Chapter Eight

After breakfast and a bath, Remus's door was left open the next morning, and the chain wasn't reattached. Spectacles told him to be careful with his new freedom and not ruin it by being foolish. He could walk up and down the hall. He wasn't allowed to leave the hall or enter the Prince's room without knocking. If he behaved, he could keep his freedom.

In other words, don't run. Don't fight the guards. Don't try to murder the Prince. Don't be an idiot.

At first, Remus thought it was some kind of trick. Why the sudden privilege? Maybe it was an offering from the Prince in exchange for keeping his mouth shut about the previous night, not that it was needed. Sébastien would deny being a part of that until his last breath, and if anyone did believe he was responsible, Remus would join him in a noose since he'd been there and watched.

He'd laid in bed for a long time the previous night, quietly mourning the werewolf. Everything had kept replaying in his head. Even the woman sobbing for her dead husband. He wondered if Sébastien had slept like a baby afterward. Since he'd enjoyed the carnage so much, he surely had.

The freedom was too tempting to ignore. First, Remus went to his window, reached for the bars, and pulled himself up enough to look through. Outside lay a tiny, open indoor garden. Across the way, he could make out windows, although with the glare of the sun, he couldn't tell what was beyond. Far below, he spotted a door. In the central part, a couple of benches sat by the footpath. It was the sort of quiet spot courtiers might go to if they wanted to have a smooch with someone they shouldn't be smooching.

The bars remained solid despite his weight, and he knew he could forget trying to yank one out.

He stepped out to find Tom tense and slumped. He quickly straightened as if Remus would scold him for slacking.

"Are you all right?"

"You didn't hear?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Hear what?"

Tom glanced by him to check that Spectacles had left. "Eworn said nothing?"

"The guy with the spectacles?" Remus shrugged. "He said I could walk up and down the hall here if I wanted."

"I guess he wouldn't say anything." Tom rubbed his face. "I don't know if I should tell you. I think everyone else knows now."

Remus squinted. "Is the Regent ill or something?"

"No, no…" Tom glanced at the guards at the other end by the Prince's doors and lowered his voice. "The werewolves for entertainment-the big one got loose before he was brought out, and it was bad."

Remus hoped he appeared suitably shocked. "Is this a joke?"

"Fuck, no. I wish it was. That's all I'm saying right now."

"For fuck's sake, that's…"

"Stretch your legs, and be grateful you weren't there."

What would Tom say if Remus admitted the truth of how Sébastien had let Vemer loose to murder a bunch of foul rapists and abusers? The guard would probably think he was lying and making up shit. The Prince would never do such a thing, right? No, of course not.

The change in his boring schedule was nice, although he kept thinking about that chuckle the Prince had let out as if watching a play. Vemer had gotten what he wanted, and Remus hoped the baby had escaped since the balcony doors had been open. Werewolves were pretty nimble, and with his dark fur, he could have gotten across the grounds, scaled the wall, and run away into the forest.

Last night needed to be done, and he couldn't feel sorry for a bunch of courtiers who were okay with child abuse. Werewolves were sentient beings, and that pup had cried while wishing to go home.

Sébastien's small pity didn't hide the fact that he was a madman who'd play with other people's lives. The good thing he'd done didn't mean much, and if the werewolf had refused to tell him about that day the Queen and her oldest son died, he probably wouldn't have released him.

He'd gotten something he wanted, and that mattered more.

Besides that, he realized two other facts. Sébastien had Remus carry him out just in case anyone felt suspicion toward him. They'd think he'd been fucking his new toy and too busy.

Worse, when Sébastien had been thinking about whether or not to leave Remus there, his life had been quite precarious. If the Prince had left him with orders for guards to take him to his room after the show was done, Remus might have been torn to pieces. Sébastien could have easily told Vemer his slave's description, made up a lie, and asked him to ensure Remus died.

The werewolf wouldn't have recognized him as the Crown Prince of Rowland, and if he'd asked why a slave needed to die, Sébastien could have said anything and made it seem like Remus was guilty of a terrible crime.

