
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/860079.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hannibal_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Will_Graham/Hannibal_Lecter
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Arranged_Marriage, Alternate_Universe_-_Fairy_Tale,
      Schehezerade, Alternate_Universe_-_Historical, dub-con, Rape/Non-con
      Elements, D/s_overtones
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-27 Updated: 2013-07-01 Chapters: 2/? Words: 14961
****** The Fishmonger and The Shark ******
by abyssinianserengeti
Summary
     Written for this prompt on the kinkmeme: Hannibal as a king who kills
     and eats his wives after one night.
     Will as Scheherazade, the smart and gentle man who volunteers to
     marry Hannibal and captivates him by telling him stories.
Notes
     Scheherazade is the storyteller of the 1001 Arabian Nights. This
     draws from the universe of the Islamic Golden Age but is mostly
     fictional, taking great liberties with the culture of the time.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Prologue *****
    إن من البيان لسحرا إن وراء الأَكَمةِ ما وراءها أنا الغريق فما خوفي من البلل
                         I'm already drowning so why should I fear getting wet?
The news travelled quickly. Within a day, everyone in the capital knew: he’s
killed another. Will heard it from the cloth merchant, flaunting his richly
dyed rolls of silk the next plot over. It was a dry, hot day. No one lingered.
His fish went quick; large red and grey mullets, their eyes glassy. A bucket of
silver cod sat in rapidly melting cubes of ice. He smelt of claustrophobic
sweat and raw innards.
“You heard?” the cloth merchant said as he watched Will pack up, his last
morning catches sold for half his usual price, eager to get inside before the
midday sun started to beat.
He glanced up, and then went back to loading a small cart (well, it was really
just a wooden board on two wheels).
The merchant was undeterred; after all, business wouldn’t start up again until
early evening, when it cooled enough for it to be bearable outside. He took a
finger and cut across his neck, pulling a face. “The Emperor’s sick of another
one. What is it, his thirtieth-sixth?”
Will stopped to wipe the sweat from his eyes and scratch at the rough wool of
his jerkin. It was enough time for him to do a quick calculation. The Emperor
had killed a consort a month for exactly three years.
“Wonder what he does with the bodies...does he have a collection of skulls on
pikes, you think?”
Will only shrugged in response.
Taking hold of two long beams, he put one over either shoulder and began to
pull the cart behind him. Nodding vaguely at the merchant, who, quite used to
his ways, only tipped his head and gave him an odd salute. Avoiding the piles
of dung on the ground, he heaved all the way back down the Main Road until the
gravel became dirt and the dirt became muddy passages squeezed between mud
brick buildings with arched doorways without doors. He was no longer avoiding
animal waste, but all the rivets of human shit that gathered in dug out
trenches on either side of the actual street. Of course, the sewage wasn’t
always contained to these trenches, and the biting flies certainly weren’t.
Will was almost glad the flies were more attracted to the excrement, otherwise
they’d be clinging to the sweat on his back and neck and arms.
“Are you Wlym?”
He had barely dropped the cart, rolling his aching shoulders, when a man in
full ceremonial armour accosted him.
“Are you Wlym or not?” he repeated with more than a little edge. Will lifted an
eyebrow. Surely it wasn’t necessary to be decked out in so much leather and
etched metal in such weather. Maybe they forgot how hot it gets up in the
palace, where everything was always just so. Not that its famed cool gardens
and chilled sweet drinks helped all those dead consorts, he thought wryly.
“Yes,” he managed, gingerly sidestepping the man and all his pomposity, the
shade of his own mud brick calling to him. It was not entirely his own, to be
sure. He shared it with a family of seven and as many strays as he could afford
to feed. There was a corner that was all his own and that was enough room for
his fishing gear, his buckets, and his thrush mat.
The man followed in, nose crinkling. He looked around in distaste and seemed to
have switched to breathing through his mouth. When Will ignored him in favour
of setting down his things and letting the three dogs who’d chosen to stay
inside lick the residue fishy taste off his fingers, the man cleared his throat
and stood rather noisily to attention.
“I am here on behalf of Emperor Lekktr of the Šeherzada Kingdom, Shahryar and
King of Kings, son of no man, father of all people, most refined of taste and
mind –“
“I’m sorry,” Will frowned and pretended to think, “but I can’t really figure
out why I care.”
The man was gobsmacked for a minute. Then he scowled, “It is time for a
Selection. His Imperial Highness is in need of a consort. By tonight.”
“If he was that desperate maybe he shouldn’t have murdered the last one.”
“You will be silent in the presence of the Emperor!”
He looked the man up and down, “are you the Emperor?”
“I am a representative of the Honourable Family of Lek—“
“I thought he was ‘son of no man’,” Will mimicked and sat upon his mat, cross
legged and unperturbed by the man’s astonishing height. “Must be a pretty small
family to serve. You should be so proud.”
The soldier stammered. Every shift of his weight caused the pieces of his
armour to clink and rattle. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face,
which had gone a dark red colour matching the dried fish blood beneath Will’s
nails.
“You are a obnoxious little street rat and I will not have you insulting the
Honourable –“
“I wasn’t insulting them, I was insulting you,” Will said flippantly and began
to stroke the fur of one of the dogs, ignoring the fuming man and hoping he
would give up. “What is it you want, anyway? I can’t decide whether I want you
out of my house more than you want to leave. Either way, it’s better you either
arrest me or you go on your merry, sweaty way.”
“I am not here to arrest you. I am here to interview you for Selection,” the
man said after a moment of flabbergasted shock.
“They already did. I wasn’t cleared.”
He frowned, “You’re lying.”
Will gestured to himself and then at the surrounds, the dirty floors, the lack
of windows, the ceiling with a large gap in the rushes letting dappled sunlight
through. “Do I look like consort material?”
The man hesitated but continued bravely, “Every unmarried man or woman between
ages fourteen and ages twenty-four must be screened for Selection.”
“And the palace screened me, and I failed. A year ago, and two months, to be
precise. Is that all?”
“You were personally requested.”
Now Will was genuinely surprised. His hand stilled upon fur, “By the Emperor?”
“By High Vizier Yakkob Qal-Fawjd.”
“You mean Jack?” Will frowned and pictured a short-tempered, steel tongued,
grizzled fighter dressed in simple black cloth. He’d screened Will, at a time
when all the eligible males had been rounded up; tempted by rewards of paraffin
and good corn if they appeared for what had been an ‘Unorthodox Selection.’
After twenty-two female consorts had been taken and found lacking, the High
Viziers suspected the Emperor’s preferences were in the opposite direction.
That month, he’d taken a boy, and the entire kingdom had held its collective
breath.
Will remembered waiting with other kids, shivering in an autumn breeze, so high
above the capital, marvelling at the view. They’d mostly been the poorer lot,
lured with promises of charity. The more well-to-do didn’t send their sons to
that shame. But Will hadn’t complained, in fact, he’d secretly been happy that
those that hadn’t needed the oil and grain hadn’t come. More for the rest of
them.
He remembered Jack, assembling them into rows, walking up and down and
observing them like they were chattel. He hadn’t known then what drew the
Vizier’s eye to him, of all the other dirty, shaking boys. But Jack had spoken
to him, put hands on his body, and asked question after inane question. One of
his answers had been deemed unsatisfactory. They’d chosen another. Will had
breathed a sigh of unspeakable relief, taken his reward and gone to bed with
the knowledge that once he’d failed a screening, he’d never be subjected to
Selection. Ever again.
“Why does Jack want with me?”
“We who know our place do not ask our superiors impertinent questions,” the man
sniffed. “Follow me.”
“What?” Will stumbled to his feet, “Tonight?”
But the man was already out the door. He really considered not following, maybe
running around the corner and seeking sanctuary in a neighbour’s home. A
consort? Was there any worse fate than to be stifled under the finery of the
palace, forced to pleasure a sadistic king and then be beheaded for your
troubles? Will wanted to flee. But he knew if Jack had personally asked for
him, there was no way he’d last out in the slums once the palace put a price on
his person and demanded he be arrested. People needed the money down here. If
Will had been in their position, he’d turn himself in without a second blink.
Head bowed, trying hard to ignore the stares people gave him from the shadow of
their doorways, he followed the decorated soldier to his steed.
“Do you know how to ride?”
The man mounted and stared imperiously down his ruddy nose at Will. The
fishmonger shook his head. This seemed to please the knight.
“Then you will walk behind me,” he kicked the horse into a rapid trot and
immediately Will struggled to keep pace, “And be sure not to fall behind.”
With the midday sun well and truly scorching, Will wanted to cave in the man’s
helmet and ask him whether he’d ever been this far south of the ornate palace
gates. The streets here were worse than the inside of a bazaar. He’d be
separated before they even got to the Main Road.
“Hurry up!”
He was two horse lengths away already and Will was feeling the fatigue. It was
an uphill climb to the top of the mountain. If Jack wanted a possible consort
with two functioning legs, he should have sent a courier with less of a
superiority complex.
“Will?”
It was a girl, sixteen, her head covered in a white headscarf to reflect the
heat. He recognised her by her wide doe eyes and voice only.
“Is everything okay?”
“Um...actually, Abigail, could you try to make sure someone’s feeding the
dogs?”
“You’re going away?”
“Er...yeah. There’s something that I need to sort out. Just make sure no one in
the neighbourhood decides they want dog meat for dinner, okay?”
