Heydar

Heydar tuned out the dressing down the Captain of the Guard was administering. He had heard every last bit of it before, and no doubt would hear it all again in another day or so.  After he was finished here, and received his beating, he would return home and be treated to the very same thing all over again by his father, the great and mighty Commander of the city and palace guards.

The two lectures even began the same way, rattling on and on about the proud history of the guard, that Heydar’s family had been in the guard since its inception and he had much to be proud of and should show that pride instead of constantly breaking protocol and humiliating himself and his comrades. Could he not think of his family, did he not want to follow in the footsteps of his father, grandfather, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

He really was quite tired of it. Today he was being lectured because yet again he had dared to step out of formation and help a lost noble. Guards were stern, silent, unmoving except when there was a threat or directly asked a question. They did not step out of formation and start talking.

“—and that is why you are going to be lashed—”

“Lashed?” Heydar repeated, yanked back to attention by that ugly word. He was normally caned pretty hard and his back would throb with bruises and welts for days—but lashing was reserved for doing something that endangered people. Heydar talked too much, and was not very good at formality, but he had never put a life in danger. “Why am I being lashed?”

The Captain cuffed him. “If you had been paying attention, you would not have had to ask that question, Heydar. You show a world of potential. You are strong, smart, creative, you adapt well, are highly skilled in all forms of combat—you should be a shining example of the royal guard . Instead you are apathetic and disrespectful. You take nothing seriously.”

“That’s not true—” Heydar broke off as he was slapped.

“Your father is concerned for you. I am concerned for you.  We have tried to get through to you in every way possible—”

Except ask me him why he hated the guard. They told him he should love it, told he would love it, tried to convince him to love it, tried to beat him into loving it—

But no one had ever asked why he did not want to be a guard, why he did not someday want to become Commander.

“We have been too soft,” the Captain finished. “You are young and foolish and do not know how to take anything seriously, despite our efforts to instruct you. The Commander has decided we have been too soft for too long and harder measures must be taken. You will be lashed, and maybe that will force you to remember to do as you are told and hold your tongue the next time you think to insert yourself where you are neither needed nor wanted.”

Heydar stifled the angry words he wanted to speak; anger would accomplish nothing. Their anger was going to leave his back a mess of bloody wounds, and he failed to see how that would improve his opinion of something he already hated. Instead, he just bit out, “Yes, Captain.”

“Go to the yard,” the Captain said coolly.

Turning sharply on his heel, Heydar strode from the Captain’s office and walked down the hall. So his father was so fed up with his only son not being exactly like him that he was going to step up the beatings. He had never drawn blood before; it would be amusing if Heydar had any sort of taste for pain.

In the yard, half a dozen men already waited—his father, the disappointment and anger pouring off him in waves, the palace healer, the soldier appointed the duty of whipping him, and three witnesses.  He ignored them all, save his father, at whom he just stared coldly.

“This is for your own good,” his father said.

“No, you’re doing it for your own good,” Heydar replied, and said nothing when his father backhanded him—but not the same side of his face that the Captain had struck. No, his father had been certain to hit the unmarked cheek.

Heydar was so tired of the people he should trust most never touching him except to cause pain. He could go the rest of his life with never letting anyone touch him again; being free of the pain that was ‘for his own good’ would be worth the loss of affectionate touches. It was not as though he received much of that anyway.

The Captain appeared a few minutes later, and ordered Heydar tied to the whipping post.  Heydar went without complaint, holding his arms up to be chained in place by his vaguely guilty looking comrades. He steeled himself for the blows to come, biting down hard on his bottom lip as the lash struck, again and again, striking his skin like lines of fire.

Only once did they pause, so the healer could ascertain he was in fit condition for the punishment to continue. After that, the lashings drew blood.  Heydar could barely breathe he was in so much pain, but still he refused to make more than the barest of noises, to in any way give his father the satisfaction of hearing his agony.

When it finally came to an end, he tuned out the lecture his father rained down on him, tuned out everything, until he was left alone with only the healer. When he too finally left, exasperated that Heydar seemed to ignore all his advice and gentle admonitions, Heydar slowly picked himself up from the hard packed earth of the training yard.

Stumbling to the bushes, he threw up his lunch, heaved until his stomach was empty and his throat raw. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he slowly stood up again, clinging to the rough stone wall surrounding the yard for balance. His back hurt like nothing ever had—physically, anyway.  Some things would always hurt more than even a lashing.

He wiped his eyes, fought for an equilibrium he did not feel, because he would be damned if he showed anyone just how miserable he felt.  He might not have much, but he still had his pride. Avoiding the main halls of the palace, using the servants’ halls, he slowly made his way to the private quarters his parents enjoyed in the guard halls.

When he arrived, his mother and sisters were enjoying wine and snacks in the main room. They looked at him, but only barely, like skittish cats.  But really, Heydar thought bitterly, what had he expected? That they would comfort him? Father had probably ordered them not to and unlike Heydar, they followed orders.

Dragging himself to his room, Heydar collapsed on his bed and mercifully passed out.

When he woke later, his room was completely dark, but he could smell food, hear his family talking and laughing. So it was only suppertime, then.  Heydar started to sit up, then bit back a cry of pain and curled up on his bed. He could feel the wounds pull and tear, feel some of them begin to bleed anew. The healer had obviously only fixed him as much as Heydar’s father had permitted.  ‘Soft taught soft, and hard taught hard’ his father was fond of saying. ‘His father had beaten him for his poor behavior, and it was the best thing he had ever done for his son’.

Heydar thought the phrase his father was so fond of repeating was not without merit, tiresome though it was. Certainly his father was so hard now, he did not know how to be soft.

Grimacing, bracing himself against the pain, Heydar finally dragged himself out of bed and to the washstand in the corner. Washing his own wounds was nearly as painful as the lashing itself, but he could not go around with bloodstains on his clothes.

Unfortunately, washing was all he could do. Until he found someone willing to help him, the wounds could not be bound. Frustration made his eyes sting, but Heydar pushed it away. If his father thought the lash wounds would finally be what broke him, then he was only proving that he knew absolutely nothing about his son.

Laughter reached his ears again, and Heydar felt sick. He could not stomach it—going out there and seeing all that happiness replaced by tension. Endure his father’s disappointment, his cold words, the terrible silence of his mother and sisters.

He had thought before of running away, of sacrificing everything he knew just for the chance to be himself. But he knew nothing except how to be a soldier; his dreams of more scholarly pursuits had died a long time ago. He also loved the palace, the life it offered, even if there were so many small things he hated.

That, and a man with no family, no history … well, that seldom tended to go well.

But still, his mind teased, even that must be better than remaining here to suffer the lash and whatever they resorted to when they realized the lashings did not work.  Shaking his head, dismissing the wistful, useless thoughts, he finished cleaning his wounds as best he was able, then gingerly pulled on fresh clothes.  He doubled up his tunics, hoping the bottom layer would soak up most of the blood when the wounds inevitably reopened, and the outer, darker one, would hide the worst of whatever blood soaked all the way through.

Slipping a dagger into his boot, strapping his sword into place, he pulled on a cloak to ward against the chill of night and with a grimace of pain slowly climbed out his bedroom window and slipped away.

