[AU][C][M] Festivities

Despite his earlier state, the last few minutes had been very sobering, and he walked to the table without even a weave in his step.

He didn't pick up the robe. Instead, a towel. 

He unfurled the towel and held two corners open for the Prince. It was best to dry off before donning the robe.

Richard frowned.

"That's not a robe."

It was a towel.

Instead of taking it and doing it himself he lifted up an arm. His head too dizzy to take the towel and do a terrible job himself. Besides, the slave washed his body earlier, he may as well dry it.

"You'll get sick if you don't dry yourself, my Prince."

He moved forwards as the arm was held out and began to carefully towel the Prince down.

Instead of goading the man on (the last one attempt had ended terribly, and he didn't want the death to be extended through torture for acting in further selfish wants) he worked almost impersonally, drying his genitalia as quickly and gently as the rest of his body.

The only thing that he took his time with was drying the Prince's pale hair.

Then he lifted the robe for his Prince to don.

Richard didn't take too much notice of the towel.

The guards, normally perfectly netural in their espessions, slackened at the sight of their prince. Their Aldish sensibilities scanderlized.

Riched took a few steps to his left and the guards looked at eachother.

"You highness?"

Richard turned, humming.

"I believe if you are heading back to the guest chambers, it is the other way."

Richard contemplated, then changed his direction. He patted the guard as he passed walking as he normally did; expect all three men to follow. This was the first he hadn't had a gold chain in his fist since he got here.

The guard bold enough to pip up took it instead.

It was sheer force of will that stopped him from smiling as he watched the Prince weave in front of his guards.

His teeth sank into his lower lip with the effort not to smile as he patted the chest of a guard. What a sight. At least the last night of his life would be spent with an amusing presence. He wouldn't get a last, glorious fuck, but his was better than nothing.

His chin tilted upwards slightly when his leash was taken up by a guard, but he stayed silent and followed the entourage obediently.

Richard awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. Ecrutezian wine was too strong for its own good, he quickly decided.

He rose slowly and winced. Not only was there an ache in his head, but also a sharp pain in his lower lip. Lifting his fingers, he touched it and felt a scab. It was swollen and tender too.

It hit him like a flood. The wine he shared. The slave's lips on his skin. Fingers trailed his arms. How he caved and turned to kiss him, only to snag himself away.

He felt dirty.

As a looked around the room he noted the chess board was out. He must have had attempted a game. Either just by himself or a game with the slave, he didn't know.

Pushing his legs off the bed, he called his attendant.

He had rarely seen him over the past few days - the slave had filled in most of his duties. The only time he had seen him was in the morning. The attendant would tie the laces of his clothes expectedly as he listed everything that would happen for the day. Then he would disappear and he wouldn't see him again until his clothes needed to be laced up.

The first part of the agenda today was to join breakfast.

If he was home, he would have asked for breakfast to be brought up to him.

Instead, he had to feign politeness for the sake of politics. Talk lightly over breakfast with a Royal family he wasn't too keen with - and he found exhausting to converse with. He predicted it would be even worst over a hangover.

Dressed, there was only one thing missing.

A handler passed him his slave outside his door when he exited his guest chambers.

The slave was gorgeous, as always. Glossy hair pinned beautifully and gold against his skin. Everything he wore tantalised.

Ricard still flushed when he was the slave, but the initial shock had worn off now.

Unable to look the slave in the eye, his tongue darted over the split lip.

He led the entourage through the palace down to the gardens where they would have breakfast. The rest of the Royalty already assembled.

He said his pleasantries and sat in his spot next to this mother.

Fleck dressed as if he was going to war that morning.

He played with his hair until it was perfect, doing and then redoing the kohl around his eyes until it was perfectly neat and symmetrical. Adjusting every dainty chain and piercing until they sat perfectly against his tanned skin.

Today was his last day. He was going to leave it all looking as good as he could in a slave's silk and over-burdened with the gold and jewels.

His hands were folded politely against his stomach when his leash was passed off from guard to his Master, and he walked with a determined set to his shoulders and the morbid silence of a man walking to his death.

He would not leave this world scared. He would stare down the mocking green eyes of his death without cowering. He had cowered enough for these people, and played their game for years now. Too many years.

