Royal Duties - 4. Chapter 4

Kiorl let his claws trail over the relief carvings which lined the walls of the passage as he made his way, slowly, deliberately so, down into the bowels of the Palace. Here everything was old, made long before Nassau had been skilled enough to help with construction, and the friezes were beautiful, they were also simplistic and angular when compared to more recent ones in the Palace above. He stopped in front of his favourite and smiled at the image which showed a young Prince Nassau leading a black feline shape by the hand. Sathriel sat upon his throne, depicted smiling broadly.

I know I’m biased, but I think creating me was about the last nice thing he did for his son.

True, but he certainly wasn’t nice to you last night.

Kiorl winced at the thought, rubbing the back of his neck and the stiffness there. The motion did nothing to stop him from feeling the stretch and pain of other muscles.

Sathriel had been in a mood. Whatever he’d tried to accomplish Upstairs had clearly not gone as intended, and Kiorl had the suspicion that the Devil had been in conference with a servant of one of the Gods, because the last time he’d been similarly annoyed had been after Ifrit had declined to take his meeting. Kiorl had never met a God, and he was keen to keep it that way: their Heralds were bad enough.

He’d been in his suite when Sathriel had called for him. Not discreetly, sending an attendant or a Palace server, but loudly, by standing in the Grand Hall and roaring for him. Court had scattered, all the major demons who weren’t Kiorl wisely deciding that they suddenly had other very important places to be, and Kiorl had been left kneeling before the throne dreading the moment when Sathriel would settle on one shape or another and actually touch him.

The panther had hoped for swift and painful, but what he’d received was the blackest of the Devil’s tempers. And so it had been brutal, agonising, never ending as Sathriel had reamed him, hands holding his legs open with no thought to comfort and only a fraction of care for Kiorl’s physiological capabilities. They hadn’t left the throne room, and Kiorl had been held by his throat to the arm of the great stone chair as Sathriel had fucked him over and over until he’d blacked out. It had only been for a moment, not long enough for the Devil to notice, and Kiorl was glad of that at least. Afterwards Sathriel had put him on his knees and kept him there with a single massive paw, and Kiorl had worked his girth with tongue and hands until the King had been, finally, fully satisfied. Then Kiorl had got up, and somehow made it back to Zinkara Rumah and the bathpool before completely collapsing.

To his surprise, it had been Tobias who had woken him with a soft touch to his shoulder. The boy brought him new bread and meats, wine and a selection of small red fruits Kiorl secretly enjoyed far more than anyone else they lived with.

‘Strawberries.’

‘If you say so.’

Kiorl had eaten, half fed by the chef whilst still mostly submerged in the bathpool, and had been oddly impressed with the empath’s resolve when Tobias stayed whilst he washed himself. It had not been a task he could accomplish without wincing.

‘You do not have to talk to me.’ Tobias said

‘Good. I ain’t.’

The boy paused, held in a half crouch, his gaze level.

‘The war is long over Kiorl. You do not have to kill yourself for him.’

‘What?’

Tobias stood, his lips a thin line, frowning gently. Kiorl hated the idea that the skinny recruit felt sorry for him.

‘Zai is right, the world is changed. There are other ways to achieve your political goals.’

He hadn’t said anything more, but waited for the empty plate and wine glass, smiled at Kiorl as he handed them over, and left him alone. Kiorl had gone to bed, gazed up at the draped ceiling of silks, and hoped he could forget the entire thing.

But the moment he’d stepped from the house, there had been a fat diamond-patterned snake waiting for him, and Kiorl had sheathed his belt knife with a scowl. The King wanted him, now, and Kiorl was dithering in the winding passages of the Palace, dreading the inevitable. Not for a century or more had he doubted his position in court, or what he had to do to maintain it, and he hated the idea that Tobias had read him so easily. He was alone in the Palace, or as alone as it was ever possible to be whilst in the same realm as Nassau, and there didn’t seem to be any harm in admitting to himself that he was unhappy.

