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Dec. 31st, 2008 02:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI am in a mood to write smut. But good smut, and with a point. So I think I will attempt to crack into the new idea I have for Unbreakable, hmm hmm hmm.
Rayse stared in disbelief. "Dead? What do you mean dead?"
"What the fuck else would dead mean?" the guard snapped. "Not breathing. Spirit gone to the arms of the Mother. Body cold and vacant. Heart still. Say it how you will, he is dead."
"How?" Rayse demanded. "He had a cold, and he said he was getting better. Five hours later he's dead? Explain that to me!" He buried both hands in his hair, raking them back to comb through the long, dark strands, as far back as he could before letting them drop. "We'll have to summon his Highness. This is bad."
The guard muttered in his own language, and Rayse did not need to be fluent in it to know not a single syllable was fit for polite company.
Mother's tits, this was bad. He'd been hired to warm the nobleman's bed for a few days—he had not been paid to deal with this catastrophe. Snarling, he whirled away from the corpse stretched out amidst silk and velvet bedclothes and snatched up the robe he had discarded with every intention of earning the handsome coin paid him. More than enough to pay his debt and get him out of this business, except now he was probably going to be hanged—
He yanked open the door and grabbed the guard standing outside the door. "Summon his Highness Prince Vahn immediately—do not argue with me." He slammed the door shut again before the guard could attempt to argue with him. He really did not care what time it was, or what his Highness was doing.
Worrying his bottom lip, raking his hands through his hair again, Rayse forced his brain to work. The smart thing would be to leave, to run for his fucking life and hope no one thought one damned whore was worth chasing down.
But whores were cheap, even a silk-and-satin whore like himself when it came to dead nobles. Crossing the room to the food and drink laid out on a small table, he poured himself a brandy, trembling hand causing him to spill some of it. Grasping the glass with both hands, he lifted it slowly to his mouth, then threw the brandy back. It burned all the way down, but his hands were a bit steadier when he went to pour a second round.
The door opened with a quiet click, shutting just as quietly behind the prince.
Prince Vahn looked toward the bed, eyes narrowing, then they snapped to Rayse.
"He's dead," Rayse said before Prince Vahn could speak. "He was fine when you left, we had dinner, then he climbed into bed and…then he was dead."
Face a thundercloud, Prince Vahn stalked to the bed and examined the body. Raye poured a third brandy in the heavy silence that followed, but took no more than a sip before he set it down again. Though getting drunk sounded like a wonderful idea, he knew it was not.
"He was poisoned," Prince Vahn said at last.
"I didn't do it," Rayse said, knowing it was pointless, but defending himself anyway. Damn it, he'd just wanted to fuck the man six ways to Ghost Moon Day, take his coin, and begin living a respectable life.
Prince Vahn crossed the room and gripped him hard enough by the shoulders that Rayse could practically feel the bruises forming. He did not flinch though—he'd taken far greater pain in the name of pleasure more times than he cared to count.
The trademark pale-gray eyes of the royal family met his own dark green, and Rayse shivered as they began to glow the silver-white color of the moonlight. He'd heard about this, but never thought to actually be subjected---
"Tell me you did not do it," Prince Vahn rumbled.
Rayse felt hot, cold, afraid, calm, giddy, sad—too many things at once, and yet not enough. "I did not do it," he said, and abruptly felt better.
Prince Vahn grunted and let him go, eyes returning to a gray that seemed suddenly boring by comparison. He looked tired, and Rayse wondered suddenly if it was actually true about the cost of the powerful Compulsion of the royal line.
He attempted to hold still and not show his panic as the prince continued to stare at him, wondering if he was about to die or if he was going to suddenly find that other rumors about the royal family were true.
Then Prince Vahn abruptly turned away, and barked for the guard, who strolled across the room and stood sharply at attention before the prince. His eyes glowed silver again, capturing the guard, and he demanded, "Can you keep a secret that is worth the life of thousands?"
"No," the guard replied.
Prince Vahn's eyes glowed brighter still, this time taking on the faintest hint of red. "Then forgot all, forget everything, remember only what I say—the Duke felt ill, I was summoned, all proved to be well. Recall nothing but precisely that." He reached out and touched the guard's forehead.
"Yes," the guard said in a strange, distant voice.
