Valerka lounged imperiously on the throne crafted specially for him, his robe falling open across his chest even more than its design intended.

His cold gaze swept over the Tsar's minions, who were trying to curry favor by affecting boisterous merriment. Wolf observed how men and boys alike cast glances at the exposed flesh. The youngsters' eyes blazed, rarely lowering their gaze – they imagined the Black Prince more accessible, being near their age, believing they had better chances of landing in his bed and favor, thus securing their lives. They discounted Wolf entirely. To them, Wolf was just a hound, a dog to be stepped over and kicked aside.

But the seasoned ones, who had seen much and consciously chose to renounce Freedom, after casting their lustful glances at the Black Prince, would meet Wolf's bloodthirsty red eyes – eyes that spoke of feeding on his own kind's flesh. No mere pet dog content with table scraps, but a hunter of the sentient, who made them his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. After such encounters, their glances at Aler grew more cautious, never lingering beyond a polite moment.

Wolf couldn't fathom the purpose of such revealing attire for a reigning Prince. While such clothing had its explanation during captivity, now it seemed merely the Tsar's inexplicable whim.

When the Tsar, smirking as he showed off his prize, sent Wolf to see whom he'd caught in the World of Freedom, Wolf didn't have to feign his rage – his fur truly stood on end. They had stripped his Valerka bare, the robe barely meeting at the waist. Valerka had tried to close it tighter but soon abandoned the effort, leaving it completely open, not even bothering to tie it. In the World of Freedom, one chose whether to bare oneself – nudity wasn't shameful, but it had to be one's own choice to be natural and beautiful, not foolish seduction or violence against someone, or any reason besides one's own comfort. The clothing in captivity was humiliation, which Valerka didn't feel as shame, but rather as discomfort with the robe he was forced to wear in the Tsar's custody.

And somehow since then, his attire remained this flowing, open robe.

***
He shed the robe. The black fabric, embroidered with silver and pearls, lay discarded like a worthless rag on the carpet. Such contempt for possessions was normal among the Untaken. They treated people around them the same way.

Aler tossed the heavy jeweled crown beside the robe. The Tsar had meticulously cultivated in him an inability to value human labor, to scorn even the most precious things. He'd worked to eliminate any attachment, not just to people but to objects. No collections, no reverence for antiquities with history – everything was to be trampled, cast aside and destroyed, beauty unappreciated, treated like a butterfly – caught and crushed, its powder simply washed from one's hands and forgotten as something fleeting and worthless. All fragile, disposable toys in the path of his sole living treasure – Aler.

"Heel, Wolf," Aler called with a slight smirk, removing rings from his fingers and dropping them at his feet.

A knock came at the door. Aler frowned in displeasure.

"Find out what they want and return to me."

Wolf opened the door. A serving girl squeaked that she'd brought dinner for the prince and tried to slip past the man.

"I'll take it," Wolf grabbed the tray and bared his sharp teeth in a threatening grin at the girl. "Now scram."

The girl stepped back, catching a glimpse of the half-naked Aler in the candlelit doorway, her heart racing at the beautiful youth, but the door quickly closed.

"Poisoned again?" Aler dropped his last ring and turned slightly toward Wolf, watching him place the tray on a small table by the door.

"Most likely. I could check..."

"Forget it. It's such routine now it's not worth the time or attention," Aler made several sharp gestures with his palm, beckoning Wolf closer.

The man immediately approached the Black Prince of the Untaken Side. Valerka had grown since their first meeting, now nearly Wolf's height and seemingly determined to add a few more centimeters. His body remained beautifully sculpted from work – in the World of Freedom, Valerka hadn't idled on beaches or in haystacks, but sought places where his capable hands were needed: building, mining, hauling, and learning everything.

Wolf tugged at the drawstrings of Aler's loose trousers, standing behind him. Aler smiled beautifully and pulled Wolf down by his hair to his feet, onto the rings.

"I said heel, Wolf," and when the man was on his knees before him, the youth stroked his face and added, "now you're a good dog. This day has worn me out. Try to be like this day."