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Chapter Text

Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Aquor, a young prince lived in a beautiful castle. Although he was the best swordsman in the land and had everything his heart desired, the prince was power-hungry, selfish, and cruel. After the king's untimely death, and ever obsessed with power, the young prince had his own mother killed in order to claim the throne for himself.

But then, on the night of his coronation, a fierce dragon attacked the castle. The prince fought valiantly and defeated the beast with ease. However, before he could deal the killing blow, a powerful dragoness appeared and begged him to spare her son's life. She offered him all her treasures: gold and jewels beyond his wildest dreams in exchange for his mercy. Repulsed by the creature's pleas, but tempted by the legendary treasure, the prince accepted the dragoness' offer, only to trick her and killed her son as soon as the deal was made.

Enraged and grief-stricken, the dragoness unleashed her magic to exact revenge. Overwhelmed and outmatched, the prince begged for forgiveness, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no honor and love in his heart. As punishment, she transformed him into a hideous dragon, and placed a powerful curse on the castle and all who lived there. With it and its inhabitants trapped and hidden away from the world, the dragoness took away their freedom, and doomed the young prince to walk the land as a dragon by day and a man after sunset.

With no means of setting foot onto the outside world again, the dragon concealed himself within his castle. His only hope lay within a single prayer that someone would find him by his twenty-fourth year. If he could learn to love someone pure of heart, and earn their love in return by sunrise on his twenty-fourth birthday, then the curse would be lifted. If not, he would be doomed to remain a dragon for all eternity.

During his absence, Aquor grew and flourished under the rule of its new prince, Luther Lansfeld, only son and youngest child of the duke. Revered and beloved by the people, the prince was steadfast in his duties and attentive to his subjects' needs. He was dedicated in keeping the dragon threat of his lands under control, and the kingdom never felt safer under his rule. Over time, the people forgot about their previous prince, presuming he had perished under the hands of the very beast that cursed him. The castle was never found, and the once proud prince's legacy faded like a dream.

As the years passed, the dragon's humanity began to decay, and he fell into despair and resentment. Forgotten and cast into the shadows, he lost all hope, for who could ever have a heart so pure, much less learn to love one that was so greatly feared and hunted by mankind?

Chapter Text

"John, stop pulling Nina's hair! Nicholas, get down from there – you're not a bird; you can't fly!"

The Peterny Orphanage, like every morning, came to life with the squeals of laughter from young children, usually accompanied by the shrill nagging of its young and beautiful owner. Sophia Esteed closed her eyes and mentally counted to ten, only to give up at three when she heard something crash in the background. As the little misfits – or demons as she preferred to call them – scampered under the bed to escape her wrath, she blew out a breath of frustration so great, it could have given the big bad wolf a run for his money. She swore she'd die faster the longer she continued to work here.

Just then, some kids tackled her to the ground in the middle of their game of tag. Indoors. With furniture everywhere. And many breakable objects. Sophia felt a vein in her head explode.

That's it.

She grabbed the nearest blanket and chased the screaming children around the house. However, before she could tackle or bundle any of the little monsters, a series of knocks resounded from the front door. Immediately, the giggles died down as each child scrambled to make themselves presentable, wanting to be in their best behavior in front of visitors and most importantly, potential parents. But they missed the suspicious frown on Sophia's face.

'That's odd… it's much too early and there aren't any appointments today,' she thought to herself as she untied the apron from around her waist.

After gently shooing the children into their bedrooms, she padded down the hallway and opened the door tentatively. Although the sun was out and she could hear the waters of the town's fountain in the distance, most shops weren't open yet and she couldn't help but wonder where all the people were.

"Can I help you?" she started politely, only to visibly relax upon the familiar sight of blue hair and emerald eyes.

The handsome young knight was donned in his customary armor, his trusty long-sword strapped behind his back. He had his helmet off, a habit that began when he first achieved knighthood despite her nagging that he was just asking to get killed. "It's way too hot" the guy would complain, and she would always counter that with an unglamorous "urgh". Though she knew how exceptional he was in combat (he didn't pick up the title of 'King's Knight' from a trash bin after all), that didn't stop her from worrying about his recklessness. If she didn't worry about him, who would?

Normally, the sight of her best and childhood friend filled her heart with warmth, but for Fayt to come looking for her this early in the morning, things couldn't be good. As a matter of fact, the guy had been doing this a lot lately… and she could wager an intelligent guess.

"Good morning, Sophia." He eyed the brunette, taking in her disheveled appearance with an awkward smile. "You look… nice."

Sophia rolled her eyes.

"Fayt Leingod, cut the formalities. We both know why you're here." She folded her arms and tapped her foot sternly. "What happened this time? Rabid chickens? Exploding pipes? Did another house collapse? Please tell me he didn't set fire to someone's hair again."

With a sigh, Fayt dropped the act completely. Who was he kidding? Only a complete idiot wouldn't know why he was here, and Sophia was by no means one of them.

"Close. He set fire to the market place."

Ah, so that's why the streets were so quiet.

Fayt stepped aside to reveal a little humanoid child, who had spent the past few minutes hiding behind his legs. The boy was dressed in a simple and slightly rumpled white shirt with the collar undone, an old grey knitted vest, and deep blue overalls that ended at mid-thigh. His white socks ended below his knees, and he had on a pair of modest brown school shoes. A big poofy tail swished behind him and his floppy ears were pressed against his head in shame. The Menodix had short, unruly brown hair, a pair of glasses over his eyes, and only reached the height of Fayt's hips. He had his gaze stubbornly glued to the ground, refusing to meet Sophia's disapproving stare. His cheeks were covered in grime with soot littered all over his hair.

"I was just testin' out my latest invention! S'not my fault those jerks stole it and threatened ta break it," the humanoid pouted, tail swishing in agitation. "I kept tellin' 'em my self-lit torch was only a prototype…"

"So, you weren't the one who set fire to the market place?"

"I… uh… didn't say that… we fought and my hand kinda slipped… Point is they started it!"

Sophia's death glare melted away as she let out a soft sigh. What was the use? She couldn't stay mad at the boy for long. For one thing, he was too cute; the second thing, he was only a kid, and both her and Fayt knew how hard the humanoid had it in this town or anywhere in the kingdom for that matter. Stories of the child being bullied weren't uncommon. It wasn't simply because of his personality and crazy inventions that got him ostracized and labeled as a menace by the townsfolk. It was also his race.

Humanoids were of a lower caste and generally tolerable as far as their ability to serve. In fact, the only reason the Menodix hadn't gotten hauled off by slave-traders was because of Fayt's protection, what with him being the king's knight and all. That, and with his experience with Aquor law, him and Sophia had worked out a way to use the orphanage's system to their advantage.

"Roger, this is the fourth time this week," she lectured patiently. "You can't depend on Fayt to save your skin every time you get into some sort of trouble. And you know how busy I am with the children…"

When Roger bowed his head sadly, Fayt simply offered him a sympathetic smile. He knelt down to the boy's level and patted him on the head much to the latter's chagrin.

"It's ok, Sophia. I'm just glad I came in time. The townsfolk looked three seconds close to beating him silly." He straightened up and faced his friend. "Well, I got to go; I'm needed at the palace. Keep an eye on the little scamp for me, will you?"

"Hey, I'm a real man! I can take care of myself."

She chuckled, shooting Fayt a wry smile. "Do I have a choice?"

After they waved the young knight goodbye, Sophia shut the door and nudged the Menodix towards the bathroom, grabbing a towel along the way. The other children poked their heads out their bedrooms, following the humanoid with wide, apprehensive eyes. Roger avoided their stares by glaring at his feet. He wasn't naïve; he knew how the other human children felt about him. Although they didn't harbor the same sort of prejudice against humanoids like the rest of the kingdom, they still disliked him as much as everyone else (except Fayt and Sophia that is). He was weird; crazy; a freak – just to name a few.

It all started with his first invention, which left the entire orphanage and its residents the color of blueberries for a week. And things quickly snowballed from there. As every invention resulted in complete failure, and something or other got destroyed in the process, the kids grew resentful and began to sabotage his experiments. It came to a point when Roger couldn't even tell if he had overlooked something, or someone had intentionally screwed up his hard work overnight. Eventually, he resolved to take his inventing outside, but that brought with it a whole new set of problems.

It didn't take long for all of Peterny to brand him the town's nutcase.

"Don't mind them, Roger, let's get you cleaned up," said Sophia kindly as they ascended the stairs to the second floor.

Roger trailed behind her, feeling a little bad that he was leaving black footprints all over the nice clean floor. He knew how hard Sophia worked to keep this place in order, and his past inventions probably didn't help make her life any easier. Nevertheless, the girl remained remarkably kind to him, even helped clean up after his many messes. He made a hat for her once, but when it started attacking everyone who came up to her and said 'hi', she felt it best to use it as firewood.

They stopped in front of the bathroom and she pushed open the door.

"Go on. We can't have couples come in and see you covered in soot – "

"Sophia, what's the point?" He threw the towel onto the ground resentfully. "No one's ever gonna adopt a humanoid!" Angry tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "No one's ever gonna adopt me…"

Memories flashed through his mind momentarily. Happy ones. Clear blue, sunny skies. The peaceful sounds of the rushing river that ran through his village. The warm hugs and kisses from his mother. The noogies from his pops. The dares that he and his friends got into. The laughter they shared. All the love he felt…

Until a dragon attacked, and in a blink of an eye he lost everything – his parents, his friends, his home. Burned to dust. That was two years ago; he had been 10 years old then. But even until this day, when left alone to his thoughts and vulnerable to his inner demons, Roger couldn't help but wish that Fayt and his fellow knights hadn't saved him that one fateful summer's day. At least he would have died with his family, and he wouldn't have to feel so alone.

"Sophia, do ya think I'm… odd?" he ventured hesitantly. The girl gave him an inquisitive stare.

"Odd?" she repeated. "Where would you get an idea like that?"

Roger's face fell. He could have smacked himself.

"Really, Sophia?" he drawled, sarcastic. "Ya haven't noticed? The whole town only hates me and my stupid inventions."

"But they're not stupid," she defended. "Fayt and I think they're amazing."

"But all they ever do is fail… and then stuff ends badly. Usually in flames. And people screamin'."

Sophia shook her head. "Perfection isn't the reason we love them, Roger. When you make them, even when you're down, all you ever do is think of helping people. To make life easier for everyone. To make others happy."

She placed a hand upon his shoulder encouragingly.

"Your inventions are special because you make them special. And one day, someone is going to see that and fall madly in love with you."

Roger snorted, but even he couldn't hide the embarrassment and glee, which snuck across his face. Even his tail was wagging happily. Sophia giggled, only to stop and exclaim in surprise when she thought of something that could cheer the boy up.

"Hey, I know! How about you follow me to the town fair later? It's the prince's birthday today and I'm baking pastries. I could really use some help."

Roger's eyes lit up like stars. Someone actually wanted his help? And a fair? He loved fairs! There were food and games and performances and everything. Also, he heard that the crown prince himself was coming down to partake in the festivities, which would explain why Fayt had to rush off so soon. Probably to make arrangements for the prince's escort.

"Ya mean… I get ta go with ya?" he clarified in disbelief. "I get ta meet Prince Luther?"

This was unheard of. He got a day out of the orphanage to celebrate the prince's birthday, not the other children. Him!

Now, Roger hadn't actually seen the prince before, but he heard stories of how incredibly friendly and kind he was; about a hundred times better than the previous prince who ruled Aquor in fact. After all, he was the very reason the kingdom hadn't seen any dragon attacks for the past two years. On top of that, Aquor was a huge country with three large cities, two prominent towns, and various villages scattered throughout the continent. For someone able to govern all that swimmingly, he figured the guy had to be someone special. Also, he wondered if the prince really was as smart as they said he was handsome. Maybe he could finally have someone to talk to, someone who could appreciate his genius.

Roger smiled to himself. He couldn't wait to meet him.

"If you promise to pull your load, sure."

"Promise! Gimme two seconds. I'll be done faster than ya can say 'Where the heck are my curlers?'"

Sophia giggled, but soon stopped to frown.

"Yeah, Roger… Where the heck are my curlers – "

"Oh would ya look at the time!"

He slammed the bathroom door in her face, and she shook her head with a fond smile.

Peterny's central plaza buzzed with activity, a complete 180 degrees turn from the morning's lackluster atmosphere. Flags, ribbons, and streamers flew in the wind, like numerous rainbows painted across the clear blue summer skies. The cobblestone streets were lined with colorful stalls bedecked with ornaments and nick-knacks of dazzling variety, as if each vendor was trying their best to outdo their neighbors in making their booths more presentable. Wonderful aromas wafted through the air; people went around with trays of bread, pastries, and drink to promote both their goods and culinary skills; a bell rung: someone won first prize at the dunk tank; jugglers and fire-breathers wowed the crowd with their tricks; and the band on stage charmed the town with their melodious tunes.

There was never a more thrilling day in Peterny, as every citizen poured their hearts into making this celebration one their beloved prince would never soon forget. They were all so distracted and caught up in the festivities, that none of the townsfolk seemed to mind the presence of one Roger S. Huxley…

"What's this one do? Heh. Maybe if we throw it into the fountain, it'll make for some swell fireworks."

…Well, not everyone it seemed.

"Hey! Give it back, ya morons! Ya goofballs don't know what you're dealin' with!"

"Oooh… check it out, boys. The rat talks!" One of the kids sneered and pointed down at him. "Looks like he actually got one of his inventions to work – ARGH!"

Roger bit down hard on the bully's hand and grabbed the device, scurrying away. He was so caught up in escaping his pursuers that he failed to realize he had ended up in the middle of the road.

"Woah, boy!"

And then everything happened in a blur of noise and color. A snow-white stallion neighed and jerked violently on the spot. Knights scrambled to get the animal under control. There was a scuffle. The rider barked orders at his horse. Someone screamed. Roger's arms flew over his head as he shut his eyes tight, waiting for his end…

"Easy, boy! Easy!"

A final tug at the reigns. The horse calmed down and after making sure its rider was unharmed, Fayt whirled around to glare resentfully at the careless troublemaker.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!? I should have you arrested for endangering his highness… Roger?" The Menodix blinked up at him innocently. Fayt's eyes widened in horror.

Oh crap.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Roger peered up hesitantly at the owner of the new voice, only to feel his jaw fall open in a mixture of awe and dread. Brilliant azure eyes fixed him with a curious frown; the man's shimmering blonde hair like threads of pure gold. He had high cheekbones, a finely chiseled face, and beautiful, unblemished fair skin. Draped in long robes of pure white and a deep blue cape, the royal garments flowed from his person and ended at his ankles. White silk gloves covered his hands, which gripped the reigns of his horse tightly. Despite the low tones of his voice that indicated maturity, the man had a charming, boyish appearance, and seemed to radiate an almost ethereal glow.

'He's like an angel,' Roger marveled to himself.

It was only when the 'angel' chuckled at him did he realize he was openly staring.

"Prince Luther, you have to excuse him. H-He's just a child. It was an accident – "

As Fayt struggled to appease his elder, Roger felt his mind go blank. Prince… Luther…? Then someone turned on the light bulb in his head. He almost hurt the crown prince on his birthday!?

'Great goin', Roger. Now ya done it.'

He braced himself for the onslaught, and possibly the royal guards dragging him off to the palace dungeons. He didn't need eyes to see that the crowd was glaring daggers at him from all angles. Distantly, he could hear Sophia call out to him, but he was too terrified to move.

"… didn't mean it, and – "

Luther raised his hand to stop the knight in mid-sentence.

"Leingod, please, slow down. I'm afraid you're not making any sense." He chanced a glance at the humanoid boy, before returning his attention to Fayt. "Who is he anyway? And why is a humanoid running around on its own instead of attending to its master?"

The prince asked that question so bewilderedly, like a child who had just been told that babies did not come from stalks. Either way, there was no spite in Luther's tone, and though Roger had easily picked up his words with his sensitive ears, he couldn't bring himself to lash out at the prince. It wasn't the man's fault; he was brought up proper and that was how things were around here anyway.

"His name's Roger S. Huxley, your highness," Fayt explained. "He's the sole survivor of Surferio – the village that was attacked by a dragon two summers ago."

Luther's eyes shone in recognition.

"So, this is the young inventor I've heard so much about," he whispered, before lowering his gaze to offer Roger a benevolent smile. "How do you do, little one?"

The crowd did a double take and began whispering amongst themselves. Many girls swooned. Was prince Luther actually being kind to the troublemaker? Even Fayt's mouth had fallen open so wide, one could jam a fist into it. Roger stuttered nervously, but even he couldn't quite stop his tail from swishing happily.

The prince was looking at him.

"F-Fine, yer highness… H-Happy birthday, by the way!" He added quickly as an afterthought, only to mentally smack himself for his forwardness. Thankfully, Luther didn't seem to mind.

"Thank you, Roger," he replied just as kindly, startling all those present when he got off his horse to approach the Menodix. What could he say? There was just something fascinating about the boy. He eyed the strange device clutched in Roger's hands curiously.

"Is that what all this fuss is about? One of your inventions?" When Roger looked too terrified to speak, the prince decided to use a different approach. "What does it do, if you don't mind me asking?"

Roger's ears perked up. Did the prince call him by his first name? Was he actually interested in his invention? Why wasn't he afraid like everyone else? Would today's wonders ever cease?

"I-I'll show ya! That is, if ya don't mind followin' me."

"Not at all." Luther turned to Fayt and handed him the reigns. "Tell your men to hang back. Your company is more than sufficient."

"Yes, your highness."

Then, Luther extended his arm gracefully like any member of the royal family would, and it took a while for Roger to realize that he was supposed to take it. So, he jumped up, grabbed it, and dragged the startled prince towards Sophia's booth. After addressing the crown prince respectfully, she turned anxious eyes to the Menodix.

"Roger, I don't think you should – "

"Oh, relax, Sophia," he waved her off confidently. "This one's sure ta work!"

"That's what you said the last time. And the time before that. And the time before that…"

But Roger was too busy setting up the contraption to hear a word she was saying. Sophia looked at Fayt pleadingly and he leaned down to whisper into the humanoid's ear.

"Roger, you know I support you in whatever you do, but this is the prince!" he hissed urgently. "At least tell me you've tested it."

"Nope!"

"WHAT!?" Sophia and Fayt exclaimed in unison, but it was too late.

Roger wound up the miniature, jack-in-a-box-like contraption and a gloved hand sprang out, a knife gripped between its fingers. Then, like clockwork, it dragged itself towards the nearest pie on the counter and stabbed the knife straight down the center. Everyone watched with bated breath. Roger had his eyes shut tightly.

Please let it work, please let it work, please let it work.

And then, despite the frequent jerky movements, the device sliced a piece of pie and placed it on a plate. The hand gripped the edge of the plate and shakily offered the pastry to the awe-struck prince, who accepted it. Granted, the mechanics could use some work, but this was a breakthrough. Roger could have died from bliss right there and then.

"Yahoo! It works! It really works!" He jumped up on the counter and struck a dramatic pose. "Next stop: the world."

As soon as those words left his lips, he was immediately tackled by Fayt and Sophia, the two best friends smoldering him with hugs and noogies. Roger welcomed their affection with open arms, laughing along with them. He couldn't believe it: one of his inventions actually pulled through! Nothing exploded!

Luther continued to sample the pie, a thoughtful expression on his face. Not the pie of course, but the humanoid's wondrous invention. Never in all his travels had he seen anything quite like it, not even in the three cities. No doubt the boy was extremely intelligent, and he was just a child. For a 12-year-old, he had tremendous potential – imagine if he reached his peak!

Every day without fail, Luther slept and awoke to thoughts of advancing his kingdom. He read widely, immersed himself in his studies, drafted policies and proposals to better Aquor's economy and financial standing. He looked at current system models and considered new alternatives; constantly pushed for trade; expanded territories; introduced and cultivated new practices… His sister, Blair, often chided him on being too obsessed with the kingdom and its people, and would make frequent comments on how he wasn't "getting any younger" and that he should consider "settling down". But if he were to be extremely honest with himself, he would rather give up his crown than choose a giggling pretty face. No – he believed in substance, particularly the intellectually stimulating kind.

Ever since he was a young boy, his love had always been books, so much so that he wasted his youth – or so his parents had complained – chasing pages of knowledge than girls' skirts. When his mother died and his ailing father had to step down, Luther suddenly found himself faced with the prospect of marriage. By no means was he past his prime (25 years was hardly what he would call old), but he refused to marry a simpleton, and vowed that his future partner would not only fulfill his physical desires, but intellectual appetite as well.

I have to know.

"Truly impressive, Roger. Though I have to ask: what is your take on Ikelos' Book of Prophecies?"

Ikelos' six-volume book series was renown as the most sophisticated and profound material of study throughout the land. Despite it's titling, the books expounded on theories of science, law, and philosophy. It was the most challenging collection of learning of all time, so much so that professors and scholars themselves struggled with its contents. Of course, it was no problem for him.

"Which one are ya referrin' ta? There's six of 'em," Roger replied with a curious frown. Why was prince Luther suddenly asking him about books? He thought they were here for his invention. Nevertheless, he granted the blonde his honest answer.

"Well, if ya ask me his theories are too cryptic and vague, not ta mention suspiciously convenient. I much prefer Professor Mackwell's critique on it, though he only published his paper based on the first volume. But fer an alchemist, he did bring up a few cool points like…"

And as Roger went on about something that utterly boggled all those present, Luther felt his heart race.

This boy.

"Your performance has floored me, Roger. I for one find it hard to believe you're the mischief-maker I've been hearing so much about." Luther placed his clean plate on the counter and dabbed the corners of his mouth with his handkerchief. "In fact, I would like to make a proposal."

"You're gonna patent my invention?" Roger asked hopefully, eyes shining. The prince chuckled.

"Not that kind of proposal, little one." He reached out and held Roger's small hands tenderly in his larger gloved ones. "This kind."

At Roger's obvious confusion, he took the direct approach.

"Roger S. Huxley, I want you as my consort."

The Menodix's eyes flew open. In the background, some girls fainted while many others burst into tears.

"But I… uh… y-yer highness… consort?" Roger blushed, stuttering uncontrollably. He couldn't have heard him right. There was no way the prince would ask a humanoid such as himself to –

"Yes," Luther clarified with a firm nod of his head. "You're different from these ignorant folk. You're absolutely brilliant, and I can think of no one I would rather have by my side."

Roger felt his face heat up. This was too sudden.

"Ya mean… t-ta rule…?"

"That's cute, little one, but let's not get ahead of ourselves," said Luther with a patronizing smile. "You will become my consort, not my queen. However, I assure you your position is above the rest of your kind who serve at my castle."

At the boy's hesitance, Luther pressed on, the same wide charming smile present on his features. He didn't blame the boy. It must be so overwhelming for him to be looked upon as more than – well, a humanoid.

"Think of it as a favor on my part," he suggested. "No one else would love or see you as more than a slave anyway. So, why not come with me?"

What?

On the counter, Roger's tail stopped wagging immediately. Luther pulled the boy's small form against him and reached down to caress his soft cheek, gaze piercing. Lust darkened those azure pools, his free hand running up and down Roger's side. The boy squirmed and he felt something within him ignite in excitement.

"Such innocence," Luther marveled, finger ghosting over soft, yet slightly chapped pink lips. Being in public however, made him resist the temptation to claim them. The boy was truly nice to look at, and he appeared much more attractive than most humanoids.

"Young enough to groom and pass off as a maid. I'll mold you into perfection; clothe you in jewels and riches beyond your wildest dreams. You'd wear beautiful garments, I'll fix your speech, and you'd make a most enjoyable and endearing little consort."

Roger snarled and pushed him away. He couldn't care less if Luther was a prince or not. Benevolent his ass; this guy was nothing more than a self-centered, arrogant prig! He had never felt more insulted in his life. At the end of the day, everyone was the same…

"Mold me!? Maid!? As if I'd wanna change fer ya! 'Consort' is just yer fancy way of sayin' slave."

"I don't recall slaves getting gold or jewelry," answered Luther flatly.

"No matter how ya dress up yer words, a golden cage is still a cage."

A tense silence fell upon the crowd as the crown prince and humanoid engaged in an intense stare-off. Distantly, Roger heard a few girls saying he was "crazy for rejecting the prince" and how "he wouldn't know class even if it smacked him in the face". As far as he was concerned, he'd rather get shipped off to the madhouse than go with a man like Luther.

It was Luther who finally looked away with a smirk. So, the boy had some fire in him. He liked that. It made the taming process a lot more gratifying.

He motioned Fayt over with his horse, and the knight helped him onto his loyal stead. Fayt chanced a nervous glance at Roger, who looked mad enough to claw the prince's eyes out. Silently, he prayed the Menodix wouldn't do anything foolish to make his position worse. It was a miracle in itself that the crown prince hadn't ordered for his death sentence, what with the way Roger ran his mouth like that. Though he too felt appalled and offended by Luther's words, the man was still his prince and certain lines should never be crossed. And he believed Roger had just about crossed all of them.

"I'm going to enjoy the rest of my birthday with my subjects." Luther smiled kindly at the crowd and a few girls squealed. Then, he shot a smirk over his shoulder at a fuming Roger. "You can rest assured that I will return to collect you later."

As Luther and his horse turned away, Roger continued to glare daggers at the cocky bastard's back. The nerve of that guy. He was not some prize to be won! He had rights to decide on his own future. Being a humanoid didn't make him less human.

"Oh, I'll give ya summin ta enjoy…" he whispered darkly, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips.

He leaped off Sophia's booth, ignored the questions said girl yelled after him, and chased after the prince. Then, when he was close enough, but went undetected by the blonde, he jumped up and gave the proud stallion a good, hard smack on its behind. The reaction was immediate: the horse reeled back on its hind legs, neighing and tossing its head this way and that in fright. And as a screaming Luther struggled to hold on, the horse took off like lightning as it charged through the plaza, messing up the decorations and throwing up booths.

"Leingod, stop this beast! LEINGOD!"

As soft snickers transpired through the crowd from the hilarious spectacle, Fayt couldn't stop the barest twitches of his own lips as they pulled upwards into a cheeky grin. Ah, what the heck. He'd give it a few seconds, then he'd rescue the prince.

Night fell upon the kingdom of Aquor and nestled within the town of Peterny, a little orphanage stood snugly between the bakery and bookshop, puffs of smoke rising from its chimney. The house was mostly dark save a soft glow from one of its windows. Roger sat on the lower mattress next to Sophia's bed, tinkering with yet another one of his creations. He held a screwdriver between his teeth while his hands busied themselves with an old wrench. Although Sophia had told him time and time again that no tools or contraptions were allowed in her bedroom, he figured he could sneak a few repairs in while she was away. After all, what she didn't know wouldn't kill her.

When he first arrived at the orphanage, he shared a room with the other children, but after the bullying escalated, Sophia had felt it best to transfer him out. There weren't any spare rooms in the house apart from the cupboard under the stairs (no way was she going to chuck the poor boy there), so she had Roger move in with her. The upside to this arrangement was that the Menodix proved wonderful company; the downside was that she often found her stuff missing, like her hair curlers for example. No doubt the boy 'borrowed' them for his inventions.

Suddenly, someone rapped softly on the door. Roger spit out the screwdriver and hurriedly hid his latest 'miniature cannon' under his pillow.

"Come in!"

The door creaked open and Fayt stepped into the room. The warm light from the candle cast a soft glow on his face, making his smile appear gentler and his beautiful emerald eyes more vibrant. He didn't have his sword or armor on him and was instead, clothed in a modest white tunic and blue pants. Apparently, he had just arrived from Lansfeld Castle.

"Fayt? Watcha doin' here so late?"

Roger crawled across the mattress to where he stood, inclining his head to stare up at the young knight with big, curious eyes. Sure, Fayt visited him often – he was practically like his guardian/bodyguard – but never at night. Peterny and Lansfeld Castle wasn't a stone's throw away from each other after all.

"I came to check on you, see how you're doing," he replied, settling down next to the humanoid. Instinctively, he reached out to scratch behind Roger's ears. When the boy keened happily and leaned into his touch, Fayt's heart melted.

"I'm sorry I couldn't defend you earlier. I didn't like what his highness said as much as you, but he's the prince." He withdrew his hand with a sigh. "That sounds pretty cowardly doesn't it?"

Roger quickly pulled that hand back and held it tightly in his own, shaking his head desperately.

"Nah, you're not a coward, Fayt. And I understand yer position, so don't worry 'bout it."

"Well, you threw quite a commotion today, and on his majesty's birthday no less," Fayt commented with a chuckle, recalling how the servants had spent hours bathing the prince and trying to get all the weird stuff out of his hair. Simply put, Luther had been utterly humiliated, and had spent a good portion of the evening pacing and whining about it in front of him over and over. Fortunately for Fayt, he could maintain a pretty good poker face.

"But in all seriousness, Roger, it's best not to go against his highness' wishes."

"And become that jerk's consort!? What 'bout my wishes? I didn't ask ta be born a humanoid! I didn't ask ta be the town's freak!"

Roger's outburst shocked Fayt into silence. Angry tears gathered in his eyes but he willed them not to fall. Instead, he looked down to fiddle with the sheets. Luther's words from this afternoon continued to haunt him. If even the prince thought the same way as everyone else, then perhaps…

"Maybe Luther's right, Fayt. Maybe if I changed, everythin' would be better…"

His words made Fayt even more upset than Luther's did.

"Don't talk like that! That bastard has no right to fix you. You're not a machine!"

When frightened amber met his gaze, he mentally took a step back. There was no need for two emotional people in the room. So, after calming down, he tried again.

"True, you may be odd, and I haven't met anyone crazier than you, but…" In spite of everything, he found himself smiling. "I wouldn't have it any other way. You're not like everyone else, Roger. They're the common folk. You however, are unique."

"Ya really believe that, Fayt?"

"I've never been more sure about anything."

He pulled the Menodix onto his lap and into a warm embrace. To his surprise and relief, Roger hugged him back, perhaps tighter than before. He cradled he boy's head against his chest and stroked his hair.

"Roger, no matter what others say, I'm proud of you. You're stronger than everyone else because you dare to dream. Remember two years ago when I rescued you? What was it you told me again?"

"That… I was gonna be a famous inventor some day," he mumbled against Fayt's chest, a tiny smile tugging at his lips from the memory. "That my inventions would help people and make them happy."

"That's right, and despite all the pain you've been through, I'm glad you remained exactly as you are. If you stick to your guns and keep that chin up, I'm sure a better life would await you beyond these gates."

Roger wriggled away to stare up at the older male. For two full years and counting, Fayt had been by his side every step of the way, even went the extra mile to make sure he stayed safe after that dragon attack. He was always there for him. It was hard to imagine a life without the kind, blue-haired knight.

"And would ya be there with me?"

A look of surprise flashed across Fayt's eyes, before they softened into a tender smile. He pressed his forehead against Roger's and gazed deep into his big Amber eyes.

"No matter where you go, or what you do, I'll always be by your side."

After ruffling Roger's hair and tucking him into bed, Fayt bid him goodnight and quietly exited the room. He kept the door slightly ajar, but as soon as he turned around, he almost screamed at the sight of Sophia, curlers in her hair and a beauty mask on her face. Talk about scary.

"Geez, Sophia, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" he whispered, collecting himself. Then, he realized something. "Wait, were you eavesdropping?"

"Fayt, I'd like to ask you something."

Her face and tone seemed serious – quite the opposite of the usually cheery girl. Fayt fidgeted under her scrutiny. Gods, didn't Sophia know how scary she could be when she just stopped smiling?

"What is it?"

She hesitated for a second.

"Fayt, it's been two years, and I was just wondering…" She trailed off with a frown, wondering how to phrase her words. "Well, since you were the one who saved Roger, and come by so often, why not you adopt him yourself? I mean you obviously care for him…"

"That's not the problem, Sophia," he interrupted, eyes trained on the slumbering Menodix in the room behind him, forlorn. She followed his gaze.

"Then what is?"

"… If I adopt him, I can't continue loving him."

All Sophia could do was watch her friend turn to leave as she puzzled over his words.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

The knocking was not loud, but persistent enough to rouse Sophia's attention as she quickened her pace. It was in the middle of the afternoon and she had been in the middle of cleaning up after the children's lunch. She ran past a clothes rack and flung her apron over it in her haste.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"

Pausing in front of the door, she peered through a viewing-scope – a peculiar yet nifty device installed by Roger himself, put together using an old spyglass, shards of an old mirror, spare pieces of junk, an old tube, and… well, a whole bunch of other things she was not entirely familiar with. Whatever the case, it worked like a charm and she could see through to the other side without having to open the door. Thinking it was probably Fayt, she was thus unprepared for the sight of the very individual standing patiently on the front porch. Panicking, she hurriedly neatened up to the best of her abilities, kept the viewing-scope, and flung open the door so hard, she nearly ripped it off its hinges.

Hand suspended in the air from mid-knock, Luther blinked slowly, before lowering his fist.

"Good afternoon, Miss Esteed. I do hope I'm not intruding," said the prince with a pleasant smile.

"N-Not at all, your highness!" Sophia answered albeit shrilly. She certainly hoped it didn't look obvious that she was severely close to fainting. What in Apris' name was the prince doing on her doorstep, anyway? Did she look all right? Thank goodness she had removed her curlers before doing the dishes.

"How may I help you?" And then, she remembered her manners. "Would you like to come in?"

"I would appreciate that, thank you."

Luther turned to address his knights – to wait outside until further instruction – and as he did so, Sophia couldn't help but stare shamelessly. A certain blue-haired cavalier was blatantly missing after all.

"Forgive me, your highness, but if I may be so bold, where's Fayt?" she asked, worry marring her features. It wasn't like her best friend to disregard his duties to the prince, much less miss a chance to pay her and Roger a visit.

Luther waved off her concern. "Oh, Leingod's got other duties to attend to. He's escorting my sister to Aquois Chapel to perform worship and won't be back for quite some time." He cocked his head to the side and smiled his usual smile. "Didn't he tell you that?"

"I... I see…" Sophia bit her lip, unable to shake off a sudden feeling of apprehension.

But it was rude to keep the prince waiting, so she stepped aside and allowed him in.

Luther removed his cape and Sophia rushed forward to catch it before the thick velvet hit the floor. She was half-tempted to tell him off that she wasn't one of his servants, but realized she would just be asking for trouble. On top of that, whatever drew Luther out of Lansfeld Castle had to be of huge importance for him to journey here personally. She prayed it wasn't a proclamation to evacuate the orphanage.

While she fretted, Luther took his time to survey his new surroundings. Small, old, impoverished, but homely. Could use some cleaning – the parquet wasn't polished enough for him to see his face in it. He reached up and dusted off some invisible lint from his shoulder – an unconscious habit whenever he stepped into a foreign place and away from the premises of nobility. He paused at the base of the stairs, peering up curiously.

"Is Roger's room up there?"

"Um… no, he shares a room with me," came Sophia's hesitant reply, pointing at the last room down the corridor. "And… Roger, your highness?"

At her confusion, Luther laughed and shook his head.

"I would have thought my coming here to be obvious by now." He turned to fully face Sophia. "The princess has expressed her interest in adopting the humanoid child, but since she is away on official business, I've come in Blair's place."

What he didn't mention however, was that this very arrangement was his sister's belated birthday present to him. Blair – heck, the entire Lansfeld Castle practically knew how obsessed he was over the child; and being her precious baby brother and crown prince, Luther always got what he wanted. Even if that meant bending a few rules and using the kingdom's law to his advantage.

'Two can play at this game, Leingod,' he thought to himself smugly. It hadn't taken him long to discover a loophole in the knight's plan as soon as he stumbled upon it. He promised himself he would have Roger as his consort, and he'd be damned if he allowed his prize to slip through his fingers without a fair fight.

"Adopt… Roger? Really?!" Sophia was in utter shock. Sure, she had been dying to hear those word uttered from another's lips for years, but never in her wildest dreams did she envision Roger to become part of the royal family… and what the heck was she waiting for?

"O-Okay! Please have a seat, and I'll arrange for you two to have a discuss– " Luther stopped her in mid-sentence.

"That won't be necessary, Miss Esteed. You've already showed me which room the humanoid's in, no?"

At his wide smirk, Sophia had little choice but to concede to her prince's wishes. True, she worried about Roger after what happened at the plaza the previous day, but if Princess Blair was the one who intended to be Roger's future mother, then there was nothing to worry about right? The princess was renown throughout the kingdom for her deep compassion and kindness, and was a devout worshiper of Apris. In fact, it was thanks to her strong faith in the goddess and her relationship with the people that led her to spearhead the construction of the holy chapel and shrine in the city of Aquaria. Aquaria's main town, Aquois was thus under her direct governance. While Luther ruled all of Aquor, Blair was in charge of the kingdom's religious affairs.

"Yes, of course." Then adding as emphasis, "And his name's Roger…"

Luther brushed past her rudely and crossed the corridor in long strides. Sophia made a face behind his back and walked away with a huff, muttering a quiet "Jerk" beneath her breath. She knew when she wasn't needed.

Stopping in front of the last door of the hallway, Luther adjusted his clothes to make himself look presentable, before extending his arm to give the old wood a few knocks. A muffled, childish "It's open!" sounded from the other side, and he was unable to fight the excited grin that spread across his lips.

Soon.

As soon as he pushed the door open, a bespectacled Roger looked up from his work and immediately felt all color drain from his face. Tools crashed noisily onto the floor as he flinched away on instinct.

"W-What're ya doin' here!?"

The way the humanoid fearfully clutched his bushy tail and had his ears pressed against his scalp, looked simply adorable to Luther. The mere act of stepping into the room had Roger squeaking, only to bite down on his lower lip to calm his nerves. He wondered what other delicious sounds he could evoke from the boy, and had to resist licking his lips from the thought.

This should be fun.

With a dark chuckle, he shut the door behind him. The sharp click of the lock sliding into place only served to increase Roger's apprehension. His glasses slid down his nose and he hurriedly pushed them back up, but that didn't change the fact that the blonde prince was still there and it wasn't (unfortunately) his eyes playing tricks on him.

"I never did collect my birthday present yesterday," said Luther with a leer as he approached his target.

But with every step he took, Roger took a nervous step back. The initial shock had disappeared and horror swam plainly in his big eyes. No… This couldn't be happening. Why did Sophia even let this creep in? And where was Fayt?

"Didn't ya hear me, ya moron? I'm a man, so go get yerself some pretty girl ta be yer consort. I'm not interested!" He shoved a chair between them, but Luther casually sidestepped it. "Y-Ya don't need me. You're plenty smart on yer own and can rule Aquor just fine without me…"

Unfortunately, none of his words were getting through to the stubborn prince, who had closed the distance between them significantly.

"Did you really think this orphanage could protect you from becoming mine?"

"I won't be yer slave!" he yelled, but the condescending smile on Luther's face turned his conviction to dust.

"Of course not, pet. You'd be my consort. Mine to love, mine to own."

Luther backed Roger against a wall and captured the Menodix's small wrists with a hand, bringing his arms above his head. With that, he effortlessly lifted the boy off the ground, slammed him against the wall and held him in place. Roger snarled and snapped his teeth at his captor, his feet uselessly kicking up air, but it was no use: Luther was a lot stronger and bigger than him. The harder he struggled, the more he felt his skin beneath Luther's fingers start to bruise. Displeased by his show of resistance, Luther drew back his free hand and backhanded him across the face.

"I have been exceedingly patient with you, insolent vermin! But no more," he growled, biting the tip of his glove and pulling the silky-white fabric off to reveal smooth, fair, untouched skin.

Normally, people would marvel at the rare sight, revel in the prince's touch, but not Roger, whose stomach churned in disgust when he felt the back of Luther's hand make gentle contact with his cheek. His whiskers twitched, causing Luther to let out a soft chuckle. The prince's blue eyes were piercing, breath hot against his full lips.

Lovely.

"Once I sign those papers, you'll belong to me, little one."

His dark whispers caused Roger to shudder involuntarily. He leaned in with a triumphant smirk, breathing against the boy's ear.

"Every…"

His free hand moved down to tug the straps of Roger's overalls off his shoulders.

"Last…"

The hand trailed down to his chest, fingers ghosting over his nipples concealed beneath the shirt's fabric. The digits focused themselves on those tight little nubs, circling and rubbing them teasingly.

"Inch."

Roger whimpered and squirmed in his grip, and that was all Luther's self-control could take. He grabbed the boy's chin between his thumb and forefinger and forcefully jerked his head to face him. Before Roger could form a single word of protest, Luther forced himself on him and claimed his lips possessively with his own. Roger's eyes flew open and he struggled harder, screaming into the kiss, but Luther seized that opportunity to snake his tongue into his mouth and map out every inch of his sweet cavern greedily. Saliva trailed from the corner of Roger's lips as the prince continued to eat him out with an insatiable hunger. His cheeks flushed from the heat. His insides twisted and coiled like a tightly wound spring. A strange hotness pooled between his thighs. He had never felt anything like this before: it was both frightening and pleasant, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

"S-Stop…"

He felt his glasses threaten to fall off his nose from Luther's impassioned ministrations. But without breaking the kiss, the prince simply released his hold on his chin and reached up to set them back in place.

After what seemed like forever, Luther broke the kiss, dragging the boy's tongue out between his parted lips with his own. He gave the little thing one last hard suck, before releasing it with a noisy slurp. A thin thread of saliva hung between their mouths as evidence of their passionate exchange. He gazed intently into Roger's misty eyes, his own azure pools swimming with lust.

Mine.

Overcome by a sudden sense of pride, he placed a gentle kiss on the boy's small nose where his glasses sat. Confused, Roger stared up at him innocently.

"What – " but Luther's mouth descended on his once more, effectively silencing him.

Roger felt the prince's hand trail down his body to tug his shirt loose from the waistband of his overalls. He squirmed as those fingers crept beneath the fabric to stroke at his abdomen, his chest, groped and fondled his virgin flesh… before those same fingers reached up to mercilessly pinch and massage a rosy pink nipple. Roger gasped from the novel sensation as Luther moaned into the kiss. The hand moved to give the other nipple the same treatment, with Luther all the while sucking fervently on Roger's small and inexperienced tongue. When the Menodix couldn't take it anymore and released a needy mewl, Luther's head chimed with victory and he moved lower to dip his fingers past the boy's waistband into his shorts. Roger writhed, panting harshly, and Luther smirked against his lips.

"Yes… Beg for me, my pet."

Roger's face burned with shame. Was this all Luther saw him as? Going through all that trouble to adopt him... for this? To have his perverse way with him as he pleased? Even an animal was treated better than this. He didn't want any part in the man's twisted fantasies. The prince was sick.

No!

Roger tore his lips from the kiss and smashed his forehead against the prince's own. Cursing and reeling from the pain, he released the boy's wrists and the latter (after shaking away the stars from his vision and adjusting his clothes) scrambled to grab a nearby landmine, activated it and stuck it on a wall. Enraged, Luther stalked towards Roger, a large bruise forming on his forehead, his glare deadly.

"How dare you strike royalty! Rat, I'll have your – "

The wall exploded and the impact sent him flying clear across the room. Not exactly keen on sticking around to make sure Luther was ok, Roger quickly gathered every invention he could find and jumped through the hole. Landing on the cobblestone road outside the orphanage, his eyes darted about frantically for any means of escape. His ears swiveled, picking up the voices of Luther's knights close by. Black smoke rose from the hole his landmine created. By then, a crowd of people had gathered around the vicinity.

"Gotta get outta here…"

And that was when his eyes landed on the prince's beautiful white stallion. Throwing caution to the wind, he climbed aboard the proud creature just as Luther stuck his head out of the building. The sight of the humanoid stealing his horse made him positively livid. He screamed at his guards.

"Idiots! – don't fuss over me, you fools! – Get him!"

Panicking, Roger delivered a hard kick to the horse's sides and held on for dear life as it gave a shrill neigh before taking off towards the woods.

But Luther refused to accept rejection for the second time, and the Menodix's continuous resistance only served to fan the flames of his desire. The delectable taste of Roger's fear was still fresh on his tongue. He would punish the boy once he got his hands on him, and he would enjoy every moment of it.

"Do whatever it takes to capture that humanoid. Hurt him, wound him if you have to, but I want him alive," he commanded his knights, who mounted their own horses and gave chase. Then as an afterthought, he yelled, "And don't hit my horse!"

Roger had no idea how far he had ridden or where his horse chose to go exactly. All he heard were the voices of Luther's guards and the pounding of their horses' hoofs echoing about him. All he cared about was escaping the crown prince's clutches and an eternity of servitude. Absently, he realized he never got to say goodbye to Sophia and Fayt, but that regret was quickly pushed aside by fear and the need to survive. After what he had been through, there was no way he was going back to Peterny. The orphanage was no longer safe, and not even Fayt could protect him anymore. He could still feel Luther's lips against his own, taste him on his tongue, felt those fingers violate his flesh…

"He's heading for the floating gardens!"

"Cut him off before he crosses into Duggus Forest!"

His ears fluttered in panic. Crap, these guys knew the region better than he did. He needed a miracle to outrun – Hello…

Down a nearby slope and shrouded amongst a thicket of trees, was an old, towering gate with numerous vines wrapped around its steel bars. Shade from the willows cast shadows upon the vicinity, and the high walls that surrounded the premise made it near impossible to make out what lay beyond the gates. Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, the scene radiated a creepy vibe, which made the hairs at the back of Roger's neck stand on end. Maybe the place was haunted…

But the sound of galloping horses in the distance was enough to make him reconsider his options. He tugged on the reigns, motioning his horse towards the gates.

"C'mon, c'mon... This way, ya dumb horse."

But no matter how hard he pulled at the reigns, the white stallion refused to budge. It even snorted and turned its head to gaze questionably at its rider, like it thought Roger was stupid or something. Said boy let out a frustrated growl. What the hell was wrong with it? Couldn't butthead see that massive property over there? It was as obvious as a giant inkblot on a blank parchment!

"Guh! Do I hafta do everythin' myself?" he grumbled as he climbed off and dragged it down the slope towards the high gates.

As the stallion continued to – what seemed to Roger – eye him critically, he gave up, released his hold on the reigns, and turned to grasp the vine-covered steel bars. He shook them desperately.

"Hey! Is anyone in there!? Some guys are after me and – " He stopped short, finally noticing the grand, breath-taking scenery that lay beyond the high stone walls.

A beautiful, enchanting garden filled with rose bushes, various fruit trees, and a colorful array of other lovely flowers decorated the vast greenery. Brass statues depicting mythological figures and scenes from classic fairytales were aesthetically and precisely placed throughout the seemingly never-ending garden. In the center was a large gold fountain, with faces of angels engraved on its surface, and the water that flowed from it appeared to glitter under the sunlight, like a thousand gems concealed between the folds of its current. The property stretched on as far as (perhaps further) than the eye could see, and at the end of a wide cobblestone bridge over a rushing river, stood a magnificent, glittering castle as white and pure as snow. The distance between the castle and garden was significant, but Roger could make out the slightest splashes of color on the towers and walls, a telling feature of stain glass windows. Compared to the dark woods outside, the place radiated a golden glow, immortalizing everything the light touched, and made the whole scene appear like some sort of magical painting brought to life. In fact, the castle seemed to exist on a separate reality altogether.

"Wow," Roger let out a quiet whisper, only to pinch himself to ensure he wasn't hallucinating.

Nope. The castle was still there.

Suddenly, he noticed movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head to face the source of the disruption. It was a lovely young lady with purple ribbons in her long grey hair busy tending to the rose bushes. She appeared to be in her early twenties and judging by her attire and the clippers in her hand, she was probably the gardener. Roger blinked rapidly and shook his head. Now wasn't the time to make goo-goo eyes at strange foreign women… no matter how incredibly pretty they looked.

"Hey, Miss! Yoohoo! Over here!" He waved frantically, jumping up and down to get her attention. When she turned to stare at him curiously, he almost cried in relief.

"Help a poor boy out, would ya? Some jerks are after me and if ya let me in, I'd be eternally grateful. Promise I will!"

However, the lady continued to stare at him with eyes so wide and mouth hanging open, it looked like she was staring at a ghost instead of a little humanoid boy. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but no sound came out; and all she could do was gape helplessly at Roger, who wondered if he had the misfortune of stumbling upon a deaf and dumb human servant. When he frowned at her, she found herself shaking with emotion.

He can see me?

"Clair! What's with all the ruckus?"

A gruff voice cut into the still afternoon air, its owner leaping down from the branch of a nearby apple tree. Towering, broad-shouldered, and incredibly fit, the sun-kissed muscleman sauntered towards his daughter, garden shears slung casually over his shoulders. Him being shirtless allowed his impressive muscles and intimidating tattoos to go on full display for the world, and the man's unruly grey hair and scruffy beard finished off this brazen personality.

The girl turned to regard him with trepidation.

"Father," she whispered, eyes darting to an impatient Roger by the gates. "I think…that boy can see us."

"Can he now!" the old man bellowed, making Clair jump. "Then what are we waiting for? I say we let him in!"

"But father, can't you see his ears and tail? He's a humanoid. What would the master say?"

"Boy or girl, human or not, it doesn't matter now." He turned to his daughter, expression serious. "He'd thank us."

"Fer cryin' out loud, today would be nice!"

Roger was gripping the bars so tightly his knuckles turned white. He could hear the guards closing in on his location fast and his heartbeat quickened in panic. Swallowing his pride, he threw himself against the unrelenting steel and they clattered from the force.

"Please let me in! They're comin' fer me!" Tears pricked his eyes, voice pitching in desperation. "Please! I'll do anythin'!"

As soon as he said those words, the gates opened and he tumbled face-first onto the stone garden path. He heard the prince's horse give a sort of snigger behind him, but he was too frightened to be miffed by its attitude. Clair led the white stallion in at the same time the old man shut the gates. Jumping to his feet, Roger quickly hid behind the burly man's legs and shut his eyes tight, but paused when he heard the whole collective ride past his current location without a second thought. Odd, but he wasn't complaining.

The guards' voices faded into the distance and he breathed a sigh of relief. A low chuckle soon got his attention and he slowly lifted his gaze to come face to face with his grinning savior. With that wild look in his eyes, hulking form, and deadly garden shears in his hand, the old man looked kind of deranged... Immediately, Roger fell to his knees and clasped his hands together as he tried to appeal to the man's humanity.

