The Role He Plays before Breaking Out

2nd day of the 6th moon, 1162 HC

It has been forty-nine years.

The weight of that number hangs heavily on Mulsae's neck. He remembers those first days asking how long this was going to last. He knew from the start he had to play the long game, but he never could have predicted it would take this long. He never predicted that Zudaeshi was clever enough to keep herself guarded and secure from harm for decades.

Mulsae immediately worked his way close to her. He's very close now. Her trusted confidant. Her lover. Her sex slave. Her sword. And all-the-while Mulsae has watched her carefully for any openings, and there have been none. Rebellions have come and gone and Sanctum Masters have died trying to save Harmura. She just doesn't have a weakness to exploit.

And Damion. Fuck. The man with the biggest heart and Mulsae has now ruined his life twice. First, he broke Damion himself, and then he exposed Damion to be trapped and tortured by Zudaeshi. All because of my own damn arrogance. I was so confident that I could trap her that I didn't consider she would lay a trap for us to spring the moment we sat at the table.

Mulsae slides his gaze to Damion leaning against the wall. I've been a curse on Damion's life. Yet he still stands by me unwaveringly. I don't deserve him. What would I have done if he hadn't been here to support me? So fucking selfish of me to even appreciate he's here.

He looks back to Nori. She is giving him her weekly report. He's watching Nori's mouth move but instead remembering the time Nori veilwalked into their room drunk, stumbling, and vomiting all over the floor.

I was so stupid, Mulsae reminds himself for the one thousandth time, to think Nori could remain in total isolation for such a long amount of time. I'm supposed to take care of these people and I've been failing.

Mulsae had ordered Nori to stay hidden so Zudaeshi couldn't use her powers from the Veilspirit, and it took her almost eighteen months before she snapped. She still hasn't completely recovered. All she's done for the past forty-nine years is watch, report to Mulsae and Damion, and drink. The only acknowledgement of her existence is through these in-person weekly reports. She arrives drunk to half of them.

"She's feeding them prisoners, and they're throwing them into sparring pits like bait." Well, fuck. That got Mulsae's attention even though Nori reported as if it isn't horrifying.

"What the fuck," Damion drags his hands through his hair and paces in a circle.

"The rest of the hearthholds haven't moved. They're watching. Waiting."

Damion sighs, "Waiting to see who survives."

Nori nods, "Waiting to see if anyone fights and lives."

There is silence as they all look at each other and let the deteriorating state of Scaldmere sink in.

Mulsae continues the conversation, "Anything else?"

“I heard rumors that Garrick has a woman living with him. I checked in on it, and it’s true. A human woman is living with him, and they appear to be close.”

Mulsae pushes off the counter, eyes wide. “What? Does Zudaeshi know?”

Nori shakes her head. “There’s no indication that Zudaeshi or Riko know about it yet.”

“Fuck.” Mulsae drags both hands through his hair and starts pacing. “If she finds out...”

He doesn’t finish. They all know.

Garrick is the only Sanctum Master not trapped in this palace. The last one left. The only one with the power and freedom to strike when the moment comes. If Zudaeshi suspects even a hint of betrayal, she’ll drag him here in chains and tear out his soul just to hear him explain.

And with a human? That wouldn’t just be betrayal. It would be humiliation. Zudaeshi sees humans as vermin, beneath her, beneath them.

She still believes Garrick belongs to her, just because they were once engaged. She thinks if she gives him space, he'll come crawling back. But if she sees him touching someone else, especially a human, she’ll kill the girl, cage Garrick, and celebrate it in front of all of Harmura.

Mulsae stops pacing and turns to Nori. “Keep a close eye on them. If their relationship ever looks like more than a friendship, if he so much as touches her hair, I want to know before Zudaeshi breathes it in the wind.”

Nori jerks her head toward the door. “Someone’s approaching.”

She turns and steps through the tall mirror. Its surface shows not the bathing chamber behind them, but a dim room beyond. The glass ripples like water around her body, then stills as a solid, reflective mirror once more. They had it installed for her, so she could slip in and out unnoticed using her Veilwalker power.

Mulsae exits the bathing chamber and enters the main room just as the door opens. A servant enters, "You've been summoned to the party. I shall escort you."

