

His new eyeglasses helped make his daily life much easier, for he had forgotten a point in time of all of his twenty years of age when the world was so clear and filled with breathtaking details.

Cialdini and his apprentice – a lovely boy whom Yuuri found very agreeable and easy to talk to – had made the spectacles with perfection. And he had spent the first three days wearing them merely admiring the brilliant architecture of the castle that he hadn't been able to see before.

The eyewear might've worked with people outside the harem, as no one had bothered to look at him twice since then. But inside, however, they proved useless and might've only drawn more attention toward him unwantedly.

His plan had worked, to say the least. And Yuuri no longer needed to attend any more humiliating sessions with any Madams. While he was grateful for that; finally being able to sleep knowing that no one would defile him or force him to defile himself for practice, he realized that he had overlooked the downside of that risk he took.

Words travelled faster wind, he observed, as he entered his third week of his stay in Russia. The encounter with Sara had only become a fuel to the whispers and stares. And Yuuri's separation from the rest of the harem became more apparent.

Noticeably, there was a newly formed fear from the other concubines; a fear that was gradually building by the day. Albeit, their hatred had grown even more than before, as they stressed on avoiding him like a disease and began to see him as an even bigger threat.

But 'Witch', surely, was a ridiculous accusation.

Upon hearing the term so many times, always accompanied with a series of untrue rumors, ridicule, hatred and profanity, and often said when glaring sideway at him, Yuuri had realized that they were now referring to him with that.

'Whore' reached his ears quite often, and it was absolutely laughable.

They seemed to have forgotten that they were all in a harem, a fancy title to a whorehouse. And they loved to overlook the fact that he, out of all of them, seemed like the only one who was not dreaming of opening his legs for the Tsar. Who was not craving his royal cock.

But somehow, someway, they deemed it fitting more than once to describe him.

It was humiliating, because it had happened to him before; where that specific word accompanied his presence. Long ago, he was required to perform in front of a crowd for the first time. A performance he had completely forgotten, in a faraway nation he couldn't remember. He had danced his night and memories away, and the morning he woke up, everyone around him seemed to have forgotten his name and replaced it with 'whore'.

He didn't understand it; all he did was show that woman what he was taught, though he treated her a little disrespectfully while doing so. Yuuri never did something in that session that he wasn't forced to do in any other.

His disrespect was never mentioned, however. It was only an overstated description of what he did. Yuuri didn't doubt Sara; the girl was never able to look at him in the eye without blushing a shy red since that day. But Yuuri knew that the story had reached the wrong ear, and was altered absurdly by each mouth that passed it on.

He was now, according to them, an absolute evil creature that seduced all of his owners and teachers. A man who laid with so many men and women it was uncountable. And he was exiled more than once from many kingdoms because of his wretched acts.

Which was obscene; if he wasn't an unscathed virgin, he wouldn't have been able to step a foot inside of the imperial harem from the first place.

He didn't know which one he preferred; 'witch' was less degrading, whereas 'whore was closer to the truth.

"Yuuri, I told you to seduce that woman, not drive her crazy." Minako couldn't decide whether to be shocked, scared, or both when Sara had reported it to her. "And dear lord, how could you even say these things? You could be hanged for treason after suggesting that you pleasure her, in any way." She sighed, "You should be thankful that she didn't share these particular details. Everything else, it seems, have been the talk of the castle."

"I was desperate." He adjusted his round eyeglasses anxiously, never predicting that doing something the exact way he was taught to would bring him so many problems.

They all talked about how he did it so easily, how he seduced a handler without even trying too hard. But none of them knew that after he came out of that room, Yuuri had spent half an hour vomiting in the nearest washroom. The contents of his stomach had emptied, but his disgust remained fixed in his core.

"Why don't you try to warm your way into them?" Minako suggested. Her burns looked even more horrific now that Yuuri could see them clearly, stretching and loosening with each movement of her face. "I've known you for so long. Your shyness and guarded attitude might not be particularly off-putting for me, but you know they see it as arrogance and distaste."

Yuuri didn't understand why it was causing all that hatred. Even if her conclusion was true, the concubine's treatment toward him still seemed more personal than that.

"And correct me if I'm wrong," Minako continued, "You are being purposely stingy when they approach you."

Yuuri shook his head, "I'm only trying to defend myself, I don't know what else I could do."

The first time he was pushed, Yuuri thought it was accidental. The time his food tray fell on the floor, Yuuri thought it wasn't meant to happen. But the more he felt aggressive hands on him, the more his clothes were ripped, and the more he heard curses spat his way, Yuuri began to understand what his life was turning into.

Thus he stayed away, only staring at them with incredulousness after every act. It had worked, miraculously; something about his strange eyes scared them, and it was all he had.

The eyes that were a constant curse, were starting to help him.

There was a newly formed fear from the other concubines, indeed, a fear that was gradually building by the day, but he didn't see it as a bad thing. Not at all.

Yuuri wanted that fear to grow even more if it meant some peace and quiet.

He glanced at the door of the quarters, thinking of his cold bed and decent sleep to wash away his tiredness. His day had been hectic with the amounts of errands he ran alongside his daily dancing practices; Minako often expressed how helpful he was staring to become, and Yuuri took slight satisfaction in that. He was exhausted, naturally, and wanted to rest. But he couldn't, not yet, not this night.

Not when it was the time the Tsar visited the harem again to choose his next concubine.

"When will it be over?" he wondered aloud.

"I wouldn't know." Minako grumbled, sipping her tea. "I haven't a clue how long their rituals take." She continued, explaining why, "I don't like to associate myself with the harem so often; I only make sure everything runs smoothly every now and then."

"You say that quite a lot." Yuuri noted.

"This place hasn't had a Tsarina – a Queen – in almost two decades," she began, seeming bored with the topic. "The Tsar runs this empire, and I run his castle for him as best as I can. But his harem was something I've always despised and tried to stay away from."

"We didn't have harems back in Japan," Yuuri added, "So maybe that's why we're so repulsed by the mere idea of it."

She puffed a breath. "This was the only good side about that place."

Yuuri stayed silent. He didn't know; he really didn't. Most of the time, his former home seemed like a heaven compared to where he was now. But Minako's hatred seemed everlasting, even after so many years.

She had an important role, he had now realized, for his teacher seldom shared information about her life. Yuuri always saw her importance, but it was astonishing, now that he confirmed that she was actually the head of the emperor's household.

"Do you know how it happens?" he asked, hoping she would talk more about the details he was always stressful of. "How he… chooses them?"