"Puh-please don't kill me! I swear I didn't do anythin' wrong!" But he fell backwards from shock when the old man suddenly threw his head back and let loose a string of deep laughs as loud as thunder.

"Kill you? Where'd you get an idea like that?" He wiped his tears, collecting himself. "Ah... Clair, would you get a load of this guy!"

The young lady from earlier rolled her eyes at her father's antics. Really, he could be such a nuisance sometimes…

"Don't mind my father, he's a little senile." As she spoke, said man muttered something along the lines of "not old" and "don't know what you're talking about", but she ignored him. "I'm sorry about earlier. We… don't normally have guests."

At Roger's hesitant nod, she straightened up and offered him a kind smile. Humanoid or not, he was only a kid, and she had no reason to refuse him hospitality in light of current circumstances. Her father was right: race, gender, or age; none of it mattered anymore. It never did.

"Where are my manners?" she bowed respectfully. "I'm Clair Lasbard and that's my father, Adray Lasbard. We're gardeners and fellow servants of this castle."

Taken aback by her formal greeting and unaccustomed to such courteous treatment, Roger acknowledged her with an awkward bow of his own. This was… new, not to mention rather alarming. Even the royal servants from Lansfeld castle who patronized the market never treated him with this much civility. He felt like he was someone important, like he was… human.

"The name's Roger, Miss. Roger S. Huxley, but ya can just call me Roger." He beamed up at the pair gratefully. "Thanks fer lettin' me in, Sir. Fer a second there, I thought I was a goner."

"Aha! 'Sir'! I like this boy already," Adray boomed, slapping Clair on the back. Her eye twitched in irritation, but for the sake of their guest, she decided to let his actions slide.

"It's nice to meet you, Roger," she said with a pleasant smile, before turning to whistle in the direction of the stables. "Lieber! Would you come here for a moment please? There's someone I'd like you to meet."

A sandy-blonde head poked out from behind the stable doors, eyes wide and animated. Roger took in his appearance: unruly, somewhat puffy hair, definitely a few years younger than Clair, perhaps around Fayt's age. Though he wasn't the most handsome gentleman around, there was a certain boyish charm about him that complimented his bubbly personality if the light skip in his step indicated anything. The stable boy stopped in front of Clair, bouncing on the spot.

"Whaaaaaaaat's up, Clair?" he dragged his words cheerfully.

Inwardly, Clair shook her head in fond affection. Trust Lieber of all people to remain so positive after all these years. His fiancé was one lucky woman, even if she didn't quite know it.

"We have a guest," she replied simply and handed him the reigns. "Take his horse and show it to the stables. Make sure it's well fed and groomed to its finest."

"No problem!" Then he did a double take. "Wait… guest? – he swished his head left and right – But I don't see anyone…"

"Down here!"

At the sound of that childish voice, Lieber found himself doing just that and nearly jumped back in surprise at the sight of the young Menodix boy at his feet. An unreadable expression crossed his features as he took in the humanoid's short stature, big brown eyes, soft bushy tail, and large floppy ears. Sure, the child was cute, but was he really the one they had all been waiting for? Lieber suddenly found himself at a loss, and by the solemn expressions on both Adray and Clair's faces, he knew he wasn't the only one with doubts. Where to start? Well, he was a boy and couldn't be older than 12 years old. He wasn't even the right species. And could they honestly expect their master to fall for someone any layman wouldn't even look twice at, let alone acknowledge as something attractive?

However, feelings of impossibility aside, this boy's arrival filled their hearts with an undeniable hope – an emotion that had eluded them all for almost nine years. This was their only chance.

"The kid's Roger and he's staying for a while," explained Adray, indicating at the eager child. "Go ahead and inform Maria when you're done. Clair and I will handle the others."

"Right." Lieber was about to lead the horse away, when he remembered something. "Oh, what's his name by the way?" he asked Roger, nodding at the proud stallion. "He really is a beauty."

"Uh…" Roger trailed off, glancing at his ride, which appeared to be giving him a challenging stare, like it expected him to come up with some sort of glamorous name for it given its royal lineage. But in all honesty, the moron was nothing but a royal pain in the butt.

"His name's… Dipstick."

The stallion glared at him and gave a displeased snort, thoroughly offended. Lieber on the other hand, remained completely oblivious.

"Oh, because he's all white except his grey legs?"

"Sure. Let's go with that."

Adray and Clair snickered, while Lieber blinked at them innocently. Yes, things were certainly starting to look up.

The large castle doors creaked open and Roger tentatively stepped inside, momentarily surprised by the dark and gloomy interior compared to the picturesque view from the outside. All the curtains were drawn shut, their thick material refusing even the slightest sliver of light to pass through. As a result, the air was a little musty and compared to the garden's inviting warmth, the castle felt cold, distant, and tragically lonely. The only traces of light came from the few candles that lined the hallways, but even then those only succeeded in making the place appear even spookier than before. Wherever he looked, suits of armor, paintings, sculptures, and stone dragons seemed to loom over him, frowning down, disapproving. Gulping, he nervously retreated to hide behind Clair's skirt.

'I knew it. Maybe this place really is haunted,' he thought back to his earlier speculations in the woods. Though he seriously doubted Clair, Adray and Lieber were ghosts, what other alternative explanation did he have about his current environment? Why weren't the servants used to having guests? How come no one else seemed to know about a large castle in the middle of the woods? And why were these people so thrilled to have him stay?

Maybe they're vampires.

He would have fled the castle screaming if not for the fact that his saviors obviously hadn't exploded under the sun earlier.

They passed the main foyer, made a turn down the right, and entered what appeared to be a large drawing room. At the room's end, a fire burned in a grand fireplace, bathing the room in a warm, comforting glow. When Roger approached it and ran his palm over the artful depictions along its frames, he couldn't help but wonder what the deal was with all these dragons. Was the master of this castle really into them or something? He pulled away with a shudder.

Until this day, those murderous beasts still terrified him; haunted his dreams and every waking moment with their sharp claws, cruel fangs, and piercing soulless eyes. How anyone could love dragons so much was beyond him.

"If you need anything or have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask," said Clair all of a sudden, interrupting his thoughts.

They were all standing by the fireplace watching over their precious guest. A fancy armchair stood just a few ways off and absently, Roger wondered why none of them bothered to sit on it. Then he remembered their role as servants and figured sitting around on the job wasn't exactly part of their contract.

"Ok, I have a question," Roger turned away from the gold carvings and met her expectant gaze. "Who's the mas – "

And then someone ran him over with a tea cart.

"Who wants tea?" sang a blonde beauty at the top of her voice. Her long hair was tied in a simple braid and she donned a typical black-and-white maid uniform.

Lieber winced. As usual, the head of the castle kitchen didn't know her own strength.

"I take it everyone's excited over the news?"

Adray chuckled deeply. "Who isn't? You should've seen Mirage in the kitchen earlier. I never knew we had that much tea!"

"How much are we talking about?" said Lieber.

"About 210," Adray replied.

"Boxes?"

"Types."

Mirage's eyes darted about eagerly for the young humanoid, but a moan of pain from below made her look down and she gasped, hands flying to her mouth in horror. She almost murdered their guest! But she didn't expect him to be so small – those types were uncommon.

"I-I'm really sorry," she fretted as she dragged Roger from beneath the tea cart. He groaned, slumping on her arms. Urgh… why was the room spinning?

"You're Roger, right? I'm Mirage Koas, head of the kitchen," she introduced herself, a look of concern marring her lovely features. "Can I get you an ice-pack for your head? I'm terribly sorry... It's just – I didn't see you."

"Nah, I'm used ta it."

Roger shook his head to stabilize his vision. Giggling, Mirage reached over and helped readjust his glasses. The kind gesture made him grin. Call him crazy, but he liked Mirage. There was just something charming about her. Although she did run him over with a tea cart, she was incredibly beautiful and had a sort of motherly disposition. Both tough and sweet, she reminded him a lot of his own mom…

"Great!" She visibly perked up as she helped Roger to his feet. "Now then, would you like some tea? I have Chamomile, Elderflower, Palmira Blossom, Forest Berries, Rose, Cinnamon Apple – "

"Mirage, you kidding me? It's almost 5pm! You don't go around offering tea to the brat when I've got a five-course meal cooking in the kitchen," interrupted a brash voice from the room's entrance.

Roger twitched in annoyance. Did someone just call him a brat?

He whirled around to give the moron a piece of his mind, only to stutter and shrink away from the very tall, very intimidating muscleman, who stared down at him in a cross between amusement and disbelief. If he thought Adray was big, this blonde guy was a whole lot bigger. From the man's attire, there was no doubt he was a cook of some sort, but the way his sleeves had been ripped off to accommodate his bulging arms, along with the manner he held that knife, Roger couldn't help but wonder if the blonde had been some sort of mercenary in his previous life… or maybe he still was. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure if he wanted to know what was in that five-course dinner.

"Yo. The name's Cliff Fittir, but Cliff's enough."

He watched the poor Menodix jump up and down in a vain attempt to reach his hand for a handshake, and raised it higher for kicks.

"You're looking at the castle's handsome and dashing head chef – Ow!"

Mirage elbowed him at the side and he relented with a pouty "What did I do?" before lowering himself to Roger's level so that the kid could finally shake his hand. Cliff grumbled a few choice curses beneath his breath, while Mirage continued to smile that deceptively pleasant smile of hers.

"Anyway, you're going to want to keep that stomach of yours empty, kid." He gave the boy's tummy a little poke for emphasis. "Because tonight's dinner is going to be the best thing you've ever tasted."

"Really?" said Roger, eyes shining. Now that Cliff mentioned it, he was pretty hungry…

"Trust me. I'm whipping up a feast fit for a king." The blonde chef winked. "By the time I'm done with you, regular food's going to give you hives."

And then, someone somersaulted from the shadows and landed on Cliff's shoulders, giggling.

"And what's dinner without an amaaaaaaazing performance by the Fairy of Illusions?"

As Cliff growled and attempted to swat the newcomer off him, Roger blinked up at the child in awe. Huh? A girl? She looked close to his age… was she a servant too? But with her dark skin, somewhat ridiculous costume, and various bangles and accessories hanging off her person, she sort of reminded him of those traveling gypsies who roamed the countryside. Her hair was a stark contrast to her complexion: a dusty blonde tied up in two pigtails.

"Fairy of Illusions?" he repeated as she walked up to him to shake his hand vigorously.

"Uh huh! My name's Peppita Rosetti, acrobat of the Rossetti Court Performers," she finished off with a twirl and a curtsy. "It's nice to meet you, Roger!"

"Ya mean ya have a circus here? Neat!"

This place was turning out better by the minute. Maybe fleeing Peterny hadn't been so bad after all. Not only were these people really nice to him, but he was in a castle for crying out loud! A lovely garden, good food, a ton of space to run around in, not to mention A-Class home entertainment… perhaps he could meet this mysterious master of theirs and convince him to let him work here too. He'd have plenty of space to work on his inventions, save up his pay, and eventually travel the country and earn a name for himself like he always dreamed.

But then, Peppita boldly cut into his personal space and began picking at his outfit, poking his tail, gave a quick tug to his ears, and - to his mortification - groped his chest. Growling, he made to smack her hands away, but she stepped back quickly, studying him with a curious frown. He gave her a weird look in return. What? Was there something on his face?

"Huh? You're a boy?" she said with a childish pout, cocking her head this way and that. "I thought 'Roger' was just short form for something." She looked to the other servants with slight disappointment. "Are you guys sure?"

Peppita's question certainly got his attention, and his anticipation showed through the mad swishing of his tail. Sure? Sure about what? There was something majorly off about these people. But before he could further ponder over this, he felt his tail gave a sharp twitch as he stiffened. There was someone behind him… and it unnerved him that he hadn't sensed his or her arrival beforehand. After all, with their keen senses, not many people could sneak up on humanoids.

"I have no issue with your family performing for the boy, but tell Piccolotto to keep it down. The master is asleep and you know how rarely that happens."

"You got it, Maria!" said Peppita with a salute.

'Maria?' wondered Roger, slowly turning around to gaze up at the owner of that lovely yet assertive voice. And just like the sound of her voice, the young lady was just as attractive. Unlike the other maids they had passed along the corridors, Maria donned a rather stylish ensemble: a cream blouse with ruffles, a black corset, black leather skirt, and a pair of matching knee-length lace up leather boots. She had a gun and holster strapped to her hip; and Roger was absolutely certain those weren't common accessories for ordinary servants. With long blue hair and bright emerald eyes, the young woman reminded him a lot of Fayt, but appearances aside, it was clear the two shared nothing in common, what with her aloof disposition and piercing gaze.

She folded her arms and regarded him with a raised brow. Roger was in love.

"Roger, that's Maria Traydor," introduced Lieber on the stoic woman's behalf. "Head of castle security and personal bodyguard to the master."

"Why, hello there, Miss." Roger winked and made a vain attempt in neatening his hair. He sidled up next to the sexy gunslinger. "Ya can guard my body anywhere, anytime."

Maria snorted and rolled her eyes. Boys.

"Sorry, I'm not interested. Also, I'm taken."

"Drat."

Roger's blatant disappointment made her frown. So, the boy wasn't into men... This was going to be harder than she thought.

"Maria dear, I would have thought getting engaged would help you relax," giggled a tall, wispy woman from the side.

The slender beauty had been standing by the bookcases so silently and so incredibly still since their arrival, that Roger had actually mistaken her for a statue. Her presence even seemed ghostly, especially her pale complexion and airy manner of speech. The mysterious woman wore a black hooded robe; the long garments making her look as if she was gliding across the floor as she walked.

"But, Misty – "

"Let the Rossettis have their fun," she cut Maria off with a wave of her hand. "What's a performance without a little music? It's been ages since we had anybody here. Besides, whatever the master doesn't know won't kill him." She stopped in front of the young bodyguard and smiled a knowing smile. "I doubt anything can."

"Humph. That doesn't sound like what a royal tutor would suggest, Miss Lear. I'm appalled by your lack of profession. Guest or not, this boy better be worth my time; I was in the middle of my research."

Misty smirked, having grown accustomed to her partner's high level of self-entitlement to take offense to his harsh criticism. Though that personality of his often rubbed people the wrong way and got him into their bad books, it was her genuine kindness, intellect, and remarkable tolerance that got the castle writer's attention in the first place.

"Mackwell darling, don't be like that," she cooed, "you've had years of alone time in the library. Roger's our guest. At least try to socialize with something other than books."

"I have no use for children."

As the pair bickered, Roger had his big, shining eyes fixed on the royal scholar and resident writer. His jaw hung open unglamorously and he was shamelessly staring at Mackwell like a lovesick fangirl, and for good reason. After all, he only worshiped the guy and hung onto every word the scholar had ever written, not to mention committed every theory and hypothesis to memory. Heck, he even borrowed Mackwell's only book from the town's bookshop nearly a dozen times before the shop owner decided to just give him the damn thing so he'd stop coming by so much. A humanoid's patronage was bad for business, or so the old man had claimed.

And now, Mackwell was standing right in front of him. Gods. So, after years of inactivity, this was where the guy spent his days? Kicking back in a grand castle? Way cool.

Oblivious to the warning stares and gestures from the servants, Roger all but invaded Mackwell's personal bubble by tugging incessantly at the ends of his blue-and-maroon robes.

"Oh my God, you're Professor Mackwell! It's a great honor, Sir. I'm Roger and I'm a huge fan of yer theories, 'specially yer alternate take on Chapter 15, Section 12 of Ikelos' first volume. I adopted that principle ta counter-balance the structural flux of one of my inventions and…"

As Roger happily went on explaining a particularly complicated concept, the servants (including Misty) braced themselves for the royal writer's notorious sharp tongue. However, Mackwell surprised both his colleagues and himself when he actually entertained the child as he patiently, almost fascinatingly, listened to every word, every syllable of Roger's speech. A strange new feeling warmed his soul. The fact that this young humanoid boy could fully appreciate and apply his genius, which no other individual had ever done, was entirely flattering. That was the main reason he stopped publishing his work past the first volume: he gave up appealing to a world of fools too ignorant to comprehend his vision. But, he never expected to find readership in the most unlikeliest of people.

"… waited forever for yer next book. It's been so long; it must be real good! Are ya almost done with it? When's it comin' out?"

And just like that, Mackwell found his initial opinion of the humanoid start to change. Perhaps this boy really was the one they had all been waiting for. He allowed a rare smile to cross his lips, one that undeniably shocked all those present.

"Soon," was what he had wanted to say, but found himself rudely interrupted by a feminine yet commanding voice that him, as well as the other servants, had grown to recognize and respect after all these years.

"There better be a good reason my staff have chosen to simultaneously abandon their duties."

"L-Lady Nel!"

As the castle's voice of authority, second only to the master himself, Nel Zelpher unfolded her arms and finally stepped into the drawing room. Despite the rather sexy and provocative maid uniform she had on, her critical gaze, which carried a conceivable promise for pain, was enough to squash any sensual or perverted thought from anyone's mind. Her violet eyes scanned the hesitant faces of her subordinates, as if daring anyone to challenge her insinuations.

Unfortunately, Roger didn't get the memo, and was absolutely and hopelessly smitten by the sight of the beautiful redhead, who seemed to him the epitome of poise and unparalleled elegance. She had all the right curves in all the right places, radiated a mysterious and dangerous air, and he was pretty sure he was neither shallow nor exaggerating when he concluded that her slender and shapely legs practically went on forever.

"What a lovely voice," he said dreamily. If one looked close enough, they would have seen hearts dancing in his eyes. He clasped his hands together and floated towards her.

"What duties?" Cliff's arm automatically shot out to hold Roger back by the head. "In case you haven't noticed, we've been caring for an abandoned castle for nearly a decade! And now that we finally have a guest, you want us to go back to our duties?"

"Is there a problem?"

There was a hint of arrogance in her tone, a snarky confidence that made its way across her rose-red lips. Thankfully, if there was one person who knew how to handle Nel, head of household, it was Cliff. The charming chef wrapped an arm around her tiny waist and ignoring her loud protests, pulled her against him in a romantic dip. He nuzzled her nose affectionately.

"Aw… You wound me, Nel," he teased. "Why do you have to be so cold?"

Nel's exasperation melted into a playful smirk.

"I thought you love it when I play hard to get."

Cliff chuckled sexily. "Chee-ky."

"Ahem!"

Roger was pouting at them, cheeks puffed. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was jealous.

"I can't believe none of ya even cared ta ask why I'm here at all!"

"Oh, that's right," realized Clair, suddenly recalling how she had even encountered the Menodix in the first place. Something about him being chased by some guys and needing a place to hide… come to think of it, she found it odd that Roger was alone in the woods to begin with.

Humanoids rarely came down from their villages, and for those who had masters, it was practically unheard of for them to venture outside their masters' property. For all she knew, they could be dealing with a runaway slave or outlaw.

"Why were those knights chasing you?"

"That's a secret," Roger answered hastily and they groaned. It was like watching a really good soap opera until the end, only to be denied the last episode.

"Y'know, a real man has things he can't even tell his girl," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Nel rolled her eyes when she felt the child wrap his tail around her legs. She kicked him aside and gave him a cold stare.

"You have two options: walk out these doors and never come back, or we'll throw you out ourselves."

Her speech inspired a chorus of protests from the servants, who did everything in their power to convince the head of household that she was making the biggest mistake of her entire life. Even Mackwell and Misty tried to appeal to Nel's conscience, but she wasn't having any of it. Everyone knew how much the master loathed humanoids, so much so that the mere sight of them was enough to drive him up the wall. They were filthy, disgusting abominations, and this very mindset was the main reason behind the castle's complete absence of humanoid staff. Secretly, she couldn't help but feel appalled by the curse choosing Roger of all people… One of life's cruel ironies she supposed.

"Nel, be reasonable," Maria demanded, insistent her superior came to her senses.

However, duty always came before personal inclination. That was Nel for you, and also the very reason the master left her in charge.

"Tell me, am I obligated to serve a humanoid?" It was her turn to feel frustrated. "As head of household and personal aid to the master, I cannot accept this. The castle doesn't manage itself, unless you're telling me we've somehow acquired a new staff."

Sensing the obvious tension in the air and feeling guilty for causing a rift between the servants, Roger hurriedly inserted himself between Maria and Nel and tugged at the end of the latter's skirt. He hadn't meant for things to turn out this way.

"Please Miss, if ya would just let me explain..." he tried helplessly, but was denied.

"No thanks."

"But I really want ya ta hear my story, Miss… I really do!"

"We're not interested." Then, adding as an afterthought, "Also, I'm taken."

"Oh, c'mon!"

She turned her back to him and addressed Maria.

"Throw him out."

"No! Please!" Roger dashed in front of her and went down on his knees. "Y-Ya can't send me back out there… Luther's gonna find me and – and…" He gazed up at her beseechingly, wholly and truly frightened.

"Please… I don't wanna be his consort…" Fear gripped his heart. "I don't wanna be his slave!"

An unnerving silence pierced the air following his scream. Nel whirled around and for a moment, felt the barest hints of insecurity prick at her heart.

"Luther Lansfeld?" she whispered doubtfully. "Son of the duke?"

Roger blinked back tears, wholly confused by her question. He let out a quiet sniffle.

"H-Huh? No… Luther's the crown prince of Aquor." Then he gave her a suspicious frown. "He's been rulin' the kingdom fer the last nine years. I thought everyone knew that."

The silence persisted as they mulled over the Menodix's words. The old duke was now King… had that much really changed since that fateful night? Meanwhile, Nel was having a silent debate of her own. So, Lansfeld's son was the new crown prince… but why would a prince choose a young boy, much less a humanoid, to be his consort? Not to mention Roger had found this place on his own, and had actually seen the castle when no one else could. Years of isolation and mounting despair, and finally they could see the light. What made this odd kid so special? Was she going to throw away their hopes and dreams because of a little prejudice?

To be free again…

She looked down when she felt another tug at her skirt.

"Please Miss, don't send me away," said Roger, his hopes fading. "I… I really like it here. Everyone's so nice and friendly and so different from the town I come from. It made me forget for a while."

"Forget?"

He lowered his eyes sadly.

"What... I am."

Her heart clenched. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to look away and into Cliff's smiling eyes. Geez, she really hated taking back her words.

"… See to it that tonight's dinner is your finest yet. Do not hold back on any expenses."

He chuckled, "Yes, Ma'am."

Nel missed the relieved glances of her colleagues when she turned her back to them. She didn't even bother to wait for their guest to respond when she walked out the room.

"This way."

"M-Me?" But Nel said nothing more and Roger had little choice but to stumble after her, hurrying to keep up with her long strides.

"Where are we goin'?"

"To the royal dining hall," was her simple answer, pausing to regard him with patience and kind understanding. It wasn't much, but it was an honest smile. "You may tell me your story there."

Suddenly, the castle didn't feel so dark and lonely anymore. Things were beginning to change. She could feel it.

"Higher! Higher!"

"You heard him, guys. On the count of three: one… two…"

A loud chorus of "three!" resounded about the dining hall, followed shortly by a high-pitched squeal of delight. Laughter carried across the air and leaked into every room and corridor – a sound so extraordinary, precious, and heart-warming, it could only be described as magical. The castle hadn't known this much happiness in years.

Roger giggled as Nel, Maria, Cliff, Mirage, Adray, Clair, and Lieber once again pulled the ends of the tablecloth taut and lifted him high into the air. So high in fact, he could almost touch the diamond chandelier with his fingertips. On the stage, Peppita and her family were preparing for the next act of their performance. To the side, Misty and Mackwell sat with books in hand, appearing to read, but neither quite able to hide the tiny smiles that tugged at their lips. Despite all the clamor and mess, the scene was strangely gratifying.

Earlier, the royal dining hall had been brought to life by the spectacular sights and sounds of the Rossetti Troupe's grand performance, with Dulcinea, the court's singer, opening the show in brilliant soprano. As a teaser, Roger was treated to a quick vanishing trick by Piccolotto, the court magician; Gonnella the clown's juggling act; Quantestorie's poetic recital of the summer solstice; and Ursus the Strongman's death-defying closing stunt. Next up was Peppita on the live-wire, and that was when Roger found out that tonight would be the young acrobat's debut performance. He couldn't wait to see her; but he was having way too much fun with the gang right now.

"You're all crazy!" he giggled just as they helped him off the tablecloth and onto a chair at the head of the long dining table.

While Mirage instructed her fellow kitchen staff to prepare the utensils and properly set the table, Lieber was the one who approached the Menodix. He let loose a sheepish chuckle.

"Well, it's been nine years since we had anybody here. I guess you could say we're a little obsessed!"

"I think 'a little' is seriously undercuttin' it, Lieber," said Roger with a bemused smirk.

Not that he was complaining or anything. Sure, these people were odd and behaved like they had never seen another person before, but that didn't change the fact that there was nowhere else he would rather be.

"So, when's dinner? I'm starvin'!" He bounced in his seat.

"Take it easy, pipsqueak." Cliff spared a quick glance at a clock on the wall. "The soup needs about five more minutes to simmer, and we need to get the texture of the Beef Ragout just right – "

"Uh… Sorry, but I'm a vegetarian."

Cliff blinked slowly. Then he threw open the kitchen door and stuck his head inside.

"Change in menu, guys! The brat's a hippie."

Instead of loud groans or complains, excitable chimes of "Okay!" sounded from within. Again, it made Roger wonder exactly how deprived these servants were. They sounded way too eager to serve for it to be normal. Oh well, he guessed his tummy could afford to wait for a few more minutes.

He was just about to go find Gonnella and maybe try out his cool unicycle, when Maria suddenly slid onto the empty chair next to him. Though openly startled by her forwardness, he offered the pretty bodyguard a wide grin.

"Hey, Maria. What's up?"

"Nothing," came her swift reply as her eyes darted about, seemingly on edge. Suddenly, she slammed her palm onto the table and was right up at his face. "Anything could kill you, you know. Never let your guard down." Then, she reloaded her gun and Roger sweat dropped. There was a mad glint in her eyes.

"I won't miss."

"Soup's ready!"

"Hiyah!"

She delivered a swift, roundhouse kick and the bowl of soup flew out of Mirage's hands, sailed clear across the room, and smashed against a wall. Everyone stopped to stare. Roger looked like he was about to cry because that soup had smelled really good and he was really hungry. The head of security sat back down, slightly embarrassed. Maybe Lieber was right: she really ought to tone down on that paranoia of hers.

"Sorry. Reflexes."

"It-It's ok…"

It took some strength and a lot of willpower on Roger's part to remain in his seat and not flee in terror from the crazy bodyguard next to him. Well, at least he knew she meant well.

Mirage served him a new bowl of soup and he was just about to take the first sip when he stopped, spoon hovering mere inches from his mouth. His lower lip quivered, overcome by a sudden wave of emotion as the events of the past hour crashed down upon him. Luther's twisted plan; the chase through the woods; being accepted by these peculiar yet wonderful people… He lowered his spoon and immediately everyone gathered around him, expressions nervous.

"What's wrong? Is it poison?" demanded Maria, before turning to her fiancé. "Lieber! Try it and tell us!"

"No, it's not the soup…" Roger took a deep breath before inclining his head to meet their stares. "It's just… ya guys are so nice. S-So… unbelievably n-nice…" It was obvious he was trying very hard not to cry.

His gaze scanned the worried faces of Cliff, Mirage, Nel, Maria, Lieber, Clair, Adray, Misty, Mackwell, Peppita and the Rossettis. A wholly mismatched group and albeit dysfunctional, but...

"If I had a family, I wish they could be like you."

Clair gazed at him pitifully, understanding the boy's plight as much as anyone in this room after they heard his story. Losing his parents and entire village to a dragon, spurned and abused by years of prejudice… the poor boy really didn't have it easy.

"Roger…"

She paused when she felt her father's hand on her shoulder. The head gardener smiled down at his daughter, before directing his gaze to the young Menodix.

"Well, you're looking at them, son," said Adray, eyes kind. "What do you say, Roger? Do you want to be part of the family?"

Roger's heart skipped a beat as he allowed his wide, disbelieving eyes to roam the faces and smiles of the castle servants, who had under such a short period of time, turned his life around. They filled the void in his lonely heart, something neither Sophia nor Fayt managed to accomplish; and he'd be a fool if he allowed this chance to slip through his fingers. For two whole years, he had waited desperately in the orphanage, hoping and wishing for someone to adopt and love him like his pops and mama used to. Throughout his childhood, he had been told countless of times that home was where the heart is…

And his heart was here.

"Do ya… do ya really mean it?" he ventured in a whisper.

"Of course we do!" exclaimed Peppita, twirling on the spot happily before clasping her hands behind her back. She beamed at him. "You gave all of us something special after all."

"I did? What's that?"

Nel bent forward and ruffled his hair with startling fondness. It was amazing how much and how quickly her personality changed under the humanoid's cheer. She gave him a beautiful smile, one that truly reached her eyes.

"Hope."

But the sound of breaking glass and a fearsome, deafening roar ripped through the peaceful evening air, shattering the tender moment beyond salvation. The servants scrambled and ducked for cover. The lesser castle staff trembled in their hiding places. The entire dining hall shook; bits of debris littering the blood-red carpet from the high ceilings. Roger sat frozen in fear, his pupils shrinking and tail as stiff as a board. His nose and whiskers twitched. His ears swiveled madly. He knew the origin of that roar all too well. Daring to lift his gaze, a strangled sob left his throat at what he saw staring at him through the window.

Haunting vermillion slit eyes was the last thing he saw, before a powerful tail covered in jagged black scales and spikes shot towards him, snaked around his torso, and yanked him out of the room and out of the castle faster than he could scream. The monster slammed him against the castle walls and held him in place with a giant black claw. It leaned in and breathed hot breath over its chosen prey. Roger struggled but the creature's grip didn't even give, its sharp deadly claws digging firmly into the wall behind him. There were rips in his clothes and cuts on his skin from the tail spikes, and the back of his head throbbed painfully from its violent contact against solid stone. Whimpering in pain, he cracked his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn't.

The same red piercing gaze was on him again, this time a lot closer, almost nose-to-nose. A hideous black dragon loomed over him threateningly, its jaw wide open; and Roger gulped as he took in the horrifying sight of rows upon rows of sharp, cruel fangs dripping with saliva. A pair of mighty, bony wings sat upon its great back; and the entire length of its spine and tail were lined with precarious black spikes. Its hardy scales looked like armor – atypical compared to the common dragon – and Roger noticed that one of its arms was a different color from the rest of its body: a metallic grey. The black dragon oozed with savage grace and confidence, and was truly as regal to look at as it was incredibly terrifying. It tightened its grip around him and Roger bit back a cry when he felt the claw dig deeper into his skin.

"Master, no!"

His eyes flew open in shock. Master!?

Maria appeared on the balcony, pulled the trigger of her gun, and fired a series of shots at the dragon. The bullets failed to penetrate the tough scales, but were enough to get its attention. However, that also meant that it viewed the bodyguard as its next target.

Lieber jumped in and wrapped his arms around her just as the creature's long, powerful tail swung out and knocked the couple violently aside. They crashed against a wall, Lieber's body giving a violent shudder after having absorbed most of the impact. At that moment, Ursus, Cliff, and Mirage sprung forward to pin the large tail down just as Adray, Peppita, and Clair leaped in, weapons drawn, in their attempt to hold off the vicious, rampaging beast. But their efforts proved futile when it parted its jaw and breathed out a powerful jet of fire. As the party threw themselves away from the attack and struggled to recover, the dragon let loose a contemptuous snort, dark puffs of smoke rising from its nostrils. It was toying with them.

"Leave 'em alone, ya big lummox!"

That small childish cry made it turn its attention back to the humanoid in its grasp, whose quick confidence appeared to fade under its fierce scrutiny. The dragon's eyes narrowed in displeasure at the child's show of insubordination. Time to feast on this fool. It parted its jaw once more, fire licking at its fangs, smoke rising from its mouth…

"Master, snap out of it!"

Nel stepped out onto the balcony, brandishing a pair of daggers. Despite her courage, her hands were shaking. Already, she had lost several staff to her master's blind rage and she'd be damned if she allowed Roger to perish in a similar fashion.

He's losing more of himself.

A pale arm shot out and held her back. Mackwell desperately tried to reason with his partner, but the royal tutor disregarded his concern. With determined eyes, Misty stepped further out onto the balcony and approached the dragon. Calmly, she leveled it with her stare. She had watched over the master since childhood. If they needed someone to appease the proud creature, then she had to try.

"My dear, is there meaning to your rage… to the ceaseless slaughter? Strength is measured by will, not power: the more you crave, the more you lose."

She leaned over the edge and reached out to it. The dragon's snout and her palm touched. Their gazes met.

"The child can save your soul."

The dragon recoiled with a ferocious roar and she flinched away. Mackwell quickly took her by the shoulders and guided her to safety, towards the spot the other servants stood, licking their wounds. It was a hopeless struggle. Nel steeled herself and took Misty's place, engaging her master in a deadly stare-off. Dragon or not, he had always been difficult, but that didn't change the fact that she was the only one capable of talking some sense into him.

"Stop and think for a second," she began, but was interrupted when the dragon let out a low, drawn out growl. She scowled, unappreciative of its tone and logic.

"Well, I don't think it matters; intruder or not, Roger found this place on his own. He saw the castle. He saw us."

Nel's words made the dragon pause, its grip around said humanoid loosening slightly, drawing forth a gasp of relief from Roger as he coughed. Confusion and apprehension flashed across narrowed vermillion orbs, before realization finally settled in. The dragon visibly started to relax, its senses and calm rationality returning.

This young boy… this humanoid… was the pure of heart.

Hiss.

"Yes, that's his name," said Nel with an exasperated eye roll. "You should consider using it if you want him to like you."

ROAR.

"… I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Only you of all people would be so picky during a time like this."

Roger watched as the dragon and Nel continued to converse like it was the most normal thing in the world. Ooook… did he hit his head against the wall too hard or something? There was no way these people could talk to dragons… Or maybe only this dragon… Why did he even care?! No way was he going to hang around a place where humans had a dragon for a master. This was insane! He knew it. He knew this castle and its people were all messed up. Or maybe this was all one crazy dream and he'd wake up in the woods under a tree with a huge bump on his forehead.

This isn't happening.

Meanwhile, the dragon said – or rather – growled something, which made not only Nel, but the rest of the gang gasp in outrage.

"You can't do that! He just escaped from becoming Luther's slave!"

But with a powerful beat of its wings and a well-placed roar, the servants flinched away and that marked the end of all discussion.

"Do what?" asked Roger from his prone position.

He couldn't help it. Curiosity was a Menodix's curse. Though that didn't mean he found the dragon less frightening… and was it just him or was the thing actually smirking at him?

"What'd he say? Tell me!"

Mirage bit her lip, hesitating. "Well, he said – she glanced at the dragon, which urged her to go on – he said he'd destroy all of Aquor, unless you promise to stay with him forever."

As soon as those words left her lips, she bowed her head in regret. They all knew their master's words were nothing but an empty threat. What little left of his humanity was guaranteed so long as he stayed within the castle walls. Also, the nature of the curse ensured that none of them could leave his side either. But Roger didn't know that. He couldn't know that.

Fear swam through the Menodix's wide amber eyes from the dragon's threat. Destroy… Aquor? His kingdom? That meant Fayt and Sophia would be… No, he couldn't even bear to think about it. But, by simply looking at the sheer size of this dragon compared to the usual ones that roamed the land, Roger didn't doubt its capacity for destruction one bit.

Give up my freedom?

As he gazed up into piercing crimson orbs of horror and bloodshed, he felt the tears of two years ago fill his eyes. Why did a dragon have to come and take away everything he loved all over again; close the doors to a happiness he so desperately craved? He had escaped a life of pain and servitude, only to find himself cornered into another. There was nothing left for him but high walls and chains.

Dreams and freedom were for fools.

"Ya have my word."

A low rumble of approval rose from the dragon's throat and with a powerful beat of its wings, Roger felt the large beast carry him off as it flew straight towards a high tower far from the main section of the castle. Cut off and isolated, the tragic emptiness, filth, and damp coldness of the dungeon only served to heighten his despair. In the end, he didn't even deserve a room.

With a careless flick of its tail, the dragon tossed him through the tower window – a mere hole in the wall, really – and he tumbled into a small mound of rotting hay. When his new master flew away, Roger closed his eyes and finally allowed the tears to fall.

Every night for the past two years, he had dreamed of love, freedom, and a family to call his own. He thought he found it, but he was wrong. No one would ever love a humanoid. The old hay left a bitter taste on his tongue.

When Roger finally realized that he would never be able to see Fayt again, he curled into himself, and knew that no one could ever make him smile again.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Twilight hour.

A man paced back and forth, the ends of his black sarong brushing over shards of broken glass and bits of debris across the dusty floor. Long, black and blonde-tipped hair caressed his ankles as he moved, unbound and regrettably uncared for. Bandages covered the man’s forearms as well as his lower abdomen, partially concealing an intimidating red dragon tattoo that began on his broad, muscular back, snaked around his side, and dipped coquettishly past his hip. His upper body was bare save a heavy metal collar, which gleamed under the twilight glow. Tight muscles, washboard abs, broad shoulders, and a tall and intimidating frame… the sexy outfit (or lack of it) really didn’t leave much to the imagination, but with his incredibly toned and lean physique, it would be a shame if he actually chose to cover up. That, and lesser clothes on tended to reduce the damage done to more.

Once upon a time, he was handsome, beautiful even; but the last time he bothered to clean up was the last time he actually looked in the mirror. In the day, he loathed his reflection; before sunrise, the jaded man that stared back at him only succeeded in reminding him how fleeting his humanity was.

A broken chair temporarily obstructed his path and he all but kicked it aside with his steel-toe boots. It crashed noisily into a dilapidated cupboard, but he paid it no heed. The same went for the torn curtains that blew into his face from a particularly strong gust of wind. A claw gauntlet reached out and with a frustrated growl, he ripped the old fabric clean off its hooks and hurled it across the room. Why bother with appearances now, when he stopped caring for almost nine years?

Through his rampage, Nel stood silently at the room’s corner, but when she noticed he had stopped pacing and instead, deviated to gulp down a mouthful of sake, she decided to intervene.

“… Your orders, sir?”

He had been drinking a lot lately; hardly eating; going days without sleep and destroying himself from the inside out.

“Why isn’t he eating?” The man suddenly snapped, startling her.

“He says he’s not hungry… and that he wants to go home.”

He snorted and Nel knew he didn’t care.

“Humph. If the fool refuses to eat, then he will join me in my chambers tonight.” He turned his back to her and stared out at his vast property from his balcony. “I will speak with the boy. Tell Traydor to bring him to me.”

“She tried,” said Nel, biting her lip in trepidation. “… He refused.”

“WHAT?”

The sake bottle crashed against a pillar just next to her ear. Shards of porcelain shot through the air and a tiny chip cut her in the cheek. A thin trail of blood trickled from the wound. Anger entered her eyes. How her master could continue to behave with so much self-entitlement, arrogance, and malice, even at such a critical point in his life, was beyond all of them. As far as she was concerned, the world didn’t owe him shit.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to deal with this if you'd just asked him to stay nicely,” she told him off with a deep scowl. “Honestly, what were you expecting after you threatened to destroy Aquor? That’s coercion!”

“And what did you expect me to do, Zelpher? Ask ‘nicely’ like you said?” The death glare he gave her was positively chilling. “Bah! I have no use for niceties. You saw the way that worm looked at me… It wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

Nel’s mouth snapped shut and a quiet, despondent acceptance settled between them. Though dragons were at the top of the food chain, they were also greatly feared and persecuted by man. As much as she hated to admit it, her master was right.

“…Why not visit him in the tower?” she suggested, but was treated to the man’s disdainful, almost ludicrous stare.

“If I wanted a fool’s opinion, I would have summoned that miserable clown – “

“Gonnella – “

“Do I look like I even care?!” he snapped, almost giving into the temptation of wringing her pathetic neck. It was clear that he hadn’t the patience or capacity to care for Nel’s humoring.

“I am the master of this castle, and I will not bend over backwards to meet that worthless humanoid halfway. You will drag him over by the tail, or so help me, I’ll carve his pathetic heart out of his chest and feast on it myself!”

The man's latest threat was the last straw. Whether it was sympathy for Roger or accumulated frustration towards her master, she felt she needed to stand up to the stubborn man, be it on the behalf of her subordinates or for his own good.

“You can’t go around killing people just because they displease you in some way. That’s what got you into this mess in the first place,” she lectured, letting the spoiled, wicked man have it.

“I don’t think you need me to remind you about the specifics of the curse. Winter’s coming and with it, your birthday – you don’t have much time. Ideally, you fall in love with him; he falls in love with you, and voila! The curse is lifted. Roger’s our only shot so whatever you do, try not to do anything more stupid..."

As Nel continued to berate him, he shut his eyes and massaged his temples, grumbling a few choice curses beneath his breath. Of all people to have this conversation with, it had to be a bloody wench. He really didn’t need this right now. This was why he couldn't stand women. He felt his patience threaten to combust, and he hadn’t much of that to begin with mind you.

“Then what, pray tell, do you suggest?” he said through clenched teeth, his left eye twitching sporadically.

“Keep that bad attitude of yours in check. Care for him; be a gentleman.”

“Hah!” The audacity of her advice almost made him laugh. “Treat a humanoid with respect? I rather carve my own eye out than torture myself looking at that maggot everyday.”

Contemptuously, he folded his arms and glared at his personal aid from the corner of his eye. He was practically sulking.

“… You’re sure the curse requires us to fall in love – specifically?”

It was Nel’s turn to massage her forehead as she felt a headache coming on. Why did this guy always have to be so difficult?

“Sir, please, you’re not making things easier for the both of you.” She gazed tiredly and pleadingly at him. “Roger’s parents and entire village were killed by a dragon, and that trauma’s stayed with him ever since. Not only did you almost eat him, but you made his fear worse.”

When the man didn’t make any effort to refute her, she took it as a sign to continue.

“If there’s anyone who possesses the greatest capacity for love, it’s Roger. You just need to put in effort to change his opinion on dragons… and ultimately you.”

He muttered something under his breath, which made Nel strain her ears to make it out.

“What was that?”

“I said I don’t know how, you fool,” he repeated, an ostensible edge to his voice.

But contrary to the man’s antagonism and lack of heart, it took a trained eye like Nel’s to see that he was actually nervous and unsure, and that the previous row had been nothing more than a cover to hide his own fear and fragile insecurity. The master had never loved before and out of all of them, he had the greatest to lose. The curse was gradually sucking away his humanity and though he never spoke of it, she knew it must be terrifying for him to wake up every day and lose a part of himself every time; forgetting those he once knew, who he once was, and craving the taste of raw meat to the point it drove him wild…

We’re all running out of time.

She placed a hand on his stiff shoulder encouragingly.

“Well, you can start by treating Roger as a person, not a prisoner.”

The clip clipping of heels echoed about the tower, growing louder as they drew closer to their target. The sound was accompanied by the beckoning glow of candles, the light bouncing off the walls of the narrowed stairway, as the nighttime visitor ascended the steps for the second time that evening.

In his cell, Roger stirred on his spot upon the damp hay, shivering and curling tighter into himself.

So cold…

His stomach gave a particularly loud growl and clenched painfully, but still he refused to eat if the cold, untouched bowl of soup and bread by the bars indicated anything. Weakly, he lifted his head and gazed at the source of the approaching light through half-lidded eyes. Blue hair was the first thing he saw and he felt his heart give a little leap of joy.

“Fayt?” he whispered hopefully, but was disappointed when the head of castle security emerged from the stairway instead. Crestfallen, he lowered his gaze. "Oh... It's just ya, Maria."

Said woman gazed at him sadly, taking in his pitiful state. For the past hour or so, she heard that particular name uttered repeatedly from Roger's lips, and though she knew not who this 'Fayt' was, it wasn't difficult to assume he was probably someone special to the boy.

The Menodix’s misery against her master's will just made her feel even more powerless than before. Roger was only a child: he didn't deserve to be treated this way. Her eyes darted down to the tray of untouched food and then back to his pale, weary face. He had been crying.

“I came to collect you,” was her simple statement. When it came to hiding her emotions, she was a professional.

However, her answer successfully shattered whatever remained of the boy's diminishing hope. Roger’s face fell and he rolled over to glare at the wall resentfully, as if the cold damp stones were the ones to blame for his newfound misery. He would have scowled at the sky instead if he weren’t so short and could actually see out the dungeon window.

“I said I’m not going, and if that moron’s got a problem with that, then he can come here and tell it ta my face!"

Maria had to resist rolling her eyes.

“Actually, that’s what Nel suggested; but that’s not why I’m here,” she said with a nonchalant flip of her hair. “The master has changed his mind.”

“He’s lettin’ me go?” said Roger in disbelief.

“Not quite.”

“Then ya can forget it!”

With a sigh, Maria retrieved the key ring from the wall next to her and approached his cell with calm, measured steps. Peering through the bars, she held up the candle stand to cast some light onto the young humanoid who instantaneously winced from the sudden glare. Like the rest of his senses, his eyes were hypersensitive and unlike humans, he had no issue seeing in the dark.  

“I’m under strict instruction to ensure you don’t end up killing yourself,” she stated sternly as she placed the candle stand to the side. “Come, I’ll show you to the North Wing.”

Roger jerked upright when he heard the door of his cell unlock and slide open. He took small, tentative steps forward and poked his head past the steel frames. Then, he inclined his gaze to offer the head of security a curious frown.

Though he was feeling rather weak, his brain certainly didn't have problems assessing his current situation. Hadn’t that scary dragon thrown him into this tower to waste away and die? Then why was it suddenly going back on its decision? Also, there was something strange about it apart from its size and power – its level of heightened consciousness. There was something almost innately human about it, plus its threat on making him stay started to sound increasingly less primal and more of an underlying desperation. On top of that, it lived in a castle and had a bunch of humans under his, uh … wing. Who ever heard of a dragon needing servants anyway?

“North Wing?” he echoed suspiciously. “What’s in the North Wing?”

“Your room.”

“I get my own room?” Now he really didn’t believe her. “You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

Maria shrugged. “Don’t look at me; I’m just as surprised as you.”

She decided against mentioning that the North Wing was only the second largest sleeping chamber in the entire castle, the grandest being the master’s South Wing of course. The room belonged to the master's mother during her brief reign, but was left uninhabited ever since her 'untimely' passing, save the occasional maids and servants who kept the place in order. When Nel had informed her to escort Roger there, they were both equally astounded by their master’s unusual thoughtfulness and generosity. Even the crown princess from Greeton only got a guest room when she visited about a decade ago. Though it had been Greeton’s forced proposal for marriage that ended very badly according to the master (Greeton had closed its doors to Aquor after that), the shock was still relevant: Roger was treated better than royalty.

“What’s he playin’ at?” he said with narrowed eyes.

And against her better judgment, Maria bit the inside of her cheek and replied, “I don’t think he is.”

Roger pushed the door open a crack and stuck his head into the room. Immediately, the grandeur of his new surroundings took his breath away.

Unlike the dungeon and the rest of the castle, the North Wing was beautifully and brilliantly lit. More than a dozen candles burned on the gold chandelier, which hung over the center of the room. Just beneath it was a plush king-sized bed covered in cream lace bedding with its surrounding thick royal purple curtains drawn aside. The polished marble beneath his feet gleamed and sparkled under the light, and the room’s pristine white carpets were so spotless, it made him a little nervous to go near them in case he ended up sullying the quality wool.

More candles burned on a pair of tall candle stands, which framed the entrance of a grand balcony, its doors painstakingly constructed out of vibrant stain glass. A vanity corner stood to the side; and a long, mahogany wardrobe lined the length of one of the room's dark, diamond-studded walls. Across the bed and against the opposite wall was a large fireplace currently unlit, and a short distance from it at the room's corner was a small entranceway concealed by a thin purple veil – the chamber baths no doubt. And that wasn't all: an enchanting depiction of goddesses and angels were painted across the room’s high ceiling, a few peaking mischievously from behind the clouds.

Holding the door open, Maria smiled down at him gently. “Go on, it’s yours now.”

Roger gulped and walked further in.

As soon as he reached the room’s center, his gaze landed on an elaborate painting against the wall just behind the bed. It depicted an incredibly gorgeous woman with long raven hair, crimson eyes, and pale bluish lips. She was draped in royal garments lined with thousands of colorful precious stones, and upon her crown she donned an exquisite ruby diadem. She held a diamond scepter in her right hand and with that faraway look in her eyes; her regal image radiated a sacred yet mysterious air.

He pointed at the portrait, awe-struck.

“Who’s that?” he wondered at Maria with big, curious eyes. “She’s beauuuutiful.”

“She’s – “ Maria hesitated, needing to be careful with her words. “Lady Emurelle.”

She doubted Roger had heard of that name before and thankfully, said boy chose not to press on.

Roger’s eyes did a grand sweep of his new living quarters and he couldn’t help but feel even smaller than he already was. Not only was there a ton of space – significantly more than a little Menodix like himself required – but everything looked so expensive, he was practically drowning in luxury. Heck, the bed itself was so needlessly large, he could fall asleep on one end and still wouldn’t be able to wake up on the other end even if he rolled around in his sleep. That point was proven when he jumped onto the soft mattress, only to sink into its down-stuffed quilt and fluffy pillows. A minute of silence passed, and then…

“Yahoo! I’m never ever leavin’ this castle!”

As he bounced, flew, somersaulted, rolled and back flipped on the bed, Maria couldn’t resist a giggle as she took in the childish sight. Again, she was reminded of Roger’s innocence and extreme youth; about how incredibly different, how much younger he was compared to…

“That’s good. The master would be thrilled to hear that,” interrupted a new voice, their motherly tone laced with a hint of foreboding.

The thin veil over the bathing chamber parted and Mirage and Peppita stepped into the bedroom. The blonde held a fluffy green towel in her arms, while her young assistant for the evening brandished a bath scrubber and a rubber ducky. The sound of running water from the bath filled the air. Wisps of steam slowly leaked into the bedroom.

Roger stopped bouncing immediately.

“Mirage? Peppita?” They advanced on him and he inched away nervously. “Wha-What’re ya guys doin’ here?”

“Heh heh… Helping you get ready, silly! You can’t see the master looking like that.” Then Peppita grimaced and pinched her nose. “Or smelling like that for that matter.”

The master?

It was then Roger noticed a set of expensive-looking clothes folded neatly on a settee, and it didn’t take long for everything to click into place.

