673 words | Prince Loz learns to love (sequel to Shall we?)
Content | Political marriage, bruises, non-explicit dub-con, implied past non-con
Notes | Messy :(
Taglist | @painwithoutplot
For a long few moments, they sat silently. Loz wondered whether Tulya would attempt to surprise him, trying to lull him into a sense of safety.
But that was nonsense. Safety had nothing to do with it. It was their wedding night.
He pushed himself into pulling his shirt off, then his trousers, then, without looking at Tulya, lay face-down on the bed.
A rustle told him Tulya was getting undressed, too. Loz tensed up despite himself, preparing himself for his husband’s weight settling on him.
Instead, only a hand lightly touched his forearm. Under other circumstances, that would have been bad enough, but now, an undignified sense of relief washed through him.
»What happened here?«
Tulya sounded worried; Loz, on the other hand, had to actually raise his head to look and see what he was talking about.
Just above Tulya’s unwelcome fingertips, bruises encircled his wrist.
Right. There weren’t many marks on his body he wouldn’t rather talk about.
»They’re just bruises.«
»Those don’t look like they’re from fighting.«
Loz wanted to lie, tell him that they were, that Tulya was stupid for assuming otherwise. Even just thinking about it, he felt hot shame curl in his stomach. If he’d been stronger-
Tulya was looking at him, the awful worry that had been in his voice now clear in his eyes. Why would he even worry about a total stranger? He was not sworn to protect Loz, and anyway, this had happened before they met.
»It’s nothing.«
»Alright.« And then, after a moment’s pause, Tulya added quietly, »You’re tense.«
I don’t want this.
»You can go on top, if that makes you more comfortable.«
Loz couldn’t have heard right. He didn’t want that, either, but it would be better, but — no, it was all nonsense. »You’re the king.«
»And?« Loz had to turn his head again to see Tulya genuinely confused.
He couldn’t be serious. Was this a trap?
»It’s fine,« Loz spat. »Just do it.«
A too-long pause, with Tulya’s hand still resting on his arm, then, »Alright.« This time, it sounded cheerier, almost as if Tulya was finally willing to listen to him.
He was… gentle, Loz supposed was the word. He went slow. Loz was torn between the desire for it to be finally over, and the knowledge — deep and visceral — of how it would feel if he went rough.
He clenched his teeth from humiliation more than pain. He hadn’t wanted this.
Finally, Tulya moved off of him, panting.
For a long moment, they both just lay there silently. Loz turned over, stared at the bed’s canopy. Gaudy like everything. He had Tulya’s sweat on him. He tried not to think about what he had in him.
Tulya propped himself up and Loz could tell he was looking at him, even though he himself did his damndest to avoid just that.
»You didn’t come. Would you like me to… ?«
»No.« Loz sat up. It didn’t hurt, not really. »I suppose I’ll be sleeping nearer the door, given the nature of our… arrangement.«
Tulya took the hint and dropped the other subject. A small smile tugged at his lips. »You’re taking this very seriously.«
»I took an oath!«
»Ah, yes, of course. I didn’t mean to insult your honour. But no one has made it all the way past the palace guards for nearly two hundred years. It is an old tradition. Gods willing, you will never have to protect me.«
»Gods willing,« Loz muttered. He felt hollow. His skill and training was pointless here, was what he was being told. Petulantly, he added, »Where I come from, we don’t leave the lives of our monarchs to the gods’ goodwill.«
»I feel quite safe under your guard,« Tulya replied. Appeasing him like a toddler.
It had been more than enough humiliations for one day. Loz curled up with his back to Tulya, his eyes on the door.
He could hear Tulya settle down behind him. »Good night, my husband,« he softly said, and then he finally shut up.
1,506 words | Prince Loz learns to love (sequel to Wedding night)
Content | Political marriage, slavery, past non-con, familial abuse, humiliation, mention of dehumanisation
Notes | Good news! Slaves in Solgania are so dehumanised it loops back around into protecting them from sexual exploitation.
Bad news! Everything else really.
Also wanted to sneak in a little more Beau and remembered I could just do that!
Taglist | @painwithoutplot
Beau woke from the sun tickling his nose. He’d positioned himself poorly on the couch. Couch?
Right. The wedding. It was done.
He sat up, ever graceful. Despite the light’s rude intrusion, it couldn’t be much earlier than usual. Tulya would still be asleep. He leant over the back of the couch to look at him, smiling softly-
Only to find the new Consort sitting up, wide awake. He wasn’t even leaning against the headboard where he sat.
The movement must have caught his eye, because he looked at Beau so sharply a part of him he always hoped would finally vanish, but kept lurking in the depths, felt like cowering away.
He was safe, he reminded himself. Tulya had promised it. He had heard tell of how the Solganians treated their slaves, of course; before, he had been told once or twice to be thankful he wasn’t kept there. But he was safe.
He quietly got up, walked over, bowed. »His Majesty won’t be awake for a while,« he whispered. »I will make him tea. Would you like some as well, your Majesty?«
The Consort stared at him without a hint of a smile. Beau dropped his; it felt ridiculous.
»Don’t speak to me,« the Consort finally said, coldly.
Beau’s breath caught for a moment. He was safe. But he was not…
He caught himself. He was safe. What did it really matter? He looked at the resting Tulya to drive the chill out of his heart, then silently bowed to the Consort again, and went to boil the water.
*
Loz didn’t know what he was supposed to do, and it angered him more than it should. All he could do was wait for his useless husband to wake up when it was well past dawn already.
The slave — the slave that had now also addressed him as if that was normal — had been right, and it took some time. Only when the scent of freshly brewed tea filled the room did Tulya blink his eyes open, yawn, stretch like a cat.