Minako raised both of her eyebrows, once again surprised by his lack of knowledge. "Well," she hummed in thought, "The concubines present – as in, they all stand in the harem's entrance, wearing their finest dresses and jewels, anything to catch the Tsar's eye. Then he stands in front of the one he wants, asks what his or her name is, and after they tell him, he says their name aloud, and gives them his handkerchief. That's how they know they're chosen. His majesty then leaves, and the concubine is sent with a group of handmaidens that would get them ready for the night."

Yuuri frowned, the description was obnoxious and somehow annoying, but the picture made him incredulous to their current actions. "Won't that take minutes? I've been sitting with you for hours."

"I know… I know…" she rubbed the burned side of her face, "I can't help but be protective of you, so please stay here for a while longer. They will come to report it to me eventually."

"Of course," he said, "But I thought you will hide me somewhere again or plan an excuse."

"It's not necessary anymore. Quite in fact, every attempt of me trying to make you less noticeable had backfired." She said, not clarifying any further.

"It isn't your fault," he said, "I know you're doing everything you can. And I'm grateful for that, I really am."

"Yuuri," she set her cup down, "In the future, I will just let you avoid it by yourself. You don't need to hide or pretend anymore. From now and on, you only have to do one thing," the look she directed at him was pinning. "Don't be present in the harem during the Taking, you don't have to hide, just be anywhere but there. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but what if-"

"Nothing will happen to you as long as I run this castle and you don't attend." She said, not bothering to hear what he was going to say, "I'll take full responsibly if that didn't work."

He didn't know what she was implying, but Yuuri saw how her expression changed drastically, turning completely solemn. It was quite noticeable that Minako was troubled the last couple of days, and he wished it wasn't because of him, but nonetheless, at that moment in particular, she looked mournful.

"Sensei, are you alright?"

Minako sighed, hiding her eye with the palm of her hand. "It's hard, Yuuri, to wound someone you care for."

He scowled. That was not true; she was doing everything but wounding him. Yuuri had never felt safer for the entirety of his enslavement, and all thanks to her. "Don't say that, sensei. I will be alright."

She didn't answer him, didn't even seem to notice what he was saying. And Yuuri was confused.

It was as if she wasn't even talking about Yuuri in the first place.

A knock came from the door, and Minako sighed in relief.

She stood up, straightened her skirt, and made her way to open it.

He heard a bit of noise and saw that she had kept the door half opened so no one could see him. After a few minutes and a couple of oddly sounding whispers and exclamations, Minako came back, slamming the door so hard after her that Yuuri was startled.

"You can go back now," she said, sounding frustrated.

Yuuri clinched his hands on his lap, his form shrinking within itself, "Whom did he pick?"

God help him, Yuuri didn't know why he asked. He really didn't.

But he wanted to know who it was, and badly.

"No one."

He blinked, once, twice, and thrice. Yuuri was sure he heard her wrong; it might've been a nostalgic illusion of the first time they had this exact exchange.

"W-what?"

"Be careful tonight when you go back," Minako went on, not repeating herself. "The concubines are very… dispirited. And they might take out their anger on you."

"Why?" Yuuri felt nervous; they already enjoyed taking all of their frustrations out on him regularly. Minako pointing it out was worrisome. "What happened? Doesn't he do that often?"

The concubines didn't seem that irritated the last time it happened. Disappointed and unhappy they were, but not irritated and angry.

"When Victor isn't willing to, he doesn't attend the Taking or go to the harem from the first place," she slumped down on her chair, and Yuuri's eyes widened upon hearing the Tsar's first name coming out of her mouth so casually. "This time, however," she sighed, "They said he went in there, looked at each one of the concubines' faces and then... left. It has never happened before."

He didn't know what to say to that, what to even feel about that. His mind was suddenly dipped into a mixture of relief and apprehension, and he didn't have a clue on which one of these two emotions had more density.

Furthermore, he didn't even understand what that oddity meant.

But he saw it, a shadow of a dark, wicked cloud that would hang above his head soon and remain there for a long time, following him wherever he went.


The imperial family was a pack of very strange creatures; Yuuri had learned that for a fact.

The unexplainable series of events had all started one day after the second Taking.

That morning, Yuuri was summoned unexpectedly to the west wing. It was a part of the castle he had never seen before, and as far as he knew, was forbidden to most residents.

As he was walked by with royal guards, nonetheless, Yuuri's heart was in his throat, beating wildly and abruptly, leaving him a second away from fainting right then and there.

The walk was an agony, and the fact that Yuuri was completely unfamiliar with the map of the castle, made everything worse. He knew nothing about where they were taking him, and none of them spoke or elaborated any further.

They stopped in front of a massive door, protected by another pair of guards, and after a few exchanges, the door was pushed open and Yuuri more or less was pushed inside.

He straightened himself, gulping as he raised his head slowly in fear.

Only to find that he didn't need to, because the person who had summoned him was a young boy, twelve to thirteen years of age, and almost two feet shorter than him.

"You." the golden haired boy had hissed maliciously, as if Yuuri had done something terrible to him, leaving the man scared to death by his tone. "You damn bastard, I'm so sick and tired of hearing about you."

Yuuri's entire body was trembling at the harsh, foul language of his words. He moved his eyes in all directions to avoid these striking green irises, narrowed into feline slits and looking more terrifying than the majority of the adult men he knew.

He almost tripped on his own feet when he found a familiar face in the room, sitting on a table in the living area and drinking tea as if nothing was happening that was of interest to him.

It was him. The young guard that Yuuri had seen the first day he entered this castle, the guard that had protected Minako so protectively. Though, seeing him now in that position, without the weight of his armor, he realized that the young man must've not been a guard from the first place. He was dressed in a fine garment of a squire's, similar to the way Cialdini's apprentice was dressed.

"Don't look at the knight for rescue," the boy snarled, confirming the identity of the young man behind them, who raised his head ever so slightly at the mention of him. "He won't be able protect you from a damn Tsesarevich, will he?"

Yuuri took a couple of steps backwards, the mere idea of being in the presence of the boy – the prince and the heir presumptive of Russia – made him feel even more scared than he already was.

"Y-your… your highness," Yuuri stuttered, hoping he used the right honorific, mistaking that alone could exile him from this castle. "Have I done something that offended you? If so, I apologize."

"Your whole existence offends me," Prince Yurio spat, "And what are your eyes?! Why do they look like that? They're so narrow..." Yuuri winced visibly at the familiar description, "Yet they are so damn huge-"

"They are the eyes of the Forbidden Kingdom, your highness," the knight supplied, shocking Yuuri by the softness of his voice. "All of its people look like that, but I do admit, his are quite unique on their own."