Oh god.

“Time for your bath!”

“NOOOOOOO!!”

He tried to scamper away, but Mirage was faster and she caught him by the tail. He flailed about like a fish out of water.

“Now how am I supposed to get you out of these old clothes if you don’t keep still?”

“K-Keep yer stinkin’ hands off me!”

“Hold still!” Peppita hastily undid his buttons. He punched her in the face. “Quit it!”

“But I'll be naked! And ya two are girls!”

“… So?”

“Heeeeeeeeelp!”

As the North Wing exploded into chaos, Maria left the two girls to their job as she quietly made her way towards the main door. Though she had to hand it to Nel: the head of household had some amazing foresight when she stationed both Mirage and Peppita in the bedroom. And judging by the volume of Roger’s screams and curses, grooming the humanoid was no easy task.

As a butt naked Roger clung onto the doorframes for dear life, Maria spared him one last stare.

“You will dine with the master tonight. He will come to collect you shortly.” She smirked. “I hope you like your room.”

She missed the look of betrayal on the Menodix’s face as Mirage and Peppita finally tugged him into the bathing chamber. There was a loud splash followed by more screams. Then the scrubbing started. Without looking back, Maria exited the room, shut the door, and locked it from the outside.

 “Pull out his chair and invite him to sit down. Remember to push it back in later, but not all the way or you'll crush him.”

“Hn.”

“Don’t forget he’s too young for wine.”

“Mm.”

“And when you serve him his drink, don’t forget to pour it from the right.”

As Misty went on educating the young master on the proprieties of fine dining, the younger had to do everything in his power to maintain a straight face and not let his nerves get the better of him. Though he had his customary scowl across his brow, he was actually paying attention. Nel’s advice from earlier echoed through his brain on behaving like a proper gentleman, which thus prompted him to summon his tutor at the very last minute. He had never done this before and frankly all this effort pissed him off.

“…And what about food?”

“They’re to be served on the left and removed on the right. Drinks are the only things to be both served and removed from the right. You must remember this.”

“Bah!”

Why did eating have to be so complicated? He’d give the humanoid his food and drink any damned way he pleased. Never in his life did he need to know this stuff. That was what servants were for. But then that maggot Fittir just had to make a comment that a private date would prove more romantic, and now he had to remember all of this etiquette shit.

Flanked by Misty and Mackwell, the trio descended a flight of stairs that led to the North Wing. While the master grumbled about this and that, Mackwell couldn’t help but smirk to himself. Never in all his years had he seen the younger male get so worked up over something as trivial as dinner. His master had even gone the extra mile by filling the dining hall with roses.

“Don’t be so nervous,” he chided.

“I am not nervous, you walking encyclopedia!”

“Manners, manners.”

Mentally, he cursed the royal writer to kingdom come and back. He couldn’t help but feel like he was slowly losing control over his servants. It was like that foolish humanoid’s arrival had inspired some sort of in-house mutiny with everyone suddenly so eager to douse some water onto his supposed barren love life. Some years back, he remembered the head chef accuse him of being as dry as a desert… but that was far from the point.

They soon arrived at a set of towering, cream-white double doors. At the entrance of the North Wing, Maria immediately straightened up and bowed. He gave her a curt nod.

“Traydor.”

“Good evening, master,” she greeted.

“You are relieved. Now get out of my sight.”

She bit the inside of her cheek nervously. “But, uh… I’m afraid the boy’s not quite ready to – “

“Leave.”

Knowing the proud man wasn’t exactly renowned for his patience, Maria handed him the key and with a final, quick bow, hurriedly took her leave. Misty and Mackwell kept their distance respectfully as the master approached the doors, but a muffled conversation from within caused him stop in his tracks. Unconsciously, he found himself leaning closer.

“Just give the master a chance. He’s really quite different from other, uh… dragons…”

“Fer the last time, I ain’t gonna be the main course!”

“Don’t be silly, you’re not even on the menu.”

… The boy? They were talking about him? He pressed his ear against the mahogany.

“He’s not so bad, Roger... Maybe you two can even be friends?”

“After he tried ta eat me!? Do ya guys have rocks fer brains or summin?”

“He, uh… didn’t mean it?”

“I’ll never befriend a dragon! There’s no way a dragon’s heart can ever change – they’re murderous, cold-blooded monsters. And I’d rather die than be friends with yer master!”

The key hit the ground with a resounding ‘chink!’

Despite the stone-cold walls he had built around his heart, something about the humanoid’s speech managed to penetrate the icy fortress and leave him shaking from the sting. A sudden desperation seized him and he was half-tempted to barge into the room and tell Roger who he was, tell him the truth… but if he did, would the boy turn his back on him? Would he frighten him more? If he got the child to feel the heat beneath his skin and look into his eyes, would Roger be able to see past the monster and at the lonely, broken man hiding deep inside? For years he had groped through the growing darkness, desperately and hopelessly searching for a guiding light. But now that he finally found it, he realized that perhaps his inner demons were far too dark, his soul beyond salvation – even for the pure of heart.

It’s hopeless.

“... Tell Fittir that dinner is off.”

“But –/Sir – “

Whatever Misty and Mackwell had wanted to say was silenced by their master’s bone-chilling glare.

“No one is to feed that filthy rat,” he ordered with scorn, adverting his eyes. “If the fool wishes to die, then so be it.”

With a dramatic swish of his black fur cloak, he stalked away, retreating to his chambers to nurse the ache in his broken heart.

Dusk fell upon Lansfeld Castle, but there was no rest for its knights and Aquor’s crown prince. In the once orderly royal study, pieces of parchment were strewn haphazardly about the room. Books and atlases were wide open and covered with bright red markings. A map of the kingdom laid across the desk with certain regions messily struck off in black ink. At the desk's end, Luther had his arms crossed as he addressed one of his guards, utterly bored, while the man prattled a string of useless apologies. Frustrated, the prince shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t care if it’s late; just keep looking! It’s only one humanoid. How hard could it be?”

However, before the guard could respond, the study door slammed open so hard it struck and left a slight crack in the wall directly behind it. Fayt barged into the room, completely disregarding courtly etiquette and radiating a dangerous aura. He shot the blonde prince a murderous glare.

“What’s the meaning of this, Sir?” he stressed the honorific with strained respect.

Luther dismissed the guard and turned to force a smile at the young, discourteous knight. It was no mystery why the guy was here or this upset to begin with. Honestly, given the nature of the news, he had expected Leingod to arrive sooner.

“Ah, Captain… How was Aquois?”

Said male had no time for the prince's bullshit.

“What’s this about the princess adopting Roger? Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Fayt demanded, cutting to the chase. “What made him leave the orphanage? Where is he?!”

Luther shook his head, tutting at the captain's lack of gentility. The man was allowing his emotions to get the better of him – highly improper for a knight such as his standing. Soon, he might start getting ideas; thinking...

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be searching for him, would I?”

The sheer arrogance of his tone made Fayt see red.

“Why you conceited – “

“Watch your tongue, Captain,” Luther cut him off with a sneer, eyes narrowing in displeasure.

He believed he tolerated the blue haired swordsman long enough. Might as well let the cat out of the bag now that the moment appeared fitting. He sidestepped the table’s edge and approached a scowling Fayt, circling him.

“Tell me, Leingod, do you take me a fool? That I wouldn’t notice your feelings for the boy; the way you hang around and look at him?”

Fayt tensed. "I don't know –"

"Spare me the pretense. You're in love with the humanoid. You have been for two years."

Fayt’s eyes widened in horror, his throat going inexplicably dry. At that moment, all anger towards the prince fled him to be replaced with a dawning sense of dread. For years he had been fighting against his heart, but when it became clear he could deny his affections towards Roger no longer, he had resolved to express his care through physical proximity and protection. After all, it was unheard of for a member of the noble class to pursue the love of a humanoid, member of the slave class. It spelt consequences for both parties and Roger’s potential imprisonment aside, he himself could end up losing his status and tarnishing the proud Leingod lineage.

But apparently, none of that mattered if you were royalty.

So, one could only imagine Fayt's turmoil and frustration when Luther had expressed interest in claiming Roger as his consort, while he could do nothing but sit back and watch his love snatched from him right under his nose without a fight. He would take this secret to his grave, and Roger would never know. He had pined for the boy for so long, would have patiently waited longer for him to come of age… It hurt and it was terribly unfair, but who was he in comparison to Aquor’s crown prince and soon-to-be king?

“You may be my ailing father’s best and most trusted knight, but I am the future and rightful king of this country,” said Luther with a nasty smirk, knowing he had Fayt cornered.

And rubbing salt into the latter’s wounds, he continued, “Leingod, are you aware that there are laws against those who come between a member of the royal family and their chosen spouse?”

With a condescending giggle, he withdrew from the stunned knight, all the while maintaining that charming smile of his. He let that threat sink in.

“Do you understand now, Captain?”

Left without a choice, Fayt could do nothing but lower his gaze in submission. At the end of the day, honor and duty came before love. He had to think about his family, his reputation, and his future. There was no place for Roger in that equation.

“… Perfectly, your highness.”

His defeat was music to Luther’s ears.

“Excellent.”

The prince turned away to study the map on his desk.

“As you’ve probably heard, Roger disappeared in the woods somewhere along the crossroads of the Floating Gardens and Duggus Forest. I want a search party sent to every city, town and village, every forest and rocky region; leave no stone left unturned. You will find him, punish him, and bring him to me for the royal chapel to officialize our union.”

Fayt forced down a cringe and placed a hand over his heart in salute. “Sir!”

“Oh, and Leingod?”

“Yes, your highness?”

The sadistic grin on Luther’s face was positively savage.

“When you punish him, don’t hold back on those whips. I want him to scream for my mercy.”

After dismissing Fayt with a wave of his hand, Luther locked the door of his study and returned to his place at the desk. With a loud, exhausted sigh, he buried his face in his hands. Seriously, the damned humanoid was more trouble than he was worth; but to own that brain of his and hear those delectable noises again… For a moment, Luther allowed his mind to wander as he indulged in his guilty pleasures. Already, he had at least a dozen scenarios planned out on how he'd break the feisty child, make him beg and cry for more, to submit and perpetually hungry for a cock in his ass and mouth.

He shuddered just thinking about it.

Suddenly, a spark caught his eye and he turned to face the bookcase next to him, specifically at a silver orb on its top shelf. Luther stared at the precious artifact, mouth agape. The sacred orb had belonged to his mother – holy priestess of Aquaria – but lost its power after her death – at least, that was what he thought. The orb had been capable of miraculous things during his mother’s influence and now, it seemed that after nearly nine years, it was finally responding to him, resonating with his blood.

Picking it up, he studied the sacred orb with a frown.

“Mother… what are you trying to tell me?” he whispered, voice gentle and a tad sorrowful.

Not many people knew this (apart from the king and Blair) but he loved his mother dearly, loved her the most, and until this very day, he wasn’t able to fully let her death go.

The orb floated from his open palm and the light that enveloped it finally ruptured in a brilliant burst of sound and color, revealing an image of Aquor. But in less than a second, raging flames consumed the land – buildings, forests, and people; nothing was spared. And in this vision, Luther witnessed the horrific sight of a fierce and powerful winged dragon – the biggest he had ever seen – laying waste to his precious kingdom and destroying all of Lansfeld Castle.

The vision faded and the sacred orb fell and rolled across the floor, bumping against his boot. Slowly, Luther bent down to retrieve the mystic artifact, thoroughly unsettled. When he was a young boy, he often bore witness to his mother's predictions, all of which turned out to true be it bad or good. And with her blood running through his veins, Luther was certain he inherited that very gift as well.

The sacred orb shook in his grasp and he clenched his jaw in a bid to calm his nerves. The fall of Aquor? This was impossible: he was sure he annihilated the dragon threat years ago, unless…

Quickly, he grabbed his cloak, threw the door open, and stole away into the royal aqueducts. There was something he needed to check on. Something he had invested his time and power in for the last nine years.

“So hungryyyy…”

Roger clutched his empty stomach and rolled across the bed, face-planting into a bunch of fluffy pillows. Peppita and Mirage had left hours ago, and he been all too happy to throw off his new fancy, stuffy clothes and slip on a modest white nightie. Unfortunately, the smallest one he could find was still too big for him, with the sleeves extending past his fingertips and the ends of the shirt dragging on the ground. At least it was comfier than that ridiculous white ruffle tunic, stiff green-and-gold coat, dress pants, and uncomfortable pointed leather shoes those girls made him wear.

“Life… fadin'… darkness… descendin'…”

Ok, maybe he was being a little too dramatic, but he was really lamenting his plight here. Not only had he gone half a day without food and drink, his wicked new ‘master’ had put his bedroom on lockdown and quite literally ordered him to starve to death. So much for making sure he didn’t end up killing himself. Ironically, he preferred the dungeons better – at least Cliff brought him food there. ‘A golden cage is still a cage’, he recalled his own words to Luther the previous day, and groaned from the cruel irony that had befallen him. He really ought to keep his big mouth shut.

At some point, he realized all this could have been avoided if he’d just dined with the pushy dragon to being with, but that mere thought prompted him to stick to his principles. The dragon almost ate him once, so who’s to say it wouldn’t try again? That realization drove Roger to scout the entirety of his bedroom and baths for a plausible escape route, but was dismayed to find out that his only option was his balcony and an approximate 10-storey drop from the garden below.

Yeah… not happening.

So, to sum things up, he could either die alone in this stylish room, get eaten by a blood-thirsty dragon, or take a leap of faith at his balcony and die trying... Oh well, at least Dipstick was happy – he saw the white stallion frolicking across the gardens earlier with a beautiful black mare just before sunset.

‘Maybe I’ll just sleep over it,’ he thought to himself with a sigh and buried himself under the quilt. Unfortunately, to make matters worse, it was the end of June and the hottest period in summer, namely in Aquor’s northeastern region, which was also where he happened to be. Roger kicked off his quilt with a huff.

“Guh! It's hot!”

Great, just great: now he couldn’t sleep either.

His eyes trailed towards his balcony, contemplating if he should keep the glass doors open and risk getting attacked by his new master in the middle of the night. Then again, if the dragon wanted to eat him, glass would be the least of its concerns. He gnawed on his lower lip, weighing his options.

“Maybe for a lil’ while… just ta let in some air…”

Throwing the doors open, Roger stepped out onto the balcony, shivering slightly when his bare feet made contact against the cold floor. With some effort, he climbed onto a stone bench to the side. The Menodix leaned over the ledge and breathed in deeply, allowing the scents of forest oak and pine and the cool nighttime breeze wash over him. He always loved the smell of midsummer nights and being a humanoid allowed him to make out wondrous sights, sounds, and scents that humans couldn’t.

As he inclined his gaze towards the millions of stars twinkling across the solar sea, he was suddenly overcome by a sense of peace. The last time he saw anything this beautiful was at Surferio; Peterny was too bright and its buildings were too high. But here, the view was absolutely perfect, undisturbed, and pure. Stripped off commerce and isolated in the heart of the forest, Roger realized how utterly sacred this castle truly was.

With a blissful sigh, he was about to retreat to his room when he noticed movement in the garden below. His eyes focused on the shadows... before letting out a quiet gasp. Long black-and-blonde hair caught his eye, the silken locks unbound and flowing freely in the wind. A slender, moon-kissed leg peeked out from the split in their black sarong, and Roger almost mistook the mysterious stranger to be an incredibly attractive woman until he noticed the man's bare, well-built and ridiculously toned torso. He wasn't too big or too small, and his lean frame granted him a sort of grace and effeminate masculinity. Shadows emphasized the vascularity of his abs, his tight muscles rippling beneath his skin as he walked.

Roger felt his jaw go slack against his will, openly gaping at his latest eye-candy. His breath came out in shaky pants.

Blushing, he frantically shook his head.

'Am I actually checkin' out... a guy?' he thought to himself in embarrassment though strangely, wasn't in the least bit disgusted by it. Instead, it actually made him feel a little excited.And like a curious little boy on the verge of puberty, he wanted to see more.

A claw gauntlet covered the man's left arm, that particular handicap somehow making him appear more perfect in its imperfection. He was gazing up at the night sky, a forlorn look across his sharp features, which made him appear almost startlingly vulnerable – a quality that Roger felt did not suit him and at the same time, was oddly gratifying to see, like he was in on a special secret that privileged him to bear witness to this handsome man in all his raw glory, his walls ultimately stripped down. There was a deep, inexplicable sorrow about him that was both tragic and beautiful, and it drew Roger to him like a moth to a flame. He wondered what caused the man's sadness and against his better judgment, found himself wanting to eliminate his pain in some way.

The effeminate man was standing by the rose bushes, and Roger couldn’t help but marvel how the crimson bloom surrounding him complimented the intensity of his eyes.

Suddenly, the air felt much hotter and no, it definitely wasn't the weather.

Roger's blush intensified, his heart beating a rhythm against his chest. Every time his gaze lingered on the mysterious man, his stomach would knot and it got harder to breathe. His ears fluttered pleasantly while his tail twitched and coiled in excitement. A sudden shyness overtook him. Never before had his body reacted this way toward anyone, not even a girl. Who was this beautiful man? Was he a servant too? Why hadn’t he seen him before? He wondered what his name was…

Just then, the man’s eyes met his and Roger let out an unmanly squeak as he hurriedly ducked behind the balcony ledge. His heart was beating like crazy; he could hear his blood pounding in his ears.

He saw me.

However, when he lifted his head and returned his gaze to the garden below, the man was gone.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

"Bastard!"

Mirage ducked a set of kitchen knives, which sailed over her head and lodged into the door behind her. Pots, pans, ladles, and what looked suspiciously like part of the kitchen sink were skillfully evaded by those present in the room after years of growing accustomed to the head chef's temper. It was no secret him and the master couldn't get along – well, more than usual standards went anyway. The only reason the blonde cook was still alive after giving the master years of lip was because he fought as good as his food tasted. Also, he had really thick skin. And didn't know when to quit most of the time. But that was ok, because when the master had punched him years ago for insubordination, he had been the one sent flying instead. After that, no more fights. Though beating him in dragon form didn't count – that was cheating.

She proceeded to pick up after her childhood friend with a sigh. It seemed Cliff was having another one of his episodes.

"Selfish!"

CRASH!

"Spoiled!"

CRACK!

"Scrawny, pig-headed… Tell that punk to come down here, so I can give his face a good smack!"

Mirage shook her head. "Cliff, you know that never solves anything."

"So we'll do it together," he said, turning to face her. "Maybe if we hit him hard enough, he won't remember any of it."

"If we hit him hard enough, he might never wake up," she replied.

"Then we'll hit him again until he does."

"… I don't think that's what she meant." With a pained expression across her face, Nel pushed back her chair and approached the two blondes. She shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. "Seriously you guys, that's enough,” pausing, she shot them a look of exasperation from the corner of her eye, “is fighting all you ever think about?"

Cliff smirked and indicated at Mirage with a thumb. "This is nothing, Nel. You should see her when you-"

"I was referring to you, Cliff."

"What did I do?"

To the side, Maria paid the bickering trio no heed as she focused all her attention on tending to her fiancé. Lieber had a little band aid plastered on his left cheek and winced every time she tightened the knot of his cast sling more than what was really necessary… but couldn't find the heart to tell her she was actually hurting him more. Besides, he liked the care and attention the normally aloof bodyguard neglected to give him. Maria was a strong, independent woman, who didn't waste her time with romantic bullshit or indulge in unnecessary moments of sentimentality. Perhaps jumping in to take that hit from the master yesterday hadn't been the smartest move in the world, but at least she was safe. Overbearing and uptight as usual, but safe. 'Totally worth it,' he thought to himself, while doing his best to ignore the fact his arm was turning numb and blue. He was a stable boy; she was head of security and the royal bodyguard. He had chased her for years (made her laugh even longer), and until this day he still found it hard to believe that it was his ring she was wearing around her slender finger. Maria was everything he ever dreamed of in a woman: brave, beautiful, smart, independent, dignified, sweet when no one was looking… but she regrettably wasn't very good with first aid.

Pleased with her handiwork (though oblivious to the fact that the bandages were seriously cutting off poor Lieber's blood circulation), Maria pulled away to address the gang. "I think you can take a rain check on that pounding, Cliff, because we have bigger problems."

Cliff moaned and slapped his forehead. "Why do you always have to be the bearer of bad news?" He sighed, "Alright. What's the issue?"

Maria bit her lip. "I’m not sure how to say this… but I think Roger's in love."

"That's great!"

"But with someone else."

"That's not so great."

Mackwell, who had been leaning silently against the wall for the past few minutes, pushed off with a contemptuous scoff. "Can you blame him? If I recall correctly, the master only ever expressed his intention to kill the boy more than once." He was half-tempted to add that common sense apparently wasn't very common to their master, but he had a feeling everyone more or less knew this by now.

"And what makes you say that, dear?" Misty turned to address Maria with a curious stare.

"I heard Roger cry his name in the dungeon, over and over," she answered.

"Him…?" Nel knotted her eyebrows. Funny; what with the way Roger had blatantly drooled all over her yesterday, she had only assumed he was purely heterosexual. This was entirely new and proved potentially beneficial to their plan. But this 'Fayt' concerned her; did he notice Roger was gone and would he come for him? What to do with the third wheel...

"That's right, his name's Fayt. I wasn't too sure it was a 'he' at first, until I had Mackwell look it up." Maria looked to the castle writer for support. “Just like you said, isn’t that right, Professor?”

"Yes, it was hardly a challenge," he drawled with his arms folded. "'Fayt' is an unusual name by default, so it didn't take me long to locate his birth records in the castle archives. Apparently, he's the only son and heir to the Leingod family of the noble class. They're known for raising talented knights and scholars, and are bound by blood to the royal family, serving directly under the king or ruling body."

"Hold on, Master Mackwell," interrupted the brash voice of Adray. "But do you mean to tell me that our boy Roger is in love with Fayt Leingod, son of the Sir Robert Leingod?!"

"You know him, father?" said Clair, blinking in surprise.

"Know him? I sparred with him! A master swordsman, skilled tactician... He led Aquor troops to victory over the siege of Airyglyph – that man's a legend!"

"One moment, Adray," interrupted Misty with a thoughtful frown. It was all coming back to her. "Wasn't he the man who trained the young master in combat?" She remembered how the master would always look forward to his sparring sessions with Sir Leingod over her history, science, art and language classes.

"That's right," said Adray with a proud smirk and nod of his head as he recalled the knight's valor and rich history. "Shortly after his majesty's passing, a band of Aquarian rebels serving under some mysterious cult stormed the castle with their magic. It was dark sorcery, I tell you. Very dark. Sir Robert protected the queen and the young master and managed to drive them off, but at the cost of his own life. The dark magic drained the very life out of his veins. On his deathbed, Leingod made a blood oath – he vowed his family would continue to serve and obey Aquor's rulers until it's final descendant. I had great respect for him. He was a man of honor." Adray threw back his head with a booming laugh. "Hah, I wouldn't be surprised if his son grew up to be just like him!"

The rest of the gang listened to the gardener's story with rapt fascination. As one of the few long-serving attendants of the place, Adray was entirely familiar with the previous residents of Castle Nox. The Leingod family in particular had been nothing short of outstanding. They groomed the most elite of thinkers and fighters in all the land, each member drilled from birth to be completely and exclusively loyal to their country and king. They were anything but easy to forget.

"Well, there you go!" exclaimed Cliff at the end of Adray's tale. "That Fayt kid's bound by a blood oath – just tell him that Roger's off limits except to tall, dark and broody, and everyone's happy."

"It doesn't work like that, Cliff," said Nel with a hint of frustration. "Blood oath or not, you can't tell someone to stop loving who they love, neither can you make someone fall in love with someone else. I know it sounds impossible, but the master and Roger have to learn to overcome their differences and like each other for themselves in order to break the curse."

"Nel's got a really good point," added Clair as she stood by her best friend's side. "Didn't you hear what Roger said? Luther Lansfeld is the new crown prince of Aquor. Fayt is not obligated to follow the master's orders. He's free to love who he chooses."

"Dammit, not helping, Clair!"

"It's the truth!"

"But guys, we don't know for sure if Roger and Fayt are really together…" Lieber added helpfully, but that small piece of encouragement did nothing to alleviate the situation.

Cliff swore so loud it made everyone visibly wince.

"I don't care how the stupid curse works! I spent hours slaving over that stove, and that bastard decides to call off dinner because of a little butt hurt!" He threw a ladle at said stove and it shuddered from the force. Thankfully nothing broke this time. "All this food gone to waste… Argh! All I know is, that guy's going to wake up hungry and start picking at us one by one as per freakin' usual... And why hasn't anything changed? Because he's too much of a royal pain in the ass to see past his own fucking ego!"

His last accusation thundered about the kitchen walls, but Nel made no attempt to shush him this time. Silence weighed heavily in the atmosphere as each staff present processed the severity of Cliff's words. It was true: before the curse, the master had always been picky with his food; but now, going hungry in human form spelt danger for all of them as that usually meant that the beast within would demand for blood, and come daybreak, the hunt would begin. They all knew the drill, had lived in fear and endured the loss of friends and family alike for nearly nine years. However, Roger's arrival gave them hope. As the pure of heart the curse spoke of, it was only natural for the boy to be treated well, if not with dignity and the highest regard. Alas, the master dealt with him the same way he did with everyone else in his wretched life – cold, cruel, and unforgiving. Nothing had changed.

"The least he could do is get over himself and spare a thought for us! Locking the brat up, making him starve… he's screwing everything up! Look at Peppita – he gestured at said girl – all she has is her uncle!"

"Cliff, you idiot, how could you?!" Peppita screamed, tears in her eyes. Sure, her parents died six years ago, but that didn't mean the pain had disappeared. It never did and it never will. Fat tears fell from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks, but Cliff remained ruthless.

"Well stick a sock in it! You think you're the only one suffering here? I hate this place! Every day is just another fucking nightmare waiting to happen! I'm quitting as soon as everything blows over, if not…"

In his rage, Cliff grabbed a knife and held it threateningly over his throat. The girls screamed. There was a mad scramble. Mirage's arm shot out and grasped Cliff's wrist. They struggled against each other, but she managed to force the weapon away. It fell from his hand and she kicked it across the floor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she yelled, though her expression remained remarkably calm in the face of her friend's near suicide attempt. "We've survived for more than eight years. We'll do it again if all else fails. Together . Please don't do anything rash, Cliff…"

A moment of silence passed, before Cliff smirked and wrestled out of Mirage's hold. He took a calm step backwards, hands held out in defense. A great cloud of trepidation descended upon the gang after what they just witnessed. But what frightened them more than their friend's actions was the dawning realization that they were horrifyingly relatable.

"Bah! You're all overreacting," he waved off their looks of concern with a wry smile, lowering his tone. The brazen assurance across his face vanished and what stood in its place was a dark shadow of despair. No one had ever heard the usually brash and  confident blonde speak so helplessly before; like a spirited stallion that had lost all will to live. It was frightening.

"It doesn't work, guys. Nothing does. I know; I've tried." He failed to notice the look of hurt etched across Nel's face.

But before the redhead could reach out to him, to speak her mind, something tapped against the kitchen window. The group gave a start, but with the morning fog outside it was hard to make out anything. It was probably just a branch… But then something hit the window again, this time much harder. Cliff whirled around with an irritable frown.

"What in the world?"

He unlatched the lock, opened the window…

"In commin'!"

… and immediately got smacked in the face by sixty-six pounds of humanoid brat – plus an additional ten more with that shield and cannon strapped to his back – currently using a string of bed sheets as a rope. They crashed noisily onto the ground in a tangle of twitching limbs with Cliff cursing the little menace to kingdom come and back. Screw it if Roger was the pure of heart. Today was not a good day.

"Somebody stop me before I wring this brat's neck!"

The gang gathered around them worriedly.

"Roger, are you alright?!"

Cliff felt a vein in his head explode.

"Roger?! What about me?!"

Mirage picked up the humanoid and set him gently on the counter. Roger rubbed the large bump on his forehead, wincing. Damn, totally miscalculated. Should have used more bed sheets…

"Thanks! Ya know, I really thought I was a goner back there!" he grinned at her sheepishly before turning his attention to the stunned couple to the side. "Hey, Maria, Lieber! How's the arm?"

"Um… uh… fine…" said man stuttered. Like Maria, he was still processing the fact that Roger had just escaped his room after jumping down five storeys and was now in the kitchen.

"What are you doing here?!" Nel suddenly demanded, verbalizing everyone's shock. "We locked… How did you… This is the fifth floor!"

"Heh heh! I escaped," he answered smugly, rubbing his nose, before realizing that description wasn't quite so accurate. A quick glance around the kitchen told him the whole gang was here. And probably wouldn't let him go. And tell the master. And send him back to his room.

"Ya guys aren't gonna let me go, are ya?"

"Nope."

"Argh, biscuits."

Suddenly, his stomach gave a particularly loud growl and he flushed in embarrassment. The gang blinked at him slowly. A few seconds of silence transpired, and when it became clear that no one was going to do anything, Roger gave a shrill, desperate cry and jumped the head chef, who had just gotten up. They crashed back down onto the ground. He shook Cliff for all he was worth by the collar of his shirt.

"Pleaseeeeeeee! Ya gotta feed me, I'm starvin'! I could smell all that awesome cookin' from my balcony and it's been drivin' me crazy!"

However, instead of clobbering him like the others expected, Cliff's eyes lit up like stars. He fixed the Menodix with a meaningful stare. At least he felt better now that he knew all his hard work wasn't going to waste.

"So, you're hungry, huh?" At Roger's eager nod, he grinned and punched a fist into his open palm. "Alright! Mirage, get the brat some cutlery. I'm going to stuff him until he explodes."

"Who ya callin' a brat, ya big lummox?!"

Coming between them, Mackwell easily brushed Roger aside with his long cloak as he stood in front of the blonde cook. Ignoring the humanoid's offended "Hey!" he sized Cliff up, eyes narrowed in displeasure.

"Don't be a fool," he urged in warning, "Roger shouldn't even be here, much less out of his room. The master said – "

"Screw the master, the brat's hungry, and I for one am not letting anyone starve in this castle." Cliff folded his arms in a threatening manner, making especially sure that Mackwell could see the ostensible bulge of his biceps. "My kitchen, my rules."

"You're going to get us all killed!" hissed the castle writer urgently.

But Cliff brushed past him as he balanced six plates of gourmet vegetarian delight on his arms and a tall glass of orange juice on his head. He placed them all on the counter and Roger dug into his meal greedily, not even stopping to chew his food. Heck, the boy practically inhaled everything like he was so afraid it would all just disappear. Nel, Clair, Mirage, Peppita and even Misty helped Cliff serve up round after round of what could be considered Roger's dinner, supper and breakfast combined. As the humanoid happily licked up the last bit of mashed potatoes on his plate, Mackwell stuttered and slumped over with a sigh. He knew when he'd just lost an argument.

"Fine. Fine!" He massaged his forehead with his fingers. "But once he's done, it's back to his room."

"But what about dessert?" Roger cocked his head innocently. "I always have room fer dessert!"

"You will do no such thing!"

Roger made sure to put on the biggest, cutest, most irresistible puppy-dog pout he could muster. It worked like a charm. Mackwell openly faltered.

"… Fine. A scoop of ice-cream. Then take him back to his room and we'll pretend none of this ever – "

"Why not show him your workshop, darling?" Misty sidled up against him with a giggle.

"I will do no such thing!"

"Workshop?" Roger's ears perked instantly, interest shining clear in his big brown eyes. "Ya guys have a workshop here? Neat! Can I see it? Can I, can I, can I?"

Never mind the escape plan. That wasn't important right now. Though Peterny had its own workshop, it was barred from public use unless one had an inventor's permit from the Craftsman's Guild. Also, kingdom rules forbade humanoids to apply for such permits, so the idea of stepping foot into any workshop at all and working on his inventions seemed nothing more than a fantasy to Roger. So, you could only imagine the boy's excitement right now. Coupled with the fact that this castle's workshop belonged to the Professor Mackwell, his one and only idol, made the deal appear about a bazillion times sweeter.

Roger clasped his hands together and if it was humanly possible, made his eyes go even bigger.

"Pleeeeaaasseeeeee?"

"Absolutely not," said the writer with a hard stare, only to wince when he felt Nel roughly elbow him in the side. He shot her a death glare, but the head of household remained unfazed.

"Mackwell, a moment please?" And without giving him a chance to object, she offered Roger a quick smile, before forcefully dragging the writer to the far end of the room.

While Peppita distracted Roger with a cool party trick and Cliff fed him some more potatoes, Nel shoved Mackwell into a corner where they were out of earshot. There, she unfolded her grand plan – or at least what sounded like a really solid work-in-progress.

"Look, we all know how much Roger adores you, and how he loves inventing. The master is a pain in the ass, yes; but I'm sure you want your freedom just as much as we do. If he's screwing things up, then it's up to us to fix it."

Mackwell regarded her with guarded interest. "I'm listening…"

"Show him your workshop; say it's the master's gift to him."

"You want me to give up my workshop?!" he exclaimed, practically seething. The audacity of this woman!

"Not give it up, just share it," Nel reasoned patiently. "I promise to speak to the master when he wakes up. Work out some sort of second chance." Mackwell looked like he was about to argue with her and in her mounting frustration she raised her voice. "Do you want to be human again or not?!"

Silence doused the kitchen like a bucket of cold water. Everyone stared at her in complete horror, jaws slack from disbelief. Nel immediately snapped her mouth shut, regretting her recklessness. Dammit, did she single-handedly screw up their chances for redemption? Would Roger find out about the curse? Would he care? Or would he try to run away again?

"Human again?" Roger wondered out loud. What did she mean by that? Unless they were all pretending to be humans and were really all humanoids in disguise, everyone looked pretty fine to him.

She stuttered and avoided his eyes. "Ah… That is…uh..."

Oh, Apris help them all.

"Hey, Nel?" Roger tugged the end of her skirt and gazed up at her with bright, inquisitive eyes. "Ya know, there's summin that's been buggin' me since yesterday…"

"W-What is it?" she replied nervously.

"Is this castle enchanted?"

Everyone stiffened; even the usually suave Cliff Fittir had nothing to say to refute that claim. Nel hesitated, discretely looking to her peers for support, but when she received none, she could only force a smile of her own as she addressed young Roger.

"E-Enchanted?" She began in a voice that conveyed her bemusement. "Heh… Whoever said anything about the castle being enchanted?"

But even Roger could tell that her innocence was only pretense. His face fell as he regarded the beautiful redhead in a way that indicated he clearly didn't believe her one bit. Seriously, what did these people take him for, an idiot? Just because he was twelve years old, it didn't mean he couldn't figure things out for himself.

"Uh… Ya know, when ya talked ta that dragon – which by the way happens ta be yer master – that's not normal." His eyes did a quick, anxious sweep over the ten servants in the room, feeling his nerves from when he had first stepped foot into this castle, returning. "…Are ya guys really human?" He didn't know where that question really came from, but it definitely had been on his mind for quite a while now.

Nel stuttered and attempted to explain, but Cliff held up a hand to stop her. Nervous violet met solemn blue; they shared a look of understanding. No point dodging the matter any further. Might as well give the kid what he wanted.

"Sort of," said Cliff with a shrug. "Well, what's left of us anyway." And he left it at that.

Roger frowned and opened his mouth, but before he could pry further, Nel cleared her throat and nudged Mackwell forward. Blowing his silver bangs out of his face in frustration, he composed himself quickly and addressed the Menodix.

"If you're done here, I'll show you to the workshop," was his curt statement. Then with a grand sweep of his cloak, he left the room without another word.

The kitchen's atmosphere was suddenly heavy with tension and sorrow. Confused and feeling a little inadequate, Roger spared the servants one last worried glance before scampering after the castle writer.

He wondered what all that was about.

"Is this yer workshop, Professor? It's amazing!"

Numerous flasks, vials, and jars filled with strange, unidentifiable substances lined the workshop's shelves; easily over a dozen of them. The layout reminded Roger of a giant library, but instead of books, each shelf was stacked with scrolls and neatly folded parchments dictating experimental theories and data records from who-knows how far back. Placed alongside selected bookcases were displays of human, dragon, unicorn, wolf, and various other specimens of either skeletal or stuffed variety, each model constructed to resemble the real thing as anatomically accurate as possible. The large workshop was like a maze – he felt he could get lost in Mackwell's experiments forever.

They reached the room's far end and stopped in front of a long work table. An ink quill sat inconspicuously next to a stack of blank parchment (no doubt where Mackwell documented his findings); behind it was an elaborate chemistry set with a strange green liquid bubbling in a flask at one end; a half-open tool drawer to the side; and a large boiler at the corner. Roger ran around to the other side of the setup and peered curiously at the odd concoction. His distorted reflection from the flask's odd shape almost made Mackwell snigger. Kids.

"Watcha werkin' on?" he asked with an eager wag of his tail. He poked and prodded the flask and it tipped over. Mackwell surged forward and caught it before it hit the floor, then he shot a murderous glare at the Menodix who chuckled nervously. "Heheh… my bad."

Mackwell was right up at his face.

"Don't. Touch. Anything," he growled dangerously, before returning the flask to its original position.

Roger pouted. "Oh, ok… Hey, what's that?"

"DON'T – "

But it was too late and the Orichalcum he and Misty had worked on for over a year literally went up in a brilliant burst of flames. Mackwell stared at its charred remains dumbly. Roger's ears flattened against his skull.

"S-Sorry…"

"… Don't worry about it. It was only the world's soon-to-be strongest weapon synthesizing compound created by the rarest of ingredients I wouldn't be able to harvest ever again. Not a huge loss. I'm fine. Really."

But judging by the way Mackwell's right eye was twitching sporadically, he certainly didn't look fine. Not at all. In fact, he looked the total opposite of fine. And to avoid screaming at Roger and doing something he'd probably regret, he grabbed the nearest chair and pulled it out for him. His fingers gripped the wood so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Sit. Down. Please."

And Roger did.

Mackwell pulled out a chair for himself and they faced each other for a good full ten seconds doing and saying absolutely nothing. Man, this was awkward.

"Sir, I'm really sorry ‘bout your Ori-Orical-calcium…"

"Please stop," Mackwell sighed, resisting the urge to massage his forehead. He's only 12, he's only 12…

"Actually, since we're here, I was wonderin' if ya could take a look at my invention," said Roger all of a sudden as he unclasped the hand-held canon from his back and offered it to the young professor. "It's still a prototype and it could use some werk. I've been at it fer months, but I still can't do anythin' 'bout the recoil and its firin' consistency…"

Mackwell received the weapon and studied the crude contraption with a frown. He turned it over and inspected the calibration. Honestly, it was no big deal - it was nothing more than a beefed up version of a regular gun.

"Of course you're having problems. Its mechanics are as mediocre as today's poor excuse of lethal weaponry. What's it run on?" he asked with the barest hint of boredom.

"Gun powder fer now, but that's the problem – it's not supposed ta!" Roger flipped open a small catch at the end of the barrel and pointed at a peculiar-looking device inside. "See that? It's a conductor, but it's burned out. I designed my canon ta run on 'charged force', but I'm missin' summin and it keeps switchin' ta reserve power – gunpowder. Regular guns take too long ta reload after each shot, and the recoil makes it hard ta predict accuracy and account fer wind speed. I'm aimin' ta improve all that. My canon's gonna change the playin' field as we know it!"

Charged force?

Mackwell studied the weapon with renewed interest. A weapon designed to run on something other than gunpowder? Extraordinary! But how was that possible? In all his years of study, he never dreamed such possibilities existed - Hold on a second. He studied the conductor closely. Why did this seem so familiar?

"Did you design this applying the basics of kinetic force?"

"Mm… sorta," Roger replied with a pout as he struggled to explain his concept. "It's like makin’ fire from rubbing two sticks together. The force produced creates energy; but what if we had more force? Energy more powerful than fire! I thought it'd be cool ta conduct and store this charged energy on-the-go somehow, so it'll be readily available, at least until the stored energy runs out… Sorry, am I makin' sense?"

Channeled force - no wonder it sounded so familiar. He wrote a short hypothesis about this very concept in one of his old papers, and Roger had just taken his insubstantial theory and turned it into a real working mechanical prototype. Well, not 100% fully functional or remarkable, but the effort definitely deserved some degree of recognition. Some years back, he had expounded on the theory of combining channeled force and magnetism as a possible new form of energy… Roger's 'charged force' worked on a similar basis. If he could work on the boy's weapon and solidify his theory, it could revolutionize all of Aquor as they knew it!

Roger waved a hand over Mackwell's eyes. "Uh… prof? Ya there?"

"… I must work on this immediately. Boy, you’re brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

“Duh! ‘course I am!”

The castle writer shot to his feet and zipped towards the shelves, occasionally muttering to himself as he rummaged through his old records and dug out dusty boxes containing previously abandoned experiments. When it looked like Mackwell was way too preoccupied to bother about anything else save his work, Roger smirked and quietly snuck out the workshop. Just as planned: he knew a genius like Mackwell couldn't possibly resist a challenge like that, especially if it stemmed from his old discoveries. Losing his canon was a pity, but it wasn't like he couldn't make another one when he was back at Peterny. Oh, he was well aware that his return would only play into Luther's hands; and he couldn't quite figure out which was the lesser of the two evils - the twisted crown prince or the wicked master - but he'd figure it out. Somehow. Eventually.

"No matter where you go, or what you do, I'll always be by your side."

Recalling Fayt's words hardened his resolve. No matter what, he could always count on the young knight to have his back. There was no way Fayt would allow someone as twisted and perverse as Luther to get his hands on him. His fire of righteousness burned brighter than a thousand suns. Prince or no prince, he wouldn't condone such acts of injustice, not under his watch. He'd protect him like he always did. He knew he would.

Fayt, I'm comin' home.

He slipped out the door and made a break for the stairs.

Dagnabbit, he really should have paid more attention to his surroundings…

This castle was a freaking labyrinth and he had climbed up and down so many stairs, turned corners, and slipped through even more doors that he honestly had no idea what floor or section of the castle he was at. Heck, he wasn't even sure which floor the workshop had been on. At first, he figured he wouldn't go wrong heading downwards; after all, he was bound to reach the main foyer eventually, right? Wrong. He wound up at the boiler room instead and had somehow missed the main floor completely. It was then he realized that certain floors were only accessible via specific stairs, which resulted in him climbing up and down and trying out different combinations, thus leaving him in the state he was in now: utterly and hopelessly lost.

Finally making it to the top step, Roger almost fell on his face from exhaustion. Oh my God, why were there so many stairs? Who the hell designed this castle? He'd like to find the twisted soul responsible for this design and push them down every single one of these stairs, just to show them how stupid they were. And then they'd have an epiphany and invent something better that wouldn't require walking because their bones would be broken.

"Please let it be this one…" He lifted his gaze, spotted another flight of stairs towards the end of the corridor, and nearly screamed.

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY STAIRS?!

He was half-tempted to blow a hole in the nearest wall with a landmine, when his ears picked up the sharp click of metal from down the corridor. Reacting quickly, he ducked behind a suit of armor while mentally cursing himself for his oversight. He had been so caught up with escaping that he almost walked straight into the castle's head of security herself. Thankfully, like the rest of the castle, the corridor was dark and his keen senses placed him at an advantage.

"Who's there?!" Maria raised her gun and pointed it down the walkway. Squinting, her gaze darted between the outline of every suit of armor and every shadowed corner. "Show yourself!"

Silence. She took a step forward. Roger held his breath.

‘Please don't spot me, please don't spot me, please don't spot me…’

However, a sudden rush of footsteps made Maria pause and provided Roger much relief. Mackwell ascended the flight of stairs to her side, panting heavily. He was as pale as a sheet and had a wild look in his eyes. She had never seen the usually stoic, well-groomed scholar look like this before. Least to say, it proved rather disconcerting.

"Professor? What is it?" she demanded with wide eyes. Mackwell didn't even bother collecting himself. He knew he screwed up big time.

"Roger's gone!"

"WHAT!?"

Maria's shriek made him wince. It wasn't so much of the pitch that got to him, but rather the underlying implications of his inexcusable failure and incompetence. It was unacceptable, but he had all the time to be self-critical later.

"He was with me in the workshop, I swear! But I got distracted with this fascinating hypothesis and then – "

Maria rolled her eyes so hard she saw the back of her skull. "You had one job, Mackwell."

"Argh! I know," he growled through clenched teeth. "Just alert the guards, will you? His horse is still in the stable, so he must be somewhere in the castle."

"But – " Maria bit her lip as she eyed the room behind her uncertainly. It was daytime – she never abandoned her post. The last time she did so, Roger was almost eaten alive and Lieber broke his arm. Her hesitance only served to fuel Mackwell's anxiety.

"Don't you think this is more important than that?" He grabbed her wrist and tugged her after him. "Come on! If we hurry, we'll clear this whole mess before Nel or the master finds out."

"Have you informed the others as well?" His silence made her smirk. "Won't admit you messed up, huh?"

"Shut up,"

They disappeared down the stairs and Roger emerged from his hiding place after their voices completely dissipated. He breathed a sigh of relief. Phew! At least that took care of scary Maria… but it was only a matter of time before the entire staff found out, and he had no plans on getting locked up again. So, Roger approached the steps and deliberated his position. Seeing as Maria and Mackwell took these stairs to warn everybody, they probably led to the exit, or at the very least the main section of the castle. But following right after them would be suicide, especially if Maria’s guards were crawling all over the place, or worse still, if Maria herself saw him. Knowing how dedicated she was, he didn’t doubt she’d lodge a bullet in his knee to keep him down. He could turn back and leave the way he came, but what was the point?

"C'mon, Roger, think, think… huh?" His eyes landed on the towering double doors at the end of the hallway. The entrance way alone was massive, and the doors' elegant design and furnishing seemed disgustingly expensive, more so than the decor of his room.

He took in the design of the door knockers – together, they formed the head of a dragon. The sight made him frown. Dragons again? Sure, as farfetched as it sounded, the castle's master was a dragon, he got it; but he seriously doubted it played a part in the building’s interior decoration. Huh, now that he thought about it, all this reminded him of a bedtime story his mama told him long ago, about a family born from ice and snow, and whose descendants possessed the power to tame the flames of a dragon's heart. Winter birthed a king, and Aquor finally knew peace… but that was only a legend. Everyone knew that Luther was the one who really stopped the dragons from attacking.

'Wonder what's behind this door?' he thought to himself as he attempted to peer through the slit down the middle, but it was too narrow and too dark inside to make out anything. His tail swished about excitedly as he pondered over what lay within. Curiosity was a Menodix's curse, and the fact that Maria herself had guarded this room and looked so reluctant to leave, must mean that there was something really important inside. What could the castle’s mysterious master be hiding?

"Maybe… it's a secret passage ta the outside! That's gotta be it!"

Jumping up, Roger made a grab for one of the giant knockers and pulled hard, his little feet kicking in the air as he struggled to get the door open. Guh, this would be a lot easier if he wasn't so short. After a few good tugs, the door finally creaked open and he slipped inside, momentarily disoriented by the dense darkness around him. Blinking rapidly, it didn't take his sensitive humanoid eyes long to get accustomed to the pitch-blackness.

"Right. Time ta find the exit," he muttered, only to walk right into an old trunk. "Ow!" He cupped his nose miserably. Who the heck would put a trunk in a secret passage? The lid was open, so he peered inside and was surprised to find a set of expensive, neatly folded clothes and a handful of exquisite jewelry. The dark garments had precious trinkets sewn onto them, the linings stitched out of pure gold thread; and pinned on each of the coat’s left pectoral was an elaborately crafted gold insignia. A layer of thick dust covered the trunk's contents, so he had to blow at it to get a better look at the emblem. Despite the darkness, he was able to make out the outline of what appeared to be a rather complicated-looking sun medallion… Wait, sun?

This specific design… wasn't this the old symbol of Aquor? Though he had been only a toddler then, he could faintly remember his pops flying the kingdom's flag at their village's entrance. But that was ages ago; why did this castle still have all of this old, retired junk?

It was then he realized it wasn't just a trunk: other furniture and loose objects were carelessly strewn about the dark room, along with wooden splinters and porcelain shards from numerous broken sake bottles. Thick layers of dust covered the floor and entirety of the room, spiderwebs abound. A large, king-sized bed stood at the near-end of the room, but it appeared untouched for years, the mattress and quilt rotten from age and lack of care. A vanity corner similar to the one in his own room – only grander – had all its mirrors shattered and its drawers ripped out and emptied of its contents. There were massive tears all over the wallpaper; tapestries hung in flimsy threads; and an old chandelier loomed precariously overhead, its rusty chain seemingly on its last legs.

Roger frowned at his dilapidated surroundings. Was this… a bedroom? How could anyone live like this? Why didn't any of the servants bother to clean up this place? What made this run-down chamber so important for Maria to guard it? And why was it so unbelievably dark in here?

"Aha! There we go…" He found a set of curtains and drew them open, but they were so thick and heavy that he only managed to let in just a sliver of afternoon sunlight. Still, it was better than nothing.

Light seeped into the room in small, tentative streams, breathing life into the cold chamber after years of solitude. A small glint caught Roger’s eye and he turned to face the source of that light. Against the wall on a tabletop was a little round music box just slightly bigger than the palm of his hand. Roger picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was forged out of pure gold and lacquer with a beautiful array of precious gems embedded around it in a ring. Painted on its lid was the old symbol of Aquor’s Sun. The music box was practically an antique. However, it didn't appear to have a key and just when Roger was about to give up on the thing, he spotted a strange indent on the back shaped like a snowflake.

"Wait a sec… I saw summin like this before!"

He raced to the old trunk, dug through it, and pulled out a tiny silver snowflake pendant attached to a delicate chain – one out of the few pieces of jewelry he found inside. Then, he fit the pendent into the hole and wound up the music box. A beautiful, haunting melody filled the air, modest in its childish purity, yet deeply enchanting like a fairytale. The tune was both tender and chilling, reminiscent of the beginnings of winter where crystal snow descended from the sky like powdered stars, covering the land in a blanket of pure white and otherworldly enchantment. The more he listened, the more he remembered: moonlight that danced on the waves of a vast open sea; verses recited from a traveler's lips; and his pop’s violin that echoed the song of twilight and earth's longing. Enchanted winter: an old lullaby his mama used to sing to him. Oh how he missed her…

Blinking away the tears from his eyes, Roger sniffed and lifted his gaze, only to nearly drop the music box from shock. Sunlight landed on a previously inconspicuous painting on the wall and though the canvas was shredded at certain parts, he could make out a pair of crimson eyes on what appeared to be a finely chiseled face. He remembered that piercing gaze and how it seemed to breathe fire into his loins and send his heart racing, to hear nothing but his own blood pounding in his ears in deafening echoes.

