Chapter 2 - A Change in Scenery

Aven was to be washed before he was presented to the Prince. To say bathing was uncomfortable would be an understatement. It was horrendous. The arena baths were connected to the slave gallery, allowing for freshly washed slaves to be transported for viewing upon being dried. They were outrageously opulent. Water flowed from vases held by statues of angelic women, filling pools lined with mosaic tiles that glimmered a kaleidoscope of colours from the flickering torches.

Aven’s clothes were ripped from his back, breastplate clattering as it hit the ground and a knife tore through his slave garments.

As soon as he was undressed, with two guards at the door, elderly hands shoved him into the water, a trio of old women fussing over him as they worked. “Dirty, dirty,” one of them rasped. Aven grimaced as wrinkled fingers ripped through his hair, cutting and snipping away at curled locks.

It wasn’t the first time Aven had been washed like this.He had washed before with the buckets of water the slaves were given in their cells, but he only visited these baths when given *special* assignments by Joran.

He slammed his eyes shut and ignored the coarse cloths that scrubbed roughly at his entire body until there wasn’t a single bit of exposed flesh - sensitive or not - that hadn’t been rubbed raw and stung red.

The waxing… the waxing was painful. Strips of hot wax were laid out over his chest, legs, arms and jaw, peeling and pulling bits of hair that had Aven flinching until he was utterly bare and smooth.

“Is this the fashion of Aelorian nobility now?” He muttered. “To be as hairless as a newborn babe?” He winced at the sharp hand that rapped at his wrist.

“Quiet!” One of the women quipped, dragging him out of the baths. Aven was fitted with silks of scarlet and gold, the garments much too light and revealing for this climate.

The guards entered the room as one of the elderly women fastened a golden sash around Aven’s waist. The tips of their spears crackled with electricity in their grasps. “The Prince awaits,” one of them growls.

Aven swallowed the knot of terror growing like a tumor in his throat. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.”

They started down the long hall leading to the slave gallery. “You are not to speak unless spoken to,” one of the guards grunted in his ear. “You will address the prince as Your Highness, and fall to your knees when you greet him. Do I make myself clear?”

“Transparently.”

The slave gallery was one of the more sumptuous areas of the arena - given that it’s one of the few places nobility actually gets to see. Golden tiles covered the floor, and mosaic designs of bloody battles and slavery decorated the walls. Chandeliers of silver drip down from the ceiling. There’s no mistaking the posts that jut out from the great pillars holding aloft the ceiling - places where slaves would be chained as they’re viewed by potential buyers.

Approaching, a cool voice began to find Aven as it echoed across the room. “-a diplomatic mission to Faerun. Amn, in particular. A waste of time. Faerunians are loathsome oafs.”

“Amn?” The voice of Joran. “My lord, of all countries of Faerun to visit, you should feel fortunate to visit Amn. Beautiful countryside! It’s known as the Merchant’s Domain for a reason, you know.”

“And yet they’ve outlawed magic even in their most prominent city. I find that distasteful in itself.”

Aven and his escorts drew closer. He could see his master standing beside the young Prince, looking as though he were about to piss himself in anticipation. Prince Lucian held frigid disinterest upon his features as he half listened. As soon as Aven entered into the room, the young man’s eyes locked on him, freezing Aven in place.

"It’s about time.” He approached, hands locked behind his back. “When you’re summoned, you’re expected to arrive in a moment’s notice. Or were you not taught simple courtesy.”

He was speaking directly to him. Aven spoke around his tied tongue. “I was washing, your highness. The Prince of Aeliorn can’t be presented a dirty slave.”

“Right you are.” He turned to Joran. “Tell me about your slave.”

“His name is Aven,” Joran said as a small, pale hand reached out and snatched Aven’s jaw. “He came to us when he was twelve years old. He participated in his first battle when he was fourteen. Since then, he’s become our fiercest fighter and our champion.”

“Aven.” Lucian’s thumb was between his teeth, holding his jaw open and sharp blue eyes inspected his purchase with interest. “At the very least, your teeth aren’t rotting out,” he muttered. “Very nice..” He released Aven, circling and probing the man as though he were admiring a work of fine art in a museum. Aven’s dark eyes followed him. “Very nice. However, I can’t say I approve of these… blemishes.” Coming around to Aven’s back, his smooth fingers traced the jagged scar between his shoulders. “How did you acquire this?”

