Chapter 12.

When the servants woke him, his eyes burned from exhaustion. He couldn't ever remember being this tired back home. Not even after working all day in the fields, but fear and trepidation had him on his feet quickly. Rain was still lashing against the shutters of his window and thunder rumbled in the distance, like a dark omen. 

They didn't feed him, but took him straight to the baths, apparently deeming him fit enough to manage the grand marble staircase on his own. 

The bath hall, usually bright and sunlit, had darkened; a massive wooden covering shielded the open terrace from the rain. Oil lamps lit the space like fireflies, giving it an otherworldly atmosphere, but Deon was too worn out to admire it. 

He was stumbling, by the time he reached the pools and sank gratefully into the water. His skin was washed and scrubbed, a deft hand tilting back his chin to pour scented water over his hair. 

When he was clean, smooth and oiled, he was taken to a room on the second floor. It was decorated in vibrant colors; ruby carpets, copper and gold beaded pillows, dotted animal skins and a massive bed with a canopy and dark green drapes. The effect was garish and jarring, to Deon's eye. 

Jesa was seated in a chair by a stone table, with half-eaten dishes left on it. Deon stopped cold in the doorway.

He hadn't been spared punishment after all. The prince couldn't have missed his dislike for Jesa and now he was paying the price for his fumble last night. 

The redhead sipped from a silver cup, glaring accusingly at Deon over the rim. "I was supposed to have the day free."

Deon didn't say anything. He looked at the guards, lined against the wall. Two of them were expressionless, but one returned the boy's look cooly. 

"Let's get this over with." Jesa levered himself out of the chair and stalked towards the bed.

Deon wasn't about to challenge those guards and lose the last shreds of his tattered dignity. He walked. 

"Hurry up." Jesa flounced on top of the rumpled sheets and snapped his fingers twice, as if urging an idle dog. 

Deon felt a muscle flutter in his jaw and climbed onto the bed. His thighs ached when he bent his knees, flames racing up his spine from his ass. He stiffened, breath catching. 

"It's your own fault! You're dumb as a goat." Jesa sneered and settled back against the headboard.

"Shut your mouth!" Deon snarled, anger heating his cheeks. 

The redhead's face lit up and he grinned, leaning forward. "Go ahead. Hit me!"

"Tempting, but I'm not an idiot." Deon grit and watched Jesa's grin falter, anger hardening the boy's features for an instant, before he smirked. 

"Really? Can you even read?" Jesa arched a brow sceptically. 

Deon frowned. Jesa was clearly trying to embarrass him, but only fine folk and monks could read. He was the son of a farmer. He didn't need to be literate to work in the fields or care for the animals. He couldn't see the point of it either, staying inside learning symbols all day seemed boring and indulgent. 

"Of-course you don't." Jesa snorted, full mouth twisting bitterly. "I'm to make sure you don't repeat that sloppy performance yesterday." 

Deon's face flushed as hot as the air outside and he glowered defensively. He'd been on his knees, sucking off a man in front of a whole party. His thoughts had been entirely occupied by shame and fear. He hadn't thought about his "performance" at all.

Jesa smiled and sidled closer, leaning against Deon's shoulder to murmur in his ear. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

Deon stiffened. He could feel the heat of the boy's golden skin and smell the sweet oils that all the concubines were covered in, including himself. It was an enticing scent, but it made his stomach roil. 

A hand brushed over his hip and fear skittered up Deon's spine. He forced himself to remain still, hands digging into the soft smooth blankets. 

He hated that Jesa was so close to him. The boy seemed to enjoy his discomfort and Deon didn't trust him one bit, but what choice did he have? He just wanted to finish this and get back to his room, as quickly as possible. 

"The last boy who rejected him, was flogged and trampled in the streets." Jesa purred, hand dipping between Deon's legs.

"What?" Deon turned his head, shocked, and found himself staring into startling green eyes, surrounded by amber lashes.

Jesa smiled, but his gaze held a chilling darkness.

"He was like you. Arrogant. Stupid. But the prince already has a redhead and why would he bother with someone unskilled and unwilling, when so many would take his place?" Jesa leaned in and kissed the curve of Deon's ear, fingertips skating over his thigh. Butterfly light. Deon hated himself for responding, but his treacherous cock stirred. 

"Is he dead?" Deon asked hoarsely.

Jesa made a rude noise and his fingers wrapped around Deon's hardening prick, pulling up slow and sliding down to squeeze the base. "What do you think?" 

Deon shuddered and his breathing hitched, before he pressed his lips tight. He was torn between wanting to push the redhead away or pull him closer. The fact that he felt any desire at all shamed him.

He knew who Jesa was talking about. Ferrin, from Deon's hometown. The tall redhead had been selected, along with Roi and Alen, the day the King's men came to the market.

He didn't know much about Ferrin, except that the boy had been the carpenter's son. He had once spent a full day in the rain, fixing the roof of their barn. In the evening, Deon's mother had given the boy a butchered calf in trade and offered him a plate at their table.

Ferrin had spoken little, preferring to listen as the family talked around him, but he'd been polite, not asking for seconds, until it was offered. Drops of water had dripped from his hair and trailed through the dirt on his face. His eyes had been brown...

