Inspired by A Thousand and One Nights.


It was a sad office he had to perform, but, curse it all, he was growing accustomed to it. Each time Yami stepped off the carriage bearing his master's insignia, he could taste the air metallic with tension, could feel the weight of the townsfolks' gazes as they followed his gait toward the podium in the square.

"Lord Bakura seeks a bride," he announced, and before he could finish the crowd gathered below him rippled in shock and dismay. They whispered to each other, undoubtedly repeating the same questions he had muttered to himself while preparing for his journey from the homestead: already? had they not offered someone a month ago? two months? last year? what had become of the Lord's previous brides? "Prepare a selection for tomorrow morning, one from each family," Yami continued as though the townsfolk hadn't said anything, as though he needed to explain to them how this worked. His lips pressed together before he added, ruefully, "The selected family will be rewarded handsomely."

Yami turned his back on the crowd just as they began to roar in frustration and anxiety and fear. He had no answers for them.


Amane's eyes were brimming with tears, but Ryou admired her for not letting them spill over. They stood before their hearth, just staring at each other. Amane's face was filled with steely determination but a loss of what to do with it, while Ryou, he was sure, was placid and thinking and a tad incredulous.

"Tomorrow morning," he repeated serenely as though pondering the forecast. "Well, that's hardly much time at all."

"Ryou," Amane said, drawing his name out plaintively, "it's just the two of us. What are we going to do?"

He hesitated before giving her a small smile. "You are going to finish your chores and go to bed," he replied. "I will figure something out, don't worry."

Amane looked like she wanted to argue but her implicit trust in her big brother must have won out – as Ryou knew it would – and she sighed, rubbed the tears out of her eyes, and nodded obediently.

The next time Ryou saw Amane, she was lying in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. He knocked gently on her doorframe before stepping inside. "I've got a plan," Ryou said as he sat on the edge of her bed. "You just get some rest and be ready for tomorrow morning."

"Okay," she said. They watched each other for a few long moments, then finally: "I love you, Ryou."

He smiled again. "And I, you." He kissed her forehead and left her bedroom but lingered by the door until he heard the deep breaths of sleep. His chin quivered as he realized that this would be the last time he saw her as well, but only for a moment.


Ryou paused in the doorway to spare his childhood home another look. He swallowed back the mounting dread that screamed in his throat that he may never see the hearth, or the crafts table he toiled at daily, or the potted plant Amane insisted on caring for, ever again. Instead of giving in to the sudden urge to rush back inside, he swallowed back the anxiety and breathed in the crisp morning air. When he exhaled, he closed the door behind him, paused a moment longer, and turned to leave his hut. He did not look back.

The walk to the town square was thankfully short. He had been able to silence his thoughts, replacing them with static and half-formed reminders of outstanding tasks and chores, all the way to the podium. There were a few others already gathered: a curvaceous woman with wavy blonde hair; a redhead teenage girl who was accompanied by an older blond boy, the former looking nervous and the latter clenching his jaw in anger and restless fear. Ryou drew his hood over his head and joined the others in some semblance of a line to await the arrival of the nobleman's attendant.

The cold grey of morning had given way to pale blue by the time the noble carriage returned to the town square. By then, a few more townsfolk had gathered, including two more candidates for the selection. The bystanders stood a good distance from the others, obviously afraid of being lumped in with the candidates lest they be chosen. The candidates were relatively silent but for the blonde woman who began comforting the teen girl, but the townsfolk were chatting away, half-hushed from reverence of the event. However, when the attendant stepped out of the carriage the crowd went still and everyone turned to watch him walk to the podium.

"Gathered before me are the candidates for his Lordship's hand in marriage," Yami began. "I will now inspect each candidate and select who will be presented to the Lord."

The attendant hesitated a moment before stepping down again and approaching the first contender, the blonde woman. He looked her up and down while she basked in his attention with the easy confidence that came from knowledge of one's own beauty. Yami nodded appreciatively before moving on to the redhead teen before her. The older boy who had accompanied her stood some feet back but looked ready to lunge into action at a moment's notice. Yami appraised her, too, while the girl avoided his gaze and all but trembled under the weight of it. Yami nodded again and moved on to the next person – Ryou.

