The prince of Taurin was no stranger to the thrill of a good old fashioned blood sport. He took pride in the viscera projected across the arena walls when he found himself victorious against a particularly bloodthirsty demon. Ecstatic even, when he held the decapitated head of a ferocious beast on his broadside for all the kingdom to see. But this one was different.
To start, the body. This was not a well-fed, battle ready brute who had trained his whole life to defend his species in the deep courts of Taurin. In fact, he seemed rather sickly. His muscles were developed in a manner suited to the beast he was, but there was a weakness to them in the way his shoulders shook that reminded the prince of hunger or overexertion. The monster's eyes refused to look at him, but the fearful body language was enough to inform him of the knowledge of his presence. His hair was strange as well. Clean, tousled in an effortless black cascade that fell beyond his shoulders, eerily beautiful in comparison to the rough features of his monstrous face.
The other difference of note was that the two were not meeting in a bloodied arena deep in the heart of the city, but instead at the border between Taurin and the lost kingdom of Sanctuary, where the Willowblight forest sinks its poisonous teeth into the edge of the city. From what the prince had studied of the forest, monsters of this caliber did not populate the outer lands but proudly hailed from the innermost dungeons of the Badlands. Out there, these monsters were characterized by their golden hair, protruding jugulars, lust for blood, deep red complexions, and outrageously burly builds. Some of these features were consistent with the current specimen, but there were some notable discrepancies. For starters, the hue of its skin was distinctly blue, striped with a dazzling obsidian pattern that was unquestionably rare. Rarer still was the countenance, timid and guarded rather than boisterous and sunny. No creature like this had ever been mentioned in the prince's studies; and monster hunting was a subject in which he took a particular interest.
The prince lowered his arrow as the timid beast's silver eyes flashed in the light of the moon. "What…are you?" he spoke softly, desperate for the creature to allow him more time to study it.
There was no verbal response, only the rapid sound of retreat and the ceaselessly bickering crickets of the night. That was all the creature was willing to give him, and it was enough to fascinate the prince to the brink of obsession.
His fascination with this being bled into his daily life. He crafted excuse after excuse each day for the palace scholars to let him into the forbidden section of the royal library. His largest argument was that his status as third in line to the throne entitled him to all the secret knowledge of the lands, but the law entitles that knowledge only to the king, as the scholars were quick to remind him.
Prince Leiloth of Taurin was not one to take no for an answer. The man craved trouble almost as much as he craved knowledge, the latter of which being the more dangerous habit in the eyes of the Taurinian people. Violence and showmanship was the bread and butter of high society throughout the kingdom. Knowledge and craftsmanship were for a lesser caliber of people meant to serve and worship the strong. Therefore the prince would always categorize his fascination with books and history as a preparation for action rather than the opposite of it. He knew others judged him for his habits, but he believed there was still a library in the palace for a reason. A good strategy was always necessary for a proper victory, after all.
Naturally slender with a lean muscular build, Prince Leiloth had been constantly looked down upon in his youth as a weaker, genetically inferior blight on the Onyx family name. He was often likened to small, weak animals amongst his peers; his favorite among them being the rat. Being compared to such a poisonous, unassuming creature delighted Prince Leiloth in its treacherous implication. He became a constant troublemaker due to this denomination, choosing to sneak or betray rather than brute his way to the top. He left that challenge to his buffoonish older brothers, bludgeoning and guffawing their way to many a bloody victory. This wasn't to say that Leiloth did not relish in bloody victories of his own. There was a simplicity to brutality that he did enjoy, perhaps because it was simply in his blood, but he preferred to put on a show. Novelty was something that he found his home was particularly lacking, so he took it upon himself to entertain and horrify his unwitting audience.
Due to his untoward nature, Prince Leiloth did have quite a few devoted fans and followers who chanted his name in the arena and ruthlessly defended him to those who would oppose his mischievous ways. He would never say he disliked the attention, in fact quite the opposite, but anything that made him feel as simplistic as the rest of his family made him sick with himself.
The prince's latest troublesome venture had been his ill-advised forays into the Willowblight forest. Denizens of Taurin knew all too well the dangers of this woodland labyrinth, the myth of the lost kingdom of Sanctuary, the unnatural beasts that dwelled in the darkness, and the haunted lost souls of the millions who perished in Sanctuary's fall. Fear, however, was something unknown to the Onyx family. It was for this reason that Leiloth's father's hesitancy to explore these haunted woods fascinated him. The rat would take it upon himself to undermine the king's wishes and discover the true mystery of these dark woods. That was Leiloth's purpose as a member of the royal Onyx family, or so he thought.