He caught Loz’ eye as he sat up, and once again smiled pleasantly. »Good morning.«
»Your tea, sire.«
»And good morning to you too, sweetheart.« Tulya reached out to the slave with both hands, taking the offered cup of tea with one and pulling him closer with the other.
They shared a kiss.
The slave tucked his head into the crook of Tulya’s neck for a moment before Loz had recovered from the sight. He’d heard of Trinurans using their slaves for pleasure, but he hadn’t believed it. Having relations with a slave — might as well have them with a dog.
He knew his disgust was showing on his face when Tulya finally turned back to him, because his smile finally faltered.
»You can go,« he quietly said to the slave, which the latter accepted with another quick bow, a look Loz couldn’t quite read shared between the two.
Once the door had closed behind him, Tulya turned back to Loz. »I have no intention of hurting you, but I hope it is understood that this is at its core a political arrangement. What I have with Beau… I’m sorry, but I can’t and won’t give it up-«
»You think I’m jealous.« The words broke out of Loz as soon as he puzzled it out — the notion was too ludicrous. There was more to puzzle about — what I have with Beau? Did he consider his distasteful usage of the slave as some sort of real relationship?
It didn’t matter. He didn’t care what Tulya did and he certainly didn’t care about the slave.
Tulya blinked. »Well, yes. You seemed… displeased with my affection for him.«
»It’s gross.«
Tulya tilted his head. There was a faint look of surprise on his face. »I wouldn’t… take advantage of him. He was given to me for that purpose, when I was a teenager…« He frowned. »But I couldn’t… I didn’t want to do it. We’ve grown close.«
He really did think that, it seemed. And given his total failure to address what was disgusting about it, Loz was left believing he didn’t understand.
Well, he wasn’t going to tutor him.
»I’m not sure what is expected of me.« He wasn’t sure of much any more.
He just wanted to get it over with and go home.
This time, Tulya hesitated at the abrupt change of subject, but then he just nodded, smiling. »We can talk it over at breakfast. You have duties, of course, but I don’t want to limit you too much.«
»Very well.« Loz swung his legs out of bed, secretly relived that at least his husband didn’t seem to want seconds out of him, at least not so soon.
Tulya didn’t follow, though. »There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.« His voice was insufferably soft again. »I didn’t want to push it last night since the… situation was already so tense. But what did happen to your wrists?«
Loz froze on the edge of the bed. He’d really thought Tulya would let it go. More fool him. »It doesn’t matter any more.« It was true, after all. Gela couldn’t reach him here; the escort were already on their way back.
Well, he would have to reckon with him again when he returned home. But Tulya wouldn’t be able to help him then. Wouldn’t want to, either.
»Are you sure? I cannot make you talk about it, of course. But I’d like to offer-«
»Gela raped me before we came here.« Shame instantly burned in his stomach, but it didn't seem Tulya was going to leave it be.
The shocked silence behind him filled Loz with a grim satisfaction. Not enough to stop the urge to get out of the conversation, though.
»Shall we have break-«
»Gela? Prince Gela?«
»Yes.« He shouldn’t have said anything, he’d known that.
»Your brother?«
»He’s always doing things like that.« Loz felt his lips curl into a snarl.
Tulya crawled up to sit next to him. Loz didn’t meet his eye, but he could tell he was being stared at. He should have kept his silence.
»What do you mean, things like that?« There was a tremor in Tulya's voice.
»Trying to humiliate me. Get under my skin. He’s the crown prince, he can get away with anything.«
»What about her Majesty? Your mother?«
Loz rolled his eyes. »He’s her favourite.«
Again, that satisfying silence. Nothing for Tulya to say.
But then he spoke, anyway. »I’m sorry.«
Loz stared at him in disbelief.
»That should never have happened to you. Been done to you, I mean.«
»What’s it to you?«
Tulya just looked at him, still so terribly soft. A little sad, perhaps, whatever for. It wasn’t like he’d even known Loz before yesterday. »I wish you would have told me. I would have been more considerate. I’m sorry, I should have… I knew something was wrong.«
»More considerate? I’m fine,« he quickly added before Tulya could elaborate on how much more coddling he thought he would have needed.
Another silence. Then, »You don’t have to be. If you ever wish to talk… I’m listening.«
Loz snorted, but Tulya raised a hand.
»I would think no less of you.«
Loz pushed himself off the bed. »Shall we have breakfast?«
*
Beau wasn’t surprised to see the Consort march into the training grounds later in the morning; the Solganians were known as a warlike people, and if nothing else, it seemed he was going to take his duty to protect Tulya seriously.
He could tell from his face that the feeling wasn’t mutual, though. To be fair, it wasn’t like it was common for a bedslave to be trained in the martial arts here, either. He’d asked for it, years ago, in a sort of starry-eyed parallelism to marriage, seeing as he was the only one actually sharing Tulya’s bedchamber. It was silly, of course, but Tulya had indulged him, and now he quite liked the physicality of it, the way it made his body feel like his own.
The way it would have enabled him to defend himself, if that were permissible for a slave.
The Consort ignored him. That didn’t surprise Beau, either, after their sunrise conversation — if such it could be called — but it came with a bittersweet relief.
He had held out some vague hope he would be able to get along with Tulya’s husband in the advent of the wedding. Not the way he did with Tulya, of course, the trust and love built over the years of growing together. But he would have been more than happy to do what he could to make him feel comfortable, welcome, home.
It seemed like he would have to settle for not being enemies.
There’d be opportunity to talk it over with Tulya in private — the situation, the Consort himself. Beau had no doubt. He was safe.
He focused on the dagger in his hand again, inviting his sparring partner in with a smile.