"Go," the prince said.
Snapping a salute, slapping his chest with his fist, the guard departed.
Prince's Vahn collapsed in a chair as the door closed behind the guard.
Rayse pushed the brandy toward him. Prince Vahn picked it up and tossed it back, then set the glass down hard.
"Are you going to use that handy little trick on me?"
"No," Prince Vahn said, pouring more brandy, looking as though he had not slept for at least five days straight. "You might wish I had, in a moment. Do you know who that is?" he asked, nodding to the corpse.
Rayse shook his head. "No, and to be honest, I don't want to know. I care only about the money…that I suppose I shall not be getting."
"He is, or was, Prince Korbin Shade."
Every single thought in Rayse's head died from nasty shock. He struggled for words, then finally shook his head, and lifted the brandy decanter, drinking straight from it. "You're lying."
Prince Vahn gave him a look that might have been amusement, if the situation were not so dire. "I wish I was, believe me. I am not, however. That is Prince Korbin of the Kingdom of Belthala, long lost heir to that throne, and he was going to be reinstated here—but someone learned of him, and poisoned him. Hours ago, though, to judge from the symptoms." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, lips turned down in thought. "Must have been at the harbor, that poison takes twelve hours."
"Queen Matilda's Wine," Rayse said, surprised. "That's illegal—well, so is murder, I guess, but it's extremely hard to come by." The poison was so named because of the first person known to use it. Queen Matilda, wife of the fifteenth King of Vendar. She had, by all accounts, poisoned the last king of the line which had kept Vahn's own from taking the throne. That had been, oh, twelve generation ago, if he recalled his history. The poison was notorious because it had no telltale odor, taste, and took roughly ten to twelve hours to work. It was so named for the special wine that was Queen Matilda's favorite, and which she had supposedly used to poison the tyrant King.
"Yes," Prince Vahn replied.
Rayse frowned. "Why are you telling me all this? Let us be blunt—I'm just a whore."
Prince Vahn smiled wearily. "Just a whore? You underestimate your charms, I think. His Highness was most insistent upon amorous company upon reaching our shores." He shook his head, obviously recalling what had clearly been an argument, to judge by his tone. "I needed someone who could keep his mouth shut, who would take his gold, do his job, and vanish. My careful research said that was you."
His mouth quirked briefly in amusement, but Rayse did not have to ask why—he knew damned good and well what people said about him—that he opened his mouth only when there was a cock to put in it. Compliment and insult all at the same time, and nothing defined his world better.
"Rumors have abounded for years," Prince Vahn continued, "that the youngest son of the Shade line still lived. Carefully squashed, of course, until we could convince him to take back the throne."
Rayse nodded. He tried to keep as out of politics as was possible for a high-ranking whore, but he could not ignore everything. Twenty years ago, the Shade line had toppled from the throne by a rebellion—one led by royal advisor himself in a deep betrayal that still stung certain people.
One son did live, but he had been exiled from the country well before the rebellion, and no one had heard from him for years. It was said he travelled the world, a hopeless scoundrel, completely uncaring of what became of the country that had rejected him.
A country that was suffering deeply under the care of its new government. It had been said that the entire royal line had been slaughtered, to prevent any chance of the throne being retaken. If even one had survived…
Except he hadn't. Someway, somehow, someone had managed to kill him at the final hour.
"No one knows what the prince looks like," Prince Vahn said slowly. "The common traits of that line are height, slenderness, black hair, green eyes, and an almost delicate beauty."
Rayse nodded, looking toward the corpse on the bed. The late prince was all those things, though it was actually rather amusing because such a vague description fit him…. His eyes popped wide, and he whipped his head back to Prince Vahn. "Highness, you cannot—"
The sudden flash of silver in pale gray eyes told him that his Highness meant precisely what Rayse had hoped he did not.
"I'm a whore," Rayse protested. "How do you even know you can trust me? I'm not royalty! I can't rule a fucking country! Mother's tits, you are mad!"
"Desperate," Prince Vahn replied, standing and grabbing his shoulders, pulling him close. The smell of brandy was strong on his breath, and it was probably strong on Rayse's as well. "If we have no heir to that throne, then what could be a small skirmish to reinstate a proper ruler will turn into a long and bloody war to take over a country. Hundreds versus thousands, courtesan."
