The moment felt familiar, scrubbing at blood on her hands and knees in an effort to free stains from the grout in the floor as bristles echoed through an empty hall, dark enshrouding Amon's form. She hunkered under the long table in the dining hall, having left a sign on the doors to ward off wayward guests. The king had not been exaggerating earlier in the night when he had told her he'd turned the boar's head into a centerpiece.

The scrub brush came to a stop as Amon breathed through the memory of her king's mouth on her flesh. She lifted a soapy hand to her shoulder, the cool water doing little to stave off the heat that the memory birthed. Her stomach twisted, something akin to desperation seizing it. Exhaling through her mouth with purpose, Amon delved back into her task, dunking the brush in the tepid water and moving it to froth the suds. Her fingertips pruned despite the rubber gloves she wore, minor fissures in the material allowing leaks to bath her skin. Normally she would have done this barehanded, but with so many guests she needed to keep herself together. The gloves helped. They hindered her in a way that was most advantageous.

The nature of cleaning often cured her thoughts, though tonight however, it proved insufficient in sanitizing her wandering mind.

Had she not indulged enough? And at the king's expense?

The pressure of his teeth against her flesh had not even finished bruising, the warmth in her stomach at not yet cooled-

Amon scrunched her nose and scrubbed harder in the dark, trying to meditate on the sound of the bristles against the stone to very little avail.

When she'd dared to enter the room in a loose fitting button down and dirty trousers, items fit to be destroyed by cleaning solutions and blood stains, she'd been greeted by the exact image the king had painted. A sword through a rotting head with frozen eyes agape and mouth twisted in anger. Thick, dark and congealing the boar's blood had spread over the lacquer of the tabletop and dripped down the floor under the lines of the blade embedded in the wood. Her first act had been to inspect the table cloth and found it only barely marred but specks of aged blood. It had been cast aside atop the wooden surface to make room for the fallout of the display of the king's wrath.

Hiei, her beloved king, sweeping her carefully chosen linens out of the way before using his sword to seal an enemy to the banquet table screamed of a foreign affection that she could not name. She felt it though, from her nape to the curve of her spine. It pricked at her skin still sensitive from the heat of his mouth.

In kind, she had retrieved the sword first and placed it carefully to the side. She'd seen the way her king handled his weapons, the way he doted on them and kept their edges sharp. She'd take a whetstone to the blade after she was done with the floors. In the morning it would be back in it's sheath, gleaming and oiled, ready for a fight should one arise again. The hilt wrapping was worn. She might have time to replace that as well.

It would keep her hands busy.

Sitting back on her heels, head bowed under the table to avoid smacking her skull against the wood Amon studied the clean floor under the suds. Cleaning this mess had not taken as long as she'd thought it might.

"Say my name, Amon."

She straightened and cursed, her thoughts flowing precisely in the direction she wished they wouldn't. Rubbing a gloved hand to her crown Amon exhaled again, frustration mounting.

Between the look on his face when he'd killed the boar, whose head now silently judged her from where she'd propped it up on soiled towels, to the heat of his hold on her mere hours before, the king had proved relentless in demanding her attention. Even here, in the dark and silence, he demanded her heed him. Recognize him. Feel him.

He had no idea what havoc he was wreaking on her.

She had been through hell. She had suffered at the hands of greed and malice, been a toy for those lusting for agony in others. She had been stripped, beaten, branded, burned, cut. She had scars that left a legacy of her tortures on her body. Yet, somehow, not a single being who laid hands on her even come close to being as relentless as the man who slept so soundly several floors above, covered by little more than a sheet and shadows. The tension of his muscles under her covered palms, the searing heat of his mouth and body, those were tortures from which she would never recover and he had no idea he had even inflicted them.

Her king had no idea that her nightmares of Greyfield had shifted into agonizing dreams of him and his lessons, his demands, his touch, his teeth…

This time the sound of her head hitting the table was intentional. She bit her tongue though, which was her own idiocy. The taste of copper did nothing to soothe her.

"This is your fault." She glared at the decapitated head with it's loose eyeball, flicking cold suds in it's direction with a sneer. "If your temper had been under control none of this would have happened."

Oh well.

As usual she would make the most of the situation and guide it into something marking her king's greatness. The pink water in the bucket, where she dipped her brush, gave her an idea.