Aven’s body was stiff against the prince’s touches. “I was pitted against a griffin.”

“Impressive.” He didn’t sound even remotely impressed. “Perhaps our healers will be able to remove them. Scars are quite ugly.” He stepped back. “All right, Joran.” Lucian spun to face the slave master. “I’ll take him."

He tossed a sack to the man who snatched it in midair with a clatter of coins.

“Your charity is much appreciated, your highness,” Joran said, sweeping into a bow.

“Prepare my carriage. I will have the rest of your pay sent by-”

“Wait.” Joran and Prince Lucian turned to Aven, the former appearing appalled that he even opened his mouth. Aven swallowed and took a step forward. “I can’t leave yet.”

“And why not?” Prince Lucian demanded.

“I need my friend.”

A thin, blonde brow arched. “Your friend.” He looked to Joran. “I thought I was only purchasing one slave. I don’t need two.”

“No, no, your highness!” Joran assured with a stammer. “He simply means-”

“My lion,” Aven said bluntly. “He’s my most precious companion, and I refuse to leave without him.”

Aven knew a lash would come as soon as the defiant words left his lips. He had no regrets. He would die before he abandoned his closest friend to the arena.

Joran drew the whip at his side. Aven’s back tightened in anticipation of the now familiar sting of barbed lashes against skin. But the whip didn’t come. He dared to open an eye. Prince Lucian stood in front of him, a hand grasping the whip. “I will not have my slave further marred by your barbaric brutality,” he snapped. He turned to Aven. “This lion, is it the same you fought beside against the chimera?”

Aven recovered from the shock of being spared a whipping. “I…yes, your highness. His name is Kion.”

“Kion.” Lucian repeated. “A strong name.” He considered for a moment. “…I’ve never owned a lion before. He’ll make quite the addition to my menagerie. Very well. Collect your lion. You will then meet us outside the arena at my carriage.”

Aven stared at him, stunned statue still. “You’re letting me..?” He shook his head, pushing down the relief that threatened to send him to his knees. He bowed his head low. “Thank you, your highness. I’ll collect him. Thank you.”

“I expect you there in ten minutes.” Without another word, Lucian waved his hand and he was escorted by his entourage of guards out of the room, Joran talking his ear off about how he ‘won’t regret this purchase.’

Aven didn’t move for a moment as he stared at the tunnel they disappeared through. This purchase. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. This morning, he’d woken up prepared to kill whatever he was faced with in the arena before retiring to his room. His routine every day, without fail - save for his ‘special assignments.’

And now… now he was leaving the arena forever to spend the rest of his life as the slave to an arrogant, priss ass little Prince.

Aven wasn’t sure which he preferred. There was security in familiarity. He tore away from the slave gallery and picked his way through the labyrinth of tunnels towards the beast pens.

Pushing through the door he was met with the thick aroma of straw, feces and rotting meat. His eyes scanned the beasts that padded about and circled in their cages. Griffins and dire wolves and hydras. As soon as they spotted Aven, the room was filled with the sound of furious roars, jaws snapping and paws clawing through the bars of their cages.

Aven strode past them, unflinching and uncaring as he approached the only beast that mattered. “Hey, buddy,” Aven soothed, lowering to his knees in front of the cage. Kion was curled up towards the back of his pen, and lifted his mighty head curiously at the sight of his owner. “We’re getting out of here,” Aven said, plucking the keys off of a nearby post and fit them into the lock. “We’re going someplace better. You’ll have so much more room and space to run. But I bet you’ll just sleep all day anyways, won’t you?”

His only friend for so many years, Aven had a tendency to speak with the lion as though he were sentient. And at times, he was sure Kion could understand every word he said. The lion padded lazily out of his cage, pushing his mighty head against Aven’s chest. Calloused fingers ran through his mane. “Come on, buddy,” he murmured. “Can’t keep his ‘highness’ waiting.”