"The Forbidden Kingdom – you mean Japan? The same place Miss Minako is from?" the knight nodded, which made him turn back to Yuuri, squinting hatefully. "She is far more good-looking than you." He said, and Yuuri didn't detect any mockery toward her or dishonesty, only offense toward him. "Your Russian accent makes my ears bleed and look at you, with those stupid spectacles. You look like the pig we ate for dinner last night," he smirked, "Don't you think so, Otabek?"

"I can see the similarity, indeed." Otabek answered, sending Yuuri an apologetic look.

"Your highness," Yuuri put his hands together, bowing. "I sincerely apologize for my ugliness." He said, meaning it. He didn't understand, it wasn't like Yuuri had ever seen him before or the prince did, either. "I will make sure to stay out of your sight, if that's what you wish."

"Shut your mouth, pig!" the prince seemed almost insulted, by what Yuuri apologized for, or by the suggestion, or even both. "This is not why I summoned you. For goodness sake, at least you're not uglier than the other whores of this castle."

Talking with the prince was one confusion after another, Yuuri concluded. His youth was being highlighted so clearly by his childish use of authority, his louder than necessary tone of voice, and unreasonable anger. And furthermore, Yuuri couldn't believe that he just called all the concubines of the imperial harem, undoubtedly the most beautiful women and men of the nation, uglier than him.

But Yuuri composed himself, somehow, striking a bright and an amiable smile, "How may I serve you then, your highness?"

Prince Yurio looked away from him, as if on reflex.

The boy's hands clinched into fists, his teeth grinded together, and the longer Yuuri waited the more worried he became.

Childish he was, but Yuuri's life and wellbeing was a plaything to the Prince all the same.

Said Prince's face was slightly red when he turned, glaring at Yuuri openly with pursed lips.

"I want you to teach me how to dance. Just like you."


Another Taking took place, another night where Yuuri escaped the harem as if it was on fire and kept himself busy with errands he was almost begging to find.

The Tsar had appeared again, Yuuri heard, he had looked at every single one of his concubines with disappointment. And he had left without saying anyone's name. Without giving anyone his handkerchief.

That would repeat, fortnight after fortnight, until Yuuri would wake up each morning after it with fresh bruises.


The strangeness continued over the following weeks, and if someone had ever told him, long ago, that Yuuri would find himself sneaking away from the harem at the break of dawn, to meet up secretly with a Tsesarevich every single day for dance lessons, he would've considered the mere thought hysterical.

But it wasn't hysterical, not as the time proved him wrong; it had become a reality Yuuri was forced to face.

He knew he was swimming in dangerous waters. He knew that everything he had done to isolate himself from mishaps could crumble down at any second, and lay broken under his feet, but Yuuri didn't have any options laid before him.

Everything was happening against his will and the more he looked at Otabek's shiny sword – an obvious threat to his life – the more he believed he was a captive, rather than a teacher.

If anyone witnessed what he was doing, the Tsar would hang him. If he refused even a single one of the Prince's demands, Yurio would hang him himself. And if he decided to tell on the blackmail and the forced arrangement to any other soul, Otabek would chop his head off with one swift movement of his sword, and toss his body into a river.

Yuuri had been piling up such heavy weight of danger, increasing by every situation he found himself in, over his head and shoulders with not as much as an inkling of balance. And with the slightest wrong movement, the pile would crumble and crush him alive.

If it was any consolation to his worsened anxiety and despair, the Prince was a better student than he had ever imagined. The boy found his ground and learned everything Yuuri had taught him thus far with incredible ease. When he was informed that Yurio wanted to particularly learn ballet of all dances, Yuuri was certain that they wouldn't achieve anything, not unless Yurio dedicated the next years of his life to merely learn the basic postures and enhance his flexibility.

Yuuri had tried his hardest to convince the Prince to pursue any other style; he knew he had enough skill to teach Yurio any form of dance he wished to learn, dozens more, even. But the boy was unyielding, reacting violently with each suggesting and insisting on ballet, and nothing else but ballet.

To be honest with himself, when Yuuri took his time to focus on Yurio's progress – when the boy wasn't yelling in his ears and insulting every single thing about his being, that is – he found himself beginning to admire him and his unbelievable talent.

'My mother taught me first.' He explained his bizarre capability one time, 'If she wasn't born a princess, she would've been the best dancer in the world, I swear it. But a princess cannot be a dancer, they told her.' He then glared at Yuuri, as if he was the one that took that away. 'And a prince cannot be a dancer, they told me.'

Since hearing those words, Yuuri's devotion and respect bloomed, and he started to make sure he delivered what Yurio exactly wanted from him, the danger be damned.

At the beginning, Yurio wanted to learn basic things, everything that could help him reach Yuuri's level and fashion of performance.

The postures. The bends. The spins. The twirls. Yuuri introduced them to him as if it was a religion he converted to, a religion he devoted his life to and loved with all of his heart.

And Yurio didn't hesitate to dedicate his entire body to adopt them into his form.

As the days went by, as the two became familiar with each other, and as Otabek stopped standing next to the door and giving him threatening looks, Yurio became more adventurous.

He asked for more, inquired about certain moves he had seen Yuuri perform, other people perform, and as any young individual, loved to learn the odder pieces.

One inquiry, however, was out of the ordinary.

"I can balance on one foot in my sleep now, no matter the position of my other limbs," Yurio grinned, obviously proud of his remarkable progress over only two months, but Yuuri didn't understand what he was implying, for Yurio never boasted. "How long do you think it will take until I can balance myself on one hand?!"

The boy seemed so excited it was almost endearing, but Yuuri's curiosity emerged at the sudden question.

"But, your highness," he raised an eyebrow, "You don't need that to dance, that's for a different kind of performance."

Moreover, how come the Prince was so confident that Yuuri was able to do that? It was an acrobat move that had nothing to do with what he portrayed himself as.

"Of course I can," Yurio responded immediately, determined. "If you can do it, I can as well, no? Don't underestimate me."

"How do you know that?"

"I… I've heard things." A slight redness painted Yurio's cheeks. He looked away, groaning in annoyance. "Just show me, would you?!"

Nothing made any sense, something which often happened whenever Prince Yurio was involved. For one, none of the residents of the castle had seen him dance since the banquet, and back then, he didn't display any hint of that particular skill.

Even Minako herself didn't know that he could do such a thing. If his memory didn't fail him, she was always strict against that kind of divergence when it came to her lessons, telling him that she was training him for a world class stage, not a circus.

So how on earth did the Tsesarevich know?

But the more Yurio stared at him with hopeful eyes - a look he tried to conceal but failed at it - the more Yuuri wanted to forget about the strangeness of the situation.

He gave up eventually, finding that he couldn't refuse the Prince even with no hostility or threats involved.