1,236 words | I don't have a title for this one yet :((( Princeling of the evil empire experiences softness for the first time and conses quence (start!)
Content | Political marriage, humiliation, starvation, implied past whump
Notes | You know what we need? A brand-new series! I've had these guys for a while, I love they, now I finished this unfortunately pretty introductory episode.
Prince Loz enters a political marriage. But is it even political... ?
The consorts of the Monarch of Trinura were supposed to be their last line of defense, when all else failed.
That was their excuse to take multiple, and that was why Loz, Prince of Solgania, now stood to pass the trial that had become a traditional part of Trinuran wedding rites.
He was not worried. The Solganian art of war was unmatched far and wide, and he had trained to fight since a child. What was eating away at him was the dishonour of the scheme he had been made a central part of.
He couldn’t think about it. He had a mission to fulfill.
The arena was lined with hundreds, if not thousands of viewers, all the most noble and important of Trinura in the first rows, together with the delegation that had accompanied him here. Their traditional black ceremonial — yet functional — armour made them stand out among the gaudy colours the Trinurans sported, up on a platform they shared with Tulya of Trinura and, presumably, his closest.
It was the first time Loz saw his prospective husband, even from such a distance — Trinuran tradition forbade suitors to the monarch to meet them before the trial, and though Tulya had offered to bend the rules, Loz hadn’t particularly cared to. This was a political move, nothing more, even on the surface. It would be over soon, anyway.
The young king carried an air of gaiety that didn’t suit the gravity of his position. He was plump and chatty and all smiles — he couldn’t have been further from the image Loz had learned to respect as a warrior, someone who could lead soldiers, or a country. Loz’ guts curled in his belly. This was all so wrong.
Though maybe that was the hunger. Gela had managed to arrange for him not to eat since last morning, doubtlessly in the hopes he would embarrass himself in the trial, in front of everyone, robbed of his strength. It was a vain hope, of course, or so Loz told himself, tightening the grip on his spear until it hurt. He’d gone without food before, in training. Every soldier must be prepared for the possibility of supplies running out while on the march. He’d be alright.
He focused on the weapon in his hands as the crowd broke into cheers and his opponent, hidden behind their helmet, entered the arena and strode right towards him.
Loz didn’t know who it was that carried out this ceremonial role. Didn’t care about that, either; he’d best them, and that was what mattered. The fighter wasn’t fool enough to run straight at him; they circled one another for a few long moments, lunged into testing the other’s defenses, and then their arms met.
They were a good fighter. Loz found, to his shame, he had underestimated them; apparently even Trinura was capable of producing a warrior or two. Their weapons clashed in a breathless rhythm, the crowd’s roar drowned out by the blood pounding in Loz’s ears-
Then suddenly, something hit the back of his knee, and he found himself in the dust.
No. No, no, no.
Heat burned in his face, and not just from the sun glaring off his armour. He could only imagine his brother’s glee that his plan had come to fruition. He, Loz, would be blamed, of course.
He pushed himself up off the ground. To his surprise, he found his opponent standing not far back, raising their weapon once more — was there to be a second round?
If he failed even this once in his real task as a husband, the king would be dead, so why?
But apparently the test was not that strict. It was pathetic.
Finally, his opponent — his examiner — stepped back, raising an arm to the cheers of the crowd. Loz had learned enough about the ceremony to know what that meant. He had passed.
His opponent removed their helmet, and Loz recognized her — the head of the royal bodyguard. She stepped towards him, and bowed to her king consort-to-be.
He removed his own helmet, glad to breathe and see freely, not glad to be so exposed to the eyes, and any arms, of the people he would never recognize as his own.
The breeze cooled the sweat in his hair as he followed her up to the platform. He tried to ignore Gela’s sneer, knowing he would never let him live down the humiliation of being brought down by a Trinuran.
Well, he wouldn’t have to deal with that for a while, not until he returned home. The thought was almost heartening.
The king, Tulya, beamed at him, however, as if he was actually happy to see the stranger invading his life. »My husband! Welcome, welcome to Trinura. What a pleasure to finally meet you.«
»The pleasure is mine,« Loz replied stiffly, meaning not a word of it.
»Please follow Duchess Erra, and join me at the feast where our union shall be witnessed by the gods and all.«
The bodyguard led him up to the castle, to a room off to the side of the front courtyard, helped him with his armour and showed him where he could wash off the sweat.
»You fought well. Got back up real quick.«
»You defeated me,« Loz admitted through gritted teeth. This would never have happened under better circumstances, and it would haunt him forever. Even now, he felt dizzy with hunger and exertion.
»It was a test, and you fought well.« A crooked smile appeared on her lips. »You’re a warrior of last resort. For you to have to fight, an intruder has to get through all of us first. They won’t be in top shape then, either.«
He caught her eye, startled by the implication of her final word. How could she know-?
She shrugged nonchalantly. »Many a man that’s more anxious before his wedding than a battle. Now come, let’s get you to your King husband.«
Dumbstruck, he followed her — to his surprise, back out of the castle, to where long tables had been set up in the grass, protected only by colourful awnings. So many people awaited, and everything was so colourful here. Visible to any enemies from miles away. He’d take his simple black clothing over Tulya’s flowery ruffles — the King sat at the center of the highest table, in cheerful conversation with his left-hand neighbour — any day.
He was brought to the empty seat to the right of his husband-to-be, stiffly sitting down.
Tulya excused himself from the other person, as if a king had any need to, and turned to him instantly, again with that bright smile of his. »There you are. Are you well? You did take quite a tumble out there.«
Wouldn’t anyone let it go? Loz felt the embarrassment burn in his cheeks. »I’m fine.« There were a few bruises, naturally, but that was to be expected.