He could sense her worry even without seeing her features but she nodded
nonetheless and Will, not willing to keep eye contact any longer, dashed away
in search of the bobbing head of the soldier. It wasn’t surprising that he lost
horse and rider before long, and soon Will was wondering why he wasn’t simply
turning around and making a dash for his freedom. He could follow the Eastern
Road down to the sea where he could smuggle himself onto a merchant’s boat
until they made for foreign lands. He could take the Western Road into the
mountains and seek shelter in the villages there, maybe grow out his beard,
gain some weight and use a new name. He could go off road and meet up with the
nomads, who answered to no Emperor, plead his case and beg for their
assistance.
And yet he found himself trudging up the Main Road during the hottest part of
the day for no other reason than sheer, damning curiosity. He passed the cloth
merchant, who was taking a nap under a sheet of canvas, and wondered with a
dull ache whether he’d ever get to set up alongside the old gossip again. Up
here where the road opened up, he caught sight of his guide, who struggled to
keep the perfect posture someone so adorned was required to wear. Will set his
shoulders a little straighter and took some measure of comfort from the fact
that he wasn’t the only one struggling for breath.
The nice part of town, sidled up close to the palace, was an alien world. The
houses were painted, their windows fitted with coloured glass, their roofs
tiled. Some had small gardens with boxed hedges. Some had water features. A
strange vision, or perhaps it was a memory, of having been in one of those
privileged buildings washed over him. He paused, trying to hold onto the
itching sensation he had once been here, but it was gone in the haze of sun and
sheer exhaustion.
“Open up!”
The heavy metal gates eased open, revealing a tiled courtyard presenting a
steep set of stairs. The soldier hopped off his horse as an elephant into a
puddle. A stable hand dressed three times better that Will came out to take the
reins and led the dehydrated creature away.
“Who’s this?” one of the gate guards asked.
“Qal-Fawjd's whelp.”
“Huh, for the Emperor?”
The second guard came up behind Will and pressed a palm into the small of his
back. “He’s got a nice ass. Bet the King’ll love fucking that for a month.”
The three shared in guffaws, the one who’d touched Will quirking his eyebrow.
Only the glint of his sword deterred Will from launching himself at the man and
gouging his eyes out.
Instead he settled with a quiet, “At least it’s a month, the Emperor didn’t
even ask for any of you. Or maybe you’re too valuable to waste. One can only
imagine the kind of training that goes into opening and shutting the palace
gates five times a day.”
“You little –“
The blow took him from beneath the jaw and punched upwards. Will reeled back,
feeling like his neck had snapped. The inside of his mouth was bleeding and for
a moment, everything sounded like rain.
“You filthy little –“
He was more prepared for the second hit, already doubling over so the kick to
his kidneys didn’t hurt as much as it would have. It still took the breath out
of him, but Will had been abused by an upset donkey not three months ago and in
comparison, the guard’s attack was really only a very firm hug.
“I hope he rips you open when he sticks you on his –“
One second he was squinting at the purple faced, drooling thing and the next,
his world went rapidly white and then nothing.
                                       *
There was light like the glow of the half an hour just before sunrise, where
everything was muted and just a little bit beautiful. There was a fragrance
that reminded him of pretty, giggling rich girls shopping with their chaperones
in the markets and laughing at his bare feet and scabbed knees. First there was
no sound, and it was strangely soothing, the absence feeling weightless. When
his ears began to work once more, he still wasn’t quite sure he was hearing
actual noise. There was almost nothing but the soft tinkling of flowing water
and the gentle sounds of people talking in muffled voices. Will didn’t recall
ever being in a place as quiet as he was then.
“Are you feeling better?”
He blinked, trying to pinpoint the direction the voice was coming from and
failing. He then tried to sit up and someone gently pushed him back down at the
very first twitch of his facial muscles into a wince. The inside of his mouth
still tasted like blood, as if he’d licked a blade for the fun of it and
everything was liquid warmth and metal. He became gradually aware that there
was something wrapped around his head. The idea of a restraint of any kind
pumped a sharp source of panic through him and he tore at the cloth until hands
softer and smaller than his took a hold of his fingers and squeezed.
“My name is Alhena Bolour, you’re hurt but you’re safe now.”
His words came in spurts and Will struggled around the syllables,
“Al...ahna...Bloo...our?”
She laughed and brushed a hand over his forehead, “Close enough.”
“Wh...ere...am—“
“In the Sassanid Palace,” she said quickly, “Vizier Qal-Fawjd was generous
enough to offer us one of the unused domestic quarters.”
Even in his state, Will heard the unspoken words. Well, this room would be
empty, given that the palace was in-between consorts at the current time.
“I’ve given you some opium, to dull the pain, that might be why you feel
everything is quite difficult right now, but the effects should wear off in a
bit,” she continued. “Though I don’t suppose being unwell for tonight would
necessarily be a tragedy.”
The next thing Will knew, he was propped up against several cushions and
wearing nothing more than an almost translucent white shift. Someone had bathed
him, and brushed the tangles out of his hair. There was a fresh dressing around
his head and a goblet of water at his hand. He had only a moment to look at the
extravagance of holding water in a ruby encrusted cup before he was so overcome
with the taste of the liquid that all other thought was chased from his mind.
It seemed that even the water in the palace tasted better than anything in the
city.
After drinking, and staring his fill at the decor; the soaring gilded ceiling
that resembled the night sky, the walls covered in frescoes and plaster work
painted gold and white, the bowed archways which words engraved above them –
Will had time to test the extent of his injuries. Other than some bruises and
the cuts on the inside of his cheek, he was fine. He’d had worse simply by
walking carelessly across the Main Road and yet here they were, pampering him
like he was a princess.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Jack walked in, “Finally.”
He was more imposing than Will remembered - his voice deeper.
“I’d apologise for the guards bashing your head against the wall but then I’d
expect you to apologise for baiting them and we both know that won’t happen, so
let’s skip the pleasantries.” He sat down at the edge of the soft mattress and
crossed sandaled ankles.
Will rubbed at his forehead and did a poor job of hiding behind his palm. When
he finally looked up, Jack continued as if there hadn’t been a minute-long
pause.
“Do you know why I failed your screening?”
He shook his head.
“I asked you a question about,” the Vizier sighed heavily, “what you would do
if you and the Emperor ever had a disagreement. Do you remember your answer?”
Another shake.
“You said, ‘is having a disagreement a euphemism for rape’?”
“I did?”
“Mhmm...and I said ‘why do you say that?’ and you looked right through me and
said if you ‘disagreed’ to bending over and taking it like a whore, the best
thing you could do was hold onto your head and hope it didn’t fall off.”
“Seems imminently practical.”
Jack barked a laugh, “Too much spirit, I thought. The Emperor wouldn’t
appreciate it, I thought.”
“So what’s changed, the Emperor or your judgement?”
The Vizier observed him for a moment, eyes trailing over Will’s body in a way
that was both remarkably cold and incredibly intrusive. He managed not to
squirm, only balling his hands and sucking on the inside of his bottom lip,
focusing on the sound of the fountains just outside the chambers.
“Are you done?” he squeezed out between gritted teeth when he couldn’t stand
the scrutiny any longer.
“Almost,” he said softly, “The priests will come to inspect you.”
Will took a moment to choke on his tongue, “You’re really putting me up for
Selection?”
Jack stood, smoothing out his tunic, “It’s taken me three years but I finally
realised that the Emperor didn’t want a consort who would obey his every
command and please him until he purred.”
“Oh?”
With one final sombre grunt, he nodded and turned from the room, throwing over
his shoulder the ominous words, “Try to be interesting for him.”
Before Will had enough time to ponder the consequences of the statement, three
men swathed in white cloth swarmed in. They had some sort of gauze over their
face, obscuring eyes, nose and mouth. There were thin gloves on their hands and
white sandals on their feet. The only part of their body uncovered were their
toes, which peeked out from beneath long robes that brushed the floor. It was
more than a little unnerving, not knowing exactly where they were looking and
Will only guessed they were male from their size and build. Or what little he
could determine under the layers of flowing fabric.
“Are you the priests?”
He heard the quaver in his own voice as one gestured for him to stand. As he
did, the world swam, muscles in his stomach clenching in an effort to keep down
his breakfast. Was it really that same morning he’d gone east as usual,
fishing, selling, and going about his business without a care in the world
beside how he was going to feed himself that day?
The men took a hold of his arms and lifted them so they were spread out to the
sides, as if he was balancing upon a thin beam. They inspected his palms,
turning his wrists, looking at the calluses on his fingers and the scars that
ran down his knuckles - the echoes of fights from days gone by, the telltale
sign of a man who’d taken the hard road every step of the way. They looked at
his fingernails, gnawed unevenly. At least he’d been washed, and there was no
longer fish blood in his cuticles. Gloved hands moved up his forearms, poked at
the inside of his elbow and measured the girth of his biceps.
They smoothed palms over his shoulders, lingering on an ugly scar just under
his collarbone from a knife fight that had nearly cost him his life. He could
feel the disapproval through their veils. When they finished with taking the
pulse at his neck, observing the convulsive up-down swallow of his Adam’s apple
and peered at his eyes, he was silently asked to remove the shift.
Will breathed deeply through his nose and reminded himself he wasn’t shy about
these things. It was futile to waste effort on caring about nudity when there
were more pressing problems in day-to-day living. Still, the idea of people
assessing him was new and distinctly unpleasant. But he simply closed his eyes
and tried not to dwell.
He felt them measure his chest, touch both nipples to test their sensitivity,
and pinch at the minimal fat at his waist. Fingers slid down the curve of his
spine and gripped both hips. Another set of hands efficiently cupped his balls,
then squeezed him until he winced. Will almost wanted to ask them whether they
were trying to see if it was real or not, because really, but he bit his tongue
and tried not to shiver at the feeling of a gloved hand moving between the part
of his cheeks and pressing at his hole. At least he could understand the need
to determine whether or not he was a virgin. Though he supposed that ideal was
more important in women.