Rayse shook his head. "You need a prince—I know nothing about such things. I'm a fucking whore."
"You can do it," Prince Vahn replied.
Groaning, Rayse pulled away and dropped down into the seat Prince Vahn had just vacated. "With all due respect, your Highness, you are not thinking clearly. Ruling a country takes being raised to do it. I was raised to—" he motioned to the bed, then grimaced and dropped his hand.
Prince Vahn sighed. "I have thought it out more than you might think," he said. "Believe me, I am not happy about putting a whore on the throne, either, but I see no choice. Neither Vendar nor Belthala will handle a long war well, and if we take that country by force that is what it will be—long, bloody, expensive, and recovering from it will take even longer. We need Prince Korbin." He made a face. "What we really need is Prince Kael, but that quarter is a lost cause."
Rayse was silent, staring at his hands, trying to process what he was being told, all the ways his life would change. He thought wistfully of the shop he had planned to open once he was free of his debts, finally out of the whoring life. A quaint little apothecary, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, a tidy room of his own in the back, playing with potions and tonics, chatting with all kinds of people, helping them in a way far more fulfilling than spreading his legs…
"If I refused, you would just make your eyes glow and settle the matter, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," Prince Vahn said softly. "I would not like it, and I would hate myself for it, but being royalty means I do what I must, regardless of whether or not I like it."
Rayse nodded, and had the brief startling thought that if they had been born equals, they might have been friends. He glanced at Prince Vahn, mind drifting from one stupid thought to another, so long as he did not have to think about impersonating a prince.
Prince Vahn was handsome, as most of his line tended. Taller even than Vahn, with broad chest and shoulders that helped explain why he was undefeated in combat. His hair was a bright auburn, with a hint of wave that might turn into true curl were it allowed to grow out. The barest freckles dusted across his nose, now Rayse was close enough to really examine him. If not for his bearing, his status, he might have thought the Prince almost boyishly cute—but his presence was entirely masculine, and entirely royal, though he was by far the most pleasant royal Rayse had ever encountered.
"I don't know a thing about being royalty," Rayse muttered, bracing his elbows on his knees, and rubbing his temples with his fingers. "I know how to fuck them, and that is not nearly the same thing."
Prince Vahn laughed, and Rayse was startled, because it sounded like genuine laughter. Despite everything, he realized, he really was coming to like Prince Vahn. Not fair, the man was ruining his life, but there you had it. "I think a courtesan as high-ranking as you probably knows more about it than one might suppose."
Rayse grimaced. "Speaking of my rank, Highness, plenty of people will recognize me."
"As you are, yes," Prince Vahn said. "However, once we are done remaking you.... If someone does appear who recognized you, I will tend to the matter. At this point, we simply have no choice." He peered thoughtfully at Rayse. "Though, you might make me a list of your...clients? That might help me nip some of the problem in the bud."
Nodding, Rayse went to the bag that went with him everywhere and pulled out a small journal bound in red leather. It had cost him dearly, many years ago, but it was perhaps the most valuable and powerful thing he owned.
He sighed softly, thinking one last time of the apothecary that had been his dream for more than a decade, then put it away and moved forward as he done all his life. Whispering the few words of magic of which was capable, he handed the now unsealed book to Prince Vahn.
Prince Vahn's brows rose as he opened it, whistling softly. "Does anyone know you have this? Good lord, I would not have thought the Marquis capable of that.”
Rayse rolled his eyes. "No, no one knows I have that, otherwise I would be dead—and unless you want to learn more than you ever wanted to know about many of your peers, I suggest you stop reading the fine print and stick to the names."
"I can't help it," Prince Vahn muttered. "It's like a healing wound—you cannot stop poking at it."
Rolling his eyes again, Rayse took the book away and set it on the table. "We have other things to attend, Highness."
Vahn nodded, and stood. "I will tend to the body. I guess you had better get dressed, Highness."
"I'm going to be sick," Rayse muttered, and picked up the decanter again, drinking deeply. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly…then drank more brandy.
Then he set the decanter down slowly, let out a long sigh, squared his shoulders and strode to the trunks at the far side of the room to see what would fit him. He had planned to spend five days with the late prince, catering to his every whim and fancy, so he supposed he had that long to learn how to act like a prince.