Yami stopped in front of him and took in his slight frame, his casual stance, his pale hands at his side, his hooded face. "Remove your hood," Yami commanded gently. Ryou hesitated but eventually, slowly, lifted his hands to his hood and removed it. From it cascaded his snowfall of hair, and he peered back up at Yami with a touch of nervous curiosity. Yami, for his part, flinched as though Ryou had raised a hand to him. His eyes widened and raked over Ryou's face for several moments. "You," he said, and as soon as he did a pair of men much taller and broader than Yami approached him and took each of his arms.

"Right this way," one of them said, and they tugged him in the direction of Yami's carriage. Ryou strode forward with them. He had just raised a foot to step into the carriage when he heard someone from the crowd shout.

"Ryou!" came the pained wail of his sister. He turned in time to see Amane shove her way through the front line of the crowd, hand outstretched as though she could catch him even as far from him as she was.

Ryou smiled and looked away from her, not wanting to watch the pain and fear and anger and misunderstanding in her face as he continued stepping into the carriage.

"Ryou! Ryou, stop! You can't do this!" she shouted, becoming more frantic as she went on. "YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME!"

Ryou bit his lip but refused to turn back to her. It was better this way, better that Amane remember this being his choice, better that she think he volunteered for this, that he was not terrified of his future, that he did not want simply to run back into her arms and back to their hut and back to their meager but ordinary lives. When he had controlled the emotions on his face, he smiled gently and turned back to her and the rest of the town. "Please offer me good fortune in my new life, and best wishes to you all. Farewell, Amane," he said.

And with that, his two guides shut the door to the carriage. He could see in his periphery that someone – the blond man who had been standing with the redhead – had grabbed Amane to prevent her from getting any closer to the carriage and was consoling her. He absently registered Yami and the other two men entering the carriage from the other side, or the movement of the carriage as it lurched forward, or the fading sights and sounds of the town as they departed. The image of Amane's tear-streaked face and outstretched hand was seared into his mind as he clasped his hands in his lap.


Ryou had heard rumors of the manor, same as any other kid in the village. The townsfolk were rarely invited to the manor, with those few who were never to be seen again. Despite the logic of the situation – the townsfolk who were invited were simply asked to move in to serve the resident Lord – the younger village residents let their imaginations build off of the ominousness of it all.

This wasn't helped by the Lord's sudden call for brides from the village. Once he was older, Ryou could tell that the sudden onset of the demand was adulthood; simply put, the Lord became of marrying age. The others in the village seemed to realize this, too, and jumped at the opportunity. Families threw their offspring before Yami, who had been selected as Lord Bakura's proxy. The only conditions had been that the candidates be of marrying age, too, meaning that the first round of selections had seen many (nearly all) single adults, regardless of appearance, gender, or station. Ryou was too young and thus spared candidacy – something he considered a blessing – so he and Amane had joined the rest of the townsfolk in merely watching the proceedings. He remembered vividly the excitement around a demure and beautiful woman being selected. The village threw a party for her the night before she left, and she became the talk of the town for weeks to come.

Those excited weeks turned to mournful months when news of the young lady's departure arrived in the village. The courier had been solemn, brief, and vague in his delivery of the message, leaving the stunned villagers to speculate what had happened. The woman's family waited for their daughter to return, and when she didn't, they journeyed to the manor themselves.

The family never returned.

This ignited a rash of rumors and theories, each one more horrid and fantastical than the last. It had taken a while, but eventually the talk died down, and the villagers did little more than offer silent condolences to the vanished family when they passed the still-empty cottage.

Still, the town fervently produced a range of new candidates in the following selection cycle. Though the dealings with the previous bride were unfortunate, the temptation of a resplendent life in the manor above the town outweighed any lingering hesitation. This time, Yami selected a simple but pleasant man, and again the town celebrated his luck.

And like his predecessor, word soon came that he had left abruptly. The man had no family to notify, but the courier announced the news anyway, followed quickly by the schedule for another selection. By then, the townsfolk were concerned enough to hold back their offerings, and that cycle saw the slimmest pool yet.