»Good, good. Let us begin, then.« And with that, he rose, offering Loz his hand. Loz accepted it begrudgingly, his skin shivering at the touch.
The ceremony was brief. Three priests came to them, wrapping their joined hands in richly embroidered ribbon.
Loz swore, on cue, to protect his husband. It wasn’t a false oath, he reminded himself. Tulya would come to no harm.
Tulya swore to care for him, like he needed it.
To the cheers of the crowd, they sat back down, and finally, food was served.
Notes | A new character enters the scene! He is so dear to me
I thought this was going to move along faster (the plot, not the updates RIP) but okay! Not sure how explicit the next one's going to be either, we'll see.
Taglist | @painwithoutplot
»Shall we dance?«
Loz had been too focused on the food to pay much attention to his surroundings, beyond the ever-wary sense for an approaching threat. On the one hand, he was hungry enough to not even mind the fanciful foreign food; on the other, he was glad to keep his head down and his attention to himself. Everything was so much. He’d rather run a few miles in full armour than feel all the hostile eyes on him, deal with how different and absurd everything was, think about the dishonour of it all.
But now he had eaten his fill, and Tulya had clearly noticed, and his question dragged Loz out of his silent moping.
There was, indeed, music.
There already were people dancing, even. Loz never had learned to dance — as a Prince of Solgania, it was his duty and honour to fight, he didn’t have time not inclination for such frivolous pastimes — and he didn’t know Trinuran dances anyway. Every part of him recoiled at being publicly humiliated a second time today.
»I don’t know how,« he answered curtly.
Tulya only beamed his smile at him again. Surely, he must have noticed Loz’ aversion and was mocking him. »I’ll show you!«
Already he grabbed his hand, getting up out of his seat.
The last thing Loz wanted was to draw more attention, so he went along, even as his every instinct called for him to push back and defend his space when Tulya wrapped an arm around his back.
He followed Tulya’s lead poorly, not on purpose, but because his body refused being guided this way. Surely he should have been able to match Tulya’s surprising grace, what with his decades of physical training, but it simply wasn’t happening.
He was glad over affronted when someone approached them at the end of a tune, bowing briefly to both of them and then addressing Tulya without shyness, »Come, Sire, won’t you leave your poor husband alone and dance with someone who actually wants to?«
Only when Tulya agreed, almost sheepishly, did he register the richly embroidered band around the beautiful young man’s — no, eunuch’s — neck.
A slave. A slave had just waltzed up to the King, his husband, and not only spoken without permission, but addressed him, and addressed him like a friend.
Loz returned to his seat, reeling. Back home that thing would have been whipped until bloody and then have its mouth sewn shut. He’d never actually seen it happen — of course a slave that served at court would have long since learned their manners.
Just one more thing to add to the absurdity of everything in this country.
Though the worst part was still that he was here.
He kept his shoulders down and met no-one’s eyes, hoping that would discourage any of these frivolous courtiers to attempt to talk to him. But then, if even a slave…
It worked, though. He managed the rest of the festivities with minimal interaction; after a few curt answers, even Tulya seemed to get the message after he returned to the table, positively glowing. He didn’t want to make more of a spectacle of himself than he had to, but he didn’t want to pretend the vapid smalltalk of the colourful nobles mattered, either.
Finally, Tulya rose, offering him his hand again, and under the cheers of the crowd the priests along with a bunch of nobles escorted them to Tulya’s bedchamber.
Thankfully, the door closed behind just the two them. Like a coffin lid. Loz chased the thought away, took in his surroundings. Luxurious, soft, weak, just like Tulya himself.
And on a cushioned stool by the fireplace — no fire in it, it was warm, even now that night had begun to fall — sat the slave he’d seen earlier and looked up at them with those big eyes of his. Here, in the King’s bedroom. On his wedding night.
Tulya followed Loz’ eyes and, inexplicably, smiled. »This is my bedwarmer, Beau, you’ve met; he saved you from my dancing. I’m very fond of him, so you will either treat him with kindness or leave him be.«
»Sure.« Leaving him be would be no problem — Loz wanted nothing to do with the slave. The fact that he had his eyes up, talked even, was uncanny, and he didn’t want to be put in a position to humour it.
Unfortunately, the slave gracefully rose and gave them both a little bow. It could be construed as mocking, but Loz didn’t want to believe his new husband would tolerate that. »Congratulations, sire. Your Majesty.«
He meant him, Loz realized. He had claim to Majesty now.
»I assume I’m leaving the wedding bed to you on this night?«
»I suppose so,« Tulya said, before turning to Loz. »Unless you would like his company… ?«
»No.«
»I’ll sleep on the couch then.« The slave slunk back down, and Loz tried to forget him. Why was he still talking?
More pressing problems at hand, though. He could feel, like any trained fighter, the presence of his husband behind his right shoulder. He tried to steady himself, tried to put what had happened four nights ago, before he and his entourage came here, out of his mind. It didn’t have to be like that. Tulya didn’t have to be an asshole about it, like Gela.
Bet you can’t wait to have that useless blob upon you, he heard Gela’s voice whisper in his mind.
Tulya could, of course, be an asshole if he wanted to. He couldn’t overwhelm Loz by himself, like Gela could, but one call to the guards and he would be pinned down just as effectively.
»What’s going through your head?« Tulya asked softly.
Loz would sooner die than expose himself to a stranger with the truth. »You’re not as ugly as I was led to believe,« he blurted out.
Tulya remained silent for a moment, then a surprised chuckle burst from him. »You’re a kind of ruggedly handsome, yourself.«
Loz regretted having brought it up. He’d never been called handsome and he’d never cared to. What did the looks of a warrior matter?
Tulya was still looking at him, his smile now soft, as if Loz needed to be coddled.