Kiorl passed from the hall of ancient carvings through a dim corridor full of blackened smoke and greasy torches, and let himself into a room which had probably once passed for Sathriel’s office. The room was dank, hot – because everywhere underground was hot – and damp. Very deliberately, Kiorl stepped forward, away from the dark walls which glistened almost exactly like old blood. Kiorl was sure they oozed, and did not touch them. Sathriel was still wearing his classical form, and was still naked, sitting in a low crouch beside the scrying pool, which was the main light source in the room. Kiorl was glad of his excellent night vision. The Devil showed no outward sign that he had heard Kiorl arrive, and was muttering to himself.

“… so many to choose…. This one. Hmmmm… maybe that one. This is damaged, shouldn’t use it. Where are the keepers...”

For a long moment, Kiorl considered fading into a handy shadow and vanishing from the Palace altogether.

But you are the right hand of the King. If he wants you, you go.

Fuck it.

“Sire?”

Sathriel beckoned him forward without looking up, and Kiorl arrived beside his King and knelt, keeping his tail bound around his forearm. The scrying pool was a shallow dish of crystal, no more than a hands-depth thick, but big enough that Kiorl could have curled up to sleep within it. The water within was flat and glassy smooth, except for where Sathriel touched it, moving the view around with his fingers and causing ripples.

“Sire?” Kiorl repeated, half wishing he hadn’t.

“What would you look for in a new demon Kiorl?”

“Loyalty,” Kiorl replied instantly, then froze. It was never wise to speak too quickly, because it wasn’t always obvious if Sathriel wanted an answer, let alone a real one.

And it’s not like you meant loyalty to him, his inner voice chirped. You’d choose Nassau in a heartbeat, every time.

“Hmmm...” Kiorl took the opportunity to look into the pool and saw that his King was viewing the pit, the place where new demons were forged, looking over the rank and file of half finished forms which simply needed awakening before they cold be coaxed and trained into fully functioning members of the Inner Circle. “Not rage? Or bloodlust?”

“Those can be taught, Majesty.”

Kiorl shivered involuntarily as he thought of the way Nassau’s eldest brother Nathaneal had been. Rage and bloodlust described him perfectly. Even in a good mood, the desire to destroy had always been foremost in his mind and personality. It would have been terrible if he had been the confirmed heir to the throne of Hell, rather than Nassau.

I would have run away to live upstairs like Kiaza, rather than stay down in Hell with with as future king.

“Maybe so….” Sathriel appeared to consider his options, then touched a black clawed finger to his tongue, drawing blood before he gestured in the still waters of the scrying pool, marking two of the waiting vessels, letting his blood mix with theirs. Instantly, each staggered and shifted, their shapes becoming more solid, even as keepers began to ring them. “Fetch these two. I think they will make good demons.”

Kiorl cleared his throat.

“What department, Majesty?”

Sathriel turned and raked Kiorl with dark eyes. The panther fought the urge to shiver, and simply squeezed his tail tighter around his arm.

“I doubt you wish to train them, do you? No… you have another in mind?”

“The Hunter Jin-Ha? He is very talented in his arts, and very good at… explaining.” Kiorl chose not the mention the kitsune’s quiet, acerbic humour, or his beautiful melodic voice. Having him accompany Sitka’s lute had become a favourite pastime of the house.

“Very good. Send them to the Hunt office and see what becomes of them.”

“As you wish Sire.”

Kiorl made to bow and step back from the royal presence, but halted at a gesture. Sathriel stood, his shape changing as he did so, and Kiorl hid his wince as the Devil wrapped a thick, full prehensile, smooth skinned tail around his own. Already the appendage pulled too strongly at his furred tail to be comfortable, and Kiorl felt pain slither up his spine. The King of Hell in what Kiorl privately called his ‘medieval shape’ was not what the panther had been expecting to see. He was like a nightmare version of Sitka, huge cloven hoofs, rough fur, his horns somehow even thicker and more cruel as he smiled. Kiorl did not miss the hungry expression which crossed his face.

“Majesty.” Kiorl inclined his head by a fraction, just enough to show subservience. “Is there something I can do for you?”

The tail left his and stroked up his spine, coiling over his shoulder, the thick, rounded tip prodding once at his muzzle before sliding south. Sathriel looked annoyed, bored, rampantly horny, and fell back onto a couch of rough stone he had summoned from the floor. Kiorl did not move, and was glad the Devil was too far away now to touch him with his hands lest he peel back Kiorl’s lips to find his fangs clenched firmly closed. He’d had the damn thing in his mouth before was less than keen to repeat the experience. The tail coiled momentarily around his hips, but Kiorl did not find himself swept from his paws and brought close. Instead the fabric of his tabard was pressed flush against his crotch and thighs before his body was, mercifully, abandoned.