The pattern persisted until Yami's appearance in the town spelled doom. If it weren't for decree, none of the families would have offered their unwed – instead, families rushed to marry their children almost as soon as they were of age. Ryou, who had no family to arrange a marriage for him, had no such luck. He had tried not to think about what he and Amane would do during a selection when they both became marrying age, but. Well. He'd made his decision.

He fought to keep his facial expression neutral as he mused about his own fate. As far as he knew, it was too late to turn back, and he didn't want to know the consequences for trying to, not with Lord Bakura's brides going missing at regular intervals.

He cleared his throat gently. "So," he said, looking up at Yami, "what is the Lord like?"

Yami tensed, as though surprised Ryou had asked (or maybe that he had spoken at all), before saying, "My master is cunning and shrewd. It's his wit that has kept these lands safe for so long."

"Though that wit isn't enough to keep a partner," Ryou mumbled. He licked his lips nervously. "Tell me, why must the Lord marry so often?" He watched Yami's face carefully.

Yami stiffened, then glanced over at the masked men, who hadn't reacted. "That's – I'm really not at liberty to say."

Ryou narrowed his eyes a little. "But soon his Lordship and I will be wed. Surely I'm entitled to know."

"Yes, surely." Yami leaned forward. "But it is privileged information that I will share with you once we're on the homestead."

"Fine, but I'm holding you to that."

Yami smirked as he leaned back in his seat. "Lord Bakura will like you, I've chosen well."

That piqued another question in Ryou. "Why do you always pick his intendeds for him? Shouldn't someone select who they'll marry themselves?" He crossed his arms. "Or is that privileged information, too?"

"No, this I can tell you. It's simply tradition. Typically, the Lord's parents would have chosen for him, but they died before he was of marrying age, so the duty fell to me."

"Oh," Ryou said simply. He turned to look out of the small carriage window, thinking of his and Amane's situation. Well, he supposed it was just Amane's situation now. "It seems you're not particularly good at your job, then. What if you're wrong about me, too?"

This time, Yami's smile was forced. "I'm not wrong. I can't be."


What seemed like hours later, the carriage finally entered the Lord's homestead. Ryou didn't hide his wonder as he gaped at the sprawling lawn encircling the large, single-story structure. The carriage followed a well-worn path that led up to a wide, open lot on the side of the manor that was half-filled with other carriages. Theirs slotted itself between two others before stopping. Yami wasted no time opening the door and gesturing for Ryou to take his hand.

"We have arrived," the attendant announced. "If you'll follow me, I will give you a brief tour." He helped Ryou out of the carriage and guided him inside through the manor's front entrance. Again, Ryou was entranced by the sheer size of the house: having taken several minutes for them to reach the entrance in the first place, they now stood in a vast foyer under a massive chandelier. On either side of the room were archways leading to the rest of the manor, and the back wall was made entirely of glass, revealing the neatly manicured courtyard.

Yami gestured to the right archway. "That way leads to the Lord's area – his office, war room, and master bedroom. You'll get to see those soon enough." Then, he turned toward the left archway and beckoned Ryou to follow him toward it. "This is the area you will frequent." And he took him through the kitchens, dining room, ballroom, and library. Ryou thought they would never run out of rooms, and the idea of navigating them all just to find his way outside again made him dizzy.

Yami opened the door to the final room for him and stepped aside to let him inside first. "This will be where you stay until the wedding," he announced.

Ryou took a few steps into the bedroom and stopped to marvel his fine new setting. The room was probably larger than all of the hut he shared with Amane. When he finished his ogling, he turned back to Yami. "So what happens now?"

"You'll have time to get settled and put your things away."

Ryou smiled, amused, and held up his empty arms. "I don't really have any."

"Then why don't you get cleaned up so we can get you in some new clothes? Something more fitting to your new stature." Yami gestured toward a far cove with a bathtub and changing area tucked into it, concealed by a divider for privacy. He quickly explained to Ryou how to maneuver the taps, then turned to leave.

"Um, Yami," Ryou called, holding out a tentative hand, "would you stay with me?"

Yami gave him an brief, inquisitive look before smiling gently. "Of course." I'll just be on the other side of the divider, preparing your change of clothes."