His first few attempts to breach the forest's edge by himself ended in unmitigated failure. Finding an escape route out of the kingdom was child's play for this practiced rogue, but entry into the unknown of the forest was a different matter altogether. The first issue Leiloth encountered was the spiritual barrier surrounding the border between the two kingdoms. It was thick and cold, so present that it was almost physical. Simply extending a pointer finger into the mist was enough to send a shock of electric pain throughout the prince's entire body. Pain was something Leiloth was used to, but the spiritual nature of the thing, leaving no mark or trace, was humiliating to his ego. His second attempt involved simply punching his fist through the barrier, but this only resulted in an icy pain so life draining that he immediately lost consciousness and collapsed on the safe side of the spiritual wall. Hours later, he awoke to the sunrise and cursed his own foolishness. A physical solution was the obvious choice, a shortcoming of his ancestry was to assume it was the correct one. Magic would have to be employed here.
Magic in the Kingdom of Taurin was almost as forbidden as laziness. Finding a teacher of this forbidden craft inside Taurin's walls was near impossible, even for royalty. Luck favored the young prince one day, however, when one of his opponents in the ring let slip a piece of alchemical enhancement recognizable in the force of his punch. It was subtle, only visible to someone who had read forbidden books on alchemy and magical concoctions. Unfortunately for the Badland orc in question, Prince Leiloth was one of these rare people.
Unwilling to reveal his knowledge of this arcane slight, the prince continued his assault on the orc undeterred until his victory was imminent. As he sliced the beast's jugular, he made careful arcs with his blade to just barely avoid the carotid, leaving his opponent gasping for breath but not quite dead. The audience accepted this readily as defeat by death, and when the "body" was brought behind the scenes, Leiloth simply ordered the servants to deposit it in his care to do with as he pleased.
Using his delinquent knowledge of anatomy and medical science, the prince was able to revive the creature to a weakened state, but one from which he would recover over time. Taking advantage of this weakness, Leiloth used the few magical tomes he had access to to study the alchemical markings just barely visible underneath the creature's crimson skin. During his tampering with these runes, the beastly illusion was shattered somehow, revealing the face and body not of a Badland orc but instead of a meek and scrawny human man. His tangled golden brown hair fell over his anguished expression, attempting still to hide a surprisingly handsome face. Leiloth had never seen a face this soft that still struck him as masculine before. He had also never seen a man with so little muscular stature, even less than himself. Just to be sure, he lifted the hem of the man's pants in order to confirm…
"What are you doing?" A gentle voice, groggy from slumber, startled the prince.
"Killing you!" Leiloth pounced in an embarrassed defense, interlocking his hands around the slimmer man's neck.
"Wait–," the man's words were caught in his throat by the prince, whose wrists were now being squeezed by his current victim in an attempt to incite mercy.
"You have deceived the prince of Taurin! Prepare to die!" Perhaps the prince was being a bit overdramatic due to his embarrassment, but something about the way the slimmer man drooled in suffocation made him loathe to stop.
"Please–" The man begged between stilted breaths. Realizing suddenly that he was very quickly snuffing out his only chance at arcane knowledge, Leiloth released his prisoner and allowed him to cough violently onto his pillow.
"Only because you're so pathetic," Leiloth sighed, feigning excuses often used by those with an easily wounded pride. "Why have you deceived me with foreign magic? You do realize the punishment for this crime is death, correct?"
"I am nearly there," the man gagged as some blood stirred from his throat onto the silk pillowcase. "I was not intending to deceive you," he continued as he recovered his breath, "only survive."
"Committing a crime punishable by death does not seem like a sound method for survival," the prince scoffed. "Are you slow or something?"
The mage took a moment to recover his breath, gasping for air and stealing glances at the indignant prince's smirk. "Too slow to kill you, it seems."
"Oh? So that was your plan?" The prince sneered. "Bad plan."
"Clearly," the mage coughed. "A better question would be how you discovered my secret?"
"I'll be asking the questions," Leiloth wrapped his hand once again around the man's throat as a reminder of his situation. He tried to ignore the thrill coursing through him at the sight of such a helpless, sharp-tongued villain squirming beneath him. "Who are you?"
"My name is Vitar…" the mage said breathlessly. "I can tell you more if…you release my throat."
"Then stop saying things that make me want to grab it," Leiloth sneered and relinquished his grip. "Tell me."
"I cannot…speak too freely," the man spoke calmly between rasping breaths. "Magic binds me to secrecy. But I can tell you that I did not intend to end up in your arena, Your Highness."
"Disguised as a Badland orc? They live for the blood of our arena, you fool," the prince laughed, unbelieving. "Disguising yourself as one within the kingdom's borders is essentially a death wish."
"Not when you end up enslaved by them," Vitar retorted. "Then it becomes your only option."
"Enslaved? By those buffoons? Only an imbecile would be stupid enough…" the prince trailed off as Vitar's embarrassment became apparent to him. His pathetic face almost made Leiloth feel bad for taunting him, but he truly did deserve it, the idiot.