“Retrieve the new demons then.”

“Sire.”

The door opened before he reached it. A many-limbed attendant entered, bowing low, showing perfect duteousness to the King. Kiorl stepped round it, one ear flicking back to hear what his sovereign said as he left.

“Bring me a handful of the pretty ones….”

The description could have meant minor demons or drugged mortals, but Kiorl doubted that there would be any survivors of Sathriel’s current appetite.

Tobias was right.

Kiorl’s inner voice scoffed at him.

How do those words feel coming out of your mouth, oh high and mighty major demon?

Like brimstone. Kiorl rubbed his tongue along his fangs reflexively. But he is. There’s got to be an easier way to exist in both courts than this.

You’d give up the favour of the King so easily?

Kiorl glared at the smiling red figure in the frieze as he passed, and felt again the ache in so many muscles that pride was the only thing which made him walk straight.

I’m not sure it counts as a favour any more.

*

Kiorl slid the portal token for the Pit onto a thong on his belt as he finished stepping out into the narrowest circle of the underworld. The stone under his paws fell away sharply, a pace away from where he stood, and Kiorl peered over the edge to see a keeper, head bent low, crooning to three short rows of wriggling lumps which looked not entirely unlike the substance Jahke had once asked Tobias make and called blancmange. Kiorl sneered, moved back and began to stalk the exceedingly narrow walkways which lead between each of the pits. Not all contained wobbly masses of potential, some were empty. But most were full of things which slithered and crawled, either in little circles, each magically tethered to their own spot in the row, or in writhing heaps, herded and tutted over by their keepers. Kiorl wondered why it was the portal never let him out at the pit where the most complete demons were being held, forcing him to circumnavigate the myriad of proto-demons on each of his infrequent visits.

Eventually he arrived at the right pit, just as the keeper was clambering up and out towards him. Kiorl stopped the creature with a sharp gesture.

“Master Kiorl!” Keepers were the most docile and patient of all demons, they had to be, and this one bowed so deeply it’s head touched the ground near Kiorl’s paws, filled with deference for his status as an occupant of the Inner Circle.

“Are they finished?”

“Yes m’sire. I do hope you will find them quite pleasing.”

Kiorl did not bother to correct the keeper. The new demons had not been chosen by him or for him, but he did wonder if the keepers knew, or would be upset by, the fact that if the younglings turned out to be less than satisfactory they would be sent out to the reaping fields. If they were very rubbish, then they would simply be subsumed and reprocessed by the fire, but such failures were rare these days, now that selection was far more rigorous and Sathriel was more reserved with his blessing. Kiorl watched the keeper out of sight, then dropped down into the pit.

The two new demons were the only occupants of the dark, sheer sided space. One sat, looking small and pale in a manner not reflected by his excellent musculature, apparently counting the fingers on all four hands: the other stood, arms hanging by his knees, back curved and showing a row of bony protuberances which continued all the way to a sinew-wrapped skeletal tail. He looked rather like he would rather be walking on all fours, but didn’t know if that was allowed. Both brightened when they saw him, their desire for contact and need to please him evident in their eyes.

“Names?”

“Pulo, Sire.” The four armed boy replied.

“Orrhaag,” snarled the other one through a mouth thick with teeth.

Ifrit’s Fire… at least we no longer have to teach them to talk. That was awful.

“Good enough. I am here to take you to training. Follow me.”

He could have used the portal stone from where they’d stood, but Kiorl disliked the pits and the trapped feeling they gave him. He hadn’t been made here after all, and the place always seemed too cold and too dark for his liking.

And yet, you can see in the blackest night, his inner voice snarked.

I’m not having this conversation with you. Kiorl swung himself up to ground level once more and scowled. When did I start having such long conversations with myself?

The pair of younglings followed him away from the pit, the only place they had ever known, and Kiorl wondered if all the new demons were so openly trusting.

Perhaps you are only just noticing it?

