The Crown Resurrected (3/6)
Fic title: The Crown Resurrected
Author name: herminekurotowa
Artist name: dulcetine
Beta: jj1564
Alpha: somersault_j, junkerin
Genre: RPS, pre-relationship
Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Jensen/Matt (implied), Jared/OMC (implied)
Word count: 20,000
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: hurt!Jensen, slavery, torture, implied child abuse, mention of castration and rape
Disclaimer: If I would own anything or anyone depicted in this work of fiction, believe me, I'd do other stuff.
Summary: Jared and Jensen are both noble princes. But while Jared is the successful conqueror, Jensen is mistaken for a bed slave. He is stripped of his past and thrown into a present full of pain and hurt. And his future will only bear death and destruction.
Jared is drawn to the mysterious man in his bedroom. He could use him, but doesn't want to; he wants to love him, but dares not to touch him. He tries to save his live, but instead Jared hurts him worse than ever. Maybe, though - maybe together they can heal each other.
Chapter 3
Massee hates that damn slave with a vengeance.
He has always known his lord is soft, compared with his father, the Crown, but it is okay as it makes the subjects love him. There never was an attempt on his life: the jealous gentry wouldn't risk the public anger, and the vulgar revolutionists hope for better times once he takes the Crown.
The problem is the prince's way of dealing with slaves. He treats them as if they were people, as if they were more than the bugs they are. And this damn doe-eyed slave... he has turned his lord's head.
The prince wants the bug to follow him everywhere. He made him wear a novice's habit, and detached Qualls as a personal bodyguard. Now Massee doesn't believe in Saramaganta, because how powerful can a newt be? However, it is an unsettling thought that the little bug desecrates a sacred robe.
Of course he knows about the prince's proclivities, it is an open secret in the palace. They care little about the Designated Crown's bedfellows as long as the line of succession is clear, and Massee doesn't think that good leadership depends upon sexual orientation. Nevertheless, he wishes that the prince would fuck the damn slave into the straw tick to get him out of his system, to stop thinking with his lower brain.
Then then there is the thing that Massee can't believe - the bug was not involved with the murder attempt.
They find an unknown slave in the middle of the war, and no one thinks it is suspicious. The bug's orders could be to subvert the occupying forces, murder the Designated Crown, or to spy on the prince. If anyone asked Massee, he would say that it is possible that the bug may be an assassin in the guise of a slave.
But no one asks him, ever.
~~~~~~~~~~
The bad thing about this dream is that he knows he is dreaming but can't do a damn thing about the events.
He is still little, barely ten years old, and terrified. Yet he says to his mom, “Don't be afraid. I'll protect you.”
His mom is crying, pressing him to her bosom, trying to protect him herself.
The man with the very dark eyes is grinning at them. Later he learns that his name is Martinez, a henchman of the Great Lord Fuller, but now, staring at him with cruelly glistening eyes, he is just like a huge, man-eating Reptilian God.
Martinez' holds his boy-sized wrist in a too tight grip, the bones grinding under strong fingers. He is writhing, and pleading, and crying, but he can't get loose. All of a sudden, there is a knife in the old man's hand.
Of course he knows now that Martinez wasn't an old man, but when you're ten years old, everyone older than twenty-five or thirty is an old person. Except his mom. He still can see her face in this dream when he turns around, pale and beautiful, a bloody fingerprint and black ink on her cheek marring her soft skin.
And of course he knows now what to do to get free. He is a trained warrior and excellent swordsman; he would need all of two seconds to free himself and another two to kill Martinez. Unfortunately, in the dream he is a scared little boy, and the knife looks like a sword to his eyes, dangerously sharp and glistening.
“You know, you're a cute little boy,” Martinez says, “I can sell you for a lot of money if I make sure you remain a boy.”
Grinning, Martinez cuts off his pants, and he screams and cries, and he knows that his pillows will be wet with tears when he wakes up.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jensen is lying awake in his father's bed, a warm body snuggled up to his, long arms thrown over him.
Most of the day he had lived in confusion, starting when a young soldier entered the room.
“At the prince's command, put it on,” he says, throwing at him a black and green piece of clothing that turns out to be a novice's habit of the Great Newt's congregation. There are only a few priests in the vicinity, and Jensen's father only put up with them because they gave charity that he didn't want to pay for.
The Lordmaster is a follower of the Church of the Rapacious Wolf that says the Wolf is only satisfied when there is nothing left to devour. Unsurprisingly, the Northern upper class are members of said church because it makes avarice a virtue.