Rayse stared in disbelief. "Dead? What do you mean dead?"
"What the fuck else would dead mean?" the guard snapped. "Not breathing. Spirit gone to the arms of the Mother. Body cold and vacant. Heart still. Say it how you will, he is dead."
"How?" Rayse demanded. "He had a cold, and he said he was getting better. Five hours later he's dead? Explain that to me!" He buried both hands in his hair, raking them back to comb through the long, dark strands, as far back as he could before letting them drop. "We'll have to summon his Highness. This is bad."
The guard muttered in his own language, and Rayse did not need to be fluent in it to know not a single syllable was fit for polite company.
Mother's tits, this was bad. He'd been hired to warm the nobleman's bed for a few days—he had not been paid to deal with this catastrophe. Snarling, he whirled away from the corpse stretched out amidst silk and velvet bedclothes and snatched up the robe he had discarded with every intention of earning the handsome coin paid him. More than enough to pay his debt and get him out of this business, except now he was probably going to be hanged—
He yanked open the door and grabbed the guard standing outside the door. "Summon his Highness Prince Vahn immediately—do not argue with me." He slammed the door shut again before the guard could attempt to argue with him. He really did not care what time it was, or what his Highness was doing.
Worrying his bottom lip, raking his hands through his hair again, Rayse forced his brain to work. The smart thing would be to leave, to run for his fucking life and hope no one thought one damned whore was worth chasing down.
But whores were cheap, even a silk-and-satin whore like himself when it came to dead nobles. Crossing the room to the food and drink laid out on a small table, he poured himself a brandy, trembling hand causing him to spill some of it. Grasping the glass with both hands, he lifted it slowly to his mouth, then threw the brandy back. It burned all the way down, but his hands were a bit steadier when he went to pour a second round.
The door opened with a quiet click, shutting just as quietly behind the prince.
Prince Vahn looked toward the bed, eyes narrowing, then they snapped to Rayse.
"He's dead," Rayse said before Prince Vahn could speak. "He was fine when you left, we had dinner, then he climbed into bed and…then he was dead."
Face a thundercloud, Prince Vahn stalked to the bed and examined the body. Raye poured a third brandy in the heavy silence that followed, but took no more than a sip before he set it down again. Though getting drunk sounded like a wonderful idea, he knew it was not.
"He was poisoned," Prince Vahn said at last.
"I didn't do it," Rayse said, knowing it was pointless, but defending himself anyway. Damn it, he'd just wanted to fuck the man six ways to Ghost Moon Day, take his coin, and begin living a respectable life.
Prince Vahn crossed the room and gripped him hard enough by the shoulders that Rayse could practically feel the bruises forming. He did not flinch though—he'd taken far greater pain in the name of pleasure more times than he cared to count.
The trademark pale-gray eyes of the royal family met his own dark green, and Rayse shivered as they began to glow the silver-white color of the moonlight. He'd heard about this, but never thought to actually be subjected---
"Tell me you did not do it," Prince Vahn rumbled.
Rayse felt hot, cold, afraid, calm, giddy, sad—too many things at once, and yet not enough. "I did not do it," he said, and abruptly felt better.
Prince Vahn grunted and let him go, eyes returning to a gray that seemed suddenly boring by comparison. He looked tired, and Rayse wondered suddenly if it was actually true about the cost of the powerful Compulsion of the royal line.
He attempted to hold still and not show his panic as the prince continued to stare at him, wondering if he was about to die or if he was going to suddenly find that other rumors about the royal family were true.
Then Prince Vahn abruptly turned away, and barked for the guard, who strolled across the room and stood sharply at attention before the prince. His eyes glowed silver again, capturing the guard, and he demanded, "Can you keep a secret that is worth the life of thousands?"
"No," the guard replied.
Prince Vahn's eyes glowed brighter still, this time taking on the faintest hint of red. "Then forgot all, forget everything, remember only what I say—the Duke felt ill, I was summoned, all proved to be well. Recall nothing but precisely that." He reached out and touched the guard's forehead.
"Yes," the guard said in a strange, distant voice.
"Go," the prince said.
Snapping a salute, slapping his chest with his fist, the guard departed.