He took his portal stone from it’s pouch, holding it in a loose and uncommunicative grasp .The last thing he wanted was to have it read his desire to return home too quickly and end up stranding one or both the demons in the outer circles.

“We are going to the Inner Circle. Sathriel has blessed you, and so you shall receive the finest tutelage.”

“Will you train us, Sire?” Pulo asked, obviously hopeful.

“No. I do not have the time. And don’t call me that. Major demons can be addressed as ‘master’ along with their name, ‘Majesty’ is for the King, ‘Highness’ for the Prince… not that you’re likely to meet either of them yet.”

Possibly ever. Kiorl glanced sideways at the slightly dog-like demon with his bony features. Ghianda could visualize the abilities of other creatures, and Kiorl would have given anything for a moment to know what potential secrets these two were hiding. He had no doubts that Jin-Ha would winkle their skills out in time though.

“We will travel by portal stone. One day you may both prove to be skilled and loyal enough to have your own. Come close now.”

They did as they were told. Kiorl knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, because along with their language skills, one of the few things each demon knew upon waking in the world was to please the Devil in whatever manner they could. Kiorl had told them he was taking them to the Inner Circle, and so all that adoration was turned upon him.

Soon enough they will learn to appreciate other distractions. He shifted his weight, curling his tail tightly around OrrHaag’s long arm, and gestured for Pulo to move into his space. The youngling touched him without hesitation, all four hands pressing again his chest, abdomen, ribs… Kiorl bit back the sigh and the rising tide of lust which rose at the contact, and wondered if he had ever been so transparently naked.

“Sir-” Pulo stopped himself, and Kiorl was pleased he’d made the effort. “What do we call you?”

“Kiorl.”

“Thank you, master Kiorl.”

The panther bit back an intoxicating flood of raw lust and wished the youngling wasn’t standing quite so close, or possessed quite so many hands. It had been aeons since anyone had address him with such unguarded trust.

“Do not move away.” Kiorl held the portal stone in his free hand, the other gripping one of OrrHaag’s bone spines. “Do not get distracted. I shall show you through The Way, but you must not get lost. You’ll die.”

“You will protect us?” Even as they’d lingered, Orrhaag’s many teeth had rearranged themselves somewhat, and his voice was far clearer. There was a softness to his muzzle and brows now which served only to highlight the distressing angles of his bare bones.

“Yes. Come now, we should be quick.”

The portal stone glowed with the hot, familiar fire of the Inner Circle, and Kiorl thought hard of home, longing for another long bath, a game of cards or draughts, of Tobias’s excellent cooking

Nassau hasn’t been by for dinner in a while, perhaps we could tempt him to join us…

The Pit vanished abruptly, replaced by the endless twinkling stars of The Way. Kiorl felt both the younglings move with him as he turned toward the familiar path homewards, and he kept his grip on each secure as they approached the star which marked their destination. A heartbeat later, they stepped through the squat arch of the East Gate.

Pulo was pale and panting visibly, his chest shaking. OrrHaag stroked his back with long fingers, frowning, obviously concerned for the other demon’s welfare. Kiorl wondered if all the demons who came up together shared bonds as strong. Despite their mismatched appearances they might be more successful as a pair. Kiorl was glad he had requested Jin-Ha to train them both, because he wasn’t sure separating them just then was a particularly good idea.

“Come. You did well, you are here now. Let us take you to the Hunt office and see what your new teacher thinks of you.”

The pair of brand new demons followed him without question, and although Kiorl knew they would do anything he asked of them, and do it happily, he held himself back from touching either one with either his hands or his gift. They were sweet and trusting, but even Jahke had more verve and attitude than the younglings. Kiorl turned them over in Jin-Ha’s more than capable care, and headed gratefully home.

*

The fractionally older of the Asina brothers was lounging on a chaise in the Long Gallery, a hand of solitaire laid across the plush upholstery before him, a stack of painted bone and ivory counters to one side. He looked up with a smile as Kiorl approached.

“Kiorl, join me?”

“Tua...” Kiorl slowed, frowning. “Would it not be easier in The Games Room?”

The white-scaled man shrugged, his overly long tail lying still beside him.

“Eh, no one’s there either.”