His life had depended on his owner's whim, and that hadn't made it any easier to sleep the previous night. He assumed Sébastien wanted to keep him alive to suffer more humiliation, and being able to walk in the halls was a small token and a way to say shut up.

It would be nice if he realized that Rowland wasn't responsible for his Father's death either and that doing what Quintus wanted was bullshit. Remus wanted to speak to him and try to seed some of that logic, although that was dangerous ground to tread on.

Still, if they could talk like men for five fucking minutes without Sébastien boiling with anger, maybe he could try to say something. Then again, maybe he shouldn't bother. Why would the Prince ever listen to him?

Remus was taking a break in his room when he heard the Prince's familiar tread go by. Today wouldn't be a good idea. The whole Palace would be in an uproar for ages.

Remus spoke to Tom who finally decided to tell him the story. Several handlers had come because the adult werewolf had been quite big. While one did the show with the pup who was easier to deal with, the others should have been guarding the adult. They'd been found drinking and playing cards in a back room. They hadn't even heard anything.

It was assumed the werewolf had gotten hold of a pick or a key at some point and hid it. Remus dared to say that sounded a bit far.

"Where would he hide it? Up his arse?"

Tom shrugged. "I don't know. He must have been desperate. He could have tucked it into his fur somehow and waited until a good moment came. The point is, he got free because nobody was watching him."

The handlers who had slacked off were responsible for several deaths, so after a trial for formalities, they'd be executed.

Remus walked up and down the hall after lunch. The shift changed, and the new guards didn't bother him. Remus could finally see what was beyond the grating. Being in the sunlit gardens below would have been better, but seeing would have to do.

For now.

He leaned against the lattice to look outside and slipped his fingers into the framework as if he were simply holding on. Carefully, so the guards wouldn't get suspicious, he gave a tug, and the edges dug into his flesh.

Too strong. He'd need a good weapon like a hammer or a mace which he wouldn't be getting any time soon. Besides, the drop was too much, and he might not be able to climb down the side. He couldn't tell if the outside of the walls were too smooth.

After dinner, he was bored, so he did pushups and situps to give himself something to do and to keep fit. He wasn't about to go soft just because he was a slave. He kept the door closed for that, and once he'd finished, he heard the guard outside say, "Your Majesty."

Footsteps passed. Honestly, a whole day without that poisonous, murderous presence was better than being brought out.

It wasn't long before he heard more footsteps, and the guard spoke again. "Good evening, Commander Martin."

"Good evening, Arthur."

Arthur, Tom, and Commander Martin. Remus knew three names now. Arthur wasn't very talkative since Remus had attempted to engage him earlier.

More pushups and situps. Squats. Some stretches. He was sitting on the floor when he heard footsteps once more.

"Stand up straighter," barked the Commander's voice.

"My apologies, Commander."

The door leading out slammed. Remus waited a couple of minutes before he strolled into the hall. "What was that?"

Arthur, with the same posture as before, squinted at him. "Nothing."

"I heard someone yell to stand straight."

"It was just the Commander." His faint scowl said that the Commander might not have been a favored man, at least not in Arthur's mind. "I wasn't slouching."

Remus tilted his head. "Your Commander came up here to yell at you for that? That's it? It seems like he'd have better things to do with his time, and if you're trusted to be near the Prince's property, you can't be terrible at your job."

Arthur's eyes flicked toward the Prince's doors where the other two stood, and he spoke in a low voice. "I'm younger, so you know how it is. He came to speak to the Prince, and I guess that didn't go well. The Prince is a frigid fish when he's displeased, so no wonder Commander Martin is angry. He always snaps at others when he's in a mood."

"Ah, he's that sort? I don't think a man should take out his anger on others when petty shit doesn't go his way."