»Shall we?«
He went and sat down on the bed, looking expectantly at Loz.
At least now he could see him in front of him. It didn’t do much for the creeping unease. He didn’t want this.
But it was all part of the plan, and he couldn’t throw it away; it’d be treason.
1,081 words | Prince Loz learns to love (sequel to Reveals)
Content | Political marriage, war themes, slavery
Notes | Plots are plotting, schemes are scheming, and a new player enters the field.
Ok so the viewpoint characters for this are officially all the King's bedmates! Yay
Taglist | @painwithoutplot @suchprettypieces
It was scarcely a half-month before the calculated response came: the elder princess of Vasikya proposed to become Tulya’s second spouse.
It had been a quiet time. Loz had spent most of it in the training grounds, not bothering to search for allies in a court he knew he would soon leave — something he had never been good at, anyway. He tried to irgnore the fact that Tulya’s bedslave was sometimes there too; what an absolute travesty, letting a slave learn how to fight.
Even Tulya left him in peace, for the most part. He was friendly, which Loz didn’t appreciate from what was essentially a stranger; he didn’t push for sex again, which he did. His bedslave shared the bed again. Next to Loz, kisses and cuddles and who knew what else were exchanged while he tried to find sleep in this alien country. They seemed so pleased with one another, in a way Loz knew couldn’t be real. The slave, to his master’s credit, did not try to speak to him again, but picked up on his habits and preferences silently, like he should.
It was odd, at first, sitting amidst all the quiet and simply waiting. He missed his drills; in some twisted way, he even missed Gela’s poison-laced comments. It was disconcerting, the quiet.
In time, though… he knew it was despicable, but the strange quiet seemed to encroach upon his heart.
But the letter came, and now, Loz seemed to feel his dagger in his hand wherever he went.
Before long, the matter was settled, and it was him up at the viewing platform of the arena, waiting for Princess Ivin to show her pitiful abilities.
He was sitting next to Tulya, of course. There was drink and snacks, as if they couldn’t sit for an hour without. Beau was there, too. More creature comforts.
Because it was going to be an hour; Loz hadn’t realized it, but there was a whole spectacle ahead of the fight, acrobats and gladiators and athletes. He was glad he hadn’t known. It had been degrading enough.
»You don’t like it.« Tulya’s voice was gentle as always. A little amused, perhaps.
»I didn’t realize it was entertainment.«
»Ah. We consider it respectful to stage a big show for a big occasion. We did it for you, too, did you not know that? I’d hoped you could see some of it. But if you don’t like it anyway…«
»It’s undignified.«
»That’s not the way we see it.« Still gentle, but with a hard edge underneath.
Loz shrugged, unwilling to pursue a pointless argument.
»There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.«
Of course. There was always something else.
»I hope you and the princess can get along.«
Loz snorted softly. It was ironic, given the leaden secret in his chest. But even so — »You talk as if her passing the trial was a foregone conclusion. They’re no fighters to speak of, the Vasikyans.«
»She’ll have trained for this. But, see… I understand you are enemies. But now you are both my spouses, and I would like for you — both of you — to… try.«
Loz stared out into the sand. An acrobat flew through his field of vision and was expertly caught by their partner. It was ridiculous, all of it.
It didn’t matter, either, but he couldn’t very well tell Tulya that. »Fine.«
Dagger in his hand, even as it was properly tucked away in his belt.
»She has requested not to share a bedchamber with you, however.«
»Ah. And that’s trying?« Now there was some grim amusement. She was perfectly right not to feel safe by his side, of course, but- »I thought the entire point of your harem was that we protect you where you are.«
»Well, it also means you won’t have to share a bed with her.« A faint smile ghosted across Tulya’s face before he turned serious again. »She’ll be one bedroom up the corridor. Perfect to intercept intruders. Which, as we’ve discussed, won’t happen anyway.«
Loz marked the room in his mind, his guts squirming at the dishonour.
»I’ll try to make sure you’re both getting your due attention and care. Don’t make it harder.«
»I’m not the one who requested an extra bedroom,« Loz retorted drily.
Tulya nudged his shoulder, gently, like everything he did. »Can’t you understand her, at least a little?«
»Oh, I understand her alright.«
*
Ivin felt sick to her stomach.
The head of the bodyguard, the one who had trialed her for this position she never wanted, helped her out of her armour. »Nervous?«
»Nervous« wasn’t quite it. Tulya seemed nice enough; he had indulged her every request so far; she had tried to stay reasonable. But underneath it all was the unshakeable truth that Trinura had refused to support Vasikya in the defense against the Solganian invaders killing and enslaving people — her people — right now, as she was stuck at this pompous ceremony. If Tulya wasn’t evil, he was either a moron or a coward. The whole reason she was here was the very real risk that Prince Loz would drag him out of neutrality, and everything Ivin had seen proved him so indulgent.
And then, like practically all Trinurans of a certain standing, he was a slaver.
Yet, it all paled next to the fact she would be sharing a household with Loz of Solgania. He’d been up there next to the King, still wearing the Solganian soldier’s garb, black amid the rich colours of the wealthy Trinurans.
She had never met the younger prince; he didn’t even have much of a reputation of his own; but the fact that he was a member of Solganian royalty was enough on its own. She knew he’d seen battle, as well — battles fought to subjugate Vasikya.
She knew she must control her hatred. If there was the faintest trace of hope she might open negotiations, once they were bound together through their vows to Tulya, she must seize it. Any end to the brutality they had suffered during the past years, no matter how undignified for her personally, was good.
And on top of it all, she was supposed to put an heir into this whole mess. It might give her an advantage — one thing she could provide to Tulya that Loz could not. It was an awful way to think of an innocent child. Her child.
