(The Dark Servant)Midnight Matters

by A. C. Ellas

  Then the wings began to beat in time with their action, brushing against Jisten on the downstroke, nearly hitting the ceiling on the upbeat. Jisten didn’t last long, between the wing display and Rak’s need thrumming through the bond. Rak muffled his cry as his own orgasm hit, and for the first time, Jisten saw it. His large hand covered it a second later, fingers stroking the smaller man’s cock as he caught the seed in his hand.

  Rak shivered and moaned softly as Jisten touched him there. Startled, his eyes met Jisten’s for a fleeting moment before he looked down. Jisten shifted carefully and caught Rak so that he could hold him against his chest. “Tell me what’s bothering you,” Jisten said.

  Rak pressed against him, soaking in the warmth and the care. Jisten stroked Rak’s short hair and then stroked the rustling wings against his back. “I mourn when you exit me,” deflected Rak. It was still the truth.

  Eventually, Jisten entered Rak again and this time it was slow and sweet, and even more satisfying than the first time. Jethain was still sleeping when the two men returned to their bedside duty. Rak dismissed the vranyxia. The firemane had departed while he was occupied with the captain.

  Chapter Eleven: Another Morning

  Muster

  Rivday, the 38th of Evphormon The sun was well risen over the horizon when a servant entered with a food tray covered with a distinctive black and tan woven cloth. “Sire, I was told to deliver this to you.” Larin bowed low. “The old lady was very insistent.”

  “This must be the crepes.” Rak took

  the tray from the servant and set it down. He passed his hand over the food, chanting softly. He recognized the napkin, but such things could be faked. With the Unmaker bent on Jethain’s death, he couldn’t trust anything. The Bitch Goddess was a mistress of deception, and he’d seen Jethain die from poison in his visions. Now that he knew his half-brother, the visions of his death unsettled Rak all the more. He didn’t find any poison so he set the tray before Jethain.

  As Jethain took the cloth off and inhaled the heavenly aromas, the queen burst in and exclaimed, “My darling son, we must talk!”

  Jethain grimaced. “Mother. You’re up early.” She spied Rak at Jethain’s side, but her small, fixed smile didn’t change. “Evil soul-stealing demons aren’t welcome here. Go away so I can speak to my son without your vile influence.”

  Rak tucked his hands into his sash and stared at her. “I do not wish to leave, and you cannot make me.”

  The queen scowled at him, but then her eye fell on the tray before the prince. “What is this? What are you eating? This is commoner food! I forbade that!” The queen swept the tray off the table and the contents smashed to the ground.

  Morth snarled as he ducked. Death hounds did not like it when people threw pottery at them, so Rak wasn’t surprised when the hound bristled and growled.

  “And you have a dog in here?” Jezaia’s voice climbed to a shriek as she pointed at Morth. “Get that foul, evil beast out of my palace!”

  Morth bared his fangs, restrained only by Rak’s hand on his head. “Morth is here to make sure that there are no further unauthorized guests in the prince’s bed. He will not leave any more than I will.”

  Jezaia gaped for a moment, the hatred she bore for Rak plain to see, then she masked it and turned to Jethain. “Son, please. Why must you always defy me? Don’t you love me? I’m your mother. Please send the dark one away so we can talk.”

  “Mother, anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of your stepson.” Jethain kept his bland court face in place.

  “He’s no son of mine,” said Jezaia. She stroked Jethain’s hand. “He’s nothing like you. You’re a good boy.”

  Rak decided that rising to her bait would be beneath him. He remained silent, though his glare did not waver. “He’s changed, Mother,” Jethain said. “He’s not the brat you remember. Please, see for yourself and speak politely to him.”

  Her lips pursed. “I see he has you under his spell. I will ask Forael to exorcise you.”

  “Mother!” Jethain snapped before he composed himself. “The Ylion calls him cousin. Please use your head. You don’t have to put on a show for me.”

  Jezaia sighed at him, then shot Rak a glance. “He was always a willful brat, not like you, Jethain. You were such a tractable child. Where did I go wrong?”