The man among the roses.

He scampered across the room, scaled atop a giant lump of junk, and stood before the tattered portrait. Up close, he could practically feel the fire from those alluring crimson eyes burn an imprint deep into his soul. Tilting his head in an attempt to make out the identity of the model, Roger reached out with a tentative hand and lifted the torn part of the painting to complete the puzzle…

The shock almost made him drop the piece. No question about it; he would remember this face for all eternity.

"It is ya..." he whispered more to the painting than anything else, leaning in closer and ever closer. “I didn’t imagine it. Ya are real.”

In the background, the music box's song continued to play. Roger gazed at the painting, wholly enthralled. Those rose-red eyes, moon-kissed skin, sharp and perfect features, midnight locks dipped in golden sun… the man was beautiful. He carried himself with a fierce dignity, pride a key feature in his smirk and passionate gaze, so unlike the impenetrable sorrow Roger had witnessed the previous night. There were other key differences as well: his hair was bound in a pair of rat tails here; he appeared much younger (probably in his adolescence) and he wore a set of regal, black garments – the very ones in the dusty old trunk. Roger's fingers ghosted over the painted man’s lips and his face flushed from his actions. It wasn't very manly, but he couldn't help it. Someone this enchanting couldn't be real. It was the face of a prince – at least the kinds pictured in storybooks. Not even Luther was this handsome and the guy was the hottest bachelor around.

Yet, there was something eerily familiar about this painting, that pose, that expression, that aloof disposition… Ah! That's right, the portrait in his room – 'Lady Emurelle' or so Maria had said. They possessed the exact same intense gaze, the same eyes, proud features; and there was no doubt about it: this boy – correction – this man had clearly inherited her elegance and beauty. Were they related? Did this room belong to him? Were they the castle's original owners? Then where were they now? … Wait a minute. Roger covered his mouth in horror, trembling. Was that why Adray said no such person existed? Had the man in the gardens been a ghost? And the lady in his room too? If so, were they dead because of...

Suddenly, the 'lump of junk' beneath his feet shifted and he felt a puff of hot breath tickle his ears and lick the flesh of his neck. Roger felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. Gulping audibly, he forced himself to turn around and came face to face with the very face that haunted him and this castle. The black dragon lowered its head and sneered down at the unwelcome visitor. How dare this filthy vermin step foot into his private chambers and disturb his slumber? Smoke rose from its nostrils; fury burned deep within its core as it fixed the child with its glowing red eyes. It's forked tongue snaked out, tasting the humanoid's fear in the air.

The music stopped. Dread filled Roger's heart. His hand slipped away from the painting and that quick action was enough to capture the master’s attention. The dragon's gaze moved from Roger to the painting, momentarily confused. The maggot was… admiring him? No, he was admiring the 'him' in the painting – the former him. Last night, the boy had gazed at him with utmost longing, his eyes burning brighter than the stars in the sky, and cheeks as pink and lovely as a spring bloom. But now, all he saw swimming in those big brown eyes was fear and the shadows of utter despair. Anger and self-loathing filled his heart. The little fool loved the man in the painting, not the one standing before him.

In the end, he'll never see me as anything… but a monster.

The dragon roared and Roger screamed, jumping away just before those powerful jaws could clamp shut around him. He slid down its wide tail, but the dragon lifted it off the ground at the last moment and with a powerful swing, flung Roger straight into a wall. Roger’s back smacked against the unyielding surface with a resounding 'thump!' The back of his head throbbed madly. There were cracks on the plaster from where he collided. His body slid down the wall and landed in a heap on the ground with a shudder. Roger moaned in agony. Blood trickled down the side of his forehead and seeped into the corners of his mouth, and he could taste the coppery essence on his tongue. He raised his head and shook it when his vision went blurry.

"Urgh…"

The room was spinning; black spots appeared in his vision and he felt light-headed. His chest contracted painfully and every breath felt like a hundred hot pokers ramming into his nerves. He forced himself onto his elbows and shifted into a crawl.

Gotta get outta here.

A claw swiped at him, but he quickly rolled out of the way. The attack destroyed the table instead, reducing it to splinters and causing the music box to fall and roll away. Damn, he was really starting to regret giving Mackwell his canon... Roger scrambled to his feet just as the dragon turned its gaze on him. His ears twitched; he was ready for it this time. A spiked tail swung at him and he grabbed his shield from around his back to block the hit. Unfortunately, the laws of physics were a bitch and the blow sent him flying, only to land and roll painfully on bits of broken glass a few paces away. The shards ripped through his clothes and cut into his skin. A sharp cry tore from his throat - God, it hurt!

Parting its jaws, the dragon surged forward, determined to put the poor humanoid out of his misery, but Roger wasn't going down just yet. Mustering the last of his strength, he struggled to his feet and with a yell, swung his shield and walloped the dragon's muzzle. Stunned by the boy's sudden burst of inhuman strength, it stumbled backwards and shook its head to regain its composure; and Roger seized that opportunity to hightail out of the room. He heard the dragon roar after him as he slid down the stair railing, but he refused to look back.

Suddenly, it didn't matter if that monster decided to destroy all of Aquor. Promise or no promise, he couldn't stay here another minute.

The stable doors burst open.

“DIPSTICK!”

Lieber started awake and nearly fell off his chair. Geez, his arm was already broken. He did not need another fractured limb to add to the collection, thank you very much. Who the hell -

"R-Roger?!" He gave the Menodix a once-over. "What in the name of Apris happened to you?!" The kid was a mess. Tears in his shirt; dried blood on his face and clothes; cuts on his hands and knees…

"Sorry, Lieber!"

And before the blonde could utter another word, the latter rammed him into the stable rack. Saddles, pitchforks, and various grooming tools rained down on him, burying him under layers of riding equipment. Roger felt a little bad for him, especially with that broken arm, but the stable boy would have stopped him and anyone who stood in his path to freedom was automatically deemed a threat.

The commotion caused the horses to panic, save one snow-white stallion with a bad attitude. If horses had eyebrows, Dipstick would have raised one in typical condescend. So, when it saw the young humanoid climb over the stable door, it simply tossed its head of white curls and returned to its carrots and sugar cubes. Meanwhile, Roger didn't even bother with a saddle or reins as he struggled onto his stubborn stead and kicked its sides.

"C'mon, ya dummy! We're leaving – now!" he shrieked, only to pause and roll his eyes when Dipstick refused to budge. In fact, it ignored him completely and was throwing flirtatious stares at a gorgeous black mare at the far end of the stable. Roger smacked himself on the forehead. Great, just great; birdbrain just had to get himself a girlfriend...

"I don't wanna do this, but…" He yanked hard at the stallion's ears, twisting them. The effect was immediate: Dipstick’s eyes flew open, let out a high-pitched neigh, and bulldozed its way through the door and out of the stable.

At that same moment, Lieber finally emerged from the pile of tools and struggled to his feet. Wincing and muttering quiet strings of "Ow", he stumbled towards the stable entrance and peered outside. What he saw however, drained all color from his face. The main gates had been forced open, and Roger and his horse were nowhere in sight. A calculated observation of the direction they left in however, appeared obvious enough – southwest of the Floating Gardens, thereabouts. Not too far. Unfortunately, it took a little longer for the implications of that observation to fully sink in. And when they did, Lieber was a wreck.

"Shit!"

He never ran this fast in his life. Got to tell Maria, got to tell Maria… However, he wasn't in the least bit prepared for the sight that greeted him upon entering the castle. The foyer was neck-deep in disaster: Maria and her guards were doing all they could to control their raging master, who had not only ripped through the scene like a hurricane, but left a handful of servants gravely injured as well. There were blood splatters on the windows, across walls, and once pristine marble floors. To the side, Nel, Mirage, and Cliff were doing all they could to transport the others to safety, the head of household barking orders with tears shining in her eyes. The scene was horrific. Never before had they dealt with such a high degree of chaos and casualties in a single event. Even when the master had lost it before, they had always been able to contain before it got out of hand. That, and the master usually fell into a deep sleep around late afternoon as per his regular sleep cycle. Something must have set him off.

"Force him back to the South Wing! Nel, evacuate the castle!" Maria screamed in-between firing a barrage of shots. Regret and self-hatred welled in her heart. Three times she let this happen on her watch and three times the consequences proved frightfully severe. She never should have abandoned her post...

Suddenly, a mop of sandy-blonde hair whizzed past and it took her a second too late to realize her fiancé was practically placing his life on the line once again.

"Lieber! No!" But her desperate cry fell on deaf ears.

The stable boy approached the rampaging beast with bold steps and spread his arms in a show of peace. Glowing red eyes honed in on its latest target, before the master released a deafening roar and charged the defenseless male. Lieber though, held his ground.

"Master, Roger's escaped! You have to go after him!"

The mere mention of that particular name brought the master back to his senses, almost like a spell. The dragon stopped right before Lieber, hesitated, and to everyone's great astonishment, backed away fearfully as it looked about, utterly confused. It shook its head and blinked rapidly, the angry red glow dissipating from its stare.

What... happened?

"Sir, if you're in there, listen to me: Roger's in trouble! You're the only one who can get to him!"

The little fool… in trouble?

An image of a bloody and beaten Roger flashed through his mind. His cries of pain echoed in his ears. If the boy hadn't hit him with that shield of his…

What have I done?

"Lieber, what in Apris’ name are you thinking?!" Nel screamed and grabbed him by the shoulder, whirling him around to face her. "You know the conditions of the curse. If the master steps out of this castle, it'll be worse for all of us!"

"Well, he's the only one who can, and if he doesn't, then we're all screwed!" Lieber smacked her hand away and met the dragon's stare head-on, unflinching. Under normal circumstances, he would have probably peed in his pants by now, but this was different. There was too much at stake.

"Sir, you have to go after him. He left in the direction of Sanmite."

Lieber let the gravity of his statement sink in. Horrified murmurs of "Sanmite?" and "Did you say Sanmite?" transpired over all those gathered. Young or old, guard or servant, everyone was well aware of the dangers the highland region posed. Even the proud dragon appeared abnormally disconcerted at the mention of said territory.

Sensing his master's hesitance, Lieber delivered one final plea, "By the time Roger reaches Sanmite, it'll be close to sunset – you know what lives there."

"Ow, ow, ow…"

Roger winced as he cleaned his cuts by the wide river. The cool crystal-clear waters provided a temporary reprieve from his aches and stinging wounds, but he knew he had to give them proper medical attention before any infection settled in. Thankfully, he had come to the right place. When it came to sourcing for natural remedies and herbs, humanoids were the undisputed champions; and what better place to gather supplies than the very village he grew up in – Surferio.

Well, what was left of it anyway.

After that dragon attack two years ago, every house, farm, and bridge had burnt to the ground. Even the wooden platforms raised above the waters were destroyed, leaving the once picturesque village as nothing more than a giant pool of water surrounded by charred, barren land. Once, Surferio was a fertile land comparable to the city of Aquaria, and provided the kingdom with about 20% of its food and water supply. Now, nothing grew here anymore... though he had been rather fortunate to gather bits of aquaberries, fresh sage, tamarind, and stalks of lavender here and there. They weren't much, but he supposed they were enough to whip up a cooling salve to alleviate the pain and reduce inflammation.

He released a despondent sigh. When he first arrived with Dipstick, the sight and smell of the place brought back a slew of painful memories he had tried so hard to suppress. Coming face-to-face with the ruins of his home wasn't easy, but the past was the past and it did him no good crying over it. At the very least, this visit gave him some form of closure.

Beneath the shade of trees, Dipstick snorted impatiently and stomped his hooves on the hard soil. Roger almost threw a twig at the spoiled horse. Geez, what the heck was its problem? The horse had been behaving rather strangely ever since they got here. Maybe its royal, pampered blood didn't favor such a dirty, impoverished place.

"Grrr… shuddup, ya moron! I'm almost done…"

Dipstick whined and tossed its head repeatedly, but Roger ignored it as he dunked his entire head under water to wash off all the dried blood. He hadn't even been in there for more than a second, when Dipstick clamped its teeth on the back of his vest and yanked him out. Roger choked and sputtered.

"Dipstick, what the heck is yer – " But the horse shoved a hoof against Roger's mouth and seemed to be glaring at something in the distance.

Shoving the leg away, Roger turned and followed Dipstick's line of sight and immediately felt his irritation ebb away to be replaced with panic. Against the harsh glare of the setting sun, a dark shadow emerged from a cluster of tall boulders. Sharp talons scraped the earth as it walked. The deep-green scales of its reptilian body glistened under the orange light, and snaking out its end was a long, precarious spiked tail that dragged on the ground behind it. Although the creature was a good distance away, Roger could already tell how massive it was. The sheer size and height of it could easily rival that of the castle's master, so he almost mistook it for another dragon until he noticed the great tufts of black-and-purple feathers, which lined the outer edges of its giant wings. Those same feathers grew along the expanse of its neck and instead of a dragon's head, Roger was treated to the horrifying sight of a bright red crown atop the head of a giant rooster. A serpentine tongue snaked out its beak; its seemingly blank eyes emitted an eerie golden glow. Just like in all those stories.

'A Cockatrice,' he realized and slowly backed away from the river's edge. Placing a firm hand on Dipstick's neck, he quietly guided the horse around so that its back faced the monster's general line of sight. Then, he untied his bowtie from around his neck and looked the frightened stallion in the eye. He stroked its mane soothingly.

"Trust me," he whispered, before tying the red ribbon over Dipstick's eyes. One false move, one look, and they'd both be dead.

In the past, Cockatrice sightings were rare since they tended to build their nests and hide away within the dark caverns of The Passage from Parch to Plenty. But, seeing as Surferio had been destroyed, it was highly likely they ventured out of the caves to expand their territory.

Roger was just about to board Dipstick, when he suddenly remembered his bag of herbs. Mentally cursing himself for being so absentminded, he stroked Dipstick's mane in a silent gesture for him to remain calm, before approaching the river's edge with quiet, measured steps. 'Grab it and go, grab it and go,' was the silent mantra that played in his head as he reached out with shaky fingers to pull the bag towards him by its sling…

Gotcha!

However, as soon as he turned around, he had the greatest misfortune of stepping on a twig. That single sound amplified in the still afternoon air, like an awkward cough in a silent room. The cockatrice swerved its head to face the source of that noise just as Roger hurriedly shut his eyes to avoid the creature's petrifying stare. His other senses went on high alert: his nose twitched and his ears swiveled madly to form a mental picture of his surroundings. He had to get to Dipstick quickly. As soon as they entered the woods, they'd be safe.

Here goes nuttin.

Roger whirled around and made to sprint away, but the cockatrice had no plans on letting its latest prey escape so easily. Spreading its wings, it rushed Roger at lightning speed and lashed at him with its talons. Fortunately, with his heightened hearing, Roger managed to roll out of the way and avoid the attack, but just barely. Recovering quickly, he raced in the opposite direction, but the cockatrice immediately brought down its tail and he jumped back quickly to narrowly avoid getting squashed. With the tail blocking off his escape path, he turned and attempted to flee in a different direction, only to find his plan thwarted yet again when the cockatrice slammed its tail on the hard earth and blocked him in a similar fashion. The damned bird was toying with him.

Not good.

He sensed an incoming attack from above and threw himself aside just as the monster's beak pierced the spot he once stood. It then pecked at the ground like a rooster scouring for worms, and Roger was fortunate enough to avoid it all. But it was only a matter of time before he grew tired and his movements turned sluggish… and it seemed the cockatrice knew it too. Spying an opening, the cockatrice lashed out with its talons just as Roger reached around for his already battle-worn shield. He held it in front of him and braced himself. The hit came and he flew straight into a boulder, nearly breaking his back from the impact. His spectacles fell off his nose and the lenses shattered against the ground. He slumped on the ground, utterly defeated. Old and new wounds screamed for mercy, before a dull numbness settled over his body. His muscles refused to budge, and every breath only succeeded in intensifying his suffering. Trapped against a rocky wall with no means of escape, Roger felt his initial panic and desperation fade away to be replaced with a calm, wretched acceptance.

I'm gonna die.

He had been so close to seeing Fayt again. If only he hadn't run away. But at the very least, he could take comfort in the fact that his final moments would be spent on his homeland, and by the end of it all, see his friends and family again.

He felt the cockatrice nudge him with its beak, before being lifted into the air. Roger kept his eyes shut as he felt himself fall, plunging into a dark abyss. He hoped the monster would just swallow him and not grind him to bits. At least it’ll make his death swift and painless...

Suddenly, a fierce roar tore through the air.

Before the cockatrice could catch Roger in its beak, a metallic claw shot out and wrapped around the small humanoid child. Then, with a powerful swing of a black spiked tail, the newcomer knocked the cockatrice clear across the rocky terrain and sent it crashing into a line of trees. The black beast sneered at the fallen monster, hissing and baring its fangs in a threatening display. Roger shifted in its grip and hesitantly opened his eyes. Large, reptilian pools of red stared back at him, but instead of wicked rage and blood lust, he saw relief and an inherent worry in the master’s burning gaze… But why? Weak and confused, he traced the coarse scales of the creature's muzzle with his little fingers.

"Dragon?" he said, barely a whisper. A low rumble rose from the master’s throat, almost like a purr, pleased and possessive. Roger never took his eyes off the fearsome creature, struck by the honesty and raw passion in its stare. He didn't get it. Didn’t the master try to kill him earlier? If so, why was it here now? Why did it save him?

Suddenly, he spotted movement from the corner of his eye. He gasped, "Behind ya!"

Growling, the black dragon moved just in time to shield Roger and intercept the cockatrice's bite with its spiked tail. If it had been any other ordinary creature, a single bite would have petrified them from head to toe. Fortunately, dragons were immune to such attacks, though that didn't mean it hadn’t stung. The cockatrice's bite pierced its tough scales. Blood oozed from the wound and stained the dark dragonhide a bright scarlet, but it was a small price the dragon was willing to pay. With the cockatrice's beak still clamped around its tail, the dragon pulled the feathered-beast towards it before angling its head to fasten sharp, cruel fangs deep into the cockatrice's own neck, forcing it down onto the barren earth and bathing the colorful plumage in its blood. Clouds of dust flew up in the air as the cockatrice thrashed about, but the dragon was unrelenting, forcibly holding it in place while adding pressure with its strong jaws. Like a vicious predator grappling with its prey, the master intended to snap the monster's neck and put an end to the struggle as quickly and efficiently as possible. However, being of equal size and strength as its attacker, the cockatrice managed to wrestle itself out of the dragon's hold and clawed its face with its talons just under its right eye. The dragon let loose a roar of pain and released its hold on the feathered-beast, and that very move was enough to turn the tables of the battle.

The cockatrice flew at its opponent and rained down a series of simultaneous attacks, alternating between pecking, biting, and scratching. The dragon tried to retaliate, but it was difficult – almost impossible – to land an attack of its own, so it had little choice but to endure it all. With that, it didn't take the cockatrice long to back its competition up against a rocky wall. The dragon snarled and snapped its teeth at it, not at all favoring its current position. Damn, between protecting the foolish humanoid and fighting for survival, it couldn't go on like this. Setting Roger gently on the ground, the dragon stood over him protectively, growling and hissing as it shifted positions whenever the cockatrice tried to get close to the humanoid. Roger cowered behind one of the dragon's legs, burying his face against the smooth scales. At this point, nothing – not even the identity of his savior – mattered. He was scared; truly and deeply terrified, his fear and desperation returning with his resolve to stay alive.

Meanwhile, the cockatrice continued to circle its opponent, deliberating its next attack. It had no interest in defeating the intimidating black dragon. Between them both, the draconic beast would last longer in a fight and its powerful wings easily gave it the advantage of flight. As for itself, being half-cock, half-wyvern left it at a disadvantage against aerial assault – that, and the dragon's fiery breath could incinerate it in seconds. No, the humanoid was all that it wanted, but how… And that was when its golden gaze spotted it: the Menodix's long, bushy tail peeking out from behind the dragon's leg. The cockatrice seized its chance and faster than the eye could blink, its neck shot out to make a grab for the boy’s tail. Roger yelped and the dragon immediately shifted into a crouch, growling and baring its fangs.

Bad move.

Furious, it charged the feathered-beast, tackling the cockatrice onto the ground and dragging its fangs over the creature's wings, hind legs, whatever it could sink its teeth into. Though, it was only when Roger saw the dragon let loose a jet of fire and miss its target completely, did he realize that said beast had been fighting with its eyes closed this whole time. It seemed even dragons were vulnerable to a cockatrice's stare.

‘I have ta help him,’ he realized, wincing as he dragged himself to his feet. He was a real man; now wasn't the time to be weak… but what could he do? His size placed him at a hilarious disadvantage and he hadn't any weapons. His eyes quickly scanned his environment, the gears in his head turning. ‘There's gotta be summin I can use…’

The cockatrice clawed the dragon's face again and the latter retaliated by breathing another stream of fire, but the attack was way off its mark and the fowl finished of the assault with giant swing of its tail. The dragon crashed onto the ground, but forced itself back up again. Multiple gashes marred the master’s entire body; there were tears at certain parts of its wings, and some of its scales and spikes had broken off from the fight; yet it pushed on, determined to completely decimate this overgrown chicken.

No one touches what's mine!

Speaking of which, was the little fool alright? He honestly couldn't tell. A dragon's hearing wasn't very spectacular. All it could smell and taste was the overwhelming stench of blood and dirt. His own blood.

As the fight dragged on, the conclusion seemed inevitable: the dragon was losing, being pushed increasingly into a corner. This was hopeless. Without its eyes, there was no way it could win. The cockatrice charged again and it braced itself for the impact...

To the side, Roger watched the fight with increasing trepidation, hating himself for his incompetence every time the black dragon suffered another devastating blow from its adversary. If the two beasts kept this up… if he didn't do anything soon… the dragon would die. His eyes darted about his surroundings frantically. Rocks – too heavy – trees; Dipstick; water… That's it!

"Dragon!"

The master roared in what sounded like frustration. What the hell was the fool doing calling attention to himself like that?! The whole point of saving his life was to keep him the fuck alive!

The cockatrice cocked its head in the direction of Roger's voice and shot towards him, but the dragon wrapped its tail around its neck and wrestled it back down onto the ground. No way was this dumb bird getting away so easily.

"The water," Roger continued to yell. "Get birdbrain ta the river!"

As the two creatures continued to wrestle each other, the dragon deliberated his odd instruction. The river? Before everything made sense.

Humph, he's not so foolish as I thought.

Wrapping its tail around the cockatrice's neck, the dragon dragged it towards the still water's edge and forced its head forward. It was nothing more than a quick glance, but it did the trick. Glowing golden eyes stared back at itself and before the cokatrice could even shriek from the horror of its own reflection, the curse seized every inch of it's body and turned it into solid stone. Everything went still. By then, the sun was low in the sky. Cicadas cried in the distance, followed by a stifling silence as heavy as the unbearable summer heat around them. Roger breathed a sigh of relief; the dragon uncoiled its tail from around the petrified creature's neck and slumped onto the ground with a weary groan. With nothing more to say, Roger turned his back on his old village forever.

It's over.

He stumbled towards Dipstick, the horse having calmed down significantly once the commotion had died down. He reached up and removed the ribbon from over its eyes. Dipstick blinked a few times and looked the humanoid over, and Roger offered it a tired smile. Man and Beast shared a look of trust.

"C'mon, ya moron. Let's go home."

But a low growl reverberated through the air, reminding Roger that the worst wasn't quite over. The black dragon shakily rose to its full height; blood dripped from its parted jaw and stained the golden grass in thick, dark red pools. Both horse and rider stiffened and turned to regard the beast nervously. However, instead of the master swooping in to steal him away like he anticipated, the dragon simply remained there, panting heavily while losing even more blood as it struggled to keep conscious. The fire that once shone through its vermilion eyes vanished, leaving nothing but a dull, hollow soul in his wake. The poor creature spouted rips all over its flesh - so much blood and torn muscle - and its body shuddered violently every time it breathed. Finally, their eyes met and Roger gasped from the sheer sorrow and hopelessness he beheld in its gaze. Those crimson pools held him transfixed. They were both haunting and familiar… just like the eyes of that beautiful man beneath his balcony in the pale moonlight.

They stood there as if in a trance, and as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, taking away the last traces of daylight, the world around them began to change - and so did the dragon standing before him. The black spikes and scales melted away to reveal pale, smooth and unblemished skin; its great form shrunk significantly; and its broad wings sank beneath human flesh to morph into bone. Horns and spikes turned to long, flowing hair; claws receded to fingernails (save the metallic one, which turned into a gauntlet); the tail disappeared; until all that remained was a beautiful man, naked and bathed in the crimson bloom of his own blood. The magical spectacle left Roger stunned. He felt his brain sputter and shut down. What in the world… how did that… where did…? All sense of clear rationality fled him; none of those numerous scientific theories he read up could even attempt to explain what he had just witnessed. Roger took in the man's incredibly toned body, long black-and-blonde hair, and the same alluring crimson eyes that set his soul ablaze. This couldn't be possible. Didn't stuff like this only happen in storybooks? It was so hard to believe: the beautiful man in the garden; the boy in the painting… had been right in front of him this whole time.

The man's weary gaze lingered on him, a quiet "little fool" escaped his lips in one final gasp, before his eyes slid shut and he collapsed onto the barren earth. Roger gave a start, reached out shakily to the motionless man, only to bite his lip and turn away. What was he thinking? He could make it to Peterny by nightfall. Now was his chance. He tried to board Dipstick, but something gnawed at his conscience and he stopped. Whether that horrible dragon and this man were one and the same, it didn't change the fact that it – he had risked his life to protect his... no matter how insignificant it might be. Also, he couldn't get the image of those eyes out of his head, within them an inherent loneliness he simply couldn't ignore.

He needs my help.

Face flushing slightly, Roger approached the unconscious man, only to grow angry at himself for his own embarrassment. Now wasn't the time to feel shy over something as trivial as nakedness - even if it proved to be extremely distracting. Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't seen any of that before; he was a guy too after all. Still, that didn't change the fact that the master’s body was incredibly gorgeous and it took a lot of willpower to stop his eyes from wandering. Only problem now though, was how he was going to carry the guy all the way back to the castle. That was until Dipstick nudged him, before it craned its neck to tug off a blanket from over its back with its teeth. Then, the stallion lowered itself onto its knees and dropped the blanket at Roger's feet. At first, all the Menodix could do was stare at the horse in disbelief, before a warm smile spread across his lips. Did this moron just give him its precious blanket? It had that expensive thing on since he escaped from the orphanage, like it was some sort of prized possession. Well, it seemed the prince's horse – correction – his horse had suddenly experienced a change of heart.

"Thanks, Dipstick," he murmured gratefully, wrapping the blanket around the master's body. At least this should protect him from getting chilled, as well as conceal those open wounds.

As they rode back to the castle with Dipstick keeping a moderate pace, Roger continued to watch over the slumbering man on his lap. A look of uncertainty crossed his features as he replayed the dragon's transformation in his mind. So, this was the castle's big secret – it housed a beautiful dragon boy; but were these types of creatures common? This was honestly his first time encountering such a thing and he secretly wondered if all dragons had the ability to turn into humans or just this one. But now wasn’t the time to ponder over such questions. The most important thing right now was to get him treated as soon as possible. True, there was that obvious fact that this guy had tried to kill him three times (once for nearly eating him, second for starvation, and last for that fiasco back in the dilapidated bedroom) but bearing that in mind…

Why did he save me?

Try as he might, it simply didn't make any sense to him. Perhaps there was more to his savior than the man himself let on. Who was this guy, really? And why did he even care so much? Too many questions.

"Ya came back fer me..." Tenderly, he ran his fingers through the man's soft hair. "Lemme return the favor."

"ARGHHH! MY ARM! WORM!"

The servants flinched and kept their distance from the pair. Their sympathies went out to poor little Roger, but none of them felt particularly inclined to fan the flames of their master's wrath. Dragon form or no, he was just as deadly with a sword and claw, and coupled with that sharp tongue of his, the master certainly wasn't the gracious sort. Though he might appear as pretty as an angel, he sure as hell wasn't one, which was what Roger was quickly learning as he tried in vain to attend to the older male's wounds. But with every threat and callous insult thrown his way, he found his patience and initial concern towards the handsome man take a vicious nose-dive. Geez, appearances really were deceiving…

"Grr… this wouldn't be so difficult if ya would just – " He pressed the medicated towel against the man's shoulder and the latter screamed.

"YOU FUCKING … WORTHLESS … PIECE OF – ungh!" Forget it. It was too agonizing to go on. The pain of his injuries was scrambling his brain as the child killed him slowly with his stupid medicine. Suddenly, that battle with the cockatrice didn't seem so bad anymore.

In contrast, Roger appeared to be faring a whole lot better and had cleaned himself up earlier, covered in his fair share of bandages. The master sulked as he sank deeper into his armchair, grumbling and glaring daggers at the back of the humanoid's head whenever he turned to dip the towel back into that smelly herbal concoction of his. Oh, how he longed to reach out and flick one of those wounds with his fingers, so the stupid boy could feel even a fraction of the pain he was going through. None of this would have happened if the brat had just stayed in the castle.

Meanwhile, Roger wrung the towel and turned back to grumpily tend to his oh-so-ungrateful patient. The only reason he wasn't cowering at the other end of the drawing room, was because he actually felt guilty and responsible for this guy. Any normal person would have walked away after all that shouting, but he couldn't just leave dragon boy like this... But when he pressed the cloth against a particularly deep and long gash on the man's left thigh, the master fired another string of curses and struck without warning.

"I said enough!" He backhanded Roger across the face. The child landed painfully on the floor; the girls gasped; but he was far from caring. "You will take that vile liquid and your pathetic face up to your room, and keep away from me. Your stupidity is contagious."

Roger struggled upright with a groan, hand flying up to cup his stinging cheek. Oh great, just great, another bruise to nurse before bedtime. Sure, he had been struck before back in Peterny – nothing new – but that didn't mean he condoned such treatment. This man had no right to hit him, especially when all he ever did was try to help him. His grip on the cloth tightened. Enough was enough; he wasn't a personal punching bag and master of the castle or not, he refused to let this terrible man push him and the others around any longer. Tail bristling madly, he threw the towel onto the carpet and finally let the ungrateful bastard have it.

"Ya know, there's a reason you're still alive, ya big jerk," he admonished with an accusatory jab to the man's knee. "Nobody asked me ta help ya! I'm takin' yer stinkin' hits on my own free will!"

The master scowled at him with as much contempt as one would at a filthy pest. Was the humanoid going all gutsy on him? How positively aggravating.

"Then why, pray tell, are you doing something so utterly foolish?" he drawled without so much as looking at the humanoid as he stared at his fingernails in disinterest. As far as he was concerned, the maggot deserved that tight slap for his idiocy. Roger fumed.

"It's called 'concern', ya idiot! A basic emotion ya feel when someone ya know is sufferin' or in trouble – learn it!" When the man only raised a condescending eyebrow in response, Roger huffed, picked up the towel, and (much to the master's mortification) climbed onto his lap. "Now quit bein' such a baby and lemme finish. Where's yer manly pride?"

"How dare you!" he snapped, turning his gaze on the presumptuous brat and nearly threw him off his lap. "You will regret speaking to me so discourteously, you miserable worm. I am your master; you are my slave. Your will is mine! Your life is mine!"

"I'm nobody's slave, and you're just a spoiled brat!" Roger yelled back, shoving his forehead against the older male's. But the master refused to back down.

"Humph, the maggot talks big. It's no wonder nobody in your town wants you: you're rude, conceited, and extremely obnoxious."

"Hello, pot. My name's kettle. You're black."

"Shut up!"

"Make me!"

They didn't know exactly when their little 'conversation' turned into a shouting match, but it became increasingly obvious that neither male – regardless of status or maturity – had any inclination of backing down. Adray, Clair, Maria, Lieber, Mackwell, Misty, Mirage, Peppita, Nel and Cliff shared knowing smirks. It didn't matter if tensions were raised with spit flying everywhere and blood pressures soaring – these were the most words their master had ever exchanged with anyone in all his 23 years and counting. Call it what you will, but to them – as ludicrously unorthodox as it sounded – they saw it as progression. At least the two were getting on...

"Ya stinker!"

...sort of.

"And you're extremely foolish," argued the handsome man, his patience wearing impossibly thin as he continued to claw mercilessly at his chair's plush arm rests. "If you hadn't run away and came to dinner as you were told, there would be no need for this pointless conversation!"

Roger was so mad, his face turned from impossibly red to purple. What the heck – so that's what this was all about? Dinner?! The guy was venting his frustrations on him because he simply didn't join him for dinner? This was insane! Obviously, someone couldn't handle rejection very well.

"Aw shuddup, ya moron! Don't ya try and pin the blame on me. If ya didn't try ta kill me earlier, I wouldn't have run away!" The master shot him a patronizing stare and Roger averted his gaze sheepishly. "Ok, maybe I still would've run away… but the point is, if ya weren't so mean all the time, I wouldn't have any reason ta leave, ya know what I'm sayin'?"

Nel had never facepalmed so hard in her life. Seriously? Hadn't they talked about this the previous night? Whatever happened to treating Roger like a person instead of a prisoner? And the last time she checked, people and food weren't the same thing.

"Besides, ya can't go around killin' people just cuz they displease ya in some way," Roger continued to admonish the grumpy man, gesturing at his injuries, "Think about it: that's what got ya into this whole mess ta begin with."

Déjà vu smacked the master dead in the face. The gang, especially Nel, tried their best to suppress their amusement, but not even his icy-cold glare could stop them from snickering among themselves. He averted his gaze with a huff. Roger didn't know how accurate his description actually ran. The humiliation was excruciating. He refused to believe he was being lectured by an insufferable 12-year-old.

"Tell me, is it wrong to crush a maggot? To swat a fly?" he commented in a manner so patronizing, so utterly apathetic, it made Roger feel moderately self-conscious. True, no one would think much about squashing an ant compared to smacking a human being, but…

"It's not 'bout what's right or wrong," he began after a moment's deliberation, "If there's one thing life's taught me, it's that morality ain't nuttin but an invention ta help those in charge make sense of their actions and sleep better at night. I think what's really important is what's real ta ya."

The master raised an eyebrow, completely baffled and taken aback. Of all the ridiculous notions the child could come up with, he never expected something so - well, articulate and critical. He had been expecting a lecture on his twisted morals, but was clearly surprised and impressed that the humanoid did no such thing. Perhaps he underestimated this boy.

"What's real?" he echoed doubtfully, curiously.

Roger sighed and lowered the cloth onto his lap. He never shared this with anyone before, not even Fayt. So why now; why here? Why did he want so badly for dragon boy to understand?

"There were many times I wanted ta kill people," he confessed quietly, but unashamed. Unexpected? He figured as much, what with the way the servants were looking at him, as if his very admission had betrayed some sort of trust they shared, which completely shattered their image of him and his apparent purity and selflessness. However, the master simply stared at him with a contemplative calm, the molten fire of his gaze beckoning Roger in a silent invitation to go on, looking and listening to him in a way everyone wanted to be looked at and heard. The man never judged him; there was no malice or spite in his stare; and Roger immediately knew that in spite their differences, dragon boy understood.

"I… wanted ta kill people. People who hurt me. People who called me names. People who insulted my race and walked all over me. People who hit me over and over again just cuz I was different." His fists shook from the memory. Anger welled in his gut. "I wanted ta kill them ta show that I could fight back, ta teach them a lesson; that I could feel whatever they felt - that I was real."

The barest hint of emotion flickered in the master's eyes. He never knew the boy had it in him to harbor such morbid thoughts and desires, all that pain and rage. And like Roger had said, this very aspect of him made him even more real in his eyes than any of their previous encounters. The child fascinated him.

"So, what stopped you?" he asked.

"I stopped cuz I realised they were real too," said Roger, unfisting his hands and shutting his eyes in submission. "No matter how badly they treated me, no matter how much it hurt, they too had feelings, hopes, and dreams. They had life."

He lifted his head and their eyes met.

"Life is precious," Roger spoke in a tone that betrayed his youth. "And we spend most of it fightin' ta protect what's meaningful ta us – be it the people we love or the things that make us happy. Ya gotta respect that." His expression softened as he offered the older male a small smile. "Even a prince and a humanoid have dreams."

The child's words struck a chord in the master's heart. A deep scowl settled upon his brow and for a moment he didn't say or do anything, save stare intently at the fireplace. And in a forlorn voice that surprised his servants, he finally said, "Bah, I know not of dreams… only nightmares." Within the fire he kept seeing faces; heard so many voices. He hid his tortured gaze behind his claw. "I've been living in hell for years."

His words deeply saddened Roger. They revealed a man who had completely given up all hope and purpose, whose hatred towards the world paled in comparison to the shadows of his own vicious self-loathing. Boldly, Roger placed a hand upon the master's and sought his gaze like a flower seeking out the sun. The boy had a gentle look on his face, his eyes alight with warmth, and it made the master feel both apprehensive and… inexplicably secure.

"Well, there's this sayin' that hell's empty and all the devils are here," said Roger. "Everyone has their own troubles… but I guess livin' through 'em is what makes us who we are."

"And what would a maggot know about suffering?" he asked.

"A lot more, if not just as much as you, Sir," said Roger sadly.

The child's answer immediately silenced him and for some reason, he found it difficult to look Roger in the eye. A strange feeling welled up in his gut and weighed heavily down on his heart; something he had not felt in a long time – guilt. The humanoid spoke the truth: their very race bound them to slavery and a lifetime of misery and hardship. Perhaps… him and the little fool weren't so different after all.

"… Dragon?"

At the mention of his name, he met the humanoid's stare. Despite the cuts and bruises on his face, Roger was smiling at him, a little snaggle-tooth peeking out from his mouth. It was the kind of smile that made you stop and stare, not because it was particularly beautiful or strange, but because of its inherent strength. It was a springtime flower amidst winter snow, a candlelight in the darkness, the first evening star in the night sky, and most of all, it restored what he thought he had lost after years of loneliness and despair – hope. Absently, he thought it looked kind of cute... and then he wondered where the hell that thought had even come from.

"Not many people will look twice at a humanoid, so thanks. Thanks fer savin' my life... I owe ya." Roger looked away and continued to smile to himself. No, he wasn't crazy; it just made him so happy, so unbelievably happy that there were others in this world who cared.

"Albel."

"Huh?"

But before Roger could fully register what the man had just said, he felt a slightly calloused hand wrap around his smaller one that held onto the wet towel. Gently, the master guided his hand to his bare chest and held it there. Though their skin was separated by a layer of cloth, Roger could feel the man's heat beneath his fingers as well as the strong beat of his heart. The dragon boy's fingers at the back of his hand sent pleasant tingles across his skin. He wondered if the room had gotten warmer or if it was just him. The master's forwardness and their sudden intimacy – so unlike his former aggression – made him blush, though he failed to understand why.

"You may call me Albel," said man reiterated with uncharacteristic softness, before the mask returned and he delivered a painful flick to Roger's forehead with his fingers. The boy whimpered and he smirked. Yes ... Finally got him back for all that shit he put him through.

"Ow, that hurt," Roger whined miserably, "why are ya so mean ta me? Even after I said I owed ya..."

"Bah, you owe me nothing, worm. I don't need your foolish thanks."

But the small smile on his face said otherwise.

The gang's jaws fell open in shock, each one directing the same wide-eyed stare at their wicked master and inwardly wondering if his injuries were taking a toll on his sanity and if he was actually feeling all right. However, Albel paid them no heed, captivated by the innocent allure of wide amber eyes and the infinite stars dancing within. Absently, he flicked the tip of one of Roger's ears and had to resist a chuckle when the boy flinched and shut one of his eyes adorably. He had forgotten the last time he toyed with a guest.

"Well, get on with it," he said with a nasty smirk, reclining in his seat. "Or was that 'manly pride' of yours all for show?" He couldn't resist taking a jab at the Menodix and was pleased with the latter's reaction. He never knew a person could turn so many shades of red in a single moment.

"Sh-Shuddup, pretty boy..." Roger muttered, while Albel's smirk widened.

"Oh? Is that how the little fool sees me?" Lazily, he undid the boy's bow tie and tugged him forward by the ribbon so that their lips were but a breath apart. Then, he trailed the back of a clawed finger down Roger's supple cheek and tsked, "My, my, such thoughts... And at such a young age too."

Roger's face became so red, he feared he would pass out any second. To torment him further, Albel let loose a low chuckle, the sound coming out in hot breaths against the child's parted lips. Involuntarily, a small pink tongue darted out to lick them. Albel's eyes darkened as he watched on, pleased.

"I-It's not like that," Roger sputtered, suddenly hyper-aware of the generous amount of bare flesh and tight muscles beneath his hands and knees. The master was practically offering himself up to him and the very idea was a lot sexier than he would allow himself to admit.

"Ho?" Albel drawled with a suggestive leer. "It appears someone isn't as pure as I thought."

"Yeeehhh, don't say weird things like that!"

As Roger cleared his throat and continued to clean the man's wounds with a new vigor and slight flush on his face, Albel watched him the entire time, for once in his life actually happy to be alive.


To be continued...

Chapter Text

Albel.

He liked the sound of that name, liked how it danced and curled around the tongue in a two-motion tease. Al. Bel. He giggled to himself. If he said it fast enough, it sounded quite pretty like the flutter of butterfly wings. Heh. Pretty. That description suited the man perfectly, though he had a feeling princess-not-so-nice would only yell at him again if he told him that, and he had been yelling for quite some time already. That couldn’t be good for the guy’s blood pressure. And he was supposed to be injured. He giggled again. What a sad, strange, grumpy man.  

“So help me, worm, if you don’t shut up right now, I’ll slice off that incessant tongue of yours and throw it into the fire!”

Here we go again.

“But ya said ya wouldn’t help me,” Roger pouted, halfway up the bookcase and reaching for a particular novel. “’sides, I didn’t do nuttin – whoops!” His fingers slipped and the books crashed noisily onto the ground.

In his armchair, Albel bristled and nearly crushed his sake bottle with his claw. For the love of God, this brat was going to give him an aneurysm. How was he supposed to rest and recover properly if he couldn’t so much as get three seconds of peace and quiet?! The servants had already left the drawing room to retire for the night, yet the miserable humanoid was still here stubbornly rummaging through his stuff and making a mess out of everything. It was like someone set loose a retarded baby goat in the house that had the maddening compulsion to put everything in its mouth… not that Roger did that, but with the way he ran all over the place and played around with his stuff, the resemblance was uncanny. He had told (more like demanded) the fool to go to his room an hour ago, but noooo he wasn’t sleepy.

“What part of ‘injured’ and ‘in serious pain’ do you not understand?” Albel growled through clenched teeth. “And the last I checked, it’s actually possible to read without using your mouth.”

“But – “

“Without using your mouth.”

Roger stuck out his tongue and pulled a face, but the older male was unable to see it with the back of his chair turned to him. Yeesh, what crawled up Albel’s ass and died?

“Must you read? Here?” said Albel in a mixture of exasperation and abhorrence. “Why can’t you do something else?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Roger grabbed the book he wanted (now the only book left on the shelf) and jumped back down.

“That’s cuz ya told me ta shut up for everythin' else.” Donned in his nightie, he padded towards the fireplace. "Also, I'm boreeeeeeeddd!!"

The vein in Albel's head throbbed dangerously. "Then sleep."

"But I ain't tired! Not after all that action today! There's no way I can sleep now – maybe not ever!"

Albel let loose the most miserable groan ever known to mankind. Now where in god's name was that ice pack?

"Anyway, I really wanna read this," Roger continued talking, going around the armchair and waving said book in the grumpy man's face. "Sophia has this too, but she never lets me touch it. And the old geezer at my town's bookshop chases me with a broomstick every time I ask 'bout it. Heh, it’s gotta be forbidden – I hafta read it!"

How positively logical.

“Hn,” was all the response the Menodix got from Albel, who reclined in his seat and placed the ice pack over his face with a contented sigh. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t give a rat’s ass who Sophia was, or if Roger hailed from a goddamned zoo. The humanoid was an idiot had his precious book, so he could leave him the hell alone –

“Hey, Albel?”

Oh. My. God.

“I have an idea,” he said all of a sudden with a nasty smirk, removing the ice pack, “let’s play hide-and-seek.”

Roger stopped talking and stared at him in honest surprise. “Really? Ya mean it?” None of the kids back in Peterny ever wanted to play with him, and Sophia and Fayt were always too busy with their duties. Maybe the master wasn’t so mean and scary after all.

“Sure,” said Albel, dumping the ice pack back on his head, “you hide, and I’ll find you when I damn well feel like it.”  

Roger’s face fell. A moment of silence transpired between them – sweet, precious, elusive silence – and just when Albel thought he had finally taken care of blabbermouth, Roger held up the book in determination and took a deep breath.

“Read it ta me!”

Albel was half a second away from kicking the boy into the fireplace, but the pain in his legs stopped him. Bah, the fool wasn’t worth the effort… though he did wonder why that stupid book interested the humanoid so much that he would dare to push his luck.

“Read it yourself,” he countered.

“I can’t, ya moron – he indicated at his eyes – I lost my glasses back at Sanmite, so ya gotta read it fer me.” His mouth shifted into an evil grin. “If ya don’t, I’m gonna sing the hymns of Apris’ Church – all 72 of ‘em.”

And faster than the eye could blink, Albel snatched the book from Roger’s hands and glared at the cover so hard, he could have burned a hole right through it. Right, time to find out what made this novel so fucking interesting. His ears and sanity were on the line after all, so he wanted to know what he was in for. His eyes scanned the gold cursive imprint on the maroon leather-bound novella – My King’s Harem. Then, he flipped through the pages and openly blanched. What the hell – this was a collection of homosexual fairytales. With pictures. It wasn't exactly a pornographic novel – not extremely graphic per se – but it was definitely anything but PG. First, he wondered if Roger was even aware of the book’s contents; then, he wondered why the bloody hell he even had something like this lying around in his castle at all. He was going to have a serious talk with Misty later regarding her preferences.

“So, what’s it ‘bout?” asked Roger as he gazed up at Albel eagerly, expectantly, and oh so innocently. “Have ya read it before? Is it any good? Is it ‘bout daring swordfights, magic spells, and epic quests? – Those are my favorites!”

“No,” Albel replied with ostensible annoyance and slammed the book shut, “and I’m not reading this, especially to a child like you.”

Roger frowned and puffed his chest in defiance. “I’m not a child, Albel.”

“You’re right,” he said with a patronizing smirk. “You’re an extremely foolish child, and if you persist in these uncultured indulgences, you will regret it."

Roger cocked his head and regarded Albel with an innocent stare. Obviously, he hadn't bothered internalizing what the older male just said.

"So... Are ya gonna read it ta me or not?"

"No."

Fine. Roger closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth wide in preparation for the first verse.

“Oh, holy light of our lady – “

"Alright!" Albel snarled, though it came out more like a desperate scream, "But don't say I didn't warn you, worm. You brought this on yourself."

"Aw, it's just a story, Albel. Don't make it sound like it's the end of the world," said Roger with a laugh as he happily jumped onto the older male's lap, and by extension, totally neglected the fact that the latter was injured.

"Ow..."

"Sorry."

In-between bemoaning his fate and mentally strangling the presumptuous brat, Albel found himself wondering how things turned out the way they did. He was supposed to be master of this castle, yet here he was being pushed around by a lowly humanoid. If the gods had a sense of humor, he was pretty sure this was it. Worse still, the little fool took all his threats of death and incapacitation as a bloody joke and kept trying to play with his hair whenever he made an effort to admonish him for his idiocy. He stopped all attempts at diplomacy however, when the boy started pulling (more like yanking) his hair – and dammit, it felt a lot more painful than it looked. That was probably the only time he actually regretted growing his hair out. And now, the fool was blackmailing him into reading him a stupid homosexual fairytale anthology. Did this torture know no end? Humph, whatever. He was certain the child would get the point soon enough... along with possible trauma and an irrecoverable puerility.

Meanwhile, blissfully unaware of the dark storm brewing in the master's mind, Roger took the liberty of making himself comfortable on the man's lap. However, just when he thought he found the best position against Albel's chest, the latter forced a significant distance between them by pushing Roger from his lap to his knees. Then, with a noncommittal grunt, he flipped open the novel and began reading while balancing Roger on his knees. Simply put, it was a very awkward position for the both of them. As Albel read on in a monotonous drawl, Roger folded his arms and fumed. Honestly, wasn't the whole point of story time to read along and look at the pictures? It quickly became apparent to Roger that he wasn’t going to get any of that if he didn’t do something about his position first.

"...harem of the most beautiful concubines in all the land – do you mind?"

Albel immediately stopped reading when Roger forced himself between him and the book, tucking his head snugly under the older male's chin. The Menodix's bushy tail proved exceptionally distracting too as it swished back and forth across his naked chest, and much to Albel's mortification, the pleasant stimulation caused him to blush faintly and squirm in his seat. Temptation clouded his mind. How long had it been since he last welcomed a lover into his bed and engaged in nightlong unspeakables? Five years maybe? In his adolescence he had access to a variety of beautiful concubines and eager admirers, both male and female, though he bored of them easily and dismissed them permanently as soon as he got what he needed. But five years was a long time and he feared the repercussions if he didn’t put a stop to that erotic tail soon. Also, he didn't know whether to feel disgusted or aroused by the thought of fucking a young humanoid boy who hadn't entered puberty yet. This was all that goddamned book's fault.

"And then, and then? What happens next?" Roger demanded eagerly, ogling at the beautiful, hand-painted illustrations appreciatively. "Woah – they're hot! Helloooo, ladies!"

Albel grabbed his tail roughly and he yelped.

"Fool, if you're going to interrupt me every time I read, I refuse to carry on with such meaningless and debased literature."

"But that's not how ya read a story, Albel!" Roger protested with an indignant pout, and Albel surprised himself by humoring him.

"It's not?"

“Course not! You're supposed ta tell it with feelin'! You're the storyteller: ya breathe life into the characters and the world they come from. Also, I couldn't see anythin' from my spot earlier, so you're gonna hafta restart."