The Beast Tamer and his mighty lion left the pens, and on their way back towards the arena’s exit, Aven could smell the pungent and unmistakable odor of death. Turning the corner - he immediately spotted the source. A pile of bodies being loaded up onto a wagon. At first, Aven paid it no mind. Death was unavoidable when you lived in an environment that relished in murder. These must have been the gladiators slain in the last battle. He went to pass…when something caught his eye.

Bile rose up into his throat, boots frozen in the room’s entry.

A young boy was being carelessly loaded up onto the wagon, thrown on top of the pile of bodies like a sack of grain. His eyes stared wide and lifeless, mouth twisted into a scream of terror. Blood stained his hair… and his breastplate hung ever loose on his small shoulders.

“The hell are you looking at?” One of the guards snarled, stirring Aven from his shock.

“I..” Aven couldn’t form a single word. His gaze was locked on Tallin’s young face.

When you come back…why don’t we visit the horses? We can find the one you like. Shadow.

Promise?

I promise.

He never got to keep that promise. Aven grit his teeth. His jaw slid forward and without another word pushed forward, ignoring the sting in his palm as nails cut into his skin.

——————————–

Stepping outside the arena, Aven winced as his eyes adjusted to the daylight. When his vision finally cleared…he found he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. How long had it been since he’d seen the streets of Exthellion..? It’s exactly as Aven remembered it. Men and women in brilliantly coloured silks walked paths of white limestone. Every building and tower seemed to be built of polished ivory, barble and silver with gemstones pressed into buildings held up by curving columns. Rich in magic, beautiful ships sailed overhead and children played about in the streets, practicing cantrips with magic sparking at their fingertips.

But it wasn’t home. It was unfamiliar and alien. A world he’s had no part of for nearly a decade.

“Slave.”

Lucian stood beside a golden and white carriage parked at the foot of the stairs leading up to the arena. He tapped his foot impatiently. “You’re late.”

“Apologies,” Aven murmured, guiding Kion down. “This is Kion.”

Prince Lucian regarded the beast. “Looks healthy enough. Do you trust him to follow without eating one of my citizens for lunch?”

“Kion won’t attack anyone unless they give him a reason to. Or unless I tell him.”

To any other, the challenge would have been undetectable. Lucian’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Well,” Lucian murmured. “We wouldn’t want that. As much as I’d love to see how that cat would look as a throw rug, I much prefer my animals alive. Get in the carriage.”

Aven swallowed his retort and rested his hand on his lion’s head. “Follow us,” he commands before climbing up into the carriage.

It was the closest he’d been to Lucian yet. With just the pair of them inside, it made the otherwise large carriage seem that much smaller. His body felt tense with apprehension as it began to rumble and roll down the city’s streets.

Lucian said nothing. He was writing down in a scroll, his quill skimming over the parchment. Aven leaned over a bit to see. The words spun. They shifted about until his head hurt and the man grimaced, leaning back. “What are you writing..?”

“Inventory.”

“Inventory..?”

Lucian sighed. He glanced upwards with a frown. “Inventory. It means… keeping track of what you have. I need to make sure I have everything I need for my voyage to Amn.” He paused. “Can you read and write, slave? Perhaps you could help.”

“I-”

“No, of course you can’t. No one would waste their time teaching a slave how to write.”

Aven ground his teeth. “Right. Why bother having an educated slave?”

“Slaves are meant to be uneducated. They clean, they wash, they light candles and at times, they lie limp as they’re fucked into the bed. None of their work requires the skill of literacy.”

“And what is meant to be my duty, your highness.”

"I’ve actually been thinking about how I would best put your skills to use,” Lucian admits, setting down his quill to now give Aven his full attention. “I thought, perhaps I could force you into my army. A soldier, perhaps graced with the benefit of becoming captain one day. But you’d be too far away for my taste. There’s no doubt you’d find a way to escape.”

“You give me too much credit,” Aven muttered. “I’m but a barbaric slave."

"Quite,” Lucian agreed. “But one with a semblance of aptitude, and that will not do.”

“I also considered making you my bodyguard. It would be foolish to cast aside your undoubtable talent in combat. But I hesitate at the idea of giving you a weapon. Half my guard would be dead before they could even think to draw their weapons."