  “I grew up and now think for myself,” Jethain said in a weary tone. Larin, thinking the danger was past, started cleaning up the mess on the floor. The queen, spying a target she did have power over, pointed to the servant. “Take that slave to Hasaviz for training!” One of her personal guards, Gadel, moved forward and Larin began to cry. Jethain shot to his feet and immediately doubled over, gasping for breath.

  Rak pushed Jethain down and shoved Larin behind him. He turned to face the queen and pointed at the door. “Exo! Get out!” he thundered. The uproar brought Jethain’s guards into the room. Orste and Fentri took up positions to protect the prince.

  “I’m the Queen! You’re a guest. You have no right to order me around in my palace, my kingdom. Guards! Arrest him!”

  “I am a high priest and this is my patient.” Rak roared back. “That supersedes rank and protocol. Do not touch me!” Green lightning crackled about him in response to his rage.

  “Arrest the King’s son?” The Queen’s guards exchanged looks with the Prince’s men. “We must hear that from the King’s lips, Your Majesty.”

  “Then take that slave! That is my order!” Jezaia shrieked. The guards shifted foot to foot, torn between obeying the queen and facing the green lightning about Rak.

  Rak’s wings spread to their impressive twelve foot span, green lighting tracing along the spars and black fire dancing on the sails. The snarling death hound stood before Rak, guarding both his master and the slave his master shielded.

  “You will not touch him, either,” said Rak. “Leave, now, before I lose my temper.” “My money’s on the high priest crackling with power, if you catch my meaning,” said Fentri as he gripped Gadel’s shoulder. The guard nodded agreement and stepped back.

  “Mother, go,” Jethain gasped from his curled position. “How could you abandon me? Don’t you love me?” Jezaia sobbed at Jethain. Morth growled, lowered his head, and stepped towards her. She gasped at the hound, turned, and fled. Her guards filed out in her wake as quickly as was humanly possible.

  “Good riddance,” muttered Rak.

  “By your leave, high priest, may we return to our posts?” Orste was very, very respectful. Fentri, a solid old war horse, wasn’t the least bit perturbed.

  “You may. Keep her out of here.” “I’ll answer to Father should she cause trouble. I’ll not see you disciplined and you know Captain Jisten answers to me,” Jethain added.

  “Yes, Your Eminence, and yes, Your Highness.” Orste and Fentri saluted before they resumed their post in the hallway.

  “Araken, fetch a manumission form from my bedside, please?” Jethain was still curled on the chair. “The palace is no longer safe for Larin.”

  Larin kissed Jethain’s hand. Rak’s wings vanished back beneath his cloak again as he walked to the bedside, found the right form and bought it back, along with pen and ink. Then he set everything aside in order to check Jethain’s pulse. “You stood up too fast. Really, brother, you must learn to trust me.”

  “I’ve never had anyone but Jisten to trust,” Jethain said quietly. He uncurled enough to scrawl on the papers. He was used to writing on them from odd positions. The scribes cursed every time they had to make heads or tails of his writing, although there was a running joke as to what position the prince was in when he had made out this particular document.

  “Here, go quickly, before the queen regains her courage and goes to Hasaviz,” Jethain warned and handed the papers to Larin, who bowed and kissed more hands, including Rak’s, to the priest’s annoyance. Larin had a bounce to his step as he walked out.

  “Are you nauseated?” asked Rak. He hadn’t missed Jethain’s hand po
sition, and although the gut wounds were healed now, the re-injuries, purgings and bloodlettings had taken a toll on the prince’s health.

  Jethain shook his head, his mournful gaze on the ruins of the breakfast tray. Rak put a hand on his shoulder. “Brother, I am sorry I was not faster, I did not expect—”

  “I hear you’ve ruffled my Queen’s feathers this morning,” said the king as he strode in unannounced, a harried looking Jisten at his elbow. The captain saw the mess on the floor and sidestepped to order someone to clean it up.

  “No wonder you always look tired,” muttered Rak. “Your bedroom is a muster point for half the palace!”

  “Jethain will get plenty of rest now that you’re my heir,” said Owain. “Jethain can command the army full time, he’ll make a fine Lord Marshal for you.” Owain glanced at Jethain and added, “But he’ll have to move out of this suite, since it’s for the crown prince. The packing sevants should be here any minute.”