"No, he shouldn't." Arthur, clearly happy to have someone to complain to, deepened his frown. "I heard he's quite cruel to his slave and beats him something awful. I don't think we should have that sort of man in command of others, but of course, I can't say anything, especially to the Prince. I'd probably get the cold fish attitude as well, and I think you know a thing or two about that."

"Unfortunately, I've been on the wrong end of his anger. I certainly won't say a word if you slouch a bit." Remus winked at him, and Arthur gave him a quick smile. "I hope you don't have to directly deal with him much."

"Thankfully, no."

It was always good to have someone friendly toward him although it probably meant little in the long run.

***

Tom was back on shift the next morning, and he told Remus that the handlers of the werewolves were being executed that morning.

"They're not wasting time, huh?" asked Remus.

"Indirectly, they're responsible for the deaths of lords or those related," said Tom. "The Regent wouldn't even permit them to live as slaves."

"Of course, but I didn't think their execution would be this swift."

"The rest of the court is quite happy they're getting a swift punishment. They're outraged that this happened. Some went home."

The Regent wasn't playing around. Remus had another dull day and heard the Prince come in the afternoon. He left about an hour later to go to dinner. Remus tried to go to bed early and eventually heard the Prince's heeled boots clomping by once more and the usual "Your Majesty."

Remus tossed and turned, managed to doze a little, woke up, and tossed and turned some more. It had to be after midnight when he sat up.

"What the fuck?" he muttered under his breath.

If only he had some books or something to do besides the little physical activity he did.

He might as well get up and walk the hall again until he felt like he could sleep. The guards never complained about how many times he did it or when, and it didn't affect them since they simply stood at their post.

When he opened the door, nobody stood to the side like usual. Remus peeked out. No guards were by the Prince's doors either. Now that he thought about it, he didn't remember hearing anything else. Replacements would sometimes say a few words, and the ones coming or going to stand by the Prince's doors would usually speak to each other.

It was as though they'd simply walked off, and nobody had bothered to replace them. Perhaps Sébastien wanted privacy to have someone in his rooms like a lover or someone else important. Remus hadn't heard the Prince order away the one by his door, but he might have done so later when Remus had been dozing.

Or Sébastien planned to sneak out again for nefarious reasons.

A faint strip of light showed under the doors to the Prince's rooms. If Sébastien had snuck out to do something, that meant nobody would be by the main doors leading to the rest of the Palace. Quietly, he approached them while listening for voices or anything. Pressing his ear to the heavy wood near the crack between them, he heard nothing, but the two outside weren't necessarily in a talkative mood.

He gripped the handle and tried to turn it. Locked. He carefully released the knob and stepped back. Since when were these locked? If the Prince had ordered away his men, he wouldn't want to leave Remus unguarded either in case he tried to sneak out.

That meant Sébastien's rooms would surely be locked too, right? Remus swiftly crossed the hall and listened again just in case.

When he gripped one handle, it turned. He remained frozen for a moment, weighing his options. If Sébastien was in there, he'd rage at Remus for being out of bed and coming into his quarters. If he was asleep in his bedroom with the door shut, Remus could be quiet.

Sneaking out wasn't an option just yet with some of his own people trapped. It wasn't right to skip off and leave them to their fate.

He couldn't stay forever if his life ended up being on the line. The best way out might be through the Prince's rooms since there was either a balcony or a loggia, and a look outside would give him an idea of what he was dealing with for the future.

What was the best way? Up or down? Should he rip up his bedding and make a sort of rope for climbing or could he manage without? If he got caught snooping, he'd lose his freedom from the chain.

He could also possibly get it back. He'd kick himself later if he didn't take this opportunity now to see outside. Who knew when another would present itself?

The well-oiled hinges were silent as he inched open the door and peeked in. When he caught the Prince's white hair, he already had an excuse ready to roll out. He could have sworn he'd heard an odd noise. The guards were gone. His gut told him to check in case something was wrong.

Every word froze in his mouth as he settled his eyes on the Prince who had collapsed on the floor near the small table in front of his couch. Sweat made his face shiny, and strands of white hair clung to his cheek which was nearly the same color. Considering how pale he was, Remus would have thought him dead if Sébastien's eyes hadn't flashed to him.