Climbing the back wall was much more difficult, but the thought of having to spend the rest of the night with his family was all the motivation he needed to get over the wall and drop down neatly on the other side.  But the exertion cost him dearly, and for several minutes he could only brace himself on hands and knees and gasp for breath, dizzy and nauseous with pain. He was behaving stupidly and knew it; the smart thing would have been to stay in bed for as long as possible and give his wound a chance to heal.

Heydar would quite literally rather be on the ground gasping in pain as he was than stay in that damned house. Slowly picking himself up, Heydar headed for the city proper.  It was late enough that the market was closed for the night, save for those items which could only be sold after dark. He pulled up the hood of his cloak, to better blend in with the crowd of buyers desperately seeking discretion.

Eager for distraction, Heydar amused himself by perusing the booths of ‘adult wares and substances’.  Normally, he would visit one of the night houses and enjoy watching a few dancers, but right then the idea of sitting just made him cringe.

He toyed with a handsome set of leather cuffs, reminded briefly of the last pretty bit he had put in similar cuffs one night in the upstairs rooms of one of the night houses he enjoyed.  A pity he did not have a regular lover to enjoy in such fashion, but if he dared to get that close to someone his father would not hesitate to use it against him. Whatever it took to make his son a perfect royal guard like his father, and his grandfather, and so on and so forth.

On a whim, Heydar beckoned the seller and haggled cheerfully for the cuffs. When at last a price was settled on, he handed over the coin and tucked the cuffs away in his tunic. He had no idea what he would do with them, but it stupidly cheered him to have them.

If nothing else, he could just enjoy daydreaming of the sort of man he would not mind seeing in such cuffs. But as very particular images flitted through his mind, Heydar decided it was better not to go there—not tonight, when he was feeling so wretched, and inclined toward foolish actions.

Because his deepest, most private fantasy involved Prince Aradishir, the King’s youngest son. Beautiful, slender and willowy, but far from weak.  Heydar had indulged himself once or twice in fantasies of Prince Aradishir bound to his bed, helpless to do anything but what Heydar permitted.  As if a prince would ever let a man bind him—and certainly he would not permit as broken and useless a man as Heydar to do it. But then again, there was Javed.

Heydar had been as astonished as the rest of the palace when Prince Aradishir had taken a battered, beat up, illegally-kept slave as the first—and so far only—man in his harem. But he had been astonished only in that he had no idea how Prince Aradishir and Lord Javed would have met. To  look at Javed…well, looking at him quickly banished any surprise of why his Highness kept him. He was beautiful, and obviously strong inside and out, to take the abuse that had scarred him quite literally from head to foot and not be broken by it.

Whatever his father’s faults, at least he had not committed that level of abuse. Though brutal, his father’s treatment still fell well within the law.  He supposed he was grateful for that, even if at the moment he felt only resentment.

Heydar thanked the seller and departed, not certain what else to do with his evening beyond avoid home.  He walked along the streets, his demeanor enough to ward off any potential threats. Only a fool walked through the city at night without being able to defend himself.

City guards passed by on patrol and Heydar nodded politely, envy spiking. He had asked his father once if he could be a city guard, rather than a royal guard, had worked so hard on preparing what he said, how to say it, all his arguments and reasoning…

All for naught. A ‘man like him’ should never ‘settle for a lowly post like that’, his family had ‘been royal guards since their inception’ and ‘he would never be commander that way’ and so on and so forth, and the short version had been that Heydar being a city guard rather than a royal guard was like a sea captain settling for a river fishing boat.

So much talk of water had made Heydar want to throw his father into a large body of it, but instead he had dutifully returned to his training, then snuck out later that night and gotten too drunk to move for days. That had earned him another beating.

He shook off the gloomy thoughts; dwelling on them would do him no good.  Instead, he needed to find a way to finally overcome his situation. There had to be a way out of the miserable life his father was forcing him into—there had to be, because he could not bear the thought of living this way until he died.

Sighing, Heydar cut down a street that boasted a great many night houses, colorful candles marking them out, music and laughter drifting on the air, mingling with the smell of food, incense, sweet smoke. Underneath all that was the less pleasant odors of the street, the smell of bodies, the scent of sex. The royal capital was a jewel by day, but infinitely more fun by night.

It made Heydar smile despite himself, and decide to visit a night house after all. He certainly could not indulge in the upstairs rooms, but there was no harm in watching a pretty man or woman dance for a bit so long as he was careful of his back.

He was just passing by a store, the guard part of him idly wondering why a shop was still open this time of night, when someone came bolting out of it and barreled into him, sending them both crashing to the street. Heydar screamed in pain as he landed on his back, whimpering as the way the other man squirmed to get off him only made it worse.

“I’m so sorry,” the man said. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Heydar gasped out, but even through the haze of pain he would know that voice anywhere. Reaching out, he gripped one slender wrist and held fast. “What are you doing out here, Highness, and at this hour?” Prince Aradishir froze in shock, then tried to tug free, swearing with remarkable creativity for a supposedly sheltered royal. Heydar just tightened his grip and struggled to get them to their feet. “Calm down, Highness.”

Prince Aradishir, surprisingly, stilled. “Let me go.”

“No,” Heydar said. “You should not be here, it is not safe, and now that I am aware of your presence I cannot simply ignore it. I am not a very good royal guard, but I am not that careless in my duties.”

“Damn it,” Prince Aradishir said.

Heydar laughed. “Why are you out here, Highness?”

“I was buying a present for Javed,” Prince Aradishir admitted, surprising Heydar. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I came here specially to commission it, then pick it up.”

“Why all the hurrying?”

Prince Aradishir grimaced, face just visible in the light of a flickering lantern of bright blue glass. “I think the clerk suspected who I was; I was trying to get home.” He looked at Heydar, and frowned.  “Are you all right? You sounded like you had rather a painful landing. I am sorry for that.”

“Not your fault,” Heydar said, even if his back throbbed and burned more than ever, and he really just wanted to curl up in a ball and sob. “Come, I will escort you home.”

Sighing, Prince Aradishir nevertheless allowed Heydar to lead him off, not even fighting against the hand still clamped firmly around his wrist. “Oh, you dropped something,” he said, and tried to bend, nearly dragging Heydar down with him.

He froze as he picked it up, then thrust the object at Heydar, looking hastily away, cheeks stained red.

Heydar barely caught the cuffs in time, chuckling as he tucked them away again, fighting an urge to tease because this was a royal prince and he was only a palace guard. Even he, who talked to everyone and everything, would not cross that line.  Even though he would love to do nothing more, would love to know why the cuffs embarrassed a man who was expected to take three lovers and a wife. Biting back the urge to ask, he focused on those things he could discuss. “So how did you sneak out of the palace, Highness?”

“I’m not telling you,” Prince Aradishir said. “I may be caught, but you’re not getting my secrets out of me.”

“I could if I used the cuffs, I bet,” Heydar said before he thought, then cringed, letting go of Aradishir’s wrist to bow low. “I apologize, Highness. I should never have spoken so to you.”

Prince Aradishir laughed. “I am hardly going to take issue with a guard for one mildly inappropriate comment. I know you, though. I was not certain at first, but you are the Commander’s son, are you not? You are the only guard in the palace who seems to hold a conversation with anyone and everyone, no matter what language is being spoken. I wondered once or twice why you are just a guard, if you are that clever with your tong—” He broke off, and cleared his throat, then corrected, “That clever with languages. Forgive me, but I do not recall your name.”