Ryou nodded, and when Yami left the immediate area, he sat on the tub to start the bathwater. Sure enough, he heard Yami rustling through garments and walking around the room. Having another person nearby comforted him, reminding him briefly of his time with his sister. When the tub was full enough, Ryou undressed and stepped inside. He sank into the water, its heat soothing away aches he didn't even realize he had. He sighed softly, and after a few moments he turned the tap off.

"Ryou?" Yami called from the other side. "How is the bath?"

"Delightful," Ryou replied. He leaned back against the cool copper and soaked. "I had forgotten what this felt like."

"I take you didn't get to enjoy regular baths back in town," Yami prodded.

"We lived modestly," Ryou called through the divider. "Amane is a seamstress's apprentice, and I am – WAS – a tinkerer, fixing appliances and keepsakes that others broke. We didn't earn much, but it was enough to get by."

"Your parents, what happened to them?" Yami called back.

Ryou stared at the reflection of his bitter smile in the water. "They died," he said simply. "We were on our own for a long time, so I looked after us both. This is no different." Yami didn't respond, so he sank further into the water to enjoy its warmth. When it started to cool, he rinsed off so that he could get out of the bath and change into new clothes.


Yami's first order of business was getting Ryou a new wardrobe. He'd given the young man a few outfits after guessing his size to tide him over the next couple of days, but almost the moment Ryou awakened (meaning the moment Yami sent one of the manor staff to not-so-subtly throw the window curtains open to let the bright sunlight filter in), he was hurried through his morning routine and bustled out the door. The maid who awakened him led him to a small parlor on the ground floor in a wing opposite the one his bedroom was nestled into. Yami was already there, as was an older woman dressed in modest though stylish clothing.

"Ah, Ryou," Yami said. "Good morning, thank you for joining us."

"I assure you I had very little choice," Ryou grumbled.

Yami wisely chose to ignore that comment. "This is our on-call seamstress," and he gestured to the woman. "She's going to take your measurements so she can start selecting your new clothes and making the preparations."

The woman smiled and took the introduction as permission to begin. She directed Ryou to stand in various positions and used a pink tape measure to size him up. "Preparations?" he called over his shoulder to wear Yami stood, observing.

"Of course. You don't expect to wear everyday clothes for the wedding, do you?"

The seamstress laughed under her breath, but Ryou swallowed thickly. "The wedding. Right." He faced forward again. "When do I get to meet my intended, anyway?"

Yami hesitated. "Soon," he replied. "He's eager to meet you, as well."

Ryou decided to take Yami's word for it. "What is it you do, exactly, Yami?"

Yami turned his eyes to the ceiling in consideration. "Everything, really. I make sure that the Lord's manor functions – I oversee the staff, order food and supplies, arrange meetings, organize events...and select his brides, as you know."

"And is the Lord satisfied with your service?"

"He hasn't complained so far," Yami said with a sheepish, self-conscious smile.

Ryou pressed his lips together. He wanted to argue that the disappearances of Bakura's brides was proof to the contrary, but he refrained. Yami had only been kind to him, so he could only return the favor. Besides, it would help to have an ally within the manor if desperate times called for it. "On-call?" he asked the seamstress instead. "That means you live here, as well, right?" When she nodded, he looked over at Yami. "Do you live at the manor, too?"

"Yes. In fact, all of the servants live on the estate. We have separate quarters, but we live on the grounds. It cuts down on commute time, I assure you."

"It seems the Lord likes to keep those around him close. Provided they're useful, of course." Yami laughed nervously, but Ryou ignored it. "I'll just have to make myself indispensable, then."

"Of that, I have no doubt."


Soon, ironically, came sooner than Ryou realized.

It was good that he hadn't been served yet. Ryou's nerves made a mess of his appetite, and he doubted he would be able to keep anything down even if his shaky hands could manage to get food to his lips in the first place. Yami had assured him that he had nothing to worry about, that the two of them would get along just fine, that he had chosen well. But Ryou couldn't shake the nervousness, and he definitely couldn't help imagining the consequences of Yami being wrong. What if Bakura didn't like him as much as Yami predicted? Would Ryou suffer the same mysterious fate as his previous intendeds?