This boy sure did like to run his mouth. Aven’s jaw slid forward. “So what would you wish of me, considering you’ve been thinking so very long and hard about it.”

Lucian didn’t have a chance to answer. The door was thrown open and a portly man fitted in red silks gave a low bow. “Your highness,” he sang. “Welcome back to the Ivory Palace!”

Aven slipped out and gaped up at the massive castle. Blindingly white and surrounded by beautiful green gardens and living topiaries, it was enough to draw one’s breath away. And everywhere… guards. Guards wearing crimson and gold, armed with vicious looking weapons.

The change of scenery had Aven’s stomach churning with discomfort.

Approaching, they entered into the courtyard where Aven could see a number of strange and beautiful creatures meandering about. Peacocks strutting about, feathers spread out across their backs and pale white deer with silvery antlers. “Take the beast to the menagerie,” Lucian was ordering a guard. “You, follow me.” He turned to leave… then paused. “Do you have a name?”

“I do, your highness,” he said. “Aven Kheistan. Though I can’t say it gets much use.”

“Aven Kheistan.” Lucian tested the name on his tongue. He nodded and gestured for Aven to follow him inside the castle. Aven’s eyes remained locked onto his lion until the moment he was dragged out of sight, and with a shuddering breath, followed Lucian inside the Ivory Palace.

It was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. Halls trimmed with gold. Paintings of the royal family lined the halls. Passing by several compositions, Aven’s feet stilled as his gaze landed on one, larger and grander in comparison to the others.

The royal family. Young Lucian Arceneaux, perhaps seven years old standing between his parents. Proud Aimeric Arceneaux, and his beautiful wife, Estelle Arceneaux. The two benevolent rulers of Aeliorn.

Until their deaths, of course.

Aven tore his gaze away from the painting and caught up to Lucian. “We strive to live an eloquent life here in the castle,” the Prince was saying. “We typically don’t have slaves here, but servants. You will be treated well. But make no mistake.” Lucian suddenly spun on his heel, pale fingers clutching the metallic collar clamped around Aven’s neck. He pulled the barbarian’s face close to his. “You belong to me. You will do as I say. And if I ever sense any… disloyalty, you will be snuffed out. Do I make myself clear.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Lucian released the man, gesturing for him to keep up. They entered Lucian’s bed chambers, and the Prince closed the door behind him as Aven took in his surroundings. A massive bed with crimson canopies draped in lavish materials and royal colours dominated the room. A crystal chandelier hung from a golden ceiling and in the back, a balcony looked out over the entire city with morning glory and ivy winding about the railings. It was a far cry from anything he’d ever seen before and as he stands within the room, an overwhelmed expression finally dawns on him.

Yet, something caught his attention. No mementos. No paintings. No decoration.

“You asked me what use I had for you,” Lucian continued, making his way over to his bed where he sat down, pulling on the twine keeping his braid into place. “I have your answer.

You will follow me. You will lay out my clothes and bring me food. You will tend to my needs, whatever they may be. You will defend me when I’m in danger and lay down your life on my command. Can you dance?“

Can you dance. His features crumbled for a moment against its natural sculpt. A memory that passed over his mind of dancing. Whatever the memory, it was one Aven couldn’t latch on to. "I know nothing other than fighting, my lord. I’d pity those forced to watch me dance.”

As Lucian tended to his hair, Aven could have sworn he saw his thin lips twist upwards into a smirk. “Oh? I was quite sure I’d purchased not only a warrior, but a dancing monkey.” He glanced over. Icy challenge swept over his gaze. “A shame. Seems I was lied to. Perhaps I’ll have you take lessons from the court fool.” He waved his hand. “No matter. If I wanted a court fool, I would have purchased a court fool. And you are no fool.” He turned his attention to his work spread out on his desk. Maps and charts and tables, all of it lost on Aven.

He stood in the midst of Lucian’s room, uncertain of what to do. “Your highness,” Aven dared to say after a moment. “A question, if I may.”

“What is it?” Lucian replied distractedly, scratching down notes in the corner of a journal page.