“Heydar, Highness,” Heydar said with a grin, and took hold of Prince Aradishir’s wrist again because he definitely was noting the way the prince tried to slip a few steps away. “I am very good with my tongue, as you say, but my family is a long line of royal guards, and I am destined to be Commander just like my honored father before me, and his before him.”

“I see,” Prince Aradishir replied. “Why are you out so late…” He broke off, and laughed at himself. “Never mind.”

“Just out walking, Highness,” Heydar said, because suddenly it was important the prince know he had not been going to or returning from an amorous engagement.  “It was a long day, and I would imagine you would know better than you should how nice it is to get out of the palace from time to time.”

“Yes,” Prince Aradishir said, tossing his long hair and smirking. “It is nice to escape the palace from time to time.”

Heydar only sighed and dragged him along, looping around the palace once they reached it, to the wall he had first fled over. Getting back over was always a little more tricky—and it was going to be torture of the highest order with his back.  “Up you go, Highness. And no running off.”

When they were finally back over the wall, Heydar wanted to die. He swallowed roughly, closing his eyes briefly against the pain. “Are you all right?” Prince Aradishir asked, resting a hand lightly on his back—then drawing it back, rubbing his fingers together. “Why are my fingers wet?” he asked quietly. “This is blood.”

“I was lashed,” Heydar bit out.

“Why?”

Heydar tried to shrug dismissively, but the command in the question was not to be ignored and so he replied, “For being disobedient, and persisting in my bad habit of talking too much, Highness. I will be fine, you need not trouble yourself with me.”

“You troubled yourself with me,” Prince Aradishir said. “I repay my debts. Go and find your bed, Heydar. I can make my way from here. Thank you for seeing me home.” He reached out and lightly touched Heydar’s face. “I am sorry to have added to your pain.”

“Highness, you took the pain away for a time,” Heydar said, because it was true. It was easy to think of only Aradishir, and nothing else, and that was nice. “Goodnight, Highness. I hope you sleep well.”

Aradishir murmured a reply, and slipped away. Heydar watched him until his shadowy form was well out of sight, then dragged himself back to his room and once more passed out in his bed.

*~*~*

Heydar was never certain why they thought putting him in the farthest, emptiest corners of the palace would make him behave. The royal palace of Tavamara attracted visitors of all types, all walks, all nations, and they were always getting hopelessly lost.  They wandered around clearly wanting to ask for help but too intimidated by the guards to speak to them.

That was the purpose of the royal guard—to be intimidating. They were not there to talk, to socialize, to be friendly, or even to help unless there was danger. The presence of the royal guard was all that was required to maintain order. More than once foreign generals and dignitaries had asked Tavamara to share the secret of their silent, stoic guards.

It simply was not in Heydar to ignore someone who looked on the verge of tears, and was too scared too ask because they could not speak Tavamaran well, were flustered, intimidated, or just plain felt stupid. No one liked to feel that way, and he was not going to stand around looking scary if it was within his abilities to help.

Heydar ignored the looks the other guards were giving him and stepped out of line, bowing low to the young woman clearly trying not to cry.  To judge from her clothes, she was from Havarin. Not his best language, it was nothing at all like Tavamaran, but he usually managed well enough. “My lady, you look lost. May I help you to be unlost?”

Her face lit up, and all the beatings in the world were worth the relief one simple question could offer, that he could help her feel more comfortable in surroundings that must seem very strange to her. “That would be appreciated,” she said, speaking slowly, for which he was grateful. “I was trying to find a meeting room. I think they said it had pink glass in the windows?”

 “The Rose Room,” Heydar replied with a smile. “You missed it entirely, I am afraid. Go back down the hallway, turn right and walk straight until you no longer can, then turn right again. It is at the very end of the hall. The door has roses carved into it.”

 “Thank you,” the woman said, beaming at him, reaching out cautiously to lightly touch his hand in gratitude.

Heydar nodded and bowed again, then slipped back into his position in line. A few minutes later, the soldier in charge of the hall slipped off to tattle, and Heydar did not bother to stifle a sigh.

“You need to stop breaking protocol, Heydar,” said a guard at the end of the row, one of the few ‘friends’ Heydar had amongst the guards, though friend meant little more than someone he went drinking with upon occasion.

“I don’t want to stop,” Heydar said flatly, and nothing more was said until the guard who had slipped way returned. He looked at Heydar, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re going to have to be more specific,” Heydar said.

“Captain wants you in the yard now,” the soldier snapped. “Is it really so hard for you to do your job correctly?”

Heydar shrugged irritably, not bothering to say that he did not want to do it at all. They would be horrified—to be a part of the royal guard was one of the most prestigious jobs in the palace. He would someday be Commander of the royal and city guards. Why would he not want that? They would never understand that he would much rather be reading books and helping people find their way.

Sighing loudly, disinclined to hide his petulance because he was going to be beaten anyway, Heydar strolled off, wending his way slowly to the yard where the Captain waited for him. “Heydar, I would have thought those wounds on your back would have compelled you to keep your mouth shut for at least a day,” the Captain said with a sigh. “I know you think you are helping, but the role of the guard is to be silent and strong. We are not to be approachable; it undermines our authority—”

Heydar stopped listening. He just did not care, could not bring himself to care, and just wanted to get on to the beating already. They could not whip him again; it would cause too much harm and risked killing him. But there were plenty of other portions of him they could beat, so long as the healer cleared him.

They were just chaining him to the post when suddenly everyone stopped, and whispers started up.  Curious, Heydar looked over his shoulder—and his eyes widened slightly as he saw Javed, Prince Aradishir’s concubine.

He really was lovely, tall and broad—Heydar thought they must be almost exactly the same height, nearly a full head taller than Prince Aradishir. He did not know why he liked that, why the image held such strong appeal. Javed’s hair was ink-black, nearly blue-black as the sun shone down on it. His skin was not quite as dark as it would be if he was full-blooded, but a trifle paler. His eyes were the most stunning blue, nearly the exact same shade as the beautiful blue stone set in the silver band around his throat.

All he could picture then was how lovely Aradishir and Javed must be together. What man wouldn’t picture that?  He wondered which of them would want to wear the cuffs, and given the way the prince had flushed last night …

Yes, that was a pretty image, the prince bound to his bed, subject to Javed’s whims.

Heydar forced himself to stop thinking about, and thought instead of the pain that would shortly be inflicted upon him—but even that thought was driven from his mind as he heard Javed say his name. Twisting around again, he looked to where the Captain was scowling fiercely. “Repeat that,” he snapped, then remembered whom he was addressing and tacked on, “If it pleases you.”

For all that Javed usually looked hesitant and a little lost wandering around the palace, and it could be painfully clear he was not used to the position he occupied, Heydar had never noticed or heard of him being pushed around. His tone when he spoke to the Captain made even Heydar briefly considered standing up straighter—or would, if being chained to the pole did not already have him stretched out. “I said that his Highness is seeking the guard called Heydar, and requires his presence immediately.”

“Of course I am happy to accommodate his Highness,” the Captain said, “but Heydar is currently undergoing discipline.” He motioned to Heydar.

Javed turned to look at him, and something hot and sharp raced down Heydar’s spine as he met those brilliant blue eyes.  Turning back to the Captain said, “It will have to wait. His Highness takes precedence, and he needs Heydar capable of working for several hours. You do of course have the right to discuss the matter with his Highness, or his Majesty.”