Albel forced down a groan. Gods, Roger was so irritating; but if he wanted to keep the pipsqueak silent, he might as well give him what he wanted to appease his incessant curiosity. And so, with a great, tortured sigh, Albel began his narration from the top, pouring all his emotion (or at least his maximum capacity) into the act, all the while doing his best to ignore the snuggling Menodix child in his arms. Absently, he wondered if Roger was just doing this on purpose to annoy the hell out of him, or if the boy genuinely enjoyed his company... Though from experience, he personally found the latter hard to believe, and then he wondered if that qualified as an insult to the self.

"Once upon a time, there was a small country - a kingdom so small that you would have to strain your eyes at a map before you finally see it. In the heart of that kingdom was a small yet charming castle, and in that humble abode lived a young and handsome King, a few servants, and just a few lovely concubines. But the most cherished of all the concubines, was a young boy named Lion.”

Albel paused to observe the Menodix, and was mildly surprised and amused to see that he was staring at Lion’s beautiful illustration with wide, fascinated eyes. Huh, apparently the content didn’t disturb him… not yet anyway.

“Lion was not only beautiful, but so was his heart, and even though the other concubines teased and scorned him in jealousy, the King doted on him dearly. Every night without fail, the young King would summon Lion to his chambers and love him passionately until the morn. Every day. Every night. Every moment. Every thought was about Lion, as the king showered him with endless gifts and treasures. But Lion never wanted anything except his King’s love. His heart remained pure.

“Unfortunately, the King wasn’t nearly so satisfied. One day, a war broke out, a war started by the once kind-hearted King. He conquered many countries, expanded trade, accumulated wealth, and before long, his small kingdom grew and flourished into a rich and powerful sovereignty. With immense wealth came larger spoils - a bigger castle, more servants, and a sizeable harem of the most beautiful concubines in all the land - and before long, he had completely forgotten about Lion, too consumed by the shimmering visions of his own greed. He no longer summoned Lion to his chambers and soon, hundreds of women replaced the boy's face and voice with theirs. However in the rar event the King did summon him to his chambers, he would always say the same six words over and over, ‘This must be your first time.’”

As Albel continued reading, Roger's face turned a soft pink as he couldn’t get the shapes of bodies - of the gorgeous details of the King and Lion as they kissed - depicted across the book’s pages, out of his mind. Perhaps the artist went a little overboard in capturing Lion’s beauty; but with those glasses over his eyes, Lion seemed like an ordinary joe to him and though effeminate, lacked the grace of the other concubines in the story. Undoubtedly, the king was handsome (quite likely the kind of guy Sophia would swoon over), but what proved disconcerting to him, was that this king reminded him a lot of Luther. In fact, the more he thought about the image of Lion and the King kissing, the more he saw himself with Luther that day at the orphanage. When the prince's lips claimed his, when those hands touched his skin, he remembered feeling scared, disgusted, confused, and even alarmingly good. Was this how they must have looked like from an observer’s eye? So beautiful and compelling in their raw passion for each other? Could it be that Luther really loved him, while he had been wrong about the prince all along?

… No. This was different. Unlike the love in the King’s eyes, Luther’s had burned with something else; and although Lion wore glasses, the King was actually seeing him for him. Alas, love was a deceptive thing, and as the story went on, Roger grew sadder, for both Lion and for himself.

“Your silence is disconcerting, more so than your chatter,” said Albel all of a sudden as he closed the book and gazed into Roger’s eyes. His usual scowl was absent, though his expression remained impassive. “What’s on your mind?”

Roger avoided his stare as he nervously picked at the seams of his nightie. “N-Nuttin… I was just reminded of Luther, that’s all.” Albel’s expression shifted into a frown as Roger continued pulling at the soft cotton. “He said he wanted me as his consort, ta remain by his side forever, ta spoil me of all people. Can ya believe it? Me!” He chuckled disbelievingly, almost sadly. “Heh, he’s supposed ta be my prince, or rather my king fer that matter, but…”

As he trailed off, voice laden with doubt, an unreadable expression crossed Albel’s face. Zelpher had told him about this before, about Roger’s forced betrothal (if it could even be called that) to Aquor’s crown prince. And to be completely honest and rational, he failed to comprehend the humanoid’s motives for running away. After all, Luther was ultimately promising him a better life, wasn’t he? Roger would not only earn his rights as a human, but also marry into royalty. So why?

“Why did you run away?” he found himself asking, out of curiosity or obligation, he didn’t know.

“Funny ya should ask,” Roger chuckled, unconsciously placing a hand over the book. A sad look clouded his features; his ears drooped and the smile upon his lips was bitterer than a December.

“Like Lion, I used ta always wear glasses - that was when I met Luther and also the day he proposed. But Luther’s not like the King in the story. When he looks at me; when he kissed me…" He shook his head at the memory. "Sometimes I wonder if it’s really me he likes or his own reflection.”  

Suddenly, Roger felt warm, slender fingers touch his chin, before they titled his head up to meet a pair of beautiful vermillion eyes. Albel gazed down at him intently, expression hard, but within him a fire burned brighter and hotter than ever before. He didn’t know why, couldn’t explain it, but after hearing the underlying sorrow in the boy’s words against Luther’s vanity and pride, all he wanted to do was keep Roger close and by his side for as long as time would allow him, just to show the boy that he mattered.

“I do not care for that maggot's poor taste. Honestly, you’re a far less antagonizing sight without those stupid glasses.”

“Ya like me like this?” Roger blinked up at him innocently in disbelief. “But why?”

“Because,” Albel replied, never once taking his eyes off Roger’s, “I can see better without them.”

"Alas, the King lost the war and could no longer hold onto his empire. In a blink of an eye, he lost everything: his wealth, rare treasures, all his servants, and his subjects. His harem abandoned him with whatever spoils they could reap, and there was nothing left save the bits and pieces of his shattered pride and spirit. But, in the empty silence of the lonely throne room, a shy and lovely voice called out to him..."

As the fire continued to burn bright in the fireplace, the mismatched pair remained comfortably nestled in the master's great armchair, the younger of the two curling his little fingers against the older's bare and broad chest, like a precious baby animal seeking warmth, comfort and security. Albel's low and sensual voice continued to carry across the room; he read with surprising dramatic flair and conviction, turning words and characters into a living, breathing world of magic, beauty and illusion. It was hypnotizing. He never thought the master would make such a compelling storyteller. With a small smile, Roger shut his eyes momentarily; he felt like he could listen to Albel's deeply enchanting voice forever.

"'A concubine? Why do you stay?' said the King in astonishment. 'I do not have anything left to give you.' When Lion saw the King's sorrow shining in his eyes, he approached his lord and with a pure smile, uttered the words from a time long past, 'I never wanted anything except my King's love.'"

Albel paused to flip the page and the sound of Roger's quick gasp immediately drew his attention downwards. The boy was still curled across his front, but his eyes were fixed upon the stunning two-page masterpiece of the two lovers embracing, the tears falling from Lion's eyes like glittering diamonds scattered across the artwork and immortalized the painting in that single, sacred moment. Roger shifted in Albel's lap as he traced the outline of the two lovers with awe and explicit tenderness. Never in his life thus far had he seen anything so magical; like the painting itself spoke to him on so many levels, where he could feel the happiness of Lion and the King seep from the pages into his fingertips. And then, unable to contain his own relief, Roger turned his head up to offer Albel a beautiful smile of his own, one that made the master gasp and his heart skip a beat. Before Albel could question his odd behavior, Roger moved, resting his soft cheek against his bare chest in a cuddle as he returned his gaze to the page. Albel stiffened – he didn't do cuddling – and was about to yell at the obnoxious brat, but when no sound came out, he shut his mouth dumbly. Confused and frustrated by this slew of new emotions, Albel tore his gaze away to glare resentfully at the crimson carpet beneath his feet.

What on earth was this fool doing to him?

And so, in order to mask his embarrassment, he cleared his throat and resumed his narration.

"Tears flowed down the King's face as he cradled his precious concubine in his arms. Memories – sweet and beautiful – flooded his mind: the very first time he summoned Lion to his chambers; the first time they made love; and the many nights they spent entwined in each other's arms as they shared their hopes and dreams. 'How could I forget?' the King continued to sob. 'I started those wars and expanded my kingdom for you. I wanted to give you everything because I love you.'

“When Lion heard those words, the tears he had desperately been holding back finally fell from his eyes and down his pale cheeks. And then, smiling radiantly through his tears, he said in a gentle voice the King would treasure for all eternity, 'I want to always stay by my King's side; I never wanted anything else, because... I love you.'”

Roger crimsoned from the raw passion in Albel’s voice, suddenly overcome by an inexplicable, curious desire to have the master say those very words to him; to be in Lion’s position and want nothing more than to experience a love so strong and incredibly beautiful that he would gladly submit to it. He had never felt anything like it before. It was the strangest, yet most powerful compulsion, to have his walls brought down and stripped bare before someone who had the power to both love and hate him, to be completely at their mercy and at the same time, entirely willing and fully aware of it. He didn’t understand it and yet, he sort of could. Was this how it felt like to trust someone completely?

The final page of the tale was turned. The kingdom was peaceful once more. The humble castle stood tall against the backdrop of a glittering meadow with grazing sheep and goat. Sunlight bathed the picturesque landscape in a soft and warm glow. And in the foreground, surrounded by a whirl of diamonds and painted in a dream, stood the King and Lion, bodies entwined in a sensual dance and never taking their eyes off each other. The King was restored to his former glory, and Lion remained by his lord’s side, inevitable and forever.

"The end."

Albel lowered the book and for a few minutes, a comfortable silence settled between them. Huh, he couldn’t believe he actually sat through the whole thing.

Meanwhile, the deep-red acros Roger’s cheeks had faded to a slight pink, but it was clear that the nature of the fairytale still embarrassed him. Invigorated his curiosity, yes, but at the same time made him feel awkward and self-conscious. He had rolled his eyes countless of times over Sophia’s collection of romance novels (honestly, they were bad), but tonight… tonight was different. A tingly sensation fluttered in his chest and spread down his loins; he felt the heat pool between his thighs and rush to his face. The story was over, but why was he so sensitive? Perhaps this was a sign for him to hit the hay… but if he hadn’t been tired before, he most certainly wasn’t tired now. He couldn’t get those sensual images out of his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the master’s voice. He didn’t understand what was happening, but surrounded by Albel’s warmth and alone together in this private room, Roger craved for more.

“Read the next one!”

“WHAT?”

Albel’s personality took a 180 degrees turn for the worst as he found himself back at square one. This was a bloody nightmare. How was Roger not sleepy? He thought reading the little brat a bedtime story (never mind the questionable nature of the content) would be the answer to all his problems, but he somehow managed to screw up along the way and Roger was more awake than ever. Albel wanted to hit him; knock him out; smash his face into the carpet; douse him in the remaining sake and push him into the fire… but he knew he couldn’t do it. Although he did not quite comprehend what happened between the moments of then and now, he at least knew that he viewed the humanoid in a less aggravating light, and that something had changed. It was also clear to him that the boy himself no longer feared or hated him compared to their first encounter. He wondered why.

Absently, he ran his claw through the younger boy’s hair and across his scalp, and Roger took that as a cue to snuggle up against the master’s bare chest. Mm… so warm... And the steady beat of Albel’s heart was so soothing…

It went on for a while. The master’s ministrations felt nice and without realizing it, his body started to relax and he turned to jelly in the man’s arms. His eyelids began to droop and his tail wound itself around him.

“If you’re going to sleep, do me a favor and don’t do it here,” interrupted Albel grumpily. Mentally, he gave Roger until the count of three, but when the boy made no indication of moving from his lap, he prodded his cheek with the tip of his claw.

“Ow, quit it!” Roger leaned away from the thing with a pout. “And I wasn’t fallin’ asleep, Albel.”

“Yes you were.”

“Was not.”

Albel shut his eyes, counted to 10, and exhaled slowly through his nose. They weren’t having this argument.

“Read me the next story!"

"Go to bed, fool."

"Please, Albel? Oh, please?"

Albel opened his eyes and looked down. On his lap, Roger was staring up at him pleadingly, eyes big and shining, his cheeks dusted a light pink. His little fingers grasped the ends of Albel’s hair, but instead of tugging on them like the latter feared, he simply curled his fingers adorably around the locks. His innocent disposition, so unlike his usual cockiness, stunned the master and he felt all trace of frustration melt away. The little fool - dare he say it - could actually be quite darling. It was at that moment when it hit him, when it finally hit him, that this small child nestled in his arms was the pure of heart – his salvation, his miracle, and his precious little fool.

“One more story,” he conceded.

Roger cheered and returned to his previous position and this time, Albel said nothing to his snuggling. He even resumed his role as storyteller almost contently. So, it seemed the little fool did enjoy his company, and somehow that thought bothered him less than before. Besides, the first story wasn’t so bad, so what harm could a second one possibly do?

He flipped the page.

“Hey, Albel, why are those two men naked?”

He almost threw the book into the fireplace.

Alone in the hallway, Nel watched the scene through a crack in the door and pulled away with a smile. Thank you, Misty – never again would she reprimand the royal tutor for leaving her perverse material lying around the castle. It was comforting to see that the master and Roger weren't killing each other, but it was even more heartening to know that their relationship was improving – perhaps leaning towards a romantic direction? She could only pray.

"Hey, still awake?"

That gruff voice.

"Cliff?" she turned to face the chef in honest surprise. Usually he would be busy cleaning the kitchen or taking inventory at this time.

"Yo." He raised a hand in greeting. "Would've thought you'd be the first to crash – you're normally up before sunrise."

"I could say the same for you," she answered with a smirk, well aware that Cliff's duties began with preparing breakfast for the servants, which meant that he had to be up before everyone else. "What do you have there? – she indicated at the slim menu between his fingers – Do you have some business with the master?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Sort of. I was going to ask the sad bastard if he wants supper before I shut the kitchen, probably get yelled at for offering, and then head to bed while wondering why the hell I even bother. You?"

Nel couldn't help but giggle despite Cliff's frustration. Trust the head chef to remain easygoing during times of great difficulty. No matter how tough things got, he always found a way to bounce back with a smile and a well-placed joke – that was why she liked him, because there was never a dull moment when he was around and his infectious smiles and laughter were as gold as his heart.

Initially, when Cliff first arrived at Castle Nox, Nel had been 14 years old then and was training to take on the role of head of household. That first year had been excruciatingly stressful for her, burdened with tremendous responsibility, not to mention having to deal with an entire staff that showed zero respect for a rookie. And coupled with Her Majesty and the young master's relentless and harsh criticism, she would always return to her room crying after a long day's work. But Cliff would always come visit her with a bowl of strawberries and cream and help her through it all. He did it so frequently, that she came to associate the head chef with that very dessert and strawberries became both her comfort and favorite food. She had been 14 and he 27; and that was the year she developed her first crush. But it was only after the curse happened and she turned 21, when Cliff started to take her seriously and give chase. He had either been a proper gentleman and held back due to age difference, or he was secretly a pervert and only noticed her after she grew a pair of breasts; but whatever the case, it didn't change the fact that she never stopped loving him, whether he knew it or not. Cliff always placed others before himself and he did a lot for her in the past to make sure she came out bolder and better every day. In fact, she owed her confidence and sanity to the kind blonde. If he hadn't supported her for all these years, she wouldn't even be the strong and respectable woman she was today.

"Nothing. Just checking to see if there’s any progress," she said with a cheeky smile and motioned at the door. "And I think it's working."

Cliff peered through the gap and smirked to himself. The master reading bedtime stories? This was rich. Something worth holding onto for future blackmail purposes if the guy pissed him off again. Though even he had to admit that the scene proved quite endearing. There was a soft peaceful expression on Albel's face, void of the usual malice and bitterness – something that was both exceptional and comforting to note at the same time. Whatever it was Roger was doing, it seemed to be working.

"Well, who'd have thought?" He yawned and brought his arms up in a stretch. "Guess I'll turn in for the night… Don’t stay up too late, beautiful.”

“Cliff?”

“Yeah?”

He turned to stare at Nel curiously. He wondered what was up with that troubled face. The redhead suddenly looked so down, he couldn’t help but be reminded of their earlier years. Instantly, he was right at her side, tilting her chin up so that he could get a good look at those telling violet eyes. They swam with emotion - grief, hurt, and disappointment.

“What you said back at the kitchen… is it true?”

True? Oh. That. For a moment, Cliff couldn’t answer her and she finally snapped.

"When you said you attempted suicide – is it true?!"

"Come on, Nel, you know nothing can kill me," he joked, but it did nothing to alleviate her pain.

"You're an idiot, Cliff! A big, selfish idiot!" She let everything out, all the hurt and frustration she kept bottled up inside her since that morning. "What the hell were you thinking?! Correction – you weren't! Not about yourself; not about me... How'd you think I'd feel if it actually worked? If you were really gone..."

She collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest as she hit him over and over pathetically, weakly, desperately clinging on. Her words came out muffled through the fabric of his shirt.

"I stayed strong because of you. You're the reason I kept going after all these years, even before the curse – she hiccuped – If you're gone, if you leave me... what's the point?!"

Suddenly, she felt a calloused hand trace the back of her thighs before she found herself lifted up bridal style in the head chef's strong arms. Firm and chapped lips descended upon her petal-soft red ones and her eyes fell shut instantaneously as she returned it. She pulled Cliff against herself aggressively, passionately, deepening the kiss, devouring his mouth for all he was worth. Nel Zelpher wouldn't play 'hard-to-get' with just anybody, you know? She had loved this brazen man for nine long years. She still did, and would continue to do so if he would have her.

Cliff slowly, almost reluctantly broke the kiss. He was panting, catching his breath, the look in his eyes unreadable. This was the first time the head of household had expressed her feelings in such an assertive manner… and he kind of liked it.

“How long…?” he trailed off with a hint of uncertainty.

“Since I was 14,” she said, voice raw with emotion and eyes full of love.

At that moment, Cliff felt like he was looking at the very 14-year-old girl whom he had cared for and comforted every evening, and watched grow. And here she was now – bold, beautiful, and all his. His heart clenched

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning down to nuzzle her cheek. And he truly was. He couldn’t believe what he had almost risked losing. Something far more precious than material freedom.

Thankfully, Nel understood.

With a playful grin, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Closing the distance between them once again, she breathed upon his lips and with half-lidded eyes said, “Shame on you for making a girl cry – her voice dipped seductively – You're coming with me tonight to atone for your sins."

Cliff let loose a deep chuckle. How could he refuse the command of his superior? Especially when she asked so sexily with the promise of pleasure.

"Yes, m'am."

He carried her up the stairs to her private quarters, taking two steps at a time.

"It didn't matter if those letters had been forged in the hand of another. Nothing was more true, not even all the black words on all the sheets of parchment, than their unadulterated love for each other."

Albel moved to flip the page, only to stop short when he realised the hyperactive Menodix had fallen asleep on his lap. Roger was snoring softly, body curled into a ball and fingers clinging onto his long hair for comfort. That little nose and whiskers of his twitched every now and then in his sleep, picking up and finding solace in the older male's scent. Long eyelashes dusted soft rosy cheeks; angelic. Albel reached down to lightly brush those baby cheeks, satisfying both his newfound desire and curiosity.

Humph, what would you know? The little fool wasn't so bad when he was asleep, so unlike his usual obnoxious self. Finally. Some peace and quiet… but what was he going to do with the deadweight on his lap? At first, he remained seated in an uncertain, awkward stupor; reached out and hesitated; wondered why the hell he was so nervous before a dumb humanoid, and angry at himself for his - what was the word the little fool used again? - concern. But he knew that beneath his anger was truly fear. Fear of all these new and overwhelming emotions and ultimately, what Roger was slowly, unwittingly doing to him.

‘I must be out of my mind. He’s a humanoid. Mere dirt beneath my boot,’ he thought, but felt his scowl and resentment ebb away when Roger mumbled something adorable in his sleep. Hm, still talkative when unconscious. And against his better judgment, Albel shut the book, placed it aside and devoted his attention to the curious boy in his lap.

He tentatively brushed aside Roger's bangs and peered at him curiously, at his peaceful expression, the small smile on his face, and his childish innocence. Awake or asleep, there was one thing that did not change – the little fool's openness and sense of complete unbiased trust, especially (and strangely) towards him. It was puzzling. Many years ago, he was regarded as wickedly brutal – cruel to the point of savagery – and had attempted murder on this boy's life more than once without a shred of guilt or a second thought. Was one act of bravery and kindness on his part enough to banish all that fear?

"If there’s anyone who possesses the greatest capacity for love, it’s Roger."

Those had been Nel's words. He did not think much about them before, but he was now starting to see the obvious truth behind her statement. So, that was why the curse had marked Roger as his salvation... It took someone with a big, forgiving heart; someone capable of seeing the good in others no matter how dark their soul might be, to look past all his faults, accept them, and ultimately, spark a change from within. As Albel felt the warmth spread from his fingertips right down to caress and soothe the deepest recesses of his cold and bitter heart, a strange compulsion overcame him. And before the wicked one knew it, he placed a gentle kiss upon Roger’s brow.

“... And the prince and the servant boy lived happily ever after.”

He moved lower to ghost his lips across soft cheeks.

Why am I doing this?

A tongue snaked out for a taste. His good hand trailed up the boy's smooth thighs and into his nightie, caressing the further up he went. Fingers curled over the shape of Roger's sweet ass, touching, fondling.

Why can't I stop?

He groped the soft virgin flesh greedily. Roger put up no resistance and that increased the master's ministrations. Beautiful. The way the boy's skin, soft and supple, turned hot from his touch... so submissive. So willing. It made him appear even sexier. Tempting. Vulnerable.

Flushing in his sleep, Roger released a low needy moan.

“Fayt…”

The name felt like a bucket of ice-cold water. Albel drew away harshly, immediately sickened by his own foolish naivety. What the hell was he thinking? How could he possibly believe that a single evening was all it took to win the boy’s heart? Fairytales were for fools. Roger would never willingly choose to stay by his side if not for that threat, and what was more, he knew now that the little fool held someone close to his heart. Someone who brought him absolute joy and comfort. Someone he longed to be with more than anyone...

And it wasn’t him.

“Just a little more… Got it!”

Sophia lowered her arms with a wide and grateful grin.

“Thanks, Fayt! I really appreciate you offering to help with the orphanage’s repairs. Now the children and I can sleep better at night.”

The young knight grinned sheepishly after dusting his hands off dirt. “Don’t mention it. It’s what friends do – he turned to observe his handiwork –though that was quite a large hole he created…”

The two best friends gazed at the building, specifically at the layer of freshly laid out brick that once housed a giant, gaping hole courtesy of Roger’s landmines. Thankfully, the rest of the orphanage didn’t collapse, but they weren’t taking any chances. Repairs had begun at sunrise and they worked throughout the day, along with the help of the other children. Funds were tight, so it was a great relief on Sophia’s part when Fayt had offered (more like insisted) to land a hand for free. However, when she had insisted on repaying her friend in some way, all the knight said was that her well-being was reward enough for him. It warmed her heart; she wouldn’t know what she’d do without him.

“I’m just glad none of the children got hurt,” she said with a sigh of relief. After all, if the explosion had gone off on the second floor, the roof would have come down on all their heads.

“But that’s what bothers me,” Fayt remarked with a contemplative frown, “Roger should’ve known better than to detonate his landmines indoors, especially when there’s so many people around! He wasn’t thinking – doesn’t that sound weird to you?”

"Now that you mention it..." A look of worry crossed Sophia's face. Her voice came out hushed and shaky. “Maybe... it had something to do with him…”

“Come again?”

At Fayt’s confusion, she turned to face him with an uneasy look in her big green eyes.

“Yesterday, when His Majesty came to adopt Roger, he wanted to have a little talk with him first. Normally, rules dictate both parties to have a discussion prior to the adoption to see if their temperaments are compatible and family environment suitable. It’s all part of the adoption process.”

He nodded his head, folding his arms. “I’m aware of that. Then what happened?”

“Well…” she trailed off, biting her lower lip as recalled that morning's incident. “He... Well, he demanded a private meeting in Roger’s bedroom and locked the door. He seemed extremely eager to be alone with Roger too. I was in no position to refuse –"

“THE PRINCE DID WHAT?!”

He couldn’t believe this. This was definitely one important detail his “dear prince” failed to mention in his report. Angry didn't really cut it; Fayt was  positively furious. Suddenly, the story surrounding Roger’s escape appeared a lot clearer to him now. The missing pieces in the prince's account were finally falling into place. So, something must have happened in the bedroom between the two before Roger went all ballistic and blew a hole in the building itself... But what? Luther’s love for the Menodix bordered on malicious obsession and who knew what that pervert did or didn't do to him behind closed doors? And now, here he was on a mission to bring the poor boy back to be on the receiving end of the prince's perverse sense of justice? Somehow, he failed to see any sense in his inconsistent actions.

Fayt clenched and unclenched his jaw, his glare boring holes into the ground. Two years ago, he had vowed to care for and keep the young humanoid boy safe… but long before that, he took an oath on Sir Robert Leingod's deathbed to remain faithful to and dutifully serve the royal family and kingdom. It had been his dad’s dying wish… but could he really turn a blind eye to the prince's less than honest methods and Roger's undeserving position and inevitable suffering? Luther's sole intent was to stake claim over the humanoid through discipline as a show of maintaining societal and class order. Any anticipated uprising would prove detrimental to Aquor's peace, harmony and prosperity. The ends justified the means. It was a teaching he upheld for years.

But if that was the case, why was he feeling so terribly conflicted?

“I don’t know what to do, Sophia,” he finally confessed, falling to his knees. His fingers tugged harshly, desperately, and unforgivingly at his hair. He felt all the stress and frustration accumulate into hot tears. After two days of keeping his thoughts and fears to himself, he decided to come clean (at the very least to himself) and the words wouldn't stop flowing.

“I want to find him more than anything. I want to see that amazing smile of his again. I want to wake up every day knowing it'll be another adventure... but why?!" He suddenly snapped, slamming his fists against the ground. There was a tremendous, unbearable pain in his voice. "Why did Luther have to notice him too?! Why must I give him up?! Just because that guy's the prince?! I don’t – I can’t... I can't!"

Sophia stared at him pitifully, emotion flooding her eyes. It was so painful to see him like this. Fayt was always strong, dependable, optimistic, and brave. The last time she had seen him break down was at Robert Leingod’s deathbed. And it was at this very moment when she knew, when she finally understood the basis of the strange words the knight had uttered two nights ago... though right now, they didn’t seem so strange anymore. In fact, they were both beautiful and sad. Fayt really cared about Roger; everything he had done up to this point was for the Menodix's best interest.

Why hadn't she seen this sooner?

“Fayt Robert Leingod!” She frowned down at him, placing her hands on her hips. There was a stern look on her face, but her eyes were smiling. “Wipe those tears from your eyes – it’s disgraceful! If Roger were here, he'd be ashamed he ever called you a real man!”

Roger...

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fayt muttered, rubbing his eyes with the back of his arm.

Sophia’s gaze softened. She knew what her friend was going through better than anymore. Fayt was always driven by justice, honor and his moral compass worked better than most others, but she figured his recent mission placed a great strain on his principles. On one hand, he had a duty to his kingdom; on the other hand, he had a duty to his heart. Both were extremely important to him, but at the end of the day, he could only choose one...

And so, in order to alleviate his suffering, she offered the young knight a hand and pulled him to his feet. At the very least, she could let him know she was with him all the way. She gazed at the blue haired teen kindly, her bright smile never once wavering.

“You’re my best friend, Fayt. Whatever you do, whatever you choose, you have my support. And for the sake of your happiness, I hope Roger returns home soon.” She patted his hand. It was a comforting gesture. “But do us both a favour, would you? – she winked – If you aren’t going to adopt him, then just love him already!”

Fayt blushed profusely and was just about to launch into a series of stutters, denials and claims of false allegations, when he felt something thrust into his hand. He snapped his mouth shut, parted his fingers, and stared dumbly at a small heart-shaped gold locket in the middle of his palm. It was fitted with a delicate gold chain, which glinted under the glow from the overhanging streetlamps. He shot Sophia a weird stare, but at her encouragement he flipped open the locket, only to let out a quiet gasp at what he saw tucked tenderly inside. His hand shook. He couldn't believe what he was seeing: it was a picture of Roger, grinning widely and eyes shining like stars. The resemblance was strikingly accurate. It was like the boy himself was right here looking at him. Fayt traced the outline of the still image lovingly.

"How... How is this possible?" he whispered in awe. Had Roger secretly mastered some sort of magic spell to imprison a part of his soul into this piece of jewelry?

Sophia giggled at his bewilderment. "Remember that 'light box' invention Roger was working on?"

"Oh, you mean the one that kept overheating and blowing up?"

Her face fell. "Urgh... Don't remind me. I was cleaning up soot for a month..."

Fayt couldn't help but chuckle at that memory. It was bittersweet: for all the trouble the humanoid was, he really missed him... That was what made Roger – well, Roger. And he hadn't been lying when he said that crazy aspect made him unique.

"I can't believe he actually got it to work!" He stared fondly at the picture. "Heh, if he were here he'd pester me to hurry and patent it for him... But why the sudden gift, Sophia?"

The brunette shook her head with a sweet smile and said, "Because you travel a lot; it's part of your job. Remember how Roger would always feel sad at first whenever you left, and you wished you could take him with you?"

"I... said that?" Answered Fayt, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Sophia rolled her eyes.

"Geez, you might have a crappy memory, Fayt Leingod, but Roger sure doesn't. The whole reason behind that 'light box' was for you! He wanted to capture his image and made this locket for you to wear on your journeys. That way, he'd always be with you."

Fayt continued to stare at the locket silently, intensely, with over a dozen thoughts swimming through his mind and a flurry of emotions attacking his senses. Happiness, hope, compassion, surprise, disbelief, gratitude... It was so overwhelming; his chest clenched and it felt hard to breathe. He felt so choked up inside, like the burning, constricting sensation one would get just before they burst out crying. All this time, he had been so caught up with his own fears and concerns with appearances – his own hesitance towards his true feelings for Roger – that he failed to see that maybe, just maybe, the Menodix had felt the same way towards him.

I'm an idiot.

And he truly felt as such. If he hadn't been such a coward, if he had opened his heart and listened to his brain less and noticed the signs, that fateful encounter with the prince might not have happened, along with this big, painful mess.

Unbeknownst to her friend's inner turmoil, Sophia closed his fingers over the locket and continued, "He was saving this for your birthday, but in light of recent events, I felt you should have it now."

That did it. Suddenly, Fayt's grip on the locket tightened, so much so that it shook. The action itself was like a reassurance; a calm assertion of will; an unbreakable vow. Fierce determination flashed across his emerald eyes. And in a voice that beheld so much love and one that Sophia herself barely recognized, he staked his solemn vow.

"I’ll find you, Roger. Even if it takes me forever."

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Years ago, during a time when dragons reigned and humans were forced deep into the shadows as a means of survival, when there was nothing but an endless winter and the frigid winds of a frozen wasteland; prophecies spoke of a shining light that would guide the world out of darkness and towards peace. Then, one day, a baby was born from ice and snow. Clothed in garments painted gold like the rays of the morning sun, the child could speak and tame even the wildest of draconic hearts. The senseless slaughter stopped. Man and Beast finally knew peace. Kingdoms flourished, the child grew into a great King and the lands united into one powerful, peaceful sovereign known as Aquor – the great kingdom of the sun.

However, the people knew that in the face of prosperity, peace could be easily shattered. And so, the kind and noble King Nox agreed to a peace treaty with the second-most powerful kingdom in the land: Aquaria. It was the hope that the union would bring an end to the constant clashes and civil unrest between the two kingdoms; and so, Glou Nox agreed to marry Aquaria’s heir of the Sacred Temple of Apris and soon-to-be Holy Mother: the clever and enchanting Romeria Zin Emurille.

The two were betrothed and were soon wed in Castle Nox before the eyes of the entire kingdom. Members of the royal families, noblemen and common folk alike traveled far and wide to bear witness and gifts to the happy couple. Never before had any event filled Aquor with so much joy and pride, than to see their lands unified through marriage, and for the joint blood that would speak of this bond for generations to come.

Alas, not everyone was happy with this arrangement; and the one who hated the peace treaty and the end to her freedom the most, was the newly crowned Queen Romeria herself.

Unbeknownst to most of Aquor, Queen Romeria had a lover in Aquaria and was carrying Duke Lansfeld’s second child. She loved her son dearly, just as much as she loved the child’s father. However, when Luther was born, the high courts did not recognize the boy as heir for fear of mutiny and the Queen was forced to send him away to Aquaria under the care of the Duke.

Twice wronged and forcefully separated from her family, the heartbroken Queen fell into despair and revenge clouded her once pure and gracious heart. And on the fateful day Prince Albel was born, the Queen’s thoughts turned darker as did her heart. She hated the child that she was forced to sire with a man she didn’t even love; and that hatred only grew deeper as the young prince grew up. He had her eyes, her smile, her features and gifts of intellect; they thought alike and their mannerisms bore so much likeness that the prince’s very existence mocked her every waking hour. Why was it that the son she despised, ended up taking after her more so than the son she loved?

Prince Albel inherited his mother’s grace and beauty, as well as his father’s pride and ambition. Prophecies spoke that he would be a good king; he was a skilled swordsman like his father and as clever as his mother. But neglected by the King in favor of conquering lands and scorned by the Queen whom he could never please, the young prince spent years in solitude and grew up not knowing love. Cold, cruel and merciless, Prince Albel killed for pleasure and lusted after power, eager for the throne and always wanted more, more, more.

Then, one day, a war broke out between Aquor and Aquaria. King Nox and his knights fought valiantly and defeated their adversaries, but peace became harder to hold onto with the emergence of rebel groups, and the strain finally took its toll on the king’s health. The ruler of Aquor and the keeper of dragons died on the morning of his 35th birthday; Romeria ruled in her late-husband’s place; and the people worried over the state and stability of their kingdom. They had forgotten how Nox’s leadership had collectively guided their lands out of centuries of darkness; the dragon threat became real again; and all the fighting stopped when fear and uncertainty took root in the people’s hearts.

Aquor needed a King. It needed the blood of a Nox. But the prince was only 15 years old – far too young to succeed the throne and incapable of seeing past his own wicked reflection. And this was when the Queen saw her chance to strike as she turned to dark magic.

Poison.

The plan was simple: feed the young prince poison and mourn his death alongside the late king. None would suspect the prince’s own mother; and without a successor to the throne to stand in their way, Duke Lansfeld could be king and she could finally see her children again. But, Prince Albel had long since regarded his mother as an obstacle to the throne and saw through her cunning, killing her at her own game. The kingdom mourned her tragic and sudden passing; none suspected the queen’s own son; and the wicked prince ascended the throne as Aquor’s new king.

Alas, King Albel’s reign had been nothing but brief.

On the night of his coronation, a vicious dragon attacked the castle and the young prince was cursed by the very creatures that his father had earned the respect and trust from. Nox’s only son and heir was unworthy.

The kingdom soon forgot about the prince and the royal family that fell along with him, and the Lansfelds rose to power as the new rulers of Aquor. The Duke became King and his previously unrecognized children, the crown prince and princess. Rebels disbanded. Dragons stopped attacking. The kingdom knew peace again, but at a great cost.

Doomed to live and die a dragon for the sins and suffering he wreaked, Aquor’s fallen prince lived his days hopelessly awaiting the one that would break the spell and set him and his castle free. The pure of heart: a shining light out of the darkness that would save him from the eternal storm that raged in his cold and lonely heart. And after nine torturous years, it came in the form of a young humanoid boy, of a child born into servitude, yet possessed a heart that was so willing to give.

But the years had been long and unkind to Prince Albel. His bitterness consumed him, and only time would tell if he could be seen as anything more than a fearsome beast in the humanoid’s eyes…

Curses, out of ink.

Mackwell paused in his writing to dip his quill into a bottle of black ink.

How inconvenient. Years of innovation, yet none had come close to surpassing the primitive writing tool of that of a quill.

The royal writer and scholar was about to resume his chronicling in the royal records, when the doors to the grand library burst open to reveal a flushed and out of breath Misty Lear. Mackwell raised a curious brow at her disheveled appearance. He had never seen the royal tutor this unkempt before, not since nine years ago on the night they were all cursed.

“Dear, come quick! It’s Roger,” she panted and the smile on her face was bright enough to blind him. “Wonderful news, darling. Roger has just invited the master for dinner! Can you believe it?”

Mackwell slammed the record book shut and turned to face Misty so fast, he nearly broke his neck.

“He what?”

A second chance.

Roger never thought he would reconsider the master’s invitation to dinner, let alone initiate it; but here they were, sitting awkwardly next to each other at the grandest, most obnoxious, not to mention needlessly long dining table Roger had ever seen in his life. Sure, he had been here before when he first stepped into this castle, but considering how completely famished he was back then and the Rossetti’s’ spellbinding performance, he never actually took notice. Now, despite being seated on tall, dark and silent’s left, the space between them seemed profuse and the distance ridiculous.

The appetizer had been served and cleared some time ago – Chicken Liver Pate with White Truffles for the master, and Porcini Mushroom Tartlets for him – and Cliff’s cooking was, needless to say, nothing short of spectacular. However, Roger had wolfed down his last mushroom tartlet faster than he would have preferred to and now, there was nothing left to distract him from the sweltering silence that stretched on between him and his supposed host. Albel really had the emotional capacity of a block of wood. It irked Roger so much, he didn’t realise he was tapping the tune of ‘Do you know the muffin man’ on the table with his spoon. Unfortunately, someone did.

“Do you mind?” Albel growled behind his glass of wine, the stem threatening to snap in half under his claw from his frustration.

“Course not– oops!”

Roger’s grip on the spoon slipped and the silverware clanked noisily against the fine marble flooring. It reverberated about the massive dining hall and in the still quiet of the room, it sounded louder than a bell in a cathedral. Albel visibly bristled. Roger offered a sheepish grin at said man, who looked two seconds close to throttling him with his wine glass. Nel hurried over to replace the spoon and shot her master a warning stare. Albel rolled his eyes and went back to sipping his drink.

This was utterly humiliating. If someone told him nine years ago that he’d be dining with a member of the lower class – a humanoid no less – he would have died laughing. Fortunately or unfortunately for him, he was still alive; and Roger had moved on to striking his unused wine glass with a fork to see if he could produce the notes from ‘The itsy bitsy spider’.

This was a mistake.

The Menodix’s table manners were worse than a pea. Honestly, Albel had no idea what he was expecting from an uncultured half-breed. Unbeknownst to him, Roger was thinking the exact same thing, though the boy’s thoughts were more along the lines of, “This guy tried to kill me twice and he looks like he’s going to try again. What on earth was I thinking?”

And really, what had he been thinking? Roger didn’t know if it was guilt or an unexplainable burst of compassion, but he had seen a flicker of kindness in Albel’s eyes last night as they curled comfortably in his chair under the warm glow of the crackling fireplace. There was something there, something hidden beneath the cold and impenetrable loneliness, a quiet and desperate, ‘save me’; and Roger felt he was this close to changing all that. Besides, everyone deserves a second chance. If Albel could risk his life to save his, he figured he could do the same for him. He had to try.

Roger could still remember the utterly floored and flabbergasted expression on Albel’s face when he had knocked on the grand West Wing doors at the stroke of 6 and popped the question. “Would ya like ta join me fer dinner?” he had asked, which left Maria, who had been attending to the young master, feeling both shocked and eager to spread the news to the rest of the castle. And Albel? Albel had been five seconds close to kicking the stupid humanoid with his boot just to make sure Roger was really there and this wasn’t just a cruel dream. Thankfully, he did no such thing, but his heart remained heavy and uncertain after Roger’s sleeptime confession the previous night, and the temptation to refuse and runaway proved rather appealing. However, after the infuriating brat continued to bother and actually follow him into his private chambers, threatening to talk him silly with all six volumes of Ikelos’ Book of Prophecies for the next 12 hours, Albel growled a low, “Alright!” and really did kick him out of his room, before slamming the door to presumably get ready. If Roger hadn’t been so busy nursing his poor, abused bum, he would have seen the slightest smile that graced Albel’s lips.

At the head of the table, a pair of piercing yet hauntingly beautiful crimson eyes held him captive in his seat. Albel continued to study the little Menodix with an unreadable expression; his gaze gave nothing away, but the intensity of his stare was doing strange things to Roger, whose stomach fluttered nervously as he squirmed in his seat. Was it hot in here or what? The man’s gaze was like a furnace. It made him feel all hot and bothered and dragged last evening’s events to the surface of his mind.

He remembered everything with vivid clarity: the warmth of Albel’s smooth and flawless skin; the hard muscles across his firm chest and toned abdomen; the gentle touch of his long and soft hair; that low and sensual chuckle that did strange things to his body and turned his brain to mush… In fact, the mere memory of that storybook Albel had read him, caused a bright red blush to blossom across his cheeks and left a pleasant tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach.

But why? He’s just a big ol meanie...

Suddenly, their eyes met. Albel’s lips curled into a smirk at how utterly vulnerable the humanoid child looked under his scrutiny, like an innocent fawn unaware of its careless wandering into a wolf’s den. He licked his lips.

This would be fun.

“Tell me,” Albel began, as he placed his wine glass on the table, the barest hint of amusement in his voice. “Are you always this articulate? You usually have… quite the way with words. I would have thought you’d have more to say after all that yapping last night.”

Perhaps it was a little petty, but Roger had called out someone else’s name in his sleep and Albel wasn’t exactly accustomed to rejection. Well, fine, Roger didn’t outwardly reject him per se, but there was still another man. Competition. Same thing.

“Aw, shut up,” Roger pouted and averted his gaze, ears flattening against his head from the jibe. “I fell asleep in the end, didn’t I? Plenty of time fer your precious ‘peace and quiet’. Besides, I don’t talk too much; ya just barely talk at all!”

“But that’s not the case now, is it?” Albel countered, his smirk growing wider at Roger’s mortification. He reached over and held the boy’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head up so that their eyes met.

“What’s on your mind?”

Roger could have melted from the master’s smooth voice and surprisingly gentle touch. Never would he have guessed that someone so cold and cruel could have fingers as soft as an angel’s. Albel’s sudden proximity and confusing actions both unsettled and charmed him.

Before he realized it, he was stuttering. “I… I, uh…”

Roger flushed and played with the ends of the tablecloth nervously. Geez, why did Maria, Nel and the Rosettis have to be around at a time like this? He got it: one was a bodyguard, one was head of household and the rest were the royal court performers; but talk about embarrassing... though Albel didn’t appear the least bit concerned about their obvious lack of privacy. The guy was probably used to being surrounded by servants all the time, he learned to ignore them.

“I… It’s just… l-last…”

Why was it so hard to speak?

Suddenly, hot breath tickled his ear and a pair of lips grazed soft fur.

“Little fool, are you thinking about last night?” Fingers crept up his thigh and gave it a suggestive squeeze. “About what we could’ve done if you hadn’t fallen asleep?”

Roger gasped and his grip on the tablecloth tightened, but he made no move to deny Albel or push him away. Luther too had touched him before, but it felt different when Albel did it and Roger didn’t understand why. However, before he could think of a witty comeback, Roger suddenly found himself staring at a large platter of mouthwatering god-knows-what that had been oh so graciously shoved in his face.

“Feast your eyes on the main course!” Cliff made a sweeping gesture with his free hand in a grand show of his latest culinary creation. He wagged his eyebrows and winked at the drooling Menodix. “I hope you like Flageolet and Lemon-Celery Tartines, because I whipped up an entire batch large enough to feed a dra- horse! Don’t worry, it’s pure vegan,” he assured Roger, who was eyeing the steak skeptically. “I just made it look like steak. Y’know, he’s a cannibal, you’re a vegetarian. Compromise.”

Now, Roger had no idea what flageolet tartines were (he couldn’t even pronounce, much less spell it to save his life), but if they tasted as amazing as they looked, then he was sold. However, his dining partner didn’t appear very pleased at all and Roger had a funny feeling it was more than just Albel expressing his lack of appreciation towards the head chef’s earlier jibe about his choice diet.

“What do I have to do to keep your stupid face out of my sight?” he yelled at the blonde chef.

Talk about bad timing. Him and the little fool were having a moment! Didn’t these people know how hard it was to be romantic, let alone get the humanoid to look at him with anything but fear in his eyes? Ingrates!

“And what the hell is that?” Albel pointed at the dish like it was something vile. “I refuse to eat your poor excuse of a meal! You’re here to cook and serve your master, not prepare rubbish and pass it off as laughable French cuisine!”

He grabbed a generous amount of the faux steak and without the least bit of remorse, flung it at Cliff’s face. Nel and Maria gasped and urged their master to cease his actions with their eyes, but Albel didn’t care.

“Take it back and prepare something that doesn’t look like horse crap!” And with a dismissive wave of his hand, all conversation was over.

Nel shut her eyes and mentally prayed to the Goddess Apris for Cliff to let things slide and take the obvious bruise to his pride in stride. They all knew how the master was, knew how his wrath was capable of incinerating others to a crisp just as well as the flames of his dragon form. Please, Cliff, please. But the blonde was having none of that. Cliff felt something within him snap. Enough was enough, and he wiped the remnants of food off his face and slammed a fist against the table, striking the old wood so hard, it caused the silverware to rattle and the lone candelabra to tip over and roll onto the floor.

“Ok, wise guy, what the hell is your problem?! I slave away over that hot stove day and night, night and day, cooking shit to feed your pompous ass – and that’s not good enough?!” He flipped Albel the bird and jabbed said finger at the man’s chest. “What the fuck are your standards? Heaven? ‘Cuz I sure as hell can punch you to kingdom come to get them checked!”

“Cliff, language,” Nel warned. “Roger’s just a boy–“

“Then he’s got some serious growing up to do, because now he gets to see how much of a royal baby his so-called savior is!”

“Cliff!” Maria quickly inserted herself between the blonde and her charge. “Stand down.”

“No, Traydor, let the maggot speak,” Albel said as he rose to his feet, the demented smirk on his face a mixture of quiet lividity and perverse glee. Excitement coursed through his veins at the promise of bloodshed. “If he has a problem with my castle and my rules, I’ll be more than happy to dispose off the evidence.”

Cliff’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Is that a threat?”

“Need I answer?”

“Oh, you asked for it... Your sword, my fists. We settle this right now!”

“Gladly!”

“STOP!”

Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at the source of that unexpected, gutsy interruption. Roger stood on his chair and shot Albel the meanest death glare he could muster, which was more cute than scary going by normal standards considering his childlike features, pouty pink cheeks and twitching furry ears. His bushy tail swished about in agitation and there was a slight smear of vegetarian demi-glaze sauce on his right cheek. Suffice to say, he wasn’t in the least bit intimidating and compared to the wicked master of the castle, the child was a hopeless saint.

By then, the other servants had rushed into the dining hall at the sound of the commotion, only to watch nervously as Albel turned his attention away from Cliff to stare the humanoid down in scorn. A flicker of resentment flashed across crimson eyes that had narrowed into a scowl. How dare a humanoid raise his voice at him? He should have the boy’s tongue cut off. He should. And yet, there was something about Roger’s foolish courage that intrigued him enough to really do as the child wished.

Mackwell was about to rush forward and intervene in case the master decided to single-handedly blow their chances for freedom again, when a pale and delicate arm shot out to grasp his shoulder and tug him back. Misty fixed her partner with a hard stare and shook her head. “Don’t,” her eyes seemed to say. It took years of diligent tutoring on her part to learn to read the master’s actions – and although evidently triggered, hostile they were not. Mirage chewed the nail of her thumb, apprehensive. Peppita gripped her scarves so tight, they threatened to tear. And Nel quietly guided Maria and Cliff aside, as the master continued to wear Roger down with his cold stares and unwavering pride.

Meanwhile, Roger was fighting a mental battle not to pull out all his hair in frustration. This was supposed to be a nice, simple dinner; and he really felt (considering Albel’s lack of social and emotional skills) like they were doing pretty well. So why did Albel have to go and make things so difficult? Why was he always so difficult? Seriously, the guy had some serious anger management issues he needed to work out, pronto. And so, to show his host exactly how frustrated he was on dealing with his behavior and mood swings, Roger marched right over and yanked Albel by the hair.

“Worm!”

“You. Sit. Down.”

And with a particularly hard tug at one of Albel’s bound rat-tails, he had the stunned man back in his seat. Nel, Maria, Mirage, Peppita, Misty and Mackwell hid their snickers behind their hands, while Cliff was enjoying every second of the master’s torment. For a moment, the shock rendered Albel completely speechless, until his brain finally caught up to the present and took offense to his current situation.

“Listen here–“

“No, ya listen!” Roger surprised everyone when he climbed onto the master’s lap and poked him in the cheek. “You’re blessed ta have a beautiful home and eat such amazing food everyday. Ya have servants ta clean and pick up after ya. Ya have a chef ta wait on your every order – and you’re picking a fight just cuz ya don’t wanna eat your vegetables?!”

Nel bit her lip when it became harder to hold in her giggles. Poor Albel; the guy was spluttering in indignation so much, he was turning blue and looked like he had forgotten how to breathe. And yet, for all the abuse his ego had undergone, Albel did not strike out at the obnoxious Menodix. Yell at him maybe; that compulsion proved exceedingly hard to ignore as the seconds ticked by. But the sudden and unexpected sight of Roger’s tears quelled the burning flames of his anger into ash. The tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but Roger hurriedly wiped them away with his sleeve, oblivious to the claw that had wanted to do the same.

“... Tears do not suit you,” said Albel in a quiet murmur. He neglected to add that the sight of the boy’s sadness left an uncomfortable and confusing feeling in his chest.

“S-Sorry,” Roger sniffed and avoided Albel’s curious stare. “I’m sorry for yellin’ at ya. It’s just… all this food; it made me think of the orphanage. We never got to eat such delicious meals – heck, 3 square meals a day was a gift from the gods!”

Albel frowned as he tried to understand. “You weren’t fed?”

“Nah, it was just never enough.”

A sad smile graced his lips as the thought made him recall another memory.

“Y’know, when I was growing up in Surferio, before the dragon attack? I always had ta ration with my family. A large portion of the food we grew went ta humans, so it left us humanoids very little ta begin with.” Unconsciously, he had taken to playing with the ends of Albel’s hair out of habit. “You’re very lucky, Albel, ta be born human. Ya have Cliff and all these wonderful people looking after ya. I-If I had what ya did, I’d thank every second that I’m alive.”

