Fourth Day

29th day of the 2nd moon, 1113 HC

Damion is repeatedly woken up to Zudaeshi's demands, Mulsae's strangled replies, and the rhythmic shifting of the bed. Again and again, Zudaeshi rides Mulsae's cock while strangling his neck.

Damion helplessly lays on the floor next to the bed. He doesn't know what he should do. He doesn't know what he can do. Mulsae is being used again and again and all Damion can do is listen.

Mulsae used to use me this way. Damion is still angry about those days. The outrageous entitlement to use someone else's body. To violate someone's body that way. Two years of it, and he was changed... or unlocked. He still doesn't know which. Have I always wanted to be cared for so completely? I think so... He misses the mother he didn't have an opportunity to appreciate. Have I always wanted a Dom? Maybe... He sunk into a soldier's role so readily, and there was always a part of him that wanted the same in the bed chamber.

Zudaeshi gets off the bed and Damion watches her nude backside saunter into the bathing chamber, her long black hair glinting with golden strands gently swinging with each step before she disappears behind the door. Damion wants to get up and check on Mulsae, but he's afraid to do something Zudaeshi might object to. He hears the water of a tub turn on, so he decides to chance it.

He sits up and looks over Mulsae. His wrists are still tied to the headboard, and he looks wrecked. His torso and chest are covered in scratches. Some look really deep and will require extra care to treat. His nipples are purple and red, his neck black and blue with bleeding puncture marks.

Damion looks into Mulsae's amber eyes and pours in all the sympathy he can muster. He meets Damion's gaze for a moment, and then averts his gaze to the opposite side of the bed. Mulsae's face is blank. Hollow. Empty.

Damion wishes he had something to offer him. Even if it were just a hand. But he doesn't even have that. His arms are folded and restrained behind him. All he can offer is eye contact, and Mulsae won't accept.

Damion takes another glance across Mulsae's bruised and scratched body. Even on his worse days, Mulsae never did anything like this to him. He never battered Damion for his own pleasure. He would hurt him to punish him, sure. And Mulsae admitted he had wanted to do more, be crueler, but he held back to reserve those things for punishment. Zudaeshi, on the other hand, is just wantonly brutalizing Mulsae. Does she have a plan like Mulsae did? Is she organized and calculated like Mulsae was? Or is she just doing whatever her sadistic heart desires?

The door to the bathing chamber opens and Damion spins around with his eyes wide. He had wanted to lay back down before Zudaeshi came back out. She comes strolling into the room with her hair towel dried and still damp, completely nude with her light bronze and freckled skin on full display.

"Aww, you are such a good boy, aren't you, Damion," Zudaeshi coos in that sickly way of hers, "Checking in on your master, are you?" Damion nods dumbly. He doesn't know the rules of this game, only that breaking them gets someone hurt. He lowers himself to sit his butt on the floor and fold his legs in front of him.

She walks right up to Damion and cups his chin in her hand, "I wonder when Mulsae will care for me so much."

"Now, Harmonarch," Mulsae responds hoarsely through his abused throat, "That time is now."

Zudaeshi clenches her fist and Mulsae abruptly writhes on the bed, his legs kick and his back arches, but no sound leaves his throat. He twists and pulls on the restraints on his wrists.

"Such pretty words, Mulsae, but I know they are lies!" her tone constrains down to a mere hiss by the end of her words. She loosens her fist, Mulsae stops writhing and flops down exhausted, gasping and panting loudly.

Zudaeshi turns and strides towards her wardrobe, "I wonder when Mulsae will stop lying to me," she angrily opens her wardrobe. She pulls out a simple dark gray dress and puts it on. Damion notes she didn't put on any underthings. Perhaps she never wears underthings.

She sits at the vanity. She waves at her hair causing it to magically dry, then picks up a heavy, polished blackwood brush with boar bristles and runs it through her black silky hair. Each stroke is slow, methodical, almost ritualistic. She starts at the crown of her head and drags the bristles all the way down to the ends in one continuous, even pull. She doesn't rush. She brushes with the steady patience of someone sharpening a blade.

Her expression doesn't change. No relaxation, no absent-mindedness. Just cold, detached perfection, as if taming her own hair is the first battle of the day, and she never loses battles. She carefully puts down her brush, perfectly aligned with the side of the vanity, and assesses her image in the mirror.

She picks up a pot of dark, blood-red pigment and a brush with a thin delicate tip. She dips the brush in the pigment and begins to paint the color onto her lips. Her hand is too tense, though, and the brush slips painting a line from the corner of her lip up to her cheek. For a long moment she just stares at her reflection. Frozen.

Then she slowly, with an artificial calmness, places the brush onto the vanity. She picks up a scrap of linen and wipes the smear away with ruthless, scraping strokes that leave her skin reddened beneath. She reapplies the lipstick, this time moving slower, too slow, the carefulness of it barely masking the tremor coiled in her jaw. When she finishes, her lips are a perfect, violent red again, but her cheek still bears the faint ghost of the scrubbed-out mistake, a rawness she couldn't fully erase.

She leans in closer to the mirror, studying her reflection like an enemy she must conquer, her breathing measured but slightly too deep, as if she were steadying herself for a kill.

Zudaeshi stands and assesses the two men at her bed. She rakes her eyes across Mulsae's body. Then wordlessly, emotionlessly, she turns and exits the room. The door snicks behind her and a lock clicks.

Damion remains stone still. The room is quiet, but not peaceful. It's the kind of quiet that comes after a bomb has exploded. And now he and Mulsae are stranded, alone in the aftermath. He kneels and turns to face Mulsae, who still won't meet his gaze. His eyes are open but staring blankly away from Damion.

He lumbers to his feet then sits on the bed. Gingerly. Carefully. He's not sure what Mulsae needs right now. Well, what Mulsae needs right now is healing ointment and bandages. But I can't offer that, either.

Mulsae glances over to Damion and up to his eyes momentarily. But only momentarily, then his eyes dart back to stare at the other side of the bed. Damion so wishes he just had a hand he could lay on Mulsae's knee. But he can't. He flexes his useless fingers, frustrated at how little he can do. He has nothing to offer but his presence.

Damion tucks one knee up onto the bed, then the other, shifting his weight carefully as he climbs beside Mulsae. He scooches over so he's knee to knee with Mulsae, and then lays down next to him. Facing him. He had to do this carefully because Mulsae's torso is covered in slashes, even down his side. He wraps his feet around Mulsae's leg. It's the only place he can touch him without causing more harm.

Damion breaks the silence, "You're not alone," he whispers, "I've got you."

Mulsae's breath hitches, then it shifts so every inhale is a little shaky. After a long silence of slow deep breaths, Mulsae speaks hoarsely, softly, "I don't deserve you."

"I've got you," Damion whispers into the quiet, "and I trust that you have me." Damion uses a foot to gently caress across Mulsae's calf.

Mulsae's body tremors slightly, like he's holding something back, his grief, most likely. His breath becomes slow and measured, with a pause between each inhale and exhale. Damion recognizes it as the technique Mulsae has used to help him calm down. All Damion can do is caress Mulsae's calf with his foot and breathes with Mulsae. Inhale, pause, exhale, pause. Eventually it evens out into a deep, yet natural rhythm. Damion breathes along with that, too.

"I thought," Mulsae suddenly speaks, his voice hoarse and soft, "I thought I could do this without brea—" he cuts himself off with a swallow.

"I thought," Mulsae starts again softly, "I could keep... something of myself..." he licks his dry lips and swallows, "... safe."

Mulsae's breath shakes with every inhale again. He abruptly takes a deep inhale and holds onto that air tightly with his eyes screwed shut. A grimace crosses his face and silver lines his eyelashes. He holds this, then his face relaxes and he lets out a slow measured exhale. His breathing rhythm returns, but seems to hold his exhales.

"I've got you, Mulsae," Damion whispers.

Mulsae's eyes pop open, "Stop!" his voice is scratchy but firm and loud in the deathly quiet of this room. "Just stop it!"

Damion sits up so he can look into Mulsae's face. "Stop touching me!" that face barks at him. Damion jumps away so he's sitting at the foot of the bed.

Mulsae twists his body and pulls on the wrist restraints. "You don't have me!" he grounds out through clenched teeth, "I don't have you!" he bucks and tugs on the restraints, "We're alone!" he yells out in emphasis.

Damion stares, calculating what's happening. Mulsae is writhing and twisting on the restraints. He's losing it. He's going to hurt himself. What can I do? I only have myself. My presence.

"We're together," Damion says gently.

"No we're not!" Mulsae bucks and kicks his legs.

"I have you," equally as gently.

"No you don't," but less loud. He writhes left and right but has stopped bucking and kicking.

"You have me."

"No I—" his breath hitches, "I don't. No, I don't," he says breathily through his sore throat. He's on his side and has mostly become still but remains keeping tension on the wrist restraints, pulling them taut. His whole body held tight with the tension.

"I can't," Mulsae gasps, "I promised you I would, and I can't."

Damion crawls back to lay beside Mulsae. With Mulsae on his side they're now face to face, looking into each other's eyes. I made the right call. He didn't want to be away from me, he wanted to be away from here.

"All you can offer me is your presence. All I can offer you is mine. And that's enough for right now," Damion leans his forehead against Mulsae's and their breaths mingle.