The chatter in the gardens fell into a stony silence when the Prince approached. Sharp green eyes, three intense sets of them, caught the damage, assessed the situation and lit up with a malicious sort of glee. Looks were exchanged. Emilio couldn't hide his glee as well as his mother or brother. Besides him, his wife tensed, her fingers snagging tight enough in the hair of the slave in her husband's lap, that the red-haired girl yelped and whined. She was ignored.

"You seemed to have acquired injury, young Prince." Katalin spoke with a silver tongue, conveying as much opinionated distaste as it did synthetic worry for her son-in-law.

"I did warn you the slave was a beast." This comment was from Emilio, his mouth open in a gleeful smirk, tongue resting against his teeth, as if gleefully tasting the sadistic intent within the air. It weighed down the air in the gardens like a miasma.

Behind Richard, Fleck's eyes met Emilio's unflinchingly. The lack of fear in them set a from on the young Prince's face.

"We all know what must be done with beasts," Espiridion commented with an amiable tilt to his head, a friendly smile, an affectionate brush of his fingers over his new wife's bare shoulder. He looked calmer, less dangerous than the other two members of his family ready to strike. Like he was just joining in the fight to back up his family. Loyalty, little more.

"Please," Esmerelda murmured, her hand clasping to the sheer fabric adoring her husband's arm. "No. No more."

"Beasts," Katalin began in a saccharine tone, her eyes meeting not Fleck's, but Richard's gaze. "Must be culled."

The simple statement started a chain reaction within the attendants. Two guards stepped forwards, one dragging Fleck down to his knees by his hair, the other's hand falling to the sword at his hip.

"I do so apologise for the act of shame our gift has bought upon our name," Katalin crooned to Elizabeth, her tongue coated once more with silver. "I assure you, a new slave, one that will not harm your precious son so, will be provided as a replacement. I implore your forgiveness for being so negligent with such a gift. I never intended..." A delicate hand rested upon her breast, over her heart, and the Queen's eyes dropped just enough to present a deeply apologetic feel.

Richard's tongue flicked over the injury as the Queen mentioned it. He had hoped no one would. It was mortifying to walk around with it as it was, without there being comments.

His gaze sharply turned to Emilio. Green eyes weren't on him as he spoke. It landed on the slave behind him.

Even with his head banging, he felt the cool shift in the air. Then everything happened too fast. Quick comments in Ecrutezian he could barely keep up with, the sounds of guards behind him.

Beasts must be culled.

He looked wildly to at the green eyes around the table. Then his mother and his mother, his sister. He turned to see the slave on his pushed down on his knees. A guards sword being drawn.

"No!"

The chair clattered back as he stood.

Blue eyes sort green.

"I don't wish to see him culled." There was a tone of disgust that he couldn't keep out of his voice, his lip curled.

He felt the weight of his mother's hand on his wrist and he snapped it back.

"It's only a cut. It will heal. The slave did nothing wrong."

The yell had the table freezing. Multiple sets of green eyes narrowed in on the Aldish Prince. A pair of brown eyes widened hopefully.

Behind the Prince, the slave breathed heavily, gasping for a breath that he didn't believe he was going to get. A moment later, a less kind man owning him, and he wouldn't be breathing now.

"Nothing wrong?" The words were a sharp, low breath, like the threatening hiss of a snake.

His wife's hand clutched at his shirt again, her eyes flying in a panic between the two Prince's, then hopelessly to the slave still on his knees with a sword to his throat.

"You don't keep a dog for mauling you," Emilio continued with the same dangerous rasp, brushing his wife's hand from his arm with a sharp flick of his wrist. A ring caught her pale skin, tore it. Blood welled up, entirely unnoticed by all as the tense exchange continued. "You kill it. That thing on its knees is worse than a dog. It's wild and depraved. Your face is not the only proof we have of this."

He straightened in his chair, a snake ready to strike. "It's been trained like a dog, and now it's proved that the training was for nought, it'll die like a dog. Kill him." The order was directed to the guard clasping the sword.

Esmeralda's mouth opened, quivered with silent prayer. Do something. 