“Release him,” the Captain barked, and gave Javed a terse bow. “My lord.”

Saying nothing, Javed turned to Heydar and said, “If you will come with me, please.”

“Of course,” Heydar replied as he pulled his clothes back on. He did not spare a single glance at the others as he followed Javed from the yard. He did not bother to speak to Javed as they walked through the halls.  Everything that the concubines said and did was reported back to their respective royals throughout the day, to ensure their behavior and that of those they interacted. Silence was often appreciated because it meant the concubines did not have to worry about every word they said, and the guards did not have to recount entire conversations.

He wanted badly to ask a great many questions, but held his tongue because no matter what anyone said, he could be quiet when the situation called for it.

A few minutes later, he was led into one of the dozens of meeting chambers that littered the enormous, mazelike palace. Aradishir sat on a raised dais at the far end of the room, next to a low table covered with neat stacks of paperwork and a tray of wine.  He sat with legs folded on a large, deep red cushion. Leaving Heydar standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the dais, Javed took his place on a similar cushion set just behind and to the right of Aradishir.

“Good afternoon, Heydar,” Aradishir greeted. “How is your back?”

“Fine, Highness, thank you,” Heydar replied. “How can I serve you, today?”

Aradishir smiled. “I was correct in our last conversation, was I not, in that you have some skill with languages? An unusual skill for a silent royal guard.”

“I think most would tell you that my greatest failing is that I am never silent, Highness,” Heydar said with an answering smile. “But yes, I do have a talented tongue, as we previously discussed.”

Laughing, Aradishir gestured to his paperwork. “I am helping my father with some of the work normally assigned to my brother, while he is sick. But my usual translator is suffering the same illness, and I am loathe to steal translators from my father when he sorely needs all of his. It’s minor work, mostly just fine-tuning agreements previously made and signing off on them. I do need someone to help me along, though, since I do not have an ear for languages. I can manage most standard greetings, but that is all I am afraid.”

Heydar brightened, and even the knowledge that his punishment would be all the worse for being delayed did not dampen the enthusiasm of being able to help in such fashion. “I am more than happy to help you, Highness. I am not perfectly fluent, but I manage quite well.”

“Splendid,” Aradishir said. “Come and sit up here, then, and we will begin. Refreshment?”

“No, Highness, but thank you,” Heydar replied as he climbed the steps and settled at the table, sitting opposite Aradishir.

Aradishir grinned. “You will after an hour of talking almost nonstop.”

Heydar laughed. “We will see, Highness.”

Laughing with him, Aradishir rang a bell at his elbow, calling in the guards who were stationed in the adjoining waiting room. “Send in the first one, please.”

The guard’s eyes widened slightly when he saw Heydar, but he was too well-trained to do more than bow and say, “Yes, Highness.”

It took hours to get through all the people waiting for a turn to speak with Aradishir, and even those who had little to no requests still took some time to finalize. The interviews would have gone faster if Heydar had been more fluent, a professional translator, but he did his best to improve significantly with every person and by the end was rather pleased with the new knowledge he had obtained.

He was also exhausted and sore, but considered those prices well worth paying. Even the looming punishment could not dim his happiness at having spent an entire day doing something that actually made him happy.

Aradishir ended the interviews after the latest man departed, and informed the guards to tell those remaining that they would resume in the morning. When they were left alone, he turned to Heydar and said, “Thank you for your help. I do not suppose you would care to help me the rest of the week?”

“I would be honored, Highness,” Heydar replied, “but surely your translator or another will be available soon? I do my best, but I am not even comparable with the registered translators.”

“You learn quickly, you put people at ease—you are quite a natural at this, I think it safe to say. You said you are a guard because of your family?”

Heydar nodded. “Yes, Highness. It is tradition for the sons of my family to be royal guards, to eventually be Commander. We always have been, we always will be.”

“I see,” Aradishir said, and Heydar believed him. No one would feel the weight of tradition more than a prince.  “Well, I will speak with the Captain and your father, let them know my plans for you. I believe that will keep your tongue and your back safe for a few days, yes?”

“What—” Heydar stared at him in surprise, realization dawning. Aradishir hadn’t just needed his skills. He was repaying his debt, exactly as he had said. No prince owed Heydar anything, not really, and yet… Heydar bowed his head. “Yes, Highness. Thank you. It certainly is not necessary for you to trouble yourself with my paltry affairs.”

Aradishir’s mouth tightened. “Your back was soaked in blood. That is too harsh a punishment for your crimes. Hopefully now it will ease.”

“Thank you, Highness,” Heydar repeated, unable to say anything more. People were always more than happy to inflict pain upon him, in form or another. He had never had anyone take the pain away, or prevent it. “When should I come here tomorrow?”

“Join me for breakfast, that will give us time to discuss some of the more difficult interviews well in advance,” Aradishir replied. “For now, I must leave you, for I am late for a meeting with my father. Good day to, Heydar.”

“Good day to you, Highness,” Heydar replied quietly, unable to take his eyes from Aradishir and Javed as they left the room. Once they were gone, he felt sharply, painfully alone. Shoving the feeling aside, he rose and went to find the Captain to get his beating over with that he might focus on preparing for tomorrow.

When he finally found the Captain in the barracks, however, it was to discover that he was no longer to be punished.  “I was not aware you were acquainted with Prince Aradishir, Heydar. I suppose you started babbling at him, as well? You are lucky he seems to find indulging your blathering amusing.”

“It was not blathering,” Heydar said without thinking. “I served as his translator all afternoon. I am to serve him the rest of the week, but only during the day. I am free to take up night duty to make up for my absence during the day—”

The Captain cut him off with a sharp motion. “I will tell you when you will do what. As his Highness has requested you, your first duty is to attend him, and we will work around it. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, Captain,” Heydar said, and only as he walked away did he realize that he should have been punished for speaking out of turn but the Captain had not so much as even backhanded him. No doubt rumors were already circling the guard as to why and how Heydar of all people had managed to gain the favor of a prince.

He smiled faintly, thinking of the how and why, a secret just between him, Aradishir, and probably Javed.  That thought led to others of what he would like to do with the two of them, and he indulged them briefly as he left the barracks and headed for the royal library. He would brush up on his skills as much as possible, serve the prince as best he was able for as long as he was able.

If thoughts of all the lovely ways he could serve the prince made him smile, well, it was not as though anyone could read his mind and he hurt nobody but himself by indulging in thoughts of cuffing Prince Aradishir to his bed, then teasing and tormenting him, Javed at his side, driving the prince wild before they finally took turns fucking him—

Heydar broke the fantasy off, realizing that there was no way he could continue to think such things and sit across from Aradishir every single day, all day, for the next week. However beautiful and tempting he was, the only man allowed to touch him in such fashion was Javed.

*~*~*

Heydar had never been happier. The entire past week he had worn his own clothes, not so much as looking at his hated uniforms; he had walked the palace at Aradishir’s side, dutifully translating and otherwise assisting him with the foreigners in need of assistance. His language skills were improving at an impressive rate, more  and more people in the palace were talking to him—

The only clouds marring his sky were that the week was drawing to a close, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to think of anything but how much he wanted Aradishir and Javed.  He did not need anyone else to tell him he was being selfish and greedy. For this one week, he was exactly what he wanted to be—and who knew, maybe someday he would get another chance to help his Highness in such fashion.

