Royal Duties - 1. RD: Chapter 1

Kiorl stood outside the entrance to Nassau’s apartments, and hesitated. It had been many years since he’d even bothered to announce his arrival in the Prince’s private rooms within the Palace, let alone knock on the door. But usually, Nassau was in his head before he’d even finished climbing the stairs, and Kiorl almost missed the flavour of his old friend in his mind.

Here goes nothing.

Kiorl knocked, waited, knocked again, then pushed open the door. Nothing was immediately untoward, and Kiorl headed down the passage which lead to Nassau’s study, hoping that he would find the Prince had simply lost track of time in a book. The study was empty.

No such fucking luck.

Wishing he had worn something more substantial than the embroidered linen tabard he’d drawn at random from his extensive wardrobe, Kiorl climbed the stairs, bypassing other rooms which had long since been closed off and left to gather dust, and went to Nassau’s bedchamber. The filigree doors showed a view of sunlight through trees, their branches heavy with blossom and birds, but the inner panels were closed, as they so often were these days, and gave him no clue of what might lay beyond. He knocked, even though he knew Nassau would have felt his arrival.

“Go away.”

“Nassau?” This brought forth no reaction and Kiorl flicked his ears unhappily. “Sire? Court is in session. Please come out. You are wanted.”

There was the distinctive sound of something large, heavy, and probably expensive, smashing into the other side of the door next to Kiorl’s head. Red seeped under the door at his feet, and Kiorl lamented the loss of the wine.

“Nassau...”

“GET OUT!”

Kiorl thrashed his tail and growled to himself.

I’m not even fucking in there.

“Open the door.”

NO.

“I’m coming in, so if you’re going to throw something at me, you’d better knock me out in one or I’ll break your fucking arm.”

The door swung open easily under his touch, which was as good as a blessing, because Kiorl knew he could never have entered if Nassau truly wanted him out. The usually neat and ordered bedchambers of the Prince of Hell were strewn with what anyone else might assume was the aftermath of a fight, but Kiorl knew the only thing Nassau was fighting were his memories. And his father.

“He always sends you.” Nassau stood in the centre of a ring of destruction, the floor cracked, a wall hanging ripped and dangling from only one corner, the crystal shards of the wine pitcher catching the light from the alcoves and throwing strange shapes across the floor.

“He didn’t send me.”

Nassau glared at him, his grey eyes roiling with a storm which was barely contained.

I know better than to lie to you Nas.

“I came because your courtiers have gathered and you aren’t there.” Kiorl watched as Nassau’s shoulders slumped, defeated, his great bronze feathered wings spreading out behind him. He picked his way carefully across the floor, because sliced open paw pads would hurt and take a long time to heal, even for a demon of his strength, and took Nassau’s hand, tugging him gently towards the bed which was still, mercifully, free of debris. “You wanna talk about it?”

I was so close… dammit. Nassau sighed heavily, and leant against Kiorl’s shoulder as he sat, folding himself into an impossibly small space. Without his aspect drawn about him, and without the hugeness of his wings, Nassau was still as slender and slight as he had been the day he’d come of age. Kiorl felt huge beside him.

“I went to see Father on the way to the Games Room. He gave me this.” Nassau held out a small, beautiful object in one hand, and Kiorl took it from him carefully.

“A reliquary?” Kiorl frowned at the little vessel, so like the many he kept in his room and about his person on trips Upstairs, used for collecting souls of mortals tricked, coerced, or straight up slaughtered into giving up on life and limb. He wondered if Nassau’s father had gone to the Hunt office to find one, or if it had been something he himself had left in the King’s bedchambers. Neither option was particularly appealing.

“He wants me to go Upstairs and ‘do my job’. As though I was any other Hunter!” Nassau offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“I am the Prince.” Nassau declared passionately, to absolutely no one.

“And that’s not why you don’t want to do it.” Kiorl glanced towards another pair of lattice work doors, set into the far wall of Nassau’s bedroom, and frowned. “It’s because of him, right?”

Nassau stared at the doors, turned to face Kiorl without seeing him, and buried his face in his hands as he burst into tears. Sometimes Kiorl wondered if being the only person Nassau ever cried in front of was a blessing or curse, but he simply wrapped his arms around his oldest friend, pulled the Prince into his lap, and made soothing, wordless noises until the shaking passed.

“I haven’t taken a soul since before the Ascension. And I don’t want to. I just… I can’t. Not now.”