"I promised I would always take care of you," Mulsae whispers. He releases his tension and stops pulling on the restraints.

"You do take care of me," Damion wraps his legs around Mulsae's.

"I'm not. You're in danger. I can't help you," Mulsae says so softly it can barely be heard.

Damion noses up Mulsae's cheek. Their lips so close his start tingling. They don't kiss, it's not their thing. It's just not something they do.

"You're helping me now. You're here for me," he says equally softly as he drags his nose back down Mulsae's cheek.

Mulsae tilts his chin up and Damion automatically shifts his head so their lips don't touch. They don't kiss, it's just not what they do. But... why not? His lips tingle from proximity. He rests his forehead onto Mulsae's and gently runs his nose up the side of Mulsae's. Would it be something good if we did? He pulls back to look into those amber eyes. They're staring right back. Intently. Mulsae licks his lips and leaves them parted.

Maybe it'd be something good if it were something we did. Especially here. Trapped. In this prison of a palace. Damion leans in slowly keeping attention to Mulsae's facial expressions. He's loose and relaxed, but he does use this moment to pull Damion's legs into a tighter embrace.

Damion presses his lips into Mulsae's lips, who promptly slots their lips together. Their mouths open and tongues tentatively touch. They break the kiss and share breath a moment. Mulsae leans in and grasps for Damion's lips once again, and he leans in right back. Their mouths open wide and explore each other.

It isn't a kiss of passion. It's a kiss of comfort. Of being there for each other in the only way they can. To relax each other. To release each other's tension. To narrow their perspective to just the Right Here and Right Now.

They each melt into the bed from the relaxation they're providing each other, their legs still woven together. The relief of stress sends sleepiness through Damion's body. And it must for Mulsae, too, because he breaks the kiss with his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm.

Damion's eyelids grow heavy and fall. All we have for each other is our presence. And it's enough. He listens to and counts Mulsae's breaths. He doesn't count very high before he's asleep, too.

=*=

Damion wakens to the sharp snap of the lock. His eyes shoot open with the sound. He sees the door slowly open revealing Zudaeshi's silhouette framed in the threshold. He doesn't move nor flinch. He remains as still as Zudaeshi. She's looking at them. Assessing them. She sees their closeness. Their legs entwined with each other. Their faces resting against one another with kiss swollen lips.

"Well," her voice drips with a syrupy sweetness, "Isn't this just... precious."

Damion stiffens and Mulsae blinks awake to be equally as frozen at the sight of Zudaeshi. She moves forward to the foot of the bed, each step deliberate. She draws a finger down the bed's banister, slow and idle, "Did you cry in his arms, Mulsae?" She tilts her head like a predator eying its prey. "Did you two whisper sweet nothings to each other?"

A smile grows across Zudaeshi's freckled face with her blood red painted lips. She's planning. She's conniving. She swiftly grabs the banister with her other hand and uses it to suddenly pivot and swoop to the side of the bed, closer to Damion. This time he does flinch.

"I suppose it's sweet," she runs a nail down Damion's side, leaving a trail of red skin behind, "The way you cling to each other. Two broken things huddling together to provide each other comfort."

Mulsae stares up at her and his jaw tightens. She shifts her gaze to Mulsae, "You taste each other's mouths," she slowly swipes her thumb under her lip, "with mine still on your skin."

She rakes her gaze down their bodies, "I must say, I've always wondered what it would take to get a pair of Emberan warriors to rut like animals," she brings her gaze back to their faces, "Apparently not much."

Mulsae slowly pivots away. Damion's gaze lowers to the bed. Zudaeshi straightens. She displays no anger. Just an expression of smug satisfaction.

"Damion, off the bed," she demands, "Kneel and watch." Damion scrambles off, almost losing his footing and falling on his ass, with shame burning through his body as it twists and grows within him.

Zudaeshi crawls onto the bed while hitching up her dress. Damion moves to kneel where he was the night before. She straddles Mulsae's thighs. "You're not ready for me, Mulsae," she says with an exaggerated pout, "You know how impatient I am," she flicks his flaccid cock.

"I'm sorry, Your Radiance," he says with his voice still hoarse.

"Well?" she rubs her thumbs into his hips in what would normally be a massaging motion, but with her, with her talon sharp nails, she instead presses uncomfortably firmly and cuts arcs into his skin. She sighs dramatically, "I'm waiting."

Mulsae's skin flushes down to his chest. He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate. Zudaeshi whips out a hand and grasps Mulsae's throat and hisses, "Look at me. No need to imagine. I'm right here."

He opens his eyes and casts his gaze across her face, down to her lips, down her neck, and down into her dress where her cleavage lies. Her long locks of hair dangle down on either side of his face. Trapping him. Here. With her.

She wraps a hand around his cock that is slowly increasing in length and hardness, and keeps her other hand firmly around his neck. She strokes him. Too hard. Too dry. He bites back a grimace, and tries as he can to do what she demands.

Damion watches. He shouldn't have an expression of sympathy, Mulsae wouldn't want that. But damn, do I sympathize. I wouldn't want to be forced to get hard for her. Perhaps I should just look down at the floor. Attempt to give Mulsae some privacy as he struggles through this.

Damion hears a satisfied moan from Zudaeshi, and then the bed starts rhythmically shifting. It grows faster and more fervent. He hears Mulsae breathe audibly through her strangled grasp, it saws in and out at an uneven pace.

Damion glances up and sees Mulsae's head tilted back as he gasps for breath. His face is red and sweat is collecting on his brow. Zudaeshi's head is also tilted back, her lightly bronzed skin turning a pink hue as a flush grows across her flesh. While Mulsae is struggling to survive, Zudaeshi takes her pleasure.

She reaches her crescendo with a loud moan and punctuates it by completely cutting off Mulsae's airway. His face is beat red and veins pop from his skin. He kicks his legs and thrashes side to side. She just holds on to his neck while panting. Taking time for her own come down and giving no care to Mulsae's struggle.

She flicks her head up and whisks her arms behind her so she may lean against them. Mulsae gasps wildly. She scans his form beneath her, noting the bruises, puncture marks, slashes and scratches across his skin. She looks upon his battered form with a lustful expression, with just a hint of a smile on those blood red lips.

She hops off the bed with agile grace and is up by Mulsae's restraints. She deftly opens them and releases his wrists.

"Get up, get dressed," she says as she approaches her own wardrobe, "I need you to get ready for the Statecraft Salon this evening." Mulsae sits up on the edge of the bed and rubs his wrists while he listens.

She opens the wardrobe, her fingers skimming past gowns like she is selecting a weapon, "You'll be at my side tonight. I expect you polished, poised, and sharp enough to remind them why I keep you close."

She looks back at Mulsae and waves a hand over her neck, "And do cover that up." She turns back to selecting her weapon, a gown.

"Bring your pet, of course. He makes you look formidable," she pulls out a dress and assesses it. "His arms bound. In fact, I expect him bound whenever any of my ministers could see him." She puts the dress back then turns to Damion and looks him up and down, "That will be any time in public, I suppose."

She saunters over to Damion and cups his face, "I know that's unfortunate, Damion dear. But politics. You understand, right?" Damion nods dumbly. His jaw tightens within her grip despite himself. He doesn't pull away, but his nostrils flare, a single breath away from flinching. Her thumb brushes too close to his mouth, and for a heartbeat, he forgets how to breathe.

She returns to the wardrobe and eyes her arsenal. She removes a gown and cocks her head to one side as she considers this choice. She nods to herself then hangs it on the door.

She turns back to the men and claps her hands once, "Get a move on! I don't want you to be late!"

"Yes, Your Radiance!" Mulsae jumps up and puts on his pants faster than any one reasonably should with all the slashes across his body. He hurriedly swings his shirt over his arms and buttons it half way. He picks up his shoes, socks, and underwear in a bundle he holds in front of him.

Mulsae jerks his chin to Damion as his instruction to follow. Damion snaps to his feet and is at Mulsae's side in just three long strides. The movement is automatic, practiced, discipline carved into his very bones.

Mulsae bows low, "I'll see you again later this evening, Your Radiance." She hums an affirmation without looking at him then waves him off to go away. Mulsae opens the bed chamber door and the two of them attempt to step over the threshold holding onto as much dignity as they can. Mulsae snicks the door shut when Damion crosses into the next room.

They pause and look at each other and take a deep breath together. Damion exhales like he's been holding the same breath for hours. His shoulders roll back, stretching under unseen weight. Mulsae sneaks a seat in a chair to put on his shoes and socks. He shoves his underwear in his pocket as he stands then buttons his shirt while he approaches the exit of the suite.

He pauses at the door, finishes buttoning his shirt, fixes his cuffs and smooths down his shirt and pants. Then he puts on an air of confidence and exits the suite like the Sanctum Master he is. He nods at the guards as he passes to give them respect then heads down the hallway.

Damion can see Mulsae is leading them back to their room. But that won't do. Mulsae needs his wounds treated.

"Mulsae," Damion whispers quietly. No acknowledgment. "Mulsae!" Damion says more harshly, more urgently.

Mulsae whips around and hisses, "What?!"

Damion flinches at Mulsae's harshness and blinks momentarily. He shakes it off and whispers, "We need to take you to the infirmary."