“Why is it that you’ve come to acquire me, exactly? You don’t seem like a man short of staff."

Lucian didn’t answer for a long while. Aven was sure he was simply ignoring him as he continued to mark notes on his parchment and refer to open books. Then he stood. He closed the distance between them and was soon only inches from Aven. So close he could feel his breath on his neck.

“Why don’t you take a guess."

To Aven’s shock - Lucian reached out. Delicate fingers that never worked a day in their lives straightened the silk fabric across his shoulders before slipping under to brush over warm skin. Aven was immediately silenced. His jaws and muscles tensed as he felt cold hands lowering down to his abdomen, brushing over scars that decorated his body.

Aven dared to meet Lucian’s cold eyes. "You wish for intimacy from me.”

“That’s right. It seems you’re not as dumb as the other brutes you fight with. When I first saw you, and you met my eye… I wanted you. And I always get what I want.” He draws away now to take up a brush in hand and pulls it through his hair. “Have you ever slept with someone, Aven?”

Aven couldn’t help the way his face fumed with a deep shade of red. He was wracked with embarrassment… and anger.

It seems nothing had changed, after all.

“…you would not be the first, my lord,” Aven said, voice low. “I think we both know how money driven my former master could be.”

“I’m sure he’s led many sluts into your bed. But don’t be so disheartened, Aven.” Lucian sat down in the chair beside his desk. “You’ll get whatever you want here. You may be mine, but I treat my possessions with care. Whatever you desire, it shall be yours. So long as you do as I say. Now - attend me.”

Aven was still frozen in place. His heart pounded, with disbelief and anger. Chained to the hip of this boy who wished to use him as a filthy pleasure slave hidden under the guise of modesty.

He grit his teeth and swept forward, settling his fingers at the top of the long string of knots and ties that fell down Lucian’s spine. They stilled. Aven pursed his lips. "I…I don’t know how to..”

“You don’t know how to untie a knot? Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to tie your shoes.”

A fresh swell of anger rose in Aven. “…it was my father,” he uttered, fingers clumsily working away at the elaborate fastenings. “We just require only a single knot rather than a hundred. And we’re perfectly capable of undressing ourselves.”

It was tantalizingly slow work. Aven was sure he must have been standing there for half an hour before he finished, drawing Lucian’s dark blue jacket off his figure. Why was he doing this. Surely there were servants more equipped to handle undressing the Prince. Soon, Lucian stood, torso bare to Aven. He felt himself unconsciously averting his eyes, keeping his gaze from roaming over the Prince’s figure - until he saw the glint of steel being kissed by candlelight.

Lucian approached, twirling a knife expertly between his fingers. Aven’s every muscle was tensed, eyes locked on the weapon. “One more thing I’d like for you to do,” Lucian said. His soft hands grasped Aven’s, drawing the tips of the man’s fingers up to his jaw where Aven could feel a bit of fuzz from fresh stubble growing in. “Shave me.”

He pressed the knife into Aven’s palm and took a seat on the bed.

Aven’s heart threatened to burst from his chest as he stared at the steel flickering crimson and gold in the soft glow. He had a knife in his hand. A knife in his hand, and the Prince unprotected before him.

…he could kill him so quickly. One stab, and he’d be free. Free of chains. Free of shackles.

But he couldn’t. His fingers trembled with rage. As much as he wanted to…. he was bound. To protect him. To keep him safe…and Lucian knew it. Aven didn’t miss the way his lip curved up into the smallest of smirks before resuming his regal features once again.

He knew Aven had nowhere to go.

He knew he was all Aven had.

The knife was an insult. A taunt.

Aven stepped forward. He gripped the knife so tight his knuckles were white. His calloused hands touched Lucian’s jaw, tilting his head upwards. Lucian abided, eyes closed as he turned his face towards the ceiling, neck exposed.

He didn’t move for a long while. He stared at the delicate curve of Lucian’s throat. “Well?” Lucian asked, brow arching. “I’d like to sleep soon.”

Aven drew a sharp breath. He flipped the knife into position, lowered down and drew the knife slowly and carefully over Lucian’s jaw.

“Yes, your highness.”