He drew back a few steps, stopping on his tiptoes when he reached the far end of the room. Yuuri then charged forward with enough speed to supply a jump, concentrating all of his weight in his arms and flipping himself upside down in the air, both hands planting themselves on the floor.

He arched his back, pointing his feet toward the ceiling and easily finding his balance once he was settled, and finally, he lifted his right hand into the air by his side, now fully supported only by one arm.

He lifted his head to see Yurio as red as a rose.

Who told him, he didn't know, but Yurio's widened eyes, filled with admiration and awe as Yuuri demonstrated and explained the move for the Prince, while simultaneously staying in position with ease the whole time, made Yuuri smile for almost the entire morning.


One night, on one of the days in which Yuuri felt completely weak and helpless to his situation, he found himself too desperate to busy himself.

He went as far as to spend three whole hours with Leo - one of the castle's servants - trying to catch a group of rats that had invaded the kitchen.

The cook only asked young Leo when she saw them walking together, as they were coming back from a loading task Minako had sent them to, but Yuuri almost begged to volunteer with him.

Anything, anything to keep him away for the majority of the night.

Neither Leo nor the cook knew who he really was, and thus gladly accepted the help.

Meanwhile, the Tsar was once again back in the harem, all grace and power, observing his concubines individually, taking in their appearances, looking at their faces with a frown, and searching.

Minako had said it before; it was a message. But to whom that message was directed to, and why, Yuuri couldn't fathom.

He couldn't help but think, while consumed with unbearable paranoia, that it had something to do with him.

Yuuri knew it wasn't, god, he knew that. But it didn't help him sleep better at night, dance any better, run errands more smoothly, or even catch rats faster.

Fortnight after fortnight, Yuuri felt like he would combust with anxiety.

What was happening? Why was the Tsar doing this? What was he trying to imply?

Did he find a lover - despite countless rumours stating otherwise - and was trying to prove his loyalty to them by degrading and neglecting his concubines constantly?

Was he rebelling against the wishes of his people? Yuuri had heard it many times before; the Tsar was pressured to lay with many women because his counsellors and his people demanded it from him, stressing on the fact that producing heirs was one of his primary duties as an emperor.

Did he hate it so much that he was showing everyone around him that he wouldn't submit? Doing all of this as a display of dominance?

Or was he simply looking for someone in particular?

Yuuri's heartbeat escalated, and not from the sight of the rat peering at him from the inside of the flour sack he was crouching on.

He imagined it before, many times, in dreams, nightmares, and fantasies, all supplying him with paralysing fear.

Yuuri knew the chances of his fears coming true were slim, even more than before, but that didn't make him any less worried for his life. The Tsar could've easily found out about what Yuuri did with Sara, what Yuuri was doing with Minako, and what he agreed to do with Yurio behind his back.

He had so much guilt and wrongness inside of him that Yuuri didn't know how to deal with it in its entirety.

He was always good, he was always obedient and didn't cause any problems to anyone, wherever he was. He never found a logical reason to. His freedom will never be granted again, he accepted that and tried to live the remainder of his life with the least bit of disturbance.

But from the minute he stepped into that castle, Yuuri's entire world had turned upside down.

Admittedly, his situation was far better now from where he was before, but the constant fear and anxiety didn't allow him to appreciate it even one bit.

Alas, Yuuri seldom noticed any difference between his current stability and his previous years of slavery; mostly because he was often, if not all the time, too busy watching his back, never letting himself believe that he wasn't followed and haunted by the dark, ominous cloud of danger, with nothing to protect himself from it.

The walk back to the harem, as always, was a stress against heart and lungs.

He knew the Taking had ended long ago, yet, he couldn't stop imagining entering the walls and falling into a trap set specifically for him.

That was ridiculous, Yuuri told himself, he was far too insignificant for such attention.

He heard a faint sound, possibly a sniff or a choked sob, and Yuuri raised his eyes to see a girl walking out of the harem and heading towards him, her head ducked down with her hair covering her face.

Yuuri tried to step aside quickly, but the impact was inevitable with how close they were.

The girl swayed slightly to the side when she collided with him, and Yuuri's hands flew forward, catching her on instinct before her balance was completely lost. He tried his hardest to steady her gently, feeling sympathetic of her obviously dishevelled and saddened state. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, he knew.

Sometimes... sometimes Yuuri forgot how dependent the concubines were of their Tsar, how sensitive they became of the man who owned them, the man whom they existed to please.

Yuuri most certainly couldn't relate, but he figured that the recent rejections would've been painful to them, almost too painful with the way the man was treating the harem now.

He recognised her immediately when he took a good look at her, standing shaken in his arms, and even if his sympathies dimmed at the sight of her familiar face, they didn't completely vanish.

She was one of them; one of the girls that taunted him and spat venom at him every time he was in their range.

She had golden hair, cascading down with curls that were always taken care of well, and large green eyes that narrowed whenever she looked at him.

She was as beautiful as they all were, and Yuuri once again didn't understand why Yurio would call them ugly. In character, possibly, but never in appearance, Yuuri was sure of that.

She looked up with blushing cheeks, and as Yuuri predicted exactly, her eyes narrowed into slits immediately in recognition.

"You." She spat, her Russian heavy and accented as she pushed him with both hands on his chest, as hard as she could. "It's all your fault!"

Yuuri didn't budge from his spot; her shove was simply not powerful enough. The girl was tiny, as tall as little Yurio, and possibly even thinner than the boy.

He just fixed her with a blank, icy stare, and sighed.

It was one of the things he disliked most about them. The unreasonable blame. The unjustified accusations.

What had Yuuri ever done, so they would think that the Tsar was rejecting them because him?

He was seen by his majesty only twice since he had arrived, and it wasn't like he would desire him out of all the other beauties, with long hair, curls, thin waists and round eyes, all lying at his feet and begging for just one night, for just one handkerchief.

It just happened that this all started the fortnight corresponding to Yuuri's arrival.

There were other slaves that were recruited during that period of time, but they were all easily overlooked, of course.

Yuuri was more noticeable with his odd behaviour, Yuuri had strange eyes that people couldn't look at without gasping, and Yuuri mysteriously disappeared during the Takings every fortnight.

But Yuuri most definitely didn't need their approval; it wasn't what kept him awake at night.

Something far more haunting did.

Yuuri hardened his glare, but not particularly at the girl. The mere memory of the Tsar's beautiful eyes irked him as he turned and walked away.

His eyes widened, a gasp releasing from his mouth once he felt a sudden weight on his back.

He fell on his cheek, quickly tilting his head to avoid the solid ground from connecting with his nose and possibly breaking it.

It was more of the fact that he was caught by surprise, rather than the force and aggressiveness of the girl behind him.