Mulsae nods and grabs off the chest of drawers a large leather square with two buckles on it. Damion approaches him, turns his back to him and folds up his arms behind his back, just under his wings. Mulsae snakes the binding around Damion's arms and buckles it. Loosely. As Mulsae's pet, Damion isn't to appear in public without his arms bound.

They approach the escort who leads them through the bright and echoing hallways to their next engagement.

The room hums with low laughter and sharp perfume. The Council Ministers are already deep in their goblets of wine. A bound man hangs from a cross on the far wall, his legs trembling with each gasp. He's not going to survive in that position.

Zudaeshi calls these evenings diplomacy. Mulsae calls them inventory. Who's still loyal. Who's still afraid. Who's next.

Mulsae strolls into the room with a lazy grace, posture easy, expression unreadable, and his hands in his pockets. Damion follows to his left and one step behind in his own costume: barefoot, wearing only pants and his arms folded behind his back and bound.

Ministers glance over, weighing Mulsae like a fine blade. They're Zudaeshi's favorite ornaments: the whore with teeth and the Emberai pet.

Mulsae keeps walking. He knows how this game is played. He smiles at someone who doesn't matter. The smile is for the room, not the person. This is how the evening begins.

The wine smells stronger than usual tonight. Or maybe Mulsae's just more sober than he wants to be. He grabs a goblet from a tray a servant offers. He wishes he could down it in one gulp. Nope, he wishes he had mistburn.

The party swells around them. Laughter spikes. A cork pops in the corner. Mulsae exhales through his nose and keeps walking just enough to keep the sharks from circling.

But, the Council Scribe corners him anyway.

"Mulsae! A delight as always," Rhoven says, sweeping into a shallow bow.

Mulsae forces a smile, "I see the ink stains haven't claimed you yet."

"Ah, not tonight," he smirks, "The Harmonarch insists on my presence at every function these days. Says it helps her remember what she's signed."

"I'm sure your value to her is... immeasurable." Mulsae says and keeps walking. Rhoven keeps talking, but Mulsae isn't listening.

He drifts toward the food tables. Not to eat, just to move, and just to be seen moving. Damion stays exactly one step behind, as always.

A wet gasp cuts through the room. The man on the cross is still alive. Still choking.

Mulsae angles his path toward him. Not directly so as to not draw attention, but he gets close enough that the wheezing becomes the loudest sound in the room.

He doesn't know how long the man's been up there. Hours, probably, left for his body to fail slowly, deliberately. This isn't to gather information. This isn't a sentence to serve. This is just cruelty for its own sake.

Mulsae sips his wine, but it tastes like copper. He can't stop thinking about what this person must be seeing. The ceiling lights. The blur of color from velvet dress. The edges of laughter. No faces that care. Just strangers who watch him die slowly while sipping from goblets.

It's not punishment. It's display. It's theater. And Mulsae is expected to applaud.

The head of the legion and head of security approach from the side, laughing as they watch the body twitch.

"Twitchy little bastard, isn't he?" Rhydros chuckles, watching the bound man writhe.

"They always get louder around the two-hour mark," Eryx adds, chewing on a skewer of meat.

"Should I start timing them for you?" Mulsae replies, voice dry.

"Please do," Rhydros grins, "You Water Sanctum bastards are precise, right?"

The victim chokes again, harsh, gasping, wet. His knees give a little, body sagging.

Mulsae’s jaw tightens. I can’t stand this any longer. His magic slips forward like a tide, quiet and cold. It pools at the edge of the man’s mind, then flows inward. Gentle, but final. A silent wave breaking inside the skull.

The man exhales once, then goes still. The gag remains, but no more air wheezes. Just slack limbs and silence.

Eryx frowns, "Damn. There goes the fun."

Mulsae sips his wine, "Your sense of entertainment is fragile."

Fuck. I made it about me again. When will I stop being so damn selfish?

A soft breath brushes against his mind. It's Damion. It wasn't selfish.

Mulsae doesn't react. He keeps his posture lazy, his face unreadable.

It was generous, Damion adds, the thought quiet but firm. You gave him peace. You gave him something no one else would.

Mulsae's throat tightens. He drinks to cover it. How am I supposed to know the difference?

"Mulsae dear!" Zudaeshi's voice cuts across the room like a blade wrapped in silk, "Come sit with me."

He exhales slowly and turns toward where she lounges, draped across her chaise in red and gold. Her hair spills over her shoulder like ink across velvet. She pats the cushion beside her.