Then they moved down his thighs and his calves, with one of the priests
brushing at his leg hair in a way that made Will incredibly self conscious. And
finally, they picked up one foot at a time and inspected his soles. He doubted
what they found would please them. A lifetime of walking barefoot was sure to
leave its mark. Shoes weren’t a luxury that he ever really understood, not
unless one planned to walk on hot coals.
Then through some unspoken agreement, the men stepped back into a straight line
and filed out of the room.
Will slowly opened his eyes and stood frozen; almost hoping the negative vibes
he’d gotten from the priests would mean he wasn’t cleared for Selection. He
only became aware he was trembling when his knees physically knocked together.
“Good evening.”
“Er...”
He fumbled for the shift, got tangled in its bits and pieces and struggled to
pull what little cover it provided over him. The man waved a hand and stepped
all the way into the room.
“Never mind that, I’ve seen it all. Sit.”
Will returned to the bed, sneakily wiping his sweaty palmy on the sheets.
The man, a Vizier it seemed, was adorned in red with lavish gold embroidery. It
made Jack’s modest garb seem shameful in comparison. A bright golden brooch
shone at his throat. Catching the direction of Will’s gaze, thin fingers came
up to grip the accessory and pursed lips spread in a wide smile.
“My name is Frejeriqih ibn Berenjena ibn Chivo Alā-Shihltn, Grand Vizier,
vezir-i âzam, absolute attorney and holder of the state to His Imperial
Highness the Emperor Lekktr, Great Shahryar and King of All Kings."
The little man tugged at the stag head brooch and almost shook with smugness.
Will was certain his introduction and titles were supposed to make an
impression but all he could think was, “Do you actually go around calling
yourself that?”
Grand Vizier Shih...Zhil...Chil...tn...tun...Chiltn...bristled, “Rude!”
Will shrugged, feeling the temperature in the room return to comfortable, “I
guess I just haven’t had the education of a ‘state holder’, sir.”
“It’s ‘holder of the state’, and that’s Your Highness, to you.”
“Your highness?” he raised a brow, “really?”
“Yes, really!” the man seemed to find it difficult to shut his mouth. “I can
see why Qal-Fawjd failed you.”
“Are you going to fail me too?” he said, maybe sounding too hopeful for the
Grand Vizier narrowed his eyes and muttered, “If only...if only...”
“You know,” Grand Vizier Chiltn said at a normal volume, “Qal-Fawjd asked me to
suggest you to the Emperor personally.”
Will shrugged, “so?”
“Do you have any idea how Selection works, pup?” the man sneered and tossed his
head, “There are five possible candidates put before the Emperor. He inspects
them, etcetera. Then he convenes with the Viziers and asks our opinion. I, the
highest Vizier of all the High Viziers, offer my suggestion of which candidate
he should choose on behalf of the congregation.”
“Okay...”
“In thirty-six Selections, I have suggested thirty-six consorts and the Emperor
has taken my advice all thirty-six of those times,” the man finished off with a
flourish of his arms.
With a smirk, Will crossed his over his chest and said bluntly, “And all
thirty-six of them are very, very dead.”
The man scowled, “I don’t like your tone.”
The fishmonger only smiled wider. “I make it a rule not to be polite to
executioners.”
“Are you implying—“
“Oh, I think it’s a little more than an implication.”
“You little—“
“Funny, that’s exactly what the guards outside said before they beat me up.
Must be great to know you’re the intellectual equal of a dumb soldier.”
The Grand Vizier’s eyes widened comically, nostrils flaring, cheeks rising in
colour. After several long, infinitely enjoyable moments for Will, the man took
a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly and forced out a very strained smile.
“You are a brave man, Wlym.”
“It’s not like I have anything to lose.”
He exposed a smile, full of teeth. “Oh of course, only your life, I suppose.”
He was at the doorway before he turned very deliberately around and said, “You
may have heard the Emperor beheads his consorts when they begin to bore him. I
must warn you, that’s not, strictly speaking, the precise truth.”
Then he was gone, taking his spicy perfume and dark eyes with him, leaving Will
feeling very much like a piece of worm, just floating in the water and waiting
for the big fish to bite.
                                       *
They assembled in one of the courtyards. Or at least what Will presumed was
only one of many. It was well into evening and quite chilly. Each of the five
possible consorts had been placed along a portico, each standing beneath an
arch. He’d been surprised when he’d seen the woman who’d nursed him on the far
end of the walkway. He’d just assumed it had been one of the palace physicians,
though after some thought, he should have guessed he wasn’t important enough to
warrant Imperial aide.
As they stood there, shivering, Will took the opportunity to look askance at
her profile. She had dark hair, free and flowing, fair skin, a soft chin, a
long neck, slender arms and a petite frame. Going from the texture of her
hands, he guessed she wasn’t a working woman. That combined with her accent
which was less guttural than his own, and the simple fact that she had a last
name, meant she came from a family that was of some significance.
She seemed to sense his eyes and turned her head to look down the row of
candidates. Will flicked his gaze forward, keeping his expression bland. If he
got out of this alive, which seemed unlikely given Grand Vizier Chiltn’s
promise to suggest him to the Emperor, he hoped he could thank Alahna Bloour in
person. Maybe have a conversation where he was fully conscious. Wouldn’t that
be a treat?
“Consorts!” Jack marched into view and Will felt his back automatically
straighten. “When the Emperor comes to see you, you will keep your eyes planted
firmly on the ground, understood? Nod!”
They nodded.
“You will speak only when spoken to,” he paced, up and down their row, boots
ringing on the marble tiles. “Understood? Nod!”
They nodded.
“And anything you say must be truthful, succinct and above all, with the utmost
respect. Understood?”
They nodded before he’d even barked the command.
Suddenly his footsteps were retreating and the sounds of many men in wooden
sandals echoed. Will saw their shadows on the ground, felt the whisper of their
robes pass by him. They seemed to be parading by each consort. He sensed a good
half dozen, maybe more. The back of his bared neck itched. He longed to scratch
it but settled for squeezing his toes together and trying not to peek.
“We will start to the left, if you will, Your Highness,” came the oily voice of
Chiltn. Will felt them move to his right, and knew they were standing in front
of Alahna. “This is Alhena Bolour, her father is Viceroy Amal of the Achemid
region. She is twenty-three years of age, unflowered, sixteen cabdas tall and
weighs approximately 200 awqiyyahs. She is proficient in three other languages
besides Sassanean and takes an interest in healing.”
Will waited for the questioning but apparently, whatever the Emperor saw either
pleased him so much or so little that he simply moved on. Next thing he knew,
the Grand Vizier was introducing another woman, “Bifawya Katz, born in the
Belagines quarter of the capital. She is twenty years of age, unflowered,
seventeen cabdas tall and weighs approximately 220 awqiyyahs. She plays the
violin.”
Again, he waited for the questions, but again, the Emperor was without comment
and they moved swiftly onwards.
“This is Yakub Brisiqir, of the Sabkha Family Brisiqir. He is twenty years of
age, eighteen cabdas tall and weighs approximately 340 awqiyyahs. He is trained
in the art of apothecary and was a large contributor to the aesthetic design of
the Imperial Aqueduct. He is proficient in mathematics.”
The Emperor seemed to mutter something under his breath but without any further
conversation, they moved on.
“This is Briin Zellr of the Flojera quarter of the capital. He is from a
wealthy merchant family dealing in precious jewels and can speak both Pāli and
Celtiberian. He is nineteen years of age, eighteen cabdas tall and weighs
approximately 320 awqiyyahs. His is an avid open sea swimmer.”
Finally they were standing before Will, whose neck was aching with tension, the
strain of hanging his head aggravating his injuries. His feet had gone numb and
his fingers stiff with trying not to clench them. The inside of his mouth was
so dry he could have sprung a desert from it. A throng of Viziers brought with
them the cloying scent of rose flower oil, spicy amber and heady teakwood. Less
confused than that mix of smells and temptations at the monthly bazaar, more
subtle and teasing. A deep throbbing inside his skull settled into the rhythm
of his rapid heartbeat.
“This is Wlym. He is a trader, twenty-four years of age, eighteen cabdas tall
and weighs approximately 280 awqiyyahs,” Will heard the hesitation in the Grand
Vizier’s voice as he attempted to think of something else to fill his sparse
description. It wasn’t exactly a stunning testimony to say he came from the
slums and ‘trader’ was incredibly generous as it was.
“He is a very well built young man,” Chiltn finished, sounding sheepish even to
Will’s ringing ears.
There was silence and he thought the Emperor must be making a face, probably
ready to turn away at any minute and pick another consort.
“What is your family name?”
He was so shocked at the sound of the voice that Will made the mistake of
looking up, just to be sure. As soon as he did so, he was arrested by the sight
of the Emperor, closer than he’d seemed. A square face, strong jaw line,
younger than he’d expected but more weathered too. He was clothed in simple
blue cloth, dyed a vibrant shade but lacking any of the ornamentation of
Chiltn’s. It fell elegantly down his shoulders, making him seem a great deal
taller than he was, all straight lines and trim figure. Jack cleared his throat
and Will abruptly shut his hanging jaw. He blinked. And blinked again, in case.
The crowd of men, looking down their noses at him (and for one rather stout
fellow, up his nose), waited expectantly.
“...What?”
“The Emperor asked you a question,” Chiltn said imperiously, and he could
practically hear the man biting down on his tongue to stop himself from
addressing Will as ‘pup’.
“...What was the question again?”