He smiled and bowed to the departing foreigner, and sorted through his papers to prepare for the next one. Prince Aradishir startled him by calling for a break, and Heydar tried to keep his attention on his papers as he heard the clink of a tray being set upon the table, the sound of wine being poured.

If he looked up, he would not be able to avoid staring at the way Javed offered the wine to Aradishir, then drank from the same dish.  It was a common enough intimacy shared between royals and their concubines. Heydar had never paid it any mind before—but it was hard not to be acutely aware of everything those two did.  He wanted to share that intimacy.

But he was hardly fit to be a concubine. Even as scarred as he was, Javed was beautiful. Aradishir was breathtaking. Heydar felt very boring next to the two of them; he was not remarkable enough to even entertain the notion.

He would not be good at it anyway—he liked to talk, liked to interact. He could not even remain silent as a guard, how would he do the same as a concubine? They could not touch anyone, could not say anything without every word being reported back to the guards ….

And yet, he could think about little else, no matter how hard he tried. He thought he would gladly give up his freedom for the chance to spend every moment with these two, to speak to them freely in a way he could not now.  Javed would be fascinating behind closed doors; any man who had suffered so much could only be magnificent for having come out of it all the stronger.

Heydar read over his notes, muttering words under his breath to be certain he had the tones correct.

“You’ve seemed very happy this past week,” Aradishir said, shattering what little focus he had managed to obtain.

Looking up, Heydar nodded. “Yes, Highness. I have been. I cannot ever thank you enough for your generosity in allowing a lowly guard to assist you. It has been the greatest of honors.”

Aradishir smiled. “You are a joy to work with, and my father has commented that several of those he’s dined with have praised my marvelous translator.”

Heydar flushed that. “I—I am hardly worth bothering his Majesty over.”  He wondered if his father knew, and his heart kicked up several notches. Perhaps, if his father realized the good impression he was making, he would finally be lenient and allow him to break tradition.

“Talent is talent, and you’ve a talent with—language,” Aradishir replied. Heydar almost smiled, realizing the slip of, well, tongue that Aradishir almost made.

If only. He squelched the thought before it could get the better of him again. “Well, if ever you have need of me, Highness, you’ve only to ask.”

Aradishir started to say something, then stopped, and only accepted another sip of wine. Heydar buried his disappointment, reminding himself that he should be grateful for what he had. To be greedy for more was to be ungrateful and he would not be that.

Finishing his wine, Aradishir called for the next visitor, and the work resumed until the bell signaling dinner was approaching finally forced them to halt. Heydar gathered up his papers and stacked them neatly, then pushed them across the table for Aradishir to hand over to his regular translator, due to resume duties on the morrow.

Moving away from the table, he bowed low, forehead touching the floor, then at Aradishir’s bidding stood up. “Thank you again, Highness,” he said quietly, then left before he did or said something that would only cause him to make a fool of himself.

He resisted an urge to look back one more time, but as the door closed behind him, he wished he had given in to that much weakness.

Idiot, he told himself. It was not like he would never see Aradishir again. They lived in the same palace, after all. He was a royal guard; he saw the royal family every day. The words were somehow only disheartening, and Heydar made his way slowly to the Captain’s office.

“Captain,” he said politely when the captain finally deigned to notice him. “I am finished with my duties for his highness, and ready to resume normal duties.”

“Fine” the captain said curtly. “Tomorrow morning, in the eastern hall, you’ll work a double shift since we have several guards sick with that damned thing sweeping the palace.”

Heydar bowed low and left to return to his family quarters—and the meeting he was dreading. It just had to matter that he had been spoken of favorably to the king. As he slowly made his way home, Heydar began to rehearse his words in his head, carefully preparing what he would say to his father. He was a good clerk! He had impressed foreigners high enough in rank to speak to the king!  His father had to see he would honor the family far better in that capacity than as a royal guard, and tradition be damned.

He was a good son, or at least could be, if left to do it his own way—why couldn’t his father see that?

Entering the main room of his family’s quarters, Heydar smiled in greeting at his sisters and mother. They did not, however, smile back, and all his hopes froze in his chest.  He turned his head as movement caught his eye, and saw his father enter the room.

His mother and sisters stood and departed, and Heydar acknowledged he’d been a fool to think his father would ever let him be what he wanted. “Father,” he greeted, bowing his head politely. “I am finished serving his Highness.”

“So I heard,” his father replied, and Heydar wondered how he had heard so fast—but then, he supposed his father must have been counting down until Heydar was free again.

Heydar swallowed, made himself push on, even as his father gestured for him to sit. “Prince Aradishir praised my skills highly, and says that many people have spoken highly of me to his Majesty.  I’m good with languages, father, and good at talking to people. I know it is not the tradition of our noble family, but I make a poor showing as a guard. I—” His father’s blank face made him falter, but Heydar just held onto the memory of Aradishir’s smile and kept talking. “I believe I would better serve my family, and honor them, by taking a position as a clerk. I already have good standing, I would get accepted—”

“Absolutely not,” his father finally snapped. “We are not clerks. Our ancestors did not work hard to climb out of the fields so that you could fritter it all away at a desk, pretending to be something you are not and will never be. Why can you not be proud of your family, your history, and follow in their footsteps?”

“Why can’t you let me be me?” Heydar asked. “I am a terrible soldier, but an excellent clerk. The King was told of my skills—doesn’t that mean anything? I have done more for this family in one week as a clerk than I ever did as a soldier.”

His father finally sat down across from him at their little dining table, and folded his arms across his chest. “You are clever with words, Heydar, it is true—but you have no grasp of more complicated games. You cannot even understand the importance of being silent, always thinking that speaking up is better. If you are unable to comprehend even that much, what makes you think you can handle being a clerk? It is too complicated a job for you. I do not know what you did to garner his Highness’ indulgence, but do not fool yourself into thinking it was anything more than that. As for his Majesty, just because he is told someone is excellent at this or that, does not mean he makes note of it. Do you not think our King has more important things to do than listen to every little compliment people pay about people he does not know? You are not a clerk, you are not meant to fritter your days away playing with the nobility. You are a guard, and it is long past time you accept that.”

Every word was a knife in his chest. He—he wasn’t stupid. Or an indulgence.  Did his father really think so little of him?

Or, Heydar wondered miserably, was his father right?

He had caught the prince out and about in the city in the dead of night, and kept his silence. Now that he thought about it—now that his father pointed it out—it did seem more than a little silly that Prince Aradishir had called upon him. Even if he was grateful, even if Aradishir had been upset about the beating; that was no reason to use him as a stand-in translator for an entire week. Unless he was being indulgent and ensuring a silence.

His father was right—he was an idiot with nuances.  He also had a point about the King hearing and discarding such compliments all day. What did he really care if people liked his translators? So long as they were not complaining, all was well.

“Yes, father,” he said dully, all hopes of ever being anything but a guard snuffed like a candle.

“I am sorry,” his father said, and Heydar almost believed him. “You may take the rest of the day off, but as the Captain has said, you should be back at work tomorrow.”

Heydar nodded. “Yes, father.”

His father rose and departed, leaving him alone in the main room. Heydar fled before his sisters and mother returned, fleeing to his room and sitting down on his bed.

Indulgence.