Prince's Vahn collapsed in a chair as the door closed behind the guard.
Rayse pushed the brandy toward him. Prince Vahn picked it up and tossed it back, then set the glass down hard.
"Are you going to use that handy little trick on me?"
"No," Prince Vahn said, pouring more brandy, looking as though he had not slept for at least five days straight. "You might wish I had, in a moment. Do you know who that is?" he asked, nodding to the corpse.
Rayse shook his head. "No, and to be honest, I don't want to know. I care only about the money…that I suppose I shall not be getting."
"He is, or was, Prince Korbin Shade."
Every single thought in Rayse's head died from nasty shock. He struggled for words, then finally shook his head, and lifted the brandy decanter, drinking straight from it. "You're lying."
Prince Vahn gave him a look that might have been amusement, if the situation were not so dire. "I wish I was, believe me. I am not, however. That is Prince Korbin of the Kingdom of Belthala, long lost heir to that throne, and he was going to be reinstated here—but someone learned of him, and poisoned him. Hours ago, though, to judge from the symptoms." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, lips turned down in thought. "Must have been at the harbor, that poison takes twelve hours."
"Queen Matilda's Wine," Rayse said, surprised. "That's illegal—well, so is murder, I guess, but it's extremely hard to come by." The poison was so named because of the first person known to use it. Queen Matilda, wife of the fifteenth King of Vendar. She had, by all accounts, poisoned the last king of the line which had kept Vahn's own from taking the throne. That had been, oh, twelve generation ago, if he recalled his history. The poison was notorious because it had no telltale odor, taste, and took roughly ten to twelve hours to work. It was so named for the special wine that was Queen Matilda's favorite, and which she had supposedly used to poison the tyrant King.
"Yes," Prince Vahn replied.
Rayse frowned. "Why are you telling me all this? Let us be blunt—I'm just a whore."
Prince Vahn smiled wearily. "Just a whore? You underestimate your charms, I think. His Highness was most insistent upon amorous company upon reaching our shores." He shook his head, obviously recalling what had clearly been an argument, to judge by his tone. "I needed someone who could keep his mouth shut, who would take his gold, do his job, and vanish. My careful research said that was you."
His mouth quirked briefly in amusement, but Rayse did not have to ask why—he knew damned good and well what people said about him—that he opened his mouth only when there was a cock to put in it. Compliment and insult all at the same time, and nothing defined his world better.
"Rumors have abounded for years," Prince Vahn continued, "that the youngest son of the Shade line still lived. Carefully squashed, of course, until we could convince him to take back the throne."
Rayse nodded. He tried to keep as out of politics as was possible for a high-ranking whore, but he could not ignore everything. Twenty years ago, the Shade line had toppled from the throne by a rebellion—one led by royal advisor himself in a deep betrayal that still stung certain people.
One son did live, but he had been exiled from the country well before the rebellion, and no one had heard from him for years. It was said he travelled the world, a hopeless scoundrel, completely uncaring of what became of the country that had rejected him.
A country that was suffering deeply under the care of its new government. It had been said that the entire royal line had been slaughtered, to prevent any chance of the throne being retaken. If even one had survived…
Except he hadn't. Someway, somehow, someone had managed to kill him at the final hour.
"No one knows what the prince looks like," Prince Vahn said slowly. "The common traits of that line are height, slenderness, black hair, green eyes, and an almost delicate beauty."
Rayse nodded, looking toward the corpse on the bed. The late prince was all those things, though it was actually rather amusing because such a vague description fit him…. His eyes popped wide, and he whipped his head back to Prince Vahn. "Highness, you cannot—"
The sudden flash of silver in pale gray eyes told him that his Highness meant precisely what Rayse had hoped he did not.
"I'm a whore," Rayse protested. "How do you even know you can trust me? I'm not royalty! I can't rule a fucking country! Mother's tits, you are mad!"
"Desperate," Prince Vahn replied, standing and grabbing his shoulders, pulling him close. The smell of brandy was strong on his breath, and it was probably strong on Rayse's as well. "If we have no heir to that throne, then what could be a small skirmish to reinstate a proper ruler will turn into a long and bloody war to take over a country. Hundreds versus thousands, courtesan."