Jensen believes the Wolf shares his quarry so that his pack may live, which is why humans shouldn't be crueler than predators.
So, sitting beside the prince the whole afternoon, he is rather taken aback when a stranger, his people's enemy and conqueror, shows more sympathy and compassion than the rightful leader. And he even shows it to an insignificant slave.
It's the prince's private physician who treats Jensen's wounds in the evening; 'private' meaning in this case that the physician, Armstrong, is the only one to treat the tall man, but he is not the only man Armstrong treats as he tends to every sick or wounded person regardless of social ranks. Jensen accredits his relatively good health to the physician's competence.
The Lordmaster would have his physician executed if he dared treat anyone other than the members of the royal family.
At bedtime, Jensen prepares to sleep again on the cushion in the alcove. He doesn't know if he liked the prince cuddling him the other night or not. It was nice to feel warm and sheltered, arms around his stomach holding him tight; he just wished they weren't his captor's arms. However the prince says, “No, my back will kill me tomorrow,” and orders him to get into the bed.
When the mattress dips behind him, Jensen almost panics, steeling himself for the things that never come.
That is why he is still awake, mulling over the past days' events, but unable to make sense of them. It doesn't help that the prince, the conqueror of Jensen's home, his alleged master, is sleeping besides him, wrapped around Jensen's body, and crying in his sleep.
Finally, Jensen rolls over, facing the tall man who looks like a little boy in his sleep, his cheeks wet with tears.
Jensen is running his fingers through soft, brown hair, saying, “Shhh,” until the silent sobs stop.
He doesn't know when he fell asleep, but he knows he is in trouble when he wakes up.
The prince is standing in front of the bed, with arms crossed, scowling.
“You lied,” he says, “I don't know how you did it, but you lied.”
“I-I don't-” Jensen stutters in fear.
“Where's the Lordmaster?” The prince's voice is cold, and Jensen flinches.
“I told you. White Mountain chalet.”
“He's not there. A mounted messenger arrived in the night, stating that your master isn't anywhere near the river Numeras. You lied.”
“No! He said he'd go to the mountains.” Two guards are closing in, reaching for Jensen, so he tries to dodge. “I don't know where he is!”
He has no chance. They grab his arms, dragging him from the bed and out of the room.
“I don't know where he is!” he shouts, and then he knows where he is being dragged to. “Oh Wolf, no. Please, don't!”
He knows he is begging, but he can't help it. He had less than two days of rest, and he thought he was over it; however, if he has to go through it again, he won't survive.
The prince is following Jensen and the guards, his face dark with anger, not responding to Jensen's pleas.
His fear is confirmed - it is the torture chamber where they take him, pushing him to his knees in front of the wooden tub, and they grab his hair and shove his head under water. Steeling himself is fruitless because the cold water is taking his breath away until there's nothing left in his lungs than pain. Struggling is fruitless, his arms held, his head held; there's no way escaping the water, try as he might.
“Where's your master?” says the third guard, a blond man with cruel eyes, who looks at Jensen as if he were an insect.
Drawing the deepest breaths of his life, gasping, water running down his face, Jensen replies, “I don't know,” and again, they push his head under water, and he says, “I don't know,” a third and fifth time, and then he loses track of the times when he can draw breaths, when his lungs are burning due to lack of air, when he is thrashing around, when he is almost drowned.
He still says “I don't know,” when they stop, and he keeps saying it when they drag him back into his father's room and drop him onto the cushion. He only stops when unconsciousness takes the pain away.
~~~~~~~~~~
DJ Qualls is loyal to the Designated Crown because the prince is also loyal to his men. If he wasn't a common guard, he would like to have a talk with him because while he usually listens to both sides of a story, this slave issue seems to have unsettled the prince.
The message dispatched by Commander Penikett was clear: no Ackles in sight. The prince was obviously dissatisfied, huffing and rubbing his face with his hands. That was when Deputy Commander Massee approached him, arguing with him in a low voice.
The prince answered with more frustration and furiously flashing eyes. Then he ordered his men to interrogate the slave using torture.
DJ feels sorry for the poor slave who totally loses his cool under the torture. He has to push him too many times into the water, almost drowning him each time, and glancing at Tigerman, he can see the sympathy in his eyes. Massee, however, is enjoying this way too much.