“Shhhh… your father is just going to have to be disappointed – which ain’t nothing new – there are plenty of Hunters working. Maybe just take a trip Upstairs for the sake of appearances.”

Nassau glanced up at him with a soft frown, and Kiorl wiped away the Prince’s tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“And when did you get all smart and wise?”

“Hey, I am nearly as old as you are!” Kiorl glanced again at the latticework doors. “Nas… do you not think that it’s worse, keeping his stuff around?”

“Ki… no.” The expression Nassau wore was so pained, Kiorl wished hotly he could take the suggestion back. All the Prince had left of the man he loved were his clothes, his great double-bladed axe, and the stone bust which had been made after the Ascension and completed just before the day which should have been the happiest in Nassau’s life and had ended up being the worst. “It’s all I have. No one on his world would remember him now...”

“Forever he will live, whilst his name is spoken,” Kiorl intoned, “Forgive me Sire, I should not have asked.”

Kiorl inclined his head, but glanced up as Nassau tugged gently on his tail. The Prince arched an eyebrow at him.

“When was the last time you called me ‘Sire’ in private?”

“Probably never.” The panther smirked. “Come, let’s get to dressed and ready for court. There’ll be rumours otherwise.”

“There are always rumours.” Demons are the worst gossips, and that naga you live with has got to be top of the heap too. Nassau waved a hand at the mess he had made of his room, which began to tidy itself automatically. The dust, stone chippings, and broken glass swept themselves into a forlorn little heap in one corner, even as the wine evaporated away. Kiorl went to the Prince’s wardrobe and chose him a heavy wool kilt, and a finely embroidered jerkin, specially tailored to allow easy access for his wings. “You do not need to attend me, Kiorl.”

“Yeah, but I like to.”

He unpinned Nassau’s temper-rumpled garments, and smiled softly as the Prince stepped out of the cloth and kick it away with one foot. Naked, it was easier to ignore Nassau’s power, the aspect which he held around himself, the immense force of will which had allowed him to fight his brothers, regain his wings, and take the title of Prince and Heir of Hell. Naked, he was just Nassau, and Kiorl traced the muscles of his chest and abdomen as he hung the pleated fabric of the kilt around his hips, crouching to work the buckles and laces which would hold it closed. Kiorl stroked the soft skin below his navel, and tore himself away from the idea of his his friend being very nearly naked.

I can feel that, you know.

I know. Sorry.

Another time, dear friend.

Heck yes. Kiorl smirked as Nassau turned, and he began to secure the buckles which closed the jerkin under each wing. “Tobias will be cooking for Summas, you should join us.”

“And afterwards you’ll slink back to father?” Nassau asked, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

Kiorl wrapped an arm around his friend and pulled Nassau firmly up against his chest. He purred into his long hair.

“Afterwards we’ll go back to my room, you can tease me about the drapes and the ottoman seating, and I’ll rock your damn world.”

Nassau shivered pleasurably under his hands, and Kiorl smiled, tail winding around the Prince’s fire-marked forearm.

“But first, your courtiers are waiting. Come Highness. Let us go and be seen.”

Kiorl made a show of bowing low, and Nassau grinned and swept past him. His regal posture lasted all of ten paces, and then the winged-boy and the black panther leapt, chased, tumbled, and tussled their way to the Games room, just as they had all their lives. Kiorl straightened his tunic and smiled as they reached the door. It was good to be best friends with your Prince.

*

Cities were a marvel. Lone travellers in the dark had their appeal, but Kiorl delighted in the false sense of security modern cities gave to their inhabitants. He’d chosen the world at random, one of the many Earths where magic wasn’t present, and collected a portal token from the stack in the office. No one had been here collecting in a long while, and Kiorl could feel it….so many happy souls, ripe and ready for plucking.

It was twilight, the hour between the fading orange and pink lines of the sunset and the fall of proper dark, and Kiorl’s very favourite time of day. He could see perfectly in the dark, an ability devoured long ago as spoils of his first real fight with another demon, but ever since he’d cleaned up on the field after Nathaneal’s defeat in the war which had brought Nassau back to the throne, the ability to fade until he was as insubstantial as a shadow had become second favourite only to his natural talent of seduction. There was nothing quite like materializing three feet from one’s target before knocking them from their senses with lust. Kiorl picked the alley based on scent alone, dropped from a rooftop into a pool of shadow, and shut his eyes to mere slits as he waited.