He'd vomited at some point, and the small amount was tinted red.

"Shit." Remus stepped in, closed the door, and eyed the wine glass on the table. The Prince had drunk most of the contents, and he'd clearly been poisoned.

The concern melted when he remembered being stabbed in the throat, the Prince saying to leave him, and how he'd toyed with the idea of leaving Remus behind to likely die.

"It looks like someone in your court hates you," said Remus. "Did you know your guards are gone too?"

Sébastien's limbs were stiff, and his arms were curled toward his chest, either in a futile attempt to protect himself or because he couldn't properly move the muscles. Remus didn't know enough about poisons to guess what he'd consumed, but something had made him seize up.

Some part of his brain said to get help because leaving a man to die on the floor like that wasn't right. It was the sort of thing Quintus might do because it was easy. The other part said to leave him because he was a poisonous bastard, and to die from poison was fitting for someone like him. The Prince was the enemy, and most wouldn't blame Remus for leaving him there to die by his vomit.

Who knew what he planned for Remus later?

The Prince probably wouldn't even do anything about the other five slaves if asked because he didn't care about anyone besides himself.

Who would stop him once he sat on the throne? The Prince had not proven himself to be a good man so far.

Sébastien bared his fangs and mumbled something. His chest heaved like it was hard to breathe, and he jerked his legs when Remus drifted closer.

"You owe me…" Sébastien's pale eyelashes fluttered.

"No, I owe it to those who saved me that night. You'd still kill me in an instant if you knew you wouldn't get in trouble. You thought about it last night, didn't you? You could have told that werewolf what I looked like along with a lie to get me killed. That's why you debated about leaving me or taking me with you."

Sébastien sucked in a ragged breath. "I die. You die."

Remus stopped at that. He was a gift for the Prince, but if the recipient was dead, did that truly mean they'd kill him? The Regent seemed to have no interest in him. Perhaps they'd quietly dispose of him if no one else wished to purchase him.

If he was bought by anyone else, it could be worse. He might be kept chained up at all times and raped from day one.

If the Regent decided to simply keep him, they'd probably lock him in a room. He could spend years trapped in a small space with barely any interaction and nothing to do.

The murderous Prince wasn't much better, and someone clearly felt the same. But he also shouldn't watch a man die like this. It wasn't right. He'd rather face Sébastien in a fair fight, not sit around while poison did the work.

Except Remus didn't have a fucking clue what to do.

"What did you drink?" he demanded. Sébastien's eyes closed, and Remus crouched by him. "What do you expect me to do?"

"If I die," whispered Sébastien.

His mind was still focused on getting Remus to do something, not what.

"What do you expect me to do?" Remus slowly asked. "The hall doors are locked."

Remus could have sworn he saw red in the Prince's nearly closed eyes, although he must have imagined it. He hunched lower as Sébastien's bluish lips moved slightly, and his lids completely shut. Damn it.

Remus stood and ran into the hall. Maybe two guards were quietly standing outside the other set of doors. What if they were in on this plot and wouldn't help? What the fuck could he possibly do?

"Fire!" he yelled as he came closer. "Fire! There's a fire!"

That wasn't something to be ignored even if someone wanted the Prince to be laid in the tomb with the rest of his family. A fire could grow out of control in seconds, and the smoke could kill a man before the blaze reached him.

"Fire!" Remus jiggled the handles, banged on the solid wood, and pressed his ear to them to listen.

He pounded on the door with all of his might as he shouted again. He was pretty sure it wouldn't work, but he threw his shoulder against them. That did nothing since they were too thick.

He ran along the grating to yell through it, although he doubted anyone was in the garden that late.

"Fuck." He rushed back to the Prince's rooms.

Sébastien was still lying motionless on the floor. If he'd swallowed something, it needed to come out. The little bit of wine he'd puked hadn't been enough.