"Katalin." This voice was new. One not heard yet by the Aldish visitors, and neither by many of the slaves. It was deep, and despite its lack of use, held authority, and drew attention from all. The King, perched besides his Lady Wife, had eyes only for the pernicious woman. "The slave is his, Katalin. He has final say."

The Queen pierced her Husband with a scathingly injurious glare, but raised bejewelled fingers to halt the guards and returned her stare to Richard. "Well? Will you do away with the blemish?" Her voice was neither kind or soft. Clearly there was just one acceptable answer to this question.

For a split second in the chaos, Richard's attention held somewhere else; his sister. He face was stony and anger apparent. Lips pursed as she held back her own tongue.

What had they wed her into?

The split second was over as Emilio hissed.

At the others prince's orders, he opened his mouth, ready to intervene. Only to be cut off by the oldest man at the table; the King. He hadn't heard him speak until now. It was easy to forget he was there, how silent he was. The authority in his voice was unexpected but relieving.

The slave's chances of living hadn't been dashed. Richard didn't allow relief to wash over him. Not yet. Not until the slave was away from this vicious family.

Richard held the Queen's gaze.

"The slave lives." His tone was firm, no questions about it; an attempt to emulate his father and brother.

Katalin's face froze in a sharp, dark look.

Emilio's expression soured. He stood abruptly, his chair screeching and hitting the floor with a loud bang, the slave in his lap doing the same. His hand came down on the table, and shook it enough that his goblet toppled, spilling wine over the expensive wood. "This is insane! You know what that little cunt did, and you play this fucked up game with it. It should be dead!"

There was silence at the table as Emilio stormed form the garden in a black rage.

And when he disappeared into the stone walls, shattering a great stained glass window in the process the table was left in a tense, heavy silence, no one daring to make a move to shatter the silence and bring another wave of hostility.

That was until Katalin gave a delicate sigh, as if the entire ordeal was a small inconvenience to her. "I apologise," she spoke her words to Elizabeth, the authority of Alden in attendance, but her green eyes were on Richard. "For my son, for the slave, and for our actions at this table. We will not touch the slave."

At this the guards dropped Fleck like they had been burned by him. One nudged the slave with his foot as he stepped past him, returning to his post. 

Fleck doubled over, gasping for breath, mind spinning, cheek pressed into the dirt besides the Prince's booted foot.

"My son will be reprimanded for his actions here today, and I will extend the gift of another personal slave to your family, in hopes that you will see that not all gifts we give hold two edges."

She stood, and held her hands to her chest, the sincerest of emotions on her beautiful face. "And we hope there is no ill will between us for this. Please, take your breakfasts. I will go deal with Emilio." She left the table, trailed by her red-headed slave and two of the guards that had stood behind her and her husband.

Richard slowly let go of the breath he held as the Queen walked away.

He turned down to his mother, silent throughout the whole ordeal. Cold eyes looked up at him. Whatever she thought about him, the slave, this whole situation - it didn't show. Her features smooth like marble.

"Go."

Go to his guest chambers. Clear his head. Think about what he had done. They will talk later this evening.

Richard nodded, blue eyes briefly meeting his sisters concerningly, then he turned down to the slave.

Leaning down, he helped him up. His hands cupped his shaking until he was straight and steady.

With the gold chain looped back around his hand, he led him through the palace. His stunned guards followed obediently behind.

In the safety of the guest chambers, his shoulders relaxed a fraction. He didn't think they would be fully relaxed until they are far beyond the Ecrutez borders and deep in Aldish land.

Taking a seat in the lounge chair, he contemplated the slave.

Fleck didn't dare raise his head as he was helped to his feet, and kept his gaze to the floor at the Prince's feet, from the moment he was on his own feet, to the moment Richard's feet lifted from the ground entirely as he lounged back in the chaise in his chambers.

He dropped to his knees before the Prince, and just fell apart. His face pressed into the man's lap, and his shoulders began to shake, and he openly wept.

He had been about to die. His head would have rolled in the gardens and his blood would have stained the grass red.

This was supposed to have been his last day alive. He'd prepared for that, not accepted it but realised there was no way to change it. This morning he had woken for his certain death, at the too-young age of twenty four.

