One morning, the servants roused him again and he knew his time to rest was over.

Rain was pouring outside and the smell of ozone filled the air. A cool breeze wafted in from the open window, refreshing in the ever-present heat.

Deon's skin and hair was scrubbed hard, but he didn't flinch. Not even when they poured hot sugar onto his crotch and armpits. The tear of his body hair was a small sting, compared to the ache between his legs.

His nails were clipped and filed. His hair was brushed and left damp and smooth against his spine. They drew kohl around his eyes, dabbed paint on his mouth and his cock was shackled in that dreaded gold belt, identical to Alen's.

He was led downstairs and each step was a struggle. He was panting hard, when he entered a study.

The prince and five men were seated around a table. Deon recognized two of them from his first day in the palace.

The air was redolent with a sweet smoke drifting from a long pipe, that the men passed between them. They were focused on an ornate board-game carved in marble and pearl.

Concubines lounged on plush rugs like pampered cats; Alen, Azel, Jesa, two Peraan boys and three girls.

Deon felt the boys eyes on him and kept his head down. He couldn't bring himself to remember what they had done to him or he feared he might weep.

He ducked to Alen's side, feeling a small relief when his brother's arm curled protectively around him.

"Seya." The prince's voice jerked Deon's head up and fear gripped his throat. The prince was watching the twins, grey eyes narrowed. "You had him four days past, that's enough."

Alen's eyes widened in dismay, but he stood and moved away from Deon, to sit beside Jesa. Deon felt a stab of jealousy, but he kept his face expressionless and lowered his head again.

The prince turned his attention back on the game, laughing when a man exclaimed angrily and threw tokens at the table. He then gestured to a petite Peraan girl with glossy curls. She climbed eagerly into his lap, giggling when his hand slipped between her plump thighs.

About an hour later, a footman appeared and spoke in a clear voice. The prince inclined his head a fraction.

A man was shown into the room and Deon blinked hard, trying to focus, but the smoke in the room was making him dizzy and his eyes watered.

The man was Telenien and a noble, judging by his fine attire, black brocaded with silver. He was visibly sweating, dressed far too hot for the Peraan climate, even with the downpour outside.

He bowed his head low in the Telenien fashion and folded his arms across his chest.

"Duke Landros, I wasn't expecting you for a week. You've timed your visit well." The prince motioned the man forward.

The Duke raised his head and pulled at his collar, approaching the table. "Well, my prince Calys? My ship nearly capsized in the storm."

The prince, Calys, smiled lazily and gestured for a servant to pour wine. "But monsoon season is somewhat cooler. What news have you? How is your king faring?"

The man took a seat and accepted a gold cup. "Poorly, I'm afraid. His health is deteriorating."

"A sickness in the lungs, was it?" The prince spoke idly, grey eyes sharp on the duke's face. "And how is his eldest, prince Micell?"

The man tugged at his collar again and his eyes flickered around the table uneasily. "Perhaps, we could talk somewhere more private?"

The prince arched a brow. "You all heard the man." He said scornfully and the duke paled. "Out."

"With your leave." Landros said unsteadily.

Azel pulled on Deon's arm, startling him, and he followed the concubines out the door. He wondered why a Telenien duke would travel so far, to discuss the health of the royal family with a Peraan prince, and decided he was probably better off not knowing.

Two guards led them into a banquet hall, where gold platters of food were being served. The concubines shared trays of bread, fruits and honeyed cakes.

Deon kept his distance from the others, but he looked longingly across the room at Alen, who avoided his stare and curled up on the cushions with Jesa.

The prince and the duke arrived perhaps an hour later, followed by the prince's entourage. They dined, talked and drank for what felt like an eternity.

Deon was nearly asleep when his fake name was called. Seyin. He hated the sound of it.

The boy stood painfully and approached the table in his ridiculous belt. He fought the urge to cover himself and clutched his hands behind his back.

"Becoming, is he not?" The prince was sprawled cat-like in his chair, gesturing towards Deon with his cup.