"That is only because you cannot imagine what it is like to be weak," Vitar spat, accidentally splattering blood on the prince's handsome face. To his horror, Vitar watched as the prince of Taurin wiped the blood from his cheek, smearing it further still. Leiloth examined the blood on his thumb, then locked eyes with his assailant.
"You're right," he spoke, his voice a growl. "I cannot."
Leiloth brought his blood smeared hand to the mage's delicate face, tracing along his cheekbone and leaving a trail of crimson in his wake. The man really was weak, as if he would break with one more aggravated touch. His fragility fascinated the prince, he'd never seen anyone like this before. He wondered how it would feel to break him from the inside out…
Before he could stop himself, Leiloth brought his open mouth breathlessly to the mage's lips, pressing their faces together harshly as he cradled Vitar's delicate cheek in his bloodied hand.
Vitar gasped into the prince's open mouth, fearful of the danger he was in but unable to stifle his curiosity. The prince's hands wandered across his tattered clothing, gripping the mage's waist so tightly that a bruise was inevitable. Vitar let out a stifled grimace of pain, causing Leiloth to suddenly withdraw the strength of his initial grip.
"Fuck…" Leiloth murmured amorously into Vitar's hot, bloodied breath. "You're so fragile…"
The kissing continued for a while after that, Vitar too petrified to struggle and the prince too turned on to stop. Leiloth tested his prisoner's limits with his touch, gripping anywhere he could reach until he heard a whimper of protest, then starting over again. He had never been skilled at being gentle, it was not in his nature nor the nature of any Taurinian native. He greatly desired to sink his teeth into this usurper's flesh, drink his inferior blood and fuck him to death. He was furious with himself for not doing just that. Instead, he found himself retreating at the first sign of the mage's whimpering, opting instead to test his own restraint of which he had very, very little. It was absolutely intoxicating.
"Your…Highness…" Vitar whimpered through heavy breaths. It was likely an attempt to ground the prince back in reality, but hearing his title so desperately invoked only served to entice him even more.
"Shut up," Leiloth wrapped a hand around the mage's neck yet again and shifted himself onto the bed so that he was straddling his prey. He leaned down and hovered his lips against the nape of Vitar's neck, rubbing the tip of his nose against him in desire. "You are going to teach me all you know of the arcane."
With this, Prince Leiloth sunk his teeth into the mage's neck, soliciting a cry of pain from his victim. The sound made his cock quiver against the restraint of his cumbersome clothing.
"I can't!" Vitar cried between bites. "I am magically bound to secrecy…"
"You will find a way," the prince spoke stoically, tearing himself away from the mage and ripping open his thin shirt to reveal Vitar's petite, inviting torso. His chest was as soft as his face had been, with no signs of scar tissue or battle wounds. He was untouched, a perfect canvas for Leiloth's deranged artistic mind.
"Please, Your Highness…" Vitar gasped as the prince began to run his calloused fingers across the mage's bare skin, fantasizing about the endless possibilities. "I can't take much more…"
As Vitar spoke those innately sexy yet disappointing words, Leiloth began to notice that his eyes had become bleary and bloodshot, the blood around his mouth continued to spill, and his ribs jutted through his torso to communicate near starvation. If the prince fucked him senseless now, it really would kill him.
"Ah, fuck," Leiloth cursed and detached himself from his conquest. "Get some rest. I'll be back with a doctor."
…
Prince Leiloth did not have to hide his actions from the palace staff anymore since he was now treating a human and not a monster. He could simply tell the staff that he had found some peasant for an evening fuck that he wanted to keep secret from his brothers' scrutiny, and he had been a little too harsh with him in bed. Even the idea of a prince of Taurin's wrath over a secret divulged was enough to make any maid or servant wet their pants and beg for their lives. Not to mention they had all seen firsthand the violent aftermath of the royal family's carnal affairs. This was nothing out of the ordinary.
Early the next morning, the prince decided to check on his ward. It was curiosity that compelled him but also a distinct, uncomfortable sense of dread. The man was directly tied to the prince's secret affairs, privy to forbidden knowledge that could get them both killed if brought to light. The prince sat at the foot of the bed for what might have been hours, studying his subject's sleeping form and wondering where the evil darkness of his arcane background was hidden on his serene, angelic face. There was not a trace of evil in the gentle curves of his round cheeks, nor the soft vibrancy of his disheveled hair. It was absolutely infuriating.
"Mn…" Leiloth's subject vocalized gently as he stirred from his slumber. The prince tried fruitlessly to busy himself with something unimportant to deceive Vitar from realizing his purpose here. He could only look out the window and nod to the passing birds, as if wishing them a good morning. He looked extremely stupid.