But this man... This beautiful, reclusive, foreign Prince had saved him. This man that he had pushed and embarrassed and injured had saved him without even a second thought.

Any lesser person, in fact any person entirely, would not have gone against the entire Ecrutezian royal family to save a slave's life, even without all the black marks to his name.

But Prince Richard had.

He'd even gotten the bitch to apologise for her actions.

How?

How was his transfer of ownership so bitter sweet? He'd been given to this man because Alden was as far away from his home in the deep South of this country as they could send him. They wanted to torture Fleck, and that certainly would. Any infinitesimally small hope of seeing his family again would be dashed when he wasn't even in the same country as them. 

The Prince was cold and distant, and would not touch him. Leaving him to a life of imposed celibacy and near-solitude.

Yet his new owner had done so much in one simple gesture. Had saved his life when any other would be the one ordering the sword at his throat. Had spoken toe to toe against one of the scariest women on this continent. Had reached out and offered a hand to him to help him stand, like he was a friend, or an equal.

Richard pressed his fingers into his eyes, blocking out the light, and breathed deeply.

His heart raced, his head pounded and his actions only started to settle in as the adrenaline left his system.

Speaking against the Queen was stupid. Reckless. Irresponsible. He risked the delicate alliance between the two kingdoms over a slave. A slave the royal family held a grudge against, made clear by their actions that morning.

He would do it all over again.

Running his hands down his face, he pressed them together in front of his lips.

The slave was still sobbing in his lap. The near death experience rattled him.

It was hazy, but his thoughts turned to the night before, in the bath. How terrified the slave looked; body shaking and his large form shrunk in. Richard took offence since he thought the slave was frighted because he thought he would hurt him. It was clearer now. Guilt seeped in with how uncaring he was not to comfort him.

Richard chewed on his lip. Hesitantly, he smoothed his hand down his head in an attempt to comfort him. His mother or nanny used to do this to him as a child, to calm and sooth him. Normally over a scrapped knee or if his nerves got to him. Never over a near death experience.

The hand on his head drew him back to the present.

He couldn't be doing this. Even with what had happened over the past twelve hours, he couldn't be crying into his Master's lap like this. Not even a prised pet would be allowed this sort of luxury.

He sniffed, drawing back and shuffling backwards on the marble flooring.

Then he prostrated himself as far as he could, forehead pressing into the marble, body as close to the ground as he could make it.

"Thank you." He almost kissed the ground as he spoke. His voice was raspy and still wobbled with the tears he was holding back. "Thank you, my Prince. Thank you."

Richard watched the slave move. Still obviously distressed. Still acted like a perfect slave.

He was tempted to press his hand down to stop him moving out of his lap. At least, not until he calmed down - no matter how many hours that would take.

"It's okay," he assured. "No one should die over breaking a little bit of skin."

His tongue swept over the scab - sore from where he had chewed it.

The slave wasn't close to death over a split lip. It was something that ran deeper than that. What were Emilio's words? Your face is not the only proof we have of this.

"You can rest your head here again."

It took him a moment to move. When he did, he took the time to wipe the tear-tracks from his cheeks, then wipe the kohl smudges onto his thighs.

He crossed his arms on the edge of the chaise and rested his chin on top, face titled upwards towards the prince. He hadn't settled back into his lap, but he wasn't hiding like he had been.

His eyes were slightly swollen and red, and the sharply drawn kohl that had graced his skin was now smudged.

Fleck gazed up at the Prince's face. It was delicate. He had the pale, translucent skin of a noble foreigner, soft features still transitioning from boyhood to manhood, such soft spun pale hair.

And the most beautiful thing of all, a kindness in his eyes that he hadn't seen from anyone in years. He felt a little bit awestruck. Usually the beautiful nobles like this were not kind. Yet here sat this man, this beautiful kind Prince.

Staring up at this man now rewrote any opinion he'd had of him. He may have been a little distant, and prudish and frustratingly chaste, but that dimmed under the light of the kindness he'd given him.

Richard's hand gently rested on the glossy hair again, running over it in his attempt to be soothing.

Tear stained and puffy eyed, the slave looked younger. Softer. His sharp featurs dulled.

"One moment."