He raced into the Prince's bedroom. The privy room door was open, and a lantern had been left on. He dug through a cabinet on one side. Bath oils, scrubs, soaps, spare brushes for teeth-cleaning, and drying sheets. There certainly weren't any antidotes lying around.

He spotted a bottle of castor oil. It could be toxic, but it had a few uses. He hurried back to the motionless Prince who was still breathing, although it was labored.

"You need to puke. I can't get anyone, and I don't know what else to do at this point." Remus uncorked the bottle, set it down, and turned Sébastien onto his back. It was like trying to move wood. Every muscle was tight, and it must have been painful.

His face was clammy, and Remus smacked his cheek. "Wake up. You need to swallow this."

He wasn't sure if the faint grunt was a basic reaction or if Sébastien understood. Remus put the edge of the bottle to his mouth to tip in some of the pale yellow oil. With no idea how much to use, he figured a couple of big spoonfuls might work and cause him to puke. It was hard to judge how much dribbled in.

"Come on. Swallow it."

Sébastien's throat moved as his hands twitched. Luckily, he didn't choke. Remus wondered if he should give him more.

"Sébastien?" Remus tapped his cheek. The Prince didn't make a sound or move.

How long until castor oil made a person vomit?

"Fuck." Remus stood and looked around as if the answer might present itself. On the far side of the room, he spotted the sideboard, remembered the blue bottle, and rushed over. He pushed aside a couple of bottles of wine and spotted it.

Tunfira extract. The rare fruit that mostly grew in Finkin couldn't be eaten because it would cause vomiting within seconds. A few drops added to hard liquor, usually vodka, gave it a pleasantly sour and sweet taste. Since the strong alcohol killed something in the extract, the drinker didn't have to worry about vomiting.

It didn't work with wines or basic ales unless the person drank a lot beforehand, and it wasn't worth the risk of trying. The Prince had likely drunk a single glass of wine.

Remus should have thought of that first instead of the damn castor oil. He snatched it, ran back to Sébastien, and dragged him upright. He didn't even twitch that time, and his head fell back.

"Hate me later." Remus propped the Prince against himself and opened the skinny bottle.

He dribbled in a few drops and hoped they went down. Sébastien's body was still rigid, and his eyes had rolled into the back of his head. A few more drops trickled past his bluish lips.

Remus had never eaten the fruit or seen anyone do it. His brother hadn't been lying when he said the effect was quite swift.

Sébastien's body jerked, and Remus nearly dropped the bottle as he tilted the Prince a little to the side to puke on the floor. Wine, extract, oil. It all came out in ragged spurts as the Prince's stomach automatically emptied itself thanks to the tunfira extract. Chunks from dinner that were better left unidentified were mixed in.

Remus held the Prince still once he thought it was over. A couple of last heaves dribbled out.

"Elira, that's disgusting," he muttered before he tugged Sébastien away from his mess and laid him down.

More sweat had blossomed on him, and he looked closer to death than before. If too much poison had gotten into him, he might die anyway.

Remus fetched a few washcloths from the privy room, dampened them, and wiped off the vomit the best he could since it had gotten on Sébastien's chin too.

Remus had never seen him without his coat. Since there was an open book on the table by the glass, he must have been relaxing. So much for that. Remus wasn't about to undress or change him. If the Prince lived and knew Remus had done that, they might have another knife to the throat incident thanks to the whole thing with Meph. Fuck that.

Remus wiped down his sweaty face and spoke to him, but he didn't get a response. The Prince's breathing was still labored, and Remus managed to get a little water into him so he didn't die of dehydration by accident.

That was about all he could do. Nobody had come thanks to his yelling, and he opened up the other set of doors to reveal a loggia. Fine furniture in cream matched the pale columns. Remus walked across, grabbed the railing, and leaned over. The garden spread out, filled with the dark shapes of bushes, trees, and flowerbeds.

A wall went around the grounds, but overall, the place wasn't heavily fortified since it was a Palace. If needed, the Regent and Sébastien would go farther inland to a fortified Castle.

