16. Thirteen

I began to think the cage was better. Ruith was not small, and the bed was not big. In fact, it wasn't really much of a bed at all, but rather a large rectangular cushion that could be rolled and unrolled. There were layers of furs and blankets that had seemed cozy when I was making the bed up earlier in the day. Now they were stifling. Everything was too hot and too tight, from the fit of the bed to my nightclothes.

I slept on my side, giving Ruith my back, while he slept on his back, or tried to. I wasn't convinced he was asleep at all. His breathing was even, but perhaps too fast. He didn't speak, but he didn't snore. He didn't even move. It was like sleeping next to the waking dead, half expecting him to pounce on me at any moment.

Shoulders stiff, I tried to remember the last time I had slept next to anyone, and then promptly wished I hadn't. While I'd had many lovers come and go, I didn't let them remain. We fucked, and they left. Better that way when you're a prince lest the household discover you soiled your bed with common desires.

And then there was Torrin. Dark-haired, passionate Torrin who favored the great ax and the lance over sword and shield. He was a beast on the tourney field, one of the few to ever unseat me. That joust had won him a place at the king's table, and my attention. He was younger than me by four years, the fourth son of a minor lord. I had argued he should be promoted to the palace guard, and it happened immediately. It took me nearly four months to get him into my bed after that.

He was a romantic with a strong sense of honor and duty. Ultimately, that was what drove us apart. I was his commanding officer. It wasn't right. The men were talking and so he had to break it off.

It had crushed me for a while. Enough that I retaliated by recommending him to the kingsguard. I never thought he'd get accepted. I never thought Michail would petition to make him my personal guard. The venom in my half-brother should have been evident then. The kingsguard took oaths of celibacy and for Michail to dangle a man like Torrin in front of me as a protector day after day, knowing I had slept with him, that I had cared for him… It was its own brand of cruelty.

But even that couldn't compare to having to stand there and watch him die for me.

I buried my face in my arm and squeezed my eyes shut, emotion threatening to choke me more than the collar ever would. I had cried in the pit for him, for everyone. This was not the time for tears.

No one would fault a man for not making the second choice, but a leader…He is expected to make it.

Could I have made such a choice? Sacrificed Torrin for some nameless, faceless orphans? I had sacrificed him for myself. Was I worth more than five children? Was I worth more than one man? What was the going price for bastard princes turned bed slaves these days, anyway?

Kill one to save five.

If I died, it would save no one, so I had to live. If I died out there, all the men Michail had murdered in my name would be gone, too. The weight of their deaths, their memories, pressed in, crowding me.

But it was Torrin I dreamt of and some fictional night of passion that I was sure had never happened. Yet it felt so real I swore I could feel the softness of his lips contrasting the hardness of a man's body, the words and promises murmured only in a lover's embrace. Heated breaths against the back of my neck, the cool slip of silken sheets in my fists, the drumming of my heart as I fought for and lost control.

I woke covered in cold sweat, the air damp and sticky. Gone was the alluring incense burning in the palace braziers, the stink of horses and worn leather in its place. The blue light of twilight came through the canvas tent, painting the space in dark shadows. I knew all of that before I understood that it was not Torrin I was pressed up against, my cock as hard as steel, but Ruith.

At some point in the night, I had changed positions. While I'd gone to sleep with my back to him, I now had one leg wrapped around his. My arousal was pressed into his thigh, a fact that he was fully aware of if the satisfied smirk down at me was anything to judge by.

Maiden, preserve what little honor I have left! I scrambled away from him, breathing hard. In my hurry, I knocked over a pitcher of water. I ignored it, clutching the stolen blanket to my chest like some boy who'd just been caught learning the shape of himself.

Ruith chuckled and gave a languid stretch that put all the best parts of him on display. To my horror, my cock gave a needy throb. I tried to calm it by clenching my thighs, but that only made it worse.

"Presumptuous of you, isn't it?" he remarked. "Though not entirely unwelcome. Most propositions I receive are a bit more suave than that. I can't say I've ever woken up to someone rutting against my hip like a dog in heat. Need some assistance with that?" He gestured vaguely between my legs.

I shook my head rapidly, flinging sweat from my forehead.

"Mmm. Too bad." Ruith pushed the blankets down over his thighs.