"No time," Mulsae says quietly, curtly, then turns around and strides forward.

"Mulsae!" Damion hisses back.

Mulsae spins around and eyes him intently with an expression saying 'Well? What? Spit it out!'

Damion approaches so Mulsae can hear him clearly as he whispers, "You cannot afford to bleed on your clothes tonight." He eyes Mulsae sternly, daring him to question his reasoning.

Mulsae rolls his eyes and looks to the ceiling. He exhales, "Fine," he says tightly. Then proceeds to lead them towards the infirmary.

They enter a brightly lit room, brighter than candles can provide alone so Damion looks up and can see the spirit lights lining the ceiling. There is a Sky-Touched man wearing a soft and layered set of sea green robes standing at a counter grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle.

His eyes dart momentarily at the newcomers then back to his work, "Anything you need, Water Master?"

"I have some bleeding wounds that need to be closed," Mulsae says hoarsely through his abused throat.

"And your voice needs to be fixed," the healer says as he turns around. He looks Mulsae up and down in an assessing gaze. "Show me," he says curtly. The healer steals a glance towards Damion while waiting for Mulsae.

Mulsae takes off his shirt. It's clear which wounds need the most attention because blood already has dripped down his skin. Mulsae turns a full circle so the healer can see his back and sides while saying, "I don't have time for a full healing," he struggles to say through his throat, "Just enough to not ruin my clothes."

"Sit," the healer gestures to a stool and Mulsae obliges.

"Your voice is more important than clothes right now. I'll start with that." The healer raises his hands to Mulsae's throat, and Mulsae flinches. He backs his hands away.

"I'm going to very gently touch your throat. You'll mostly feel the healing energy, and it will feel soothing. Okay?" Mulsae nods. The healer holds his hands up again, "Watch my hands as they move towards you." Mulsae watches the healer slowly bring his hands towards his neck. The healer places light fingertips on the tender skin and initiates the healing energy. Mulsae's shoulders soften as he releases tension.

Damion glances around the room and quickly notices a large drawing of the anatomy of Windborne wings. The parchment is old and curling at the edges. And the image is inaccurate. But why is there an image of Windborne wings?

"Speak," the healer pointedly demands.

"How does my voice sound now?" Mulsae says almost in his normal voice, but there is a husky undertone.

"Almost," the healer resumes on Mulsae's neck.

Damion's eyes keep being drawn towards the image of the wings. It looks to be a drawing of a dissection with joints and tendons labeled like a butcher's guide. Damion shifts his feet and flexes his neck. He's seen too many battlefields to be squeamish, but something about this drawing feels... invasive. What kind of healer is this?

"Speak," the healer's voice breaks the hold the drawing has on Damion. He turns his gaze back to Mulsae as he tests his voice, "How does my voice sound now?" The healer motions for him to continue, "You seem to have successfully returned my voice. The Harmonarch should be pleased." Damion can see the bruises on Mulsae's neck have reduced and the puncture marks have become smaller and no longer bleed.

The healer turns to the sink and fills a bowl and grabs a cloth. He returns to Mulsae and carefully washes the blood off his skin. Mulsae tries to maintain a stoic demeanor, but the corner of his eye twitches betraying how much the treatment stings.

"I assume you're going to the Salon tonight." Mulsae nods. "You're right, we don't have much time. I'll close everything that is bleeding or could bleed if it's disturbed and then you need to get washed up and dressed." Mulsae nods again.

The healer finishes cleaning up Mulsae's wounds and sets about healing the slashes across his body. He approaches Mulsae slowly, and verbalizes everything he's about to do before he does it. Damion is reminded of when he was at the hospital in the Marsh Sanctum. Everyone kept trying to touch him without notice and Damion kept flinching uncontrollably. But the expert healers always said what they were going to do and moved slowly. He was calm with those healers. Watching the healer's gentle treatment of Mulsae's trauma responses deepens Damion's understanding who this person may be. He's observant, and patient.

The healer's hands move across Mulsae's skin, pausing over slashes just long enough to prevent them from bleeding again before moving on to the next one. The healer finishes and inspects his work, poking and pulling at some slash marks to ensure they're secure. Mulsae is still littered with scratches, but they're no longer slashes. They still likely hurt whenever he moves, though.

"Alright. You're done. Get ready for the salon," the healer dismisses them with a wave of his hand. He washes the bowl he used at the sink while Mulsae puts on and buttons his shirt.

"Thank you," Mulsae says with a now clear voice, "Good night." Mulsae inclines his head as a show of respect. The healer just flicks his hand behind him to wave them off.

Mulsae leads them back to their room. Before the door even finishes shutting, Mulsae is grabbing a pillow off the bed. He throws it over his face and screams as loud as he can in it. He tosses the pillow back on the bed as he says, "Gods, I've needed to do that for hours." Damion chuckles.

Mulsae unbuckles Damion's arms and tosses the binding on the chest of drawers. "I need to get into the bath fast," Mulsae is already halfway to the bathing chamber before he finishes his sentence.

Damion rubs at his arms. This is the longest he's ever been bound for. Almost an entire day. He shudders and rubs the muscles harder. He rotates his arms around his shoulders then crosses each arm across his chest to stretch it. He's going to be bound again shortly, he needs to get movement in now.

His legs suddenly buckle and his knees slam into the floor. Fuuuuuck. He leans forward and supports himself with his arms. The arms he won't have access to soon. Fuuuuuck. His breathing becomes choppy. His inhales shudder and his exhales hitch. Fuck! We don't have time for me to have a panic attack! He rolls his body down so his forehead is on the floor and his arms are tightly wrapped around his head. Fuck fuck fuuuuuck!

Damion doesn't know how long he remained in that position, but long enough for him to suddenly realize Mulsae is at his side with a comforting hand on his back, trying to get his attention by repeatedly saying his name.

"... Damion! Can you hear me?" Mulsae's voice is a mixture of softness and desperation.

"Yeah," Damion croaks out.

"What's happening?" concern laces his words.

"My arms..." he unwinds himself and sits up, "We have to bind my arms again." Mulsae immediately repositions himself and starts massaging Damion's shoulders. His head bobs as Mulsae presses into his muscles. "It was just so long this time," his gaze is glassy and cast to the floor, "And we're clueless as to how long this next time will be."

"I'll do what I can for you tonight, okay?" Damion nods dumbly. Sure, unless you're tied up, too. He sighs.

"Stop," Damion backs up and pushes Mulsae's hands away, "You need to get ready. I'll be fine. Go get ready."

Mulsae nods and whisks himself up onto his feet, opens the wardrobe, and sets himself to the task of assembling this evening's armor. Damion stays on the floor, fingers curling and uncurling, arms flexing and relaxing, testing every twitch like he's making sure these arms are still his.

Mulsae's pick for this evening's armor is an all-black outfit designed to hide his injuries without raising suspicion. The high-collared shirt covers the bruises on his neck completely, but the sharp tailoring and subtle embroidery make it look intentional, not like he's trying to conceal anything. The fabric is lightweight so it won't irritate his healing skin. He throws on a long sleeveless coat to add formality, then fastens it with a row of understated toggles. Everything fits perfectly, clean and commanding, exactly the image he needs for the salon.

Once he's completed getting ready, Mulsae kneels down in front of Damion again and reaches for his shoulders. Damion pulls away. "Let me take care of you while I can," Mulsae insists. Damion sighs and doesn't resist when Mulsae picks up an arm and starts massaging the elbow. Maybe I do need this... Mulsae works on Damion's arms while they wait. He keeps even attention on both arms to ensure each gets the same treatment.

There is enough time to get down to massaging Damion's fingers by the time there is a knock on the door and it opens. A bored looking servant steps in, "You have been summoned for tonight's salon. I shall escort you."

Mulsae nods to the escort and grabs the arm restraint off the chest of drawers. Damion sighs deeply, but offers his back to Mulsae with his arms folded up behind him. Mulsae snakes the restraint around his arms and buckles it, loosely, then gestures to the escort to lead the way.

The escort leads them to a gilded chamber lit by soft amber light floating above the crowd like captured fireflies, casting the room in a false warmth. At the center, low tables are arranged in a circle with velvet cushions and lounge seats surrounding them. Small groups of people scatter throughout the room around these center seats. Laughter rises from every cluster, but none of it sounds real. A violinist sits in a dark corner weaving her craft.

As they cross the threshold, Damion sees this isn't a party. It's a game. Every eye in the room is already watching them, yet pretending not to. Every conversation in the room has changed because of them.

Mulsae walks with perfect confidence, every movement calculated. Damion follows a half-step behind, arms restrained behind him, body exposed. He keeps his head up. Doesn't look at anyone directly. But he feels them. Dozens of gazes crawling over him, cataloguing him.

A man in green raises a glass in their direction and whispers something to the woman beside him. She laughs, high and sharp, eyes raking over Damion's body like she's inspecting meat at a market. Damion clenches his jaw and keeps walking. Mulsae snags a glass of wine off a tray a servant has offered.

Another man Damion doesn't recognize steps forward from the lounging crowd, robes shimmering like oil in water. His companion trails beside him, glass in hand, gaze sharp and gleeful.