The drop was too high, and the loggia stuck out. He'd need a rope, or strips of twisted, knotted sheets. He probably wouldn't have enough from his bed, and the drop might still be too much.

He couldn't see up, and the stone of the archway was quite smooth. Standing on the railing and reaching up to grab the edge would be quite risky.

The Palace curved around a little, allowing him to see a few lights from far away windows. He yelled fire a few times as loudly as possible.

He was pretty sure no one heard him. A sudden thought made him glance inside. What if someone came in to ensure the job was finished? It'd be shitty to leave the Prince vulnerable in his bed.

Another reason for Remus to not take the chance of escaping. Or falling and breaking something. Not tonight. He pushed himself away from the railing and headed in.

He locked the doors, grabbed the Prince under his arms, and dragged him into his bedroom. Considering what he'd done, would it be possible to earn his freedom? He wouldn't have to risk running with the collar and cuffs that marked him.

He heaved Sébastien onto his bed which was covered in a dark blue blanket. He wasn't sweating as much, although Remus couldn't say he looked better.

Who would have done this? Someone with money to purchase poison which meant most of the court. When he checked the glass, the insides didn't smell off to him. Only one bottle of red wine on the sideboard was open, and it didn't smell or look odd. Nothing seemed amiss, and he wondered if a servant had been paid off.

Or…

Commander Martin had been by yesterday for some reason. Arthur said he snapped at people when he grew angry, so he must have had a problem with the Prince. Remus was sure he hadn't returned, so he'd either done it during his visit or paid someone.

It meant Commander Martin and Sébastien had some sort of serious problem that had started before yesterday. If he was responsible, they could surely trace it to him or find some form of evidence. Or maybe it was someone else and involved something Remus didn't have the foggiest clue about. He didn't know Sébastien well enough, so he could have other enemies.

He snooped around since he needed something to do. Remus wasn't going to quietly sit in the corner like a dog and wait. The Prince had left his sword on top of his chest of drawers, so Remus pulled it from the scabbard to examine it. It had an interesting shape, and the wing design under the handguard was quite pretty. The ruby was fat and firmly set in. Nobody would be prying that out.

Remus's sword had been nearly like his Father's: black with a wing design and a small wolf's head. The forte was serrated, and it had been a gift for his fourteenth birthday. Unfortunately, Quintus had probably destroyed or sold it.

Remus wandered into the sitting room. A lot of Sébastien's books were historical, although there were a few that appeared to be fictional. It seemed the Prince preferred real life over fantasy. The wine bottles on the sideboard varied by maker, but it was mostly red except for two bottles of dry blue. Remus inspected the glasses in case poison had been rubbed inside any of them. They appeared perfectly clean.

Not a single portrait or painting graced the walls. Maybe he wasn't into art, but Remus thought it was rather odd.

When he opened the Prince's closet room, the clothes near the front were mostly black. A few things with actual color were toward the back and looked like they hadn't been touched in ages.

Why did he wear so much black? To look intimidating? A purple cloak hung by a black one. Purple was the Soleilian royal color, so Sébastien must have made an exception for that.

Three swords hung on a rack at the end of the closet. He had a feeling who had once owned them.

Every day, the Prince woke up and remembered everyone except for the Regent was dead, and it was ultimately Giorgio's fault. Every day, the hate simmered, and while he couldn't bear to part with the items, looking at them every time he entered his quarters must have hurt too much.

If he saved the Prince from a damn dragon, he'd never earn his freedom. The Prince had rotted from the inside out. Maybe he should put the dagger through Sébastien's throat and end his misery. It wouldn't hurt him in his current state. Remus could start tearing bedclothes and try to escape. Forget his fellow countrymen.

His stomach shriveled in shame at the thought. He even imagined the Goddess Elira shaking her head at him. It wasn't right, and he couldn't allow his current situation to drag him to new lows.

He'd be no better than Sébastien and Quintus, and he never wanted to wake up like that one day.