Hiei stared at the arrangement of flowers. Blood red poppies filled the hole where deflated eyes should have stood stark against rotted flesh, instead they rose pronounced against the gleaming white of cleaned bone. Bone that should have still bore rotted sinew and meat. Stems of lantern bush rose above the poppies, sprays of yarrow and valerian erupting like foam from around the stained and irregular teeth of the boar's lipless mouth, adorning his tusks. The bleached and cleaned skull sat atop a bed of blue pimpernel. The flowers filled vases down the length of the table, the tablecloth changed to red linen overnight. He only came to learn the plants' names as Kurama, somewhat amused, had recited them under his breath as if he understood some deeper meaning and found it funny.

He hadn't seen Amon that morning, but Hiei recognized smell as she leaned forward from his side to place a laden plate in front of him. Even if he went nose blind the quality of the leather gloves she wore would have given her away. Without looking from the centerpiece so carefully and artfully arranged of bone and flowers, he reached up and once again his finger slipped under the resistance of a collar, using the gentle hold to keep Amon in place, bent partially forward and completely under the control of his touch. It brought back the urge to test her flesh with his teeth, which he dutifully repressed.

"You were busy last night." He spoke, only then turning his face so his words would carry despite his quiet tone. "Did you have trouble sleeping again, Amon?"

Heat, sudden and flushing, met his question and he released her without waiting for an answer, waving her off.

Yusuke shot Kurama and Kuwabara a look of raised eyebrows and pursed lips, as he forced his silverware to pretend to kiss. Kuwabara snorted and rolled his eyes. Kurama, though, tipped his head to the side and continued to study Hiei's languid body language. The woman stiffened, lips parted as though she were surprised, but Hiei remained unchanged. His expression was neutral save for the minuscule lift of the corners of his mouth.

There was no doubt he was enjoying himself.

Yusuke, despite his immature depictions, might just be on the money. Kurama couldn't deny the gleam in Hiei's eyes as he teased the woman devotedly serving him. When he released her it was with self-satisfaction. He buried his amusement under a cultivated expression, or at least had tried to.

Hiei glanced over the trio of friends and moved on, studying the venue as though he hadn't just put on an intimate display for the world to see. His stared at the flowers for a few seconds as the fox demon assigned cautious meaning to the display.

A warning of war and masculine strength. That's what meaning Kurama had pried from the colorful petals and arrangement of stems. A vow of protection.

Amon's sharp mind and long fingers had woven a poem of warning for their guests to bear witness. She'd danced vases, overfull, of his words the day previous over a flow of crimson just as he had the day gleaming vases were a metaphor too, he was sure.

Hiei stole a glance at his sword, leaning against the side of his chair, and reached down to gently brush his fingers over the new silk wrapped around the hilt. He had been able to smell the oil on the blade as soon as he woke. It had cut the shaft of a piece of hair in half, the gleaming blade was so sharp. It was an improved state from being punctured through bone and wood.

He hadn't thanked Amon, but there was little doubt as to who had taken such delicate care of his weapon. No other hands would have cared for the state of his grip.

Licking his lips, Hiei chose to eat his breakfast while glancing around the hall to the many faces. So many fools he didn't know. Too many that he did. The server girls caught him looking around and blushed before ducking their heads together and whispering excitedly. He kept moving.

Amon said that she had a list, that many of these pompous, self-important idiots had taken their turns with her. He tried to pick out who they might be without outright opening the Jagan. At the back of the room his generals gathered, also watching the guests with varying expressions. Takeo met his gaze with a sneer before looking to Hiei's side and glaring. Hiei followed the other man's line of sight and found Amon smiling at Benji, nodding to whatever he was saying to her.

He jerked his attention away. Amon wore a collar, just as he knew she would, but she also wore a sleeveless velvet blouse with a high collar with the top two buttons undone. If that wasn't bad enough she wore brown suspenders which caused a little too much emphasis of her figure in his opinion. The mark on her shoulder was safe from sight, as were the others but if she moved just right he knew they'd be exposed. Another button down and his handiwork would be there for the world to see. It was only then that he realized he didn't want anyone else to see the bruises, the teeth marks. Those were for him.

His fingers curled into his palm as he fought the urge to march over and slip her buttons into place.

