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"So Derek, are you up for the challenge?" Charles asked in a good-natured tone.
The young king chuckled, "You should know by now that I never back down from challenge."
"Excellent! Tomorrow will be the greatest send-off we've ever thrown for one of our visitors," Charles bragged, holding up his mug of ale.
Derek brought his mug up and clinked it against Charles's. The two men each took a drink from their cups and relaxed back into their chairs as the courtiers down below them danced to a lively tune.
The visiting king allowed his eyes to rove over the room's occupants, vainly trying to hide his disappointment that his captive lover wasn't present.
In contrast, Charles was scrutinizing his guest – searching him for any sign of weakness. Now that the Georgian king had the proverbial upper hand, he was intent upon using it to his full advantage.
Luckily for him an opportunity to unsettle the confident young man next to him presented itself when Derek chose to itch a patch of skin on his neck, exposing the golden collar that encircled it.
Charles cleared his throat before saying, "Derek, I couldn't help but notice that you seem to wear that hideous golden collar around your neck day in and day out. Is there some meaning behind it? Or are you that out of touch with the newest fashions?"
Caught off guard by the king's question, Derek faltered a bit before answering. He reached his hand up and ran his fingers over the shiny metal and raised jewels. "I-uh…I haven't taken it off since my wedding day."
"Why ever not? You look like a high price harlot prancing around in that day in and day out," Charles goaded purposefully. "Well that or a pampered slave. And who would want to be associated with slaves…those vile creatures," he said with a shudder. "The only reason I keep mine around is because his flesh is so sweet and his moans make my rod stand up straight."
Derek's brow crinkled in a flash of anger. "Sl-slaves…they are the reason I wear this – this so-called garish collar every day. I wear it to show my people that I am opposed to slavery and I swore I'd wear it until every last slave is set free," he said bitterly, as he circumvented the real reason he wore the accessory.
Charles couldn't help but smile at how heated the young man's words had become, "Ahhh, yes…that's right. It's funny that you mentioned that because I always wanted to ask you something."
"What is that?"
"Well for starters, did you realize how hypocritical you were being when you stated that you want all of your people to be free whist you permitted your mother to keep her own personal servant? I mean, you preached all that nonsense that everyone should be treated equal yet you allowed my new pet remain fully enslaved. How was that fair? How could your people take you seriously or believe that your words were true when you contradicted yourself on your first major decree?" the king asked with a smirk.
Flustered, Derek searched his mind for the right words to use to defend himself with but he couldn't find any. There was no way he could tell Charles that Spencer was a free man, that he didn't contradict his proclamation of freedom for all. If he did he would be sentencing his lover to certain death. So instead of giving away his precious secret, he chose to ruin his reputation instead. "Well Charles, I'm sure you did whatever you could to please your mother – and I am no different. She had lived her whole life with a servant at her beck and call. I couldn't just take her favorite boy away from her. What I did instead was talk to the young man and told him that as soon as she no longer favored him he would be set free. I even offered him some compensation for his troubles, and I was to award it to him on his day of emancipation. Reed was very understanding and had no issue with continuing on in my mother's service."
"But you didn't tell your citizens that, did you? Don't they still think that there is one man in your country still enslaved?"
Still weaving his lie, Derek dipped his head and admitted reluctantly, "Yes, they do. And when this is all over I'll take Reed home and liberate him in front of the whole country. Then I'll remove my collar once and for all."
A derisive chortle erupted from Charles's throat, "You might as well take that collar off now then, my friend. For you will not be taking my pet anywhere."
Surprised, the young king looked up at his equal with puzzlement clouding his eyes. "Your pet? You forget, Charles that you promised to deliver all of my men back to me – my mother's slave included!"
"And you forget, Derek, that a slave is not a citizen. When we discussed the return of your men we were only talking about free men, something that Reed is not. He is mine. I took him as a spoil of war, fair and square. He is no different from the other treasures that I looted from your castle," Charles sneered, secretly delighting in how flustered the hotheaded kid was getting.
"We never discussed that stipulation! And now that my mother is – is dead – at your brother's hand I might add, he is a citizen," Derek argued.
