Idalis fell to his knees all too easily. But there was no point in being defiant. He would be punished, and forced to his knees anyway.
The hard, cold stone floor of the dungeons had become such a familiar sensation, and far from the worst, even though his knees ached.
He didn’t even look up as Razolf stepped closer. He told himself it was calculated, that he was doing what he needed to to survive until Cassio could extract him from this hell. He wasn’t too weak or scared to fight.
But in his bones he knew that truth was changing. Everything hurt, and there were times he would do anything for a break.
Razolf grabbed him roughly under the chin, purposely digging into bruises with sadistic glee.
Idalis didn’t give him the satisfaction of crying out. There were much worse pains in his body even now. And he knew he looked miserable enough anyway when he caught sight of Razolf’s grin.
»Look at you! What a good little dog you have become.«
Idalis said nothing; he hadn’t been given permission to speak, so he wasn’t even sure whether the slap breathing another wave of burning pain into his cheek was a punishment, or just a whim.
»I think you’re good and ready to serve at the banquet I’m having tonight.«
The mention of a banquet alone made Idalis’ stomach growl, and Razolf chuckled darkly.
Then he leant in. »You’ll be nice and well-behaved, do what you’re told, and not speak a single word. Every step out of line will get you an hour in the well. Do you understand?«
Idalis swallowed. He was not a coward. He wasn’t. And yet the mere mention of the well sent a shiver down his spine he could barely hide. He tried to cling on to his famed bravery, tried to think of ways to use this to his advantage, to escape.
But the thoughts remained faint and abstract, and burning shame at it joined the pain in his guts where he had been punched over and over earlier.
»Yes.«
The second slap hit him hard enough to snap his head aside; he barely managed to stay up on his knees. This time, he did cry out.
Razolf grabbed him a little lower, dangerously close to his throat. »What, little rat king?«
»Yes, your majesty,« he breathed, the words leaving a clinging sense of disgust in his mouth. And yet, with all disdain, he couldn’t help the fearful leap of his heart at the sudden attack. He could have screamed - with frustration, with despair, with fury.
Razolf smiled. »Very good. Let’s get you ready.«
*
Cassio was not looking forward to the evening in the least. Razolf was going to hold a banquet, at which he, the little trophy Razolf had won off Idalis, would be paraded in front of all the wealthy and noble of the whole kingdom and several from its neighbours.
He had gifted Cassio clothes he wanted him to wear, with a sparkling, quizzical eye and a, »I hope you like them, dear,« to which Cassio could only smile sweetly and thank him profusely.
They were richly made, thickly embroidered, plenty of the best of fabrics - all in the colours and motifs of Razolfs crest. Had he had a gold-threaded »mine« emblazoned onto them, it would not have been less subtle.
Yet he had to obey. Winning Razolf’s trust was the only chance he had to get them both out of here - him and Idalis.
The King - his true king and love - was always on his mind. It had been weeks since he last saw him, when Razolf had had him publicly whipped until he broke down in front of all, and there was no telling when he would see him again. He would not get to wear clothes that befit him, or even kept him warm. While Cassio would feast, he would hunger on prisoner’s rations in the dungeons.
It was enough to make Cassio sick. He dreamt he had the power to just pull the castle stone from stone until he found Idalis, wrap him in his arms and never let him go again. But that was foolish; it wasn’t even what Idalis would want.
He would want revenge, and to show that his strength was unchanged.
Cassio so hoped that was true. Idalis’ cries from that whipping still haunted him every waking moment, and in many of his dreams.
It was maddening that all he could do was don the clothes that said Property of Razolf, and force a smile when after a brief knock, Razolf himself entered.
»You look stunning,« Razolf said, and Cassio endured his leer, leant into his hand on his cheek, permitted the hateful kiss and the hand grabbing his ass.
»You flatter me, your Majesty.«
»Shall we?« Razolf offered him an arm as if he were a feeble boy unsure of his manners, and led him to the banquet hall.
The guests were already assembled, and rose for their king. Cassio was given his left-hand seat, well within reach, he was acutely aware, of his wandering hands.
»Thank you, friends,« Razolf began after gesturing for all to sit, which they did like obedient dogs. »It is a joyous occasion indeed that brings us together here, the defeat of a boy whose mommy didn’t teach him better than getting a little too greedy.«
The assembled guests laughed, and Cassio forced out a snicker. If he is a boy, he thought idly - anything to distract himself from the picture he knew he made next to Razolf - then what am I, at his same age, doing in your bed?
»I have a special treat for you tonight.«
Cassio barely heard the rest of his speech when, upon his words, a servant - no, a slave - entered. There was no reason Cassio should have been able to recognize him as quickly as he did, with his haggard frame and bruised face and meek manner. But his heart cried out as soon as he laid eyes on him.
Idalis - for at second glance Cassio was sure it was him - barely looked up at the assembled company, only stealing a quick glance, yet Cassio felt certain he had seen him. He was wearing nothing but a waistcloth and a cover of bruises and cuts and welts. And, worse, he started to serve the table without hesitation, without the slightest sign of defiance, stony-faced and silent.
It had to be an act. Like Cassio, he must be doing what he needed to do to succeed eventually, even if Cassio didn’t know how. But he could not bear the thought that this was what his love was reduced to, and he needed to keep it together, keep his own act up. Already he could feel Razolf’s hand on his thigh as he leant in too close.
»What a sight, isn’t it?«
A nod was all Cassio managed, certain he would choke on any words he attempted, and then maybe lose his countenace and choke Razolf too.