She grabbed his shoulder, roughly pulling until Yuuri had his back to the floor, and his face to hers.

"You arrogant whore!" she spat, the palm of her hand landing straight on his cheek. The slap echoed throughout the hallway. "This is all happening because of you! Everything was normal until the day you stepped into the harem! You've cursed this place! You're a curse! A curse! A curse! A bloody curse!"

With every angry exclamation, she left a sting on his cheeks. At some point, she began using both hands for each side of his face, hitting him back and forth, forcing his head to turn sideways quicker and quicker, until Yuuri's eyeglasses flew to the side.

When that happened, Yuuri caught both of her wrists, and not because he was defending himself - he didn't really want to - he merely did that so he could be able to respond coherently. He didn't intend to sound so eerie and cold, but somehow he did.

"I am."

Her breath hitched, her entire body shaking with fear. That was the effect of his eyes, Yuuri recognised, for he had seen that reaction more than once during his stay.

His hold loosened once he got that off of his chest, and her control and aggressiveness returned when she realised that Yuuri wasn't intending to fight back.

She drew her hand away again, this time in a fist. "Y-y-you witch-"

He heard a loud growl, and the next thing he knew, the girl was shouting on top of her lungs.

Yuuri blinked, his vision surrounding with one color, brown, and realising that the girl's weight had been replaced by a lighter one.

Another growl, and as lovely as the dog looked standing on his legs, the expression the little creature was giving the wailing girl was nothing short of a beast's.

The dark eyed, giant poodle barked loudly.

"By time you got her off of him." A velvety voice commented, and Yuuri heard footsteps nearing. "Good girl, Makkachin."

The dog barked once more. She only relaxed when a hand was running through the fur of her head and ears.

"She looks so harmless, but her teeth could kill. Isn't that right, fierce little girl?" The woman standing above both of them cooed at the pet, her gaze fixing itself on the trembling girl on the other side of the room. Yuuri looked at her carefully, and saw that the slave was clutching her wrist in a tight grip, her fingers coloring into the red of blood. Makkachin had bitten her, and sharply. "Don't act so hurt and so soon, dear, this is nothing compared to what the Tsar will do to you once I tell him what I saw."

It happened in less than a few seconds; the girl had gone up to her feet and sprinted out of sight as fast as she could. She took the woman's advice to heart, apparently, as her pain seemed to diminish once she started running with no difficulty.

"Makkachin," the woman grinned, "Catch her."

With another loud bark, the poodle had taken off to the same direction, undoubtedly faster than the girl could ever go.

Yuuri felt a harshness against his chest.

This was normal. It happened every fortnight; he didn't need unnecessary problems accompanying the attacks now. What happened was more than enough, he didn't need more attention, he didn't need any rescue at all.

He deserved it, anyway, didn't he?

As the girl stated, he was a curse to everyone around him, and nothing else.

"Please," he said, rubbing his lips with the back of his hand, spitting out the saliva that had gathered in his mouth. At least there wasn't blood this time. "Don't... Don't tell his majesty, please."

"Why?" The woman asked, taken aback. Yuuri had seen her before, he was sure he had, but where or when, he couldn't recall. "Do you think your pride as man would be wounded if I did?"

Yuuri wanted to laugh, he truly did, only if he remembered how to.

This surely was a jest, wasn't it?

"You do that," he said instead, completely emotionless. "And it'll only get worse for me."

The lady's familiar blue eyes darkened, as if she was starting to feel as protective as that dog was of him a few minutes ago. "You could've easily pushed her away, you know; you were twice her size."

He shrugged himself off of the floor, dusting off his black tunic that was now torn at the hem. He was already thinking of where he could go and stitch it up. "It's not fair to hit a woman." Yuuri said honestly, "And she wasn't hurting me, by all means."

The merchant's beatings were the only ones that truly hurt.

The lady only hummed; it wasn't one of disapproval, nor acceptance. It was plain curiosity.

He still didn't know how to address her, having the constant fear of blurting out wrong titles in this palace, so he made sure to be as polite as he could. "My lady, thank you for your interference. I'm very grateful." Yuuri tried to sound as genuine as he could, "However, I'm kindly asking for this to remain between us."

"And I'm kindly refusing," the lady didn't waste a second to reply, a small smile shaping on her lips. "Since, after all, Victor would be very angry if I kept this to myself. His dog even more so, if her rage is anything to go by."

Only when he heard the Tsar's name being uttered so naturally, did he recognise who was standing before him.

Tsarevna Mila. Of course, he thought miserably.

Another member of the royal family had entered the scene. Another one of the Tsar's cousins that couldn't help but make his life even harder than it already was.

And another person whom their attention to him made no sense.


The girl was hanged the very next day.

It came as a shock to every single person who heard about it.

Yuuri felt empty, his palms beginning to taint with a wicked red the more he stared at them.

Someone else's blood was in his hands now.

And he felt empty.


No one knew the truth as to why that girl was dead, no one had seen her getting hanged even, for his majesty insisted it wouldn't be carried out in public.

The order was issued, the death sentence was carried out, and the only thing the harem was aware of was that she was hanged for disrespect toward a member of the royal family, treason, and unforgivable ill-treatment of a property of the Tsar.

No one knew what that meant, for the slave wasn't seen that night, not after she fled from Princess Mila and was caught by the guards immediately.

Nobody dared to touch Yuuri ever since, in fact, no one had looked at or engaged with him after what happened.

Their ignorance of the acts the concubine had committed caused them to fear even the slightest bit of gossip with each other. No one truly knew what counted as disrespect anymore, no one knew what counted as treason, or unforgivable ill-treatment.

Most of them still blamed him for it, which was natural. They would've blamed him even if Yuuri didn't have a hand in it from the first place.

He didn't care about that, in fact, he started to wish they knew the truth clearly instead of fearing him more, so they could come back and take their revenge as painfully as they could muster.

Burn him at a stake, maybe, Yuuri thought that that would be the most convenient.

She was too young. He thought every night, his pillow getting soaked with hot, angry tears. She was too young.

She was just naive.

She was just angry.

She was just a helpless slave.


The oddity only continued until it was incomprehensible.

Yuuri took a turn on instinct, having memorised the way leading to Minako's quarters like the characters of his own name.

As often as it was, the front of her closed door was occupied with almost too many people.

As the head of the entire household, Minako was acting as a coordinator to nearly all of the activities taking place in the imperial palace. Many people couldn't carry on with their operations before getting permission or instructions from her first.

Yet, something was out of the ordinary.

Beside a group of servants and commoners standing on one side, the rest of the hallway was occupied with a selection of people that Yuuri had seen before only a rare couple of times.