"Very." Landros had abandoned his cloak and his doublet was unbuttoned at the collar. His cheeks were flushed and his blue eyes were glazed with wine. "We don't have boys like this in my country."

The prince and his men laughed. "Then you must be blind. My Seyin is Telenien."

Deon felt shame scorch his cheeks and lowered his eyes. A tremor was starting in his weakened legs and he tried to lock his knees. He wasn't well enough to be out of bed, but he wouldn't fall in front of a duke. He refused to.

"How did you get him?" The duke sounded astonished.

"He washed ashore." Calys spoke sardonically. "Would you like a taste? You must be starved, living in that pious country."

Landros had been about to speak, but now his mouth closed and opened, like a fish out of water. "I would, yes." He finally uttered.

Calys smiled, cold eyes moving to rest on Deon. "Be generous to your duke. He is weary from his journey."

There was a hint of bite in the prince's words and Deon felt fear grip his chest like talons.

Not daring to think about what he was about to do, Deon moved to the duke's chair and sat in his lap, steadying himself by clutching the man's shoulders. Landros was a tall man, but scrawny and his body felt bony, compared to the prince's lithe figure.

Deon tried not to smell the wine on the man's breath or the sweat dampening his expensive shirt.

Landros drew in a shaky breath and a tentative hand touched Deon's waist.

"What would you like?" The prince's voice was a purr with a hint of laughter. "His mouth or ass?"

The duke moistened his lips and his blue eyes flicked over Deon's face and chest, before settling on his painted mouth. "Those bruises. He's hurt?"

"He's new." Calys spoke dismissively. "I don't have all day. This is my gift to you. Do you want someone else?"

"No, I...his mouth. Please." The last word seemed directed at Deon and the boy nearly rolled his eyes, but caught himself in time. As if he had any say in this.

He scooted out of the man's lap and sank to his knees, grateful that he wasn't standing and that his sore ass wouldn't be burning all night.

He reached for the man's belt with trembling hands, but the duke was already undoing the clasp, breaths quickening with excitement.

Deon reached into the man's trousers and drew out a long cock that was already half-hard. The pink head was glistening and peaking out of foreskin. Peraan men were all circumcised and it was almost strange to see a cock in-tact.

Before he lost his courage, Deon nudged the prick between his lips and sucked gently.

Landros gasped and his hand settled lightly on top of the boy's head.

Deon wanted to finish this quickly, but he knew the prince wouldn't approve of that.

Be generous.

He tried to remember what he liked, when he'd been sucked. The soft moisture of a tongue, firm sucks and warm kisses. Taking it deep and swallowing at just the right moment.

The duke groaned and his fingers stroked into Deon's hair, feeling hot and damp against the boy's scalp. Deon forced down a shudder of revulsion.

The prince and his men were talking and laughing above his head. They spoke in Peraan and any snide remarks they might have made were lost on Deon.

The boy tried to focus on those sounds and ignore the salt, sweat and stickiness in his mouth. The hot flesh throbbing and twitching on his tongue. He swallowed sickness and cupped the duke's sweaty balls softly, massaging with his thumb.

The cock in his mouth suddenly pulsed and bitter fluid ran warm down his throat, making him retch.

Deon jerked his head up, coughing and heard the prince bellow in outrage. The boy flinched, shaking, and hastily reached for the duke's softening cock.

"No! My dear boy, you did fine." Gentle fingers, heavy with rings, cupped Deon's chin and a thumb brushed over his wet mouth, still sore from the cut healing on the inside of his lip.

"Such a beauty." Landros breathed and Deon peered up through watering eyes, swallowing back the urge to cough again.

The man's blue gaze was soft and his cheeks were now fever red. His brown hair was combed neatly, but starting to curl with sweat. He wasn't handsome, but he wasn't ugly either.

A brisk order from the prince had Deon escorted to his room. He managed to unbuckle the belt and rinse his mouth and face with water from a new ivory basin, before crawling into bed.

He was tense with dread, waiting for the prince to barge in and punish him. But he couldn't fight sleep for long.