“What?” Kiorl had been adjusting his belt; it was new, a broad expanse of beautifully tooled leather with intricate lacing and was a new style for him, and highlighted his natural shape in a way he enjoyed. His bright blue eyes flicked back to the other demon. “What do you mean, no one’s there? Court is in session.”

“Court was in session,” Tua Asina explained, “The Prince dismissed everyone about an hour ago. He… he didn’t not seem happy.” Tua finished, diplomatically.

“Why did no one come and get me?” Kiorl felt the fur on the back of his neck prickle, tightness across his scalp following. Nassau had become angry enough to send home his council, but he hadn’t thought anything in Kiorl’s direction, and the panther suddenly hated the fact his friend could hide so well from him.

“Bir went to the Cavern to find you, reported back that you hadn’t been seen, then he headed home. The King was holding high court and everything apparently, figured that’s where you’d be, Right Hand.”

Kiorl used his tail to sweep Tua’s game pieces to the floor with a snarl.

“Call me that to my face again and I’ll use your hide to reupholster the chair you’re on. Got it?”

“Yes, master Kiorl.” The other major demon had the good sense to keep his eyes on the floor as he spoke. “Where should we look for you, if the need arises?”

“Send word to Zinkara Rumah.”

“You keep schedule with your minors?” Tua sounded shocked. Kiorl hissed at him.

“Fuck off Asina. It is not your concern how I spend my time.”

Kiorl stalked to the far end of the Long Gallery, and once out of sight, broke into a jog which turned into a run, and made directly for Nassau’s apartments.

Nassau needed me and I wasn’t fucking there!

He’ll think you were with his Father and wouldn’t want to disturb you.

Kiorl laughed bitterly at himself.

And instead I was hiding out in my room hoping Sathriel hadn’t sent a messenger to locate me, and yet dreading he wouldn’t notice my absence.

Kiorl knew his housemates had picked up on his stress, and even the usually mirthsome Shindae had given him a wide berth in recent tendays. Kiorl knew it would only be a matter of time before Sathriel chose a new favourite, and everyone would know he had slipped from the Devil’s favour. He hadn’t done anything as bold as inform the King he no longer wished to share his bed, but he had spent the last session of high court in conversation with others, never passing near enough to the throne to be called to approach, and he had flat out ignored two serpent messengers on separate occasions. Sathriel could be thick headed, but there was no way he was going to fail to notice Kiorl’s continued lack of appearance in his chambers.

He let himself quietly into Nassau’s apartments, but didn’t bother checking the study or any other rooms before ascending the final stairs to Nassau’s bedchamber. The doors were closed, though not locked, and Kiorl pushed them open by degrees, dreading what he might find.

The room was a mess of smashed timber, broken stone, ripped fabrics, and floating feathers though the latter were small, soft and white, and clearly from the ruined mess of cushions. The intricate fretwork doors of Nassau’s cabinet hung from their hinges, one partly smashed, and Kiorl stilled suddenly, more worried for his friend than he had been in many years. In the centre of what had been Nassau’s bed ever since his return to Hell before the Ascension, the Prince of Hell was curled within the shield of his wings. Carefully, keeping every moment as slow and soft as he could, Kiorl parted the wall of bronze feathers and offered a small smile to the red-rimmed gaze he found within.

“Hey Nas…” Kiorl allowed his fingers to ghost across the Prince’s jaw and down his shoulder. Nassau sat hunched over the marble bust of his lover in his lap, his knuckles as white as the stone. “You want to let go of that now?”

Nassau Del Rae shook his head, his ever perfect hair sliding across his brow and twisting about his throat, keeping him from view. Kiorl sat, kneeling before him in the mess of the ruined bed, and laid his hands open between them.

“C’mon Nas, come to me.”

Whatever has passed is over. The panther directed his thoughts as clearly as he could. It is done, but I am here. I am safe. Come. Let me look after you.

By degrees, Nassau reached for him and took his hand. Kiorl waited. So slowly it was like trying to watch a plant grow, Nassau let go of the likeness of the man he had once loved, and moved into Kiorl’s lap. Once he had his arms around the Prince, the panther stood. Nassau buried his face into Kiorl’s padded jupon and said nothing, offering no explanation for what had transpired, and Kiorl simply turned and carried him from the apartments, down a single flight of short stairs to his suite.