I flushed when it became clear he was just as aroused as I was—if not more—and that he meant to do something about it. Never mind that I was standing right there. Then again, elvish culture didn't seem to have the same taboos against public sex that human culture did. I shouldn't have been surprised that he thought it was completely acceptable to polish his pommel with an audience. Besides, I wasn't a person to him. I supposed I didn't count as an audience. Unless that was his kink…

Why am I sitting here thinking about any of this? Divine help me. I've only been out here for a few days, and I'm already becoming numb to their heathen ways. I pushed the blanket away and quickly crawled out of the sleeping area, adjusting myself so I could appear decent at least. Ruith chuckled again as I went to grab one of the buckets tucked under the table, but when I looked back…

He was stretched out in the bed, one hand tucked behind his head and the other sliding over his cock in deliberately slow strokes. Not the wild jerking movements of someone just seeing the task done, but of someone who knew he was being watched in the act. Someone who wanted to be seen.

And Eight Divines preserve me, there was a part of me that wanted to watch.

My face burning, I tore my attention away and stormed out of the tent to start my morning work.

I took a deliberately long time scrubbing out the waste buckets, the wooden tub, and anything else I could get without having to go back into the tent. When, at last, I ran out of things to do, the sun was up and there was enough movement in the camp, I was sure he had to be done by then. Still, I went and stood in the longest line I could find to fetch his bath water.

When I brought it in to make his bath, I nearly dropped the yoke. He was already naked. At least he wasn't doing anything questionable. He was getting an exam from the camp physician, who seemed to be examining every inch of his naked body with a keen eye.

Neither of them acknowledged me as I began to fill the tub.

"You should stay clear today," the physician was saying. "Limit your exposure."

"I still need to give orders."

"Relay them through others. You're not to come within twenty feet of anyone who hasn't been cleared."

Ruith sighed with irritation and shrugged on a robe, not bothering to tie it shut. "Then you had better clear the slave, too, since he's attending to me now."

"Very well, then. You there, slave."

I froze after dumping the last bucket in, and then remembered that when I was spoken to, I was supposed to put myself face down in the dirt. I hated it, but it was better than getting hit by Senna's rod, so I did it.

"Enough of that," growled the physician with irritation. "Undress and come here."

I lifted my head, unsure if I'd heard him right. When he gestured, I knew I had, so I rose and went to where he pointed, quickly disrobing. Nudity had never particularly bothered me. There were some sports still done in the nude like wrestling, and being in the guard meant frequently having to change in and out of different clothes, often while standing in a crowded room with other men. Even if none of that were true, I'd grown up a prince, which meant I'd had servants dressing and undressing me since I was a boy, not to mention the dozens of times Modir had me strip down so they could search for patches of Rot. It was highly contagious, and every time I spent the day near Michail, I had to be examined for weeks afterward in case one should appear.

The way the physician examined me reminded me a lot of how Modir had done it. He poked and prodded and made me lift my arms. Cold fingers pressed along my jaw and throat. It was mildly embarrassing to have my genitals examined with Ruith looking on, but at least it was over quickly.

"He's cleared," the physician declared nonchalantly when he was done, and waved me off to dress again. "I've already cleared the other commanders and their bed partners as well."

"I hope you hammered home to Ieduin the importance of not mingling with anyone who hasn't gotten a clean bill of health from you," Ruith said with a grunt.

"Yes, yes. All the camp whores are clear as well so far. I told him that perhaps a hiatus in their services was wise. He argued quite thoroughly with me that it would ruin morale. I told him there's no morale that can cure the dead."

"Thank you, Asgrim. I won't keep you." Ruith walked the physician to the exit before coming back to shed his robe and step into the tub. As I started washing him, he said, "There will be new restrictions in the camp today. You should listen closely to Senna."

New restrictions was an understatement. Whole swaths of the camp were suddenly off limits, which made my duties that much more difficult. I had to take the long way around to the stream where I washed more laundry.

Then I was instructed to take the torn garments to a seamstress, but when I arrived at the right camp block, I found armed guards blocking the way. An hour ago, that area of camp had still been accessible to me. It seemed the rules were changing by the minute.

Someone tried to direct me to another seamstress, but I got turned around somehow and found myself in a new area of camp that I had never been to before. It was quieter there, with fewer fires and even fewer people. In fact, I barely saw anyone except for a few slaves carrying buckets and messages.

I stopped one of them and tried to mime that I was looking for a seamstress. They pointed me to a small tent toward the center of the block, so I went there. Slaves generally didn't knock or announce their comings and goings, expected to be invisible, so I walked right into the tent.