»A little, Milady,« she replied. »I thank you for your compassion.«
1,409 words | Prince Loz learns to love (sequel to Unfolding)
Content | Political marriage, war themes, slavery, half-hearted dehumanisation, implied dubcon and past non-con
Notes | No-one is alone, but who's feeling lonely?
Basically two for the price of one!
Taglist | @painwithoutplot @suchprettypieces
Ivin’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and her heart hurt from its falseness. She’d never enjoyed court games. But she knew she had to make allies, as many and as fast as possible. Many of Tulya’s courtiers seemed agreeable enough. Tulya seemed agreeable enough.
There was always the shadow lurking in the corner of her eye, though. She’d greeted Loz politely; he answered as little as he could get away with. The dislike was mutual, it seemed, though she could not possibly imagine what propaganda lie the prince himself could have bought into to make it so.
They hadn’t spoken any more, and she was glad for it. She’d have to, of course, but maybe she could allow herself to face the day’s other challenges first.
Finally, Tulya walked her to the bedchamber. Her bedchamber, not theirs. She knew she was taking a risk, creating that distance between herself and the King, but she couldn’t have suffered sharing a bedroom — perhaps even a bed — with Loz.
She could suffer sharing a bed with Tulya. She had to.
He seemed nice.
»Permit me to ask a question, my husband.« She walked over to the washstand, watched her own hands in the polished silver as she started letting down the complex sculpture of twists and braids towering on her head.
»Of course.« She saw him, too, in the mirror as he sat down on the bedside, as relaxed as anything. He watched her, but there was no malice in his expression.
»Why did you choose to marry Prince Loz?«
He didn’t immediately answer. Her hair finally fell down to her waist, and she went to wrap it in silk for the night.
»The Solganians proposed,« he said softly. »It seemed prudent. Perhaps even helpful. Now here you both are, on neutral ground.«
She turned to look directly at him. »And if there is no helping the massacre of my people this way?«
»It’s the only way I can offer you.« The faintest edge appeared in his voice. »I will not push my people into a war that does not concern them.«
»Do you not think that once Vasikya falls, Trinura might be next on the Solganian itinerary?«
»It would be a hard fight, even if they had Vasikya. And I am married to Prince Loz now.«
»Do you really think that would stop them?«
That gave him pause. »I did.«
»For all these people talk about honour, they have none.« She realized she was too in his face now, but she couldn’t back away, too desperate to make him grasp what was at stake, to shake him into doing something. »Innocent people are dying as we speak. Children are being enslaved-« She caught herself; she’d made a blunder. The Trinurans were slavers too. It wouldn’t be shocking to Tulya. She nearly retched.
He reached out his hands, as if inviting her to take them. His face was serious. »You have to allow yourself to rest.«
She froze, her face sliding out of her control.
»I understand how much you care about your people. I also care about mine. But you cannot help them if you exhaust yourself. It is time to rest.«
»What do you expect me to do? Put it out of my mind?« She barely managed not to yell. »Like you do?«
»Not like I do.« His voice was unbearably soft. »It is right for you to care for your people. I do not fault you for it. But you need rest.«
She folded on the side of the bed, like he had spoken it into existence. The horrible truth was that he was right. She was exhausted. It had felt terribly wrong to leave her country behind, but here was where she could be most useful.
And she could only be useful tomorrow. Try and talk to Loz. Better if she was well-rested for it; Tulya was right. She could have cried over it. She didn’t want to, not in front of him.
She sat down next to him, using it as an excuse to avoid his eyes. »It is not time to rest yet, though. Our marriage is yet to be comsummated.«
He laid his hand over hers, very gently.
*
Not tonight.
It would have been foolish. Who knew how long the two of them would be awake on their wedding night? He’d experienced firsthand how slow and gentle Tulya would be, after all.
Loz stared into the darkness; sleep couldn’t seem to find him. Next to him, the slave rested, once again leaving the wedding bed to the newlyweds. He’d hesitated at the bedside, not fearfully, more questioningly. Loz almost wished he would have just asked out loud, the way he did with Tulya, what was so obviously on the tip of his tongue.
He hadn’t sent him away, and it seemed that had been endorsement enough. Loz could barely fault him for it; after all, he slept in this bed every night.
Now he listened to the slave’s calm breath, still the feeling of his dagger in his hand.
Until his breath was no longer calm.
A whimper escaped the slave. Then another. Then a mumbled plea — Loz couldn’t discern the words, but the tone was plenty familiar.
He sat up, looking down on the slave’s body, twitching now and then. It couldn’t have been more obvious that he was caught in some nightmare.
It was getting on his nerves.
He grabbed the slave by the shoulder and shook him awake.
»-please. Please-« The slave’s voice abruptly broke off into heavy breaths as he startled upright. After a moment, a weepy, »Sire?«
»He’s not here. It’s his wedding night. Again.«
Slowly, the slave seemed to catch his breath. He swallowed so hard Loz could hear it. »I’m sorry if I have disturbed you, your Majesty.«
He was still talking to him. That hadn’t happened since he had first told the slave not to. Something was wrong. Loz’ first impulse was to strike him, but this was, in a manner of speaking, his husband’s favourite pet, after all.
And it wouldn’t have made anything better.
The slave was struggling to control sobs, mostly successfully, but not enough to resolve the original problem of getting on Loz’ nerves.
»What would he do?«
The slave hesitated.
»I’ve asked you a question.« Loz heard himself sounding almost mild.
»Don’t worry about it. He’d — he’d just hold me, tell me I’m safe. I can handle it.«
»You are safe,« Loz snapped.