Richard stood and made his way over to bedside table. He came back with a bowl and the small vile of oil in his hands. The two items were set out all times to prepare himself in the morning, and then to wash away the day in the evening.

Instead of sitting back on the chair, he sat on the floor. Last time he had asked the slave to sit, he had rebuffed him. It wasn't something done here. He didn't think the slave was prepared to take orders, so he joined him instead.

The bowl and vile were placed beside him. The low table next to them both was still filled with the tools was expected to use on the slave.

Pouring a bit of oil into the tips of his fingers, he reached out to the saves face. Slowly, as he would approach a startled animal.

His fingers moved in soft circular motions. The oil would be enough to lift the kohl. No need to add presure.

He pulled his hand away and washed it in the bowl. Then picked out the cloth in it, wrung excess water out and pressed it to the slave's oil slick face. With the same gentle care, he removed the oil.

"Better?" he asked, pulling the cloth away. He felt dumb asking that. The slave just had a sword to his throat.

When the Prince stood, Fleck let himself relax slightly, cheek pressing into his crossed forearms and eyes sliding shut.

Now the adrenaline was wearing away, he felt tired. Ridiculously so. A near death experience sure could drain you.

When Richard returned, his eyes slid open again, flickering over him slowly when he sat down on the floor besides him. His eyes slid shut again when oiled fingers pressed to his skin, and began lifting the dirt on his face. He sat still and silent as the prince worked, eyes only flickering open again when the Prince had wiped away all the oils and dirt.

His skin was damp, and a few rivulets of water had streaked over his throat and soaked into the thick cloth on the inside of his collar. The cool water against his flushed skin felt good.

"Yes, my Prince." His voice was less strained now, but still quiet, not wanting to upset the gentle atmosphere in the room.

Richard nodded. Blue eyes assessed the slave, unsure of what to do next. Something told him that maybe he should hug him, or smooth his hair our some more. But he kept his respectable distance. It was still closer than what the average Aldish person was used too, but not close enough so they were touching.

The slave looked tired. The floor wasn't comfortable. Cold and hard. It hurt his knees already.

How did the slaves kneel on it for hours on end?

Richard looked over his shoulder up to the bed. It seemed to be the only piece of furniture the slave was allowed to use.

"Would you like to lie down?"

"I couldn't, my Prince. I am to attend you today."

Being allowed to lay down and rest like that in the late morning hours? If he wasn't careful, he was sure he was going to start feeling like a prised pet. He wanted to avoid getting ahead of himself.

Though he'd certainly allow himself the luxury of feeling like a prised pet as he sat at his Master's feet tonight at the large party the castle was hosting for Nobles of all kinds to bask in the glory of the royal families of the newly allied kingdoms. He hadn't hoped that he would see that party.

Now he was looking forwards to it. To see the dark looks on Emilio's and Katalin's faces as they looked down upon him and loathed his life.

Richard sighed.

Still a perfect slave.

He shifted on the floor; legs stretched out in front of him under the coffee table.

He had nowhere to be for the rest of the morning. Lunch time he is to meet a few nobles. Then the slave would help him get ready for tonight for another evening of tight smiles and tiring conversation. It was to go late into the evening.

"Then we'll sit here for a while."

He was dressed, the slave's face was clean. The nobles he would meet would be unsuspicious. He was sure the whole fiasco this morning would be kept on the low down.

"Yes, my Prince."

He relaxed against the chaise, facing Richard and watching him intensely. What an interesting man he'd found himself given to.

A small smile played at his lips.

"Thank you," he whispered again. He wouldn't be able to say it enough. He never would.

Richard curled a piece of hair behind his ears, he matched the slave's slight, almost there smile.

"It's no problem, I couldn't stand by and let them kill you."

Whatever the real intent was behind it, he would ask later. Right now, he was content on letting the slave calm down and for himself to prepare himself for later this evening. He was sure it would be a very tense one.

"Most people would."

Who would go to such hassle to protect a slave? He couldn't name a single person that would in this castle, besides the man sat right in front of him. And even that had come to a shock to him.

"I will not push boundaries again, or cause any more unnecessary trouble for you," he promised in that same whisper.

From here on out he would do his best to be a good slave.