Two feet in, I stopped, realizing too late that I was in the wrong place. The tent was lined with shelves, each one overflowing with glass bottles full of colorful liquids or scrolls. In the center, near a small, contained fire in the belly of a metal bowl, was a large workshop table and Aryn was bent over it. He turned when he heard me come in and then there was an awkward scramble to pull his shirt on, but not before I saw the two swooping scars on either side of his chest.

"What do you want?" he snarled at me.

Not knowing what else to do, I simply lifted the basket of laundry.

He glared at me, then wiped a hand over his face. "You want Jaliah. She's next door."

I turned quickly to go.

"Wait."

I halted. Footsteps came close and then Aryn was in front of me in a blur of silver hair.

"Ruith. Is he…better today?"

The question seemed like it was difficult for him to ask, almost as if he wasn't sure he should be asking me. He probably shouldn't. I was a slave, and one who couldn't answer him thanks to the collar around my neck.

As if he could read my thoughts, his eyes fell to it and he sighed. I flinched when he reached out as if to touch the collar.

His hand stopped just short, and he sighed again, letting it drop limply to his side. "I know what it's like not to have a voice. Don't give up. One day, you'll open your mouth and the voice that comes out will be more yours than it's ever been." He jerked his head toward the door. "You'd better go before Senna finds you here."

I nodded and left.

The seamstress I wanted was next door. I dropped the clothes off there and went back to work, contemplating Aryn's words. What did it mean? He didn't seem the type to speak unless he had something important to say, but I couldn't make sense of it. The words had been strange, almost prophetic sounding.

But he was an elf. They were all strange in their own way.

"There you are." The words came in lilting Savarran, but it wasn't Senna.

My shoulders stiffened as Nessir approached me while I was coming back from checking on Ruith's horse. I watched him warily as he approached with a small box.

"Mirza Ieduin told me to make sure you got that to the stables," he said, shoving the box at me.

I frowned. I'd just come from the stables. I didn't want to go all the way back, especially since I was already late reporting to Senna for the evening. Any further delay could lead to getting a beating with the rod.

I pushed the box back at him, but he wouldn't take it.

"Oh, no," he said and shoved it back at me. "I'm on errands for my master, and I can't afford to be late. But I'll pass by Senna's post on my way back and tell him to expect you." Nessir smiled pleasantly.

I scowled. He was giving me no choice but to make the delivery. Maybe if I ran, I could still make it to Senna at an acceptable time. I tucked the box under my arm and ran.

"Hurry, now!" Nessir shouted after me.

The prick probably knew I had just come from the stables and deliberately waited until after I left to send me back. He was making me late on purpose. If Senna hit me with that damned rod one more time because of Nessir, I really was going to shove the damn thing up his ass.

I stumbled, breathless, into the stables only to bump straight into a large slave man.

He caught my shoulder and pushed me back. "Whoa there, pet."

I started to lift the box but paused when two more big slave men stepped out from behind a wall.

"Aw, is the mirza's wittle pet here to make a dewivery?" one of them taunted.

The third snatched the box out of my hands. I darted forward to take it back, but the biggest of the three held me back. The third slave slid open the box and turned it over, making a face when a dead rat fell out.

Nessir, you son of a bitch!I realized too late there was no delivery. The box, the thugs… This was another one of Nessir's stupid pranks. I whirled around, intending to run straight to Senna. At least I wouldn't be too late, not if I left now.

A big hand closed on my shoulder and held me back. "And just where do you think you're going?"

"Yeah, we've got a message to deliver to you."

"This is what you get for being a fucking pet," grunted another.

Shit.

The big slave spun me around. I tried to get my hands up, but he moved too fast, punching me in the gut. I didn't see which one smashed something into my head, though. I was only vaguely aware of my legs crumpling and wondering why the wall was covered in hay.

I woke with a throbbing head and the stench of horse shit in my nose. It was dark, far too late for me to make my meeting with Senna now. In fact, I'd been gone long enough that there were likely people looking for a runaway.

This was bad.

Incredibly bad.

I sat up, fighting a sudden surge of nausea. My face itched. I scratched it and my fingernails came away red with blood.

I was still trying to process what that meant when the stable door burst open and Senna stormed in.

"There you are, you good for nothing lazy idiot!" He grabbed me by my arm and lifted the rod, ready to bring it down on my head.

But I'd had enough of people beating me. Enough of being manipulated and controlled by everyone else.

I caught Senna's wrist.

The old Savarran's eyes flared wide as I twisted the rod away and shot to my feet.

He scowled at me and yanked something from around his neck. It was a whistle, and he was blowing it, summoning his brutes. They barged in and saw me standing over Senna, rod raised, and I knew then that there would be hell to pay.