"Sire, you have a request for a meeting." Amon's cool voice brushed over his ear and he stiffened, eyes a bit wilder than necessary when he looked over at her. "I do not believe you have met the man in question."

"Will it be worth it?" He questioned with a huff, but his eyes were drawn to the peek of skin exposed between her open buttons, just under the hollow of her throat. The flesh there was unmarred and he longed to correct that.

Amon leaned closer to him to keep their conversation private, protected, but it also made her breath warm his cheek. Hiei suddenly forgot they were in a room of others as he listened to her despite the fact he continued to scan over the multitude of faces he did not register. "His presence is one that dictates the need for the collars, sire."

Hiei could have schooled himself better, he knew, but he didn't. His grin overtook him violently as a display of teeth. Fire in his eyes, sadism on his mind he locked his attention on Amon's cobalt eyes, tipping his head to the side. He might have worked harder to keep his tone light, but the words came tainted from an unsatiated part of him.

"Arrange the meeting."

"As you command." Amon nodded and moved toward someone down the table, placidly speaking with the man in question.

He didn't look important, Hiei thought. He was just a man who raised his glass to the king in understanding. Brown hair, brown eyes. He could have been a thousand different people. Hiei's grin slipped into a smirk as he raised his own cup in a false sense of camaraderie.

A thousand people, or one man, it didn't matter.

"Do you know him?" Kuwabara's sudden question earned Hiei's attention.

"No."

Kurama also glanced down the table then back to his friend. "I feel like we're missing something."

"You are." Hiei assured the group, hiding his growing smirk behind his cup.

And with any luck, it would stay that way. The last thing he needed was for human morals to enter the mix of his hunger and Amon's revenge.

Amon stood by the door as Benji poured tea for the king and his guest. Now that his gloves were tailored, the pot didn't slip so much in his hold. He didn't spill a drop. She smiled at him when he lifted his eyes to her for praise. With a barely present nod she assured him of his good work. The boy then bowed to the men and placed the teapot back on it's tray.

"Good job." Hiei's offhanded compliment earned a beaming smile from the boy, whose ears grew tall and his chest puffed slightly. Benji shot Amon a delighted grin. He quickly, but lightly, scolded, "Benji, focus. Take the pot to the kitchen before Amon fusses at you."

"Oh, you won't want more?" Benji blinked before blushing under Hiei's unblinking stare. He quickly nodded and grabbed the tray before rushing for the door. Even his quick escape held more grace than usual. The remaining dishes on the tray barely clinked together.

"Tell them to start on lunch." Amon whispered with warmth as she opened the door for the boy. "Thank you."

"Okay, Miss Amon."

The latch of the door moving into place created a vacuum of silence for a heartbeat. Amon remained in place with her body in front of the entrance as her fingers toyed with the turn of the lock without actually slipping it into place. It was an idly action to occupy her hands as she watched the two men in the room.

"I was right then, King Hiei." The brunet sitting in an armchair across from Hiei in a study Amon had never been in before finally spoke, a hint of a formal accent lingering. They were in some far off part of the castle rarely used. So far removed that Hiei had been surprised to find the room clean and free of dust. The man twisted in his leather seat so he could look Amon over with a familiar but critical expression. "I knew I recognized your face. Or perhaps it was the hair."

"Plenty of demons have red hair." Hiei challenged lightly, fingers thrumming against the arm of his chair once. All things considered, he was containing himself rather well. "Surely there was something else that triggered your recognition."

Crimson gaze skipped to Amon, who remained impassive.

"True, true." The man nodded before turning back to the king. "I am not sure that we have been properly introduced."

"Aelin Morrowtins." Amon spoke from her post by the door, her voice carrying name to him with the same careful cadence and respect she used to introduce anyone new to the king. "He is an astute landowner who has crafted lands inhabitable to Ningenkai flora, such as the flowers we have displayed downstairs. A wonder of the world."

"Sir Aelin Morrowtins." The man chastised with a click of his tongue, looking at his reflection in the tea he'd been served. "I am surprised by your manners, Amon. Greyfield would have never accepted such behavior."

"Greyfield is dead." She reminded calmly. "I answer to a higher power, now. There is only one man I refer to as 'sir' in this castle, and that man is not you."