It might have been his imagination but he thought he could see a flicker of
emotion cross the Emperor’s stoic facade. Surprise, maybe. Or a deep amusement.
“His Highness asked what your family name was.”
Will stared, looked to Jack for support and eventually clarified, “I don’t have
one.”
Chiltn squirmed. The Emperor looked around at his advisors and said in a voice
that was at once soft and dangerous, “You have sent me a peasant.”
It wasn’t a question.
The Viziers were struck dumb and began throwing surreptitious looks at the
guilty Vizier Qal-Fawjd. When the Emperor levelled Jack a look, he only bowed
his head and said, “I thought he would please you. If my reasoning was flawed,
I can only beg His Highness’ forgiveness.”
Somehow to Will, who looked back and forth between the two men, Jack sounded
less apologetic than he did stubborn. When the Emperor caught him staring, he
quickly looked away, focusing instead of his own knees.
“You are from the city?”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause, so long that Will looked up again, flushing at steely
expression on the Emperor’s face and added a hasty, “Your Highness.”
After another second trapped under that gaze, the Emperor and his cohort moved
away, disappearing into one of the room branching out from the courtyard. Will
started to breathe again. He felt hot all over, and deeply ashamed. He’d never
given any thought to being ashamed of what he’d been born into. What was the
point, really, when there was nothing he could do about it. Ambition was a
completely ridiculous idea. Why have dreams or aspirations when you knew you
would just fail?
Well, he thought moodily, at least there was no chance the Emperor would choose
him. It was a blow to his pride, but good news if he wanted to continue to
live. Yes, he did. Very much so. And he certainly hadn’t been looking forward
to bedding the Emperor. Had he? Of course not. He didn’t really give it any
thought, sex. He certainly hadn’t thought of the Emperor, stripped, lying back
upon cushions of royal purple and luscious pinks and watching the consorts
perform. He hadn’t thought about whether the Emperor took them face down,
rutting into them from behind, a faceless cavity of heat and tightness. Or
whether he preferred for them to go down on him, looking up with lust filled
eyes. Whether he wanted them begging. Or whether he took them rough, before
they were prepared. Whether he found pleasure in knowing he would kill them so
soon after he’d touched them, tainted them. Whether he liked to beat the flesh,
maybe he liked to bite, maybe he got hard at the thought of blood and sweat and
limbs.
Will cleared his throat, blinking a layer of film from where his vision had
clouded over. He knew he was red all down his neck and chest, and that the
shift hid next to nothing. What he didn’t know was why he was even thinking
these thoughts. It wasn’t healthy. For his body or his mind.
“His Highness has come to a decision,” Chiltn’s voice drifted into Will’s
consciousness and he instinctively lifted his head before realising the other
candidates still had theirs bowed. Before he could lower his gaze, he realised
the Emperor was looking straight at him. At their distance he couldn’t be sure
whether it was his own projection, but Will could swear he sensed a kind of
fevered heat in the man’s stare.
Oh. He was beyond conflicted. He didn’t want to be chosen. Definitely not. But
there was something intrinsically alluringly about being wanted. And he felt
wanted. Felt desired. By the Emperor no less. No, he was definitely
projecting...definitely. Absolutely.
Then the Emperor bit his bottom lip and Will forgot how to breathe. Definitely
desire.
“The new Imperial Consort will be,” Chiltn paused for dramatic effort.
Will was far too busy trying not to drown in the expression in the Emperor’s
eyes.
“Alhena Bolour.”
What?
He looked at Alahna, who’d flushed and stepped forward, taking the Grand
Viziers hand. The Viziers formed a line, Chiltn and Alahna at the front. They
walked straight by Will. He could practically fill her fear vibrating off her
in waves. The skin around her nose had gone blotchy. She was trying hard not to
cry. Then she was gone and Jack clapped a hand on his shoulder as he passed,
looking solemn and extremely disappointed. It had all happened so quickly.
It wasn’t until the Emperor was right in front of him that he thought to look
up. The other consorts, expressions of relief shining on their features,
stared.
“You seem unhappy, why is that?”
Will tried not to gape at being addressed directly, again. “She’s frightened
out of her wits...um, Your Highness.”
“Because I will kill her,” the Emperor noted in the same way he might have
commented on the heat of the day.
The nonchalance angered Will and suddenly he set his shoulders and balled his
hands into fists. Alahna was a kind, generous woman, who deserved more than
this heartless creature. Emperor or no, it simply wasn’t right to speak of
human life like it was worthless. If there was one thing he’d learnt growing up
in a world that was less than fair, it was just how valuable and fleeting life
was.
“I’m unhappy because she deserved better.”
The Emperor arched an eyebrow. Will was distantly aware that everyone was
watching him with bated breath. “Better than the Emperor?”
“Better than a madman.”
“You think I’m mad?”
“You enjoy killing.”
The Emperor seemed to contemplate this, “I would certainly enjoy killing you.”
Will could feel his heartbeat jumping in his neck. He lifted his chin. “Then do
it.”
Then, instead of ordering his beheading, the Emperor, inexplicably, broke into
a wide smile. He continued on his walk, saying to the courtyard in general, “A
fishmonger from the slums. Who would have thought. I think I would like to
marry him too. That is allowed, yes? If not, change the rules. One consort has
always bored me, perhaps, this ‘Wlym’ will make things much more interesting.”
And before he could run, two Viziers took him by the arms, and began to lead
him forward. It wasn’t until he was standing in the middle of a grand hall,
facing the priests once more, that Will realised the scene in the courtyard may
have been a test. Of what, he wasn’t sure. His rashness? His rudeness? His
courage, perhaps?
Now he was a consort.
What was especially unnerving, was that he had no idea whether he’d failed, or
passed.
***** To Bed and Glory *****
Chapter Summary
     “Their crying is particularly melodic,” said the Emperor.
     Ambassador Lounds swallowed, “and do your lambs generally cry?”
     “If encouraged."
24 hours ago
“My Majesty.”
“Frejeriqih,” the Emperor said without shifting his gaze from three dancing
concubines.
The Grand Vizier dropped his voice further, until it was barely audible over
the lutes and harps and castanets. “I have a rather sensitive matter to discuss
with Your Highness, if you could just –“
“Do not command me.”
“Uh...apologies, Your Highness, but –“
“Leave.”
“But –“
The Emperor looked at him. Just looked, nothing more. The Vizier paled, tipped
his head and shuffled backwards hastily, his entire body concaved forward. The
three women, wrapped in transparent cloths of turquoise, fuchsia and gold,
flaunted their wares. Hanniba‘al-Abégendlic of Family Lekktr ran the pad of his
thumb over a satin handkerchief in his hand. There was delicate stitching in
gold thread upon the square cloth. In one corner were stag antlers, the Lekktr
insignia. If he threw it at the feet of a particular dancer, it would be a sign
she had been favoured, and that night, she would arrive in his chambers dressed
to be undressed.
An auburn-haired slave, objectively conforming to societal standards of buxom
beauty, sidled up to him. She angled at the hips, back remaining straight and
eyes downcast. An ornate silver tray held a single crystal glass of watermelon
juice, garnished with mint.
“I am not thirsty.”
Even without looking at her, he could feel her hesitation, could almost hear
her gulping.
“I-I’m sorry, i-it’s a gift from...from the...Ambassador of Celtiberia, Your
Highness.”
“I do not enjoy juice.”
The slave lingered a few moments, weigh shifting from foot to foot, then
retreated to the relative safety of the shadows. Back on the floor, the fuchsia
dancer was doing something truly ridiculous with her hips. The Emperor squeezed
the handkerchief, glancing at the other two in complete boredom. The third
flutist had no sense of rhythm. Who organised tonight’s festivities? He would
punish them for their sloppiness. Rather than endure the gyrating in front of
him, he glanced around the hall, amusing himself with observing the mindless
masses.
The Viceroy of Agrabah, bandaged from head to toe in white marocain, was
lusting heavily after the dancer in turquoise. His wife was lusting after her
too.
The lutist second from the left would be violently sick in less than twenty
minutes, she was, unbeknownst to anyone including herself, eight weeks
pregnant.
High Vizier Qal-Fawjd was functioning on less than four hours sleep per night,
a consequence of his growing gambling debt and concern for the longevity of the
current Imperial Consort.
Speaking of which, the Emperor honed in on his adoring wife. She, dark eyes
fluttering shamelessly at one of the Celtiberian guards, was leaning against
one of the tiled columns, a cup of yoghurt doogh in her bejewelled fingers. He
could see the oval-cut ruby on her fourth finger, the modest pearl on her
third; gifts from High Vizier Shihltn and the palace cook respectively.
There was a sudden change in the tempo of the music. It slowed. Brass bells
hanging off a knotted rope and a shabbabeh reed pipe joined the melody. Miss
Fuchsia swanned towards him, her eyes lined with kohl and cheeks rouged.
Looking up at him through a thick curtain of lashes, she didn’t even attempt
subtlety when her glance fell very obviously on the handkerchief.
He rolled his eyes and waved at her.
Immediately, two men with scimitars at their hips stepped forward. A hush
settled over the scene. The other two dancers and the musicians stopped with a
discordant clang. The Emperor winced.
“The flutist too,” he said, not much louder than usual.
“What, I –“
He levelled a silencing look. The man instantly went as limp as a doll.
“My Majesty, is this wise?” the Grand Vizier stepped forward again.
The Emperor stood. Instantly, the entire congregation bowed. It was like
watching a sea of very colourful dolls knocked over by a child’s boot.
Slowly, each movement a shimmer of olive silk, he stepped off the dais, onto
the dance space, until he was staring down at the petrified dancer. She dropped
to her knees when he drew even, hands reaching for the bottom of his robes.