»Yes… yes. I… it’s just the dreams don’t make me feel that way.«
Stupid thing. Loz shook his head with irritation. The slave was still evening out his breath.
Loz reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
The slave made a surprised sound, but, after a moment, leant in to him.
»You are safe,« Loz repeated, still irritated.
»Thank you.« The slave’s voice was quiet, as was his breath. His forehead was warm against Loz’ shoulder.
»What do you dream about?«
For a moment, the slave was silent. »I belonged to a brothel. Before.« He raised his head, and suddenly his dark eyes were looking right into Loz’. »It was every night. For years.«
So what? He’s a slave. He had to cling on to the words over the haunting look the slave gave him.
»You know what it’s like.«
An ice-cold shiver of shame and fury ran through him. »Tulya told you.«
»He didn’t tell me anything.«
»Bullshit.« Loz let go of the slave, tempted to push him out of the bed. Something large and sharp seemed to be lodged in his throat.
»He didn’t tell me anything,« the slave insisted. »I’m sorry I brought it up. I didn’t — I know, I didn’t want to upset you. I just… I just wanted to say I understand.« His voice trailed off into a whisper.
»You’re a slave. We’re nothing alike. Know your place.« He spat the words out like venom — or like poison. He couldn’t tell. He could have thrown up.
He could make out the slave’s faint silhouette in the darkness, still sitting up.
»I’m sorry,« he whispered, and then, »Thank you for your kindness.«
»I wasn’t being kind.« Loz didn’t know what he said it for. What he even meant by it.
»Thank you anyway.«
Loz turned his back on him, burrowing back under the covers.
He listened to the slave’s breath for hours after he went back to sleep, leaving Loz alone in the dark.
1,210 words | Prince Loz learns to love (flashback)
Content | Slavery, non-explicit dubcon sex between teenagers, implied past whump of a minor
Notes | Beau has been with his new master for a little while, and well. Boys will be boys or something idk
Taglist | @painwithoutplot @suchprettypieces
The Prince’s sixteenth birthday was approaching, and with it, Beau’s first anniversary in his ownership.
A year of safety. Not a year of feeling safe, but in hindsight, it was clear.
He had, of course, noticed the way the Prince looked at him change. Something inside of him ached at it. No one had ever looked at him that way, because he had always been available. He knew what he was supposed to do; remind the Prince, like he hadn’t in a while now, that he was available to him, too. That it wasn’t for him to be looked at with desire and longing, but to be their fulfillment and annihilation.
But he couldn’t bring himself to it; he was no longer afraid enough to give up the sweet ache for what he was supposed to do.
He knew what he would say if — when — the Prince propositioned. He wouldn’t refuse him, of course not; what was new was that he no longer wanted to.
But the Prince just kept looking at him. Whenever he knew Beau saw him, he simply wore the same kind expression he had in the beginning; when he realized he was watching mid-gaze, he got flustered as if he was the one doing wrong.
Beau didn’t know how long it took him to realize he was longing for the Prince to make a move, as well. It was an entirely alien sensation. He wasn’t supposed to want. He certainly wasn’t supposed to want that. He had been fixed, for crying out loud. It was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.
They spent the Prince’s birthday together, inasmuch as a slave and crown prince could. Beau floated around the lavish party, staying as close to the Prince and as far from his uncle, who had gifted him to him a year ago today, as he could without getting in the way of anyone more important. He smiled and looked pretty, as was his entire job.
He was the only one who went with the Prince when he finally retired to his bedchamber.
»Phew. Those are always a lot.« The Prince dropped himself onto the bed.
»Do you not like being celebrated?« Beau pulled the shoes off his master’s dangling feet.
The Prince warmly smiled at him. »No, it’s fun. But it is a lot. Come here now, no more work. I’ve got something for you, too.«
He looked up to him. The Prince seemed a little flustered, again. Beau’s heart hopped in his chest.
»For me?«
»It’s… well, it’s been a year since you’ve been here. I never asked when your birthday is,« he added sheepishly.
»I don’t remember.« The brothel hadn’t bothered keeping track of their slaves’ birthdays, of course — and even before they had never been anything special, his family too poor to make it so. He pushed the thought out of his mind.
The Prince looked at him with sad eyes, then smiled again. »I suppose we can always celebrate together.«
From under his pillow, he produced a cloth-wrapped rectangle, and handed it to Beau.
Beau took it reverently. A gift, for him. He couldn’t look at the Prince from the warmth blossoming up his throat, constricting it. »Thank you.«
He was very careful unwrapping the object. He could tell what it was before the fabric fell away: a book.
A year ago, he couldn’t read a word. He had to swallow tears, sounding out the words embossed on the leather cover, shimmering in the light of the fire. »Poems. Of. Pe-Per-sev-er-an-ce. Perseverance?«
The Prince — his master who had taken it upon himself to guide him into the secrets hidden on his bookshelf, like that was a slave’s place — nodded, beaming. With pride? »You seemed to enjoy the books and — well, I thought this one suited you.«
»Thank you, your Highness.« He resisted the temptation to flip it open right away; it still took him too long to decipher even a few sentences. Or verses, in this case. He wanted to stay with the Prince instead.
When Beau looked up, there was that look on his face again.
He leant in and put a hand on Tulya's — the Prince’s cheek and kissed him, very softly.
He’d never done this before. It wasn’t his job to take initiative, to seduce. If he had grown older at the brothel, he would have had to learn it eventually, but so far… his clients had known what they wanted, and it wasn’t for him to take action.
Now, he felt a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back. It stung, even in its softness. Had he imagined things? Did the Prince really not want him… ?
»You don’t have to do this.« Tulya met his eyes in the firelight.
»I know,« Beau breathed. »I know.«
And something changed in the Prince’s face, shifting into a look of surprise and wonder. »Oh.«
Beau just looked back at him, silently praying that he would be believed.