He did not have to wait long.

A group… four, no five, people walking, weaving, slightly drunk, very happy, and making far too much noise. Kiorl wouldn’t have needed any of his fancy skills for them not to notice him as they passed, one still holding a drink, two others supporting a third who was singing or swearing, possibly both. Kiorl followed them on what was to be their last ever shortcut.

I like that one.

Oh, it’s going to be one of those evenings, is it? His inner voice asked.

It would be a shame to be greedy. Kiorl smiled, teeth flashing, tracking the most attractive of the party as they walked. He was also the least obviously drunk, and there was something about his strong but skinny frame and the mess of auburn curls which Kiorl found enticing. Sharing is always fun.

Kiorl made a quick, silent check of the reliquaries at his waist and, having established he had room for four souls, stepped from the shadow, became solid, and allowed three heartbeats of panic before he cast the cloak of seduction over the group. They stilled, each knocked from their panic by lust so thick it was practically visible, the group of three swaying gently, the drink of another falling to the ground with the splintering of glass to which no one reacted. Kiorl didn’t need a glamour to hide his true shape, lust did all the work for him, and as he approached the favourite of his targets, he was not imagining the thickening outline in the man’s trousers. It did not matter what the human’s usual preferences were, or that Kiorl was a long way from human, because the cloak of seduction was strong enough to bypass all those things and hardwire a reaction directly from the pleasure centre of his mind to his cock. Kiorl purred, took the human’s jaw between two clawed fingers, and kissed him deeply.

The others stared, and the rise of lust and jealously was palpable to Kiorl, rich like the scent of roasting meats from the kitchen back home. Kiorl stepped back and purred happily. The young man’s eyes followed him, and Kiorl could taste that he had him hooked.

He had a one of his selection of short knives, held horizontally in the sheath on his belt above his tail, but it seemed a shame to waste the materials in the alley, and as he approached the figure who had dropped the drink, he scooped up a curve of glass which matched the moon, and drew it carelessly across the human’s neck. Even as they bled, Kiorl moved the figure, tearing clothes here, repositioning just so, and dipped his fingers into the blood which had already begun to pool in the hollow of the clavicle, returning to the man he’d kissed, and painting it in a smear over his lips. His victims eyes lit up, but Kiorl returned quickly, holding the reliquary close to the bleeding figure’s lips, ready to collect the soul and they died. Job done, he turned to the other three figures, and smiled broadly.

The first he backhanded roughly across the mouth, reeling the cloak as he did, so by the time the boy was broken on his back, he was fully aware of the horrors which were being committed against him. Kiorl kissed him, not carefully, tearing his cheek and lip with his fangs as he did so, choking off the beginnings of a scream with a precise slash of the knife. He filled the reliquary and stoppered it closed before collecting yet more blood, and using it to intimately breach the body of the man who had been supported between his friends.

Kiorl screwed him with his fingers, more gently than he probably needed to be, and brought him to the point of ecstasy before he killed him. Human bones broke so easily. He took the final supporter, laid them on the body of the dead friend, and brought his favourite victim over with a finger hooked through his belt loops. He’d been lust lust drunk for long enough that he was eager, fumbling fingers finding Kiorl’s chest, dragging over fur and muscle, tugging with a needy whine at Kiorl’s belt. The panther purred as his victim dropped willingly to his knees, and adjusted the fold of his breech-cloth to expose himself. The young man didn’t need any extra lust to take him into his mouth, and he looked up at Kiorl with huge dark eyes.

Well that’s kind of hot.

He’s not as good as Jahke.

No one’s as fucking good as Jahke. Not even Nassau. Kid’s giving it a damn good try. Kiorl purred aloud. Atta boy.

Kiorl wrapped his hand, too tightly, into the young man’s hair, clenched his jaw, and came in a rush, panting happily as his victim drank him in with lust-drunk adoration. He grinned in satisfaction, then turned the young man toward his drunk friend, ripping away enough clothing so that the mouth which had served him could be wrapped around another’s eager erection. He didn’t want to abandon a knife, so Kiorl took up the glass shard again, position it in the victim’s hand, and guided him as he used the improvised blade to half-disembowel the man who’s cock he was sucking.

He collected the last soul and admired his handiwork as he knelt behind his remaining live victim. Four was excellent work, by anyone’s standards, and Kiorl smiled with quiet pride.