What had he really thought?  He’d been so proud of himself for not losing himself in his fantasies, but he’d been so busy dodging the sexual fantasies, he completely failed to notice he had presumed a … camaraderie, he supposed, that was not there.

No doubt Aradishir—Prince Aradishir—had already forgotten all about him. The thought shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, but even his lashing had not torn him up the way realizing that he was a deluded fool did.

Heydar stared at his hands, the ink stains upon them from all the writing he had done over the past several days. They would need to be thoroughly scrubbed before he returned to duty, and his neglected uniforms would have to be cleaned and pressed. Heavy-hearted, Heydar rose to see to it.

*~*~*

He looked straight ahead as the King and Prince Aradishir walked down the hall, accompanied by the King’s foreign concubine, Witcher, and Javed. They spoke in low tones, too low to catch, but Heydar was acutely attuned to the rhythm and tone of Prince Aradishir’s voice. He could not have ignored it if he wanted.

It took everything he had to behave as a statue, a perfect royal guard. But he was still painfully aware that Aradishir did not once look in his direction, and ignored the hurt that caused. One week later, he should no longer care. He never should have cared at all.

He’d been a model guard ever since his father had pointed out he was a fool, pleasing his father immensely. That was all he should care about.

A model guard he might finally be, but he was also a miserable one. The only real difference there was that he had finally accepted that no one cared if he was miserable. Heydar tried to put his mind elsewhere, pondering whether it was worth the hassle to sneak out to the city. He used to have such fun, and it would probably be good for him to get out, try to remember and enjoy the things he could have, and finally stop moping over what he would never have.

“Heydar.”

He jumped as he heard his name, and then realized it was Aradishir speaking. Stepping out of line, he swept a low bow, heart in his throat. “Majesty, Highness.”

Aradishir smiled at him, and beckoned him closer, then held out a sheaf of papers. He pointed to a paragraph, and said, “How would you translate this section here? My father and I are not quite satisfied with the translation provided to us.”

Startled, Heydar took the papers and read the indicated paragraph. “It’s tricky to translate,” he said at last. “This is a Havarin concept that does not have a clear translation in Tavamaran.  The Havarins are very fatalistic, meaning they believe there is almost nothing we can do about what happens to us. Tavamaran religion and culture holds no such belief. ‘There is nothing we can do, it is what it is’ is an acceptable translation, but I always preferred the more positive ‘we’ve done all we can, the rest will take care of itself’.” He bowed. “I hope my feeble efforts are of some use to your Majesty, your Highness.”

“An excellent translation,” King Shahjahan said with a warm smile. “I see all that I heard of your skills were not exaggerated, Heydar.  Your father must be proud to have so brilliant a son.”

Heydar flushed to think how proud his father generally was not, but said only, “Yes, Majesty.”

“You have sisters, yes?”

“Yes, Majesty,” Heydar replied, wondering what that had to do with anything. When the King just seemed to wait, he cautiously continued, “My sister Anisa is going to be married next year, and Fidda is due to be presented at court in four months.”

King Shahjahan nodded, and handed the papers back to Aradishir. “Thank you for your assistance, Heydar. You may fall back into line. Again, my compliments to your skills. My own translators would be impressed.”

Heydar flushed dark, and bowed low, murmuring his gratitude as he stepped back gracefully into line. He tried not to watch as they walked away, but just could not help himself, eyes on Aradishir, and Javed just a couple of steps behind him.  Surely that they would speak to him so—compliment him so—meant he was not just an indulgence.

Ignoring the rest of the guards, and the looks they gave him, Heydar spent the rest of his shift smiling. He was still smiling when his shift finally ended, all but racing back home to tell his father that the King had praised him, after asking for his assistance.

He barely avoided crashing into one of the palace’s countless couriers, bowing hastily for his rudeness before hastening inside. “Father—” He stopped as he realized his father was already right there. “Good evening, Father. Did someone already tell you? The King—”

“This came for you,” his father said curtly, and held out a sealed piece of paper. Heydar frowned, confused. Accepting the paper, he broke the seal and unfolded it. “I did nothing wrong today, father, I swear. As I was trying to tell you, his Majesty and Prince Aradishir asked for my assistance with a translation and the King himself personally praised me and said you must be very proud …”

His words drifted off as the words he was reading sank in.  It was an offer for a position as a royal translator. Apprentice, of course, but Heydar knew it would not take him long to rise up the ranks.  The offer was signed by one of the King’s secretaries, and stamped with his seal. Heydar swallowed, unable to believe it. “Father! Look at this!”  He held the offer out, too excited to hold still. The King had complimented him, had sent him an offer, the money would be more than he made as a guard, it would be rude to refuse it, his father would have …

All the excitement died as he saw the angry, disappointed look on his father’s face. “Still determined to snub your family and heritage, to turn away from the legacy we have worked so hard to build. Is that what you want, Heydar? To turn your nose up at the guards, at being Commander someday, turning away from your family history to fritter your day as a clerk.”

“No, father—”

“Just like your uncle, eager to abandon your family for a fancier life.”

Heydar’s shoulders drooped. “I love you, father. I love mother and my sisters. I want my family to be proud of me—but I want to be happy, too. I have no intention of leaving anyone, or forgetting my roots—”

“You won’t need to forget them,” his father said coldly. “So far as I am concerned, you no longer have them.”

The color leeched from Heydar’s skin. “Father—”

“You are not my son, to call me father. Please leave.”

“No, don’t do this—why can’t you—” He stopped as his father turned and left, never looking back, never hearing a word he said.

Heydar didn’t understand it. Did it really matter so much that he did not want to be a damned Commander? He wasn’t abandoning his family or their history. Was breaking from tradition really so important?

But he supposed it was, if his father was willing to disown him without even looking sorry about it. Fighting tears, Heydar went up to his room to remove his guard uniform. Pulling on the plainest clothes he had, he gathered up his saved coin and few bits of jewelry. His father had not said he was allowed to take anything, but Heydar hoped he would let the matter pass.

Unable to bear the thought of being in the palace, not even able to stomach the idea of going through the palace, he slipped out his usual back way and headed for the city.

He had no name. No family. No home. His father had thrown him out and made him unable to get work anywhere else—including amongst the royal translators. Heydar wiped at his eyes, refusing to appear weak even if there was no one around to see it.

The King had said his grasp of Havarin was excellent, more or less. Heydar had a fair bit of coin, and his jewelry. If he sold that, he could obtain passage to Havarin, and he could probably get work on the ship to earn additional coin.

He should be elated. It was a chance to travel, to see the world and expand his skills, to go where people would not tell him to stop talking. But he did not want to leave home. He wanted his father to be proud of him—to love him.

He wanted to be more than an indulgence to Prince Aradishir. However happy he would have been as a translator, Heydar would have been happier to belong to Aradishir.

But he was not even worthy enough to be a son, and being disowned so would not encourage anyone else to take him, and certainly a prince would not take him as a concubine.

That Prince Aradishir had taken in a slave should have reassured him, but that was a far cry from a man thrown out by his own father.

Reaching the city, Heydar went straight to his favorite wine house and used some of his coin to buy the strongest wine they had.  It was the deepest of reds, spicy and sharp, and called Midnight Temptation. It was one of his favorites, but his father did not approve of such strong, flamboyant wines and so he seldom had it.

He poured the wine into a shallow dish made of smoky black glass, and sipped it.