“No.”
The hands drew back. Her head was practically pressed to the floor.
That was when he grinned.
The handkerchief fell from his fingers to land at his feet. She gasped audibly
and was about to blubber something sentimentally relieved but he cut her short,
clicking fingers at the two swords and pointing at the sentenced musician.
As they dragged him away, his sobs falling into a gasping synchronicity his
playing did not, the Emperor looked back down at the dancer. Her bare back
glistened under a layer of jasmine oil.
“Tonight.”
She nodded, nose still brushing the floor.
In the back corner, someone slipped out of the hall. In the otherwise silent
room, the click of the wooden panel sliding shut was as obvious as if his wife
had simply announced her exit to the audience. Over near the marble reliefs, a
woman who’d taken a bite of pomegranate just before he’d stood, was letting the
juice run through her fingers and drip onto the floor. He strode over, until
her tightly wound red curls were all he could see.
“Ambassador.”
Slowly, she raised her head. A set of very fine cheekbones and even sharper
blue eyes met his. Lifting the squeezed fruit to her mouth, she took another
large bite. Liquid rolled down the valleys of her knuckles and followed the
corner of her lips. He could hear her chew.
“Hanniba’al Lekktr.”
He narrowed his eyes infinitesimally.
She grinned, lips still glistening, “I’m not one for ceremony.”
“Maybe you should have informed my palace before we threw you such a generous
welcome.”
A ringing laugh, “well, where’s the fun in that?”
The Emperor quirked an eyebrow.
Blue eyes glanced around, “don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy showing off?”
“I am certain my court did.”
“Not you?”
“We share that habit for simplicity in common, Miss Lounds.”
“Must be a difficult habit to maintain, being king and all.”
“Kings are not synonymous with emperors,” he said after a sustained stare. “And
I am not synonymous with anyone.”
She grimaced, “are you saying you’re completely unique? That’s quite a
statement, Mr Lekktr.”
“You have no idea,” the Emperor smiled. After a second, so did the Ambassador.
                                       *
Later that evening, the Ambassador retired to the lavish guest chambers in the
Eastern Wing. She slept soundly, woke in the morning and found herself
pleasingly alive and unmutilated in any way shape and form. The Emperor met her
in one of the vast arrays of ceremonial halls. But there was a heaviness in the
air she couldn’t quite place and so she stepped up to him, skipped the bowing,
and piped, “what happened last night, after you locked me up in the farthest
part of your castle?”
“Your quarters displeased you?”
“There’s something going on. What is it?”
“My people may be less communicative this morning, they have a feast to
prepare.”
“A feast? And why would that turn your servants into skittish horses, sir?”
“Exhaustion takes its toll,” the Emperor said smoothly, “a particularly
sizeable pig was slaughtered yesterday evening. The court spent the entire
night salting and tenderizing the meat.”
The Ambassador stared, she could smell oud on the Emperor, a particularly
pungent incense to mask odours. There was a light red mark just inside the
collar of the burgundy robe, as if a fingernail had been scraped across it.
“Feasts in this palace often contain up to 1000 dishes,” the man continued
seamlessly, as if he didn’t notice the woman collecting data and growing
progressively paler, “meat must be fresh or else the palate suffers for it.”
“Of course,” she mumbled, unable to look away from the dangerous smile upon his
face.
“You should excuse a slight lethargy this morning, Miss Lounds, I do demand
perfection in such things. Imperfection is, as you expect, treated accordingly.
I believe they are treating several young lambs in the kitchens, one who
thought himself of a musical disposition.”
“Can lambs be musical?” The horror stole upon her like a shadow.
“Their crying is particularly melodic.”
Ambassador Lounds swallowed, “and do your lambs generally cry?”
“If encouraged.” The Emperor wore an expression of supreme serenity. “The lamb
Khoresht-e-mast is a particular local specialty, tonight you must try it. Now,
if you would excuse me.”
The Ambassador stood in the hall, cold. Dawn stole through the bowed arches,
the scalloping on the plaster bending the rays and patterning the ground with a
display similar to that of a forest floor; light filtering through leaves.
Around her, walls of purple and cream rose upwards towards an elliptical
ceiling covered in brushstrokes of Sassanean script in gold ink, the words
winding around each other until it seemed like a moving, slithering thing with
a personality of its own.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she agreed, wooden.
“Are you alright?” High Vizier Qal-Fawjd asked in concern.
Miss Freddie Lounds swivelled until she faced the unknown Vizier, “I would like
an audience with the Queen.”
“The Imperial Consort?” his brow furrowed, “you haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?” she challenged.
The Vizier pursed his lips and looked away. Eventually he replied, “what’s your
business here, Ambassador?”
She bit her tongue and thought through several responses. Finally settling on,
“to investigate rumours.”
Qal-Fawjd looked askance at her, “I’ll save you the trouble of investigation by
saying they’re all true.”
“Oh,” Freddie wet parched lips, “I see.”
The Vizier turned to her and frowned, “do you?”
Looking at an abruptly brutal visage, full of anger and terror, she said with
great solemnity, “the Emperor mentioned he enjoys fine cuisine.”
“Mhmm.”
“What’s required?” At the Vizier’s stern, enquiring look, she clarified,
“What’s required for a particularly good dish?”
The room spun as the Vizier replied, “rudeness.”
                                       *
Present
Jack was speaking but the words were like wind. It was far too difficult trying
to understand what other people were feeling and thinking when he could barely
sort out the roiling in his own gut. Will could tell Alahna, who was being
spoken to by another Vizier with a long grey beard, was reliving the moment in
the courtyard over and over. Strangely, he was in an entirely different place.
In the recollection, he might have been six, maybe younger. There was an
injured dog and it was particularly shocking because, until then, his child’s
brain hadn’t been able to register that other living things beside humans also
felt pain. In his memory, Will couldn’t remember what the affliction had
actually been, only the sound of the thing alternating between pitiful whines
and furious snarls.
“Is it diseased?”
“You mean, is the meat safe to eat...?”
It was suddenly so clear, that smell of rotting flesh. The dog was immobile,
lying on his side, flies and maggots already beginning to feast. Young Will had
watched as someone stepped forward and tried to help the dog. He’d watched as
the beast erupted into a series of terrified yaps and warning growls; all
teeth, all drool. After that, no one tried to go near it.
When it died, Zaza, the butcher’s wife, had skinned the body and made gruel.
Will was almost certain that’s what his mother had fed him that evening. He
remembered asking her why the dog hadn’t wanted the help, even when it had
desperately needed it. She’d ruffled his hair and gone to attend his brothers
and sisters, saying that he’d understand when he was older.
“Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
Will blinked slowly.
Jack rolled his eyes and scowled. He grabbed him by the shift and pulled him in
close. Will felt his body move as if tugged by strings. “Listen, kid, if you
want to survive, I suggest you start taking advice and heeding warnings.”
The Vizier waited expectantly for a response. Will blinked deliberately and
said in a lazy voice, “do you think he’ll kill me, or her, first?”
He was sure he’d never been shaken so hard in his life.
“Okay, let me go, crazy,” Will spat out, pushing the Vizier’s hands off his
upper arms.
“Oh, I’m crazy?” Jack hissed, glancing around as if he didn’t know every breath
echoed in the architecture of the hall. “Have you no sense of self
preservation, boy?”
He tried to think of a way to explain the sheer hopelessness that threatened to
drag him down and down, until he hit the ocean floor in a puff of dirt and
sand. How on earth was he supposed to put on a brave face and smile at the
wedding when every word the High Priestess would speak would sound like his
last rites? Thirty-six had gone before him and all thirty-six had come out in
pieces. How could any man be expected to endure in the face of such history? He
might not be a mathematician, or a philosopher, or an engineer, or any learned
folk with a proper education and all that nonsense – but he had common sense by
the fish buckets and he knew a lost cause when he saw one.
“The Emperor hates me,” he finally muttered. “You told me to be interesting and
somehow I thought that meant rude and challenging.”
“Maybe he likes rude?”
Will widened his eyes, “are you actually humouring me High Vizier Qal-Fawjd? Oh
God, I’m doomed.”
“Chin up, kid, all’s not lost,” Jack looked around again, a distinctly guilty
look on his face. “You didn’t hear what was said after he’d viewed all the
Candidates.”
The fishmonger lifted a corner of his mouth, “’Dammit, I liked the last lot
better?’”
“Will you be serious, for once?”
“Why?” he shrugged, “I was being serious at Selection and look where that got
me.”
“Imperial Consort of the Emperor of the Šeherzada Kingdom.”
“Which is really just a fancy way of saying ‘chopping block’.”
Jack looked completely put out but his licked his lips and, with another long
suffering sigh, tried again. “The Emperor doesn’t want meek and mild anymore.
When he conversed with the Viziers, he asked after your injuries. We told him
the circumstances, and how Alhena Bolour had volunteered to treat you. Then he
decided to marry you both. It means something, Will. Don’t be fatalistic! You
two are different, and that’s exactly what the Emperor wants. If you just made
an effort, instead of throwing yourself into the fire before you’ve even met
the dragon, then maybe you could change the world.”
Before Will could say something about melodrama, the Vizier bent his knees, put
them eye to eye and spoke gravely, “You would be saving lives.” Jack squeezed
his shoulders and shook him a little, “I can see an end to this horror.”
There was a creak, and the large wooden door with gold gilding swung open. Six
priests filed in, heads bowed and hands clasped behind their backs. Across the
hall, Alahna shot him a look of incomprehensible dread. The Vizier standing by
her bounced on his toes and appeared to be humming. Jack put a finger under
Will’s chin and refocused his attention.