Mulsae takes his seat at the end of the chaise and folds one leg over the other, lounging with practiced ease. Damion sinks to the floor between them, exactly how Zudaeshi likes it. And yup, her fingers find Damion's hair immediately.

"A shame about our little display," she sighs, glancing toward the cross, "He was supposed to last the whole evening. I thought you'd enjoy the artistry."

"Must've been weaker than expected," Mulsae says lightly.

Zudaeshi lets out a heavy sigh and turns to him, lower lip jutting in an exaggerated pout, Mulsae. "It’s been forty-nine years."

He eases back in his seat, already bracing himself for her favorite lament. Garrick. Always Garrick.

"How long does a man need to grieve before he remembers where he belongs?"

He schools his face into a sympathetic mask. "Garrick’s grief runs deep. He lost more than a title."

"He lost me." Her tone sharpens like a blade drawn halfway. She straightens, the silk of her skirts folding like drawn wings. "And he still has the title. I left it intact. I let him rule. I gave him time. Distance. Every grace I could offer."

She flicks her hand in the air as if tossing away a scrap. "I could’ve dragged him here like the rest of you, but I didn’t."

Mulsae lifts his goblet, the porcelain cool against his lip. "You chose restraint."

"Because I expected him to see sense."

She leans forward suddenly, reaching for Damion. Her fingers slip into his hair, slow and possessive, combing it like she owns his every strand. "Instead, he hides in that Mountain Sanctum like I’m the one who broke the world."

"You didn’t break it," Mulsae offers, keeping his voice light. "You united it."

"And did what no one else could." Her hands still. Her gaze sharpens. "Garrick knows that. He knows what I’ve built. He knows how safe he would be by my side."

She stiffens, then jerks upright. Her eyes narrow, glittering. "Unless... unless someone’s filling that side already."

Mulsae tightens his grip on his goblet but masks it with another sip. "You think he’s with someone?"

"He shouldn’t be." Her lips curl, and the smile she gives him is all venom and shine. "He wouldn’t dare. Not unless he’s completely lost his mind."

She tilts her head, watching him too closely. "I’m not unkind, Mulsae. I gave him freedom because I trusted him. He wouldn’t betray that trust." Her lips twitch. "He knows what happens when I’m disappointed."

Mulsae swirls the wine in his goblet, watching the liquid spiral. His fingers tap the stem once. "And if he has?"

Zudaeshi smiles wider, teeth barely showing. "Then I’ll remind him what loyalty feels like. And what it costs to break it."

She drains the last of her goblet, then sets it down with a sigh, "Well. I'm in the mood for something more... personal. Come along, both of you."

Zudaeshi glides down the bright white marbled hallways. Mulsae follows with his chin held up with Damion dutifully following. Charming. Dangerous. Controlled. Even though everyone knows where we're going and why. Just be charming, dangerous, and controlled.

They pass a few people, who smirk at Mulsae as they go by. They're preening and painted, pretending they aren't trapped in the same damn cage. They're idiots.

They pass the guards for her suite and enter the main area.

"Pour me some wine, Mulsae dear," Zudaeshi says sweetly, "And I know you'd like some mistburn."

Mulsae nods and heads to her bar. He starts working on the requested drinks. Damion stands close by, silent but out of the way.

She runs a finger along the edge of the bar, "Sometimes I imagine what it would be like, having Garrick here. Finally. Chained. Proud and furious." She smirks, "At first."

Mulsae hands her a goblet of wine.

"I’ve missed him," she sighs, long and dramatic.

He uncorks a pale ceramic bottle and pours himself a cup of mistburn. It's clear and volatile, brewed from mountain grains and distilled until it bites like fire. Exactly what he needs. He downs it in one gulp then refills it without comment.

"Don’t worry," she coos, dragging her nails across his shoulder, leaning in close. "I won’t cast you aside when he finally comes back to me. You’re still useful. Still fun."

He gulps down the liquor and pours again. I need all the mistburn I can get.

"Maybe I’ll let you watch when I remind him who he belongs to," she sips her wine.

He glances at her from the corner of his eye and takes a sip of his drink. I do not want to watch.

"Or maybe I’ll let you help."

He turns fully to look her straight in the eye, "How may I be of help, Your Radiance?"

She smiles and paces toward the door of the bedchamber, wagging a finger without looking back. He and Damion follow, as trained.