"Ah ah ah. He would have been a citizen if he was still on Quantico soil. But he is here in Georgia, and just as much a slave as when I dragged him across our boarders on the back of my horse," the nefarious man countered.
Derek could feel his temper go from a simmer to a rolling boil. He had to break his gaze away from the neighboring king and count backward from ten in order to keep it in check. The youth knew he could not let his fury take over at this moment for there was no telling what he might say if it did.
As his anger started to subside, Derek reminded himself that it didn't matter what Charles said anyways. They were spiriting Spencer out of there on the morrow, right under the tyrant king's nose. After that thought popped into his mind it only took a few more seconds before the younger man felt it was safe for him to talk again. "We are going to have to agree to disagree on this point, dear friend. Perhaps we can revisit it later when we've both had some time to cool down and think things through some more."
"Now that is the wisest thing you've said all night," Charles agreed with a chuckle as he reclined against the high-backed throne. He then snapped his fingers, summoning a servant to refill his mug with more mead before he picked the conversation back up. "Really, though, there isn't anything you could offer me that would get me to let the boy – or should I say toy – go. He's just too delectable, too pliable, too…too fuckable," Charles said uncouthly.
Deigning not to respond to the king's crude words, Derek brought his mug up to his lips and hid the seething rage that was smoldering behind his eyes once again.
Charles, fully enjoying the game he was playing with the young man's emotions, continued on as if he was unaware of Derek's reaction to his words. "It's a pity the whore couldn't be here with us tonight. I really need to learn to not get carried away when I'm punishing him or else he won't last through the end of the year," he said offhandedly.
The youth sat up straight at the man's nonchalant remark. "What did you do?"
"Don't you mean, what did he do?" the Georgian king corrected.
"No, I mean what did you do to him? Is he alright?"
"Don't worry about it, my friend. My toy isn't your concern anymore. What I choose to do with him; or rather do to him shouldn't bother you anymore."
"Charles," Derek gritted out between his teeth. "What did you do to him?"
"Ah, Derek, you see…your weakness is that you care about the people beneath you way too much," Charles scolded. "But if you really must know I beat him senseless for lying to me and then I speared him with my rod until he was a writhing mass of pitiful flesh on my floor. He'll be walking with a limp for the next week if he manages to get up from the floor where I left him before I came to dinner."
The color had drained out of Derek's face as he pictured his beloved bruised and bleeding on the floor of the king's bedchamber. "W-What did he lie to you about? What was so bad that he deserved such harsh treatment?"
A mirthful smile erupted on the man's haggard face as he committed the young king's forlorn appearance to his memory. "Honestly Derek, that's none of your business. But I promise I'll drag him out to the joust tomorrow so you can see for yourself the state he is in," Charles pledged as if he was doing Derek a favor. "Now then, I'm dying for a sweet treat after that tasty dinner. Let's drop this droll topic eat some dessert instead. I heard the cook came up with a new type of concoction that resembles a cake but when you cut into the center a scrumptious chocolate sauce oozes out."
Knowing that he wasn't going to get any more details out of the vile man, Derek begrudging accepted the pastry and picked at it with his fork. Try as he might he couldn't get the horrid image of a wounded Spencer out of his head and he knew that he had to try to see him tonight. So he waited for a few dances to pass before he politely excused himself. He told Charles that he needed to get to bed if he wanted to be in tiptop fashion for tomorrow's joust. The neighboring king seemed to buy his excuse for he voiced no opposition to Derek's early departure. Though, if youth had turned around on his way out of the doors he would have noticed the triumphant sneer that painted the older man's lips
Spencer stared into the smoldering embers of the dying fire with lifeless eyes. He had been tossed in front of the enormous stone fireplace after the king had brutally taken him over the arm of the divan. The assault had left his backside burning, the sensation serving as a cruel reminder of the trauma he had just experienced at the monarch's harsh hands.
Now, he was lying on the cool stone floor which was sparsely covered by filthy rushes. Sharp pieces of straw poked his exposed skin but he couldn't do anything about it due to the fact that his hands were fastened behind his back. On top of that discomfort, his body ached all over as the pain seemed to match the beating of his heart. In fact, the genius swore that every time the organ thumped each injury throbbed in time with it. Without a doubt, the slave knew that come morning his body would be peppered with black and blue bruises, covering him almost like a macabre sort of camouflage.
