Hello Friends!

Yay! You didn't have to wait another month for an update. You can thank winter break for that! But seriously, school is back in session tomorrow so I will do my best to update as soon as I can.

Thank you all for the reviews, follows and favorites. I'm so glad that you are still following this story. Thank you so much for being patient too!

We aren't far from the end now...only a few more chapters to go.

Please forgive any mistakes.

Enjoy!

The next day there were over a hundred Georgian servants out preparing the grounds for the tournament before the sun even broke the horizon. There was much to do and not very much time to do it left.

The men were in charge of repairing any worn out rails and posts in the tilt yard. They erected a brand new fence to separate the two jousters and built extra stables to house the influx of horses. In contrast, the women were scurrying around decorating every post, fence, and tree with colored ribbons and bows. They were also applying the king's monogrammed bunting to his personal observation box and arranging the furniture inside of it to ensure the perfect view of the games.

Out in the stables the grooms were already preparing the horses by brushing out their manes and applying their tack. Once a horse was deemed ready a squire would lead it out of the stable for warm-up exercises.

Meanwhile, high up above the hustle and bustle of the frenzied workers King Charles was sound asleep with one arm wrapped possessively around the narrow waist of his "toy."

Spencer, who hadn't slept a wink the night before, was lying on his left side, facing the window that he'd been yanked out of yesterday. His arms were no longer bound behind him; rather they were tethered to the headboard via the same loop that his collar was attached to by its chain. His body's position was extremely awkward but necessary because otherwise he'd have been on his back with Charles nestling into the crook of his neck.

That's not to say that Spencer didn't try to dislodge the man throughout the night, but even a slumbering Charles was a stubborn one. For every time the genius tried to wiggle out of the king's hold the other man seemed to squeeze his prey even tighter. In the end, the younger man realized he wasn't going to get free of the king's grip and gave up, surrendering himself to the feeling of Charles's meaty fingers splayed across his abdomen for the remainder of the night.

Thankfully once he'd admitted defeat against the controlling hold the Georgian king had over him, he was able to focus his mind on more important things – namely, Derek.

He stared out the window at the dark night sky and allowed visions of his lover to play out in his mind. He thought about how soft and loving Derek's arms were when compared to Charles's. He remembered the twinkle in his eyes that his husband would get whenever Spencer walked into the room. He envisioned the reunion the two of them would have had if Derek were to somehow make it through the next day alive.

Alive.

He needed his best friend and lover to stay alive.

Spencer kicked his legs out in frustration, heedless of waking the man next to him.

It just wasn't fair!

He'd already gone through the ordeal of losing Derek once. He'd already become a shell of his former self when he believed that his husband had been killed out on the battlefield. He'd lived the past year in a darkened haze of hopelessness, slowly wasting away because he had nothing left to live for.

He couldn't go through that again!

Especially not when beyond his wildest dreams his husband had walked into King Charles's throne room alive and well – intent on rescuing his lover from the nightmare he'd been enduring at the malicious ruler's merciless hands.

His hopes of going home and leaving this traumatic ordeal behind him had risen so high. He couldn't bear to watch them come crashing down again.

On top of that, there was no way he'd be able to live with the guilt of Derek's death hanging over his head. For Spencer knew deep down that if his husband was to die today it would be all his fault.

Derek would have never been put in this position if it weren't for Spencer's cowardice. If he'd have just stood up and admitted to Charles who he was than his mother would still be alive and his husband wouldn't be in the danger he was in now.

Right then and there Spencer knew that he had to throw caution into the wind and show the courage he lacked the day he was abducted. He had to make sure Derek got out of the land of Georgia alive, with or without him.

But how?

How could he do anything trussed up the way he was?

Charles had a tight hold over him, figuratively and literally. How was he going to rescue his lover when he couldn't even free himself?

Maybe if he –

Suddenly a deafening crash permeated the air, sufficiently disrupting the course of Spencer's thoughts and waking up the snoozing man next to him.