It is obvious the slave doesn't know a thing. He already said what he knew when drugged, there is no way he lied under the influence of snake bite. DJ knows the effect because the loyalty of every member of the royal guard is tested prior to joining.
So why doesn't the prince give him any peace? And why is the deputy commander so keen on seeing the guy hurt, knowing full well the possibility that the bed slave doesn't know where his master is?
~~~~~~~~~~
It is not even noon, and Jared is already drunk.
Poor Peaches is lying on his cushion, drugged to the gills in order to let Armstrong work. He was so out of it that he reacted against any touch, but one of the welts on the slave's back split open due to his struggling and writhing, and needs stitches.
The physician works carefully, muttering under his breath about the stupidity of a certain royal.
Jared knows he is right - he was so stupid to listen to Massee's words. It is impossible to lie under the influence of snake bite, but the insinuations seemed to be logical after a night of bad dreams and a morning filled with doubt. He is not proud of what he did to the slave the other day, and the events of the morning are definitely not helping.
Peaches paid the price for his vulnerability, and Jared needs to drown his guilty conscience in brandy.
“This will definitely leave a scar,” Armstrong says, washing his hands and wiping them on a cloth. Crossing his arms, he turns to Jared who sits in an armchair, drinking straight from the pitcher.
“I'm sorry,” Jared says.
“I'm not the one you need to apologize to. What were you thinking? The general told you the slave may not know about his master's plans, and I know that you know that the commander doubted his knowledge. So what were you thinking?”
Jared sighs. “I don't know,” he says, taking another swig from the pitcher. “Massee said he was a mole, subverting the guard. I know I can't pin it on the deputy because I should have called bullshit. Instead I decided to believe him, and now Peaches is hurt and half-dead.”
After another swig, he sighs. “It's completely my fault.”
“Yes, it is. He was being on the mend, and now I have to pray to the Crocodilians that he won't catch pneumonia. Not to mention the scar he'll retain in addition to the ones from the whipping.” Armstrong sighs, sitting down on the lounge chair. “Just out of curiosity, when did your common sense start to work?”
“When I demanded his age, and he said, 'I don't know'. All the time, it was the only thing he kept on saying. He was so scared.”
The brandy has long since ceased to burn in his gorge. Soon, he will need another pitcher.
“Jared, you're like a son to me. I know you're a good man in your heart of hearts, and I pray there's still hope for you. I always told your father that torture is no means to search for the truth, maybe you learned it today.” Armstrong says, more kindly than Jared feels he deserves.
Jared nods his head.
“That's my boy. Now send Peaches to the servants' quarters to give him some rest.”
Jared shakes his head. “Can't. The Crown is coming here. He'll want to see him. I just have enough time to get sober and arrange to prepare his rooms.”
“Oh 'Dils. What are you going to do?”
“Don't know. I only can wait until his arrival in order to ask what he wants.”
The slave is stirring, moaning softly, then settling back to sleep. Both the physician and the prince are watching silently, then Armstrong says, “I'll leave you alone. He should sleep a while longer.”
Standing, he pats Jared's shoulder. “Stop drinking. It never solves any problems.”
“I know, Curtis. Thank you. For everything.”
Another pat on his shoulder. “You're a good kid, Jared. Just don't forget it.”
While Armstrong leaves the room, Jared doesn't look up, keeping his eyes on the pitcher. A fourth of the brandy is still left, and he won't empty it. Armstrong is right, drinking never solves a problem.
Putting the pitcher on a side table, he stands and walks to the alcove where the slave is sleeping.
He is gorgeous. If he weren't a slave, Jared would bed him immediately. It wouldn't solve the Ackles problem, but it would silence his traitorous dick.
There is a black blotch on Peaches' hip, showing under the pants' waistband, teasing Jared to touch, so he uses his index finger in order to shove the fabric aside. His finger's pad is rubbing over the tattoo; how he wishes he could use both hands, feeling soft skin.
It is a wolf, a slave tattoo. The Ackles collar their slaves, who are rarely tattooed. As opposed to this, the Padalecks in the south don't use collars, but tattoo the slaves' faces. Maybe Peaches used to live in the south, and his owner didn't want to mar the beautiful face so he tattooed his hip.
It doesn't matter.
Jared tucks the sleeping man in, then clears the room in search of a willing person who is able to say no, but won't.
~~~~~~~~~~
Curtis feels sorry for Jared. He is the son he never had, he conceals his true potential only to make his father proud. Unfortunately, this means that the Crown expects his son to be exactly like him, but Jared is really nothing like his father.