"Your…Highness…?" Cooed the mage, rubbing the sleep from his olive eyes and stifling a yawn. "I…I'm still alive?"
The prince scoffed. "Of course you are, I need your knowledge. Don't think too much of it," he said without deigning to look at the man, fearful of some sort of psychic power of his digging too deep into his intentions.
"My knowledge? Of magic?" Vitar pondered, the sunlight reflecting off of his golden-brown hair as if he were a radiant star. "What are you planning to do with it?"
The audacity of this question raised a wall of fire in the prince's chest. "As if you were of high enough rank to be privy to that information, prisoner!" He grit his teeth to keep from yelling this outburst as he surged forth on top of his target, pinning the prisoner's hands to the sides of his head.
"Apologies!" Vitar cried out, opening his palms in surrender. "I'm awake now! My grogginess must have altered my judgement."
"Damn straight it did," Leiloth huffed, diffusing. "You will do as I tell you if you want to live, peasant."
"Yes, Your Highness," Vitar agreed, no longer stuttering. There was a deafening silence that followed this exchange. All that could be heard were the stupid birds chirping outside the window as if to say good morning back to the furious prince.
"So…Vitar, is it…" The prince attempted to end the suffocating silence, but his conversation skills were seeing to it that he just transferred his suffering to a different medium. "You're a mage?"
"Yes," Vitar couldn't hold back his enjoyment of the prince's sudden bashfulness but bit his lip before it could form a sneering smile. "Alchemist, really. I specialize in transmutation."
The prince looked at the mage as if he were speaking a different language. "You can turn stone to gold?"
"Well, no," Vitar stifled another smile, "but you're on the right track."
"Don't be coy with me, prisoner," the prince growled. "I decide whether you live or die."
"So you keep insisting…" Vitar spoke thoughtfully, having deduced something about the prince's situation. "But you decided that I must live in order to teach you, haven't you?"
The silence that followed this bold truth was deafening. All the prince could think to do was strangle the mage to death just to spite him, but he was right. Leiloth let out a deep sigh to quell his burning rage, curling his fists into themselves until they were fire red.
"If I may be so bold," he may not, the prince thought, "why are you so interested in these forbidden arts?" The mage asked.
"Why do you know them?" The prince shot back, sapphire eyes piercing into the other man's timid gaze.
"Touche," Vitar smiled radiantly, no longer holding himself back. The prince swallowed hard and broke eye contact against his will. "Where I'm from it is common knowledge."
Leiloth's gaze returned to Vitar's, but this time it was raw curiosity. "You're an Outlander! Which region of Arcana are you from?" The prince could not contain his excitement. Meeting someone outside the border of the god of Strength's domain was unheard of by his people. He had only heard myths and seen missives from the other lands on the King's desk, bound in scarlet ribbon and seal. When they were delivered, the princes were always ushered out of the King's chamber in haste, told to speak of this to no one.
Leiloth's mind ran wild. Could it have been the lost island of Megistus, where magic was said to be so dense and dangerous that it polluted the air and poisoned the mind? Or maybe the mage learned his craft in a more organized institution such as the legendary Philosopher's Academy, where it was said students and instructors alike experienced the raw euphoria of untamed mana?
"I am forbidden to say," was all the mage said. The murderous rage in Leiloth threatened to consume his better mind.
"I dare you to say that again," he said, his words but a hiss between his gnashing teeth.
"I mean I am magically restricted," Vitar confessed. "I would tell you if I could!"
"Try me!" The prince barked, used to that method of interrogation's effectiveness due to his intimidating nature and royal status. It only served to frustrate the mage, whose expression was earnest and exhausted.
"I am from–" the sound that was omitted from the mage's mouth as he spoke the name of his home was unfathomable to the naked ear. The prince tried to make sense of it, but it felt as if it wasn't a sound at all. Rather he was suddenly unable to hear entirely, his sense of hearing suddenly replaced with rasping and buzzing noises that were so uncomfortable and sharp they introduced him to a new experience of pain.
"Stop!" The prince yelled, his voice almost drowned out in the mage's sensory sacrilege. "I understand!"
"I'm sorry," Vitar spoke softly, holding his own ears. "It's rather painful, so I never like showing people."
"I see…" said the prince, confounded. "So, this is your magic."
"My curse, really," said the mage. "I'm sorry it's not helpful."
"No matter," the prince continued, never one to give up easily. "Tell me your story from where you can then. Start as far back as your curse will allow you."
An unyielding sense of dread welled up in the mage's chest when the prince commanded this. Recounting his past was not going to be easy, and the sound of his curse would likely be peppered throughout. There was something about the way that the prince was looking at him, however, that diminished this feeling, replacing it instead with a confident serenity he hadn't known since his innocent apprentice days.
"Alright," he said softly, losing himself a bit in the prince's handsome, determined gaze. "I'll start with my escape."