"Water Master," the man purrs, bowing with exaggerated grace. "How delightful to see you among us tonight. And you've brought your pet," his eyes slide toward Damion, "Does he speak?"

Mulsae offers a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "Only when it suits him."

The companion leans in, eyeing Damion's restrained posture, "He's beautiful," she says with a slow smile, "And obedient. A rare combination."

Damion doesn't flinch. He just holds her gaze for a moment, measured and unreadable, then turns it away letting her wonder what he's thinking. The man laughs lightly, "Oh, he does have teeth."

"Sharp ones," Mulsae replies in a tone like silk drawn over a blade, "Be careful where you put your fingers." A sinister grin crosses Damion's face. He remembers the time Mulsae had him bite off someone's finger for touching him. The people drift off with smirks, and Damion's eyes follow as they depart, daring them to risk a finger.

Mulsae and Damion continue their stroll through the room and near a couch between two tapestries where Brayl lounges beside Serelinne. She stands the moment she sees them. Her eyes drop to Damion's arms. Her face goes cold.

"You're bound," she says flatly.

Damion holds her gaze, "It's not what it looks like," quietly to avoid drawing attention.

"It looks like you've gone back into a cage," Brayl says, no smile in sight.

One of the Flame Sanctum siblings mutters under his breath, "He's wearing restraints again. That tells us enough."

Damion's voice stays calm, controlled, quiet, "There are things at play that can't be explained. Not here."

Serelinne's nostrils flare, "You haven't worn bindings in years. Don't tell me this is just politics."

Mulsae cuts in, smooth and low, "It's always politics, Madam Serelinne."

Brayl stands now too, folding his arms, "We're not speaking to you, Mulsae."

Damion takes a controlled breath and conveys as diplomatically as possible, "This isn't all him. You know it's not."

Master Dalenna scoffs, "Feels familiar. You defending him while he's got blood on his hands."

Damion's jaw tightens, "I don't have the freedom to say what I want. And Mulsae doesn't have the freedom to do what he wants," he casts his gaze at each of them and says even quieter, yet somehow louder, "We're all trying to survive the same trap."

There's a pause. Serelinne looks at him like she wants to argue, but then she nods once. Brayl's eyes are sharp, "We'll talk later." Damion nods in return. Mulsae, silent, turns and walks away. Damion follows.

A woman in silver-trimmed robes peels away from a knot of gossipers and approaches Mulsae directly. Damion recognizes her from the Council introductions. She's Riko, Zudaeshi's Spymaster.

"Water Master," she says with a curt nod, "I trust you're adjusting to the pace here in the palace."

Mulsae gives a smooth, polite smile, "With grace and enthusiasm, of course."

She doesn't smile back, "Your performance in the preliminary briefs was... sufficient. But Zudaeshi's patience isn't limitless. I hope your Salon remarks tonight are better rehearsed."

"I prefer spontaneity. It keeps people alert."

Riko's eyes narrow, "And exposed." There's a flicker of something between them, an unspoken dare. Then she glances briefly at Damion, barely acknowledging him, and turns back to Mulsae. "She'll want to see control. Show her that, and the rest can be overlooked," she pauses, then adds without looking at Damion, "Especially your distractions." With that, she steps past them and vanishes into the crowd. Mulsae exhales slowly, barely audible. Everything here is a game.

Mulsae completes his circuit of the room with its energy-sapping small talk, and settles into a lounge seat far removed from the clusters of people. He spreads his legs wide and indicates for Damion to sit between them. He gently massages Damion's shoulders with one hand while lazily drinking from his goblet in the other.

Polished conversation floats in the air and its many voices merge into one din. Velvet laughter hums along the edges of the chamber. But something shifts when Masaru, another council minister, sets down his goblet just a little too carefully. The Envoy is sitting a mere few seats down from Mulsae.

"The Sanctums will be... unattended tomorrow," Masaru says, tone casual, crisp. "Their Masters will be here for the tithe. The Harmonarch has requested a token be sent to all the Sanctums in their absence. Something gentle. Reassuring."

Rhoven speaks up from behind Mulsae. He's being boxed in. "A written message, of course," the Council Scribe says, "Something they'll reread when no one's watching."

Masaru's eyes slide to Mulsae, his voice softening as he adds, "And something spoken aloud before their Sanctum. So the message is... properly understood."

Rhoven rounds Mulsae's chair to stand before him. He smiles, polite and precise, "Perhaps paired with flowers. Foxglove, maybe?"

A murmur flickers through the salon. One of the Flame siblings leans to another, "Foxglove is poisonous." The sister elbows the brother between the ribs, "That's the point."

Across the room, Zudaeshi shifts and simply watches. Her eyes settle on Mulsae and do not move. He feels her gaze like a blade across his collarbone. Masaru and Rhoven are circling with the grace of dancers and the intent of wolves. Everyone else just thinks it's pageantry. But this is a test. One he cannot fail.

Mulsae runs his finger around the rim of his goblet as he ponders. He then takes up the goblet and uses it to punctuate his point.

"For the card," Mulsae says clearly, "send it along with the foxglove with the following message," he sits up straight backed with his goblet raised, "All gardens flourish when weeds are removed," he relaxes his posture and smiles devilishly, "Her Radiance hopes each Sanctum will take root in peace, before pruning becomes necessary," he sips his wine.

Rhoven nods and makes eye contact with Masaru with an expression that says 'it can work.'

Mulsae holds his wine glass by the stem with both hands. His gaze shifts to the Envoy, "And when Masaru speaks before the Sanctum, he'll say," he raises his chin in mock pageantry, "Her Radiance sends flowers today, so none are needed tomorrow." He lets those words hang, like a sword suspended by silk.

Masaru exhales with quiet delight, "Perfect."

Zudaeshi does not speak. But she has not looked away. Her fingers trace the stem of her goblet without drinking. She lets the silence breathe around Mulsae's offering like it deserves space.

Mulsae sets the goblet on the small table beside his chair and fingers the stem. He tries to give the impression of someone melting into their seat self-satisfied, but Damion can feel the tension in his muscles.

Then, like a spell breaking, the music swells. A new conversation picks up across the room. Laughter stirs back to life, delicate and false. Everyone moves on.

Mulsae eyes the crowd and notices Brayl has started a not-so-subtle circuit around the room, stopping only moments for small talk before moving on. Brayl's circuit has him walk past Mulsae. He pauses just behind him, as if he just happened to be there by chance.

"Is that what you have chosen?" Brayl says bitterly, but quietly so only Mulsae can hear, "To become her mouthpiece?"

Mulsae doesn't turn. He lifts his goblet and takes a slow sip before saying, low and cold, "Loyalty is like currency, but if you hoard it too long it stops being worth anything." He partially turns his head, "If you don't spend your loyalty..." he snaps his gaze to Brayl's eyes, "...someone else will spend you."

Brayl stiffens, "I see."

Mulsae stands in one graceful movement and faces Brayl. He looks him in the eye as he downs the remainder of his wine then asks, tone serious, "Do you?"

He and Brayl hold each other's eyes for a tense moment. Then Mulsae looks down at Damion, "Stay," and swivels to make his way towards the refreshments table along the far wall.

Brayl bends over and whispers to Damion, "Be careful with him." But Damion's gaze does not leave Mulsae. He watches as Mulsae drifts along the table. His fingers brush over a silver goblet, then a crystal decanter as he passes by. He doesn't pour anything. He is simply standing there with eyes on the bottles like he's choosing one. But he's not.

Mulsae's back is to the room. To anyone else, it would look like he is merely selecting his next drink. To Damion, it looks like retreat, like the breath before drowning again. He is too still. The set of his shoulders are too straight. The fingers of one hand press so hard against the table that the tips turn white. His breathing is measured, and Damion can see it clearly now. Inhale, pause, exhale, pause, and repeat. Mulsae is calming himself before his mask is slid back on.

Zudaeshi's voice rises above all else, clean and smooth through the din, "Mulsae." The court goes quiet again, just enough for the name to echo. Mulsae straightens. He pours his wine, lifts the goblet like a salute, and walks to her with a smile carved from bone and smoke.

The court continues in its low hum, but Zudaeshi hasn't shifted her focus once. She's seated in the salon's central ring, languid and amused with a goblet poised in one hand like a scepter. Around her, conversation moves in half-tones, never too loud, never too bold. She doesn't command the room. The room simply orbits her.

When Mulsae has drawn close enough she says, her voice soft but unignorable, "Mulsae, come sit with me."

Mulsae sits next to Zudaeshi, sharing a couch. He looks to Damion, "Come, sit here," and points to the floor at the side of him that is furthest from Zudaeshi.

Damion lifts himself off the floor and barely takes two steps before Zudaeshi turns her gaze to eye him, "No." Damion freezes. His body locks up, and for a moment, even thought abandons him. The room stills just slightly.

"Damion dear," she says with a syrupy voice as her hand flicks to the space between her and Mulsae, "Sit here."

Mulsae exhales long and slow as he keeps his eye on Damion, who approaches and gingerly sits himself on the floor in front of Zudaeshi's and Mulsae's legs. She hums in mock sympathy, "Get comfortable, my pet!" She pulls on his shoulder. He shifts with her guidance and she places him leaning against the couch with his back to Mulsae's leg and his knees pressed against Zudaeshi's leg.