“Thirty-six deaths and who knows how many more,” he paused and gripped his chin
a little tighter, “and you can stop it.”
They stared at each other (or more accurately, Will stared at the pores on
Jack’s nose). He knew the Vizier expected him to comment, to say something
insightfully profound or give a determined nod of his head and fist his fingers
as if enraptured by his newfound purpose. But all Will could see was the dying
dog and he finally understood. Let me take responsibility for my life I have
failed to protect.
“I can’t.”
“Will!”
“He’s not ready,” he pulled out of Jack’s lax grip and turned to face the
priests.
The Vizier hurried to do the same. “Who’s not ready?” he muttered out the side
of his mouth.
Three priests moved towards Alahna and three towards them. Will inhaled through
his nose and held the breath for as long as he could. Then, summoning a crooked
smile from somewhere, he glanced at Jack and quipped, “Emperor Lekktr. I mean,
he obviously has a commitment problem.”
Jack opened his mouth. But the priests were leading him away. Shrugging one
shoulder, he called back, “I just don’t think relationships are his area!”
An hour later, and scrubbed within an inch of his life, feeling like a scaled
fish, Will stepped, quite naked, into a sparse chamber. Darkness blanketed the
city. Upon the walls were empty torch brackets and there were candles scattered
upon every surface. He’d never been able to afford wax. So to see a good half
dozen all lit up at once seemed such a waste. Will moved around the room,
blowing out all but one. With most of the artificial light extinguished, he
realised there were windows cut into the room, very high up. Through them,
moonlight shone through. The pale light cast a deathly sheen over the scene and
he wrapped a towel tighter around his middle. Damp water soaked into a body
unused to showers let alone baths. It made him shake with unforseen violence.
He felt unbearably clean.
A woman walked into his chamber and, bizarrely, curtsied. She was dressed in a
pale green dress of great splendour. Jewels dripped from her ears and neck. In
silence, she walked across the room, head still bowed, and opened the doors of
what he’d assumed was an empty wardrobe. Returning to a spot in front of him,
she curtsied again and placed the robes in her arms over the back of a chair,
then walked out.
Will tried to make sense of the scene, and failed.
Before he could call her back and, at the very least, thank her, a man appeared
at his door. He was dressed in a simple cream coloured tunic and light jerkin
of some thinly woven fabric. But the plain clothes didn’t make Will feel any
better when he bowed and went to the seat, smoothing out the layers the woman
had laid out. Because silence held its own form of protection, he didn’t say
anything as the man separated the layers. He didn’t even say anything when the
man gestured for Will to remove him towel. It was when the man picked up a loin
cloth-like contraption and made to physically put it on him, that he snapped.
“Stop,” he took a step back and yanked at the towel until it was firmly back
around his waist. “Can I at least know your name?”
The man bowed again, “Gidyun, Your Highness.”
He couldn’t help it. The moniker was just wrong. Hysterical giggles dribbled
from his mouth and soon he was bent over, hoping that in the midst of the
laughter, his stomach would fall out and it would stop trying to burn a hole
through his intestines. Through it all, the man remained expressionless.
Wiping tears away, Will corrected, “Call me Will, really. And, er...what are
you doing?”
“Serving you, Your—“
“Will.”
“Your Highness Will.”
“...Right. Serving me, how?”
“I am your manservant, Your Highness Will. It is my role to dress you for the
wedding, Your Highness Will.”
“Okay, that’s enough. I’m not going to call you ‘Gidyun’ at the end of every
sentence,” Will heard the edge of command in his own voice and inwardly
cringed. With a slightly gentler tone, he asked, “who was the woman?”
“She is Maryam, your handmaiden. A gift from Vizier Qal-Fawjd.”
“She was dressed like a princess.”
Gidyun raised his head enough to give him an odd look.
“What?”
“Begging your pardon, Your Highness Will, but Maryam is a slave of the
Emperor’s household.”
Will tried not to swallow his tongue. “I don’t want a slave.”
The manservant lifted his head entirely and seemed to survey Will a long time.
He was pretty certain this was forbidden behaviour but it made him fill much
less like his arms and legs didn’t belong with his body. Gidyun frowned, the
tone of his voice rising from its silky obedience into something with just a
little more bite to it.
“There are only slaves here.”
“Are you a slave?”
“Yes.”
“Do you resent it?” Will narrowed his eyes.
Gidyun seemed to be deep in thought. “Apparently, not ask much as Your Highness
Will resents his new enslavement.”
Then the man bowed deeply, though it seemed more mocking than respectful.
Instead of feeling insulted, because a few hours inside the palace hadn’t
managed to give him that much of a sense of self entitlement yet, Will grinned.
It was as if a ceremonial veil had shifted slightly in the breeze and he’d
gotten a glimpse at the saccharine sweet smile beneath. There was something
inherently alluring and incredibly toxic about that taste of danger. He
supposed the court of a serial widower couldn’t be quite as tame as it had
seemed.
“I’ll dress myself,” Will said, fumbling with the pieces of his outfit. “You
can go.”
Gidyun straightened his spine, looked him square in the eyes, a blatant
challenge, and then simpered, “very good, Your Highness Will.”
                                       *
“What’s this?” Will asked, spooning a sort of stew into his mouth.
Alahna took a bite of a sweet covered in nuts. “That’s Khoresht-e-mast, it’s a
pudding with, see here,” she pointed to flecks of yellow and orange, “saffron
and boiled orange peel to bring out the sweetness, and lots of yoghurt.”
“It’s strange,” he rolled a mouthful of savoury meat bathed in sugar.
“It’s popular at weddings,” she gestured at his cup, “that’s doogh, it’s
yoghurt too.”
Will threw her a look, “yeah, I do live in this kingdom, you know.”
She laughed, painted lips opening in a flash of glee, “sorry, fishmonger. You
were just so surprised at seeing zereshk that I couldn’t be sure.”
“It was surprising!”
“It was rice!”
They laughed. Will reached for what seemed like a block of stone.
“That’s halvā, made with a tahini paste.”
Man-handling a knife and wondering how he was supposed to eat the thing, he
used the tip of the utensil to point of the many green flakes that seemed
embedded in the ‘halva’, whatever that was.
“Pistachios.”
“Right.”
“Oh, Will, you’re too cute.”
“Just what every man wants to hear.”
They looked at each other, the sounds of the feast falling away. He couldn’t
remember the last time he’d really been with a woman and thought that there
might be something extra there. Alahna broke the gaze first, a slight blush
adorning her cheeks. She went back to eating the toffee, one hand resting on
the table in a closed fist. Will spent the rest of the celebration in silence,
picking at his food. There were only so many moments he could steal with Alahna
before people began to talk. Not that they weren’t already the centre of
attention.
He wasn’t certain how much time passed, or how much he’d eaten. Most of the
food seemed to pass straight through him, and he’d began to suspect that he
would remain perpetually empty – a painted tortoise whose flesh had long turned
to ash. One of the dancers paraded past. Her chest was nearly armoured with the
amount of crystals on it. Her bare stomach pulsed in time with the music. Bare
feet and belled ankles twisted, padding across a stone floor as if the cold
didn’t sting. A waiter offered him yet another cup of doogh.
Will wondered what would happen that night.
“My lords and ladies, good Viziers of the High Council,” came a voice from
behind them, probably at the shoulder of the Emperor, whose dais they sat
beneath. “We’ve come to that part of the night when we must bid our Honourable
Emperor and his wives goodnight!”
There was an almighty jeer from the crowd. Will saw a multitude of bared teeth.
His heart whimpered. Alahna took his hand beneath their table. She was
squeezing him so hard it hurt.
The man began to say something but suddenly he paused. They craned their necks
backwards. The Emperor sat on a cushion of bright red velvet, the low table
before him spread with an assortment of artfully arranged dishes. In robes of
jet black and jewels of diamond and pearl, he looked much like the great Night
itself. Will shivered violently.
The speaker, a very large man with a sweaty brow, straightened after hearing
the Emperor’s whisper and addressed the room with spread arms of billowing
forest green sleeves. “All rise for Emperor Lekktr, Shahryar and King of Kings,
and one of his wives, Her Highness, Imperial Consort Alhena Bolour!”
Alahna gasped, her face falling as she attempted to pull Will’s arm off. They
shared one look of equal parts confusion and dismay before Grand Vizier Chiltn
had offered a hand that demanded taking and she was standing up in a flurry of
pale pink fabric.
“To bed and glory!” The speaker drew his sword.
“To bed and glory!” the hall echoed, so loud Will could feel his world shake.
He watched Alahna take her place slightly behind the Emperor’s seat. Then the
man himself rose to his feet a moment later and instead of bowing, the crowd
drew their swords in a salute of steel.
“The Imperial vow!” The speaker gestured at the new couple.
The Emperor turned to face Alahna, his back to the audience. Will watched as he
took her hand and placed a gentle kiss on those knuckles. He could see her
shaking from several paces away. Then the Emperor leaned in and she flinched.
But instead of anything untoward, he seemed to be whispering something to her.
When he drew back, the audience roared in unison, “it is done!”
In bemusement, he watched as the Emperor descended the steps from the dais down
to the second raised level, where he and Alahna had dined. His wife nearly ran
into his back when he suddenly stopped. Will felt, rather than heard, the
spectators take a breath in unison and hold it.
Will hastily got to his feet, heartbeat pouring out of his ears. All at once he
was looking into the Emperor’s face. He gaped when the man took his left hand
and lifted it to his mouth, noting in a very distracted sort of way that this
was the first time they had touched. The fingers were warm, Will had expected
ice. They were long too, longer than his, and firmer than it had seemed when
he’d gently picked up Alahna’s delicate wrist. Will dreaded the kiss.