Suddenly a shiver overtook his body as a waft of cold air burst forth from the fireplace in front of him. The youth's broken form shuddered in an effort to bring him some warmth but the meek shivering did nothing for him. The boy knew he was meant to be cold and alone; love and happiness, the warmest emotions one could experience, were never to be his again. For on the morrow his love was to be murdered right before his very eyes.
That somber thought brought Charles's final words of the night back to the forefront of his mind. And the memory of what the man uttered before he left the limp-limbed slave caused a fresh round of tears to trickle out of his muted brown eyes.
"You better wish tonight lasts forever because tomorrow morning your husband will breathe his last breath."
Damnit!
He had come so close!
So close to freedom.
So close to reuniting with his friends and family.
So close to Derek.
And now the small grains of hope that he had been building up since Lord Rossi arrived have been scattered to the wind and with them rode the life of his beloved.
A strangled cry escaped his lips as his body gave up on trying to contain all the anguish that was flowing through his veins.
"If only I wasn't so useless," he whispered derisively. "Than none of this would have ever happened."
"So you agree? You recognize that you're a pitiful excuse for a king?" came a mocking voice from across the room.
Spencer closed his eyes in a vain attempt to block out Raphael's taunt.
"Well?"
With a huff, the captive king opened his eyes and spat out with bravado, "I recognize that in my current state I may appear quite pathetic but with my hands free I think you would find me rather ferocious."
The knight laughed out loud at Spencer's stupidly courageous words and clapped his hands together. "It's amazing to me how you can continuously muster such bold words when you are at the mercy of my brother's whims. You seem to have no sense of self-preservation when it comes to speaking what is on your mind," Raphael said as he slowly walked over to the prone prisoner, clutching something tightly in his right fist.
Black booted feet appeared in front of the boy's face. The toes were scuffed and dirty, seemingly covered in dust and dung. "And you seem to have no mind of your own," he said snidely to the man's feet. "Tell me, do you feel good going to sleep at night knowing that you're just your brother's lap dog? Don't you ever make any decisions for yourself? A true man does not need a monarch to guide his every move. A true man makes his own choices, regardless of whether or not they fit with the king's tastes. Consequences be damned!"
Spencer knew what was coming next and clenched his eyes shut in anticipation. It didn't take long for Raphael to draw back his right foot and send it crashing right into the slave's jaw. "You insolent little whore," he bellowed as he dropped down to his knees and grabbed the boy's chin. "You know nothing about being a true man. You've spent your whole life following other people's orders, from them telling you to empty out a chamber pot to sucking my brother's dick. You've never had the opportunity to make your own decisions – not even as co-king. Admit it! You let Derek run the country while you sit back and look pretty – just like every other queen out there. So you can just shut your mouth about what it means to be a true man because you have no idea."
The boy tore his chin out of the other man's grasp and muttered, "You have no idea what you're talking about! I'm Derek's equal in every way."
"Ahh, that's cute. He's made you believe that you matter, when really you were just a pretty face seated on the throne next to him," the intimidating knight taunted.
For the first time that day, it was Spencer's turn to smile. "You can believe that all you want. But in the end, Raphael, it's you who's been fooled into thinking that you mean something. Your brother doesn't care if you live or die as long as you do what you're told."
A venomous hiss snaked out from between Raphael's clenched teeth as his eyelids scrunched down into slits. And like the legless reptile his features came to resemble, he wasted no time striking out at his prey. His meaty fist crashed into the prisoner's upper cheekbone, knocking the boy onto his back on top of his bound hands.
Spencer, who was now seeing stars as a result of the blow, couldn't help but utter one last barb. "It hurts to hear the truth. Doesn't it?"
With a sneer Raphael sat on top of the boy's abdomen. He reached his left hand down and placed it on Spencer's forehead with enough pressure to immobilize the slave. He then leaned down and stared the captive straight in the eye. "Nothing you say can hurt me. Don't you get it yet? Your words mean nothing because you are nothing. Now then," he said as he settled his weight down, "I think you've said more than enough for one day. In fact, I think you've said more than enough for one lifetime." The knight then brought up his right hand and opened it up, showing off its glittering contents to his prisoner.