He laid the Prince out on his bed, relieved that Nassau did not simply wrap himself within his wings once more, and watched as Nassau took long, shuddering breaths, and stared at nothing. He was clearly all cried out. Kiorl stripped Nassau of his ruined clothing with careful and efficient movements, conscious not to let his fingers or gaze linger on the thread of ever-hot fire which burnt within the Prince’s skin, running from jaw to wrist, spreading and coiling across his narrow chest. Sometimes it was hard to remember what Nassau had looked like without it, and sometimes it was impossible to look, and not be horribly reminded of the last pure expression on the young Prince’s face before his world had ended and his skin become marred with the evidence.

Kiorl knelt upon the bed, and slotted himself carefully into the space between Nassau’s wings, arms sliding about his chest, wrapping over him and holding him firm. Nassau’s yard long hair coiled itself into a rope, the thick hank wrapping itself around Kiorl’s forearm, anchoring them together. For a long time, neither gave any indication of movement, and Kiorl simply lay and observed silently as his friend’s breathing softened to match his own. Finally Nassau let loose a long exhale, and his muscles lax under Kiorl’s grip, the panther allowed himself a very small, nearly private smile.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?”

Nassau nodded mutely.

“I can see about clean-up tomorrow.” He paused, ears flicking back in concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Nassau sounded petulant and young, but his voice did not hold the quiver of indisputable power which would not have allowed Kiorl to push the subject.

“Don’t you think perhaps you should?”

You’re a fine one to talk Ki. When was the last time you had an honest conversation?

Hey, we’re not talking about me. My bed is still in one piece.

To his surprise, Nassau sobbed openly, breath catching in his chest. Kiorl soothed a warm palm across his sternum, worried.

“I broke the bed,” he whimpered unhappily.

“Everything in the ‘verse can be made anew,” Kiorl assured him. “Or I’ll get the boys to bring you something from Upstairs?”

“No.” Nassau turned to press his face into Kiorl’s arm where it was pinned between himself and the mattress. Through his fur, Kiorl could feel the wetness of his sovereign’s tears. “That was Mattias’ bed.”

“Oh...”

I promised him one we could never break. The words arrived with a flood of blurred memories, not one of them lingering long enough for Kiorl to witness more than the man’s face; his deep, honest laugh; the warmth which had blossomed within Nassau every time he’d smiled. It hasn’t smelt like him for so long… but I- we had lain there together. And now it is gone.

Nas…

Kiorl knew how long his friend had been without the man he loved, and knew better than most how much he missed him, but the ache he felt echoing through Nassau was so awful… had he been even a fraction less loyal to the Prince, he would have let go, because the pain which shimmered through the connection of their skin set an ache inside him Kiorl was not sure he would be able to shift. But no one was more stubborn than Kiorl, and he stayed, breathing in time with Nassau, until the feeling muted enough to allow for other thoughts to surface.

Nassau spoke first, and Kiorl instantly wished he had broken the silence instead.

“You are not going to Father’s chambers.” It was not a question.

“I can be his advisor without sharing his bed.”

“Can you?”

“Nas...” Kiorl couldn’t keep the snarl from his tone, but he stopped himself with a snort. “I haven’t actually told him.”

You decided to just… tactically ignore direct missives from the King? Oh my great friend, you are the bravest man I know.

“Ha… thanks for the faith.”

“If anyone can do it...” Nassau pressed a hand over his own, the line of fire scored into his palm a heated reminder of the pain which caused the pair of them to be huddled up together in Kiorl’s suite. Nassau twisted in the panther’s arms and tilted his face to press a chaste kiss against the dark muzzle. “Stay here with me, Ki?”

“Always.” Kiorl allowed his hand to slide of Nassau’s shoulder to his waist, then his hip, and he made a sound of soft surprise as Nassau angled into his touch.

Remind me that I was loved once?

“Nas....”

Kiorl splayed a hand over the curve of Nassau’s arse, bringing him flush against his roused length, and inhaled the sweet, exotic floral scent of his hair. He knew what he was being asked, a wordless favour the Prince of Hell could never admit to another living soul, and Kiorl knew it would not be his name Nassau keened when he brought his friend to the point of climax. He did not mind, because it was Nassau, and Kiorl’s loyalty to his friend knew no bounds.

“You are loved.”