"You did such exquisite work with Damion." She halts at the doorway and turns, eyes gleaming. "Could you break Garrick just enough that he still shines, but only for me?"

Inside the bed chamber, she hooks a finger into his collar and pulls him close. "I think it would be poetic," she murmurs. "The whore helping me tame the brute."

She sips her wine. He gulps down the rest of his mistburn. He braces himself for the evening ahead.

She takes the empty cup from his hand, stepping back. "Not destroy him. No, no. I want him beautiful. Loyal. Kneeling. That perfect flicker of defiance, just behind the eyes."

Another step. "You’re so good at finding that balance, Mulsae."

Another step. "So precise."

She says it like it is art. Like seduction. Like she’s asking me to paint a portrait, not break a man.

She jerks her chin to the door to instruct him to close it. Mulsae kicks his foot back and the door shuts. That sound is the ever present ominous beginning to her bedchamber games.

"And if you behave, maybe I'll let you stay," she turns and puts his cup down on the bedside table.

She runs her finger along the edge of the bed, "You want to stay, don’t you?"

"Yes, Your Radiance," he steps closer. No, you bitch.

She hums affirmatively, "I knew you did."

"Strip," she commands, "I want to enjoy you before Garrick ruins my mood any further."

Mulsae shucks off his clothes with practiced ease while she sits on the edge of the bed watching and sipping her wine.

She jerks her chin towards Damion, "Take off his bindings."

Mulsae freezes just briefly before moving again. Fuck. Removing his bindings means she wants him involved. I hate when she involves him. It kills me to see him like that again.

Damion turns his back towards Mulsae so he can unbuckle the arm bindings. He chucks the restraint on top of his pile of clothes and Damion starts massaging his arms to get blood flowing back to them.

"Come, Mulsae dear," she gestures to him to come close. Step by step his nude form approaches her, when close enough she grabs his hands and pulls him right in front of her, knee to knee.

"This will stay on even after I have Garrick back," she unlatches his cock cage. The one enchanted to only be able to be opened by her. She pulls off the cage and lets it roll off her hands onto the floor. "You'll always be mine," she whispers.

She tugs off the base ring and Mulsae grimaces from her rough touch. She drops it and it rolls along the floor before settling.

"On the bed."

Mulsae crawls on and lays his head on the pillows. Zudaeshi stands, takes his hand, pulls it up and binds it to the headboard. She rounds the bed staring at him with hungry eyes. She takes his other hand and binds it to the headboard as well.

She walks to the wardrobe and removes her dress. She has no underthings, she never has underthings.

She takes Damion's hand and leads him to the bed. "Hold his legs, Damion dear. His kicking can be so bothersome," as if that is a perfectly normal thing to say.

Mulsae takes a shaky breath in. It's hard to keep reactions like that under control when the body knows what's coming. This is a pattern his body has encountered an innumerable amount of times. A pattern that turns terrifying each and every time.

Mulsae and Damion stare into each other's eyes. Damion figured out this coping technique long ago. If they just get lost in each other's eyes it's easier to dissociate.

Zudaeshi straddles him and Damion leans to the side so they can see each other. Just look at his warm brown eyes. Ignore everything else.

I'm here, he hears in Damion's mind.

You're here, he pushes back.

She feels wet and warm. He's not allowed to just be still. He feels her rhythm and thrusts his hips to match.

Damion runs soothing circles with his thumbs on Mulsae's ankles. He throws his focus on that one sensation. It's just his brown eyes and his caressing touch.

Zudaeshi leans over and wraps her hands around his neck. He trembles violently. He can't not tremble. He's tried. But being strangled is such a terrifying experience his body rebels at the first signs of it.

She starts with gentle squeezes to make his breathing audible through the pressure on his throat. She moves on making him gasp. But then she crosses over to truly withholding air. He stops thrusting to meet her rhythm, he's involuntarily bucking in his fight for air.

His legs jerk and Damion holds on tight. I'm here, I'm here, he keeps repeating in his mind.

Fuck! She's going to kill me this time! Mulsae thrashes and pulls on the wrist restraints.

She's not going to kill you. She wants you. She won't kill you, Damion reminds him.

He can't see those brown eyes anymore. Everything is a blur. He casts his eyes about wildly and can't even scream. He can't make a sound. A fine mist curls from his skin. His vision darkens.

She's going to kill me! She's going to kill me!