“Such power,” he intoned softly, lips brushing the shell of the young man’s ear, “such skill and beauty to do the things you’ve done. Such pleasure, do you feel it? This is the best sex you’ve ever had.” Kiorl kissed the young man’s neck, even as he sucked the still hard cock of his friend. “You’re going to want this again-” he had his fingers wrapped around the hardness of his victim’s erection, stroking him through his clothes, “-it’s such a high, isn’t it? Ah… that’s right. You’re doing so well. Come for me now. Show me how much you appreciate what we’ve done.”

The living victim came in his clothes, an indelible source of shame he’d have to carry away from the scene with him, and Kiorl stood, melting back into a pool of shadow as he yanked back the cloak of seduction and watched the full horror wash over his last victim. He never wasted time trying to understand the screams and babbling incoherent cries, but wrinkled his nose as the young man vomited beer, bile, and Kiorl’s cum onto the ground between the last victims splayed legs. He stared at what had been done for ten heartbeats, which Kiorl knew was more than enough to be haunted forever by the images, then fled.

Kiorl held up his two brimming reliquaries to the light and smiled as the souls sloshed and mixed within them. The chances of the survivor killing to try and recreate the sensations Kiorl had given him were pretty high, and Kiorl was proud of himself. He retraced his steps, sticking to the shadows, unobserved as he made his way back to the place where he’d first arrived. He could have cast a glamour and strolled down the street, his powers hadn’t been diminished in the slightest by his scene, but glamours took effort, and Kiorl always preferred not to pretend.

He paused as he passed the shop, catching a fragment of his reflection as he dipped from one shadow to another, then looked beyond the glass and smiled broadly. He wasn’t a scavenger, but there were no rules saying he couldn’t bring presents back from Upstairs. The glass smashed under his fist, and Kiorl took the item, surprised by it’s weight, and tucked it under his arm as he arrived at the place where the world was thin. Kiorl gripped the portal stone hard in his fist, closed his eyes as it blazed into flame and followed the thread of familiar stars back home.

Kiorl never used any other than the West Gate, because he sat at the right hand of the King and the left hand of the Prince and outranked everybody else, and the guard on duty practically knelt as he stepped into the hot, dry breeze of the inner circle.

“Master Kiorl.”

“Are there messages from the Palace?” Kiorl tossed the bone chit to the guard, who caught it with their tail.

“No Sir, only from the Hunt office-”

“I don’t care. It’ll wait.” Kiorl barely waited the for guard to nod in understanding. “I’m going home.”

It was late in the afternoon in Hell, which made Kiorl smile, because he had not missed dinner, and he had seen the interesting collection of packages the house’s scavengers had brought back the previous day. Other demons made themselves scarce as Kiorl walked, or moved aside and bowed deeply as he passed. All Hunters were among the most senior demons in the Circle, and Kiorl knew less well travelled creatures would look upon his bloodied appearance and the full, glowing reliquary’s at his hip in awe. As he turned up the path through the ravine which lead towards Zinkara Rumah, a crow clicked at his from it’s perch.

“Huh?”

The bird hopped from foot to foot, beady eyes tracking the sloshing souls he had collected. Kiorl hissed in annoyance.

“Nas! If you wanna say something just fucking say it, would you?”

Instantly, Kiorl felt the familiar, sun-warm, ash-soft presence of his oldest friend in his mind.

You had a good day…

Fuck yeah I did.

Pride looks good on you. Nassau’s mental voice sounded happy, and Kiorl wondered if he should head to the Palace instead. A nice idea, but not today, thank you.

What’s up Nas?

You know Tobias hates it when you bring souls back to the house…

Kiorl folded his eyes back against his hair, running his claws through his blue streaked mohawk, remembering the shivery way their chef had been the last time he’d brought work home with him, which had exploded into a full on attack of shaking when Sitka had accidentally knocked a reliquary and some of the soul had spilled onto the long counter in the kitchen. It had taken a long time for Zai to calm his mate, and Kiorl had felt bad enough to find the empath a while afterwards and apologise. He sighed.

Give them to the crow. He’ll take them in.

Kiorl did so, snapping at the crow to be careful with his cargo. He watched the bird go.

You think I should change my hair?

I think you should stop decorating your room like a tent. The Prince replied with a quiet, happy feeling. Bye Ki.