But the Emperor did not kiss him.
Will watched, as if back in his opium haze, the lips hovering just about his
skin. He could feel the slight dampness of hot breath and struggled not to do
something rash, like pull back and rub his hand violently on his thigh. The
Emperor was staring, contemplating the fingers. Then those eyes flickered up.
Will felt them latch onto his, felt his own widen. Felt that heat he’d thought
he’d imagined in the courtyard.
Two breaths. Five heartbeats.
Then the Emperor finally, finally, closed the gap.
And bit him.
A press of moistness, and then the cool touch of teeth – before they clamped
over one knuckle, tightening. Those eyes never even blinked.
Before Will could do so much as gasp, the Emperor straightened and bent
forward. For one wild moment, he thought he was about to be devoured but
instead, he felt breath at his ear, “بعد عن الشر و غنيله.”
A gentle caress of lips over the curve of his ear. Will shuddered.
The next thing he knew, the hall was ringing with the cries of, “it is done!”
and the Emperor and Alahna were walking away. He glanced back at Jack,
wondering if he was supposed to follow after all, but the Vizier moved his head
a fraction to the left and a feather to the right. No.
He watched husband and wife walk down the middle aisle, through the forest of
swords, with an indescribable ache inside. He felt, foolishly, like he had been
abandoned.
When the far doors shut with a resounding bang, the swords were sheathed and
the hall erupted into raucous cheering. It was like a completely different
place. They seemed elated the Emperor was gone.
“More food, no supervision,” the speaker said, dropping onto the silver cushion
Alahna had recently vacated. He bent forward and embraced a very flustered
Will. “Hi, my name’s Farānqhl’ayn. You’re a very lucky man.”
“Am I.”
“Mm,” he popped a piece of chicken kebab from Alahna’s table into his mouth and
spoke around it, “de Em-pror’s da bes’,” he swallowed, “sorry, I’ve been
standing back there all night. Starving,” he spooned some rice and followed it
with a palm full of sour cherries, “Em-pror –‘oves fooh,” he wiped his mouth,
“I love food too.”
Will smirked and accepted another cup of doogh, “I can see that.”
The speaker glanced over at him and the cheek that wasn’t bulging grinned. “An’
he ‘oves music. An’ arch,” swallowing, he corrected, “I mean, art. He’s great.”
The man thought for a bit, taking a break from eating to lean across and take
Will’s half-finished doogh, “Don’t know why he didn’t take you both.”
This piqued Will’s interest.
“Oh yes, he’s married two before.”
At the encouraging gestures, the man continued lazily, “He took them both to
his chambers the first night. So much scandal, you wouldn’t believe it. I
wonder what goes on in Emperor Lekktr’s room...” he trailed off dreamily,
seeming to have gone into a fantasy that Will definitely did not want to follow
him into.
“So, um, what was all that,” Will waved at the dais above, “about?”
“To bed and glory? It’s custom. Haven’t you ever been to a Sassanean wedding?”
“No...no, I meant, the vows and stuff.”
The speaker seemed rather surprised. He actually stopped shifting about,
sitting back and narrowing his eyes slightly. “Well, the Emperor promises his
new consort something, with the guests as witnesses. And throughout the
duration of the marriage, he’s isn’t allowed to break that promise.”
“But if it’s whispered,” Will said after some thought, “how does anyone know if
he breaks it or not?”
The man just shrugged. “Emperor Lekktr’s a good guy,” he went back to feasting,
ripping off a piece of lettuce and dipping it in rose water syrup, “he keeps
‘is prom-ses.”
At that, Will got to his feet, eager to get away from this fanatical supporter.
He didn’t know how the Emperor could murder wife after perfectly acceptable
wife only to keep this creature on hand.
“Sorry, Fa...Franq...sorry, sir, but I should...” he awkwardly side-stepped the
man’s significant bulk.
As soon as he was free of the company, Jack appeared at his elbow, swift and
silent as a cat. Though that wasn’t too much of an achievement given the state
of the hall. Nothing short of a fire could disturb them. They all seemed to
have forgotten one Imperial Consort was still present. Not that Will minded. It
was good he no longer felt like the freak show in the cage.
“What did the Emperor say?”
“Well, you certainly get straight to it, don’t you?”
Jack gave him a stern frown, “don’t be coy, Will. It doesn’t suit.”
“Why does it matter?”
“It matters,” Jack grabbed his shoulder and started manoeuvring him towards one
of the niches in the wall, “because it tells us what he thinks of you.”
Will gave a weak laugh, “you couldn’t tell from his little display?”
“What little display?”
The fishmonger stared. “You...you didn’t see?”
The Vizier glanced around, then hissed, “what little display?”
But it had seemed so obvious. At the time...it had seemed...Will flushed.
“Nothing.”
“No, it’s not nothing,” Jack urged, “what happened, Will?”
He suddenly felt suffocated. The smell of meats and sauces and desserts clogged
his nose and congealed at the back of his throat. His head pounded. “I’m going
to be sick.”
“Don’t be stupid – “
But Will shoved past him and stumbled into the main hall, feeling his way to a
door, and fell through it, letting it bang closed behind him. He put hands on
knees and heaved. Had he imagined the teeth? What if he had? What did that say
about him? And why, oh why, hadn’t he chosen to spend the night to with Will?
What was he doing to Alahna? Was he going to kill them both? Was he going to
kill one first and make the other watch? What if he’d taken them both tonight?
Would he have fucked them together? Made them fuck each other while he’d
watched?
Breathe.
He pressed his eyes shut and ate mouthfuls of cool air. It was better out in
the hallway. Instead of returning to that spectacle, Will walked forward. The
place was lit periodically by large braziers placed along the bottom of the
left wall but it was by no means bright. After the glaring lights in the hall,
it was a sanctuary of quiet and darkness. The pounding had begun to recede and
gradually, his pulse returned to only a slightly quickened patter.
Under the dancing flames, the palace took on a surreal quality. Combined with
golden highlights upon the blue coloured walls and ceilings which absorbed and
reflected and distorted the light, Will felt like he was underwater. It was
like ducking just beneath the surface on a bright day when the sea was still
and you could see straight to the bottom. That same play of shadow, it made him
feel remarkably at home, and yet sick to the core all at once. He wondered if
he’d ever get to see the open water again. Whether he’d be able to smell the
salt air, its breezes, the power in the waves, breaking upon the shore. Would
he ever feel shoal and shell beneath his feet? Sand in his toes, or scratching
at his calves in airborne little twisters whipped up by the winds?
He’d hate to be buried here, in the city. He’d like to be laid to rest
somewhere free, where nature ruled without contest. Will walked and walked,
ignoring the many doors that branched off the hallway, instead following it to
the end – if there was an end. It was rather like being in a dream, and
retracing your own steps over and over, only realising you had been passing
that same patch of wall after you’d woken up. Perhaps it really was a dream,
and he would wake up with the smell of piss and dog. He’d share a piece of
stale bread with Abigail. He’d tell himself he’d patch up the hole in his roof
that day and never end up doing it. He’d go down the Eastern Road with his
little cart, then lug it back to the city to sell for a handful of silver
siglois and maybe one or two gold darics if he’d had a very good morning.
Will brushed a hand across the wall, felt the fine art, and thought that just
this part of the hallway could feed his whole neighbourhood for a year. He
could steal that brazier right there and it would keep everyone at home warm
all through the winter months. The family of seven who shared his mud hut would
probably invite everyone in the area. They’d all crowd into the one room,
snuggle down with the dogs, go to sleep in piles of rugs and mats and half-
empty bellies.
He shook the idea from his head. It was time to acknowledge he would never be
seeing any of them again. Not if the Emperor planned to uphold his vow. بعد عن
الشر و غنيله. Or more accurately, expected Will to uphold it. Because it really
wasn’t a promise that the Emperor needed to keep – it was more something that
Will need to agree to, or submit to, or resign himself to. It was advice. A
tease. A lure. All the Emperor had to do was wait for Will to bite and then
reel him in. He vaguely wondered how much he would go for in the slave markets.
Eighteen cabdas, 280 awqiyyahs, good hands, knows what doogh is. Going once for
10 darics? 10 darics? Maybe 8? 8 darics? 5?
Five darics and a collar. Was it much different to being consort? Imperial
Consort and a death sentence. It was one and the same.
He had a vivid recollection of the manservant Gidyun. It was obvious Gidyun was
freeborn. And going by his attitude, probably recently too. And now he was
trapped under Chiltn, forced to tip his head to other men as if they were
superior simply because they’d been born into it. Will could relate.
“Oh, hello.”
It took him a moment to focus his eyes. At first, he thought the woman before
him was simply a spectre from the fire. Her blazing red hair was in a halo
about her head and she had on a dress of blood, cut in a skin-tight design he
had never seen on any Sassanean woman. She had skin pale enough that it looked
ready to bruise spontaneously and her eyes were big and blue as marbles.
“Hello?” she repeated in a thick accent, tilting her head like a bird of prey
interrupted from its preening by the appearance of a particularly delicious
meal.
“Er...Hi.”
“Are you here for the wedding?” she pressed, voice sweet and high, struggling
over the syllables.
Will made to walk around her but she blocked him with her body, giving no heed
to the fact that he was a good head taller than her. “I guess you could say
that. Could you move, please?”
“Oh,” the woman smiled in realisation, “you must be the famous second consort.
They told me about you.”
Carefully avoiding looking at her, Will inspected the wall art, “they?”