  “I am not your heir!” Rak protested yet again. “Your Majesty, stop this at once!”

  “You don’t want these quarters?” “I did not even agree to become your heir if Jethain died, and he is not dead. My brother, your heir, is very much alive and will remain that way.” Rak took a deep breath. “And ix, I do not want his rooms!”

  “You are eldest and thus Crown Prince. Your God returned you to us. Do you want my quarters?” Owain had a happy, dreamy look on his face. Rak would have bet an entire Okyran gem mine that he was thinking of moving farther away from the queen’s quarters.

  “I am happy with the rooms I have,” Rak shouted. “I am not your heir, and I will never be your heir. I am a high priest of Zotien.”

  “All this fussing accomplishes nothing. Your God has made no objection. On the contrary, He sent you back to us. You will strengthen Koilatha!”

  “It is not done,” Rak retorted. “You cannot declare me your heir against my will. No matter how many council votes you hold.”

  “The Gods decided that you would be born my eldest. Your God in particular sent you back. Think, Araken, why? He could have sent an envoy with training and we would have treated with him. But no, He chose to reveal your past and reunite us.”

  “Jethain is your heir. He is the Crown Prince,” said Rak, his voice low and hard. “I am here for him, to forge an alliance with him. That is why I was sent here, to be reunited with, and support, my brother’s bid for the throne and the end of slavery in this land.”

  “If you are so sure of that, why didn’t your God tell you before He sent you here? Araken, Araken, you always were a stubborn boy. Lord Zotien knows this. He sent you here to shock you back to your senses.”

  Rak glared at Owain. “Your Majesty, you and I both know that the Koilathan people will never accept a dark servant who is a pervert as their King.”

  Jethain choked back a laugh.

  “Oh, yes, you have to give up the pervert part. You understand, son.”

  “Ix, I do not understand! I will not ever give up my love of handsome men.”

  Jisten gripped Jethain’s shoulder so hard that the prince winced. “Oh, you think that’s love?” Owain looked distressed. “I hate to break this to you, son, but that isn’t.”

  “I can’t feel my arm,” Jethain whispered to Jisten. “It is more akin to love than what you share with that creature you call your Queen,” retorted Rak.

  “That’s an unfair gut shot, son,” Owain reproved, but didn’t contradict him.

  “Now that this ridiculous issue is settled, you can send those packers away.” Rak glared at a servant putting a knickknack in a box.

  “Jisten, my hand is blue,” Jethain whispered urgently. Jisten’s hand fell away but his grey gaze never left the king and Rak.

  “Off with you. Go make the guest quarters into the crown prince’s suite.” Owain waved a royal, ringed hand at the servant.

  Rak groaned, and then brightened. “Please paint the walls a dark green and recover the furniture with grey and black upholstery.”

  “Paint a royal crest every two feet,” Owain said.

  “And then paint Zotien’s sigil over it and the Thezi symbol as well.”

  The servant whimpered and looked at the king. “Just have the walls painted without embellishment,” said Rak. “I will paint the sigils.”

  “Have the royal painter put all the crests up, and the crown prince will paint the sigils,” Owain told the servant.

  Rak sighed and gave up. He leaned over and whispered to Jethain, “If I have to publically disqualify myself from the throne, I will. Brother, you are still the crown prince. I promise you, I will not take your crown, or allow anyone else to take it and force it upon me.”

  “What’s the difference?” Jethain said in defeat. “Neither of us can hold the throne. Let Father have his dreams.”

  Rak put a hand on Jethain’s sore shoulder. “You will hold the throne, brother, and I will help you keep it.” Night flames flared, healing the bruises.

  “So, it’s agreed then,” Owain pronounced. “Good of you not to make a fuss, Jethain.”

  “Ai, we are agreed that Jethain is your heir,” snapped Rak. “You can keep him around. He’s a decent sort. Won’t assassinate you for the throne, and he’d make an excellent Lord Marshal,” repeated Owain, as if he hadn’t heard a word Rak had been saying.