"What the hell? Can't I get a decent night's sleep for once?" Charles growled, curling his finger into the slave's bruised skin. Spencer's body went ridged as he felt his body pulled backwards, deeper into the king's chest.

"Damn…there's no way I'm going back to sleep now," the king snarled in the boy's ear. "I oughta have them strung up by their necks from the gallows for disturbing me. What do you think of that?"

The monarch let out a chuckle as he rolled Spencer onto his back and sat up next to him. He then leaned over the young man and brush his gnarled knuckles along the boy's swollen cheek. "What? You have nothing to say?" he teased, running his fingers across the three sparkling ruby studs spread out above Spencer's upper lip.

The young man squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation. He badly wanted to spit out a biting retort but Raphael had ensured his voice would remain contained after he pierced Spencer's lips shut last night using the embellishments commissioned by the king.

The instruments the knight used were crescent shaped ornaments that resembled a woman's earrings. Only they were made in such a way that one of the rubies could be unscrewed from one end, uncovering a sharp point. So, Raphael had pinched Spencer's plump lips together and jabbed the honed tips through the supple skin under the boy's bottom lip and guided them to come out above the top one. He then screwed the ruby caps back onto the crescent rings, effectively sealing the youth's mouth shut.

Charles's eyes gleamed with mirth when he saw that the young boy had opened his eyes to glower back at him. "Really now, you don't need to look so cross. I mean, did you really expect me to allow you the gift of speech with all that you know? I couldn't have you spoiling our surprise by telling my son or one of your friends about our plan," the king explained with condescension tinting his voice. "Anyways, these look quite lovely on you. They really draw attention to that talented mouth of yours. Though, they do look a bit inflamed…but honestly your face is so black and blue that no one will notice the tiny bit of swelling they've caused."

The king continued to tease his slave by playing with the jewelry. At one point he irritated one so much it started to bleed a little. So he gathered the blood on his finger tip and held it up in front of his piercing eyes. A small grin lit his face as he took his moistened finger and applied the red tacky liquid to Spencer's lips. "A bit of color does your lips good. Maybe later we can see how your husband's blood looks on you."

If Charles was looking to cause a reaction in his young charge then he was successful. For upon hearing the man's uncouth taunt, Spencer brought his free knee up and nailed the king in between his legs.

Taken by surprise, the monarch rolled off of the boy's body and clutched his battered organ. His animalistic groan brought Spencer a sense of satisfaction at finally being able to cause the king pain. Of course, he knew that his rash decision would be met with a harsh consequence but he was glad he did it anyways.

When Charles finally pushed beyond the crippling pain that came with being kicked in the groin he slithered back over and grabbed the captive's chin. "You're going to regret that!"

Spencer tried to free his chin by jerking his head to the side but he couldn't break Charles's ironclad grip. So he showed his disdain by breathing deeply in and out of his nose which caused his nostrils to flare with every breath.

"I was going to spare you the pain of watching your other friends die but now – now I'm going to give you a front row seat. I'm going to have them all drawn and quartered out on the green tomorrow. And your husband – well, he is still going to die today but now I'm going to make sure his head sits on a pike outside on the balcony, where you're going to sleep until his flesh rots and becomes food for the carrion birds," the monarch spat with venom.

"Nff," the young king tried cry out in protest but his mouth barely cracked open before the piercings started to tug his tender skin.

Charles laughed at the helpless young man and rolled off the bed. He then grabbed the bell on his bedside table and shook it back and forth. His head groomsman promptly entered the room, "You rang, Your Highness."

"Yes, it's time to get dressed. But before we start have someone bring breakfast up. Oh, and send word to my brother that I want to see him before we go down to the tiltyard."

"As you wish, Sire," the man said, bowing low before he ran over to the door and gave the other gentlemen of the chamber their instructions. Then he shut the door and went straight to the wardrobe where he started rifling through the king's garments in search of the perfect outfit for a joust.

Spencer, who had observed the whole exchange from the bed, sat up and scooted his body back toward the headboard. Once he reached the head of the bed he had enough slack in his chains to wrap his arms around his body.