There was a brief pause as all those present allowed the Menodix’s words to sink in. Albel continued to study the child in his lap, contemplative and uncertain. Roger was difficult to understand and he loathed how insecure the boy made him feel about his principles, the way he lived and the ways of the world. He hated this feeling of vulnerability that came with self doubt; yet despite all that, Albel realized that no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he could not and did not hate Roger. Not as much as he did before.

“Why did you stop eating then?”

Roger’s stomach growled, but he lowered his gaze guiltily and didn’t say a word.

Suddenly, the clinking of silver against fine china echoed about the vast dining hall and when Roger looked up, he as well as the servants, started at the shocking sight of Albel eating. He was actually eating! The gang openly gaped at the fallen prince, especially Cliff who looked like he had just died and his soul had gone to heaven.

Roger blinked up at Albel in honest surprise. What just happened? But before he could question the man’s strange actions, Albel turned to address him with a coldness that seemed more for show than genuine displeasure.

“Fool, it is rude to refuse food when the master of the castle is eating.”

When the implications of his words finally registered and sank in, Roger mentally shook his head at Albel’s elusive, roundabout way of expressing himself and accepted his kindness with a wide and gracious smile. It was the kind of smile that went up to the eyes and painted Roger’s cheeks with a soft, euphoric blush. It was the kind of smile that touched the soul and set it alight like the bright, sparkling stars twinkling in the child’s big, brown eyes. It was the kind of smile that made one stop and stare and marvel at its purity, for it was the most beautiful smile that Albel had ever seen.

But just as quickly, it was gone and Roger had reverted to his atrocious table manners as he continued to stuff himself silly with vegan delight. The moment had passed; but oddly, despite the dinner’s rough and bumpy start, Albel felt an inexplicable sense of content at the pit of his belly. As he chewed his food, he continued to watch the peculiar little humanoid boy with a thoughtful yet uncharacteristically peaceful expression. Perhaps the occasional vegan diet wasn’t so bad after all.

“Master, may I?” Mirage swooped in to clear his plate, barely able to contain her smirk when she noticed the effect Roger had on him. Even a blind person could see it.

Albel was changing.

“... Fittir.”

Cliff gave a start at the master’s sudden address. “Yes, sir?”

Albel placed his fork and knife on the table and dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

“It’s good.”

And for the second time that evening, Cliff felt his soul leave his mouth.

“Uh… thanks?”

Man, did it feel weird to be appreciated.

“C’mon, Albel! I wanna see the garden!”

A pair of heavy boots stopped dead in its tracks, as its owner suppressed a grimace of pain. Sure, Albel Nox had survived dinner, but that activity didn’t involve much walking and suddenly going for a stroll around a 70,000-square-meter garden while still recovering from his injuries, didn’t seem like such a brilliant idea anymore. Of course, that annoying Zelpher had nagged and advised him against it and Traydor insisted on coming along, but as history proved time and time again, Albel didn’t listen and he was paying the consequences for his regrettable stupidity.

“I’m injured, fool,” he gritted through his teeth, dragging his feet on the grass. “Stop running around, or I’ll leave you here and lock you out.”

Roger stuck his tongue out at him. By now, he had learned that Albel’s threats were mostly empty and the guy sounded more like a grumpy old geezer than a force to be reckoned with.

“And whose fault is that?” Roger pointed out with a cheeky leer. “If ya hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run into that cockatrice, and ya wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Albel rolled his eyes so hard, he felt a headache coming on. Or it could just be Roger.

“No, because if someone actually knew their directions, he wouldn’t have wandered into Sanmite territory, which is in the complete opposite direction of your hometown.”

“Well, ya wouldn’t have ta deal with that if ya hadn’t tried ta kill me!”

“You were in my room!”

“I didn’t know it was your room!”

“Why do you think it’s called the ‘West Wing’? Learn your directions."

“What’s with ya and directions?!”

Albel shrugged and Roger glared at him irritably. What was the point of their argument again? He was beginning to feel that this was going to be the norm between them. Or any form of social interaction involving Albel for that matter. Roger didn’t know if he was just cranky because of the pain from his injuries, or he rolled out of his mother’s womb cranky; but could the guy go for five minutes without insulting someone? Somehow, that sounded like quite a feat and Roger wasn’t so sure if he had the patience or breath to take up that challenge just yet.

He threw his hands in the air and stomped off. “Grr… you’re a big moron, ya know that?”

Unfortunately, his small feet and short legs didn’t take him very far, and Albel watched him with an amused smirk painted across his features. He was in such a good mood, he even let the Menodix’s insult slide. Considering the child had gone out of his way and invited him for dinner and for an evening stroll around the castle gardens, he supposed he could spare the boy for now.

“Are you done making a fool of yourself?” he asked.

“What’s it to ya, ya jerk!”

“Then come,” Albel turned and proceeded right down the forked path in front of them. He paused and glanced over his shoulder at the confused humanoid, a mysterious glimmer in his vermillion eyes. “There’s something I want to show you.”

With that, he continued down the path and it didn’t take Roger long to catch up to Albel’s long strides with the way the latter limped every step he took. At first, he wanted to offer the man some help, but remembered how proud Albel was and decided to give him his dignity.

The pair walked in comfortable silence, enjoying the cool night air that flitted through their hair and the soothing scent of rosemary as they traipsed through the grandiose castle gardens. The landscape was breathtaking as were the flowers; it actually felt romantic. ‘Sophia and Fayt would love it here,’ Roger found himself thinking, before quickly shaking off that thought least he ended up longing for the company of the two people he held dear.

No use crying about it. This was his life now, and honestly, it wasn’t too bad. The worst thing about his current predicament was that he was living with a dragon, but knowing that dragon was Albel somehow made him feel a lot better.

As Roger kept pace, he looked up at the master of the castle, noting the faraway look in the handsome man’s eyes. He got a good look at Albel’s features, noting the proud incline of his chin as he gazed on ahead, his set jaw, piercing eyes that were always on the alert, and the mask that shielded Albel’s thoughts and emotions from the world. Even now, Roger wondered what the man was thinking about, what he wanted to show him, and why he had chosen him of all people for company. For three days he wondered about this: why did Albel want him to stay so badly, that he would kill an entire town for it?

Curiosity gnawed at his insides, but the servants always got a little edgy whenever he tried bringing up the topic, and he seriously doubted Albel would entertain him, especially if his pride was on the line. Then there was the question of the West Wing and the contents in that mysterious trunk: why were there so many garments and trinkets that bore the old symbol of Aquor? Why was that beautiful music box playing the tune of an old lullaby his pops used to sing when he was little? And what did the servants mean when they said they wanted to be human again?

Again, Roger found himself lost in the depths of Albel’s hypnotic gaze and enigmatic yet tragic aura. Sorrow seemed to surround the master who was both dragon and man; their world had no place for a creature like him; and his lonely solitude within a castle that was far too large and destitute made Roger realise with a sudden sadness that Albel was a prisoner too.

“We’re here.”

It was nothing more than a quiet murmur, but Roger heard it just fine and he immediately looked up, only to take pause at the spellbinding scenery that lay before and surrounded them. Rose bushes lined the path of this enchanting enclave, each blood-red bloom perfect like a fairytale and painstakingly tended to. Everywhere he looked, the velvety soft petals of roses greeted him, caressed his face and filled his senses. The grass seemed greener here, lush and a tad wet from the light sprinkle of dew. A wide stream ran across the center with a bridge overlooking the calm surface; and as they crossed it, Roger peered through the gaps of the stone barriers and could see his reflection in the crystalline waters.

Further on they walked with Roger oo-ing and ah-ing at every new sight that greeted him, while Albel watched on with the faintest trace of fondness. Everything was a spectacle to the innocent humanoid child. It touched something in Albel’s stone cold heart and made him feel like he was seeing all of this for the very first time.

They entered a maze made entirely out of towering rose hedges, weaved through its simplistic paths, until they reached the center where an elegant gazebo stood, framed and sheltered under the branches of a giant rose tree. Roger gasped and ran towards it, unable to resist the temptation of reaching out to touch one of the gorgeous crimson blooms. But a thorn pricked his finger and he winced, pulling back sharply. A bead of blood pooled from the tiny wound and before Roger could react, a pale hand moved to grasp his smaller one with a tenderness that caused his insides to flutter. He watched the hand raise his finger to a pair of thin, pink lips; marveled at the contrast of blood red against snow white, before those very lips parted and pulled his finger into a warm, wet mouth. Roger gasped at the action and released a soft moan when he felt a tongue lick and suck at the sore digit, only to blush in mortification at the realization that the lewd sound had come from him.

Whether or not Albel heard Roger’s shame, he gave no indication of it as he released the boy’s finger with a final lick and soft ‘pop’. Roger panted from the sensation, cheeks flushed and eyelashes fluttering in what could only be described as pure bliss and the initial stages of arousal.

What was the master doing to him? Why didn’t said man appear affected by their intimate exchange? And why did he keep replaying that moment and the sensual sucking of Albel’s tongue and lips around his finger, over and over again?

“Watch yourself, fool,” was all Albel said, before he slowly made his way into the gazebo and lowered himself onto the bench with a contented sigh. Although he hid his pain well, every muscle in his body screamed for rest. As much as he loathed his curse, the only downside of his human form was that it regrettably slowed down the healing process.

His discomfort did not go unnoticed by Roger, who forgot all about his previous embarrassment as he joined Albel on the bench. Wide chestnut eyes flicked up to him in worry.

“Are ya ok?” he asked.

Albel closed his eyes and took in a deep, calming breath. “... I’ll live.” Then, he opened them to gaze out across the sea of deep greens and lavish reds: a garden within a garden and his own little kingdom hidden from the world.

“This garden belonged to my mother. She adored roses and found great joy and peace tending to them,” Albel explained in a low murmur, so quiet in fact that Roger would have missed it completely if not for his heightened hearing. “But after I was born, she stopped coming and this garden became nothing more than a symbol of her affliction.”

He had no idea why he was divulging this piece of information to the humanoid of all people. Pour his heart out to a mere child who might not even understand the crux of his emotional turmoil, of a secret he guarded for over 20 years. But there was something about Roger’s innocent sincerity that tugged at his heartstrings and Albel knew that the boy would never betray his trust.

“Growing up, I could never gain my mother’s love… and my father had no time to know me as anything more than a successor to his family name. I spent my days and years alone in this very castle. Training and fighting under the blade gave me solace. And I would come here everyday to think and escape from my loneliness.” Absently, he reached up to stroke a rose bud that hadn’t yet bloomed. “Soon, this place became my garden – and Lasbard and his daughter know better than to neglect in its upkeep.”

As Albel spoke, Roger continued to look on with fascination, holding onto the master’s every word and deep vibration like it was something sacred. And sacred it was, for he never thought Albel would willingly put forth his vulnerability and confess something so personal and private to someone as undeserving as him. Suddenly, the master existed as something more than an elusive work of art to be admired from afar. Albel never looked more human than he did now, and Roger wanted to get to know him better.

“‘Escape’?” Roger clarified with a curious tilt of his head.

“From everything,” Albel reiterated as he returned his gaze to the garden. “The world… is an ugly place: it’s terribly factitious with painted smiles and deceitful grace. My father’s kindness was selfish; my mother’s beauty a farce; and the people are blinded by pretty rhymes and what they fear. When I come here, it’s beautiful, and I too forget about my own ugliness and the things that I’ve done.” 

There was so much pain in the master’s words. All Roger wanted to do was grab him tight and not let go, but he didn’t want to risk aggravating Albel’s wounds, so he settled for a reassuring pat on his arm instead.

“Hey, we all make mistakes, some worse than others. But it’s those that admit ta their faults, who are the real men!” Roger grinned and rubbed his nose cheekily. “Ya got this, Albel.”

That earned him a rare smile from Albel, which both shocked and charmed him. It was barely the slightest quirk of the corners of Albel’s lips, but to Roger, it was an achievement greater than the knowledge of a successful invention. Albel’s gaze was uncharacteristically soft as he looked at him, took in the boy’s surprise and tentative curiosity. He realised he liked being responsible for such reactions.

“You’re strangely perceptive for a worm,” he commented. “What–“

Suddenly, his smile faded and rage and disgust quickly took its place.

“What is that?”

Roger followed the man’s gaze and found himself staring at a cluster of Amaranths not too far off from where they sat. It was a similar shade of red with the roses, so he had missed them before. Honestly, they didn’t look so bad – stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the roses, sure, but not too bad. Though it appeared the discovery was affecting Albel more than it should.

With a sudden burst of energy, Albel was off as he approached the Amaranths in long, quick strides. He stopped to stare at the offensive plant, and then all hell broke loose.

“LASBARD!”

The shout carried clear across the premises. Footsteps hurried over and out from the maze’s archway emerged Clair, out of breath and a few strands of silver hair shaken loose from her braid. The young gardener quickly tucked them behind her ear and tried to make herself look presentable.

“Yes, master?”

“What is that doing in my garden?” Albel gestured at the Amaranth cluster angrily. This stupid, ugly plant had ruined the enchanting beauty of his personal sanctuary.

“I-I p-planted it there–“

“Why?”

Clair flinched and bit her lip nervously from the master’s tone. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of Albel’s wrath, human and dragon alike. She supposed she was lucky the swordsman hadn’t brought out his trusted katana, otherwise she would most likely end up dead on the ground with a clean slice on her neck.

“I… I just thought…”

“We just thought its colour would match the roses,” interrupted Adray as he rounded the hedge and came into view with an axe slung casually over his shoulder. “There was no other area that had the space. My daughter was just following instructions. Don’t take it out on her.”

“Well then, since you’re responsible, old man, you fix it,” said Albel with a dismissive sneer. “I want this wretched thing gone now. If you can’t find a place for it, then dispose off it.”

“Hey, are those Amaranths?”

Roger pushed himself through Albel’s long legs and nearly knocked the poor guy off his feet to stare excitedly at the red flowers.

“We had a ton of these back at my village in Surferio! I love ‘em!” He turned his head up to smile at his stunned companion. “Sure, they might look kinda ugly, but they have a beautiful meaning ta them, ya know? Amaranths stand for immortal love. In books, they always say that they’re hardy flowers that can withstand conflict and the passage of time… like love!”

Three pairs of eyes regarded him silently. Roger gave a sheepish chuckle, “Sorry. Got all excited over a dumb Amaranth… Oh! C’mon, Albel! I wanna see the rest of the garden!”

The Menodix ran on ahead and threw a cheeky grin over his shoulder at Albel.

“I’ll race ya, slow poke!”

And with that, the boy disappeared around the hedges to presumably find the path that led back to the main road. Albel watched him go with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Lasbard.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

“Don’t you dare touch this plant,” said Albel, before taking his leave to catch up to the excitable humanoid child.

Clair watched the master go with a look of utter shock and confusion across her face. Adray simply threw back his head with a boisterous laugh.

The days came and went. Chilly winds chased away the warm mid-summer air and before they knew it, Autumn had arrived and with it, a second chance to confront and shed away past regrets.

Every evening, Roger found himself in the company of the master; and every night close to midnight, they would visit Albel’s rose garden together, sit down and talk about anything that came to mind. Roger spoke about his past inventions and those in the works. He talked about his time with Mackwell in the castle workshop and was thrilled to hear from Albel that it was now his. He laughed when Albel told him he could kick the royal writer out if he wanted, but Roger simply shook his head with a fond smile. He showed Albel the new glasses he fashioned and although displeased at first, the master eventually warmed up to it and he blushed from the suggestive comments Albel threw his way. “I never thought I would see the appeal, until now,” he had said with a smirk. Roger wondered what that was all about.

Albel was mostly silent throughout their conversations and never shared more than their first time in the garden, but Roger didn’t mind. He could talk enough for the both of them and besides, Albel was a really good listener. The man would give his two cents worth of comments every now and then; and although direct and sometimes rude, Roger appreciated his honesty. The master was improving everyday: there were less outbursts and he began to treat his servants a little more civilly. He still argued with Cliff at times, but it was an improvement.

Roger talked about Fayt and Sophia, about the kindness they showed him and how he wouldn’t even be here today without their protection. There was an evident frown on Albel’s face whenever he mentioned Fayt’s name. Roger wondered if they knew each other, but decided against prying. He confided about Luther and how the prince had touched him. Albel growled and said he would “cut that maggot’s arms off” if he could leave the castle grounds. Roger had asked about that, but Albel immediately shut himself off and Roger hadn’t dared to bring up the topic ever since.

He liked Albel. He found the master’s grumpy and irritable character strangely endearing. But, no matter how much closer they got, Roger still avoided the master during daytime and didn’t dare venture anywhere near the West Wing. It was inconsistent of him, he knew. Dragon or human, Albel was still Albel, but the mere thought of his massive, black, scaly form and sharp spikes that lined his body was enough to change Roger’s mind.

But that all changed when the master stopped coming down after sunset.

For a week, Albel remained in his room and had given Maria strict orders not to let anyone, save Mirage, enter to deliver his meals. It was almost as if Albel feared leaving the castle, let alone his own bedroom. There had been no dragon attacks on the servants for months and although relieving, everyone agreed that something was very wrong.

Albel shifted into dragon form a lot earlier and turned human again a lot later. His time as a man grew increasingly shorter – and that was all the motivation Roger needed to face his fears and spend time with the master, dragon form or not.

And that was how he found himself arguing with Maria in front of the West Wing doors one fine morning.

“Guh! C’mon, Maria, have a heart. It’s just for a short while and Albel hasn’t gone ballistic in weeks!”

“No can do, Roger,” Maria remained firm with a shake of her head. “Just because things have been quiet lately, doesn’t mean you should let your guard down. What if something happens to you that could’ve been prevented?”

“But this is Albel we’re talkin’ about! He wouldn’t hurt me, I know he wouldn’t…”

“Precisely because he’s Albel, I won’t risk your safety,” she countered with a soft expression on her face. You’re too important to him and us all, she had wanted to say, but knew better than to let her tongue run.

Just when Roger thought all hope was lost, the doors creaked open and Nel popped her head out to determine the source of the racket. When her eyes landed on the humanoid boy clutching a thick storybook in his hands, her expression turned from annoyed to curious.

“Roger? What’re you doing here?”

At the sound of Nel’s lovely voice, Roger immediately snapped his head up to address the red head, his hope restored. Nel would see reason. She had to.

“I wanted ta read ta Albel,” he explained. “Can I come in?”

His innocent question startled her, but in a pleasant way. Never would she have thought Roger would willingly want to join their master while he was in dragon form. Truly, this was a huge step in their relationship and Nel thrilled at the prospect of the curse being lifted.

Soon. It’ll be very soon now.

“I don’t see why not–“

“Absolutely not!” Maria bristled as she turned her gaze towards her superior. “The master has ordered not to be disturbed – and what would I tell him if he questions my insubordination?”

“That Roger’s our guest and we have no right to refuse him something as trivial as reading a book,” Nel offered helpfully with a tad bit of sarcasm.

“But master–“

“Is asleep.”

“Not for long if we let Roger in there. You know how powerful a dragon’s sense of smell is, and the master hasn’t eaten since supper.”

“You’re too paranoid, Maria.”

“And you’re too lenient.”

“He won't eat him…”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because–“

As the women continued to argue, Roger quietly slipped past them and entered the West Wing.

Just like the last time, the room looked terrible: torn curtains and tapestries, portraits defaced, ruined furniture and overturned beddings; but at least the servants managed to do something about the dust and debris. Roger didn’t really mind though. He had lived in poorer conditions and he understood Albel’s plight: he couldn’t help himself when he turned.

Sunlight flitted through the cracks between curtains and bathed the chamber in a dim, cozy glow. The sight of a giant slumbering dragon at the room’s center made Roger take pause and for a minute, he thought he was going to get cold feet. But the storybook weighed heavy in his hands and reminded him of his purpose.

I miss him… and I wanna be with him.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Roger confidently crossed the room until he reached the master’s side. Then, he reached out to place a gentle hand on the dragon’s snout, stroking it in what he hoped to be a soothing, amicable gesture.

“Morning, Albel. Hope ya don’t mind if I joined ya.”

He settled next to where Albel’s head lay and opened the book to the very first page.

A pair of vermillion eyes cracked open, fogged by sleep and mildly disoriented. But when Albel realised who it was that had stolen into his chamber, instead of throwing a fit and destroying things, he nuzzled the humanoid’s chest and allowed his eyes to slide shut once more. A long, spiked tail moved to curl protectively around his visitor, before the dragon fell back asleep. And somewhere at the back of his mind, in-between the recesses of waking and dreaming, he heard Roger giggle and start to read.

“Once upon a time, in deep winter, a Queen was admiring the falling snow when she saw a rose blooming in defiance of the cold. Reaching for it, she pricked her finger and three drops of blood fell. And because the red seemed so alive against the white, she thought, if only I had a child as white as snow, lips as red as blood, hair as black as a raven’s wings and all with the strength of that rose… ”

If dragons could smile, Albel would have done so.

Meanwhile, from the entrance, Maria gaped at the tender scene, while Nel smiled a knowing smile. Who would have guessed their proud and wicked master would allow a young humanoid to tame his tortured soul and show him love?

To be continued...

Chapter Text

“And the little mermaid lifted her clear arms towards God’s sun, and for the first time she felt tears. On board the ship there was noise and life once more, she saw the prince with his lovely bride searching for her, sadly they stared at the bubbling foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself into the waves. Unseen, she kissed the bride’s forehead, smiled at him and rose with the other children of the air up onto the rosy clouds that sailed through the sky... The end.”

A low rumble sounded from behind him and Roger closed the book, shifted, as a large black form rose to its full height and craned its neck to catch the last rays of fading light from the skies. Albel lowered his head to nudge the Menodix in what could only be described as a grateful purr – Roger giggled at the ticklish sensation – before plodding towards the open balcony, his great tail dragging lazily behind him.

As dusk fell and the world outside changed, so did Albel. Wings retracted into strong, broad shoulders; deadly claws receded into fingers; horns and spikes shifted into long, flowing dark hair; and gleaming scales faded into pale, unblemished skin. Albel’s body gave an involuntary shudder after the transformation, and Roger watched transfixed as the hard muscles flexed beneath taut skin. No matter how many times he bore witness to this, Roger would never grow tired of watching Albel’s transformations. Fascinating was one thing, but there was just something intimate about the display, like a private show meant for only the most privileged of souls – and he was one of them, if not the only one from what the servants had told him.

Albel despised these moments of vulnerability and everyone in the castle knew to avoid the master or the West Wing entirely during the hours of 7 and 6. But Roger was different from the other simpletons, cared for him and fought to stay with him, and for that he allowed his precious little fool into his world. The boy ate with him, walked with him, talked to him, tested crazy invention after crazy invention on him and drove him insane; and when sun rose and he couldn’t do all of that anymore, Roger read so many books to him that he had lost count. His precious little fool took him on far away journeys filled with mermaids, kings, sunken treasure, sword fights and heroes who overcame their deepest sorrows; and Roger’s tales restored hope into his heart. Day after day, night after night, the child would do this, even falling asleep against the fold of his wings when he got too tired in the middle of a story; yet, Roger would never leave his side and was always there by the time he woke up when dusk fell. “Mornin’, sleepy head,” the boy would greet with a smile that grew more beautiful everyday. And before he knew it, Albel realised that he could no longer return to the way things were before Roger… because he had fallen in love.

Albel Nox, son of the King and true heir to the throne of Aquor, was in love with a humanoid boy and member of the slave class. It was a cruel irony; and somewhere up there, a god was most definitely laughing and having a ball of a time. If this curse never happened, he wouldn’t have found himself in such a perplexing and taboo predicament. Humanoids were... humanoids for as far as time had told. But, if this curse never happened, he wouldn’t have met Roger, wouldn’t have known the boy even existed, and Albel didn’t know if he could deal with that thought. So, he banished it from his mind along with all the other ‘what-ifs’ and ‘buts’, until there was nothing left but the desire to know if Roger felt the same way.

A whole summer had passed, and a glance at the fallen leaves on his balcony reminded him that fall was but only brief. Soon, winter would be here and with it, his 24th birthday. Albel’s heart thrummed as the realisation hit him harder than the discovery of his affection.

I don’t have much time.

From his spot on the floor, Roger placed the storybook on the ever-growing stack of volumes, and observed the master carry out his evening routine. Albel reached out to grab a roll of bindings and shook them loose from its tangled ball. A few mutterings of “stupid” and “damned things” carried across the air, which made Roger mentally snicker to himself. But his amusement screeched to a halt the moment Albel brushed his long hair aside and Roger suddenly remembered that the man was indeed, very much naked. Blushing, he wanted to look away, only to frown and stop himself when he realised how silly he was acting. This wasn’t the first time he saw Albel naked, and it wouldn’t be the last. Besides, they were both men; whatever Albel had, he had too.

Stubbornly, he fixed his gaze on the master’s body if only to prove to himself he was man enough, but it didn’t take long for his thoughts to wander. His eyes traveled from chiseled muscles beneath strong, broad shoulders, down a toned back and a tapered waist. Every part of Albel’s body was well-defined and toned, Roger felt like he could run his fingers across the grooved flesh between muscles and still marvel at its smoothness, despite its obvious strength. All those years of training and wielding a blade really did pay off. Albel wasn’t too big, or too skinny; in fact, the man was perfect. Roger’s eyes began to wander lower, past that firm ass, down those strong thighs and long legs, and god forbid was the master attractive. Albel was ridiculously fit and incredibly lean, but no way was he small…

The man pulled his hair into its bindings and turned to face him, and Roger flushed scarlet.

Yep, definitely not small.

“Normally, you’d leave for the East Wing by now,” Albel interrupted his thoughts with a curious quirk of his brow, before his expression gave way to something painfully smug. “And normally, your face isn’t quite so red.”

Roger’s face turned even redder if that was possible.

“Shaddup, ya moron…”

Albel was grinning like he had just won the lottery. Roger’s ears twitched. That jerk knows.

With an awkward cough and pout, Roger directed his gaze to the set of neatly folded clothes on the old king-sized bed instead. With him coming around so often, Nel had gotten the servants to restore the luxurious bed to its former glory just in case he needed to use it. He never did though; it felt too… intrusive and intimate. Like he and Albel shared a…

Argh, there he went again.

“I-I’ll go get Mirage and Peppita. Ya need ta get d-dressed and–“

“That won’t be necessary,” Albel cut in swiftly, grabbing his clothes and crossing the room towards the adjacent bathroom. He drew aside the satin purple curtains and peered at the Menodix over his shoulder as he spoke, “But since you’re here, fool, you might as well be of some assistance.”

And with a mysterious twinkle in his eyes, he sauntered into the bathroom, leaving a confused Roger to pick up the pieces of that ambiguous suggestion.

‘What the heck is he goin’ on about?’ He wondered, and after two full minutes of pondering his decision, finally followed after the master, only to pause at the bath’s entrance at the sound of sloshing water. Roger’s heart skipped a beat.

He can’t mean…?

He pulled the curtain aside and felt his breath catch in his throat. There, at the center of the luxurious bath chamber, lounging contently in a spacious porcelain tub filled with warm water and foam, lay Albel – arms draped over the sides, head reclined and eyes shut to the world. A rare, peaceful expression adorned his face; it felt almost surreal to Roger, like he was intruding upon something sacred and forbidden to his eyes, something he shouldn’t be privy to, yet had stumbled upon by accident. Of course, this was no accident, and as Roger approached the master, he wondered what purpose Albel had for keeping him here.

Roger studied the man’s sharp and handsome features that appeared soft and unguarded under the quixotic glow of scented candles. Had Albel fallen asleep? That self-centered jerk. Roger shook his head and allowed his gaze to travel down the weathered gauntlet and claw that concealed Albel’s left arm. For the longest of time, he wondered about the metal appendage. Why did Albel wear this all the time? Had he injured himself real bad in the past? But even as a dragon this claw remained… could it be his actual arm? Well, if it really was a prosthetic, then he definitely had to examine its advanced internal frame and mechanics for–

Suddenly, the claw shot out and tugged Roger into the bathtub faster than the humanoid could scream. A loud, splash echoed about the quiet bath chamber, before Roger’s head emerged from the water and thick layer of soap bubbles with an unglamorous gasp. What the heck?! Not cool! Someone chuckled and he would have glared at his tormentor if not for the wet hair that covered his eyes. He brushed them back with an angry huff.

“Are ya kiddin’ me?!” Roger slammed a fist against the water’s surface, but that only created a big splash and he ended up with more water in his eyes. “Grr… What’s the big idea, ya moron?! Now I’m all wet, and my clothes are sticking ta all the weird places!”

Albel fought desperately against the smile that threatened to spread across his lips. “You were staring,” he pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone. “I do not appreciate being studied like one of your so-called  inventions.”

And suddenly, the master closed the distance between them in one fluid motion, and Roger blushed again when he came to the shocking realization that the only barrier between Albel’s bare flesh and his own, were his own wet clothes and the warm water between their bodies.

Albel sat up in the tub. “Now then,” he threw a wet cloth at Roger and it smacked him square in the face, “begin.”

Roger grumbled and pulled the cloth off his face. If it were three months ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated giving the arrogant prude a piece of his mind. But things were different now; he knew and understood Albel better, could read his actions and words for what they really were and god help him, actually didn’t mind obliging the man and his increasingly strange requests. He had seen and experienced the master’s rare display of care and kindness, and even Roger had to admit that it was a little addictive to evoke such reactions from the stoic man himself. There was just something about Albel’s smile that he enjoyed looking at, especially when he knew its occurrence had happened because of him.

“Alright, alright, geez! I’m not yer maid, ya know…”

“I know.”

At Albel’s smirk, Roger rolled his eyes and grumbled some more as he dipped the washcloth into the soapy water and rung it dry. Then, he scooted closer and ran it over the master’s body. He started at Albel’s long neck, then moved onto his shoulders, where he paused to stare at the deep red dragon tattoo inked into the man’s flesh. However, instead of viewing it as a mark to the master’s flawless grace, Roger saw it as something fascinating and defining of Albel’s dark and dangerous character. More than once, he had found his gaze lingering on said man’s tattoo and speculated its origins. Did the mark bear any significance or was it purely aesthetic? He realised that although he knew the master of the castle better than before, there were still many questions about him left unsolved. Whenever he thought he had Albel figured out, the guy would turn around and tempt him with even more secrets from the shadows. The young master truly was as mysterious as he was devilishly charming.

The dragon’s head began at Albel’s left pectoral, its body draped over his left shoulder and down his back – and Roger dutifully trailed its path with the washcloth, as it snaked around that trim waist down front. Gently and carefully, he cleaned Albel with a certain reverence, his delicate actions and attention to every exposed inch of the master’s skin stirring a deep-seeded longing within said man’s gut – and that fire burned hotter the lower Roger went. The washcloth paused hesitantly at Albel’s abdomen, at the point where flesh met water and Roger blushed, hesitating. Still, the tattoo went on and from what he’d seen before, well past the master’s hips to coil its tail around his right inner-thigh. This was insane. But he had come too far to stop now and the washcloth plunged into the water, following the tattoo’s trail, or at least where he thought it would be because he was too embarrassed to look down…

Suddenly, a large hand found his underwater, gently prying the cloth loose to lace their fingers together upon a very firm and solid lap. Roger’s eyes widened; there was a loud ‘clang!’ of metal hitting marble, before he felt an arm – not cold and unyielding, but warm and smooth – wrap possessively around his waist. In one swift motion, Albel had the sweet boy in his lap and pressed flush against his bare chest. Vermillion eyes filled with so much passion and desire locked with half-lidded hazel; and Roger didn’t even realise he was panting, until that was the only sound his ears could pick up, echoing in the quiet heat of the bathroom.

“A-Albel…”

Hot breath caressed his flushed skin and caused his ears to flutter pleasantly.

“Wha… what are ya…?”

Hands found purchase on his ass and Roger allowed a soft, needy keen to slip past his lips from the desperate contact. Albel’s touch did things to his body he never imagined he could feel with another man. Neither Fayt nor Luther had this effect on him. He couldn’t even think straight.

“Any plans tonight?” breathed Albel with a deep chuckle, and the sound made Roger’s eyes roll from pleasure.

“Mm… ah… I… I wanna go fer a ride puh-please… ”

The humanoid’s words went straight to Albel’s groin and he felt himself harden from the mere thought. Damn. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose in a bid to control himself. The little fool was too sexy for his own good. Thankfully, Roger was too innocent to notice the effect his request and squirming had on him.

When Albel failed to respond after a full minute, Roger pulled back to shoot him a confused frown.

“What’s up with ya?” he asked, studying the strange look on the older man's face with a curious tilt of his head. “Ya act like ya never heard of horseback ridin’ before.”

… Horseback riding?

Albel groaned and buried his face in Roger’s hair. Great, his brain had gone completely south with that one, and now he was both hard and extremely frustrated.

Roger squirmed uncomfortably on his lap. “Hey, Albel? There’s something hard under the water–”

“Don’t. Move.”

“Uh, ok...”

An awkward silence.

“Albel…?”

“Give me a minute, worm.”

Mentally, he cursed the oblivious humanoid for his innocence and childish naivety. Of all the possible candidates in the world, the curse just had to choose a 12-year-old, who hadn’t reached puberty yet. Fantastic.

Lieber hummed a merry tune as he brushed Dipstick’s coat, adding the final shimmer to the horse’s sleek body. The white stallion preened from the attention, as it grunted and flicked its long, silky tail. Lieber smiled and kept his grooming kit, before dusting his hands off in satisfaction. Ah, nothing like a good cleaning to end the day. The horses obviously enjoyed it and he himself found the process gratifyingly therapeutic.

“Right. Off you go, Dipstick,” he clicked his tongue and motioned at the horse with a flick of his wrist, “get into your stable. Time to call it a night–“

“Stable boy!”

Someone pounded on the stable doors so hard, the hinges rattled under the assault as did the old wood.

Entirely familiar with the owner of that startling and callous voice, Lieber gulped and fearfully scrambled to make himself look presentable. The master was here? Now?! The blonde practically threw himself at the door and pulled it opened so fast, he nearly ripped the whole thing off its hinges. At the terrifying sight of Albel looming dangerously over a smiling Roger’s smaller form, silent and glaring daggers at the new, poor victim of his wrath, Lieber felt himself start to sweat under the intensity of the master’s stare as soon as he realised the poor victim was him.

Albel was donned in a black fur cloak that reached his ankles and his ensemble, coupled with that dark expression on his face, made him look more like the angel of death than a fallen prince. And with the hilarious contrast of a cheery Menodix child wrapped in a fluffy sky blue jacket by his side, the odd pair couldn’t have looked more mismatched than they did now.

“Heya, Lieber!” Roger greeted with a cheerful wave. “Sorry fer intrudin’. Can we get Dipstick and Eclipse? Albel and I wanna go ridin’!”

Lieber nodded dumbly and that was all Roger needed as he excitedly pushed past the dumbfounded blonde and headed straight for his horse. Distantly, Lieber heard the words, “How ya doin’, boy? Ya missed me?” and the accompanying neigh of acknowledgement; but everything else was lost the moment Albel brushed past him with nothing more than a, “Took you long enough” before approaching his beloved mare. Lieber turned and gaped after them, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to form his questions into words, but unfortunately, nothing came out except an unintelligent “uh?”

Maria stepped in after the pair, arms crossed and expression exasperated. However, her annoyance betrayed the fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I tried to talk the master out of it,” she explained with a sigh and flip of her hair. “But you know how he is, especially more so when Roger’s involved.”

“But riding– O-Outside…!” Lieber sputtered as he fought to keep his volume down. “Master should know better than to risk leaving the castle! He’ll acerbate the curse!”

Maria rolled her eyes at his naivety. “You try telling him that. Go on, I’ll even help you start.”

“N-No thanks…”

Lieber paused to watch Albel help the Menodix onto his horse. The child was laughing at something the master said and said man’s expression was uncharacteristically soft, so unlike the usual scowl and hateful stare that adorned his face. Lieber looked on in a mixture of confusion and pleasant surprise. His gaze continued to follow them even after Albel and Roger had left on their black and white horses, well past the castle gates and deep into the woods.

A smirk graced Maria’s lips as she stepped up next to her fiancé. “See what I mean?”

“I still can’t believe Roger’s the one to break the curse,” said Lieber with a shake of his head, voice laced with worry. “Maria, do you think we’ll ever be free again?”

Said woman gazed out in the direction the pair left with a smile on her lips. “At the rate things are going, it’ll be very soon now.” Then with a playful tilt of her head, she turned to face her companion. “Roger didn’t insist, you know?”

“Oh?”

She shook her head fondly.

“Master just didn’t have the heart to say no.”

They raced through the darkness of Duggus Forest, the pounding of hooves against the dirt path reverberating off the trees and thick forest canopy overhead. The riders and their black and white horses weaved skillfully between tall trunks and leaped over occasional boulders and fallen logs. Chilly September winds whipped through their hair and stung the skin of their cheeks, but they paid the slight discomfort no heed, too enraptured in the invigorating sport, the thrill of the chase. Deeper and deeper they traveled; the route growing increasingly complicated; the path winding like a turbulent river, until the pair eventually ventured off road and into the shadowy undergrowth.

Albel spared a glance over his shoulder and smirked. Not bad; the humanoid could actually keep up.

“Yahoo! This is great!” Roger shrieked over the rushing wind, laughing and urging his horse forward. “Faster, Dipstick, faster!”

The white stallion whined in agreement, shooting a cheeky look at its owner from the corner of its eye and with a soft giggle, Roger leaned forward to hug Dipstick’s neck affectionately. Before that fiasco with the cockatrice, the purebred stallion was as hard headed and arrogant as the very prince who owned him. But now, Dipstick listened only to him. The both of them had really come a long way since then.

“Tell your stupid horse to slow down,” Albel called from up ahead. “We’re almost there!”

“Almost where– WOAH!”

Too late.

Dipstick crashed straight into Eclipse and the resulting scuffle of tangled reigns and panicked neighing sent both riders flying and colliding painfully into each other. Albel and Roger tumbled onto the grass in a tangle of limbs. Albel’s head hit the ground with a dull ‘thud’, while Roger landed sprawled eagle on his stomach. The former suppressed an agonized groan along with the compulsion to strangle the Menodix until his eyes popped.

“Worm! If I hadn’t promised myself I wouldn’t kill you, I’d kill you!”

On the man’s chest with fingers curled into the warm material of his cloak, Roger laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard, his mirth entered his eyes in bursts of twinkling light and tears peeked at the corners of his eyes. Roger’s face was flushed from exhilaration; his weight on Albel’s chest felt pleasantly comforting to the latter; and their faces were so close, their noses almost touched. Roger continued laughing as he leaned over the master’s face, though his laughter tapered off into a shy giggle the moment their eyes met. Here we go again. It was strange how often they seemed to find themselves in compromising positions nowadays.

“But who’s gonna braid yer hair if I’m gone?”

Roger quickly dodged the fist that swung his way with a none-too-discrete snicker. Then, faster than the eye could blink, Albel reached up to place a hand against Roger’s soft and small chest, before forcefully shoving him off. The kid landed on the ground with an ungracious “Oof!” as Albel sat upright, the scowl plastered on his face murderous.

“Fool, your very existence is against my nature.”

“Aw… ya do care!”

He blushed and avoided Roger’s knowing stare.

“Bah! Spare me your sentimental drivel…” Albel rose to his feet, neatened his clothes and gave their surroundings a quick once-over. “Discounting your poor steering and reckless candor on that horse of yours, we have arrived.”

Roger followed the direction of Albel’s gaze and gasped at the charming sight of the quaint little clearing before them. Surrounded protectively by trees and toadstools, Palmira blossoms bloomed beautifully under the moonlight, their lush pink petals spread out and beckoning to be touched with a soft and gentle glow. Everywhere Roger looked, Palmiras greeted him. There were so many of them, he felt like he was bathing in their soothing and pleasant aroma. At the center of the clearing was a modest, crystal clear lake, the sounds of running water and distant croaking of frogs filling his ears and evoking an atmosphere of pure grace and serenity.

Tucked away at the heart of the forest, the clearing was as beautiful as it was sacred, like a magical secret guarded by faeries, privy only to lost adventurers who had stumbled upon this cherished zone out of pure accident and swore to carry this secret to their graves. In fact, Roger wouldn’t even be surprised if he saw faeries emerge from beneath the toadstools or a mermaid pop her head out from the waters. Those things weren’t uncommon in Duggus Forest.

“Hey… I remember this place,” said Roger all of a sudden, as he slowly explored the area, touched the flowers. “My mama used ta bring me here when I was very young. Palmira blossoms were incredibly sought after, but hard ta come by. She would c’mere ta pick flowers and sell ‘em at Peterny’s marketplace.”

Albel watched him with a smile in his eyes. “If I had known that you trespassed into my territory and stolen from me all those years ago, we would’ve met sooner, though under less favorable circumstances.”

“Ya mean ya call our first meetin’ ‘favorable’?” said Roger incredulously. “Ya tried ta eat me! Then ya locked me in a tower! And then ya tried ta eat me again!”

“Bah, details.”

The Menodix rolled his eyes. Albel was so weird.

“Anyway, I didn’t care much fer flowers back then, so I always got bored and went off explorin’.”

Roger surveyed the area with a thoughtful hum. “In fact…” He scurried towards the clearing’s far side and pulled aside the bushes. “Aha! Just as I remembered,” and tail wagging, he turned to face Albel with large, hopeful doe eyes. “C’mon, Albel! My turn ta show ya summin’.”

Said man approached him with a raised brow, his good hand hovering over the hilt of his katana that was strapped to his hip. With narrowed eyes he peered through the darkness, scrutinizing the huge thorns and thick branches that wound tightly around each other and blocked off a path that lay beyond it. Interesting, he thought, trust the little fool to uncover places no ordinary eye could ever hope to find. The barrier appeared tough and unrelenting from years of undisturbed growth. Albel wrapped his fingers around the sword’s handle.

“You wish to enter,” he observed.

“Yup!”

“Then step aside.”

With that, Albel drew forth his blade and in a few quick and effortless slices, cleared the offending vegetation to reveal the hidden path. Roger whooped and grabbed the swords man’s wrist before he could completely sheath his weapon, and dragged him deeper into the forest. With their obvious height difference and awkward angle the taller man found himself in as Roger led him along, Albel stumbled, grumbled and complained every step of the way. Of course, Roger didn’t mind; in fact, he found the master’s inadequacy funny, which made said man grumble even more, though he never made any real effort to pull away.

They scaled up a hill and at the final stretch, Roger released Albel’s hand to scurry ahead towards a row of tall grass and purple irises. “Over here, slowpoke,” he beckoned and disappeared into the grass. Despite his mounting exasperation at the child’s foolish antics, Albel followed after him, pushing through the annoying plants that would occasionally smack him in the face and mess up his hair. Growling, he almost unsheathed his katana to take care of his new problem, when he stumbled into an open space with the most amazing view he had ever seen.

He hadn’t realized how high they had actually climbed and it quickly became apparent to him that they were on a wide cliff above the canopies of Duggus Forest, and beneath the Elysian Fields of a million twinkling stars. Up ahead, Roger waved at him and as Albel approached his excitable companion, he took notice of his castle in the distance and the vast stretch of lights of a great kingdom that once belonged to him. The lights from the villages and towns mirrored the stars in the sky, making the scene look more like a reflection in the water or a painting immortalized in time, than the impossible reality before their very eyes. Albel had never seen his world at such an angle. It was strangely humbling and it made him feel both insignificant and at the center of something greater.

Roger took a seat on the soft grass and allowed his feet to dangle off the edge of the cliff. He patted the spot next to him and it didn’t take long for Albel to join him. The cliff overlooked the clearing of Palmira flowers and they watched the small figures of Dipstick and Eclipse frolic through the brushes.

“I liked ta c’mere a lot, especially at night when the world’s all quiet and my problems turn inta distant dreams,” said Roger with a wistful smile, as he gazed down at the cities and towns that seemed to stretch on forever. “Back then, there were less lights, and much prettier stars.”

“... Things always seem more beautiful in our memories, than in our lives,” said Albel.

“Yeah?” Roger inclined his head to stare at the blanket of stars above them, never once losing his smile. “Maybe.”

They sat in comfortable silence, Roger playing with the ends of Albel’s hair while the latter absently stroked behind his furry ears, enjoying the peace of the night and the warmth of each other’s company. But it was Roger who eventually broke the evening’s still calm by throwing himself backwards to lie on Albel’s lap in a gratuitous stretch, before his mouth was off again prattling about whatever came into mind. And as their roles decreed, like every moment spent in each other’s presence, Albel listened attentively and hung on to every last word.

“Pops and mama used ta say that the stars were like people’s dreams.” Roger raised his arms to the heavens and spread them like he was revealing a grand story of the world. “My dream is ta be a famous inventor! And I know I’m close, I can feel it in my gut! Even the prince liked my invention… I think.”

Albel hummed distractedly. “Hmm… and what did you make for the prince, little fool?”

“I call it ‘The Helping Hand’. It’s an automated tool that helps people with their chores, like cutting pie, serving food, stuff like that,” he explained. “I also made Sophia a spyglass – it lets her see who’s on the other side of the door without needing to open it. And a light box, so I could take my picture for Fayt. It’s faster than a painting and uses light and shadow ta capture a subject’s image on paper.”

Extraordinary. The humanoid’s inventions were truly as remarkable as they were innovative. Roger really was a genius and even Albel could not refute the fact that he admired how the boy’s prodigious brain worked.. though he would rather poke his eyes out than admit something like that out loud. His pride wouldn’t let him.

“Right now, I’m workin’ on summin’ less tangible,” continued Roger and there was no mistaking the passionate glow in his eyes as he talked about his latest project. “Mackwell calls it ‘channeled force’, but it’s basically living, renewable energy. I wanna perfect his hypothesis; turn theory into practicality, so I’m workin’ on a conductor that would produce enough charge ta keep the energy sustainable long enough fer… sorry, am I borin’ ya?”

Albel shrugged and returned his gaze to the lights down below. “You want to improve the standard of living; give the people power.”

“Exactly,” Roger rubbed his chin sagely. “No more lighting candles or chopping firewood. I’m talkin’ real energy – clean, efficient and convenient. Imagine being able ta light up your entire castle by triggering something from just one point!”

He sighed happily as he gazed up into a pair of vermillion eyes that stared down at him in half-amusement, half-fondness.

“I just wanna help people, make their lives easier so they have more time ta focus on other things – like the economy!”

“You’d be a good leader,” said Albel with a chuckle. “Your Prince is a fool.”

“Leader? Nah, I wouldn’t know anything ‘bout that.”

Roger sat up and turned to face the master, expression serious and words heavy from the weight of his gratitude.

“Albel, I never got around ta actually say this, but thanks.”

Said man raised a brow in question. “For what, worm?”

“More than ya could ever imagine.”

Roger bowed his head with a sheepish smile, twiddling his fingers as a sudden wave of nervousness overtook him.

“The workshop, a warm bed, all the books in the world… you’ve given me so much. A place ta create, a place ta dream, a place where I’m accepted and can truly be me. When I’m with ya, I feel like… like I can be so much more.”

The boy’s words touched something deep within the master’s heart. Never before had he felt so humbled by another’s sentiment - and sweet it was, for Roger’s sincerity was more moving than the majesty of the twinkling heavens above. Yet again, Albel found himself falling for this sweet child and his innocence, his heart, his sensitivity and his soul. He recalled the very first book they read together, the one that started it all, and like the King to his beloved concubine in the story, Albel felt compelled to give Roger the world.

I need him, he realised as he gently lifted the humanoid’s chin to meet his eyes, I need him by my side always.

“You are so much more,” Albel affirmed passionately. “And you always will be. Never think otherwise.”

Roger felt himself melt from the master’s words. There was so much emotion in them, it physically shook him. And before he could stop himself, Roger reached out to grasp both the claw and Albel’s good hand in his small ones, thumbing shy, hesitant circles at the back of his palms. Albel watched the boy’s actions, mesmerized; dared not to speak or move for fear of shattering this precious moment. The kid didn’t seem to realise the implications of his actions, but that didn’t stop the older man from indulging in the attention. How bold. He wondered what brought about the fool’s sudden forwardness, so he asked.

“Do you have something you wish to say?”

Roger nodded his head. “Remember ya said that ya didn’t have any dreams, only nightmares? I don’t believe that.” He gazed up at Albel in determination. “I wanna know yer dreams, Albel. I bet they’re pretty cool.”

His request gave the swordsman pause. Dreams? Bah, what rubbish! A foolish sentiment for pathetic weaklings who hadn’t the strength to face life’s capricious reality. But the notion seemed so harmless in the quiet space of their private little world; and the humanoid had shared his dream, so why couldn’t he find the courage to do the same? My dream. The idea seemed simple enough: to rule Aquor as King. No. That was what he was raised to desire. Be better than everyone else? A simpleton’s wish! It was then Albel discovered, the longer and deeper he thought, that in comparison to Roger’s selfless aspirations, his true desires appeared pathetic and hopelessly depraved.

“I regret to disappoint you, but my dream is far from admirable,” he admitted with great difficulty. “It is a child’s fantasy, a poet’s lament.”

“What is it? I promise not ta laugh.”

Albel opened his mouth, but refused to meet the Menodix’s eyes out of shame.

“... I wanted love.”

It was so obvious, and only now could he finally see that the one thing he had been deprived of since birth was the very thing that drove him to madness. His lust for the throne; the desire to rule over others; the murders and other atrocities he committed so he could be responsible for the fear and desperation he saw swimming in his victims’ eyes… all of that just so he could have the world look at him, revere him, worship him.

Need him.

Roger offered him a sympathetic smile. “Now, why would I laugh about summin’ like that? There’s nuttin’ more inspiring than love! Why do ya think lovers in books can do all those crazy, amazing things?”

Albel scoffed. “Like your ‘crazy’ prince?”

“Eurgh, that’s different and ya know it!”

Discreetly, he shot the gagging Menodix a hesitant stare. Now that they were on this topic, there was something Albel had wanted to ask. Something that haunted his consciousness and begged an answer ever since he had first allowed Roger onto his lap and felt something more than lust for the child himself.

“If you had managed to escape my castle the day I attacked you, would you have married Prince Luther?” he asked in all seriousness.