  Rak grabbed Jisten and kissed him deeply, full tongue. When he finally let go, he asked Owain, “Shall I do that in the Throne Room? The Great Hall? The plaza before the Sun Temple? I amnot your heir!”

  Jisten gazed at Rak in utter astonishment, but there was no anger or protest in the captain’s demeanor.

  “Son,” protested Owain, wincing. Then his expression grew calculating. “Oh, just do that in private. And really, don’t pick on Jisten the Pure, son. That’s not fair. When you ascend, you can have all sorts of slave boys sent to your quarters. It’s good to be the king.”

  “My God considers slavery to be a crime of the greatest order. Slavers are under a death sentence in Okyro.”

  “That could pose a problem, son. Better soften that stance.” “I will not soften on that one. If you thought I would be easier for your slaveowning nobles to handle, you were gravely mistaken. I will be far, far worse than Jethain. I will do more than outlaw slavery. I will hunt slavers and slave-owners down with great vigor.”

  “Well, there goes the nobility,” Owain said. “You’ll rule by love of the populace?”

  “I. Will. Not. Rule!” Rak was ready to stamp his feet. He’d lost his patience and his temper.

  “There, there, son. It will be fine,” Owain soothed. “I do so love these family chats, but I must go now. Jethain, do brief Araken on what he needs to know. At least the Captaincy won’t change.” The king looked at the stunned captain.

  Rak’s wings flared again. “ Ai, please go, I am sure you have much important things to do.” What he wanted to say w a s please go before I run you through.

  Owain walked out regally. “Why hasn’t Zotien done anything? Such as when the council voted?” Jethain asked. “Father does have a point about that.”

  “ I have not violated any of my Lord’s laws,” Rak said. “They cannot force me to violate my vows—their proclamations mean nothing.” He offered the two men a cryptic smile. “And now that the morning crises are over, it is time for me to sleep. Try not to hurt yourself for a few hours, please.” Jisten chuckled when Jethain stuck his tongue out at Rak. The dark priest chose not to notice as he turned and left the two to their own devices.

  Chapter Twelve: Summoned to Play

  Rak obeyed the summoning silently, slipping out of bed without disturbing Scorth. He paused to change into the slave tunic that Hasaviz had given him and commanded him to wear, covered it with a cloak, and slipped out of the suite without alerting Tebber. He walked directly to Hasaviz’s office via the servants’ network of narrow passageways that lay between the main corridors traversed by the nobles. He removed the cloak and set it in a hidden alcove formed b
y a loose stone, then entered directly into the training room and knelt at Hasaviz’s feet.

  “He wears a slave tunic now?” asked Virien, coming off the padded couch to inspect Rak as Hasaviz locked the collar on.

  “Stand,” commanded Hasaviz with the inflection that meant for inspection, so Rak stood, clasped his hands behind his head and spread his legs shoulder width apart. Hasaviz tucked the front and back panels of the tunic up into the yellow binding belt, completely exposing Rak from the waist down. “His training is coming along nicely, as you can see, sir.”

  Virien tugged on Rak’s cock, which came erect in his hand. “Even more impressive than last time,” he said, eyes bright with desire. He hooked the scrotal ring with his little finger and tugged sharply, using it to lead Rak over to the padded couch. Virien lounged on the leather seat. “Kneel,” he commanded, releasing the ring.

  Virien rested his feet on Rak’s thighs. Then he opened his pants and brought his package through the flap in his shorts. “Oral service, slave.”

  Rak bent forward, and kissed Virien’s cock and both balls. Then he proceeded to lick Virien’s balls and firming shaft.

  “The Riverlands has fully trained sex slaves, given the potions at puberty and carefully trained. Not just some poor slob of a slave dosed whenever,” Hasaviz lectured. “You can feel the difference.”

  “This is wonderful, even better than last time.” Virien stroked Rak’s hair as the slave sucked on his scrotum. “I’ve always wanted my own sex slave.”

  “He is yours whenever you wish. As you see, I have full control,” Hasaviz said.

  “We need to consider dosing our palace staff. It would be easy to just slip the potion into the medicines we give the children when we buy them.”

  “That is only half the solution,” Hasaviz said. “Training is the other half. Do you think that comes naturally? Of course not! It’s all training!”