Finally, Tulya closed the distance between them again for another kiss, careful at first. His arms wrapped around Beau, warm and strong, and Beau thought his heart might leap out of his mouth. He was cupping Tulya’s face with both hands now, pushed deeper into the kiss.
»Is this okay?«
Beau tensed when Tulya came down on top of him. That was wrong; he had trained himself to relax, because tensing up would make things worse, but now… without a word, Tulya slipped back off of him, spooned him instead, holding him tight and gently-
»Does this feel good?«
He hadn’t known his body was capable of feeling this way. He had believed that pleasure wasn’t for him. Tulya’s warm hands caressing him and Tulya's soft lips at the nape of his neck and Tulya Tulya Tulya-
»Was it good? For you?«
And for some reason, Beau felt a sob lodged in his throat.
He fought it. Why — where did it even come from? He had never felt so close to someone, so comfortable and safe, why was there a sob crawling into his mouth-
He lost.
The Prince shifted, just like he had feared. He didn’t want him to think-
»Oh no.« The Prince’s voice was so soft.
»It’s not — I’m fine. I’m sorry.« Another sob. On Reluza, if he didn’t get a grip, he’d soon be fully crying.
»Did I hurt you?«
»No, no.«
»I didn’t mean physically-«
»You didn’t. I know, I’m not stupid. You really didn’t.« Beau buried his head in the Prince’s chest, partly for his own comfort, partly to convince the Prince he still provided it. There they were now, the tears.
The Prince gently wrapped him in his arms. »I just — I’m sorry if-«
»Please believe me.« Beau was himself surprised at the ferocity with which the words broke from him. He couldn’t have the Prince believing he was hurt, when in reality he had just been given the sweetest gift, something he hadn’t even thought possible, not anymore.
He looked up at the Prince, who met his eyes, full of worry. But finally something shifted in his expression. »Okay. Okay, okay.«
He pulled Beau closer into his arms, like no one had ever done before, and Beau nestled up against him, overwhelmed and warm and safe.
770 words | Prince Loz learns to love (sequel to Customs)
Content | Mention of murder
Notes | Loz has a job to do.
Taglist | @painwithoutplot @suchprettypieces
The princess’ presence bothered Loz more than he would have expected.
To be fair, he hadn’t expected her to be this active in bothering him.
The very day after the wedding, she had hit him with, »Let us talk,« and he couldn’t avoid her every hour of every day.
»I only wish for peace.«
»You know how to effect it. We have been very clear about it.«
»Forgive me, I wish for two things. Peace and the freedom of my people.«
»That is one too many. Surrender, or perish.«
Ivin looked directly at Tulya, as if she was hoping for him to intervene on her behalf. It gave Loz less satisfaction than he would have expected that the King stayed completely silent, although his eyes were on Ivin, as if she was watching a ball game, waiting for her to take her turn.
When she turned back to Loz, for a moment she let slip the mask of civility, and he saw her hatred for him flare up in her eyes. It was a strange relief.
»Will you not even entertain the possibility of negotiation, spare your brave soldiers further bloodshed?«
»Our brave soldiers want bloodshed. They wish to prove their courage and honour.« Itraz knew he rather would have been on the battlefield than here. »Even if I could, I would not.«
»If you could? Are you not a Prince of Solgania?«
He bit back a bitter laugh. »Your efforts are wasted here.«
Three or four times they had the same conversation every day, with little variation. Then she started skipping days, staring blankly at her plate, for usually it was at mealtimes he could not evade her. He had hope she at least would soon give up and leave him be.
Not that it mattered. Neither of them would be here much longer.
Tulya attentively split his free time between his two spouses who would not stay in the same room. It was another thing that irritated him more than he had expected. That was his husband who was sharing his love with some Vasikyan. Surely she put out more.
Not that he could truly fault her for it, seeing as Tulya was, technically, her husband as well.
But the irritation only compounded as the days passed, and that irritated him more. He shouldn’t care, didn’t care about Tulya.
And then there was that other, nagging truth he had to face: now was the time to act.
Loz knew it. He lay in the dark and stared at the beautiful canopy now hidden from his eyes. He should never see it again. He could hear the slave’s soft breath beside him; no nightmares tonight, it seemed.
He should go and do what he had come to do: kill his enemy, then vanish into the night. Return home, reap the honours for what indignities he had gone through — though it was more likely that would be Gela, whose idea the whole ploy had been.
Tulya would sleep like a stone next to her; she might feel safe in his presence, and not expect the attack. One quick stab to the lung to stop her from screaming, and then he would be free, his task fulfilled.
Free to go home, where everything was as it ought to be. Resume his duties. Train the softness that had started creeping into it back out of his body. Rest alone.
For a heartbeat, an unbidden image flashed across his mind: the slave, silent and cowed, scrubbing the floor in his chambers, not daring to so much as look at him. Much less talk, much less smile — had he ever seen a slave smile before he came here? — much less disturb him in his sleep.
Dawn would break, and for Tulya it would break red, and soon his, Loz’, disappearance and guilt would be obvious, Tulya and the slave cursing his name together as they carried the princess to her early grave.
Now was the time to act.
*
»Are you well, your Majesty?«
»I’m fine,« Loz hissed, not enough sharpness in his voice to deter the slave.
»Would you have some tea today, perhaps?«
Daylight, albeit grey, was filtering through the curtains, and the slave looked at him with a faint trace of worry in his big eyes, repeating the offer that had been met with derision what felt like a long time ago.
»Yes.« It was barely more than a mutter.
He had to do it. He was going to do it.
Tonight, or maybe some other night, when circumstances were right.