His father would change his mind, Heydar told himself. They had always clashed, always argued, but his father did not truly despise him to the point that he wanted to disown him.  It was just his temper getting the better of him; his mother would calm him down and Heydar would crawl back in the morning and everything would work out. Even if he had to turn down the offer to be clerk and go back to accepting he would only ever be a guard, at least he would be a son and have a father.

Yes, that’s all it was—a fit of temper.  He drank more wine, and called for food. He switched to a lighter wine as the hour grew late, pointedly ignoring that he would not help his cause by going home drunk or alcohol-sick in the morning.

But fear pushed him to keep drinking, because he did not know what he would do if his father did not want him back. No one wanted him, it seemed, unless he was doing exactly what they told him to do.

Heydar set his wine dish down and picked at the fresh plate of food that had been brought to him. The seat across from him moved, and someone sat down. Heydar scowled as he dragged his eyes up—and froze in shock.  “High—you can’t be here!” he hissed, panic jolting a good deal of the drunk right out of him.  “Why are you outside the palace?”

“To make certain you’re all right, since I feel that my interference is responsible for this,” Aradishir replied. “Word had gone ’round the palace that you have been disowned. I sensed it was the invitation to become a translator that caused it. I am sorry; I was trying to help. My father cautioned me, but I did not listen.”

“No—it is not your fault that my father is unbending,” Heydar said, reaching out to touch him, before he remembered he was not allowed to do such a thing. “Please, you should not be out here risking yourself because of my family troubles. I would never forgive myself were you to come to harm, Highness.”

Aradishir smiled at him, and it hurt to be smiled at like that by someone he was barely allowed to even look at.  The smile faded away, and Aradishir stole his wine, taking a sip before setting the dish down and saying, “It is my fault, though. I was curious about you after the night we meant, and angry that you were in so much pain. I went a bit beyond what I should have to make you my translator for a time. My father was not amused, but said so long as I confined it to that there would be no harm done. But there was harm done, I could see that, because afterwards you never smiled at all. I have never seen such an unhappy guard …”

He sighed and took another sip of wine. “I admit to wanting to be very selfish, but resisted the temptation. Still, I could not leave you entirely alone. So I arranged for my father to see your skills for himself, and he was happy to make you a formal translator. It was not what I wanted, but I figured it would make you happy. Then your father …”

Heydar swallowed. “You only meant for the best, Highness. I cannot begrudge you that, and would not even if I should. I wanted very much to be a translator, to help you again—I wish more than anything that I could accept.”

“You can still accept,” Aradishir said. “That is what I came to tell you. Disowned or not, the position is yours and I will take you on as my main translator, and I do not care what anyone else has to say on the matter.”

“People will talk, and I’ll not cause you trouble, Highness,” Heydar said firmly, though it hurt to surrender the chance once and for all. “I do not see how you can call yourself selfish, Highness. Indeed, you are far too generous.”

Aradishir laughed, and sipped the wine again, licking traces of it from his lips. Heydar wanted very badly to do the licking himself.  “I am very selfish, because all I really want is to ask you to be mine.”

Heydar drew a sharp breath, mouth gaping for a moment before he realized he should close it. “But—me, Highness? I’ve no place in a harem; what am I but a homeless former guard who talks too much and cannot even please his father?”

“Smart, kind, funny—you may not please your father, but however little it is worth, you please me. But, the offer is unfair. You have been disowned because of me, and have nowhere to go. So at the very least, I can offer you that. If you want to be a translator, you will be. If you want to live and work elsewhere in Tavamara, that too will be arranged. If you want to leave Tavamara, I will see to it you are put on a ship with the morning light and will want for nothing on your journey. It is my selfishness that helped cause this, and I will mend it as best I can.”

“Highness … all I want is someone to talk to, who does mind I talk too much, and will not beat me when I do so. I am far more useful to you as a translator, but you are not the only selfish man at this table.”

Aradishir smiled at him, slow and hot and satisfied. “Be mine then, Heydar.  You are a splendid clerk, it’s true, but I am more than happy to keep your talented tongue to myself.” He threw a few coins down on the table and rose, leading the way from the wine house.

Outside, he turned sharply on one heel, causing Heydar to stumble into him. Heydar reached out, steadied them both, and was completely incapable of resisting the temptation so neatly put in his path. “Am I really yours, Highness?”

“All you have to say is yes,” Aradishir replied.

“Yes,” Heydar breathed against his lips, then kissed him, completely undone by how soft and pliant Aradishir was, how easily he bowed beneath Heydar’s hard kiss. His moans were the sweetest sound Heydar had ever heard.

He still held fast to Aradishir’s arms, and slowly loosed his hold to slide his hands down those arms, lightly circling Aradishir’s wrists and pulling them behind his back, pinning them there and making Aradishir arch so sweetly into him. Heydar drew back, licking Aradishir’s lips before he murmured, “So I was right about why those cuffs made you flush.”

Aradishir chuckled, tilting his head in invitation, hair falling in his face. “I’ve only recently convinced Javed to use silk cord. He’s not used to being in command.” Heydar made a rough noise at the images those words brought to mind, and gave Aradishir another hard kiss before finally letting him go.

“We need to get you back to the palace, Highness.” He took Aradishir’s hand and pulled him along. “You’ll have to show me where you slip out, now.”

Sighing, Aradishir said, “Fine.” He led the way around the high palace wall, slipping far too easily by patrolling guards, to a section of the wall that faced the sea. Ivy grew there, thick and surprisingly sturdy as Heydar scaled it. He made a note to have someone burn it down in the morning, then made an additional note to make certain Aradishir was still in cuffs when he gave it.

The image made him smirk. Dropping to the ground, he followed Aradishir through the private gardens and at last into his bedroom. Javed sat at a small table, sketching idly by the light of several candles. He looked up at the sound of their approach, and threw down his pencil. “Shir! You need to stop sneaking out! And while I was in the bath, even, that is a new low—” He stopped short, eyes going wide. “Oh.”

Aradishir snickered and crossed the room to throw his arms around Javed, who made a noise that was almost a growl and bit his lips, then kissed him hard.  Heydar thought it was one of the finest things he had ever seen; it heated his blood in a way nothing ever had.

He was tempted to go over there, but it still felt a bit presumptuous.  Agreeing to join the harem and actually doing it were two very different things. The dynamics changed, and he could only hope it would be for the better.

Javed and Aradishir broke apart, and Javed slowly let Aradishir go, saying, “Highness, really. You must stop wandering out and bringing back strange men.”

Aradishir laughed, and tugged Javed along toward Heydar. “But look at the fine men I bring back.”

“Fine, indeed,” Javed said softly, and they were so close in height, Heydar could not really say which of them was the taller. “I was hoping you would agree, but it seemed that being a translator was your dream.”

Heydar laughed, hoping it was only to his own ears that it sounded a little shaky. “My only dream was to be accepted.”

“Well, then dream no more,” Javed said softly, and stepped in close, only a little shy as he pressed their mouths together. Heydar was not nearly so hesitant, now that the invitation was clear. He reached up to sink his hands into Javed’s hair and held fast, kissing him until he was desperate to breathe.

Aradishir watched them with hot eyes, hard cock obvious in the thin, soft fabric of his robes. “Beautiful. I, uh, have the initial paperwork drafted. All you have to do is sign, and the rest of it can be done tomorrow.”