She runs a hand along his shoulder as soon as he's settled. No words. Just ownership. Her touch is idle, the kind one might use to calm a favored beast before putting it on display. Damion does not move and has no idea where to look. He decides upon an averted gaze to the floor.

Zudaeshi's fingers find his hair, then his jaw. She tilts his face up and smiles as she looks him over. Her gaze shifts to Mulsae, "You made them listen tonight."

He inclines his head, "Only because they know who they're listening to."

Zudaeshi laughs softly, a sound of pleased indulgence. She trails a nail along Damion's collarbone, still watching Mulsae. "Go get me something sweet," she says offhandedly, gesturing toward the table across the room, "I'm craving something soft."

Mulsae hesitates only half a second before he rises. Damion catches the brief look from him. It's a warning, a promise, and an apology rolled up inside Mulsae's careful smile. Then he is walking away.

Zudaeshi doesn't look after him. Her gaze remains on Damion. She shifts in her seat slightly and pulls Damion closer with a single hand resting behind his neck, her touch light but unyielding. She doesn't say a word. She doesn't have to.

Mulsae disappears into the edge of the room and Damion's eyes remain on where he was last seen. Zudaeshi's hand remains on the back of his neck, the pressure featherlight but constant. Her fingers play along the ridges of his spine.

She shifts in her seat, her leg gliding along his own. "He doesn't like leaving you alone with me," she smiles, "I like that."

Damion's pulse drums in his throat, but his body remains still. She lowers her goblet to the floor beside her, then trails a finger down the curve of his spine as she leans close to him.

"What do you think about him, Damion dear?" she asks gently, "Does he tell you what he's doing for you? What he's up to?" He doesn't answer.

Her hand returns to his jaw. She tilts his face toward her, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "He's learning to be useful," she says, "He's learning to survive. And you..." she lets her eyes travel over him, slow and deliberate "... are a very good reason to keep him motivated." Damion can feel the tension coiled in his chest, the restraint wound tight in his muscles.

Zudaeshi smiles, "I don't need to break him," she murmurs, "I just have to make sure he understands I could break you." She strokes his cheek once. Light. Cold.

Footsteps return. Mulsae approaches with a silver dish and two honeyed pears. He sets them carefully on the table before her. Zudaeshi withdraws her hand from Damion's neck only after Mulsae is close enough to see it. She reaches for a pear and takes a slow bite.

Mulsae takes his place again, folding himself back into the same easy posture, but Damion sees the stiffness at the corner of his mouth. His fingers brush against Damion's shoulder briefly as a silent check-in and then pull away.

"You know what I like about you, Mulsae?" she says, not bothering to lower her voice, "You hate me and you're still learning from me."

He doesn't blink, "You reward results. It's worth paying attention."

Zudaeshi smirks, "You're not just paying attention. You're practicing," she waves her goblet vaguely through the air, "That message tonight sounded exactly like something I'd say. "She leans in. Her voice lowers, but only just, "You're starting to sound like me."

Damion watches from below. His spine is straight. He says nothing. He listens.

Mulsae lifts a brow, "You said you wanted someone useful."

"I did," she says, "But now I want something more than useful." She sips her wine. "You've always been clever. You know how to play people. Say the right things. But what I want now is someone who understands what those words do." She tilts her head, watching him closely.

"Words don't just intimidate, Mulsae. They isolate. They corner. They strip people of their illusions. And that's how you keep power: by making sure no one else even thinks they can take it from you." Mulsae doesn't answer. Zudaeshi smiles, slow and satisfied.

"You're doing so well already." She glances at Damion, "Look at him," her hand brushes through his hair again, "You've barely touched a blade since he arrived. But you're still cutting." Damion goes still beneath her hand. Not from pain. From understanding.

"You don't need to become me," she says at last, finishing the last of her wine, "Just close enough that when you look in the mirror, you can't tell the difference anymore." She smiles, red-lipped and radiant.

The room has returned to easy laughter, murmuring again creates the din. This 'Statecraft Salon' moves ever forward. Damion remains seated on the floor, still pressed against Mulsae's leg.

But something is... off. Damion doesn't know what it is at first. He's made aware because he feels Mulsae has tightened behind him and gone still. Damion follows Mulsae's gaze. To the Flame siblings.

There were three siblings, two brothers and a sister. He knows there were three. They'd been gathered near the refreshments table earlier, red hair unmistakable against the pale stone. Now there are only two in the room. One is stationed near the wine. Another is leaning too hard into a story that isn't very funny. Her smile stretches too wide. Too eager.

Damion doesn't see the second brother. He scans the room again. That extra head of bright red hair cannot be found.

Behind the circle of tables and chairs, Brayl has been eerily stationary. So has Serelinne. Both are watching the room like they're trying not to. Stillness from the wrong people is always a sign.

Master Dalenna hasn't moved from her post between two tapestries. Her eyes are half-lidded, like she's waiting for a moment that's already passed. Mulsae doesn't say anything. But they've both seen it. They're up to something.

Mulsae rises from his chair, smooths his sleeve and adjusts the fall of his coat. Damion moves to follow on instinct but before he can rise, Zudaeshi's hand slides lightly into his hair. She is not commanding in her touch. It's just a gentle drag of fingers through the strands near the nape of his neck. The touch isn't painful. It's worse than that. It's intimate. She doesn't look at Damion. She's still speaking to Rhoven, still sipping her wine. But the message is absolutely clear. He is tethered to her just as strong as if a leash was clipped to his neck.

Damion keeps his eyes on Mulsae. He didn't glance back. He didn't break his stride when Damion didn't join him. Mulsae moves through the crowd like mist. One hand is holding his goblet, the other drifting at his side. He's the picture of idle grace.

But Damion knows Mulsae isn't idly walking. He's on a mission. Looking at Mulsae's eyes he can see where they scan, where they linger, and how they flick past the two remaining Flame siblings, then back again. The brother fidgets. The sister shifts her stance to block Mulsae's view of Serelinne. Interesting.

Mulsae stops to speak with them. The brother stiffens slightly. The sister tightens her jaw. Damion can't hear what Mulsae says, but he sees the moment the smile drops from the brother's face. The brother's reply is sharp and defensive. Mulsae just tilts his head before he moves on, continuing his casual idle grace. Damion watches the siblings exchange a look. They both seem to realize something has shifted.

Mulsae's footfalls return before his presence does. Damion doesn't look up while Mulsae lowers himself back to his original seat, smoothly and unhurried. But Damion does melt a little back into his leg, feeling safer with his presence.

Zudaeshi doesn't speak at first. She lets a thread of conversation finish before her gaze slides back to Mulsae, eyes a little too sharp, voice too sweet. "A bit restless, are we?" she asks a simple question clearly expecting to learn more by how the answer is given rather than the answer itself.

Mulsae lifts his goblet and sips, "It felt a little warm."

Zudaeshi hums dissatisfied. She sets her goblet down on the table beside her, "You know how to make avoidance sound poetic." Her fingers drift to Damion's shoulder again, merely resting, not gripping. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Mulsae does not answer immediately. He allows a slow breath between words before replying, "Not yet."

Zudaeshi hums mirthfully. The sound she makes when she smells blood. She doesn't press. Her fingers stay lightly on Damion, though, indicating her ever presence between he and Mulsae. Damion doesn't move. Mulsae doesn't shift in his seat. And around them, the room spins on, unaware. Or pretending to be.

A haze of conversation and indulgence passes by. Zudaeshi holds attention effortlessly. Her voice is bright as she entertains the gathered people, and her laughter slices, never missing a chance to mock, flatter, or provoke.

All the while, her hands wander with possessive ease: fingers thread through Damion's hair, or a too-comfortable hand on Mulsae's thigh. She never looks at them when she touches them. She doesn't need to. They are hers, and everyone in the room knows it.

Zudaeshi sips from her goblet, then speaks sweetly, as if she's recalling a fond memory. "Damion dear, you're always so silent. Surely there's a story you could gift us with?"

Damion stiffens. I don't want to talk in front of all these people. And what in hell would I say, anyway?

Her tone remains soft, amused, "Not a speech. Just a little memory. Something Mulsae taught you."

Damion doesn't move as his eyes dart quickly back and forth across the floor. His brain is on the fritz as he desperately grasps at things he could possibly say.

Zudaeshi turns to Mulsae with a smile, "He seems to be shy."

Mulsae replies calmly, "You asked for obedience, not performance."

Zudaeshi laughs, "But performance is such a satisfying side effect, isn't it?"

She turns back to Damion, "Come now, Damion dear. Don't you want to show us how well you've been trained? A little story," she smirks, "Something humiliating and honest."

Damion lifts his eyes to look at her with his jaw tight. Fuck. What do I say? What do I say? What do I say?

She leans in closer to Damion, "What's the worst thing he made you do?" she whispers. A memory flows through his mind and he flinches almost imperceptibly. But she sees it and her smile grows wider. "You're thinking about it right now. Don't lie."

Damion breathes once through his nose. His brain is locked on to that one memory now. He can't think of anything else. She leans back and spreads her hands, "Tell the story, Damion. It's right there. Right beneath your skin."