Kiorl arrived in the kitchen to find his three newest housemates together in the kitchen, which in recent decades had by default, become their main room, because it was where Tobias practically lived, and where all the good smells emanated from. The little kitsune Jin-Ha was kneeling on a stool, reading from a book filled with pictograms Kiorl didn’t understand, whilst Jahke followed along, writing furiously to keep up. Tobias stood on the other side of the counter, cooking as they talked, dicing some kind of long, green allium into tiny rounds.

A century ago I wouldn’t have known what an allium fucking was… Kiorl thought ruefully.

“What are you cooking?”

“Char siu,” Tobias replied without looking up. “And you are not stepping another paw in here until you’ve washed.”

“Hey Kiorl, successful trip?” Jahke treated him to a broad, attractive smile as he looked up from his notes. “Jin-Ha is teaching us new Asian recipes. I’m acting as scribe.”

“Four souls,” Kiorl replied proudly, “And I got you a present.”

“Ooh!”

Jahke’s reaction was nothing if not delightfully predictable, and the pale faun slipped from his perch and skipped across the kitchen to where Kiorl stood, his long panelled loin cloth doing everything to highlight his fantastic figure and perfect, milk-white skin. Jahke beamed up at him, and Kiorl wondered if the ability to keep his wide eyed innocence had been another of Nassau’s gifts along with the delicate horns and hooves.

“What is it?”

Kiorl brought the large book out from under his arm with a flourish, and remembered to swivel his ears back before Jahke’s overexcited cry of joy.

“An atlas!” Jahke was already turning the heavy pages of the book, fingers tracing the shapes of continents he knew, and ones he didn’t. “Oh Ki! It’s beautiful, thank you!” as the boy reached to take the weight of the book, Kiorl snapped it shut with a smirk. “Kiorl… Oh, I see...” Jahke swayed his hips, then pressed a finger to Kiorl’s bare chest. His fingertips came away red. “And what is it you want?”

“Well if Tobias isn’t going to let me eat until after I’ve washed...”

“And how am I supposed to get this recipe down without him?” Tobias snapped from the stove, a heavy rounded stone in one hand, the other pinching a variety of red spices out into a shallow basin.

Kiorl grunted something in reply, because that really wasn’t his problem, and he smiled as Jahke wove their fingers together, already heading for the stairs. He heard Jin-Ha placating their chef.

“We can write a full translation later, my friend. Now we must grind the fennel and the chillies….”

Jahke stuck his head in at the door to his own bedroom as Kiorl proceeded to the bathroom and began to unbuckle the belts which held his knife and the various pockets of his garment. He knew Jahke would be letting his mate know where he was, what he was doing, and with whom. Sometimes he wondered why he’d thought it was a bad idea for Sitka to recruit, but Kiorl seriously doubted the horned scavenger had any idea the treasure he had been bringing home in the boy. Then Jahke was with him, closing the door softly, already naked, trailing his fingers in the blood soaked fur of Kiorl’s chest.

“So you had fun Upstairs?”

Kiorl groaned against his lips as Jahke deftly unhitched his remaining belt and began to unwind his loin cloth.

“But not enough fun?” Jahke’s fingers pushed into the hard muscles of his abdomen. “You only have to ask Ki, you know I’ve always got time for you.”

It was testament to how well Jahke knew him, and understood what he liked, because he stepped back and used his bloodied fingers to draw delicate lines across his mouth, then his chest, then his thighs, anointing himself with the blood of Kiorl’s kills, just as Kiorl might have wanted to do. The deep red stood out darkly on his pale complexion, and Kiorl panted, his tail flicking in anticipation. Jahke stepped into the shower ahead of him, and Kiorl followed happily. The faun rubbed soft sand into his fur with his fingers, working over his muscles, and Kiorl let his head fall forwards, his usually fantastically styled hair hanging around his face, as the blood and grit of the world he’d visited washed away into the groove in the stone floor. He turned at Jahke’s unspoken suggestion and let the boy work over his back, hands smoothing down the short fur of his thighs, then his calves. Then Jahke wrapped a firm hand around the base of his tail, short fingernails digging in as he pulled along the length of solid muscle.

Kiorl purred.

From the state of the kitchen, there were a few hours until dinner, and Kiorl didn’t think Sitka would mind if he borrowed his mate. Kiorl moaned as Jahke began to stroke his cock. For all he cared right then, Sitka could happily join them.