Ryou didn't have much more time to fret over it. Suddenly, the main doors were opening, and a robed figure was strutting through them. Ryou's curiosity wouldn't let him tear his eyes from the scene, so he watched the young Lord stroll into the dining room, took in the rivulet of white hair that was identical to his in all but texture, and the sharp features of the man's face, and the fine threads and embroidery of his clothes.

It wasn't until their eyes met that Ryou realized he was staring. He felt himself blush but it was too late for him to break away from the heavy, scrutinizing gaze. "G-good evening," he said, and he wondered if he should have stood but by the time he pondered the thought, Bakura was already pulling out his chair to sit.

Bakura didn't say anything, but he kept his eyes trained on Ryou. For his part, Ryou let his gaze fall to his plate. The knot in his gut quivered as he waited, though for what, he couldn't tell. Finally, he spoke: "You must be the bride everyone's been fussing over."

"You must be the Lord everyone's afraid of." Ryou said the words before he could think not to – a defense mechanism, his mind decided uselessly as his stomach churned.

Bakura, for his part, regarded Ryou for a half moment before tossing his head back and cackling. The sound of it startled a half-hearted laugh from Ryou, as well, though more from relief than genuine amusement. When the Lord's crimson eyes, alight with mirth, landed on Ryou's again, he felt the knot quivering in his gut loosen a little. "Yes," Bakura said, "they're positively terrified." He propped his head up with the palm of his hand. "It's better to be feared than loved, you know."

Ryou quirked an eyebrow. He had never considered the comparison before. "Which am I meant to do?" he asked.

"Which would you prefer?"

Ryou scrunched his nose. "Neither." He wondered if he was taking liberties being so honest, but the Lord didn't seem to mind. In fact, his smirk widened to a grin upon hearing Ryou's admission.

"I'll see if I can't change your mind," Bakura replied with a chuckle.

And Ryou shuddered as he wondered whether the Lord meant to convince him to love Bakura, or fear him.


The mansion fell into a constant flurry of wedding preparations, which remarkably required very little of Ryou's attention. It was well and good, though, as it allowed him time to explore. In short time, he had discovered the extensive library, the well-stocked kitchen, the greenhouse, the cellar, and the game room. Somehow in his wandering he managed to avoid running into the Lord of the manor, but after a while Ryou grew accustomed to it. In fact, the only time they saw each other was when they sat down to dinner.

And by dinner, Ryou meant a whole evening affair. Each night, he and Bakura would sit down to the largest spreads he'd seen in his lifetime. Like a ritual, he'd pick at his food, as though he wasn't sure it was real, before digging in with gusto. This would, like clockwork, somehow give Bakura the permission to do the same, and so a shared love of food (or, rather, eating) blossomed between them. Following their meal, they would walk the grounds together, weather permitting, until twilight saturated to night. They spoke little during these small treks, but when they did, it was typically Ryou making casual observations about their environments or recalling interesting facts he read in the books in the library or laughing about something that happened to one of the servants. When they would return indoors, Ryou always thought of the thousand and one questions he could have, and should have, asked. He'd mentally kick himself for not requesting updates from the town about his sister, or demanding details about the Lord's previous spouses.

And, as routine, those worries and doubts vanished at the feel of Bakura taking his left hand and pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it before bidding him a good night.


Ryou was starting to worry. He had been writing letters to Amane – one for every day that he lived in the manor – with no response. Considering the last he'd seen of his sister, she was visibly distraught, his mind immediately feared the worst. He tossed and turned that night, trying to convince himself that he had no tangible proof that anything was wrong and thus was fretting over nothing. It didn't work. After a while, he sighed and slipped out of his bed, knowing sleep was mere fantasy at this point. He walked out onto his balcony, despite the shiver-inducing chill of early morning, and watched the dark of the sky give way to dawn.

Tired though he was later, the sunrise inspired a plot. Once the golden disc was entirely above the horizon, Ryou returned to his room and made a beeline for his desk. He extracted pen and ink and scrawled a quick letter to Amane, assuring her as he usually did that he was all right. This time, he asked her specifically for a response to let him know that she was safe and cared for. He folded up the letter and tucked it into an envelope, then quickly shoved a gold coin inside, as a last-minute thought before sealing it.