Indisputably, the young man is very intelligent. He can sell his soft heart as a purpose of state; when he brought the general to the point to wait for the commander's return, no one doubted that it was a good idea to not sell the poor families of Ackles' generals into slavery. As Penikett is not a proponent of slavery, Curtis hopes they would be released soon.
That is, if the Crown doesn't veto this, because he thinks showing mercy is a sign of weakness. For this very reason he regards his son as weak.
The Crown would never have spared the slave, he would have used him violently as intended.
But not Jared; he didn't touch the man.
Curtis had checked that the slave's anal region wasn't damaged and it looked like he wasn't used for some time which Curtis noticed with satisfaction.
Reclining back in his chair, he closes his eyes, enjoying a few minutes of peace. Treating so many men is never easy, even if he is working with other physicians and barbers.
Sadly, all he gets is a few minutes as there is a knock on the door. Sighing, he says, “Come in.”
A soldier is opening the door, stepping back for his messmate who is carrying an old woman bridal-style.
Curtis gestures to lay her down on the bed. “What happened?” he asks, noticing the collar around her throat.
The woman, pale and cradling her arm against her breast, doesn't answer, so Curtis looks expectantly at the soldier.
“She was cleaning the guards' quarters. Due to carelessness, she spilled some water on the rug.”
“And? No one gets hurt by simply spilling water.”
“And the DC hit her and threw her against the wall.”
“'Dils! The bastard! Why didn't a member of the guard bring her?”
“He ordered them not to touch her. Someone told me though, so I brought her.”
“You did well. Please call my assistant; I need to re-set her arm.”
Turning to the injured woman, he says smiling, “Now let's have a better look at you.”
Jensen feels dizzy.
Maybe he isn't awake yet. No, his eyes are open; he can see the light shining in through the windows, the curtains not drawn. According to the position of the sun, it is already late afternoon.
He rolls over, ignoring the sharp pain in his back. He watches the rays of sunshine move, illumining the wall hangings that scared him with too much blood when he was little.
So the Lordmaster is not at the White Mountain chalet like he said. Did he lie to his son when he said he would be heading to the mountains? Did he change his mind due to circumstances Jensen doesn't know? Or did he change his mind because he expected his son to betray his family?
He doesn't know why he still protects them.
That's not true. Jensen doesn't want his father dead, even though he never was a good father to his daughter and youngest son, always preferring Ragnar and Eric, both of them perfect warriors. And Jensen doesn't want his sisters-in-law and their children to wind up as slaves.
And there are his people. They share the same name, Ackles. It carries a great weight when a whole people is named after you. Or are you named after the people? Either way, he can't let them down.
This morning, when his lungs were deprived of air, he almost told the truth, but his mind was too blind with panic to provide coherent thoughts. He is ashamed how he acted, that he just lost it facing that damn washtub.
It is a good thing that his father doesn't know about his breakdown; he would remove his name from the List.
Wolf, he already did.
How could Jensen forget? He has no name, no family; there's nothing left but painful memories.
Jensen realizes he is crying only when he sees that tears are dripping down onto the wooden floor.
His father was right all along: he is such a weakling.
And of course, that is the moment the prince chooses to return.
Quickly wiping his face, Jensen kneels on the floor in an attempt to play the obedient slave.
Standing in front of Jensen, his 'master' sighs. “You seem to be better,” he says.
Keeping his gaze on the floor, Jensen nods. What else can he say?
The prince lowers himself onto the bed, right next to Jensen, propping his elbows on his knees. “Look, I'm sorry,” he begins.
And that's the last thing Jensen expects to hear.
“I really am. I don't know what I thought... why I ordered...” The prince is wringing his hands, saying nothing for a moment. “I need to keep you safe,” he continues. “I want you to wear the habit whenever you leave this room. No Ackles shall be able to recognize and harm you.”
Great, not one of Jensen's friends or subjects will be able to recognize him and help him.
The prince sighs again. “I won't allow anyone to hurt you. From now on, I'll treat you well. I'd set you free, but the Crown arrives soon, and he'll want to see you.”
The Crown? Jensen has never met the Crown, let alone anyone from the capital. His father kept him in the castle and town, and as recently as a few years ago, he was allowed to hunt in the forest. However, he is sure that this was not due to his father's concern for Jensen's well-being.
Anyway, Jensen doesn't want to meet the Crown.
He needs to get out, evade the guards in front of the doors in some way and leave the castle.