"He's given you so many chances, it makes me sick." Jesa whispered, snapping Deon out of his memory. "You act like some privileged noble, but you're just a peasant!" 

Harsh fingers suddenly pinched the tip of his cock and teeth bit into his ear. 

Deon yelled and gripped Jesa's long hair, tugging it hard. The boy snarled and dug his nails into Deon's armpits. 

The boys fell on the bed and wrestled, but Deon was quickly overpowered. He breathed hard and clenched his teeth as pain ravaged through old aches. 

Jesa lifted his head, cheeks flushed and eyes blazing with anger. "You don't deserve to be here! Brachat!" The boy spat and released Deon to grip his shoulders and drag him across the bed, until his head hung over the edge. A thumb hooked into his mouth, forcing it open. 

Deon choked when Jesa's cock rammed into his throat with no softness or hesitation. He soon learned to relax, even though it hurt. Gagging only made it worse and it didn't slow the redhead in the slightest. 

It seemed an eternity, but was probably only moments, before the boy shuddered, gripping fistfuls of Deon's hair so tight, it felt like the strands might pull out by the root.

Jesa's balls pressed against Deon's nose, blocking his airway completely. Panic gripped him and he kicked his feet, scratching Jesa's hips with his nails. The redhead moaned and his hips jerked, before he finally pulled out.

Deon coughed and wheezed for air, stars exploding before his eyes. He scrambled away from Jesa and retched, expelling nothing but strings of sour bile and worse. Now he knew why the servants hadn't fed him that morning.

"Get back here!" Jesa barked. 

The lesson continued twice more, before Deon was permitted to flee. 

He rushed back to his room, relieved that no servants stopped him, and stumbled blindly into a corner. He bent forward, pressing his palms to the cool stone floor, and sobbed.

He felt so dirty. So wrong. If his father could see him now... Deon flinched at the thought and tears scorched down his cheeks. 

He wondered if his mom had finished clearing away all of his possessions by now. He wondered if she missed him or if she had killed him in her heart, as she seemed to have done with Alen. 

She had never been a bad mother, but she hadn't coddled or doted on her sons, as she did with Alise. Boys had to be strong and responsible, especially the eldest. But she had always been proud of Deon. He was sure of it.

She wouldn't be proud of him now, if she knew the sins he had committed. He thought of an execution he'd witnessed in the town square. The woman had been hanged for adultery. The punishment for homosexuality was the same. 

The door opened and he startled violently, heart thudding in his ears. He didn't want anyone to see him like this and he was tempted to clamp his hands over his face. Instead, he braced himself and looked up. 

Leovan leered down at him, hard blue eyes filled with contempt. Guards took their positions against the wall and the sound of the door closing seemed to drum in Deon's ears. 

His lesson with Leovan was as awful as he had expected it would be. The boy had no regard for Deon's comfort or injuries. He was there to teach Deon to submit and obey, like a slave ought to.

He hadn't been fed all day, but in the evening he was served a lavish meal of roasted meat, grilled vegetables, wine, honeyed nuts and cheeses. He couldn't bring himself to touch any of it. 

The healer wiped disgusting fluids from his skin with herbal water and applied cooling ointments to his injuries. Inside and out. When she was finished, she held his hand for a bit, humming a wordless tune and smoothing back his hair. Then she left him to his misery.

He lay in his bed, crying silently, each hitching breath sending sparks of pain through his throat. 

He thought about getting up and walking to the window. Opening the shutters and stepping onto the ledge. Falling forward and letting the rain pound him into the ground. But even standing up seemed an immense task. He was so tired.

The door opened again and two pairs of light steps padded inside. Deon's pulse leapt with dread and he turned his face into the pillow. If he was to be punished again, he hoped he wouldn't be required to move.

His cover lifted with a quiet whisper of fabric and then someone was climbing in beside him. Fingers drifted over his hair and urged him to turn his head. Azel smiled at him and cupped his face, thumbs wiping away the tears. Then the boy leaned in, lips brushing Deon's softly. 

It was chaste a kiss, almost innocent, if not for the long moment Azel lingered. The mattress dipped and a warm body settled against his back. 

"It's just me." Roi breathed in Deon's ear and lifted the damp strands from his nape, lightly kissing the fresh bruises left from Leovan's cruel fingers. 

Azel's tongue ran across the seam of Deon's lip, back and forth slowly, then he kissed Deon's upper lip. 

Roi dusted kisses down Deon's neck, palms warming his ribs, his hips, to rest lightly on his cock. 

Deon gave in to the boys tender ministrations; opening his mouth to accept Azel's tongue and parting his sore thighs to make room for Roi's carefully tugging fingers.

Even if he wished the body in his arms was Alen, he welcomed the pleasure and latched onto it desperately. Anything to escape the torment in his mind. 

It didn't occur to him to wonder why the prince had sent a reward, so soon after a punishment, or what he might have done to earn it.

Deon caressed Azel's slick skin in wordless thanks. The boy sighed sweetly into his mouth and the arms around him tightened in response. Roi crawled below the covers and moist heat soon enveloped Deon's cock. 

He lost himself in blissful sensations after that. Letting the cold sharp world grow hazy and unreal.