The expensive and fancy garments of some, and the striking golden armour of the majority, told Yuuri everything.

The carefully selected outfits were of the royal handmaidens, he gathered. The golden armours and long swords were items only the most powerful and well trained guards of the castle wore.

Together, the twelve or so individuals formed the Tsar's attendance.

Upon seeing them the first time, Yuuri thought that the man used them to show his power. After all, with so many people around him, no one could look at them and not feel intimidated.

But that was an illusion, he realised now, because that was just a lie he had told himself back then.

Now, without their Tsar, they looked like any other group of people that stood together in one space.

His majesty didn't use them to show his power. He used them merely as an accessory, for his power never needed to be shown.

Yuuri should've known that.

He was inside, with Minako, now with only a door and a dozen of people separating them.

And when he came out, not even that would remain.

Yuuri turned immediately, a brush away from a panic attack at the realisation.

He collided with the person standing behind him and Yuuri gasped, apologising repeatedly and moving past them in a rush.

"Yuuri," he heard a familiar voice calling for him. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes - yes!" Yuuri breathed out, trying to feign nonchalance. "I... I was simply overwhelmed by the number of people here, is all! I'm going to stand on the other side of the hallway."

"I agree, it's rather crowded." Otabek looked behind him with consideration, before he shrugged and followed after Yuuri. "I shall wait with you, then."

"Feel free." Yuuri's teeth clinched, cursing his stupidity with passion.

There was no way to escape anymore.

They stood side by side, separated, yet not very far from the Tsar's attendance and the other waiting servants.

The air was suffocating. The hallway was cold, as often than not, but his palms were producing sweat, nonetheless.

"His majesty won't take long, I imagine, but there are way too many people." Otabek spoke all of a sudden after a few minutes of utter silence, reaching under his sleeve and producing a brown roll of paper. "Will you give this to Miss Minako for me?"

"Of course," Yuuri took the letter with shaking hands. "But can you... can you stay here a bit longer?"

Life was funny, in a way, it was funny because only a while ago, even glancing at Otabek would make him feel like his head wouldn't stay on his shoulders for too long.

He didn't realise when, exactly, the two had become so familiar around each other, that Yuuri would now look at him and feel safe.

Almost three months in the company of Prince Yurio did that, surely.

Whenever his highness lost his temper and scolded Yuuri for things he couldn't help or didn't do, Otabek would try to defend him as slyly as he could.

It had become an unspoken routine between them, until the knight's job wasn't to protect Yurio's life around him anymore, but to stop him from offending Yuuri into depression.

Otabek only looked to their side and gave him a firm nod, settling on his previous spot again, his arms crossing against his chest.

Yuuri let out a shaky breath.

"I never had the chance to say this before," Otabek said, eyeing the mass of people with an ever stony face. "But while we're at it... I wanted you to know that you treat his young highness better than I imagined. I know it's a hard thing to do, but it's a relief to see him smile and be energetic again. Prince Yurio was utterly miserable when he moved to this castle. Your influence had made my job easier, although, it makes me feel guilty."

"Why would it?" Yuuri asked, distracted, but wanting him to continue. Otabek never had the chance to talk much, anyway.

"Because I welcomed you to the castle in a very rash manner. The Tsesarevich will surely not be pleased if he knew; he cares more about you than you give him credit for." He sighed, "We all love Miss Minako, I think even the stable boy would jump for her protection. But I had said some very hurtful things in my rage, and for that I apologize."

"You shouldn't, really," Yuuri said hurriedly, only hearing bits of what he said; his pulse was simply louder than the outside world at that point. The people next to them were starting to shift, possibly from hearing footsteps, and Yuuri was almost beginning to hyperventilate. "T-t-tell me, which way would his majesty go?"

Otabek, who knew the map of the castle very well, casually pointed at the opposite side from they were standing.

Yuuri knew asking this would risk the revelation of his schemes, but he simply didn't know what else to do. "Can I hide behind you?"

He was paranoid for nonexistent reasons, even a fool could see that, but Otabek humoured him, turning until his back was facing the older man.

Otabek was considerably shorter than Yuuri, but he was broader. It was all what he needed to conceal himself once Minako's door opened, and every single person within miles from the hallway had bowed their heads all the way to their waists.

Otabek was perhaps taking his task too seriously, even going as far as to give only a half bow of his head to stand straighter and shield him.

Breathe, Yuuri - doing the exact opposite of that - was yelling at himself. Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.

"Your majesty," He heard Minako's voice, pleasant and relaxed, voicing a respectful goodbye to her guest, no doubt bowing herself.

"Miss Minako," the Tsar returned with the same tone, yet, whether it was Yuuri's imagination or not, he heard a bit of reluctance accompanying that polite exchange. It was as if there was an unfinished argument between the two of them.

There were no words after that, just the sound of footsteps getting far. A dozen more, echoing like thunder from the collective amount, followed behind the Tsar, who, as Otabek informed, was heading to the opposite side to them, Yuuri not even close to be seen.

He waited for a torturous long time, even minutes after everyone had released themselves from their bows and stood normally again, before standing himself and heading to the door.

Otabek, however, blocked him by his arm before he made any further move.

The royal attendance was coming back, he saw, a few steps ahead of them walked the Tsar, his lips clipped together into a thin line.

Yuuri didn't see the rest of his face, he was bowing again with everything he had and praying to every superior power in the universe that the Tsar didn't see him.

Instead, something utterly bizarre took place before him.

"Miss Minako," the Tsar said, a bit unsteadily, his previous cold demeanour completely gone and replaced with... annoyance? Impatience? Desperation? Yuuri couldn't tell exactly, but he knew the man had a very expressive voice. "I know that you see me as your own son, I know that very well. And I can trust that nothing you ever do will upset me."

Yuuri could sense the confusion from everyone around him, but Minako answered gracefully, not caring about their audience. "I am very flattered, for I live for your trust, you majesty."

"I don't know," was the Tsar's reply, "It seems that lately, you live for my pain."

A hush fell on the entire hallway. It wasn't as if anyone was uttering a single sound, but after dropping that bold statement, everyone, for the lack of nothing better to describe it, was completely speechless.

The silence continued for a couple of pregnant moments, until even Minako sounded shocked. "Victor..."

"I'm not upset with you; I understand why you're doing this. I could've forced it a long time ago, but I didn't. I'm respecting your wishes." The Tsar said hurriedly. "But that doesn't mean I'm not hurt."

"What about your concubines, Victor?" Minako argued. Yuuri always thought that she treated him like a parent, but with the Tsar, it was even more evident. And honestly, their familiarity with each other was what shocked him the most. "You should see how they are nowadays; they're heartbroken by what you're doing. And after what you did so recklessly, they're starting to think that they will be massacred. You should take responsibility for-"

"I don't care." The Tsar snapped, raising his voice for the first time. "I don't want them. You know who I want."