Later that day, Ryou waited for Yami to join him for their daily tea in the library. He pulled the envelope from his breast pocket and held it out to the attendant. "Would you mind mailing this out today?"

Yami was taking the letter before Ryou could finish the question. "Of course I don't mind," he replied. "Same destination as usual?"

"The same one."

This time, though, Ryou wasn't content to let Yami head off with the letter. Ryou pretended to be absorbed in the book on his lap, so when Yami had finished his tea, Ryou waved him off. Once the attendant had left the library, Ryou hurried after him. He kept his distance as he crept along the halls, glad for the plush carpet to muffle his footfalls. Yami strode quickly through the manor, then out back. Ryou thought this odd, since the courier stayed out in the front during the day, but he continued his tail. He snuck along the row of hedges lining the path toward the servant quarters and watched Yami converse with one of the maids at the door. Ryou maintained his distance, which meant that he couldn't hear their conversation, but soon Yami was about-facing to head back into the manor. Ryou ducked to stay out of sight until Yami was back inside. When he peeked over the hedges again, the maid was back inside the house, as well.

Just as Ryou began to wonder whether his letter had actually brought Yami out here like he suspected, a light flickered on from inside. It was too large to be a single lantern or torch, more like a hearth. Curious, he crept up to one of the windows and peered inside: the maid Yami had been speaking with was knelt in front of a fireplace, stoking the flames to life. Once she was satisfied with their height, she pulled out an envelope and tossed it into the embers. Ryou's heart clenched at the sharp realization that it was his letter the maid was burning. The shock of it drowned out the rational and desperate voice in his head counter-arguing that it could have been any folded-up piece of paper she was incinerating, that Yami's being here earlier didn't necessarily mean that he handed this woman his sister's letter, that Yami wouldn't betray him and lie to him like that.

That voice went silent when Ryou caught the gleam of gold in the hearth.


This was not how he'd pictured his wedding. Ryou was prone to more fantastical and macabre daydreams, but a few times he'd envision what this day would look like; sufficed to say, none of his musings resembled this.

At the very least, he imagined Amane present – in fact, he had settled on having her walk him down the aisle, since she was his only surviving family – but Ryou hadn't bothered sending her an invitation since he figured it'd end up as kindling.

At the memory of watching his last letter burn, his eyes darted around for sight of Yami. The attendant had made himself scarce in the few days leading up to the wedding, which meant that Ryou couldn't corner him and demand the explanations he was promised, as he had planned to. He had wanted to trust Yami, if only so that he could rest assured knowing he had an ally within the manor, but the affair with the letter and the man's general reticence with information hollowed that faith. All of this meant that the day of his matrimony, Ryou was virtually alone. Neither sister nor friend was going to accompany him down the aisle, so he steeled his resolve to go it alone.

Ryou hadn't been allowed near the courtyard in the days preceding the wedding so that it could all be a surprise. So, when he finally walked through the archway into the foyer and turned toward the open sliding doors leading outside, surprised he was. The servants had taken the calla lilies from the hedges out back and strung them up along the entryway and down the makeshift aisle. Half were dyed white, the other a deep crimson, matching his and Bakura's outfits perfectly. His fingers tightened around the stems of the all-white bouquet in his hands. A thin white sheet stretched out from the doors to the center of the courtyard, where two figures stood: an officiant and the Lord of the manor.

As Ryou stepped out onto the aisle, the attendees all stood. He recognized them all as servants of the manor. He could name them each, and yet he still felt alone and small in their presence, under their scrutiny. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he trained his focus on the altar and refused to let them spill over. Once there, Bakura finally turned, and their gazes locked. He took the red calla lily that was tucked into his hair and put it in Ryou's instead, never breaking eye contact. The challenge and intrigue in the other's face encouraged Ryou to levy Bakura with his own, and so he stuffed the grief of normalcy back into the recesses of his mind to meet the moment.

Ryou couldn't recall much of the ceremony afterward. He remembered saying, "I do," and he remembered a pair of lips hungrily devouring his own, and he remembered Yami's distant sigh of relief, and nothing more.