Hiei now understood in some way, her inability to shed the word. He met her eyes and offered the barest of nods. She didn't react, her eyes moving to the back of Aelin's head.

Her fingers continued to toy with the lock behind her back.

"You wanted to speak to me, not Amon." Hiei interjected without much emotion. There was little he needed to say. "You're wasting my time with this back and forth and I am told that my time is valuable."

That did earn a look from Amon, who pursed her lips.

"Ah, yes. Thank you and I apologize. I do recommend having a better handle on your help." Aelin settled in his seat and sipped on his tea. "This is a lovely blend."

"Amon is skilled."

"That I am quite aware of. I have known them a long time, actually." Aelin once again looked over his shoulder at the woman, but this time there was a hesitance to his gaze. He turned back to Hiei slowly. "I assume, if Amon is able to speak freely that you have learned of their past?"

"I have."

"Is it true that they killed Greyfield?"

Hiei didn't answer, instead looking to Amon to see if she wanted to speak up. She offered a scant shake of her head.

"Greyfield was attacked by a demon after it overtook Amon-she merely continued to stab Greyfield after he had already died. After all, a slave cannot raise a hand to their true master." Hiei set his cup and saucer on the arm of the chair."Surely, though, you're already aware of this."

"I am." Aelin agreed, mildly perturbed. "When I learned of Greyfield's death and Amon's involvement, I must admit, I was curious. If they managed to kill him, I wanted to know how. Your explanation, though less tantalizing, makes sense, however. As defiant as they have always been, they were never capable of breaking one of the perdurable commands."

"I can't see why it should matter to you." Hiei stated, crossing his legs and folding his hands behind his head. "Are you scared your own slaves may get ideas?"

"Oh, no. I do not own slaves. I have always found the practice distasteful." Aelin set his cup to the side after a meditative sip, sinking into his chair. "Greyfield held a particular fondness for Amon above all others in his life, yet despite that he ensured they were unable to think or live beyond his influence. To be honest, I was surprised to hear that they outlived him." Long fingers smoothed down his double breasted vest to settle the lines forming in the brocade fabric. "He was never very good at letting his things go. He would rather destroy something than see it in someone else's hands."

A soft click sounded as nimble, gloves fingers guided the lock closed.

Hiei glanced to Amon who was watching the back of Aelin's head with strict attention. His fingers grazed the hilt of his sword and she caught the motion, scanning up to his face with another bare shake of her head. Silently, she raised a single finger to her lips. His hand fell away and he allowed himself to focus on the man before him again.

And after he'd so carefully chosen a room with no rug.

"How did Amon come to be in your possession?" Aelin's inquiry made Hiei's nostrils flare despite himself.

"Amon was held in prison and I brought them here by way of pardon. Few people opt to argue with me, regardless of their status." Hiei offered the truth, bare boned as it was. "Amon has been at my side ever since."

"I see." There was a pause, a moment of consideration, and then an abrupt change of topic. "I admit I was surprised to be summoned to such an illustrious event given that we have never met."

Hiei's eyes narrowed. Aelin took another sip of his tea. Amon moved forward, leaving her post by the door to come stand next to the king's chair. Then, to Hiei's surprise she sank down to her knees. Something of the movement caused him to reach over and brush his palm over her crown, watching her carefully for a reaction. She offered only the smallest hitch in her breathing.

"I was not in charge of the invitations." Hiei admitted easily. "I left that to more adept beings."

"May I ask the nature of your relationship to Amon?" Aelin eyed the woman with more interest as though he had only truly began to notice her at all. He took in her state of dress, the tattoos and the scars she displayed with apparent pride. He studied the gloves of brown leather covering her hands. The knife on her thigh. "I have known a lot of slave owners and none of them have ever armed a servant."

"Ah, yes. That always seems to become a point of conflict." Hiei sighed, putting effort into looking put out. "But, you see, Amon isn't a slave. We don't deal in slavery in Alaric."

Aelin stilled, lowering the tea cup from his mouth back to the saucer in his other hand. His eyes scanned Amon, on her knees with the king's hand resting warmly atop of her scarlet head. He set the cup to the side.

"I'm confused."

"I know." Hiei allowed, this time offering a twist of lips that should have been a smile.

"I don't understand." Aelin stated, this time to Amon. Beads of sweat dotted his hairline. "You still bear the collar."