Charles watched as the young man curled into himself while his usher dressed him. When his last garment was cinched the king turned toward his servant and said, "Go fetch the slave's red outfit and set it out for me. I'll be putting it on him after I've doled out his punishment."

"Yes, Sire," the loyal man stated.

Charles, whose eyes hadn't left Spencer's face, felt a jolt of arousal stir in his loins when the slave's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "What? You didn't think you were going to get away without any punishment, did you?"

A couple of hours later Derek was out in the tiltyard dressed in a full suit of armor waiting for the joust to start. He was joined by Sir Hotchner, Sir Kassmeyer, and Lord Rossi. They were standing around in the stable where Derek's horse, Thunderhead, was housed.

Derek, who looked calm on the outside but was on edge inside, started pacing his horse's stall to help ease his nerves. "Are we sure this is the only way?" Derek asked his friends, even though he already knew the answer to his question.

"Yes, Your Grace. After what you shared with us last night, this is the best course of action," Sir Hotchner said grimly.

"But what – what if –"

"Look son," Lord Rossi broke in, "we talked through all of our options last night. We all agreed that this way makes the most sense. We are all aware of the dangers and we are all ready to face the consequences." He stepped up to the worried young man and grabbed his shoulders, forcing Derek to look him in the eye. "We will get King Spencer back in your arms by tonight, but you need to accept that there may be some injuries – maybe even some casualties."

Derek broke out of Lord Rossi's grip, "I can't accept that and you can be sure as hell that Spencer can't either. If one of you were to – to die today trying to rescue him…he'll be…no, we'll both be devastated. Can't you understand that?"

"King Derek, Sire, we do understand that. But we all knew that this rescue could result in our deaths. We knew that from the beginning before we set foot out of the castle in Quantico," Sir Kassmeyer interjected. "Anyways, it is my job to die for you – both of you. Sire, there is nothing nobler for a knight than sacrificing themselves for their king. It's what we trained for; it's what we live for."

"He's right, Your Highness. This is our job. We entered the knighthood for the honor of protecting our sovereigns. To ask us to step away when you need us the most is almost insulting," Hotchner said seriously.

Derek looked at the men with sorrowful eyes, "But you are not just knights. You are my good friends too!"

"Yes, and to be labeled as one of your friends is an honor and only makes us want to help you and Spencer more," Rossi added. "So stop allowing your guilt get the best of you. What will be, will be."

Derek was so overwhelmed by his friends' compassion and dedication that he couldn't help but walk up to each one of them and wrap them in a gigantic hug.

When he stepped back out of his embrace with Sir Kassmeyer he cleared his throat and said, "I-I can't express how grateful I am for all of you right now. You've helped ground me throughout this whole ordeal and I don't know where I'd be without you."

The three mem murmured quite, "Your welcomes."

"Alright," Derek continued, "It's time to get ready. Do we know if Lady Penelope and Prince Tobias are in place?"

"Yes, I saw them seated in King Charles's box waiting for the joust to begin," Sir Hotchner reported with his stoic mask back in place.

"Good. Now, do we have my lance?"

"It's right over here," Sir Kassmeyer said, retrieving the instrument in question.

Derek walked over and grabbed the weapon below the vamplate, the circular plate that prevents the hand from sliding further up the shaft, and turned it back and forth. "It's well balanced and the tip is nicely blunted. While I don't like the idea of using borrowed equipment, I have to say they gave me an excellent weapon."

Lord Rossi took the lance from Derek and inspected it. "I agree. This weapon has finesse. Suitable for a king, no less," he said before clutching it in the crook of his arm like a jouster would hold it.

"With a lance this fine Raphael will be unseated in one round," Sir Hotchner stated.

"True, but if this is the quality of the weapons they lend out to their competitors then it makes me wonder how much better Raphael's will be," Derek pondered out loud.

Rossi handed the lance back to Sir Kassmeyer and walked over to Derek. He grabbed the young man's hands and said, "Do not worry about it. In the end, the quality of the weapon does not matter. What matters is what is in the heart of the warrior wielding it."