“Paperwork,” Heydar said with a mixture of laugh and groan. As if he was capable of so much as signing his name right then. But he let Aradishir drag him over to a worktable near to overflowing with paperwork and, by the light of a candle, read over the concubine contract and signed his name.

Scarcely had he set it down then Aradishir was upon him, kissing him like a man long deprived sustenance. “I hope you’ll be happy,” Aradishir whispered.

“How could I be anything else, Highness?”

“Shir,” Aradishir ordered.

Heydar chuckled and nibbled at the long throat bared to him, and obediently replied, “Shir.” He took another kiss, then let the prince go and said, “So what are my first duties as concubine, then?”

Aradishir laughed and turned away, leading the way to his bed, discarding his clothes as he went. “His Highness does not believe in wasting time, does he?”

“No,” Javed said, smiling fondly, eyes on Aradishir. “It’s a good thing he is so bold, because I very much am not.” His cheeks warmed, and Heydar could not resist reached out to nuzzle against one, lips sliding across the warm skin, smooth here, scarred there, endlessly fascinating.

“Beautiful,” Heydar murmured. “I am half-afraid of waking up in the alley behind a wine house.”

Javed laughed. “I have never done such a thing, but I have dragged a master or three home who wound up in such straits. I do not recommend it. Better to attend his Highness, and wake up with us in the morning.”

“Agreed,” Heydar replied, and kissed him deeply, loving the way Javed matched him, battled him, left him panting when they finally broke apart and climbed onto the bed to join their prince.

Bold as Aradishir was, he was nothing but pliant when they fell upon him, all signs of royalty falling away as he gave himself up to everything they did to him. He had not been lying about the silk cords, or the way Javed was still so hesitant to take control. Heydar supposed he would be, a slave turned concubine to a submissive prince.

Heydar had no such hesitations, securing Aradishir’s wrists to the bed with ease, trailing kisses down one arm to his chest, biting and licking his nipples before moving lower, teasing Aradishir’s cock by sucking it briefly before he pulled away, licking his own lips.

If this was a dream, he would savor every moment of it. If it was all real, he would thank those who had gifted him this, and savor it every day. He tugged Javed close and shared the taste of Aradishir, voice husky as he broke away to say, “I want to watch you fuck him.”

Javed moaned. “Gladly, but I wanted to watch you fuck him.”

“I don’t see why we both can’t,” Heydar said with a chuckle. “Shir looks more than up to the task.”

Aradishir groaned at their words, tugging at his bonds, long hair falling in his face, sticking to his sweaty skin. “Do it.”

“I wonder what you will do when I have you properly cuffed and gagged, helpless to whatever we want to do to you,” Heydar said, hardly able to believe he was speaking so to a royal prince. Part of him was horrified—but most of him was still floating from alcohol and drunk on the sight of Aradishir exactly as he had imagined him a thousand time: bound and begging to be fucked.

Javed moved away, but returned almost immediately with bed oil, slicking his fingers and immediately pushing two into Aradishir, who only gasped and moved into the fingers. It was not long before Javed removed his fingers and lined up his cock, throwing a look at Heydar as if seeking permission.

Heydar just nodded, moving closer, hands sliding possessively over Javed’s skin, staying close and moving in time with his thrusts, watching avidly the expressions on Aradishir’s face, memorizing his every needy noise, the way he said their names as he begged for release.

“You don’t get to come yet,” Heydar said, the words almost drowned out as Javed cried out his own release, burying himself deeply as he came inside Aradishir. He pulled out, moved to Aradishir’s side, bending to kiss him as Heydar took up position and shoved his cock inside. He groaned loudly at the feel of Aradishir hot and tight around him, took hold of his hips and began to fuck him hard,  enthralled with the way Aradishir took it, begged for more, nothing at all like the prince he was beyond the walls of his bedchambers.

“Now you may come,” Heydar said, voice ragged. Javed reached out and grabbed Aradishir’s cock, a few hard strokes all it took for Aradishir to come. Heydar followed immediately after, burying himself deep and holding tightly until at last his climax passed.

He pulled out of the prince with a groan and fell back upon the bed, leaving Javed to untie Aradishir. A couple of minutes later, they tugged him up to lay tangled with them properly, and Heydar could not remember another time when he had fallen asleep smiling.

*~*~*

Heydar could feel the looks upon him, the eyes of every single guard as he walked through the halls just a step behind Aradishir, dressed in the garb of a concubine. It felt strange to walk the halls bare chested, but it was not a bad sort of strange. It meant he belonged to Aradishir, it meant no one would ever be allowed to touch him. It meant he was wanted, and would always have a place.

Aradishir led them through the private halls and into the public, and it took everything Heydar had to ignore the people he saw there, who saw him. Their eyes widened with disbelief, and he could only imagine the thoughts going through their heads—yesterday disowned, today a concubine in Prince Aradishir’s harem..

It made him want to grin, but he managed to keep himself composed, because he would not do Aradishir a dishonor by his behavior.

His resolve almost crumpled when they turned a corner and nearly ran head long into his father and the Captain of the Guard, conversing quietly with King Shahjahan’s advisor, Ikram.  Heydar did not look at his father, not directly, but saw enough to watch his face turn ashen.

“Highness,” Ikram greeted, seemingly unaffected by the sudden tension in the hallway.  If anything, he seemed faintly amused behind his professional aplomb. “I just saw your brother headed to the gold breakfast room to meet with you. He bid me direct you there if I saw you, since I believe you originally arranged for the glass room.”

Aradishir smiled. “Yes, thank you for informing me of the change.”

Ikram’s gaze shifted to Heydar briefly, then flicked back to Aradishir. He bowed his head low in greeting, but said nothing. Heydar thought he caught a bit of a smile as Ikram gestured to the other two men. “Shall we to the meeting, then, Captain, Commander?” They nodded and made to follow him, and Heydar passed them by as he followed Aradishir in the opposite direction.

“Heydar—”

Aradishir whipped around before his father had barely finished saying his name. “I did not give you leave to address my concubine, Commander.”

His father bowed low, looking mortified. “My deepest apologies, Highness. I—I was startled, and spoke without thought. I only wanted to ask my son—”

“I was told last night that he has no father, indeed, that he had no home,” Aradishir said coolly. “Was I misinformed?”

“Yes, Highness,” came the low reply, and if Heydar did not know better, he would have sworn his father’s voice shook.

Heydar’s chest felt tight, so tight he could scarcely breathe.

“Then perhaps you can explain the misunderstanding to me later today,” Aradishir said, voice warming slightly. “You may attend me for lunch at the fourth bells, Commander.” He did not wait for the reply, simply walked on.

As they turned another corner, he turned around and threw his arms around Heydar. Holding him tightly, Heydar buried his face in the crook of Aradishir’s throat and waited for the trembling to abate. His father—his father had said it was a mistake.

“You can still get out of the contract if you want,” Aradishir said softly. “I would not have you walk away if—”

“I do not care who my father is or what I could have been,” Heydar said fiercely, drawing back. “I am right where I want to be.”

Aradishir smiled. “Good, because I—we—did not want you go. Let’s go enjoy breakfast with my brother, then there are meetings, and then we will speak with your father.”

Heydar nodded, and smiled back, stealing a kiss from each of them before they resumed making their way through the palace.