Minako grumbled in clear irritation at that, as if she wasn't standing in front of an emperor, in front of anyone with importance.

"Your majesty," a new voice came behind them. "My apologies for interrupting, but the court has been waiting for an hour."

"Goodnight, your majesty." Minako followed that instantly.

"You are not giving me a chance," the Tsar told her in similar irritation. "But as you will."

Then, he left.

Yuuri had never been more at a loss his entire life.


Out of all of them, there was one in particular that stood out, that was worse than all of the other concubines put together.

Yuuri knew she was the one behind the constant mass degrading, was the one who had encouraged the hatred of everyone else and put oil on the fire of his humiliation.

Bianca was her name, and so far, she was his biggest tormentor without competition.

She had spent a night with the Tsar before, thus why her influence was much bigger than the majority of the harem members.

The concubine had short chestnut hair, slightly shorter than his and thicker, she had eyes that were much rounder and lighter in color than Yuuri's, a big bosom he will never have, an hourglass figure that made both men and women alike drool over her, and intense, yet delicate features, which all contributed to the fact that she surpassed him in beauty in every way.

It wasn't like Yuuri compared himself to her, after all, there was no use in doing that considering the place he lived in. But he unconsciously remembered those comparisons, because Bianca herself voiced them aloud so many times that Yuuri had memorised every word unwillingly.

He never had a problem with his ugliness, not before Bianca had set her eyes on him the very moment Yuuri entered the harem, and decided to break him anew with everything she was capable of.

By her cunning way of insult, by describing everything he lacked and everything she had in detail, it made every single word much more hurtful than he thought it would ever be.

Bianca was, as he had to admit, one of the few people that were capable of actually hurting him.

He remembered the day he got his spectacles, how selfishly happy he was with them, and how she crushed him with so many venomous words that Yuuri felt a heavy weight pushing on his chest all night, so many dark emotions running in his veins, and so much self hatred and degradation that he, for the first time in months, thought of the blade again, the knife that would end his miseries with a relieving, satisfying finale.

After the incident of the concubine's death, no one dared to approach him, but she wasn't just anyone. Bianca was special, Bianca was too aware of what she was doing, and Bianca knew that Yuuri needed her venom, more than ever.

He was almost starting to crave it after the rest of them had left Yuuri completely alone and unscathed so abruptly.

As much as his masochistic side wanted it, when she finally made her move; her most powerful attack yet, the rest of him couldn't take how cruel she was, how she was capable of hitting him exactly where it hurt the most.

It had all started when Yuuri stepped out of the washrooms, after almost a whole hour of cleansing since he had spent most of that day in the kitchen, helping the cooks as much as he could.

He dressed in his longest tunic, black as midnight and reaching his knees, its shoulders and entire sleeves made of loose, transparent mesh, and a thin belt narrowing its waist. He then put on a pair of grey trousers that were far too small, but of course, a normal size for a concubine.

Yuuri didn't care how much his clothes revealed of skin and shape anymore, not since he came to Russia. Because well, the moment he walked out of the warm walls of the harem, he would have to dress himself with coats and scarves, covering his body from head to toe, before he froze to death.

When that happened, nobody would be able to tell the difference between a concubine and a servant; between a slave and a free spirit.

He only saw glimpses of his golden armlet between showers, and for that he was immensely grateful.

That day, Yuuri made sure to leave a stressful collection of tasks, all situated in the grand library, that needed all night to finish. Or maybe even keep him there til dawn.

He only had to be absent for a few minutes, but Yuuri could never feel safe every fortnight if he didn't do this.

He became dependable to many people, which helped a lot, because now he didn't have to beg for work; people asked for his assistance in their respectful areas whenever they as much walked past him.

He knew all of his skills would finally come in handy, and in Russia they did, hence why many residents of the imperial castle were thankful for him.

After he finished dressing, Yuuri made his way out of the shared washrooms, avoiding the sight of the other two men's naked bodies next to him, and rushed to the sleeping quarters to collect his coat and scarf.

Halfway there, Yuuri noticed the familiar, yet unwelcome blurriness in his vision.

Yuuri returned hurriedly to find his spectacles, only to see Bianca standing next to the men's washrooms, with a smile cruel and unforgiving, and his eyeglasses gripped loosely in her hand.

Her smile morphed into a grin, seeing Yuuri unmoving and yielded. She started walking away casually toward the entrance, where all the other concubines were heading for the Taking.

He shouldn't have, he shouldn't have been so mad, so angry and incredulous, and he shouldn't have followed her.

He had lived most of his life in blurriness, but his eyeglasses had ruined the experience for him. Only thinking of spending the entire night squinting at letters and having headaches ever so often, made Yuuri stubborn, and adamant to return them.

Bianca was standing at the very end of the hallway, and Yuuri could already see the concubines standing in their positions, waiting for the Tsar to grace the harem, yet, looking at the view gave him another rush of sympathy.

Faces that were once full of hope and excitement, were now solemn, crushed, and angry. Their expressions reminded him of the sight of people holding their tears and exclamations, who couldn't do anything else but stand like statues.

He returned his gaze to Bianca, who now had the temple tips of his eyeglasses on her lip.

"What is it, witch?" She snarled. "You're looking at me like you're lusting. Did my beauty finally catch your eye, or is that a look of envy I see?"

Yuuri ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing the front strands over his head in frustration. Why did she have to say these things to him at every chance she had?

"Grand Doctor Cialdini made those eyeglasses for me," Yuuri said calmly, "If something happened to them, he will be very upset."

Bianca gave him a mocking, toothy grin before she started laughing loudly. "The Grand Doctor? For you? You want to have me believe that a man as worthless as you has something made by him? I didn't know you were a jester, witch."

"Do you really want to act like this?" he challenged, losing his patience, knowing that he had wasted too much time showering and that he might have to run soon. "It seems that you have forgotten about the recent death sentence."

Why did he say that? How did he sound so dark, so malicious?

What was he turning into?

Why was he talking back, now of all times, after months of avoiding every single advance?

Bianca was as shocked as him, but she hissed like a snake a few moments after it.

"I might have doubts about the Grand Doctor, but I know for a fact that his majesty didn't kill her for you," she said angrily, "I saw that fool getting chased by his dog and everyone knows that the Tsar loves his pet more than his entire empire, so don't try and convince me otherwise. Why would he hang someone for you, anyway? Who do you think you are? Your arrogance disgusts me sometimes!" she walked toward him with murderous intent. "You are no one! You are worthless! You're merely a whore that fucked his way into his harem, we all know this by now! Though, I never understood who would ever bother to have you," she bared her teeth at him, "Looking at your face makes me want to vomit every time. You don't have any of the requirements to be here, your mere presence gives the harem a bad name."