Rayse shook his head. "You need a prince—I know nothing about such things. I'm a fucking whore."
"You can do it," Prince Vahn replied.
Groaning, Rayse pulled away and dropped down into the seat Prince Vahn had just vacated. "With all due respect, your Highness, you are not thinking clearly. Ruling a country takes being raised to do it. I was raised to—" he motioned to the bed, then grimaced and dropped his hand.
Prince Vahn sighed. "I have thought it out more than you might think," he said. "Believe me, I am not happy about putting a whore on the throne, either, but I see no choice. Neither Vendar nor Belthala will handle a long war well, and if we take that country by force that is what it will be—long, bloody, expensive, and recovering from it will take even longer. We need Prince Korbin." He made a face. "What we really need is Prince Kael, but that quarter is a lost cause."
Rayse was silent, staring at his hands, trying to process what he was being told, all the ways his life would change. He thought wistfully of the shop he had planned to open once he was free of his debts, finally out of the whoring life. A quaint little apothecary, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, a tidy room of his own in the back, playing with potions and tonics, chatting with all kinds of people, helping them in a way far more fulfilling than spreading his legs…
"If I refused, you would just make your eyes glow and settle the matter, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," Prince Vahn said softly. "I would not like it, and I would hate myself for it, but being royalty means I do what I must, regardless of whether or not I like it."
Rayse nodded, and had the brief startling thought that if they had been born equals, they might have been friends. He glanced at Prince Vahn, mind drifting from one stupid thought to another, so long as he did not have to think about impersonating a prince.
Prince Vahn was handsome, as most of his line tended. Taller even than Vahn, with broad chest and shoulders that helped explain why he was undefeated in combat. His hair was a bright auburn, with a hint of wave that might turn into true curl were it allowed to grow out. The barest freckles dusted across his nose, now Rayse was close enough to really examine him. If not for his bearing, his status, he might have thought the Prince almost boyishly cute—but his presence was entirely masculine, and entirely royal, though he was by far the most pleasant royal Rayse had ever encountered.
"I don't know a thing about being royalty," Rayse muttered, bracing his elbows on his knees, and rubbing his temples with his fingers. "I know how to fuck them, and that is not nearly the same thing."
Prince Vahn laughed, and Rayse was startled, because it sounded like genuine laughter. Despite everything, he realized, he really was coming to like Prince Vahn. Not fair, the man was ruining his life, but there you had it. "I think a courtesan as high-ranking as you probably knows more about it than one might suppose."
Rayse grimaced. "Speaking of my rank, Highness, plenty of people will recognize me."
"As you are, yes," Prince Vahn said. "However, once we are done remaking you.... If someone does appear who recognized you, I will tend to the matter. At this point, we simply have no choice." He peered thoughtfully at Rayse. "Though, you might make me a list of your...clients? That might help me nip some of the problem in the bud."
Nodding, Rayse went to the bag that went with him everywhere and pulled out a small journal bound in red leather. It had cost him dearly, many years ago, but it was perhaps the most valuable and powerful thing he owned.
He sighed softly, thinking one last time of the apothecary that had been his dream for more than a decade, then put it away and moved forward as he done all his life. Whispering the few words of magic of which was capable, he handed the now unsealed book to Prince Vahn.
Prince Vahn's brows rose as he opened it, whistling softly. "Does anyone know you have this? Good lord, I would not have thought the Marquis capable of that.”
Rayse rolled his eyes. "No, no one knows I have that, otherwise I would be dead—and unless you want to learn more than you ever wanted to know about many of your peers, I suggest you stop reading the fine print and stick to the names."
"I can't help it," Prince Vahn muttered. "It's like a healing wound—you cannot stop poking at it."
Rolling his eyes again, Rayse took the book away and set it on the table. "We have other things to attend, Highness."
Vahn nodded, and stood. "I will tend to the body. I guess you had better get dressed, Highness."
"I'm going to be sick," Rayse muttered, and picked up the decanter again, drinking deeply. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly…then drank more brandy.
Then he set the decanter down slowly, let out a long sigh, squared his shoulders and strode to the trunks at the far side of the room to see what would fit him. He had planned to spend five days with the late prince, catering to his every whim and fancy, so he supposed he had that long to learn how to act like a prince.