Derek gave the man he look at like a father a faint smile and squeezed his hands. He was about to say something back but the blare of a trumpet disrupted their discussion.

The joust had officially started.

Lady Penelope, Prince Tobias and a few other courtiers were already seated in the box when the king's usher pushed back the curtain and announced his arrival. As proper, they all stood up and bowed to the monarch as he entered his personal box. They maintained their respectful positions as the man swept past their seats, pulling a hobbled form behind him.

Penelope and the others stood up once the king had been seated. Seeing her opportunity to start the morning off right she chirped, "Good morning, Your Highness."

"That it is, my lady," he replied flippantly.

She scrunched up her face at his response and looked over to Tobias, who shrugged his shoulders.

"Ah, g-good morning, father," the prince said meekly, testing out the waters for himself.

The king whipped his head around at the sound of his son's voice and glared at him. "Why aren't you down in the stables preparing your horse, son?" he asked contemptuously.

Taken aback by his father's scornful question, Tobias started to stutter, "I-I ah…I-I thought it would b-be more b-b-beneficial to watch the s-seasoned knights. T-that way I could learn some of their moves."

"Ha! My son the wimp. Just admit that you are too scared to participate," Charles mocked. The king looked over to the box's other occupants and jeered, "It figures that my son chose not to participate in the tourney today. There isn't a brave bone in his body."

The guest courtiers laughed nervously along with their king.

"Well then son, take your seat and watch away, just like every other woman up here," he sneered.

Tobias, who had paled in response to his father's hostile speech, dropped his head in shame and sat in his cushioned seat.

Penelope, desperate to come to the prince's rescue, pipped up, "Honestly, I don't blame him. I would be way too scared to face down the tip of a lance on top of a galloping horse."

The ruler's dark eyes flashed at her words and pinned her to her seat. "I don't recall asking you for your opinion, my lady. For the word of a woman, a woman not of this land no less, means nothing to me. I advise you to keep your mouth closed for the rest of the tournament or else I'll have my men escort you from the premises and straight into the dungeons. Because while you may be close friend of my guest I don't find you to be any better than this whore at my feet. So do not address me so casually, my dear, for we are nowhere near to being equals."

The bubbly blonde lifted a hand to her mouth in order to cover her surprise. She blinked owlishly at the angry king in disbelief but wisely said no more.

Charles smirked at her cruelly before jerking on the golden chain attached to his slave. He pulled the boy up from the position he had been sitting in on the side of his chair and said, "It seems as though all the people in your land have wayward tongues, my lady. I have fixed the problem with this one. Do not make me do it to you too."

Penelope gasped with shock when her eyes laid on her sovereign. He was dressed in a pair of red sheer harem pants that were gathered at his ankles. Each pant leg had a slit up the side that traveled from his ankle to the top of his thighs. At the waist of the pants was cinched a golden belt that had small gilt coins dandling from tiny golden links. His chest was bare except for a large collar that matched the belt. It was an extravagant piece that spanned Spencer's shoulders and had hundreds of dangling jewels and coins tinkling together every time the young king moved.

Though his outfit was exquisite, Penelope could tell that her friend was miserable underneath. Every patch of skin that she saw was painted with some sort of bump, bruise, or scar. His exposed chest was black and blue all over, a clear sign that he had been beaten. His wrists, which were once again bound behind his back, were swollen and red due to the tight bands that encircled them. His ankles were in a similar state to his wrists, but this time a length of chain bound them together making it so he had to struggle to walk. Finally, his face was an utter nightmare; it was swollen and mottled with bruises. He would have been almost unrecognizable if it weren't for his big brown eyes shining through all the pain.

"I see you don't approve of my treatment of this young man," Charles said haughtily to Penelope. "But let me tell you this, he earned each and every one of those wounds with his razor sharp tongue." The king then jerked the chain leading from Spencer's original silver collar downward, forcing the young man back to the ground. He then raised his hand in the air and signaled to the master of ceremonies to get the tournament started.

Here we go!