"A collar." Amon amended quietly. "Not the collar."

Hiei moved his hand from Amon's head down, allowing his nails to graze her scalp until he found the clasp at the back of her neck and released it allowing the strip of velvet she'd chosen for the day to fall off of her throat. "Don't worry, Aelin. I hate them too, but she can be quite insistent."

The man stiffened, color draining from his face. Amon kept her eyes trained on his face. Hiei alone seemed to notice that her hand had crept to her thigh, fingers gliding over the handle of her knife. It thrilled him that she touched it after spending so much energy shunning the gift. He almost wished he could command her to use it.

"How?" Aelin's tight voice posed the question to Amon and Amon alone. Hiei watched her to see how she'd answer.

"The king speaks the truth. There are no slaves in Alaric. He freed me, Aelin." Amon spoke carefully, detached. She watched the other man as though she suspected he may strike her.

"Freed?"

"Yes. At his first chance." Amon released a breathe once the fear had passed, warmth colored her next words when they fell from her wan smile. "Despite all I am, the king showed unimaginable mercy for me. He brought me here, freed me, rehabilitated me."

"Despite?" Hiei repeated with a little bitterness. "I think you may be misconstruing events a little, Amon."

"More so than you telling him that you merely pardoned me?" Amon questioned without adjusting her gaze or tone. Every additional syllable that left her mouth seemed to add to Aelin's discomfort as he shifted in his seat.

"I did pardon you." Hiei huffed, rolling his eyes away and crossing his arms.

"You allow them to argue with you? To challenge you this way?" Aelin demanded, mouth open. He turned his attention to Amon. "You are able to freely speak your mind?"

"I am." Amon acknowledged. Then, to Hiei's surprise she smiled so brightly tears began to pool in her eyes. "It's been the most wonderful thing. For instance, I can say uninhibited that you were a petulant, moronic man who lacked creativity even in tilling soil. The only success you know is due to those who bequeathed it to you. I once promised Kai that given any chance, any hint of a chance, I would put you in the very fields you made him sow. I am so thankful that after so many years I can finally fulfill my promise to him."

During her speech Aelin paled, beads of sweat tracing the curve of his cheeks as he prepared to rise from the chair. Shrunken pupils matched with the sudden dryness of his lips and mouth. Hiei could see the man's skin rise in gooseflesh as the telltale signs of fear overtook him.

It was amusing, in a rather pathetic way.

She moved faster than Hiei thought she could. One moment she was there, at his side like a pet and the next she was straddling the man in the other chair, leather encased hand gripping the other's larynx with enough pressure to earn a sputtering gasp. There was something of relief in her voice when she continued speaking.

"I have dreamed of delivering you to Kai in pieces for the crimes you laid against him. Refusing to call him a slave did not spare him the pain you dealt." Amon's grip tightened, her indigo shaded termagant glare boring into his face. "The debts you owe are far more than you pay, yet I will still collect on them."

"Amon."

She pulled back immediately, coming to stand by Hiei's side as if nothing happened. Other than her flexing her hand she seemed entirely at peace as Aelin's sputtering did not end when she released him. He raised a shaking hand to his throat, gasping around the bruised bones. His chest still heaved.

Panic perfumed the air.

"I can't believe I have to ask this twice." Hiei's hand came to cradle his brow as he breathed out his frustration as Aelin struggled to clear his throat repeatedly. "What is the point of gifting you a knife if you don't use it?"

"It would stain the leather, sire."

"I am not attached to the upholstery, Amon." He peeked through his fingers at her. She remained still at this side, causing him to purse his lips. "Amon?"

The man before then cupped his throat, whether to soothe or protect was undetermined. A single word rasped out, "Kai?"

"You don't even remember his name." Cool as a winter wind, Amon's voice carried the words. "You have no memory of him, do you?"

A sudden redness began to creep up Aelin's neck as he held his throat, eyes growing watery.

"I was there. I saw you. Such things happen when one is reduced to scenery." Amon stepped away from Hiei's side, his question forgotten. She walked until she was at the other man's chair and then knelt down on one knee. Her hand covered his as it rested on the leather arm of the seat. "You are apart of the scene whether you like it or not."

Blue eyes bore into the reddened sclera surrounding pinpoint pupils.

"I watched you kill him."