“The High Viziers.” She was definitely grinning; he could see it in his
peripherals. “The whole palace is talking about you. Hmm...and I can see why.”
“I really have to –” he tried to move past her again but somehow the hallway
seemed to have shrunk and once more she was right in front of him, staring
unabashedly into his face and unnerving him to the core.
“There are all sorts of stories about you,” she mused, almost to herself.
“Would you like to hear some?”
Will grit his teeth, “no.”
“They say,” she continued, ignoring him completely, “that the last time he
married two consorts was so he could have one inside him while the other sucked
his cock.”
The image flashed through his mind unbidden and he tried to edge around the
woman, but she stepped gracefully before him and said slowly, “are you looking
forward to sex with the Emperor? They say it’s a feast of a whole new kind, and
that he showers his concubines and consorts with the most beautiful jewels. His
chambers are said to be worth more than half your kingdom’s treasury.”
“A necklace of jewels doesn’t stop a sword no matter how hard it tries.”
She smirked, “yes.”
Pressing her face close to his, apparently inspecting his expression from
different angles, she whispered, “have you ever had sexual relations with a
man? Ever experimented? Have you ever been with a woman? Was it different?
Which did you prefer?”
Suddenly she didn’t seem to be tripping over the language. The accent drifted
away until it was barely a tingle in the background and she rapidly shot
question after question at him.
“You have a perverted interest in this.”
“Not perverted,” she amended with a lilt, “merely curious. The rumours say you
were unspeakably rude to the Emperor when you tried defending Alhena Bolour.
They say,” she dropped her voice to a purr, “that he married you to trap you
here, and discipline you for your imprudence.”
Will stared at blue eyes that flickered in the firelight. Their reflective
quality distracted him and without his realising, she had her lips at his ear
and was murmuring, “they say that after he’s broken you, he’ll ask you to kill
Alhena as the final, ultimate punishment.”
His blood ran cold.
“Or maybe,” warm breath at his cheek, “he’ll just kill her tonight and save you
for all the rest of the nights to come.”
“Why are...are you saying this? Who are you?” he shook his head as if to clear
it but it only returned the pounding.
She stood back, crossed her arms, and laughed, “darling, you’re looking rather
peaky. I’m just recounting what I’ve heard. It’s all in good faith. Playful
conjecture, that sort of thing. Have a sense of humour, Will. It'll do you
good,” she stuck out a hand, “Ambassador Freddie Lounds from Celtiberia. The
pleasure’s all mine.”
He laughed, an airy sound with just a hint of hysteria, “I forgive you.” For
the first time since they’d begun speaking, Freddie Lounds appeared just a mite
wrong-footed. Will nodded solemnly, and explained, “as a foreigner, you’re
barely fluent in our language. Things are lost in translation.”
Her eyebrows lost in her hairline, she chuckled, “I consider myself very
proficient, boy.”
“Do you?” he murmured dangerously soft. The brazier crackled at their feet,
throwing her alien features into sharp relief and his into deep shadow. For one
moment, he was only a thundercloud with two disembodied watery eyes. “Because,
Miss Lounds, in Sassanean, the words for ‘playful’ and ‘treasonous’ are very
similar. And if I’m going to kill Alahna, I’ll need someone to practice on.”
Her lips parted, she searched his face, moving backwards almost unconsciously,
“was that a threat?”
“A statement.”
She exhaled slowly, looking him up and down, “I think you’ll be very happy with
the king. You have that killer instinct.”
Will breathed in, slow, deep, sustained. Then he quietly stepped by her and
continued on his way. He no longer had an appetite for night time strolling,
and only wanted to return to his own chambers. Will reached the end of the
hallway and pushed through a metal door with antlers as handles. A crash of
night air filled his lungs.
“Oh...” he exhaled in a gush, staring out at the scene.
A pathway tiled in slabs of square red-veined white opaque stone sloped gently
downwards, breaking apart in many different directions. Under the moonlight,
they snaked through the round gardens and seemed to glow. Lining both sides of
the pathway, wide enough for three men to walk comfortably side by side, were
palm-sized tea lights. Little circular slices of wax dyed every colour of the
rainbow, their flames dancing in the breeze. Will walked down the main path and
then took a sharp left, finding himself among fruit trees that buzzed with
life. There were wiry ones, low to the ground with their grey, twisting
branches, hanging peaches the colour of sunsets. There were huge trees with
bright orange bark, glimpses of pale green showing where that bark had peeled.
There were those with bone-thin trunks the colour of the night, dark bark
covered in tiny pink five-petal flowers with long white strands sprouting from
the centre, the few leaves a dark red, like a dragon’s tongue. There were trees
carved into domes. Sausage-like berries of a deep violet hue clustered all
along branches full of bumps and boils.
He stepped over a bridge, heard the water streaming beneath it and found
himself in the centre of the gardens, underneath a gigantic magnolia tree in
full flower. Fallen petals lay under his feet, light mauve fading into tips of
purest white. Under starlight and a million candles, beneath the giant blossoms
entwining him with their sultry scent – Will closed his eyes. His elbows rested
against the railing and he put head in hands.
It might have been a long time he’d been standing there, too cold to even
shake, too numb to think. It might have been a second.
But presently, arms came to wrap around him. Hands clasped just below his chin
and pulled him against a plane of flat chest. A head nuzzled at his neck, words
murmured themselves in his ear. Will groaned, from somewhere deep inside, and
let his head fall against one shoulder. Lips immediately attacked the proffered
neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the softness under his jaw, licking at
the hollow between collarbone and shoulder, sucking a bruise beneath his ear
hard enough to make him moan. Will tried to twist around, but the arms clamped
fast and a knee inserted itself between his legs, pressing his hips up against
the bridge.
“Not so fast...”
The Emperor nipped at his earlobe and Will gasped, closed eyes flickering open.
He looked down into the dark stream water, saw two figures reflected there.
Then, achingly slow, the Emperor pressed forward until Will could feel his
bulge drag over his ass, until he could feel every part of them stuck together,
until he was entirely pinned.
Panic and excitement blended into a bubbly, addictive brew. A scream collected
at the base of his throat, as the Emperor extracted moan after moan and he was
bucking into the stone bridge walls and pressing back into that hardness at the
same time. He desperately reminded himself to breathe as hands lifted up the
bottom of his robes, gathering the cloth until it was bunched at his waist.
Will was running so hot he barely felt the cold hit his legs.
Some movement, then he deliciously bare skin against his own, thighs brushing
thighs. It was becoming difficult not to shake.
“I –“
“Shh...” A hand clamped over his mouth. He thrashed.
The muffled cries were lost over the sounds of the water, the wind, cloth
rustling, the Emperor’s heavy pants. Nimble fingers undid the loincloth and
Will sucked on the palm on his mouth. A mockery of a kiss. He tasted salt,
dust, wax, meat, metal, sweat. And a strange, bitter, not entirely unpleasant
flavour that was flesh and entirely, uniquely his husband. Then Will was
lapping at it, desperate to identify every subtlety of that taste and he might
have been whining, and he might have been begging because suddenly the hand
twisted and he was pulling two slender fingers into his mouth and sucking and
licking and grazing hungry teeth over the skin. And the Emperor had latched
onto his neck, threatening to bite own on all the bone and blood there. And his
cock nudged at Will’s hole, burning and huge.
Then he pushed in and Will cried out, letting go of the fingers which instantly
locked around his neck instead, and tightened until it hurt to breathe. He felt
every violent thrust, every vein, heard every obscene slap of flesh on boiling
flesh like an anthem. Then when the Emperor came with the groans of a dying
man, he felt the liquid warmth spurt inside him, then dribble out and down his
thighs. And he was sobbing without realising it, and sliding to the freezing
ground.
There was a stinging at his neck where the man had finally bitten down at the
point of orgasm. His neck felt swollen, and it hurt to swallow. He tasted
blood, the effect of a split lip, accidentally gnawed raw. But nothing compared
to the scorching inside him, and his thighs were wet, his ass damp with their
combined sweat.
The Emperor let his robes drop, effortlessly pristine once more.
“Tomorrow. Same time. Same place.” Then he just walked away. Not even a glance
to spare.
Will let his head fall back and hit the stone bridge rails. Tears leaked from
his eyes and he was unable to stop them no matter how many times he chased them
away with the back of his hand.
And worst of all, far worse than anything else, was that he was painfully,
twitchingly hard. Fluid leaked from the tip and his belly was so tight he felt
he could probably come if the Emperor had simply spared one heated look at him.
Instead, he forced his hand around himself, gasping at the first touch. Rolling
a tongue around his mouth, the last vestiges of the Emperor’s flavour lingered,
and with two twists, he released all over his fingers. Before the aftershocks
had even gone away, Will drew his knees to his chest and curled in on himself,
struggling for breath and muffling his pain into his own sleeve.
                                       *
9vERQMncTXIgage2W8wCmOOYGJXEEuzOMAlFqhYCwkoPflEJIcF+
Jnd0JfgNa1bmpcRueUrWaKjnQqDEXO87RaFliczTOrBSCrUNLHQ=
Fingers smoothed the sheet and began to decrypt the message. It was shoddy
subterfuge but it was would do.
So the rumours are true. If you want the Will boy to live, I suggest you move
up the schedule to kill the tyrant. The Celtiberian army are assembled and at
your command. We will invade as soon as Hanniba’al Lekktr is dead. FL.
A reread, then the parchment was thrown into the fire.
Just in time. The Emperor himself rounded the corner, face just a tad flushed
and hair a little unruly.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” you say, bending deep and long and low.
End Notes
     Super awesome art for the Emperor and Will here
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