“H-Huh? Well, I…” Roger frowned at the unexpected question. Why the heck was Albel asking him this now?

“I… B-But that guy’s a jerk–“

“Who might actually love you,” Albel pointed out, just like me.

“W-Well, when ya put it that way…”

“And what of this Fayt of yours?” he continued to press. “It is obvious you care a great deal for this young knight. Would you refuse his advances should he offer you an alternative to your forced betrothal?”

“Albel, why are ya–“

“Just answer the question, fool.”

Roger snapped his mouth shut and felt his face heat up from the compromising questions and Albel’s scrutiny. Honestly, he had never given his peculiar situation much thought before; after all, how often did people, much less humanoids, find themselves the object of the crown prince’s affections? Pretty much close to none. He supposed he ought to consider himself lucky, even if Luther had been a little too forceful with him. And although Fayt’s feelings towards him had been unclear over the last few years, he admitted that he wasn’t opposed to the thought of being romantically involved with the loyal knight if it ever came down to it.

With a sigh, Roger willed his blush away and answered, “If either Prince Luther or Fayt asked fer my hand… if they sincerely l-love me… I wouldn’t say no.”

Albel shut his eyes in pain. Of course. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he supposed he had always known. It just hurt a lot more to hear it out loud.

“Anyway,” Roger interrupted in a desperate attempt to change the subject, “there’s another dream I have, but this one’s kinda silly.”

Albel smirked. “Try me.”

“I wanna fly!”

At the master’s incredulous stare, Roger giggled and turned around with arms outstretched to face the open country and neverending skies. “Maybe I envied the Featherfolkian in my old village, maybe I read too much into Icarus’ Flight; but sometimes I have dreams of flying, and I wanna invent something that can help me achieve that one day. I wanna touch the clouds and taste heaven. I wanna soar.”

Through his sorrow, Albel watched the little humanoid with a bemused smile. Perhaps, at the very least, he could help fulfill one more wish.

“Hold him down!”

A furious roar echoed around castle. It shook the walls and caused a few loose stone bits to fall to the already debris-ridden floor. A pair of powerful wings spread, summoning up wind and dust, and sent the surrounding furniture and servants flying. The dragon’s spiked tail swooped down, aiming straight for the heart of the assault and head of castle security herself. Fortunately, Maria reacted quickly enough and rolled out of the way, before recovering to fire a few rounds of her gun at the creature. But like all other times, the shots ricocheted off impenetrable scales, and only succeeded in riling up the rampaging dragon further.

“What the hell happened?!” Cliff demanded, defending himself with his fists. “He hasn’t acted like this in months!”

“It’s his time outside the castle grounds,” Lieber loaded up on some rope, before turning to address his fiancé. “I told you the master shouldn’t have gone riding!”

“Restrain him! Evacuate the castle!” Maria barked over the chaos, taking another shot – this time at the dragon’s wings.

Just then, bloodthirsty crimson eyes turned to look Peppita’s way. The child was easy prey, her flesh and blood undoubtedly sweet.

“Clair! Nel! Get the Rosettis out of here!”

“On it!”

The ladies dashed forward to round up the royal court performers. Adray, Cliff, Mirage, Lieber and Mackwell flung thick, long ropes across the master’s thrashing form in a desperate attempt to tie the large dragon down. But the ropes snapped easily under the creature’s immense strength, and no matter how many ropes they used to bind him, Albel would break every single one and wrestle free.

Pitiful.

When would these pathetic humans learn that resistance was futile? In a world of eat or be eaten, they didn’t even come close as a challenge.

Albel roared and with jaws open wide, breathed a powerful jet of blinding hot fire at his attackers. The men and bodyguard leapt out of the way; and the master was about to make a second attempt at their lives, when a pink dancing shoe soared through the air and smacked him in the face.

“Stop hurting my friends, you big bully!” Peppita shrieked from the side, only to be hushed and beckoned back into their protective circle by her uncle. Now really wasn’t the time to piss the master off.

The attack made Albel stop to blink, before rage consumed him twice fold for that humiliating display. Enough playing. Knocking aside the servants with a primal roar, the dragon lunged straight for the petrified dancer, mouth open and sharp glistening fangs bared. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The servants screamed. But Peppita stood rooted in fear, horrified at the sight of her own reflection from a pair of large, hungry crimson eyes…

“Peppita!”

Whatever followed happened in a blur of colour and confusion. Gonnella jumped in front of the child to shield her from the attack; Albel’s jaws closed around the court jester’s torso, and there was a sickening snap. Blood splattered across Peppita’s face and clothes, pooled at Gonnella’s feet, and left his mouth in gurgled screams. And with one last affectionate glance at his precious fairy of illusions, the light faded from his eyes and his body fell limp. Peppita screamed.

“No! Gonnella, no! NO!”

Albel carelessly tossed the lifeless body aside and Peppita followed after it, falling to her knees and desperately clinging onto Gonnella’s bloody chest as she sobbed. The sight and stench was gruesome: there was so much blood; but she didn’t care. The person she cared for the most was dead and his final moments had been that of pain and sacrifice.

But there was no time to mourn his death.

Fangs dripping with blood and saliva, Albel turned his gaze to the nearest human and let loose a deep, satisfied rumble. He had tasted blood; anyone would do. The servants quaked in fear, yet drew their weapons bravely. They had to stay and fight. They had no choice.

Nowhere to run.

The dragon spread its wings and was about launch himself at the group, when a thick, black cord shot out and wrapped tightly around his muzzle. Albel stumbled back in confusion, growling and snarling as he fought to free himself from the strangely unyielding restraints. What the hell was this?! They definitely weren’t ropes, neither were they chains. The foreign object both confused and frightened him, and he could only react as more black cords shot out to bind his legs and wings.

At the entrance doors of the grand (but now incredibly messy) foyer, Roger lowered his launcher cannon to gaze at the master in a mixture of concern and trepidation. Apart from the last time Albel attacked him in the West Wing, he had never witnessed the master act up like this. Back then, he had been provoked; now… now it was just senseless, almost as if Albel was possessed. It was terrifying, a gruesome blood fest of despair and confusion; but it was also Albel, and Roger knew that he had to try to get through to him before it was too late and there was nothing left except tears and heartache.

This is Albel, he told himself as he approached the vicious, hostile beast, I know him.

But a hand shot out and held him in place.

“Roger, stay back!” Nel warned, her daggers poised and at ready. “This isn’t the master. I won’t risk losing you too.”

“It’s ok, Nel,” he reassured her with a nod of determination. “Lemme try talkin’ ta him. You guys go help Peppita.”

“But–“

“Trust me!”

The dragon stumbled backwards and crashed noisily onto the ground. It hissed and snarled as it continued to thrash in its bonds, desperate to rid itself of the infernal devices that scorned its pride and denied its freedom. At the sound of approaching footsteps, it turned its head to growl threateningly at the newcomer, only to pause at the sight of the young Menodix boy. Roger reached out to the great beast, hushing it gently.

Overcome with a sudden, unexplainable fear, the dragon tried to flee, only to find itself backed up against a wall. Its actions reminded Roger of a caged animal, and his sadness became evident in his big brown eyes.

“Shh… it’s ok, Albel. It’s me. It’s gonna be ok.” He reached up to touch and hold onto the dragon’s face, stroking its smooth scales. “It’s ok. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Roger never once broke eye contact, and he watched as the creature’s diluted crimson pupils receded into the warm swirls of vermillion he remembered and adored so much.

“Hey, ya big dummy,” he cooed and continued to stroke Albel’s face. “Everything’s gonna be fine. You’re ok.”

The child’s sweet and innocent voice broke through the surface and something within the proud dragon stirred. Little fool? Albel’s consciousness swam back into focus as he took in the sight of the pure of heart, as well as his surroundings. He was… in the foyer? But how? The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in his room at sunrise. How did he get here? Why was he all tied up? And what was that smell…?

“Albel, no!”

Roger tried to tug Albel’s head back and stop him from looking, but it was too late; the damage was done. The sight of Peppita and the Rosettis weeping over Gonnella’s mangled corpse and the heart wrenching sobs of the servants’ wails, filled his senses. Piccolotto held his screaming and kicking niece back as Ursus moved to drape a piece of white sheet over the royal court jester and their dearest friend. Cliff held Nel close as did Lieber with Maria, while Misty, Mackwell and Mirage gazed on solemnly. Things had been going so well. This shouldn’t have happened; yet it did, and they had let their guard down and foolishly celebrated ahead of time. Roger and the master were not in love. Nothing had changed. Winter was coming. Another one of their own had fallen and just like the others that had come and gone, they had been powerless to protect them.

And then, another sound joined their mourning: a high and desperate keen, broken, tragic and full of self-loathing. It was then that Roger realised, as he looked down upon the bound muzzle and despondent vermillion eyes, that Albel was crying. The cruelty of his curse: the painful truth before his eyes; the helplessness he felt; the death of another innocent victim; and the fear of his fleeting humanity – Albel felt it all, and the guilt was too much to bear.

Roger tried to ignore the despairing voices around him, tried to pretend it wasn’t really sorrow he was seeing in Albel’s eyes and hearing in his ears, tried to be strong; but the trauma from witnessing a person’s death finally kicked in, along with the heartache he felt the more he listened to and experienced the master’s growing pain. And so, Roger continued to tenderly cradle Albel’s head in his arms as he shed tears for the both of them.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

The days following Gonnella’s death were the worst of all and took its toll on the master’s mental and physical health. The man grew terrified of his morning transformations, fearing a repeat of the tragedy that had befallen his staff and which continued to haunt them. And every evening, he clung desperately onto his humanity like each time was his last. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep, and it didn’t take long for Roger to suspect that those deep red cuts and claw marks lining his once flawless and pale skin were not the result of an accident. That last one really frightened him, though he hesitated telling the servants for fear of their reaction.

Albel Nox was a touchy subject right now. Curse or no curse, it was getting harder not to blame him for the deaths of their friends and family. But Peppita was kind and the servants compassionate; they worried for the master’s well-being and fragile mental state, knew that the man blamed himself and was only so affected right now because he had learned how to love. There was still hope. And so, they took turns keeping watch, vigilantly trailing his every move even if that consisted mostly of him moping in his room out of depression and self-pity. For his own safety, Albel was never left alone, though said man didn’t seem to mind or pay much attention to the shadows that followed him. It was heartening, knowing that his servants still cared, even though he had stopped caring for himself.

It took a long time for Roger to get Albel to talk to him and an even longer time to convince him to leave the West Wing, but somehow, through lots of persistence and patience, he managed it, and they were now exploring the grand expanse of the castle gardens by the Great Lake. Roger didn’t even know they had a Great Lake; then again, many streams ran through the different parts of the garden, so he figured the water must have come from somewhere.

The lake was located at the back of the castle beyond the rows of towering pine trees. If he never noticed the pristine white walls that surrounded the vicinity, he would have thought the lake was part of Duggus Forest and led straight to the mountains. The castle grounds really were huge, and if he had known that walking through those golden, gilded gates would worsen Albel’s episodes, he never would have gotten them to leave in the first place. He still wondered why Albel never once mentioned this to him though, the repercussions; perhaps the master needed his own form of escape too.

“Let’s explore the lake!”

“... Wouldn’t you rather go outside?”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Albel, your garden is huge. I really don’t mind.”

They took a boat across the waters, admiring the scenery that passed them by and the flourishing water plants and lilies. Dragonflies skipped across the calm and peaceful surface, but upon closer inspection, Roger realised they were actually tiny pixies skating and dancing around each other in welcome of the approaching frost. Autumn was relatively short in comparison to the other seasons and its end was fast approaching. A thin layer of ice had already started to form at the lake’s edge, and when Roger stuck his hand into the water, he immediately pulled back with a shudder at how cold it felt.

“Don’t lean over too much, fool. This lake is far deeper than it looks and if you fall, you’ll catch hypothermia or drown. Whichever happens first,” said Albel in his usual drawl. Roger didn’t mind though. This was the most Albel spoke all week.

“But you’ll catch me, right?”

The boy’s innocent question made Albel stop rowing. Of course I will, he wanted to say, but held his tongue for the benefit of Roger and his own sanity. The boy didn’t know that he loved him, nor would he ever know. It was a secret Albel decided to take to his grave. Even if Roger didn’t realise it, his heart already belonged to someone else and forcing him to love him would not break the curse. He was doomed to live and die as a dragon. He had to put an end to this foolishness here before the consequences grew worse.

So, instead of answering him, Albel remained silent and resumed his rowing. To say that disappointed Roger was an understatement; the child was crushed.

Eventually, they reached the center of the Great Lake. As the excitable Menodix scurried around the boat to take in the gorgeous view of their surroundings, Albel tossed the oars aside with a sigh to catch his breath. They were quite a distance from the shore and it wasn’t exactly habitual for a prince to row his own boat – that’s what servants were for; but he was desperate for an escape, and the mere thought of any member of his castle only served as a cruel reminder of the atrocities he had committed and might continue to commit in the days and years to come. None were safe from him, not even Roger – and bringing harm unto the boy without any remote sense of conscience was a thought more horrifying than his own eternal damnation.

The scene from the bathroom flashed through his mind, along with the supple and sensual feel of Roger’s warm body against his own. But that pleasant memory was quickly erased by the sincere and adoring tone the child had used that night when he talked about Prince Luther and Fayt, as he laid the truth out bare. With pained eyes, Albel observed his precious little fool point out and prattle on about new discoveries. The smile on Roger’s face was shining with genuity, but the brighter and wider it got, the darker and deeper Albel’s heart sank. Why? If love was supposed to be his liberation, then why did it hurt so much to fall in love with Roger?

“Hey Albel,” said boy interrupted his brooding as he looked up from drawing circles in the water. “Remember the story of the little mermaid? Do ya think she was truly happy at the end? Even though she didn’t get together with the prince?”

Happy?

The question affected Albel more than intended and he was unable to meet Roger’s perceptive gaze for fear of seeing his own fragile conviction reflected in those big, dark brown eyes.

“... She didn’t have a choice.”

His answer made Roger sad.

“Everyone has a choice, Albel… It’s whether you’re brave enough ta make it happen.”

Dull vermillion eyes turned to meet Roger and the latter gasped at the raw emotion he saw swimming in the master’s intense gaze. However, as telling as his eyes were and no matter how skilled Roger had gotten in reading the older man’s expressions, Albel’s current emotional state was strangely elusive and appeared more like a jumbled mess of complex and convulating emotions and thoughts, than anything that could be easily pinpointed. It was startling: never would he have imagined that the proud, stoic and wicked Albel would actually come this far and open up to him, to have his walls broken down and his ego stripped bare.

Cautiously, he reached out to him and gently cupped the man’s cheek. “Are ya alright?” he whispered, almost as if he feared breaking Albel if he spoke too loud.

A large pale hand moved up to engulf the smaller one upon his cheek. Albel held Roger’s hand in place along with his gaze, causing the younger to stutter and blush at the intimate gesture. Suddenly, Albel leaned in closer and Roger could have sworn that the silent swordsman was trying to convey something with his eyes… but he didn’t understand, couldn’t put a finger on Albel’s unpredictable character. More than anything, he just wished that Albel would talk to him. Talk and tease him again like the time before they went horseback riding and everything began to fall apart.

“Albel?”

The master never once broke eye contact as he released the boy’s hand to tenderly map out and caress his baby soft features with his fingertips. They ghosted across rosy cheeks, beneath long and thick eyelashes that fluttered, over Roger’s sensitive whiskers and cute button nose, and lingered upon soft and full pink lips. On instinct, they parted ever so slightly and it took every ounce of willpower on Albel’s part not to claim them as his. He desired Roger, wanted the little humanoid so badly it hurt to breathe, and as the flames of desire continued to burn through his body, so did the icy chill of a hopelessly painful conclusion.

Unrequited love. That was what this was. It was a feeling worse than loss, for it tortured the soul with lies and false hope for having come so close, only to turn and deny it its final quest for happiness. And dare he say it, happy he had been; the happiest since he could last remember. But fairytales were for children and Albel realised now that the cure to his curse was a false condition and nothing more than a dragoness’ deception of the highest degree.

But I want him, he decided as his eyes flickered to Roger’s tempting lips that just begged to be kissed, this is my last chance.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded.

Roger blinked questionably. “Huh? But why?”

“Just close your eyes, maggot!”

Startled by the master’s strange and abrupt request, but not willing to argue with him, Roger shut his eyes with a frown. Whatever weird plan Albel had up his sleeve, it better be worth it.

“Ok, they’re shut. Now what?”

“Be silent.”

Roger pouted; but Menodixes were curious creatures and his innate excitement kept him from telling the jerk off. And so, he waited with a patience that would have made Sophia proud.

That was when Albel made his move. The swordsman gently touched Roger’s chin and raised it ever so slightly. The sudden contact made Roger jump a little in his seat, but he otherwise kept his eyes shut as he bit his lower lip in anticipation. The sight was gorgeous and if anything, fanned the flames of desire in Albel’s beating heart. I want him, I need him. And Albel felt the last of his resolve crumble as he ducked his head to close the distance between them. All mine. He felt his eyes slowly slide shut, felt Roger’s feather soft breaths against his own lips, and could make out the soft, steady thumps of the boy’s heartbeat from their proximity. If this was what heaven felt like, then he would gladly submit.

“My little fool…”

‘If either Prince Luther or Fayt asked fer my hand… if they sincerely l-love me… I wouldn’t say no.’

Albel’s eyes snapped open and he immediately pulled away. No, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to take advantage of Roger like that, especially when said boy had already made it known that he loved someone else.

“Albel, what’s goin’ on?” Roger frowned and tried to open his eyes, only to feel a hand cover them.

“I told you to be silent,” said Albel with a sad smile that Roger would never be able to see. “Don’t you ever listen?”

He was a sinful and wicked person, who killed and toyed with hundreds of deaths. He slaughtered for pleasure and revelled in the cries of his victims. Roger couldn’t save him; his world was too brilliant for someone like him. The boy deserved better.

“I’m going to remove my hand, worm. You better not look.”

“Alright, alright, geez… What’re ya so embarrassed about anyway?”

“I’m not embarrassed! Now, will you shut up and wait?”

“Urgh, you’re so annoying!”

Albel couldn’t help the fond smirk that graced his lips as he pulled his hand away. Now, like this, without sight or assumptions, he felt he could look at Roger better with his defenses down and for who he really was; look at him and savor his image for one last time. Despite his small stature and innocent disposition, Albel could clearly see his big heart, his passion and his courage. Roger was remarkable and anything but worthless. He had amazing dreams, the kindest soul, and his eyes always shone so bright; brighter than the millions of twinkling stars in the sky – and Albel wanted to save that light, wanted to guard it and protect it, even from himself. There was no place for him in Roger’s world. He loved him, so he decided to let him go.

Then, with a sigh and tickle against Roger’s furry ears, Albel spoke in his usual cold and condescending voice.

“Sorry, worm. I’m a wicked, cowardly and deceitful monster. And so, I cannot atone for my sins.”

Roger twitched in his spot, alarm bells ringing in his head. “Whadda heck are ya talkin’ about?” he asked, accidentally opening his eyes.

And when he did, Albel was nowhere to be seen. The master had vanished like a dream, leaving nothing but a gleaming katana at the bottom of the boat. Confused, Roger remained seated, blinking dumbly, before panic and realization hit him and he scrambled to the boat’s edge.

No way, he didn’t.

“Albel! Albel!”

Bubbles rose and broke through the water’s surface. Without thinking twice, Roger took a deep breath and jumped straight into the lake. The icy waters pierced his skin like a thousand needles, but Roger ignored the biting discomfort as he dived deeper, hoping and praying that he wasn’t too late. And as luck would have it, he made it in time. He made it in time to see Albel’s body sink further into the dark and watery abyss below.

Vermillion eyes parted to look up at Roger, and the latter picked up the pace, his hand desperately reaching out towards him, but the distance between them was too great. Roger felt the undercurrent threaten to sweep him away, but he struggled for control and his efforts did not go unnoticed. There was a faint smile on Albel’s lips. He spoke to him with his eyes; there were no words; yet Roger heard him clearly.

Didn’t I tell you? I’m a wicked, cowardly and deceitful monster. I cannot atone for my sins. I cannot live in this world.

Idiot, Roger fought to convey as he desperately pushed on, don't ya ever think about anyone else but yourself?

As Albel sank faster into the inky blackness, Roger chased him with all his strength. And then finally, with one great kick and push, his hand reached his. Their fingers entwined with each other’s, Roger holding on with everything he had; but the air in Albel’s lungs grew scarce with each fading second and his glassy eyes slowly slid shut.

You fool… With me gone, you can be free. Even though you have a whole life ahead of you… will you throw that away?

I won’t let ya go, Roger thought and struggled to wrap his arms around the master’s torso in order to bring them back up to the surface.

Unfortunately, Albel’s limp body was too heavy and no matter how hard he tried to swim, Roger felt the cold waters tug them down further. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and the combination of stress and depleting oxygen made his muscles burn. Nevertheless, he had to try. He refused to let Albel die, not like this.

The swordsman’s gauntlet weighed them down. Desperate and with only thoughts of survival running through his head, Roger struggled to remove it, but the clasps were stuck tight and with his free hand supporting Albel’s body, he lacked the strength to unfasten the heavy metal appendage while fighting to keep them afloat. All around them, it was getting darker and darker. His icy fingers and toes turned numb. The pressure increased, and Roger’s head and ears began to throb painfully. And then, his fingers began to slip.

No, no! Please!

Just then, a flash of light darted through the darkness, before one shimmering streak became two and the quiet murmurs became melodious voices that filled Roger’s ears. A pair of mermaids swam up to them, their bodies and scales made entirely out of crystal. They gazed at Roger curiously; bubbles left the boy’s mouth instead of words; but they immediately understood. Quickly, they got to work, crystal fingers moving deftly to remove the gauntlet to let it sink to the bottom of the lake. And together, they swam up towards the shining surface.

Roger’s lungs screamed for air. Albel’s body grew heavier in his arms. Darkness closed in around them the further up they swam. And then, the mermaids’ fingers slipped away, and Roger’s head finally breached the water’s surface in a violent gasp.

Coughing, sputtering and choking on water, Roger greedily gulped down precious air. A violent shudder ran down his spine from the cold and his legs ached so badly he almost cried, but he continued kicking them as he forced himself to swim to shore. His arms felt so tired, but he refused to let Albel go. A sigh of relief escaped him for having survived that ordeal, until he realised…

Albel wasn’t breathing.

Oh God.

“Albel! Albel!” he screamed and tried shaking the man’s shoulders, only to end up with a mouthful of water when he lost his balance. “Albel, please! Wake up!”

No response.

“Wake up!”

Nothing but silence.

Treading water, Roger held the unconscious man tight and screamed into the night.

“HELP!”

The castle’s atmosphere was deathly tense, the ringing silence permeating through even the tiniest of cracks between walls. Everyone was on edge as they waited nervously outside the doors of the West Wing for some news on the master’s condition – anything really, good or bad. It had been hours since Adray and Clair found the pair in the lake, drawn to them by Roger’s cries for help; and father and daughter wasted no time in rushing Roger and Albel to the castle and straight into Nel’s frantic arms. They were lucky they were tending to the pine trees nearby, and none even wanted to think if that had been otherwise.

By the time they reached the castle, every inch of Roger’s skin felt like ice. He was shivering uncontrollably; it was hard to stay awake and the coughing had already started. Nel feared the worst, but Roger’s priority was Albel; Nel was the best healer in the castle; and so, the Menodix went with Clair, while the waiting game continued for the rest.

That was 4 hours ago.

Cliff had taken to pacing relentlessly in front of the doors and was in the process of burning a hole through the carpet for his efforts. Maria was fiddling with her gun, locking and unlocking the trigger mechanism, until it created a steady rhythm in the otherwise silent corridor. Lieber was nursing a bump on his forehead for having tried to stop her. Adray had stopped pacing when he realised two was a crowd and had taken to leaning against the wall instead, arms crossed and eyes shut, but unable to truly rest. Mirage was busy braiding her hair for the upteenth time. Mackwell had his nose buried in a book, but it was apparent he wasn’t really reading since he was still on the same page for the past 5 minutes. Misty meditated next to him. Peppita had fallen asleep, so the Rosettis returned to their sleeping quarters, demanding an update first thing in the morning. And Clair alternated between praying to the Goddess Apris and making sure Roger did not, on any circumstance, fall asleep. The child had just barely escaped the clutches of hypothermia, and after 2 hours of intensive healing, Clair refused to take any chances.

And so, the loyal party of nine waited, and waited, and waited...

Until finally, the door handle jiggled and Nel tentatively popped her head out of the West Wing, skin pale and expression utterly exhausted. Cliff was the first one at the door.

“How is he?” he asked, gently taking Nel’s hands into his. They trembled from the hours of strain.

“The master is stable,” she answered with a tired and relieved sigh, before turning to address the rest. “But he’s very weak. And considering his… mental instability, I strongly suggest we avoid topics of such in front of him. Also, Cliff, Maria and Adray, store away all weapons and sharp objects until further notice.”

“Gotcha / Understood / Got it.”

“Mental instability?!” Roger raised his voice. “He tried ta kill himself! More than once! And if ya think that sweeping this under the rug’s gonna make things return ta the way they were, ya can think again!”

He couldn’t stand this, how the others were purposely avoiding the subject like a petty little phase that would eventually go away. Albel was suffering. For whatever reason, he was in tremendous pain; and if they didn’t address the problem head-on right now, who was to say he wouldn’t try again? Determination could drive a man to do the impossible. Roger rather not find out how resourceful a desperate Albel could be.

“Darling, keep your voice down,” Misty hushed him. “The master–“

“I’ll be as loud as I like!”

“Which is why,” Nel interrupted patiently, “Roger would be the best person to talk to him.” She offered the shocked boy an encouraging smile. “You’re right. We’ve avoided this problem long enough and we cannot ignore it any further. If we truly call ourselves his servants, if we really cared, we should help him through this. Besides, keeping quiet isn’t my style.”

Roger’s gaze softened at her words. “Nel…”

“The master almost drowned. He could have died and all would be lost… if it weren’t for your bravery.” The head of household went down on one knee before the startled humanoid. “Again, we are in your debt.”

“Guh… G-Get up, please?” Roger flailed his arms, stuttering. Five months and he still couldn’t get used to these people’s overt sense of gratitude and high opinion towards him.

“You should hurry,” she advised, stepping aside with a smile, so the Menodix could pass. “It’s almost sunrise.”

“And what about us?” Cliff interrupted, folding his arms.

Nel nodded and motioned for the group to gather closer. “Right. We need to discuss our schedules; give the master a daily programme or routine with things he likes, so he has purpose and something to look forward to. The enjoyment from such activities should help with the healing process.”

“We could spar,” suggested Adray. “I still remember a thing or two from Sir Leingod from back in the day.”

“And I could resume our old lessons on culture,” added Misty with a fond smile. “The master used to love learning about foreign practices and the arts.”

“Perfect. And perhaps Peppita can…”

As the gang continued to deliberate and delegate roles, Roger watched them with a faint smile. He hadn’t seen this much excitement since he first invited Albel for dinner. It was touching: they really did care for Albel as more than a master; perhaps like a dysfunctional family of sorts. He didn’t know what life in the castle was like before he came, didn’t even know about it’s history, but if he could be so bold as to presume, it almost seemed as if things had returned to the way they should be – with direction, harmony and life.

With that, Roger quietly slipped into the room and shut the door behind him.

Privato di un'ala,
l'uccellino ha chiuso gli occhi in silenzio.
La sofferenza è svanita lontano,
ora l'uccellino non piange più.

Riposa, riposa in pace.

Nel racconto che ho scritto,
puoi volare in libertà.
Ecco il mio ultimo incantesimo,
affinché la tua luce non conosca ombra.

Che niente e nessuno ti trascini
nelle tenebre dell'oblio.

Riposa, riposa in pace.

Dolce amore in pace.

Roger read out the poem hanging on the wall; meticulously written in beautiful calligraphy, and framed like a prize. It was a famous Italian piece about a bird that had lost its wing and the happiness forgone; the poet helped it reconcile with its loss and showed the little bird love by giving it a good death. Of course, the bird was actually a lady and the poet had been in love with her. Roger never imagined Albel to be a romantic; then again, he should have known better. Also, he never knew Albel knew Italian; he himself barely understood enough words to make sense of the poem; but for someone as highly educated and well-read as the master, he wouldn’t put it past Albel to have at least a dozen more languages under his belt.

The poem hung near the West Wing entrance. Ironically, it seemed to parallel the situation that befell the poor and tortured master – and he wondered if Albel had secretly wanted him to follow in the poet’s footsteps, instead of risking his own life to save his. He never quite noticed it until now. Perhaps it had something to do with its location that he barely paid attention to. Perhaps the light cast upon its text from the room’s various candles highlighted its existence. Or perhaps he was trying to buy time from confronting the inevitable.

He could see clearly from where he stood: Albel lay asleep on the large, silken bed surrounded by numerous downy pillows. His chest was bare, save for a sling of bandages wrapped around his right shoulder and just under his left pectoral, probably to support his breathing and alleviate some of the pain. The thick quilt was tucked up to his waist. His chest rose and fell softly with every breath, and his long, dark and unbound hair fell around him in waves like midnight skies. At that moment, lying so peaceful and serene, the beautiful man looked more like a princess than a master swordsman… though Roger had a feeling he would get socked upside the head if he ever told said man that. He kind of wished he would though; he missed Albel’s mean yet affectionate gestures. It meant that he was alive and the past 6 hours had never happened.

I should talk ta him, Roger thought, yet made no move to approach the bed, I wanna see him.

But why was he so nervous?

There, eyes shut with snow white pale skin and under the glow of candles, Albel looked dead. Maybe that was why he felt so nervous. He didn’t want to confront the truth that Albel had almost died.

‘I’m a wicked, cowardly and deceitful monster. And so, I cannot atone for my sins.’

Albel’s words echoed in his ears. Even after 6 hours, they sounded so painful and so near, so terribly afflicted. Roger wanted nothing more than to pull him into a tight and warm embrace, just so Albel knew that it was ok if he couldn’t forgive himself, but there were others who did and that was enough.

“It’s just Albel, Roger. Man up!” he whispered to himself as he finally crossed the room, albeit stiffly.

Struggling onto a nearby chair and then the bed, Roger crawled towards the slumbering master, where he sat quietly and observed said man’s features with a deep, contemplative stare. There was nothing out of the ordinary on how Albel slept; his breaths were even, his face and body relaxed. In fact, apart from the bandage around his torso, there was no visible indication that Albel had survived an attempt on his life – by his own hands no less! Roger even wondered if Albel knew he was still alive or if his subconscious presumed he was dead.

“Why did ya give up?” He whispered, gently brushing the dark bangs aside as he gazed at the master’s soft and peaceful face. “Why didn’t ya tell me?”

When he received no response (not that he expected any), Roger sighed and pulled away to sit on his hunches. Grabbing the nearest pillow, he tucked it under his chin and hugged it close as a form of comfort. But it was no use; nothing he did could alleviate the anxiety he felt in his chest. He had heard of people going into coma for an indefinite period after a traumatizing event. He just hoped Albel wasn’t one of those people; after all, the swordsman was stronger than that.

The silence ticked by and unnerved him like an itch. Reaching out, Roger grabbed the master’s old music box from the bedside table and wound it tight. The same hauntingly beautiful melody of his childhood lullaby filled the air. Roger was immediately reminded of the very first time he set foot into the West Wing and stumbled upon that old, torn up painting of Albel in his youth, along with this precious piece of his cherished childhood. Since then, the master had always allowed him to play with his music box every time he visited and stayed. The music gave Roger solace, and he hoped that it would do the same for the master; chase away his inner demons and give his troubled spirit asylum.

It was strange; back before he had left Peterny, he never would have thought he’d get close to another human, not because he disliked them, but the prejudice that ruled their land. But somehow, Albel had seen something in him worth knowing, worth investing time and resources on and giving – just giving – simply because he could and knew would make him happy. The cold and prideful master of the castle had become a close friend, perhaps (dare he say it) dearer to him than Fayt and Sophia. Considering how their relationship had first started, Albel and him had really come a long way. It was a lot to take in.

And just when he was beginning to treasure the deep friendship they had, Albel went and attempted suicide in his presence. It was frightening and Roger didn’t understand any of it, but he wanted to and that was why he was here.

As the music continued to play, Roger felt his eyelids begin to droop, along with his ears. The evening’s events finally caught up to him and the soothing lull of the music box pulled him beneath the clouds of unconsciousness–

“... Worm?”

“ARGH!”

“Omph–!“

Roger’s eyes snapped open, only to visibly pale when he realised he had involuntarily smacked Albel in the face with a pillow. A very weak and disoriented Albel. Man, did he feel bad… and really, really stupid.

“Y-You’re awake!” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“Of course I’m awake, fool.” Albel removed the pillow to shoot the little Menodix a death glare. “Who do you think you’re talking to? A ghost?”

“Don’t joke about things like that!” He yelled, and his outburst shocked the swordsman into silence.

Roger snapped his mouth shut and bowed his head angrily. He didn’t mean to shout and startle the poor man. Crap, what on earth was he doing? He was supposed to talk to Albel and coax him to open up, not screw things up and frighten him into avoiding the topic altogether. Idiot, idiot! As he continued to mentally berate himself, Albel’s irritated expression fell into one of understanding.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate of me.”

“T-That’s ok...”

Things turned silent and a little awkward after that with Roger struggling over the right words to say, while Albel took his time to take in his surroundings. Nothing changed about his room, but it felt rather surreal waking up after one thought they had died, like he knew what things were and how they worked, yet didn’t at the same time. Even with the Menodix by his side, he felt out of place in his own existence. It was an odd experience.

And then, his eyes landed on the music box.

“‘Enchanted Winter’?” said Albel, breaking the silence in a low voice. “You’re terribly fond of this insipid piece.”

“It ain’t ‘insipid’, Albel. It was a lullaby back in my village,” Roger explained. “Pops would play the fiddle and Mama used ta sing it every night at our inn. The other children and their families would come over just ta listen. I was still crawlin’ around back then, but I could never forget mama’s lovely voice and the sound of pops’ playin’.”

Albel released a deep, ironic chuckle. “So it would seem my birth was well received amongst your people.”

Roger cocked his head curiously. “Whaddaya mean?”

“It was written by my father and sung to me on the night I was born. The song was meant to usher in the long winter… and my first step into this world.”

Then, he closed his eyes and before Roger knew it, he started to sing.

This stage is the dearest of my children
Where moonlight moves through alleys
A bent twig, a summer in its care
White vast open sea
On the wings of a phantom moon
Comes to take me home

In winterland a moment is an eternity
Creeps to me on kitten paws
I get to live here where the story begins
Where a violin of longing echoes the eternal melody
Waking the earth with its song

Roger listened and hung on to every last verse with wide eyes and parted lips, charmed and in awe of the master’s deep and mellow voice. Never had he known or expected that Albel could sing – and how beautifully he did, for his voice had the ability to seize the soul, wrap it in its passionate embrace and steal it faraway into the night. And this song was composed by his father? Who was Albel to have such a meaningful and timeless composition dedicated to his name? But then, just as suddenly as he had begun, Albel closed off with a slight scowl on his face.

“Bah, how sentimental.”

And then, he turned his head to look at Roger with serious eyes.

“Why did you save me?” he asked.

“Why did ya jump?” Roger questioned in turn and the response made Albel smirk. The boy’s stubbornness was so much like his own.

“Who knows?” he said with a shrug, gazing out the open balcony at the moon. It would be far too cruel to burden the child with the knowledge that he had been one of the reasons.

“I’m the master of this castle and my curse… I cannot live in this world.”

Roger watched him with sad eyes. “What’s ta be gained from going?”

“What’s to be gained from staying?”

“Ta live of course,” came the humanoid’s sincere reply, but it only earned him a sigh from the jaded man on the bed. It was terribly naive.

“I cannot. I have committed countless of sins in countless of years, many if not all unforgivable. The number of lives I have taken, atrocities I have committed including those of my own blood… is far too great.”

“But ya haven’t committed any sins in our world,” Roger argued passionately. “Ya just can’t help it! You’re a good person, Albel. I know ya are!”

“No, little fool. Just because I wasn’t aware of my actions, doesn’t mean I wasn’t responsible for all those innocent deaths. Ignorance is no excuse for murder.”

Roger’s ears drooped in disappointment. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to come up with something to refute Albel’s logic, but even he didn’t know how to argue his way around that one and all that followed was a tense and uncomfortable silence. But just when Albel thought he had finally put an end to their discussion, Roger straightened up and leaned in close to fix him with a meaningful stare. The boy’s abruptness startled him, but not as much as his subsequent words.

“If ya’ve sinned… then it’s my sin too fer not steppin’ in sooner.” He pulled back with a wide, captivating grin. “You’re not alone, Albel; ya never were. So, let’s carry yer cross together.”

Albel’s heart clenched painfully. The fool. He had no words.

“As long as I’m here, as long as I live, I’ll help ya carry yer cross. So, please… let’s stay in this kingdom. Ya and me, together.”

Roger’s passion and sincerity touched something cold and desolate in his heart. Albel was too shocked to speak or think; all he could do was feel and soon, he felt tears well up in his eyes and quickly turned away so the Menodix wouldn’t be able to see them fall. Unbeknownst to the swordsman, Roger observed him with a knowing smile, but decided against saying anything to give the proud man face. Instead, he crawled towards Albel and gently tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Albel?”

“Will I be able to live?” he asked suddenly, quietly, and the nature of the question shocked Roger for a second, before he responded with a slight chuckle.

“Yeah, ya will. It’s fine if ya can’t leave the grounds; I’m sure we could find a ton of stuff ta do in your castle! Ya practically have everything: cool servants, probably the largest collection of books in the world, a room fer everything – and I mean everything; not ta mention a backyard as big as a forest. And if ya ever grow bored and don’t know where ta look, then just leave it ta me!” He gestured at himself with a thumb. “I’ll show ya this world of ours. I’ll show ya how magical it can be.”

“... Will I… be able to live… ?” Albel repeated his question, but he sounded so far away.

What Roger was promising him sounded wonderful, but how could he make the humanoid understand the crux of his plight without revealing the details of his curse? Soon, he would be a dragon forever, loose his humanity and all the memories he ever had during his time as a man, and he wouldn’t be able to do all those things Roger hoped they could together. He wouldn’t be able to speak to him again, hold him close as they read together by the fire, go for long walks in his rose garden and worst of all, he might forget everything they ever shared together and hurt him, or worse. One day, Roger would leave, grow up, fall in love and forget all about him. No matter how Albel looked at it, no matter the words Roger might say, the child wouldn’t be able to resolve his problem, unless he loved him in return. It was too much to ask from a 12-year-old boy and it would be unreasonable to make him stay beyond the time limit of his curse, so he decided to give his beloved little fool his freedom in exchange of his own.

“I’m the sinful monster, who toyed with hundreds of lives and deaths in this world,” said Albel with that same sad smile Roger had seen when the former nearly drowned. “Our– no, your world is too brilliant for someone as hopeless as me. You’re young and full of promise. Don’t waste your time on a person who can’t be saved.”

There was a furious growl from behind him and before Albel knew it, he felt a pair of hands cup his face to turn him around to face the young Menodix. Roger’s features were contorted in rage, but fresh tears fell from his eyes and landed on the dark silken sheets below. The child sniffed, but refused to wipe away his tears. He wanted Albel to see them, to see how much his sorrowful words were hurting him, to have Albel understand that a world without him by his side was a world he did not wish to endure. Why couldn’t he see how much he cared about him? How could he make Albel see he was a person worthy of redemption and love?

The sight of the humanoid’s tears both confused and broke Albel’s heart. Was Roger… crying for him?

“No, ya have ta live,” Roger replied forcefully, as he moved to straddle the man’s waist. He leaned in to gaze deep into wide vermillion eyes, their faces so close they could have kissed. “If ya think ya need ta atone fer hundreds of sins, then keep on livin’ and livin’. Live as hard as ya can with everythin’ ya got. That’s the only way ya can atone… and be free.”

“Is that truly the only way?” Albel replied with a tender look in his eyes.

“That’s right.” Roger nodded his head. “And you’ll definitely be able ta do it someday. We’ll do it together, trust me. Even if things feel hopeless, even if it gets harder ta see the light, I… I won’t leave ya, Albel. I’ll be right here, I promise.”

Albel continued to gaze lovingly at the Menodix above him. There was no doubt in his heart that he loved this boy, truly and deeply. And it suddenly occurred to him that if Roger didn’t feel the same way, it didn’t matter. He was grateful to have met him and to experience love in its purest form.

This is enough.

Reaching out, he wrapped his fingers around the back of Roger’s neck and tugged him down so that the child’s face was buried in the crook of his neck. Instinctively, Roger’s arms moved up to wrap around his shoulders in a desperate hug, while Albel’s arm moved down to coil protectively around the boy’s smaller waist. A soft, content sigh escaped Roger’s lips; and it was at that moment, nestled snugly in each other’s embrace when Albel decided he wouldn’t just live for Roger, but for the both of them.

“Rest now, my little fool.”

“But–“

“I’ll be right here when you wake up. You have my word.”

He felt the little humanoid relax in his hold and with a smile, the once cold and cruel prince placed a tender kiss in his love’s unruly hair.

If you intend to stay with me, then I’ll run with you until my final sunrise. If the memory of our time together fades, then we’ll disappear together.

And together, they descended into the abyss where sleep finally claimed them.

A dark shadow crossed the crowned prince’s private chambers in a relentless pace. Pressed against the door, grey eyes watched the figure with growing concern, until a vase flew straight at her and she ducked just in time as it smashed against the wall. Porcelain shards littered the pristine white and gold carpet and a few tiny bits flew up to graze the exposed skin of her ankle. A thin trickle of blood cut across fair flesh, but the woman ignored it in favor of getting through to her troubled younger sibling.

“Brother, please! Be reasonable,” she pleaded in a shrill, desperate voice. It pained and frightened her to see the once calm and regal Lansfeld heir reduced to this bitter and obsessed madman. “It’s been 5 months since that humanoid inventor disappeared. If our knights can’t find him, he’s probably dead–“

“Hah!” Luther whirled around so fast, his cape whipped behind him. “If our knights can’t find him, they’re probably incompetent! There’s nothing my powers can’t reveal. If the humanoid were truly dead, my ‘Eye’ would see it, Blair.”

He gestured at a giant, terrifying blood-red eyeball surrounded by thick gas and smoke, suspended mid air over a bubbling cauldron of shimmering silver liquid. The eyeball twitched and darted about the room every now and then, but Blair knew just as well as Luther that it was actually looking at their kingdom and every far corner of Aquor. Black magic was a heavily guarded secret amongst the Lansfelds. Mother had taught the King this spell amongst others when she was alive, and their father used it to monitor the state of the kingdom and their people. Now, the power fell onto the crowned prince, but it quickly became apparent that Luther had started using it for personal reasons.

“He’s hiding somewhere I’m powerless to reach. Somewhere shrouded in magic more powerful than my own,” he muttered as he resumed his pacing. “But where? Where?”

“Luther, cease this madness,” Blair continued with urgency, tears in her eyes. “Father is dead. The throne falls to you now. As Aquor’s new king, you need to forget about that filthy half-breed and choose a bride–“

“I don’t want a simpering princess for my consort!” Luther yelled and the force of his anger sent more objects flying off the shelves towards the crowned princess, who skillfully deflected them with a flick of her wrist. “I want Roger S. Huxley!”

The screaming continued. A couple of beakers exploded and more objects flew at Blair, who dodged them all. But the prince’s anger, although violent, was usually short-lived and it didn’t take long for the younger of the two to finally settle down.

As Luther’s magic and anger waned, Blair sighed and shook her head in resignation. For as long as she could remember, the blonde never changed his mind once his head and heart were set on something. One way or another, Luther always got what he wanted – and the man was as dedicated as he was extremely resourceful. Honestly, she didn’t understand what the big fuss was about. True, this boy who captured her dear brother's heart was a genius, but he was nothing but a lowly humanoid brat. Furthermore, she learned that he had humiliated Luther in public space! Simply unacceptable! But thoughts of the child’s imprisonment and subsequent death sentence were quelled by her brother’s desire to punish the humanoid himself. It was fine by her; but now, she was just worried about Luther and the state of Aquor. For the sake of the prince’s sanity and their family name, she hoped Luther knew what he was doing.

“Very well. I’ll inform Leingod and his men to resume their search,” she said.

“... Leave me, Blair.”

And with an elegant curtsy, the princess left the room and shut the door behind her.

Luther ran his fingers through his hair in frustration and with a dismissive flick of his wrist, willed the ‘Eye’ away as it dissipated into a cloud of smoke. With a sigh, he lowered himself onto a nearby divan and propped his chin on his hand, gazing intently into the fireplace. The flames crackled and danced sensually in the darkness of the bedroom. A flicker of emotion flashed across brilliant blue eyes, before Luther raised a gloved hand and snapped his fingers.

Immediately, the fire roared to life, the flaming tendrils reaching out towards the prince, before they receded and coiled around each. And then, from the whirlwind of flames, a figure began to take shape – a body of a very familiar, very cocky humanoid child. The Menodix was draped in garments of pure white: a long robe with flowing sleeves with a golden sash was tied around his waist, and an elegant chain headpiece sat upon his forehead. Luther gave the choice ensemble an appreciative hum.

“Lovely.”

With a playful smirk and provocative swish of his tail, the boy sauntered up to the lounging prince and kneeled before him.

“Yer majesty,” he greeted with an innocent tilt of his head, big eyes shining. “How may I serve ya?”

“Roger,” Luther purred, excitement coursing through his veins. “Undress.”

“Yes, my king.”

The humanoid rose to his feet and undid the sash around his waist. The robe fell away to reveal smooth, baby soft flesh and pert pink nipples that simply begged to be touched. His soft bushy tail slinked around his hips to cover his privates coyly, the very action placing his soft pink pucker on display, the sensitive ring of muscle clenched tight around a golden butt plug. Full pink lips moved to sensually suckle on a finger, as Roger moaned around the wet digit. A sweet blush adorned his supple cheeks; his big brown eyes burned with longing for the prince before him and Luther couldn’t help the pleased groan that escaped his throat from the temptatious display.

All mine and ripe for the taking, he thought with pride and motioned Roger closer with a finger.

Obediently, the little humanoid climbed onto the prince’s lap and straddled his waist. The child was completely naked save the golden headpiece upon his brow; and the way Roger was rotating his hips as he rubbed up against the prince’s hardness, made it look like he was desperate for his own release too. Luther reached around his precious slave and gave the toy in Roger’s ass a little tug, before slowly sliding the plug in and out. The pleasurable stretch and stimulation caused Roger to gasp and moan wantonly.

“Mm… M-My king…”

“What is it you desire, my pet?”

On his lap, the boy’s knees shook from the strain.

“M-More…! Puh-Please! I need –“

Luther shoved the toy deep into his ass and Roger squealed from the sudden intrusion and pleasing burn from the stretch, crying out his master’s name. The prince thrilled at the sound.

“You’re mine, Roger,” Luther growled possessively. “You will choose me. You will submit.”

With half-lidded eyes, Roger leaned up to kiss his beloved prince. But as soon as his lips made contact with Luther’s, the illusion disintegrated and the crowned prince found himself alone in his chambers once again like every other time, in the company of the burning fireplace.

Luther shot to his feet with a snarl. It always ends the same way. But that was the drawback of illusions: they could never replace the real thing.

At his rage, the fire blazed and rose high into the smoke chamber. Luther watched it, formulating his next plan. Perhaps venting his frustrations on a useless village would alleviate his lust; after all, it had been some time since the last dragon attack and as Aquor’s new King, he needed to reinforce his position.

A run-of-the-mill village would do, he concluded, somewhere along Leingod’s current route.

Whirling around with a dramatic swish of his cape, he stormed out the room towards the royal aqueducts, leaving nothing behind but a cold and empty fireplace to answer for his sins.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

“Shields up! Fall back!”

The knights complied in a shout of unison. Swords drew back to make way for clunky shields, the kingdom’s crest – a winged angel wielding a sword – gleamed under the harsh morning sunlight; a proud and noble beacon that brought hope and security to those under its rule, and stirred fear in the hearts of any who dared oppose Aquor’s ruthless sovereignty.

All except this one.

The Earth dragon roared and fixed crazed, amber eyes on the infernal humans that dared stand in its way. Well, no matter. This pathetic village of Arias was now a dilapidated wasteland after mere minutes of trouncing; its walls and its people would hardly be missed; and the prey easily replaceable. After all, all humans were exactly the same.

The dragon hunched forward and hissed viciously, its wings pulled back as its tail moved in a threatening swish. The knights assumed a defensive formation as they closed in around the draconic beast. The dragon crawled forward. They backed up. It tried again and the knights on the outer ring called the beast’s attention to divert it from the village. The Earth dragon turned and moved towards the source of noise. The circle closed in again and backed up when a claw or tail struck hard metal. In and out they danced, a dangerous and frightening play of ‘Ring Around the Rosy’, until the mad creature decided that it had enough.

It turned and charged straight at a small crowd of villagers, who had emerged from their hiding places when they thought it was safe. The people screamed, too frozen in shock to even consider thoughts of escape. The angry, hypnotic swirl of fire and madness in the dragon’s eyes sucked them in like a sweltering pool of lava. There was nothing they could do. Helplessness numbed their core, and their hearts cried out to their beloved new king who would never come.

My Lord, help us.

A flash of light and sound sliced through the air. A severed horn tumbled onto the grass and the Earth dragon stumbled, keening in pain and surprise, before whirling around angrily to face the cause of that unwanted distraction. A single knight stood in its wake: both hands clutched a blade that was dripping with dark blood where horn had previously met cold, unrelenting steel; blue hair swayed in the wind; and emerald eyes narrowed stubbornly against the kingdom’s latest threat. His armor stood out sharply amongst the other knights; a more sophisticated design; it shone brilliantly and the royal family’s emblem engraved on his chest plate told the world where he hailed from and whom he so willingly served; a locket with a picture of a smiling Menodix dangled from around his neck; and he wore no helmet. Frankly, there was only one person in the royal guard who was too stubborn, reckless and arguably stupid (according to Sophia) who wore his armor that way because he ‘felt way too hot’.