And then what? Where would he go?
Chapter 4
Author name: herminekurotowa
Artist name: dulcetine
Beta: jj1564
Alpha: somersault_j, junkerin
Genre: RPS, pre-relationship
Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Jensen/Matt (implied), Jared/OMC (implied)
Word count: 20,000
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: hurt!Jensen, slavery, torture, implied child abuse, mention of castration and rape
Disclaimer: If I would own anything or anyone depicted in this work of fiction, believe me, I'd do other stuff.
Summary: Jared and Jensen are both noble princes. But while Jared is the successful conqueror, Jensen is mistaken for a bed slave. He is stripped of his past and thrown into a present full of pain and hurt. And his future will only bear death and destruction.
Jared is drawn to the mysterious man in his bedroom. He could use him, but doesn't want to; he wants to love him, but dares not to touch him. He tries to save his live, but instead Jared hurts him worse than ever. Maybe, though - maybe together they can heal each other.
Chapter 3
Massee hates that damn slave with a vengeance.
He has always known his lord is soft, compared with his father, the Crown, but it is okay as it makes the subjects love him. There never was an attempt on his life: the jealous gentry wouldn't risk the public anger, and the vulgar revolutionists hope for better times once he takes the Crown.
The problem is the prince's way of dealing with slaves. He treats them as if they were people, as if they were more than the bugs they are. And this damn doe-eyed slave... he has turned his lord's head.
The prince wants the bug to follow him everywhere. He made him wear a novice's habit, and detached Qualls as a personal bodyguard. Now Massee doesn't believe in Saramaganta, because how powerful can a newt be? However, it is an unsettling thought that the little bug desecrates a sacred robe.
Of course he knows about the prince's proclivities, it is an open secret in the palace. They care little about the Designated Crown's bedfellows as long as the line of succession is clear, and Massee doesn't think that good leadership depends upon sexual orientation. Nevertheless, he wishes that the prince would fuck the damn slave into the straw tick to get him out of his system, to stop thinking with his lower brain.
Then then there is the thing that Massee can't believe - the bug was not involved with the murder attempt.
They find an unknown slave in the middle of the war, and no one thinks it is suspicious. The bug's orders could be to subvert the occupying forces, murder the Designated Crown, or to spy on the prince. If anyone asked Massee, he would say that it is possible that the bug may be an assassin in the guise of a slave.
But no one asks him, ever.
~~~~~~~~~~
The bad thing about this dream is that he knows he is dreaming but can't do a damn thing about the events.
He is still little, barely ten years old, and terrified. Yet he says to his mom, “Don't be afraid. I'll protect you.”
His mom is crying, pressing him to her bosom, trying to protect him herself.
The man with the very dark eyes is grinning at them. Later he learns that his name is Martinez, a henchman of the Great Lord Fuller, but now, staring at him with cruelly glistening eyes, he is just like a huge, man-eating Reptilian God.
Martinez' holds his boy-sized wrist in a too tight grip, the bones grinding under strong fingers. He is writhing, and pleading, and crying, but he can't get loose. All of a sudden, there is a knife in the old man's hand.
Of course he knows now that Martinez wasn't an old man, but when you're ten years old, everyone older than twenty-five or thirty is an old person. Except his mom. He still can see her face in this dream when he turns around, pale and beautiful, a bloody fingerprint and black ink on her cheek marring her soft skin.
And of course he knows now what to do to get free. He is a trained warrior and excellent swordsman; he would need all of two seconds to free himself and another two to kill Martinez. Unfortunately, in the dream he is a scared little boy, and the knife looks like a sword to his eyes, dangerously sharp and glistening.
“You know, you're a cute little boy,” Martinez says, “I can sell you for a lot of money if I make sure you remain a boy.”
Grinning, Martinez cuts off his pants, and he screams and cries, and he knows that his pillows will be wet with tears when he wakes up.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jensen is lying awake in his father's bed, a warm body snuggled up to his, long arms thrown over him.
Most of the day he had lived in confusion, starting when a young soldier entered the room.
“At the prince's command, put it on,” he says, throwing at him a black and green piece of clothing that turns out to be a novice's habit of the Great Newt's congregation. There are only a few priests in the vicinity, and Jensen's father only put up with them because they gave charity that he didn't want to pay for.
The Lordmaster is a follower of the Church of the Rapacious Wolf that says the Wolf is only satisfied when there is nothing left to devour. Unsurprisingly, the Northern upper class are members of said church because it makes avarice a virtue.