I'm here! Damion calls out.

Fuck!

Suddenly he's gasping and his vision is blinking with stars. His vision grows more focused and he sees Zudaeshi panting above him and her black hair hanging like curtains around his head.

Her hands tighten around his neck again. Fuck! I need to get out of here! He desperately pulls on the wrist restraints. He kicks at Damion and tries to squirm out from under Zudaeshi. I need to get out of here! She's going to kill me!

Suddenly he's gasping again and it's like razorblades through his throat. He coughs between his gasping. I need out! I need out! I need out! His vision is swirling with flashes of white.

Her breath is blowing in his face, her exhales clearing away the fresh oxygen he dearly needs. He turns his head and her hair gets in his mouth. He trashes his head trying to get it out, but it's just too long and stuck. Now he's inhaling hair. He coughs and gasps and coughs and gasps while his eyes stream tears down his face and neck.

She squeezes tight again. No more air again. His throat is silent again. She writhes wildly on top of him and moans loudly. I need to get out. I need to get away. I need---

He's gasping again through razor blades. He blinks and sees white flashes everywhere. She's stopped moving. She's sitting up and panting. Damion is running his hands up and down Mulsae's calves.

Zudaeshi crawls off the bed and saunters into the bathing chamber, shutting the door behind her. Mulsae is panting wildly trying to reorient himself.

I'm here. You're here. You're alive, he skims off Damion's mind.

You're here, he pants and casts his gaze around the room, I'm alive.

Damion is massaging Mulsae's feet. He focuses on that sensation. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and feels Damion's thumbs pressing into the soles of his feet.

Zudaeshi comes out of the bathing chamber, "Damion dear, unbind him. I'm done for the evening. Go back to your room. Don't forget the cock cage."

Damion rounds the bed and releases Mulsae's wrist, then rushes to the other side to release the other. Mulsae rolls and partially falls off the bed from his wobbly legs. Damion hands Mulsae his pants and picks up the rest of the clothes.

Zudaeshi crawls into the bed and snuggles under the covers. Mulsae picks up the pieces of the cock cage and spends a moment putting it on before pulling on his pants. They then scramble out of the bedroom and into the main room.

As soon as the bedroom door shuts again they both take a deep breath and slow exhale. Then Mulsae starts his redressing ritual with shaky hands. He fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. Damion pushes aside Mulsae's hands and buttons the shirt for him.

Mulsae looks at himself in a mirror. He has bloodshot eyes and bruises blooming on his neck. His voice is gone so he hopes no one tries to talk to him before he can make it to the healer tomorrow morning.

He adjusts his lapels and fixes his cuffs. Charming. Dangerous. Controlled. It is time to make their way through the hallways and back to their room.

They pass the guards for the suite and Mulsae nods to them in respect. His rituals of respect have worked over the decades. They respect Mulsae in turn.

The hallways are quiet, betraying the late hour. The bright lighting is always the same, but the sounds of the palace change throughout the day.

They enter their room and Damion closes and locks the door. Which is good because Mulsae has fallen to his hands and knees and is shaking violently. This sometimes happens to him after being strangled.

Damion knows what to do. It's happened an innumerable amount of times before. He kneels by Mulsae's side and gently caresses up and down his back. The light rhythmic touch helps to ground and calm him.

Eventually Mulsae's body calms down and stops shaking. Damion eases him up and helps him into the bathing chamber. He puts on the water for the tub, hot, and begins to remove Mulsae's clothes while humming an Emberan campfire song. Then he guides Mulsae into the tub.

Mulsae sits in the water and clutches his knees. The hot water sinks into his bones. He just needs a moment of the hot water and nothing else. Damion knows the drill. He sits quietly on the floor resting his back against the tub. He just waits to ensure Mulsae is safe in the water. To be there if his hands shake too much to wash himself.

Mulsae sinks under the water. The warmth penetrates through his skull and soothes his sore eyes and throat. He comes back to the surface quickly and takes a deep, freeing breath.

He's able to wash himself this time, but Damion helps him to towel off anyway. Sometimes Damion is a bit of a worry wart, but Mulsae selfishly appreciates it. Gods, I can be so selfish.

They crawl into bed together. Mulsae likes to be on his stomach after nights like this. Damion lays next to him with a wing outstretched and hand on Mulsae's back.

We're here. We support each other. We can do this when we're together.