He looks into her eyes. His lips part as he prepares to speak while his brain races to form the memory into words and the words into speech. "There was a day... he told me I wasn't allowed to piss unless I looked him in the eyes." Soft laughter titters around them along with murmurs of delight.

Damion keeps going, his eyes now locked onto Zudaeshi's. "I wanted to obey. But I couldn't. My body just... wouldn't," his throat bobs as he swallows. "He was being patient with me. He just stood there waiting," he breaks eye contact to sigh and shake his head. "But I wasn't patient with myself. And I made the decision to disobey." Quiet spreads around them as more listen in.

"He promptly lifted me off my feet by my neck and strangled me," he averts his eyes to the floor and says with more difficulty, "I ended up pissing myself while he held me there because I was so scared." The gathering audience stills. "He called me disgusting, and threw me in the shower."

The laughter starts slow. A chuckle. A ripple. Then a wave. The laughter crashes over him in waves bringing their delight, cruelty, and entertainment with it. Damion's skin flushes like it's been slapped. Zudaeshi's smile joins in the mirth surrounding them. She runs her hands through Damion's hair.

When the laughter settles she says in syrupy kindness, "What a good boy you are. You told the story so well." She raises her glass toward Mulsae, eyes gleaming, "I do hope you're proud of your work." Mulsae doesn't answer. And Damion doesn't look at him.

The din of voices grows around them again as attention on Damion is lost. The court is moving on. But Damion isn't. Damion is on the floor, spine upright, leaning lightly against Mulsae's leg. He wants to run away. He wants to rage. He wants to punch Mulsae in the jaw. But what he needs is to calm the fuck down. He measures his breaths. Inhale, hold, exhale, hold, and repeat.

Mulsae doesn't speak. He sits perfectly still above Damion. But then Mulsae shifts subtly. He moves a slow, deliberate hand so his fingers gently brush Damion's shoulder. Damion knows what Mulsae is trying to communicate with that subtle touch: 'I heard every word. I hate it too.'

After a moment, Damion leans back more, allowing the full weight of his back to press into Mulsae's leg. A silent answer, 'I know you care. But I'm still bleeding.'

Time stretches. Then settles. No more games. No more performances. All that remains is warmth that isn't comfort, touch that isn't intimacy, and the heavy lull of too much wine.

Damion doesn't know how long they stay like that. Time passes in the rhythm of Zudaeshi's hands as she socializes with those around her. She touches his hair, his face, shoulders. She dares a wandering hand down the front of his chest. Sometimes her hand finds Mulsae. His hand. His knee. His thigh.

The gathered people thin slowly. They drift away in twos and threes. Some say goodnight. Most don't. No one is being dismissed. They just begin to understand the Statecraft Salon is drawing to a close.

Zudaeshi stands without a word. She adjusts her gown, picks imaginary lint from her sleeve, smooths the edge of a bodice that doesn't need it. Nothing about her is out of place, she just wants everyone to know it. Then she walks with no clear purpose. She is instead drifting from one group of people to the next. She is taking her time, circling. She lays hands on forearms. She whispers. She laughs with no humor in it.

Damion watches the hem of her dress move across the polished stone floor. He watches the way people lean forward with caution. Enough to be seen. Not enough to seem hungry. Just enough to keep their heads.

She stops near someone and tilts her head as he says something about trade routes. She smiles like she's listening. She moves near a small group of her Council Ministers. She tilts her head as they speak, as if she's paying attention.

Her back is turned toward Mulsae and Damion, and that's the moment Mulsae rises. He does not rush, just performs a smooth, silent push to his feet. He sets his goblet down, adjusts his sleeve and walks away. Damion stands a beat later and diligently follows.

As soon as they cross the threshold of the room it is as if they stepped into fresh air. Tension drops. Breathing is easier. Damion feels lighter. Not free. Just... unburdened. For now.

They walk through the brightly lit halls and reach their room in silence. Mulsae locks the door behind them with a quiet snap. He promptly removes Damion's bindings and tosses it on the chest of drawers. Damion stretches and massages his arms while Mulsae strips off his coat, tosses it on the end of the bed, and stands there for a moment like he's forgotten what comes next.

Damion continues to work his arms and Mulsae finally moves and decides to help Damion get his blood flowing again and work out the knots in his muscles. Silence settles between them, one that's not quite so comfortable.

Mulsae stops to scrub his face and starts to pace. Damion sighs and sits on the edge of the bed, "They're up to something."

Mulsae stops and puts his hand through his hair, "So you saw it, too," he closes his eyes for a deep breath, "Something's moving."

Damion gives a small smile, "Maybe... maybe they'll get us all out." Mulsae doesn't answer. Just stares at him, perfectly still. Like something dangerous coiled too tight.

Damion rubs his hand on the back of his neck while he looks to the floor. "I have a Heavenwood parchment with Deryn," he looks up at Mulsae who remains still, "If Brayl is involved, perhaps Deryn has confirmed what may be going on?"

Mulsae takes a deep breath then paces once again with his hands in his hair. He stops, turns to Damion and says softly, "Show me."

Damion kneels next to the wardrobe and pulls the parchment out from under the rear leg.

"You were smart to hide it. That parchment is dangerous to have."

Damion nods, "He gave it to me that first night to ensure I was safe from you." He smirks at how funny it is in retrospect. "The next morning I found he had written to ask if we were okay," he starts his walk towards Mulsae, "I told him what happened to us."

Mulsae huffs a soft laugh, "So that's why he's been defending me."

"Most likely. It's been blank ever since, though," Damion says while carefully unfolding the parchment so both he and Mulsae can see. This time, there's writing.

We've made contact.

One of the Flame brothers will
help us reach her.

Don't make any moves of your
own yet. Just keep watch.

Mulsae reads it once. Then again. Damion looks at his face and watches his mind churn in calculations. Mulsae's eyes are still focused on the words on the parchment. "Fuck."

"What's wrong? Isn't this good? It feels like good." Damion gives a puzzled expression.

"No."

There's a knock on the door. Mulsae snatches the parchment from Damion and quickly folds it in the time it takes for the servant to open the door. "You've been summoned. I shall escort you to Her Radiance's suite."

Mulsae grabs his jacket, then stops, "No. I won't need it." The parchment is no longer in his hands.

He grabs the arm bindings off the chest of drawers. Damion sighs as he turns his back to Mulsae with his arms folded. Mulsae helps him into the bindings as if helping him put on a jacket. They approach the escort and let him lead them through the brightly lit corridors that are too cheery for the horrors that occur within these palace walls.

They are led through Zudaeshi's suite and straight into her bed chamber. She is sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the brazier. No book, just a goblet of wine while she looks into the fire. The door shuts behind them. It's ominous given what always happens in this room.

She looks up at them with disappointment, "You snuck out of the Statecraft Salon." Mulsae stills. Zudaeshi stands and saunters over to them, "I have plans for us tonight."

"I am at your service, Your Radiance," he says with an incline of his head.

She reaches Mulsae and runs a lazy finger down his chest, "That you are." Her finger slowly lowers down his body, "Tonight is the full moon." Mulsae nods as her finger continues lower down his abdomen. "The night the magic keeping Damion's cock cage locked is released." Her finger reaches down so she's pressing Mulsae's flaccid cock.

"Yes, Your Radiance."

She approaches Damion. "We're going to continue with our lessons on how to..." she rakes her gaze up and down his body, "... break a warlord."

"Strip," she gives her single word order as she turns and saunters over to the chair by the brazier. Damion and Mulsae look at each other. When she turns to sit she says, "Release his bindings," then gets herself comfortable in the chair.

Mulsae releases Damion's arms and tosses the restraint on the floor in front of the foot of the bed, followed by his own tunic, pants, and underwear. Damion strips his pants and underwear and also tosses them on the pile. They're standing nude before Zudaeshi, who still wears her resplendent blood red gown. They're merely toys for her entertainment.

"Damion dear, remove your cock cage." Damion looks down at himself. Over the last nine to ten years he's only been uncaged a few months. He moves his hands over to the cage and runs his fingers around it trying to remember how it even works. He's only removed it the one time, and that was over seven years ago.

He finds a latch and opens it. The cage loosens and a strain he didn't even know he had is released. He finds another latch, four latches in all, and the cage falls into his hands. It's like he can breathe freely again. Well, it's like his cock can breathe freely again.

He works the base ring off and now he is completely free. After over seven years. He feels loose and untethered. That constant weight and pressure is gone, and now it's like he could float up into the air.

"Yes yes, you're so interested in your cock," Zudaeshi says with a snicker. Damion realizes he's been staring at himself and a flush washes down his skin.

She stands and takes the cage and ring from Damion's hands. She brings it to the small altar in an alcove in the wall. She sets the cage atop a smooth stone slab and places the ring beside it. She presses her fingertips to the cold surface, then breathes in once, deep and still. She speaks a single word: "Halt." The stone under the cage trembles faintly.

With her thumb, she draws a vertical line down the front of the cage, then taps three points: base, shaft, tip. A dull, earthen glow flickers at each touch. She lifts the ring and circles it slowly over the cage once clockwise, once counterclockwise, then seals it with a breath blown gently over both.