He saw a glint at the corner of his eyes, and Yuuri's hand moved as fast as it could.

Bianca, whoever, had sensed this happening and instantly drew her hand back, stretching it forward once again, successfully throwing his eyeglasses across the entrance of the harem.

"Go, dog," she whispered in his ear, "Go fetch."

Yuuri glared at her unkindly before pushing her away from him, perhaps with too much strength.

She only giggled.

Yuuri was only a few feet away from collecting his eyeglasses, which thankfully seemed intact after the throw.

That, however, only lasted as long as the thought, because Yuuri saw someone emerging from the side. And to his horror, they stepped on them, successfully breaking the lenses into pieces and twisting the frame, folding it in half, beyond repair.

He looked up in disbelief at the male concubine standing above his ruined spectacles, his dark smile an evidence of his intention.

Yuuri's body twisted around, his feet moving him to the exist, back to where Bianca was standing, proud of her achievement.

For the first time, Yuuri felt pure hatred toward every single one of them.

They deserve it, he told himself, the last bits of sympathy vanishing from his being, the memory of even wielding them was laughable.They deserve what's happening to them. They deserve all of it. They deserve much more.

"Guard," Bianca's voice was suspiciously loud, and Yuuri turned bitterly to see why she was shouting.

He caught her eye instantly, for she had been waiting for the contact, and Yuuri observed, in absolute terror, as she pointed a finger at him, smirking.

No.

No.

No!

No!

NO!

"This concubine is trying to escape."

Said guard, with a shiny golden armour that made him look much bigger than Yuuri, moved until he was blocking his way.

"N-no, I'm not!" Yuuri panicked, bringing his hands in front of him. "I-I'm not trying to! I was called to the library and I have to go there!"

"Don't believe him, ser, he's a notorious liar." He could clearly hear the smile in Bianca's voice. "You can see his golden armlet, can't you? He's trying to neglect his only duty as a concubine."

The last words stung the most.

What made Bianca so powerful when it came to him, was that she was well aware of his shame.

The Tsar never chose someone twice, and Bianca had already been chosen, thus she had nothing to lose.

She knew that Yuuri, on the other hand, had everything on the line. And the situation in its entirety was merely a source of amusement to her.

The guard didn't talk, but rather voiced his reply in a silent threat. He released his sword from his belt, and planted the tip of its sheath on the ground, daring him to take one more step forward.

And of course, Yuuri didn't. Because it only took a few minutes after it before he heard the royal horn.

He was a coward, a scaredy little cat that amused the thought of suicide, yet was frightened of being murdered by the hands of anyone else, in fear that death wouldn't be the silent end he always fantasised of.

The announcements were made, and upon hearing the sound of boot heels, echoing throughout the entrance, Yuuri stood frozen in his spot. His gaze fixed on the floor, wishing it could burst into a hole and swallow his existence.

As always, Bianca was whispering her venom in his ears, where it belonged, where it welcomed it every time like it was his favourite music.

"You've been avoiding it for so long, but it's by time you feel our humiliation. It's by time you feel how worthless and unwanted you are to him. It's by time you get rejected and know your place, you damn curse."

He had heard it many times, how it happened, how the Tsar walked around and examined their faces in disappointment and distaste.

Yet, this is not what happened this time.

Yuuri wanted to run into the guard's sword and cut his own body in half when he heard the clack of his broken eyeglasses under the Tsar's foot.

His majesty picked it up, and it only took him a second to view the scene around him, before he started walking in one direction. His direction.

Bianca was his biggest tormentor, indeed, but her words were the only prayer Yuuri put faith on.

Why would he hang someone for you?

Who do you think you are?

You are no one!

You are worthless!

Who would ever bother to have you?

Looking at your face makes me want to vomit every time.

You don't have any of the requirements to be here.

Your mere presence gives the harem a bad name.

It's by time you feel our humiliation.

It's by time you feel how worthless and unwanted you are to him.

It's by time you get rejected and know your place, you damn curse-

The footsteps stopped in front of him, without even pausing before anyone else.

A hand lifted his chin, and Yuuri was almost blinded by how blue the Tsar's eyes were.

"You." He said with a soft breath, and Yuuri couldn't help but compare it with the way Yurio had said that word to address him before, or similarly, how that concubine girl used it to call him. The word was filled with bitterness and sounded like a spit at both instances. But not this time; this time it was uttered so lovingly, that the sound of it felt like a soft caress against his skin. And why, why were his eyes so much bluer up close? And why was the Tsar looking at him in such wonder? Like he couldn't believe what in front of him was real? "Yuuri."

He said it so loudly that no one could've missed it, without even asking Yuuri for his name first.

A number of high pitched gasps filled the room from numerous sources. Bianca, who was standing to his right, might've been one of them.

And Yuuri, Yuuri felt his entire body becoming numb, his mind silencing, turning completely mute, and his prayers failing to be answered harder than they ever did before.

He didn't make a move to extend his hand, so the Tsar had to take it in his.

His touch was a torch, a torch; nothing ever felt that hot and burned his skin so badly.

The Tsar did nothing but stare, and stare, and stare, until a voice called for him which to Yuuri was incoherent, everything was, only the Tsar's eyes made sense, and were so blue that Yuuri was wondering if someone had dipped a high saturated dye into his eye socket.

The touch was gone, Yuuri realised at some point, the hand that was holding his was gone also, and the painting of ethereal beauty vanished out his sight.

He had lost track of time, for the shock was too great, but he, however, did see the Tsar stepping away, not exiting before turning and staring at him one more time with the same look of disbelief, as if to make sure that what happened, actually happened.

Yuuri's gaze dragged down slowly until landed on his outstretched hand.

And he never recalled a time in his life when he had to suppress his tears so hard.

If he started crying, Yuuri begged himself, he wouldn't be able to stop. And everyone would see. He couldn't. He shouldn't.

The Tsar's handkerchief wasn't anything special, and that, alone, devastated him the most.

Because in its plainness, it looked exactly like the white, simple piece of cloth that the merchant had thrown at him after his beatings.

And it made Yuuri think the same thoughts when he looked at it, his fingers clutching around the silky fabric in hopes that he could squeeze it until it disappeared from existence.

It wouldn't clean him. It wouldn't erase his shame, and it wouldn't save him.

Nothing did and never would.


[A/N]

Bianca and the unnamed girl are the female skaters that appeared in episode six, the two women that talked to Victor and insulted Yuuri.