Jensen believes the Wolf shares his quarry so that his pack may live, which is why humans shouldn't be crueler than predators.
So, sitting beside the prince the whole afternoon, he is rather taken aback when a stranger, his people's enemy and conqueror, shows more sympathy and compassion than the rightful leader. And he even shows it to an insignificant slave.
It's the prince's private physician who treats Jensen's wounds in the evening; 'private' meaning in this case that the physician, Armstrong, is the only one to treat the tall man, but he is not the only man Armstrong treats as he tends to every sick or wounded person regardless of social ranks. Jensen accredits his relatively good health to the physician's competence.
The Lordmaster would have his physician executed if he dared treat anyone other than the members of the royal family.
At bedtime, Jensen prepares to sleep again on the cushion in the alcove. He doesn't know if he liked the prince cuddling him the other night or not. It was nice to feel warm and sheltered, arms around his stomach holding him tight; he just wished they weren't his captor's arms. However the prince says, “No, my back will kill me tomorrow,” and orders him to get into the bed.
When the mattress dips behind him, Jensen almost panics, steeling himself for the things that never come.
That is why he is still awake, mulling over the past days' events, but unable to make sense of them. It doesn't help that the prince, the conqueror of Jensen's home, his alleged master, is sleeping besides him, wrapped around Jensen's body, and crying in his sleep.
Finally, Jensen rolls over, facing the tall man who looks like a little boy in his sleep, his cheeks wet with tears.
Jensen is running his fingers through soft, brown hair, saying, “Shhh,” until the silent sobs stop.
He doesn't know when he fell asleep, but he knows he is in trouble when he wakes up.
The prince is standing in front of the bed, with arms crossed, scowling.
“You lied,” he says, “I don't know how you did it, but you lied.”
“I-I don't-” Jensen stutters in fear.
“Where's the Lordmaster?” The prince's voice is cold, and Jensen flinches.
“I told you. White Mountain chalet.”
“He's not there. A mounted messenger arrived in the night, stating that your master isn't anywhere near the river Numeras. You lied.”
“No! He said he'd go to the mountains.” Two guards are closing in, reaching for Jensen, so he tries to dodge. “I don't know where he is!”
He has no chance. They grab his arms, dragging him from the bed and out of the room.
“I don't know where he is!” he shouts, and then he knows where he is being dragged to. “Oh Wolf, no. Please, don't!”
He knows he is begging, but he can't help it. He had less than two days of rest, and he thought he was over it; however, if he has to go through it again, he won't survive.
The prince is following Jensen and the guards, his face dark with anger, not responding to Jensen's pleas.
His fear is confirmed - it is the torture chamber where they take him, pushing him to his knees in front of the wooden tub, and they grab his hair and shove his head under water. Steeling himself is fruitless because the cold water is taking his breath away until there's nothing left in his lungs than pain. Struggling is fruitless, his arms held, his head held; there's no way escaping the water, try as he might.
“Where's your master?” says the third guard, a blond man with cruel eyes, who looks at Jensen as if he were an insect.
Drawing the deepest breaths of his life, gasping, water running down his face, Jensen replies, “I don't know,” and again, they push his head under water, and he says, “I don't know,” a third and fifth time, and then he loses track of the times when he can draw breaths, when his lungs are burning due to lack of air, when he is thrashing around, when he is almost drowned.
He still says “I don't know,” when they stop, and he keeps saying it when they drag him back into his father's room and drop him onto the cushion. He only stops when unconsciousness takes the pain away.
~~~~~~~~~~
DJ Qualls is loyal to the Designated Crown because the prince is also loyal to his men. If he wasn't a common guard, he would like to have a talk with him because while he usually listens to both sides of a story, this slave issue seems to have unsettled the prince.
The message dispatched by Commander Penikett was clear: no Ackles in sight. The prince was obviously dissatisfied, huffing and rubbing his face with his hands. That was when Deputy Commander Massee approached him, arguing with him in a low voice.
The prince answered with more frustration and furiously flashing eyes. Then he ordered his men to interrogate the slave using torture.
DJ feels sorry for the poor slave who totally loses his cool under the torture. He has to push him too many times into the water, almost drowning him each time, and glancing at Tigerman, he can see the sympathy in his eyes. Massee, however, is enjoying this way too much.
It is obvious the slave doesn't know a thing. He already said what he knew when drugged, there is no way he lied under the influence of snake bite. DJ knows the effect because the loyalty of every member of the royal guard is tested prior to joining.