"They yield to me alone," she says. The glow fades. She turns and offers the cage to Mulsae without a word. Mulsae palms the cage in one hand and rolls the ring around his fingers in the other. Zudaeshi returns to her chair and a look of amusement spreads across her face. "You know what comes next, Mulsae dear," she purrs, "Put it on."

Mulsae smiles faintly, "Of course." But instead he slowly closes the gap between them. She raises an eyebrow at him as he approaches. He may be towering over her while she is seated, but her presence lifts her to eye level. He crouches down in front of her. Now she towers over him.

"Something happened tonight," he says to her like offering his regent a gift. Damion stills as if that gift were their only weapon. Actually, it is.

Zudaeshi hums her affirmation, "You're stalling."

"I'm circling." He sets the cage down on the small table next to her chair. He dares run a hand from her knee down the back of her calf as he says softly, "One of the Flame brothers left early." Damion stops breathing.

She lifts a brow, "That's not news."

He leans further into her space as he massages the back of her calf. "The other two siblings stayed behind. Laughed too loud. Watched all the wrong people."

She cocks her head to the side. Damion's body coils so tight he could snap. What is he doing? Why is he telling her this? He's ruining our chance of escape!

Mulsae keeps his voice low and intimate, "Brayl went still when it happened. Serelinne didn't speak once. Master Dalenna watched the floor like it owed her something."

Fuck! Damion wants to scream. Wants to tackle Mulsae to the ground. But he can only stand there silent and naked while watching Mulsae rip everything apart.

Zudaeshi watches Mulsae carefully as she continues to smile at him, "You're teasing me, Mulsae dear."

"Only because I know you don't like being fed all at once."

She lifts a hand and runs a nail down the center of his chest, "Don't get yourself too worked up," she murmurs, "I expect you to fit into that cage."

He exhales a soft laugh, then looks up at her with lust in his eyes, "Let me stand beside your throne during the tithe tomorrow."

She watches him, "That's where you want to be seen?" Damion is frantically lost as to what Mulsae is trying to do. Yeah, what the fuck? Why does he want to be seen next to her?

Mulsae's voice is smooth and casual, "Let them see me beside you. Let them wonder what I do for that place. What they'd have to do to earn it." Damion narrows his eyes. What is he plotting?

She tilts her head, amused, "You want to be part of the stage dressing?"

"I want them to wonder what I already know."

Zudaeshi hums in acknowledgment. She reaches for the cage and dangles it from two fingers, letting it sway. "Then put it on. Let me see how well you fit your cage."

Mulsae takes the cock cage, sits back into a kneeling position and spreads his legs wide. His balls and flaccid cock dangle in the space between his legs. He maneuvers the base ring around his cock and balls then slides the cage over his shaft.

His actions slow as he latches the cage to the base ring. The latches close with an audible snap, and each one seems like an ending. An ending to Mulsae's last shred of freedom of himself. He finishes and pauses just staring at himself.

She sits back comfortably in the chair, "Look at me." He was caught continuing to stare at himself. He looks up. "Only I can remove it." Mulsae's throat bobs as he swallows. "Don't worry, I still intend to regularly use your cock. It's just that your pleasure is now mine to control. You will cum only when I grant it."

Damion knows how that feels. Mulsae gave me at least one powerful orgasm a day, usually more. I don't think Zudaeshi will be so considerate. She doesn't have a sense of responsibility towards us.

"Damion dear, I haven't forgotten you," she calls to him. That's okay! You can forget me!

"Come kneel beside Mulsae." He scrambles over to kneel.

"It's been a long time since any fingers have touched your cock, hasn't it?" Damion nods dumbly.

"Would you like to touch it now?" He freezes. Not in front of you! "Come on, touch yourself. Have a little fun."

He swallows and slowly brings his hand towards his crotch. She eyes him intently. He can't get out of this. He gingerly places a palm over his cock, and gods, does it feel good to actually have something touch his skin again. It's like all his nerves are alight. He begins to harden.

He slowly wraps his fingers around his shaft, which is gradually lengthening, and gently pulls down. It's an indescribable delight to have these fresh and new sensations travel through him. He closes his eyes and goes back to his inner world of just darkness and sensations.

He's almost completely at attention. He shifts his grip and strokes himself slowly. It's all he needs right now with his nerves so alert.

"Mulsae dear, kneel between my legs facing me." Damion's eyes flick open and he glances at them. Mulsae repositions himself. "Raise up your arms... good. Now just relax. Use my lap as your pillow... that's right." She runs her nails through Mulsae's hair.

Damion continues his motions on his cock but has his full attention on what the fuck Zudaeshi is up to. She raises a hand and gestures towards the bathing chamber. A moment later a bottle comes floating into the room and settles itself right in front of Damion, between his knees.

"Would you like to use your cock?" Damion shifts his gaze from the bottle to her. She gestures to Mulsae's backside, "There's a perfectly good hole to use right here."

Mulsae stops breathing. Damion does, too. His brain has gone blank, and his hand stills. He shifts his gaze back to the bottle. It's oil. At least she remembered that part. Damion swallows.

"Come now, Damion dear, how long has it been since you used your cock?"

"Over seven years," he says hoarsely, his throat not obeying being used.

"Seven years!" she mock exclaims, "Then come now," she pats Mulsae's back, "You must be dying for an opportunity to use it again." His body remains still, and his mind is still from shock.

She grows more serious, "It's your opportunity to fuck him after all those countless times he has fucked you." Damion still doesn't move. His breathing is barely perceptible.

She becomes completely serious and narrows her eyes, "Damion. Fuck him. Now." A shudder courses through Damion's body. He grows softer in his hand. Fuck.

He swipes at the bottle of oil and repositions himself so he is behind Mulsae, who is kneeling between her legs with his arms and head in her lap. Damion picks up the bottle and flicks it open. He brings it up to Mulsae's ass and freezes. Fuck fuck fuck. How can I do this to someone like this?

Zudaeshi notices he froze, "Go on," she encourages. His fingers flex without thought and oil spills out and down the cleft of Mulsae's ass. He pours some on his fingers and puts down the bottle of oil.

He places his clean hand on Mulsae's side. Fuck. He's so tense. He always wears his mask of nonchalance, but it doesn't mean he can relax his muscles on command. Fuck.

He slowly glides his fingers down Mulsae's cleft down to his hole. His very tight hole. Fuck. He gently massages it as he thinks. Last time I fingered Mulsae he was tense until I started whispering to him and was affectionate. But this time...

Damion glances up to assess their positioning. The positioning of the three of them entangled together in each other's spaces. Fuck. Mulsae is completely enveloped in Zudaeshi's space with his head in her lap while she lazily runs her nails through his hair. Getting to Mulsae means getting into Zudaeshi's space, and that is not want he wants to do.

He runs a gentle hand down Mulsae's back. He doesn't relax. Fuck. He can't imagine leaning over to whisper something soothing to Mulsae because getting to his ear would mean getting right up close to Zudaeshi. Fuck.

Should I just say something out loud? When I was trying to get off in front of Zudaeshi before, Mulsae spoke to me as if she weren't there in order to help me get over the edge. Maybe I should risk it.

Damion runs a massaging hand down Mulsae's side as he says, "Relax, Mulsae, I've got you."

Before Mulsae can even react, Zudaeshi giggles, "You two are so sweet to each other." Mulsae just immediately becomes more tense. He clenches down and his ass cheeks turn to stone. Fuuuuuck. That just made it worse! Damion wishes he could just bash his head against the wall.

Alright. I'll try giving Mulsae time. He knows he needs to relax. He knows what he needs to do. I'll just give him time to do it. Damion continues to massage Mulsae's very tight hole. He experiments with pressing in gently but he's just too tight.

Zudaeshi dramatically yawns, "You're boring me. You men take so long to get there!" Damion only shifts his gaze to her. "Speed it up," she demands.

Damion inhales and firmly presses a finger into Mulsae with steady pressure. Muscles across Mulsae's face twitch as he tries to maintain composure. The muscles surrounding Damion's finger struggle between relaxing and clenching. He thrusts his finger and can see a flush begin to form across Mulsae's skin.

"Just use your cock already, this is taking too long." She sighs and rolls her eyes.

Damion's eyes flick up to hers. Before he can think better of it he blurts out, "I don't want to hurt him."

An unamused expression crosses her face, "Was he always careful with you?"

"Y- yes."

Her eyebrows shoot up, "Really now?" Damion nods. "Well, I don't give a shit," she flicks her hand at him, "Just use your cock already."

Damion gently retracts his hand and picks up the bottle of oil. He drizzles it on his cock, catching the drippings with his other hand. He tries to make his cock as a lubricated as he can, but lube can do only so much. Mulsae needs to relax.

He runs his cock up and down Mulsae's cleft. He can feel his muscles twitching, fighting between clenching and relaxing. Mulsae is trying to relax, his body just won't.

Damion positions his cock at Mulsae's entrance. He inhales and applies firm pressure inwards. Mulsae's breathing changes to quick shallow breaths. His brow furrows. His cheeks twitch. Damion keeps pressing further. Mulsae's lips part.

Zudaeshi whips out a hand and clasps it behind Damion's neck and pulls him forward with unexpected force. This causes his cock to thrust forward quickly, and Mulsae bucks with a strangled cry.