Distracted, the dragon failed to notice the other knights move to protect the villagers, never once dropping their shields. Or maybe it no longer cared. This blue-haired human had pissed it off. The air was supercharged with electrifying hostility. A command sounded over the din, gruff with urgency.

“Captain, fall back! We need to protect the peo–“

“No, Lieutenant!”

Fayt’s grip around his sword tightened, as his body shifted fluidly from a defensive into an offensive stance. It was still an alarming, yet impressive sight to many: the King’s knights and royal guard was led by a 19-year-old master swordsman, the youngest to ever lead his unit, much less command a high degree of respect amongst the ranks and subjects alike. The boy deserved the recognition and honor – and it was more than just because he was a Leingod. He had the skills, accolades and capabilities to match. His gaze shone with determination and a fierce loyalty towards his king and princess, as well as the kingdom he and his forefathers had sworn to protect with their lives – and he would do it, even if he had to kill a deranged, supposedly impenetrable Earth dragon to prove his unwavering devotion to the throne.

“If our priority is the people, we strike this beast now where it stands. Eyah!”

With a great leap, Fayt charged straight at the snarling creature. He raised his weapon, but a large claw swiped his way and he managed a narrow dodge roll in the nick of time. Rising quickly, he faked a left and went right for the dragon’s left eye while it had its attention momentarily averted. The proud beast recovered swiftly, turning its head to chase the young knight with its jaws; but Fayt had already managed to carve a cut just beneath its eye for his troubles. The slight to its perfection and ego enraged the proud creature. This knight needed to die.

On and on the battle between beast and man raged. Unfortunately, Fayt was growing tired, the dragon’s natural endurance and towering physical strength gradually wearing the poor knight down. Its tough hide and scales made even the sharpest blade appear nothing more than a tickling toothpick. His movements, though dexterous and skillful, grew sluggish – and the dragon saw that, letting loose a petrifying stream of earth breath. It hit him on his sword arm and Fayt let out a cry of anguish when we felt the pricking sensation of a thousand needles lodge themselves in his muscles and travel through his veins, until the entire appendage turned slack from the numbness. His sword clattered onto the ground and with the loss of his good hand, he immediately felt his blood run cold.

He couldn’t fight.

If dragons could smirk, this one would. Molten amber eyes honed in on the struggling knight, and then it charged.

Clutching his useless arm against his chest, Fayt jumped out of the way and rolled behind a mass of boulders, barely missing another stream of earth breath. It was obvious what the dragon was trying to do; it had aimed for his legs after all.

From his temporary shelter, Fayt took that momentary reprieve to catch his breath and gather his wits. He had to think fast: he couldn’t afford to dance with the devil any further; the move distracted it from the villagers, yes, but he knew the moment he went down, there would be nothing standing between the dragon and its next meal. He had to kill the beast now. Dying was not an option.

Come on, move! Fayt struggled to part the fingers of his right hand and manually wrapped them around the hilt of his sword, then wrapped the fingers of his left hand around them to keep his grip stable. He had to rely on his left hand now. He only hoped that he could still pull off a mean swing. This really was not ideal – nothing about his situation was; but even knights had to be resourceful.

Peering cautiously around the boulder, he noticed a bright glint in the distance, before he had to quickly duck another jet of petrifying breath aimed his way. Damn, was this thing persistent; but he saw something, something peculiar and red. Something he knew shouldn’t be there and was definitely not a natural part of a dragon’s anatomy. Swallowing, he chanced another glance, only to narrowly dodge the earth breath again. Damned dragon was toying with him; but he had seen it – a large, shimmering ruby embedded in the center of the creature’s forehead. It glinted eerily under the afternoon light, like an abomination in defiance of the sun. Honestly, Fayt had no idea what function that gem served or if it was purely aesthetic, but it seemed like a weak point he could penetrate and he was willing to try anything at this point.

Fayt closed his eyes, hugged his sword to his chest and took a deep, calming breath.

Now or never.

And he hurriedly scrambled over the rocks, leaping off the edge as he dove straight at the Earth dragon’s head.

Move, move, please!

Fayt saw rather than felt his right hand work, and both arms moved to raise his weapon high above his head. With wide, feral eyes, the dragon opened its mouth; but Fayt was faster and with a final, desperate cry, plunged the blade straight through the ruby and deep into the dragon’s skull. The beast gave an agonized shriek, thrashing about wildly; Fayt saw the glow from the gem fade along with the light in the dragon’s eyes, before everything went still.

He released his hold on the sword and landed gracefully on the ground, just as the Earth dragon’s body collapsed in a lifeless heap in front of him. Panting from the remnants of adrenaline, Fayt approached the carcass on unsteady feet to assess the damage: the sword stuck out grotesquely from its head and black blood oozed from around the blade to collect in a viscous, repugnant puddle beneath. Fayt saw pain, suffering, confusion and peace reflected in the dragon’s dull, unseeing eyes – and he wondered how something so wild and consumed with rage, having died a sudden and agonizing death, could actually experience peace and a gratifying end to its life.

Fayt observed the once proud creature with a grimace. The dragon had obviously been driven mad; that or their behavioral patterns were changing as a whole, neither of which was a good sign. But why did it seem so grateful to die? He bent down to pick up a ruby shard from its head, turning it over between his fingers curiously. Did it have something to do with this jewel? He couldn’t shake off this uneasy feeling in his chest.

“Captain, are you hurt?”

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Fayt turned to regard his lieutenant with a weary sigh.

“I’m fine. Nothing a little fresh basil can’t fix,” he replied, only to pause as soon as he found himself surrounded by fawning and grateful villagers, their hands reaching out for him in reverence, murmuring countless praises for him and their new king for saving their lives.

They shoved raw herbs at him, flasks filled with mysterious concoctions and unproven remedies, some even offered small worn out bags of fol. Fayt declined their gifts with a charismatic smile, overwhelmed by the people’s kindness, but nevertheless grateful. These villagers barely made enough as it was, and with the insane amount of damages the recent dragon attack caused, Fayt knew Arias would need every fol, every bit of supplies they could salvage now… But he supposed he could accept a vial of basil salve for his petrified arm.

Slowly, the villagers left; guided away by the other knights to begin repairs on what could; evaluate the extent of damage and whether the people needed to be relocated, or if a temporary camp would suffice. The lieutenant approached the blue-haired teen and placed a hand over his heart in salute.

“That was very brave and noble of you, Captain! You saved Arias and none were hurt thanks to your valiant efforts.”

“Yeah, well, dad always said one should tackle a candle before it becomes a blaze,” said Fayt as he applied some salve onto his arm with a shrug and wince. “Nn… Although, I think a candle’s less troublesome than an impenetrable Earth dragon.”

His lieutenant chuckled. “You managed it, regardless.”

“I guess…” he trailed off, frowning down at the wide soulless eyes of the slain draconian that stared back at him. But I’m not so sure.

After all, they hadn’t had any dragon attacks for the last 2 years.

“Captain!”

A squire burst through a thicket of trees, having returned from scouting the area up ahead prior to the dragon attack. He saluted his superiors, panting behind his helmet.

“Forgive the intrusion, but there’s – “ he suddenly noticed the dragon carcass and blinked stupidly. “Uh… what?”

“Never mind that,” Fayt interrupted irritably, not exactly keen on recounting the events of the last hour. “What is it?”

“Up ahead where the old village of Surferio used to be,” the squire indicated with his thumb, demeanor and voice turning nervous. “Erm… you should really see for yourself, sir. It’s not safe to continue our search for the humanoid here. We should leave.”

Fayt frowned at his subordinate’s words and pushed past him to enter a vaguely familiar, yet underutilized clearing. Unconsciously, his fingers curled around the locket hanging from his neck. Roger. Nostalgia and desperation seized him as his feet took him down an old, uneven dirt path, until he reached the wooden platforms of a rundown bridge spanning across a wide river – and that was where he saw it. One would be blind not to: a giant cockatrice bent over the waters, gazing at its reflection in horror, as it stood frozen in stone. Had these monsters taken up residence here? They had best leave if that was the case...

Then again, the discovery was more than a little shocking and peculiar; no cockatrice would willingly seek out its own reflection; and Fayt had a funny feeling that the monster had been tricked somehow. And he could only think of one person who had the brains and balls to pull off a stunt like that.

This has Roger written all over it, he thought, and his suspicions were confirmed the moment his gaze fell onto a pair of broken glasses in the dirt. His eyes widened and his heart plummeted straight down to his stomach.

No!

Fear seized him; but Fayt paused when he realised something: if the cockatrice had turned to stone and Roger’s body was nowhere to be found, then his beloved Menodix was still alive. He had to be. The scene before him painted as clear a picture as any: Roger, for whatever reason, had returned to his old village, got attacked by a cockatrice, managed to outsmart it at the last second and escaped. Where the child was now though, was not the main point. Roger was alive and that knowledge was more than enough to grant Fayt’s turbulent mind some rest after months of searching, worrying and fearing for the worst.

He’s alive… now I just have to find him.

But that also meant he needed to report his latest findings to Luther.

Fayt deliberated his position: would withholding information from his king, albeit temporarily, be considered a breech of trust and sign of insubordination? And even if he waited and did manage to find Roger, he was still expected to hand the boy over to Luther, who no doubt had every intention to have his sick and twisted way with him. The mere thought made Fayt’s guts churn in disgust. At the end of the day though, he was still a Leingod and loyal servant to the king; Luther’s happiness was his pride. But when the time came, when he finally reunited with the boy, he honestly didn’t know if he could let Roger go.

Sophia, what should I do?

That brief moment of hesitation caused him to notice something else buried in the sand. It was partially hidden, small and dark, so much so that he would have missed it if not for the light briefly catching off its smooth, shining surface. Curious, Fayt eased the dirt aside and pulled it out, only to realise that said object was not small at all – in fact, it was a black dragon scale roughly the size of his palm.

“By Apris,” he breathed, gripped by a sudden morbid fascination. A Black Dragon. He had never seen a black dragon before, much less even knew they existed. Fayt heard of Fire, Ice, Earth, Wind and Poison dragons – he had his fair share of battles against them after all – but never Black ones. Were they rare? Had they been hiding all this time? Why were none of them ever documented in books or ancient scriptures? Was he mistaken? But he was absolutely positive this was a dragon’s scale...

Suddenly, his battle with the mad Earth dragon flashed across his mind and he remembered how much more dangerous those beasts had become. And Roger had been in the same vicinity as this Black dragon...

This isn’t good at all.

“Squire!”

“Captain,” saluted the rookie.

“I need to leave on urgent business to Lansfeld Castle,” said Fayt, expression hard and deathly serious. He didn’t know if this Black Dragon took Roger or not, but he wasn’t going to eliminate the possibility. Luther was the most knowledgeable in the land about dragons; perhaps the king could shed some light on these latest happenings, especially if it involved his consort-to-be.

“Tell the lieutenant to round up all the villagers and prepare them for transport to the shelter at the Holy Chapel of Aquois. I’ll draft a missive about the current situation and you’re to deliver it to the princess immediately,” Fayt instructed, as he turned to fix the young squire with a meaningful stare. “You’re right; it’s not safe here. For everyone.”

“But what about the humanoid?” piped the squire, obviously confused. “Didn’t his and her majesty say we aren’t to return without the brat?”

Just this once, Fayt allowed the insult to slide.

“Look, we can either spend all morning debating which of our priorities are more important, or we can do what we do best and protect the kingdom.”

First, the mad Earth Dragon; now, the appearance of an elusive Black Dragon. Fayt didn’t understand what was going on, but he felt it in the air that something bad was about to happen.

“The dragon threat is real and we need to stop it before Aquor’s forced back into the dark ages.”

The squire stuttered. “B-B the last time… then the next… King Luther won’t listen!“

Fayt’s grip on the black scale tightened. “The king has no choice but to listen, especially if he knows what’s truly important.”

He’d listen to me. He has to. If our hearts are in the same place, his majesty would surely put an end to this mad obsession and return to reason.

But then why did the bent frames of Roger’s broken glasses feel heavier in his hand?

“Pops, I’m hungry!”

Aznor Huxley paused in mid-play, his fingers hovering over the keys of his faithful old piano. That small yet high-pitch interruption disturbed the silence of the inn – not that it proved an inconvenience or anything; after all, they hadn’t had a guest since the first snowflake fell.

Hiding his troubles behind a practiced smile, the Menodix turned to gaze down fondly at his son – 8 years old and oh so small, but full of promise and energy. It was also no surprise that the boy was always hungry – and things didn’t help when their crops had failed and the humans took whatever remained of their harvest. At least they had the forest on their side: there were just enough berries and mushrooms to go around Surferio, if they rationed carefully enough.

“What is it, Roger?” he asked kindly, ever-patiently. The child was still so young, he hardly understood. Forte and himself hadn’t eaten in two days, but at least Roger had three mulberries for breakfast. Alas, that was 12 hours ago.

Roger struggled up the piano bench with his small stubby legs and climbed into his father’s lap, whining loudly.

“I’m hungry and it really hurts…”

He clutched his stomach, ears pressed flat against his head, and Aznor had to resist pulling his son against him and breaking down completely. Never did he or his wife view Roger as a mistake; he was the best thing that had ever happened to them in this wretched world; but the boy was innocent and didn’t deserve to go through such suffering. Instead, he offered his son a reassuring pat on the head.

“Hm… why not we do something to take your mind off the pain?” he suggested.

“Huh?” Roger cocked his head curiously. “Like what?”

“This,” Aznor replied, running his fingers across the black and white keys. “I’ll teach you how to play the piano. You’ve always enjoyed watching mama and I perform for the guests; why not join us?”

Roger’s tail wagged eagerly at his father’s words. His big brown eyes sparkled like the millions of snowflakes falling from the sky outside the window.

“R-Really? Ya mean it?” But he paused and bit his lower lip, hesitant, as he eyed the piano, which to him, looked bigger than it actually was. “It… it looks kinda hard…”

Aznor chuckled through his nose. “I suppose it can look a little intimidating at first, especially when you don’t know the notes and how each key sounds.” His fingers glided gracefully across a few choice keys, producing a simple and uplifting 4-chord melody. “But I promise it’ll get easier the more you practice. Of course, there’s something else you’d need to play the piano.”

“Wazzat, Pops?”

“Passion.”

Roger stared up at his father quizzically, while the older Menodix simply shut his eyes and let his fingers dance expertly over the keys. Aznor allowed the music to take him; fill him up completely and explode in a flourish of sound and colour. It wasn’t an excerpt from a piece Roger knew; in fact, it seemed completely spontaneous, beautiful. Was this what inspiration looked like?

But almost as soon as it started, the music stopped and Aznor returned his gaze to his son, his amber eyes twinkling with a mysterious light. At that moment, Roger thought his father looked older, wiser; a vessel of secrets and profound knowledge beyond their time or any human comprehension. Somehow, he had a feeling that if asked to perform that enchanting melody once more, his father wouldn’t be able to – and that was ok, because it was born out of heart and that was what made it beautiful, alive and therefore, precious in its fleeting impermanence. What remained though, was the composer’s heart.

“Music is life’s greatest magic,” Aznor explained. “It’s born from silence; it connects people – and from that connection, therein lies the greatest capacity for love. Sometimes, music expresses what cannot be said – and that’s why one listens not with your ears, but with your heart.”

“So… ta learn music, ya gotta have a whole lotta love?” asked Roger with a skeptical pout. “I thought it was about practice and stuff, and whether ya had it in ya.”

“You could do that,” said Aznor with a shrug. “But your melodies would be empty and your song would die the moment you stop playing. Love, my son, is what allows your music – and therefore, your memory to live on.”

The child listened to his father’s words in quiet reverence; confused but at the same time, oddly inspired. It was hard to feel hungry when there were butterflies in one’s stomach from the eagerness to learn. So, without wasting anymore time, Roger climbed off Aznor’s lap to settle next to the older Menodix on the piano bench. He cracked his knuckles before allowing them to hover over a bunch of keys, gazing up at his father’s face expectantly.

“Teach me,” he insisted, and Aznor couldn’t help but oblige his son’s request with a bemused smile.

“First of all,” he began, “know that love is like playing music.” He taught Roger the notes, then a few basic chords, all of which the child could follow and mimic flawlessly. “You begin by playing by the rules, then…” He took a deep breath and allowed the music to lead him once again, this time in a flurry of complicated notes; a dramatic concert of one, as Aznor made his climatic ascent, like there was something there just over the peak of his emotions. “Then, you must forget the rules and play from your heart.”

Roger grinned. “Was that how ya won mama’s love?”

“Nah.” And at this, Aznor’s eyes twinkled meaningfully. “That was how we shared a soul.”

They turned their gazes back to the black-and-white keys and began their lesson proper. Aznor would play the first verse part-by-part, and Roger would copy it, albeit stumbling along the way.

“Always remember, my son: passion is the root of all music. It gives it its strength; it’s only strength. Without passion, there is no love.”

On and on they did this, until they had a rhythm; and as the years passed, they had a song – grandiose, elaborate, yet honest in its simplicity. Then, the dragon attacked, and the inn around them disappeared. His father disappeared. The piano disappeared, until Roger was the only one left in a dark, lonely void; him and the haunting melody of his father’s song…

It pulled him out of his sleep and into consciousness.

Roger stirred beneath the downy, silken sheets; his tiny fingers curling and uncurling into his pillow; and his nose twitched in his half-asleep, half-awake state. A frown marred his soft features, his furry ears twitching and swiveling lazily in an unconscious effort to chase the source of that beautiful melody and have things return to the way they once were. His past. His parents. The only time he had truly been happy.

He didn’t want to wake up.

‘As long as I’m here, as long as I live, I’ll help ya carry yer cross...’

But then, he remembered that he had someone in this world waiting for him, and that was all the reason he needed to make that last leap from the land of dreams to the land of the living. When his mind caught up to the present, Roger realised with startling clarity that the music he heard in his dream was actually coming from this very room. Subconsciously, he supposed that made sense; after all, his father died 2 years ago. So, who was playing the piano now?

Slowly, Roger’s eyes parted, but everything appeared blurry and it was so hard to stay awake. Heavy. His soul felt heavy. It was a struggle to get his body to listen to him: his hands didn’t work and his head refused to move; his gaze stayed rooted to the spot in front of him, but when the fog of sleep finally cleared, everything snapped into focus.

Nightfall. The West Wing. He was in Albel’s room, on Albel’s bed. That observation should have scared or embarrassed him; after all, it was unbecoming to seek refuge in another man’s bed, let alone the master of the castle, but strangely enough, Roger didn’t feel any of those emotions. Instead, all he felt, wrapped up in Albel’s scent and remnants of his warmth, was a deep and comforting peace. He felt protected, cared for, complete. How strange, he mused, that the same man who had loathed his very existence, could now place him on a pedestal and make him feel like the most special and important person in the world. Albel really would do anything for him. It was enough to put a soft smile on his face.

Albel…

Suddenly, images of their time at the lake; the crying and screaming; the horrifying feel of the swordsman’s pale and unmoving body as he struggled to keep them both afloat; falling asleep in Albel’s arms – the memories rushed to the forefront of Roger’s mind. He became painfully aware of the other’s absence, and the true fear he experienced when he thought he had failed to save the older man, returned.

Where was he? Albel promised he’d be here when he woke up; he didn’t understand. When was it now exactly, anyway? What time was it? It was dark outside like it had been before he had fallen asleep, so… how long had he been out for? A few hours, maybe less? He still felt exhausted though – was his body fighting to recover from the effects of hypothermia? Had Albel recovered? Was he ok? People who survived death should not be walking around so soon. Why wasn’t Albel here like he said he would be? He promised…

Fear. Hurt. Worry. They ate away at Roger’s heart and he would have cried if his body had the strength to follow through. Albel had tried to kill himself and he had been so close to doing it too. That thought alone was so terrifying, it plagued Roger’s brain and filled it with tumulus visions of ‘what if’s’ and ‘maybes’. Before he met Albel, he used to be so sure of himself; now, he felt even more uncertain than anything. It was strange how innocence granted one an impenetrable ego, yet experience and knowledge prompted one to give into doubt and uncertainty. It really made him wonder: after everything said and done between them, of all the promises and reassurances Roger had given the older man, would Albel continue to make attempts on his own life? If the swordsman tried again while he was asleep, if he was actually successful this time and Roger wasn’t there to stop him, if their past exchange on this very bed was the last time he heard Albel’s voice and felt those strong arms around him, if he had to live with the knowledge that he failed and lost someone whom he...

You what? A voice in his head mocked him and that question gave him pause. Something warm and compelling blossomed in his chest, made it feel tight. He didn’t know what it was, but if there was something Roger did know, it was that he didn’t want to return to a world without Albel in it.

Suddenly, the piano playing (which previously existed as background noise to his growing thoughts) grew increasingly fevered. The music struck a crescendo that resonated throughout the room and caused Roger’s body to reverberate from the intensity.

So, it wasn’t a dream.

His gaze traveled across the room and landed on a tall, lone figure hunched over a black piano, back towards him, as the man played with a passion that seemed almost uncharacteristic of his person, yet spellbindingly attractive. The pianist was half-naked; a bandage wrapped around his torso and his long, unbound hair cascaded down his broad, muscled back in waves. The gauntlet was gone, lost to the frigid waters of the dark lake, and in its place was a scarred arm – red, patchy and imperfect, but more or less normal and most definitely functional. Roger caught himself staring at said appendage, though the shock came more from seeing Albel without his gauntlet, than the appearance of his bare arm itself. Scars made a man and told a story, and the master of the castle was a never-ending trove of stories and secrets. He was like a good book Roger never wanted to put down. To him, right now, Albel never looked more perfect.

As the silhouette of his father grew increasingly faint, Albel’s figure stood vividly in its place, very much alive. Immediately, his fears left him and Roger allowed himself to relax and sink further into the large, comfy mattress. He released a contented sigh.

He’s here… he stayed.

Here in this space, it was just the two of them – undisturbed and pure, whatever history that surrounded them, irrelevant. The longer Roger listened and watched the master play, the deeper the connection he felt with him. In these few months, Albel had allowed him into both his world and mind, and he was able to see the swordsman, not as a broken and lonely man full of hate and mistrust, but an inherently good person, who was learning how to love every day and showed the greatest capacity for it. While he was getting better at reading between the lines, there were admittedly times of silence when he could not read the subliminal messages on Albel’s face and his actions; but now – now he knew that Albel possessed an inclination towards music, and from the passionate way the man played, poured out his life story in elaborate verses and titillating chords, Roger felt like he wouldn’t be able to stop listening. Not that he wanted to, of course.

‘Sometimes, music expresses what cannot be said – and that’s why one listens not with your ears, but with your heart.’

And so, like his father taught him, Roger listened with an open heart and mind.

Like the song in his dream, the music was heavy, wrought with emotion and oh so moving in its haunting tale. There were instances of innocence, pain, grief, power and acceptance; but there were also echoes of fear, of inner demons and shadows, and a cyclical regret brought on by one’s own pride. From the music, he saw a cold, dark and enchanting castle tucked away in a fairytale wood; saw lavish parties and beautiful people dancing and singing in ballrooms night after night. He saw a young boy run through long, empty corridors; alone, without another loving soul in sight. He felt pain, anger and self-loathing, a desperate longing for peace and redemption; then, he felt a change. He saw a small light, felt hope and happiness lift his spirit, take it by the hands and lead him on an adventure. The boy was now a man, as cold, distant and untouchable as December; but something had changed. The man’s dreams were slain, yet there was adoration in his eyes, an inexplicable lightness in his soul. There was freedom in redemption. There was peace in learning to live with oneself.

It was amazing: Roger never knew Albel could play the piano like that, like the instrument was part of him. It was hypnotizing to watch those long fingers expertly weave and string together notes so seamlessly, so beautifully; to conjure up images and verses without needing to look or speak. At that moment, Roger felt a connection – something science and all the books in the world could not explain to him; and he wondered if this was what his father had meant by sharing a soul.

Eventually, the song tapered off into its final notes. Albel allowed his fingers to linger on the keys for a bit, before he withdrew his hands with a slow exhale, catching his breath and returning to the present. Too passionate. That observation brought a dark, displeased scowl upon his face. Playing the piano had always been a private privilege for him, an act he dared only to indulge in when the king and queen were not immediately present. Nevertheless, he had never once allowed himself to be lost to the throes of his muse – and in a rare moment of utter ignorance, his actions finally caught up to his brain and confusion settled in when he realised that he had not touched the piano in 9 years.

It was pathetically sentimental and romantic, both of which he found weak and revolting; yet, here he was submitting himself to those who would listen and serenading to his love who would never hear him. It’s that cumbersome humanoid brat, Albel thought, contemplating this latest development and experienced an unusual bout of anxiety: a lack of control, emotional inclination and impulsivity, too many changes and an uncertainty of the future. Admitting to himself that he loved Roger was not the hard part. He already knew that. What destroyed him however, was his inability to act on those emotions, unless Roger felt the same.

Would I be able to live? That was a question the child had helped him answer, and he knew now that he could. He may not have the humanoid’s love in return, but it was something he learned to accept. What they had between them was enough – at least, he had been sure of that, until he turned around and met Roger’s eyes from across the room.

The boy gave a start. Albel’s own eyes widened just a fraction from the surprise of being watched, but his expression quickly fell into his usual guarded self – hard, stoic and unreadable. Mentally, he groaned in frustration. The brat really had a knack for undermining his convictions.

“You’re awake,” he pointed out, however there was no malice in his voice, only an usual gentleness that went completely missed by the sleepy child on his bed.

Roger yawned and stretched out adorably like a kitten, oblivious to the effect his innocent actions had on the master. “How – he grimaced at the sound of his sandpaper voice – how long was I out fer?”

“A day,” Albel answered without missing a beat, clearing his throat discreetly. His answer however, had Roger struggling to sit up in seconds.

“A whole day?!” His body must have given out after that stressful ordeal back at the lake. “I… I should go! T-This is yer bed and –“

Roger stopped abruptly when he found himself eye level to Albel’s very naked, very toned chest. He blushed profusely. Gah! When did he get so close?!

“H-Hey, lookit ya! Ya look fine, so I-I’ll go now! Sorry fer imposin’ so long! Lots ta do!”

With every word his voice grew increasingly shrill and squeaky, until he was borderline screeching. Albel growled, already feeling a headache coming along – and what the hell, the insufferable boy had only just woke up!

“Shut. Up.”

He pressed a finger to the Menodix’s forehead and shoved Roger back onto the mattress. The child bounced a little from the impact, speechless, eyes blown wide from shock, only to have them grow impossibly wider when Albel crawled towards him and leaned over his prone form. Roger’s breath hitched and he did his best to suppress a squeak of embarrassment, but he was sure Albel heard him if that amused smirk on the man’s lips were any indication of it.

Things took on a different perspective for him on the bed. Last night, he hardly noticed anything when he had been the one straddling Albel; now, with smoldering red eyes boring down intently into his own brown ones, and the man’s tight muscles as they strained to support him upright, Roger realised how powerful Albel really was and how privileged he himself was to have all that raw strength and attention devoted completely to him. Albel was a lot bigger than him and the swordsman looked even more intimidating up close, but not in a scary way, not anymore. True, Roger still felt like Albel wanted to eat him sometimes; still felt like the dragon’s prey; but a different sort. Roger may be 12, but he wasn’t completely innocent; he saw the way Albel looked at him: his lingering stares full of longing; teasing touches; playful double entendres; their ever-shrinking proximity. It was almost…

Sexual.

His face burned brighter and he frantically shook his head. No, you’re just hungry and ain’t thinking straight. But there was no escaping Albel’s vermillion stare. His eyes seemed darker and more intense, as they mapped out every feature, every groove, subtle whisker and baby soft pout of the child’s slightly chapped and pretty pink lips. Albel leaned closer until his face was hovering directly over Roger’s, their noses barely touching, breaths mingling in the tiny space between parted lips. Large hands moved up the boy’s arms, a sensual albeit tentative caress, before trapping the humanoid’s wrists in a firm grip and bringing them over his head. Never once did Albel break his stare and Roger found himself wishing he wouldn’t either. A deep, contemplative expression adorned the silent man’s face; curious even; and the Menodix was torn between feeling aroused and hopelessly confused.

“A-Albel…?” he whispered breathlessly.

Said man bumped their noses with surprising tenderness. It made something in Roger’s chest flutter pleasantly.

“Sleep here, fool,” said Albel in a soothing whisper. “My dragon form aided in my recovery. You need your rest.”

“But–“

“Hush!”

And that was that.

Albel slid off the boy gracefully and moved to grab a tight-fitting tunic folded neatly on a nearby chair. He pulled it over his head and the midriff garment didn’t leave much to the imagination, ending just above his waist. Then, he grabbed his katana and strapped it to his hip. Roger watched all this with a curious tilt of his head.

“Ya goin’ out?” he asked, knowing full well that Albel stepping out of the castle was as good as suicide–

He paused and shook his head frantically. No, none of that now.

“Bah! Lasbard has arranged a… friendly sparring session for us in the courtyard,” said Albel with a scoff; and the way he said ‘friendly’ clearly hinted he had no intention of being friendly with Adray at all. “Humph, I have no interest in trouncing weaklings, though seeing as you’re clearly awake, I see no reason to remain here.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re extremely noisy and foolish.”

“Hey!”

Roger fumed at the grumpy man’s words. Yeesh, rude much? He had half the mind to tell the guy off and defend his and the servants’ honor. The only reason they agreed to come up with a stupid schedule for Albel in the first place was because they obviously cared about him. The master was depressed and they were determined to fill his life with purpose. The guy really had a funny way of showing gratitude… wait.

Roger stopped and thought about that – really thought Albel’s words through. If the guy didn’t appreciate his servants’ efforts and truly felt their attempts were ‘foolish’ like he said, then he wouldn’t even bother meeting with Adray. And if Albel actually despised his company, then he wouldn’t have spent 12 hours waiting for him to wake up. Huh. That last thought made Roger smile; Albel really did care. Although he had no idea why something so small could have such an effect on him, he didn’t really care to dwell on it. He just felt so happy. Albel made him happy – and he was so glad that his mean ol’ swordsman was still alive.

“You stayed,” Roger whispered in awe, the smile never once faltering. The sheets felt so nice and warm; Albel’s scent was everywhere; he felt so tired and his eyelids began to droop, but he fought to keep his consciousness above the clouds. “You’re here.”

Albel stopped short, the Menodix’s words having a greater impact on him than he cared to admit. His throat tightened and his heart beat faster; and then in four quick strides, he was back at Roger’s side. The usual irritated glower was gone and in its place was a look of utmost adoration reserved exclusively for his little Menodix.

Before he could stop himself, Albel reached down to scratch behind Roger’s ears, the comforting action further lulling the humanoid to sleep.

“My little fool, I gave you my word that I’d be here when you wake up, did I not?” said Albel, breathing low against a twitchy ear. The smirk on his face was a terribly sentimental one. “Though, you were the one who promised to stay by my side, first.”

He slid his fingers from Roger’s ears to gently caress the child’s face with the back of his hand. Those long, elegant digits lingered there, almost as if Albel himself did not wish to go.

“Stay,” came the soft whine from the bed, as if Roger had read his mind. Albel offered him a rueful smile.

“I must leave, it’s almost sunrise,” he murmured regretfully, but added as an afterthought, “However, you are welcome to join me at the North Tower between the hours of 4 and 5 when you wake. There is… something I wish to give you.”

Give… me…? But Roger was out like a light before he could utter another word.

Albel watched the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of the boy’s chest for a while; allowed his little inventor to dream wonderful and impossible dreams, before he stepped away and headed for the door. A blue haired maiden waited for him on the other side. She gave her master a curt nod.

“Good evening, master. I presume all is well with Roger?”

Albel simply nodded in response, before stepping around his bodyguard to continue his trek through the castle. Maria promptly followed in step behind him.

“Get Koas to attend to him. I do not wish him to be alone or hungry when he eventually wakes.”

“Understood.” She managed to catch up to the master’s long strides. “Shall I take the liberty in reading your schedule this week? At 4am, you’ll resume your lessons on national and cross-cultural diplomacy with Misty at the study. At 5.15am, you’ll proceed to the ballroom for your dance lessons with Peppita. At 5.45am, I’ll accompany you back to the West Wing. Tomorrow, Mackwell wishes to speak with you about those conductors you wanted installed around the castle for Roger’s ‘channeled force’ experiment. Seeing as that might take up most of your evening, I’ve pushed your Runology training with Nel and Clair to the following–“

“That won’t be necessary, Traydor,” interrupted Albel, which caused said woman to frown. Had she offended the master in some way?

“Why not?”

Her question made the man’s shoulders slump in defeat.

“It’s December,” he answered with an air of finality, as if that word alone was explanation enough. “I– we don’t have much time.” His statement left a deafening silence in its wake, but he knew that Maria was still listening. “I – he hesitated – appreciate what you and the others are doing to help me… but I wish to spend my remaining days with the boy. If it’s alright with you.”

Maria’s eyes widened from the master’s humble request, before her gaze softened in understanding, her smile bittersweet. Three days to the master’s 24th birthday – that was all they had left.

“Of course,” she replied. “I… I’ll inform the rest.”

As the pair descended the stairs towards the courtyard, Albel couldn’t help but pay close attention to his boots as they made resounding clips through the halls as he walked. Each echo sounded more booming than the last. He knew his days as a human, as well as his ability to walk through these halls (something he had taken for granted), were drawing to a close. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to remember he even had these sorrowful thoughts, or miss being human at all.

Despite this, all Albel could think about was the little Menodix child sleeping in his bed, and wondered if love really made people think and do crazy things. It must be so, he concluded; there was no other explanation; because for the first time in forever, Albel didn’t dread the coming of sunrise.

“Ok, tell me again why we’re up here?”

They were standing on the largest balcony of the North Tower, overlooking the gardens. The large black dragon next to him snorted in exasperation, twin puffs of smoke escaping from its nostrils. It fixed its small, feisty companion with a pointed stare, bright vermillion irises seeming to say, “You know why.” Roger let out an impatient huff and folded his arms.

“Ya have summin’ ta give me, I know…” But he couldn’t take the anticipation and threw up his arms, his large doe-eyes searching Albel’s own amused ones, imploringly. “So what is it? What’s this big secret? Tell me!”

Cute. The humanoid never could contain his curiosity. If dragons could smirk, Albel would have. Instead, he simply jerked his head towards the balcony edge, before returning his gaze to the perplexed Menodix. He repeated the action a few times, until Roger finally got it.

“What, ya want me ta stand there? What’s the difference?” he wondered, but obliged Albel’s strange request anyway. He moved to stand by the stone railings. “Ok, now what? Where’s my present? Gimme!” He stuck out his hands and made a grabby motion with his fingers.

Albel let out a frustrated growl and had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Honestly, this would be so much easier if he could speak. For a genius, Roger could be as dense as a brick sometimes.

Spreading his large, powerful wings, Albel took off the balcony and flew to the side of the tower. Then, he dug his claws into hard brick and clung onto the side of a turret, folding his wings. Now perched comfortably, he sought Roger’s gaze once again and allowed his eyes to dart back and forth between the child and the railings, growling and hissing in different intonations like he was trying to communicate something to the boy – which he probably was. Damn worm, why was this so needlessly difficult?

Roger frowned, tilting his head this way and that as he contemplated the dragon’s peculiar behavior. He didn’t get it; Albel wanted him at this very spot and he humored him, so why was he being such an impossible prick about it? All over some stupid, mysterious present too! The moron could have just told him what it was, instead of being so cryptic.

Unless… oh no, no, no.

Roger bit his lip nervously. No, that was crazy! Albel didn’t mean what he thought he meant… did he? His gaze lingered on the scenery just beyond the stone barrier. It was dangerous, suicide! This was the highest point of the castle and Albel either forgot that Menodixes couldn’t fly, or he simply didn’t care if Roger died trying.

“Y-You’re crazy,” he stammered; yet his feet and hands moved on their own accord to scale the stone railings. I’m crazy.

Slowly, Roger hoisted himself onto the flat surface and rose on (very) shaky legs. His brain screamed at every single part and organ of his body to man up and balance for his life, which was precisely what was at stake here. His palms felt ridiculously sweaty and everytime he looked down, the ground seemed to rush up at him and he experienced a fleeting sense of vertigo. Quickly, he shut his eyes and mentally counted to 10 in a pathetic bid to keep his nerves and sanity in check. So far so good though; he hadn’t fallen or broken anything… or died…

Roger never knew he was afraid of heights. It suddenly occurred to him that he had never been this high up in his entire life. He was a village boy, who spent his free time reading books or pouring his energy over a new invention or hypothesis, not climbing trees or parking himself on anything more than two metres off the ground. He was so lost in his internal ramblings and mounting panic that he failed to notice his companion’s presence, until Albel was right at his face. He gave a start when he felt hot dragon breath tickle his cheek, nearly causing him to lose his footing as a result.

“You’re crazy!”

The black dragon really rolled his eyes this time. Idiot. And with a powerful sweep of his tail, Albel knocked Roger clean off the tower.

Roger screamed and screamed as he hurtled through the air and towards the hard, unforgiving ground below. The horizon and surrounding trees faded into a blur of colour and light. Everything rushed past him. Wind pierced his skin and stung his eyes; he wanted to shut them, but he was too afraid to. Harder and harder gravity tugged at him, and Roger could have sworn he saw his entire life flash before his eyes. He screamed louder than he had ever done before, more desperate and driven purely by absolute fear – of falling, of the unknown, of dying faster than his mind could wrap around, and forgoing his dreams. Was Albel trying to kill him? He shut his eyes tightly when the ground grew closer, but a few tears managed to escape. Was this the end? Did all 12 years of his wretched existence come down to this pathetic moment where he inadvertently instigated his own death?

All of a sudden, there was a rush of wind, booming and billowing around him like a storm. And just when Roger thought he was going to kiss the gravel, something firm and scaly caught him in mid-fall and he landed on his front face-first with a painful, “Oof!” Almost immediately, he felt the ‘ground’ move and he instinctively clung tight onto whatever his hands could find, which happened to be a pair of smooth black horns. That actually made him pause and blink slowly with dawning comprehension.

Huh? What the… Albel?!

The dragon gave a little twist and swooped upwards past the trees, past the December fog, and overtook a flock of geese. They left behind stonewalls and pointed turrets in a whoosh; the lake’s rushing water and crashing waterfalls receded into a faint murmur behind them. Higher and higher they soared, weaving between snowy gales, touching clouds and sunbeams… with Roger screaming all the way.

Finally, Albel stopped to hover in mid-flight, his large wings and tail working effortlessly to keep him upright and afloat. That was when he took a look at his castle, actually looked at its elaborate architecture and romantic visage with a fresh perspective.

The once extravagant, shining fortress that served as his home and prison for over 20 years, appeared nothing more than a grand dollhouse from where they were. The land around it stretched out further than the eye could see, and although it made for a breathtaking sight, Albel finally understood that there was more to life than just his glittering palace, himself and all the people living in it. Viewing its insignificance in a much larger world was a humbling experience. He hardly recognised it; his kingdom was growing, changing, reinventing itself and soon enough, it would be more than just Aquor, more than a single country and voice. His father had been wrong to hold onto his pride and power the way he did, and his thirst for conquering new lands eventually killed him. If the people’s lives and a nation’s sovereignty were truly what mattered most, then did it not make sense to make allies, instead of enemies? The Albel 9 years ago would never have considered that, but he was a different man now. His only regret was that he had learned the truth too late.

Looking away, Albel turned his head to check on his charge, only to let out a deep, amused rumble at the sight before him. Roger’s hair and clothes were a complete disaster; they stuck out at funny places; his face was a little pale and he looked like he was trying his best not to throw up. Well, at least the boy had stopped screaming.

“Do ya have rocks fer brains?!”

Somewhat.

“Ya pushed me off a tower, ya jerk! I could’ve died!” Roger flailed on the dragon’s back. Well, he would have if he wasn’t holding on for dear life, but it was the thought that counted. “How’s this – the wind smacked a lock of hair in his face and he blew it away in annoyance – how’s this a gift? Gifts are supposed ta be nice, not deadly!

He didn’t get it. Seriously, what had Albel been thinking? It was pretty disappointing; he honestly thought that Albel and him shared something special, meaningful even. They had grown closer over the last few months and Roger believed the master at least cherished him as a friend, as he did him, so why? Dragons could fly; he couldn’t. Albel knew this. And yet he...

A memory flashed through his mind: a trip to the woods; a conversation beneath the stars; a moment of vulnerability immortalized in time.

‘When I’m with ya, I feel like… like I can be so much more.’

The emotions surged through his chest and Roger grabbed at his vest, fingers digging into and twisting the fabric in a bid to calm his racing heart. Suddenly, it didn’t even matter if he was over 50 feet in the air or whatever… because he wasn’t alone.

‘You are so much more, and you always will be. Never think otherwise.’

Albel…

Cheeks flushed, Roger lifted his gaze to meet piercing vermillion eyes that were no doubt on him. Albel stared at his little fool with a hopeless look of endearment – relaxed features, the slightest tilt of his head and soft eyes. “Do you like it?” they seemed to ask. With a shy, grateful smile, Roger reached up to stroke the dragon’s muzzle and nodded his head.

‘Anyway, there’s another dream I have, but this one’s kinda silly… I wanna fly!’

“Ya remembered,” said Roger in a hoarse whisper, voice thick with emotion. The late afternoon sunlight reflected off his brown eyes, making them appear almost amber as they sparkled beautifully, full of gratitude and adoration. They soon fell shut when he leaned in to press his forehead against the great dragon’s own.

“Thank ya.”

And he meant every word from the bottom of his heart.

A pleased rumble escaped the confines of Albel’s scaly throat. The vibrations traveled up Roger’s limbs, across his skin, and made him giggle. At that moment, he didn’t feel so scared anymore. In fact…

“Say, Albel, I’ve been wondering,” he began, eyes flashing mischievously, “how high can ya go?”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed in excitement. Was that a challenge?

As if sensing his intent, Roger readjusted his posture and grip around Albel, before the latter arched his spikey back and shot upwards towards the clouds. Faster and faster Albel went, his great wings beating against the current, his sharp tail navigating through the skies like a sea serpent. Through it all, Roger squealed happily as he hugged Albel around his neck, eyes narrowing against the frigid winds and the occasional snow, but never once expressed his discomfort; after all, it wasn’t everyday you got to fly on a dragon.

Breathless. He felt breathless: from the exhilaration, the sights, the sounds and his defiance against gravity. He felt the rush of freedom, of blind confidence that often came with the thrill of adventure, taking him to new heights – and still, Albel took him higher, as they breached the cloudy coverlet and frolicked through the heavens.

Feeling a little bold, Roger would withdraw his hands occasionally, just long enough for Albel to toss the giggling child a few feet into the air, before swooping in to catch him every single time. They did this a few times, man and beast playing in their little sanctuary between heaven and earth, with nothing save the sun to witness their inseparable bond. However, it wasn’t long before both craved something more, something far more invigorating; a change in pace if you will. And so, with a mighty roar, Albel inclined his body and flew almost vertically upwards, before arching his neck backwards and bringing the rest of his body with him in a graceful loop-the-loop.

For a moment, Roger saw the world upside down: the clouds became the ground, while the forests turned to sky; but all things returned to their proper order once the loop was complete and they were flying again. The Menodix’s heart raced and his vision tunneled; his blood pounded a symphony in his ears from the adrenaline. On and on, they flew in circles, until Roger was gripped by the sudden urge to try something – probably insane – that he never thought he would ever suggest, let alone think about. Then again, he was with Albel; and the master’s influence made him do crazy things. So, when it looked as though Albel was readying to perform another stunt, Roger tossed aside all inhibitions and told his grumpy ol’ dragon-boy this:

“I trust ya.”

Albel’s eyes widened in surprise; but before he could fully process the implications of the boy’s words, he was already making another loop. Roger readied himself for the climax, feeling for the familiar rush of blood to his head that would indicate he was completely upside down.

“Catch me,” he whispered against the dragon’s ear – and then, he let go.

He fell straight down and fast. The chilly winds billowed around him, wrapped their tendrils around him in a mock cocoon, but doing little to reassure him of his safety. No, he was waiting for someone else. Someone whom he was now absolutely sure would protect him, fight for him, listen and keep him safe. Someone who truly cared about him: his thoughts, dreams and idle speculations. Someone who had already given him the world and then some. And then, as if on cue, a proud roar filled his ears, growing closer the faster Roger hurtled to the ground.

Albel swooped in and closed the distance between them at lightning speed. Roger twisted his body and grabbed onto Albel just as the latter turned and took off in the opposite direction. The master had successfully caught him again, not that Roger doubted him for a second, of course.

He nuzzled against Albel’s scales as he held his dragon close; they felt cold to the touch as all reptilian creatures went, but the familiarity provided a soothing comfort that Roger had never experienced. Maybe it was the knowledge that he had the loyalty and protection of a dragon, or simply because it was Albel; but he didn’t care. He trusted Albel to keep him safe always.

They eventually descended from their playground in the clouds with Roger laughing all the way, as he recovered from his high. The castle grounds came into view and they neared the expanse of the grand garden, but Albel was not done yet. With a graceful dip of his wings, Albel turned towards the Great Lake and slowed down, dipping the tips of his claws into the water, as he skimmed through the once still surface. Big brown eyes flashed in excitement. Maybe he could try one more thing...

Releasing his hold from around Albel, Roger shifted to establish some form of balance with his core, before spreading his arms wide, allowing his newfound freedom to take him. Water droplets sprayed against his cheeks and fingertips; they tickled and Roger giggled despite the cold. It was surprising how a place that housed one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, could easily change to become a picture of peace and perfection. And how perfect he felt, for his troubles and past sorrows had faded away like the tiny droplets which sprayed around them, soon lost to the wind.

“This is the best present ever!” Roger cheered over the sound of beating wings.

Albel acknowledged his praise with a triumphant roar. Perfect. Everything felt so perfect. And Albel knew that this would be a memory he would replay in his head over and over, until he could remember no more.

They flew towards the approaching sunset, chasing its fading rays; this being the first time the both of them had ever felt truly free.

Sunset.

The last few rays of winter light receded into a dark, purple-grey horizon. Twilight. The days were shorter; nighttime felt eternal; and to a certain fallen prince, the change was welcome in the face of  his last few days as a human – and Albel was treasuring every last bit of it.

A door creaked open and a long shadow fell across the marble floor. Albel Nox stepped silently into the East Wing, a certain Menodix child nestled tenderly in his arms. The day’s events finally caught up to the boy and he had fallen fast asleep no sooner than they landed at the courtyards. It was times like these that Roger reminded Albel of a stupidly innocent babe: the limitless energy he possessed over things that interested him, coupled with his ridiculous ability to fall asleep the moment that energy drained, made the resemblance terribly uncanny. Of course, it wasn’t Albel’s duty to carry all 30 kilograms of deadweight Menodix child clear across the castle grounds, up many stairs and many more halls, but… he had wanted to; and Roger wasn’t heavy anyway. Furthermore, he had been the one to initiate their date (could they call it that?), so he figured the least he could do was be a proper gentleman about it and escort the boy to his room.

“I’ve done all I can to give you everything. I hope this would warrant me a place in your memory,” said Albel with a heavy heart, as he pulled back the quilt and tucked the humanoid into bed. Then, as an afterthought, he ruffled Roger’s already unruly hair in parting.

“Sleep well, my little fool.”

The swordsman was just about to take his leave, when he felt a slight tug at his garments. Looking down, he immediately found the source of that disturbance: in his sleep, Roger had found the closest source of warmth and comfort, and clung on tight. It was apparent even his unconscious did not intend to let Albel go anytime soon.

The sight touched the master’s heart, and he found himself settling on the bed next to Roger, watching over him as he slept. A rare smile tugged at the corners of Albel’s lips.

I want him to remember me always, he decided, before reaching around his neck to unclasp a necklace where a small, circular key in the shape of a sun, dangled. He then retrieved a small music box he kept hidden beneath the faulds of his armor; the very same, sentimental piece from his childhood – the one thing that connected them and that Roger so hopelessly adored. In less than 3 days, he would have no use for it, along with everything he owned in this castle. Every room, every object and artifact, all his servants and every valuable piece of Aquor history housed within these walls, would belong to the humanoid, his precious little Roger. That is, if the child even chose to stay when the ‘him’ whom he knew was long gone.

Albel leaned in to hook the necklace around Roger’s tiny neck, smiling at the golden sun that winked at him from under the dim light of candles. It suits him, he thought, admiring the little trinket and how charming it looked on the Menodix. He thought it only fitting that he gave Roger the only key to his heart and soul.

Then, he gently pried away the boy’s fingers from his clothes and replaced it with the music box. Instinctively, Roger gripped the precious artifact tight and snuggled against it with an adorable sigh; his dreams filled with music, dragons and endless skies.

The Menodix’s joy filled him with a sense of peace he had not known for many years. His work here was done.

Unable to contain himself any further, Albel bridged the small gap between them, brushed aside messy auburn hair and placed a gentle, lingering kiss upon Roger’s brow. The latter slept on, blissfully unaware.

With that, Albel took his leave and shut the door quietly behind him.

The music box lay safely tucked against its new owner, twinkling mysteriously under the glow of muted candles. And if one listened closely enough, they would be able to hear the timeless melody of a young prince’s song, accompanied by the echoes of childish laughter from a memory that would last forever.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Hi, guys! Contrary to popular belief, I’m not dead yet. Granted, it’s been a really long time (about a year??) since I last updated this story, so I don’t blame you for thinking that I’ve abandoned it. Good news is, I haven’t! One thing to note about me and my writing is that I tend to jump between my existing fandoms depending on my mood or influences in my life at that point, so updates for certain stories tend to progress faster than others. And then, something happens: inspiration strikes or whatever, and I’m back again with a new chapter (or more) for a different story. A really disorganized and unhealthy system, I know, but that’s how it is. So, for those of you who have stuck by me and continue to encourage me, please know that I’m extremely grateful and I thank you, really thank you, from the bottom of my heart. For being so patient, understanding, and still so in love with my writing and stories until today. Without you, I would’ve really given up a long time ago. 

I’ve begun writing chapter 11 a few days ago and I’m about 1/4 done. We’re approaching the end of Beauty of the Beast, and this will be the climax of Roger and Albel’s relationship. I estimate about another 3 chapters (including this upcoming one) before this story is officially complete, so hang tight! :)