"W-what are those?" Spencer asked with wide eyes, all thoughts of copping an attitude flying from his mind with one glance at the objects.
"These are what I'm going to use to seal those pretty little lips of yours shut with," Raphael said with merriment twinkling in his eyes.
Derek pulled to a halt a few feet away from King Charles's chamber doors. He straightened his doublet and adjusted his sword at his waist before he stalked forth to greet the knights standing guard.
The two men stiffened when they realized that Derek was coming straight toward them. They brought their spears closer to their bodies and trained their emotionless stares on the visiting king.
Derek didn't give them any time to question him; rather he skirted their queries by jumping right in with his demand. "Open the doors. I am here by order of the king to check on the wellbeing of his slave," he announced in his most regal voice.
The man on the left glanced at his partner before he asked, "Do you have any proof of these orders?"
The young king scowled, "You dare question me? Sir Knight, I may not be your sovereign but I am a king in my own right. No one questions me! When I speak you listen. Is that not the way of your king too?"
"I-I'm sorry, Sire," the gullible man said with a bow. "I-I apologize for my impudence. Please forgive me."
Derek waved off the man's request with a flick of his hand. "Open the doors."
The two simultaneously reached for their respective handles and pulled the doors open wide. They saluted the visiting monarch as he walked by and closed the doors behind him.
As soon as the wooden barrier closed with a thud Derek scoured the room with his eyes, looking for his beloved's form. Unfortunately, the receiving chamber was empty and there was no sign of his husband anywhere.
Familiar with the layout of the chamber's due to his previous visit, Derek decided to check the bedroom next. He stalked over to the sturdy door and put his ear to the wood. He strained his ears as he listened for any sign of life, hesitant to call out to his lover out of fear that Spencer wasn't alone. Alas, the only sound he could discern was a muffled cry of pain.
Worried out of his mind for the man he loved, Derek reached for the ornate golden knob on the door and turned it. He was in the middle of pushing the door open when the wood seemed to catch on something large. Confused, he put all his strength into shoving the door open further but it wouldn't budge another inch.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
"I can assure you that hell has nothing to do with why this door won't open, Your Grace," Raphael said succinctly as his face appeared in the narrow crack between the door and the jamb.
"Raphael, let me in there right now. I need to talk with my mother's former slave," Derek demanded.
"I think not, Sire. For my brother left specific instructions that his whore was to remain isolated until tomorrow's joust," the knight explained smoothly.
"And why is that?"
"Because he needs time to heal, Your Grace."
"Heal from what?" the king asked even though he already knew the answer.
The king's brother flashed the visiting monarch a toothy grin, "His punishment, of course."
"But I need to speak with him tonight. I order you to make an exception," he commanded with his sternest voice.
Raphael's face darkened at Derek's brash decree. "You can demand entry all you want, Sire, but I do not answer to you. Now see yourself out!" the knight bellowed before slamming the door right in the young man's face.
The second the barrier slid back into place Derek tried the doorknob again only to find it already locked. Undeterred, he smashed his fist into the door over and over as he yelled, "Raphael, let me in right now. You have no right to deny my request. I am a king and you are a servant!"
Seconds later a screech of pain pierced the air followed by the knight's husky voice, "You are only a king in Quantico. Here your title means nothing. Now I suggest you get out of here before Charles gets back or else you might not get to see my brother's whore at the joust tomorrow."
Unsure as to what the man's threat entailed, Derek slowly backed away from the door. "Alright, I'm going," he called through the wood reluctantly.
There was no answer except for another moan of pain.
The young king picked up his pace and made his way quickly out of the main doors. He didn't even acknowledge the guards as he rushed past them. With swift steps he made his way back to his room where he immediately dispatched Sir Hotchner, who had been waiting for him in his guest rooms, to gather Lord Rossi, Lady Penelope and Prince Tobias from the feast. For the events of the night had left a sour taste in his mouth and it was funny how they all seemed to be in some way connected to Spencer and the impromptu joust that he was set to participate in tomorrow.