A choked breath answered her accusation, sweat streamed from Aelin's brow. He tried to speak but nothing came out. His mouth formed words that no voice could fill. Amon held his hand and Hiei reminded himself that there was some truth to Kurama's concerns regarding her skill sets.

She hadn't survived so long in Greyfield's care out of the man's own benevolence. It was hard to remember that she had served a purpose. Until he witnessed her cold detachment for himself it was nearly impossible to fathom Amon being useful as an assassin.

Now he was glad she had at least taken the time to warn him before they entered the room that the tea would be too bitter for his tastes.

"I watched as you had him tore apart. I heard you call him fertilizer." She continued calmly, caressing his hand as though they were friends. "He was just a boy who had so much left to give. You gave so much of what wasn't yours for a plot of land that should have never existed. You took too much. I am so glad I can finally repay this debt."

Peace radiated from her as she finished speaking. Her smile only fueled the confusion in the man dying before her.

"Amon." The name was smothered in tears and breathless.

"I am, now. Thanks to him and to you." She reached up and touched his face, smiling with tears in her eyes. "But you would have never known that. Slaves or not, you didn't care for our names. All you cared about was your piece of history, yet even that is now mine. No one will ever speak your name again. No one will care where my flowers grew."

He gasped for air, his hand flying out to upright the teacup and saucer that contained his demise.

"It's romantic, in a way isn't it? That the seeds you grew will be the death of you?" She rose slowly to her full height, hand moving from his to trail up his arm until her fingers raised his chin and their gazes met. "Castor oil is so helpful. Yet the ricin in the plant's seeds is painfully toxic. That's the way of things, sometimes."

She pulled back and allowed her touch to fall from him.

"The worst part is the waiting, in my opinion. It takes so long for the poison to work." Her hands spread in a nonchalant gesture. "You knew that though. You've seen this poison in action. The truth is, the king would have me slit your throat and be done with you. But that's not how I see this." She sighed heavily, fingers brushing through her bangs until the heel of her palm came to rest on her brow, putting her cutting glare on display. "I see Kai struggling to breathe. I see a field of flowers otherworldly. I see you drinking tea yesterday during lunch and dinner, clearing your throat. I see you suffocating in that chair, knowing that you are the victim of your own hubris." Amon lowered her hand and it was the coldest Hiei had ever seen her look. "I see you turned to acid and mulch for a healthy garden to feed on."

Aelin attempted to reach for her, or for Hiei, or for anything that may help before slumping out of the chair to the floor without aid. Another few moments and his ragged breathing came to a stop.

Drool pooled from his mouth, tears leaking from his eyes as he lay still on the barren floor.

Hiei stared at the body growing cold and rigid before his eyes. "Should I be worried about the tea?"

"Of course not." Amon did not turn to him. "He took the last of it with him."

"Who is Kai?"

Silence answered as Amon continued to stare down at the corpse on the floor.

"A memory." Her words were quiet, soft. "I'm not so selfish that I could only see my own vengeance fulfilled this week. I have a legion of ghosts to set free."

"You called him a boy."

"He was."

Hiei didn't push further, instead taking in the body on the floor before him. "You killed him yesterday, he just didn't know it."

"I've killed him a hundred times without him knowing. There was no reason for this to be different." Her response sent a shock down his spine and a heat to his stomach. "I'm sorry this wasn't what you wished to see."

"The only thing I want to see is you fulfilled." Hiei spoke earnestly. She blinked owlishly before eying him over her shoulder, assessing his haughty grin. "I suppose this is one name struck off your list?"

"It is."

"Then I guess we should get going with our day." He rose to his feet, collar under his heel, and stepped around the man laying prone on the ground. His hand found Amon's back with a brush of fingers that provided enough guidance to move her easily with his touch. "I like the velvet, Amon. It's invigorating to the touch."

"Oh." Her exclamation seemed heartfelt as she allowed him to push her from the room. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome." His hand slipped from her back to her wrist, fingers closing warmly around her bones to drag her back through the halls. "Next time use the damn knife."

"Okay." She followed without resistance, eyes glued to his hold on her. Casting a glance over her shoulder she stared at the door they'd left open. She could have sworn she saw a young boy with a dirt streaked face standing there looking into the room. Amon stared at the floor before raising her gaze, attention shifting down the hall as they walked