Admittedly, Ryou was terrified, but he wasn't about to let that show. As strange as his time at the manor had been, he'd grown accustomed to having his own quarters, a personal refuge. But obviously the wedding changed all of that. He and Bakura were to share his quarters, as a married couple should, and Ryou didn't see a way out of it. This time, the lack of tangible threat didn't convince him that he had nothing to worry about. At best, his new husband would want to consummate their marriage, to which Ryou attached a virginal anxiety; at worst, he was going to discover the fate of his predecessors firsthand. Again, though, he saw no way around it, so he plucked courage from deep within him to enter their newly shared room.

The quarters resembled his own, just larger. The bed, which Ryou's eyes found immediately, was larger, too. That was the reassurance he needed to move further into the room, Bakura just behind him and undoubtedly studying him for a reaction. He didn't want to give the other the satisfaction, so he busied himself with getting changed and inspecting the nooks and crannies of the room while Bakura did the same. But those distractions wore thin quickly, and soon there was no way to avoid it: they would have to share the bed.

Ryou took a deep breath and approached one side, the one farthest from the balcony doors, and stared down at the blankets below him. Movement across from him pulled his attention so that he caught Bakura moving into place, mirroring him. With a knowing smirk, Bakura pulled back the sheets and blankets on his side, challenging Ryou to do the same. He, of course, complied.

Moments later and he was staring up at the canopy, hyper-aware of the presence beside him and unwilling to close his eyes lest that awareness intensified even more. He didn't know how many hours had gone by, or if time had passed at all, but he was still as alert as he was when he'd first entered the room and froze when he heard the whisper of skin over linen. He nearly jumped when he felt a hand take his, but knowing whose it was helped him reel the reaction in. The feel of lips pressed to the back of his hand in that familiar gesture melted away the rest of his anxiety. Eventually, he fell into dreamless sleep.

The next several nights passed in much the same manner, though Ryou's fear gradually diminished until this nightly routine became yet another part of living in the manor. Of course, this was not meant to last.

Ryou couldn't remember what had awakened him, so, reluctant to open his eyes, he strained his hearing for signs of something amiss. It wasn't until he felt the shift of body weight beside him that his eyes flew open. Bakura was outlined in the light from the half-moon behind him, meaning Ryou lost the details of his face except for the dull gleam in his eyes. They seemed to drink Ryou in, to savor the shudder that ran through him and the way his dry mouth worked around words that stuck in his throat. Suddenly, Ryou wondered how he had ever managed to feel safe enough around the other to fall asleep.

"Go back to sleep, Ryou," Bakura murmured. Despite what was certainly meant to be a reassuring tone, Ryou felt more on edge.

He swallowed thickly and turned onto his side, his back to Bakura despite every instinct to the contrary. He did not fall asleep, and neither did Bakura, but neither moved from his position.

When dawn broke, Bakura retreated from the bed and prepared to do whatever it was he did during the day. Ryou remained still. Though he knew the other at least suspected he had been awake the entire time, pretending otherwise comforted him. He waited for the Lord to leave before leaping out of the bed, as well, and rushing to get dressed. Soon after, he stole out of the room to search for Yami for the first time in a fortnight.


Ryou clenched his fists to keep from trembling. The sharp pain of his nails digging into his flesh grounded him, lending him the strength to voice the question stuck in his chest. "Yami," he asked in a low tone. He made sure to enunciate each word so that the attendant understood him clearly: "what happened to the Lord's previous wives?"

Yami inhaled sharply but didn't speak right away. Only when Ryou looked up to levy a glare at him did Yami finally hold up a placating hand. "All right, I – I owe you an explanation. The Lord, he...he suffers. It's not quite an affliction, not a physical one, at least. It's mental." He gave Ryou a meaningful look, as though his sparse words explained everything. When the confusion didn't ebb from Ryou's face, he sighed and continued. "The Lord is disturbed," he said softly so as not to be overhead. "He is driven by a need for fulfilment, which is why we devised the strategy to find a partner who could satisfy him. If they fail to do so, he must...get rid of them. He is compelled to."

A chill swept through Ryou, leaving a wave of nausea in its wake. He gripped the end table beside him to keep from losing his balance. Yami didn't need to elaborate further; Ryou's imagination was filling in the blanks. He could admit that the anxiety that had been drumming up since he stepped foot in the manor now had cause to get the better of him, but Yami's solemn explanation assured him that he wasn't overthinking. Small favor that was.