"Faster," she growls. She and Damion lock eyes. Damion starts a pace of thrusting shallowly with his eyes glued to hers. Mulsae's mouth gapes open and he whimpers.

She removes her hand from Damion's neck and shifts to be comfortable again. She lowers her gaze to Mulsae's grimacing face. She takes his face in her hands and holds his head up to look at her. She cocks her head to the side admiring his pained expression.

"Look at me, Mulsae," she coos. His eyes flicker open and find her face. His mouth is gaping, he's panting, his face is flush.

"Deeper, Damion," she instructs. He stills. Her expression turns from fascination to fury in a split second and she snaps her gaze to Damion. That look alone terrifies him and he thrusts in fast to the hilt. Mulsae grunts painfully and squeezes his eyes shut. His arms whip out and bracket either side of Zudaeshi's hips to brace himself against the back of the chair.

Damion sets a new rhythm with deep thrusts. Zudaeshi still holds Mulsae's head up in her hands and slowly shifts her own head left and right as she carefully studies his face.

"Look at me," she says flatly. The eyes of both men flick to her, but hers remains locked onto Mulsae. Mulsae is loudly panting, with an occasional grimacing cry. His face is turning red. A bead of sweat rolls down his brow.

She releases his head and pushes his shoulders back slightly. His arms shift to bracing against the seat cushion. His whole upper body bobs with each of Damion's thrusts. Zudaeshi pulls on and gathers up her skirts. She pulls them up over her knees. "Finger me. Make me cum," she says lowly.

The expression that crosses Mulsae's face can only be that of a silent plea for mercy. Please no more while he endures this. She returns a cold expression that can only be that of announcing a threat. She shifts her eyes to Damion, then shifts her eyes back to Mulsae. The threat is not against him, but against Damion.

With much difficulty he moves a shaky arm and snakes it beneath Zudaeshi's skirts. Within a moment a smile curls along her face. She shifts her hips forward and settles further back into the chair.

Zudaeshi's eyes grow heavy lidded. Mulsae's entire body starts to shake with effort. Too much is happening to him all at once. He's attempting, and failing, to maintain composure. He's keeping his head up to have his eyes remain locked on hers. He's concentrating on how to bring a woman to orgasm with only his fingers. He's being pounded up the ass. It's too much all at once, so his body shakes. Damion can clearly feel Mulsae is trembling. He's so close to breaking.

A lazy relaxation washes over Zudaeshi. She gives a half smile, "Let yourself go, Mulsae," she says in a gentle low voice, "Just let your emotions flow." She bucks and hums in satisfaction, "Your composure is already broken, I can see your suffering plain as day," she pants a bit as Mulsae's ministrations prove effective, "Might as well drop the mask." Mulsae's bottom lip trembles. "That's it," she coos as she languidly thrusts her hips, "Let go, Mulsae. Let go."

Mulsae screws his eyes shut and his head drops. Suddenly a shuddering gasp escapes him, and Damion can feel him instantly loosen. He's gliding easier through him with each thrust. Mulsae buries his face into Zudaeshi's thigh, as his breaths turn shaky and shuddering. She lifts his head and studies his face. She starts panting as she looks at his tear streaked cheeks. She starts rhythmically thrusting her hips as she admires his trembling lips.

She throws her head back, but continues to stare at Mulsae's face through the bottom of her eyelashes. The grip on his face turns harsher. The tips of her fingers turning white from the pressure. Then she gasps and her back arches and her body undulates from her head down to her hips. She releases a loud satisfied moan. Her body melts as she comes back down. She swipes a lazy finger over Mulsae's wet cheeks and smiles like she's done something beautiful.

"Stop, Damion." He stills. She hums thoughtfully. She admires Mulsae's face, then releases it. "Go," she says unceremoniously, "I'm done with you. Go back to your room." She leans her head back against the chair and closes her eyes with a satisfied smile.

Damion carefully pulls himself out of Mulsae. He flinches anyway. He stands and gives space for Mulsae to stand. They quickly, but quietly, make their way to the door. Mulsae grabs all of their clothes in one go, while Damion opens the door, and closes it after them.

They walk a bit away from the door and Mulsae places their clothes on a chair. They quietly dress themselves. Mulsae takes extra time to smooth his pants and adjust his tunic so it's just right. Damion decides to just carry his arm brace.

They exit the suite, Mulsae not forgetting to give a respectful nod to the guards. I'm going to have to remember to ask him why he keeps doing that, Damion thinks.

Although the corridors are timeless by vision, time is being betrayed by sound. It's quiet. The palace is asleep. Their footsteps sound traitorously louder as no other sound joins them.

They reach their room and Mulsae closes the door after them. His hand remains on the doorknob. He slowly leans forward and rests his forehead head on the door. Damion quietly slides up next to Mulsae and clicks the door locked. He doesn't touch Mulsae, he just leans against the wall with him.

There is nothing to say. There is nothing to do. They aren't ignoring what happened. Right now this silence spent next to each other is their quiet acknowledgment: 'We just experienced something fucked up and nothing we do or say will make it okay.'

Damion puts a hand on Mulsae's arm, "Let's wash up," he lightly tugs on his elbow, "Come with me." Mulsae follows with Damion's guidance. He leads them to the tub and turns it on. "You first," he says gently. Mulsae just slips to the floor next to the tub. Damion kneels in front of him, "I'll help." Mulsae nods dumbly.

Damion leans him forward and pulls the tunic up over his head. He stands them up and unties Mulsae's pants. He pulls it and the underwear down his legs. He can't help but pause at seeing the cock cage. He brings forward the sensations his own cock is currently feeling, finally free to be caressed by the silky underwear.

He helps Mulsae take his pants off his feet. He kicks off his own pants and guides Mulsae into the tub with him. Damion crouches down, soaps up his hands and massages Mulsae's calves. This is what Mulsae always did for me after a rough time. Maybe this is what he wants for himself. Damion gives him a massage up both legs with soapy hands.

He stands and looks into Mulsae's eyes, "Do you want me to wash you back there?" Mulsae hesitates, then nods. Damion slowly and gently runs his soapy hands across the globes of Mulsae's ass and then hesitantly down the cleft. Mulsae hisses when Damion reaches his asshole. He tries his best to balance gentleness and cleanliness as he soaps up the whole area.

Damion moves on and massages Mulsae's chest and back, then his arms and hands. He looks up into Mulsae's blank expression and gently wipes the dried tears and sweat from his face.

"Sit in the water," Damion helps lower him down into the water. He gives himself a quick wash over and rinse, then helps rinse off Mulsae. They don't need to bother with washing their hair tonight.

Damion steps out and guides Mulsae to stand and step out as well. He hands him a towel, then grabs one for himself and towels himself off. Mulsae hasn't moved. Damion's heart breaks for him. He takes the towel from Mulsae's hands and towels him dry.

"Go to bed." Mulsae nods and steps forward on his own accord and leaves the bathing chamber.

Damion stays behind. He grabs his pants, his only pair of pants, soaps them and rinses them then hangs them on a bar. How am I going to get more pants? I don't think wearing Mulsae's nicely tailored slacks will cut it for me. He sighs.

Damion goes into the other room and picks up Mulsae's jacket from the bed to find the Heavenwood parchment beneath it. He hangs the jacket up, and puts the parchment back under the rear leg of the wardrobe.

He joins Mulsae in the bed. He faces him from concern and wanting to see him, but is surprised when Mulsae closes the gap between them and wraps their legs together.

"I wouldn't think you'd want to be near me," Damion whispers.

"It wasn't you, it was Her," Mulsae insists.

They lay with their faces close, sharing air. Mulsae takes one of Damion's hands in his own and rubs his thumb across the knuckles. "I broke," Mulsae confesses with a shuddering voice.

"You cried, you didn't break."

"Then what does it mean to break?"

Damion thinks on it. He remembers his own breaking. "I think truly breaking is losing parts of yourself you wanted to hold on to dearly."

"What broke for you?" he says so softly he's barely heard.

"My dignity. It is everything in Emberan culture, and you took it from me embarrassingly quickly."

"Dignity is meaningless."

"You taught me that," Damion whispers. "The lesson was painful, and it broke me to understand it."

"I gave up dignity long ago because it could interfere with the protection of Lirae," Mulsae says. "There is absolutely nothing I wouldn't do to protect Lirae," his eyes flick up to Damion's, "I would kill you if it meant protecting Lirae."

Damion runs a hand down Mulsae's side, "Then it would be a worthy death."

Mulsae's eyes grow wide and tremble, "You believe that?"

"Yes, truly."

Mulsae grasps Damion and pulls him into an embrace, "Then you understand," he says with his face buried in Damion's shoulder.

"I understand. And if Lirae is the only thing you are holding onto dearly, then you haven't broken as long as you continue to work to keep the city safe." He pushes Mulsae back to look into his eyes, "The city is safe. You haven't broken." Mulsae gives a small smile on his pained face.

They lay caressing each other's hands and shift their gazes from each other to their hands and back again.

"Can we," Mulsae swallows and looks at their hands, "again. It was... soothing," he looks up at Damion's face.

Damion gives a subtle smile and closes the gap between them so their lips can meet. Again, there's no passion. It's simply comfort. And it works. Mulsae's tension eases, and Damion melts into the bed sheets. They fall asleep together sharing breath.