So why doesn't the prince give him any peace? And why is the deputy commander so keen on seeing the guy hurt, knowing full well the possibility that the bed slave doesn't know where his master is?
~~~~~~~~~~
It is not even noon, and Jared is already drunk.
Poor Peaches is lying on his cushion, drugged to the gills in order to let Armstrong work. He was so out of it that he reacted against any touch, but one of the welts on the slave's back split open due to his struggling and writhing, and needs stitches.
The physician works carefully, muttering under his breath about the stupidity of a certain royal.
Jared knows he is right - he was so stupid to listen to Massee's words. It is impossible to lie under the influence of snake bite, but the insinuations seemed to be logical after a night of bad dreams and a morning filled with doubt. He is not proud of what he did to the slave the other day, and the events of the morning are definitely not helping.
Peaches paid the price for his vulnerability, and Jared needs to drown his guilty conscience in brandy.
“This will definitely leave a scar,” Armstrong says, washing his hands and wiping them on a cloth. Crossing his arms, he turns to Jared who sits in an armchair, drinking straight from the pitcher.
“I'm sorry,” Jared says.
“I'm not the one you need to apologize to. What were you thinking? The general told you the slave may not know about his master's plans, and I know that you know that the commander doubted his knowledge. So what were you thinking?”
Jared sighs. “I don't know,” he says, taking another swig from the pitcher. “Massee said he was a mole, subverting the guard. I know I can't pin it on the deputy because I should have called bullshit. Instead I decided to believe him, and now Peaches is hurt and half-dead.”
After another swig, he sighs. “It's completely my fault.”
“Yes, it is. He was being on the mend, and now I have to pray to the Crocodilians that he won't catch pneumonia. Not to mention the scar he'll retain in addition to the ones from the whipping.” Armstrong sighs, sitting down on the lounge chair. “Just out of curiosity, when did your common sense start to work?”
“When I demanded his age, and he said, 'I don't know'. All the time, it was the only thing he kept on saying. He was so scared.”
The brandy has long since ceased to burn in his gorge. Soon, he will need another pitcher.
“Jared, you're like a son to me. I know you're a good man in your heart of hearts, and I pray there's still hope for you. I always told your father that torture is no means to search for the truth, maybe you learned it today.” Armstrong says, more kindly than Jared feels he deserves.
Jared nods his head.
“That's my boy. Now send Peaches to the servants' quarters to give him some rest.”
Jared shakes his head. “Can't. The Crown is coming here. He'll want to see him. I just have enough time to get sober and arrange to prepare his rooms.”
“Oh 'Dils. What are you going to do?”
“Don't know. I only can wait until his arrival in order to ask what he wants.”
The slave is stirring, moaning softly, then settling back to sleep. Both the physician and the prince are watching silently, then Armstrong says, “I'll leave you alone. He should sleep a while longer.”
Standing, he pats Jared's shoulder. “Stop drinking. It never solves any problems.”
“I know, Curtis. Thank you. For everything.”
Another pat on his shoulder. “You're a good kid, Jared. Just don't forget it.”
While Armstrong leaves the room, Jared doesn't look up, keeping his eyes on the pitcher. A fourth of the brandy is still left, and he won't empty it. Armstrong is right, drinking never solves a problem.
Putting the pitcher on a side table, he stands and walks to the alcove where the slave is sleeping.
He is gorgeous. If he weren't a slave, Jared would bed him immediately. It wouldn't solve the Ackles problem, but it would silence his traitorous dick.
There is a black blotch on Peaches' hip, showing under the pants' waistband, teasing Jared to touch, so he uses his index finger in order to shove the fabric aside. His finger's pad is rubbing over the tattoo; how he wishes he could use both hands, feeling soft skin.
It is a wolf, a slave tattoo. The Ackles collar their slaves, who are rarely tattooed. As opposed to this, the Padalecks in the south don't use collars, but tattoo the slaves' faces. Maybe Peaches used to live in the south, and his owner didn't want to mar the beautiful face so he tattooed his hip.
It doesn't matter.
Jared tucks the sleeping man in, then clears the room in search of a willing person who is able to say no, but won't.
~~~~~~~~~~
Curtis feels sorry for Jared. He is the son he never had, he conceals his true potential only to make his father proud. Unfortunately, this means that the Crown expects his son to be exactly like him, but Jared is really nothing like his father.