"It'll be all right," Yami said.

Ryou uttered a strangled sound, a hybrid of laughter and sobbing. "You have no right to try and comfort me after trapping me here, after shackling me to him!"

Yami grasped Ryou's arm tightly. "It will be all right," he insisted, this time with a steeliness in his voice. "I refuse to carry any more bodies out of this manor. Heed my instructions exactly, and you will survive." He offered a small smile. "I promise."


Yami's warnings reverberated in his head as he stared up at the bed's canopy. He had cursed his luck in not finding a weapon earlier in the day, but now he wondered if it was for the best. In the sheer darkness of the new moon, he wasn't certain if he would have been able to see, let alone use, whatever instrument he'd have grabbed. No, he'd have to rely on his initial plan instead.

Ryou sighed and was about to shift his arm from under his head but froze: the soft clink of a doorknob turning echoed in the stillness of the night, and soon the bedroom door whispered over the plush carpet as it opened. Ryou didn't move; he didn't even breathe, instead straining his ears for the telltale sound of footsteps gliding across his floor. They were faint, probably quiet from years of practice in stealth and subterfuge, but they were there. He didn't move when the curtain on the opposite side of the bed peeled back, nor when he felt the mattress dip under the weight of a new body. Yami's words of wait until he speaks repeated in his mind like a mantra keeping his body motionless but not rigid.

Ryou suppressed a flinch when he felt a cool hand stroke the side of his face. "I know you're awake," Bakura's voice came, low and soft like he didn't want to disturb the silence despite his declaration. "Have you been waiting for me?"

"Yes," Ryou breathed, glad that it was technically the truth because he didn't have the capacity to lie just then. With the admission, he felt like he had permission to move, and he turned his head to face the other. He could just make out the outline of Bakura's lithe frame turned on his side to face Ryou. The Lord's hair cascaded down the arm that was propping up his head, spilling onto the unused pillow and mixing with Ryou's. His crimson eyes shone, drawing Ryou's gaze and making him shudder in a mixture of panic and intrigue at the promise he saw in them.

"Oh, really?" Bakura said, his lips curving into a smirk. "And what for, pray tell?"

"To keep you company, of course," Ryou replied, his voice dipping as sultry as he dared. Slowly, he pushed himself up and onto his side to mirror Bakura's position. He slid a shaky hand between them to wind a lock of silver-white hair around his fingers experimentally. Bakura's eyes flicked down to the gesture, which emboldened Ryou to drop the loop he had made and comb his fingers through Bakura's hair from his scalp down. The Lord hummed his satisfaction and leaned into the touch a bit. Despite the hammering in his chest, Ryou had to hold back a smile at the display.

After a few more strokes, Bakura caught Ryou's wrist to stop his movement. Their eyes met, and suddenly Ryou was tipping forward. Bakura caught him by the throat and squeezed just hard enough to be uncomfortable. Ryou winced but didn't drop the other's gaze. He swallowed self-consciously despite the pressure, and Bakura's smirk widened at the sensation. "And what if I don't want your company?" he murmured into the narrow space between them. "What's to stop me from killing you now?" And he flexed his hand in emphasis.

"Because I can cure the tedium." Ryou marveled at how steady his voice was as he repeated the words Yami instructed him to say. He placed a hand, the same that had been stroking the Lord's hair, atop Bakura's but made no effort to remove it. "I was chosen for you." He infused the words with most sincerity he could muster, willing his eyes to convey earnestness. "I can help."

Bakura's hold loosened a little, and Ryou wondered if it was intentional. "How?"

Relief flooded through Ryou, though he mentally rebuked himself for celebrating prematurely. His safety wasn't assured; in fact, it hinged on these next words: "The power of story."

They watched each other for a long moment. Ryou remained the epitome of serenity and dedication under the Lord's unwavering scrutiny. Finally, the hand at Ryou's throat let go completely, falling softly back onto the bed. Bakura sighed deeply. "Fine, then. Work your magic."

And so Ryou began the first of his many stories.


A/N: This series is an anthology, with each subsequent chapter representing a story told by Ryou, set by the framework of this chapter. Enjoy!