Indisputably, the young man is very intelligent. He can sell his soft heart as a purpose of state; when he brought the general to the point to wait for the commander's return, no one doubted that it was a good idea to not sell the poor families of Ackles' generals into slavery. As Penikett is not a proponent of slavery, Curtis hopes they would be released soon.
That is, if the Crown doesn't veto this, because he thinks showing mercy is a sign of weakness. For this very reason he regards his son as weak.
The Crown would never have spared the slave, he would have used him violently as intended.
But not Jared; he didn't touch the man.
Curtis had checked that the slave's anal region wasn't damaged and it looked like he wasn't used for some time which Curtis noticed with satisfaction.
Reclining back in his chair, he closes his eyes, enjoying a few minutes of peace. Treating so many men is never easy, even if he is working with other physicians and barbers.
Sadly, all he gets is a few minutes as there is a knock on the door. Sighing, he says, “Come in.”
A soldier is opening the door, stepping back for his messmate who is carrying an old woman bridal-style.
Curtis gestures to lay her down on the bed. “What happened?” he asks, noticing the collar around her throat.
The woman, pale and cradling her arm against her breast, doesn't answer, so Curtis looks expectantly at the soldier.
“She was cleaning the guards' quarters. Due to carelessness, she spilled some water on the rug.”
“And? No one gets hurt by simply spilling water.”
“And the DC hit her and threw her against the wall.”
“'Dils! The bastard! Why didn't a member of the guard bring her?”
“He ordered them not to touch her. Someone told me though, so I brought her.”
“You did well. Please call my assistant; I need to re-set her arm.”
Turning to the injured woman, he says smiling, “Now let's have a better look at you.”
Jensen feels dizzy.
Maybe he isn't awake yet. No, his eyes are open; he can see the light shining in through the windows, the curtains not drawn. According to the position of the sun, it is already late afternoon.
He rolls over, ignoring the sharp pain in his back. He watches the rays of sunshine move, illumining the wall hangings that scared him with too much blood when he was little.
So the Lordmaster is not at the White Mountain chalet like he said. Did he lie to his son when he said he would be heading to the mountains? Did he change his mind due to circumstances Jensen doesn't know? Or did he change his mind because he expected his son to betray his family?
He doesn't know why he still protects them.
That's not true. Jensen doesn't want his father dead, even though he never was a good father to his daughter and youngest son, always preferring Ragnar and Eric, both of them perfect warriors. And Jensen doesn't want his sisters-in-law and their children to wind up as slaves.
And there are his people. They share the same name, Ackles. It carries a great weight when a whole people is named after you. Or are you named after the people? Either way, he can't let them down.
This morning, when his lungs were deprived of air, he almost told the truth, but his mind was too blind with panic to provide coherent thoughts. He is ashamed how he acted, that he just lost it facing that damn washtub.
It is a good thing that his father doesn't know about his breakdown; he would remove his name from the List.
Wolf, he already did.
How could Jensen forget? He has no name, no family; there's nothing left but painful memories.
Jensen realizes he is crying only when he sees that tears are dripping down onto the wooden floor.
His father was right all along: he is such a weakling.
And of course, that is the moment the prince chooses to return.
Quickly wiping his face, Jensen kneels on the floor in an attempt to play the obedient slave.
Standing in front of Jensen, his 'master' sighs. “You seem to be better,” he says.
Keeping his gaze on the floor, Jensen nods. What else can he say?
The prince lowers himself onto the bed, right next to Jensen, propping his elbows on his knees. “Look, I'm sorry,” he begins.
And that's the last thing Jensen expects to hear.
“I really am. I don't know what I thought... why I ordered...” The prince is wringing his hands, saying nothing for a moment. “I need to keep you safe,” he continues. “I want you to wear the habit whenever you leave this room. No Ackles shall be able to recognize and harm you.”
Great, not one of Jensen's friends or subjects will be able to recognize him and help him.
The prince sighs again. “I won't allow anyone to hurt you. From now on, I'll treat you well. I'd set you free, but the Crown arrives soon, and he'll want to see you.”
The Crown? Jensen has never met the Crown, let alone anyone from the capital. His father kept him in the castle and town, and as recently as a few years ago, he was allowed to hunt in the forest. However, he is sure that this was not due to his father's concern for Jensen's well-being.
Anyway, Jensen doesn't want to meet the Crown.
He needs to get out, evade the guards in front of the doors in some way and leave the castle.
And then what? Where would he go?
Chapter 4