"The Ancient Kingdom "

Disclaimer: Don't own nothin' but these words

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: Yaoi, lemon (copious amounts, probably), slavery, magic, nekos, some smut, sap, peril, abuse, AU/Fantasy/Drama

Pairings: 1x2, 3x4, 4+2, 3+1, 5x6, 6+2, 5+1 (good grief!)

Summary: When Heero, son of the Warrior King, conquers the kingdom Sheneva and executes the king, he finds something unexpected

" The Ancient Kingdom "

The People of Sheneva

Because taking thirty members of the royal guard with him would have been ridiculous, Heero told the Captain to choose his five best men to accompany him, Trowa, his own captain, and Wufei into the capital. Heero considered his regalia carefully. He wanted to look powerful, but not ostentatious like a peacock strutting about on display. Capable but not arrogant and full of himself. Tractable but firm and strong. Clothes, after all, could make the man.

Finally he turned to his brother. Trowa was waiting quietly by the window, observing Heero but not staring. Trowa had mastered that art. "What should I wear?"

Heero would never allow himself to seem indecisive or unsure. Trowa was the only person in the kingdoms to whom he would turn like this. His brother didn't abuse the privilege. His brow wrinkled in a slight frown, expression all seriousness.

"Blue," he said, "because it is your signature color, but no finery. Nothing except your royal crest. I would say wear your ceremonial battle garb. That way, the people will see you as the Warrior King's son, not the conquerer who is replacing their king. If any even care to feel that way."

Letting a tiny smirk cross his lips, Heero nodded and began stripping out of his travel garb. He knew what Trowa meant. The capital city of Jennai seemed to be celebrating Grascien's death, not mourning it. Of course, last night Heero's guard had freed almost thirty slaves. Most of them were young, beautiful men and women. Almost all of them had thrown themselves at Heero's feet, kissing his hands and pleading with him to take them in. Trowa had gently intervened, instructing the royal guard to find their families and take them home.

Moving away from the wall, Trowa quietly came to his aid. Heero relinquished the task. Even in domestic matters Trowa was allowed more lattitude. Heero had always refused to allow servants to help him dress, but to Trowa he yielded without a word. Probably because he knew that in all Trowa did, his brother was thanking him. Even if he never said it aloud.

The ceremonial battle garb was just that - not meant for actual battle but for show. Despite sounding somewhat ostentatious, Heero had kept it as simple as possible. The full-leg breeches were a deep ebony, form-fitting without clinging like a second skin. The black boots were soft, buffed leather that had the faintest hint of shine. The folded tops were embroidered with tiny silver ivy leaves.

The shirt was rich cobalt, fine-spun silk that matched Heero's eyes perfectly. More silver ivy leaves were embroidered up the sleeves. The tunic matched the breeches, lightly brocaded, soft leather with embroidered swords hiding amongst ivy leaves winding down the front. The cloak was black with black fur, Heero's crest was embroidered on the back. Unlike the Warrior King's crest, a greatsword in the coils of a hissing serpent, Heero's was a greatsword with tendrils of ivy dripping from the hilt and curling around the sword. Power and peace.

And the finishing touch to the ensemble was Heero's sword. The weapon itself was plain, almost utilitarian. It was made for function, not show. The blade was double-edged wrought adamantine, kept razor-sharp. The hilt was a simple cross-pommel with only a single band of braided iron. The sheath and scabbard, however, were another matter. The worked black leather was encrusted with blue and red gems that swirled round in no particular pattern, catching the light and sparkling madly. Its only purpose was to be showy, to draw attention to the sword itself and all it represented.

Trowa fastened the belt around Heero's waist, and the prince turned to look in the full-length mirror. It was amazing, he thought, how a different set of clothes made him go from young man to powerful prince. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, thinking about how important these next few hours would be.

Trowa, still a full head taller than his brother, stepped up behind him and placed Heero's crest on his head. The circlet was a narrow band of chased silver, carefully wrought to look like ivy leaves. Two small swords crossed blades in the center of his forehead. It might have looked delicate on any but Heero.

"There," Trowa said, sounding satisfied. "I spoke with the princess, and she requested that you hold court with her in her private gardens."

Unusual, but not shocking. Heero considered briefly, then nodded. "Send a page to let her know she'll have her wish in a few hours when I return. And don't be too long," he added with a slight smile. "I want you by my side when I ride into the capital."

Giving his typical, courteous bow, Trowa left him to obey. Heero tried to be patient as he waited, but it lasted only about thirty seconds before he rubbed his finger over the red stone in his ring, the only piece of jewelry he always wore. Wufei kept him waiting a bit longer than he usually did. Then he was there, looking striking and dark and dangerous in his black robes that were embroidered with silver runes.

"I take it you are ready to leave?" the sorcerer asked.

"Almost," Heero confirmed. "How are the cats?"

"They may not appreciate being called cats," Wufei mused, "as it is a dramatic oversimplification. And plainly speaking, not well. The gold one will recover quickly, but the little auburn . . . I'm beginning to wonder that he will ever completely recover. He will always have a limp, I fear."

Heero felt his face grow cold, then he forced it aside. "How about . . . their temperaments?"

Wufei shook his head. "Too early for any improvement. They have not been awake long enough to learn if we mean them harm or not. And I would like to know what you intend to do with them."

There was the faintest hint of rebuke in his tone, and Heero bristled. "When they are healed," he said, trying not to sound defensive, "I will take them wherever they wish to go. Back to Wythiera, if they like."

"I see. That is good. I will tell them, and perhaps they will find themselves comforted by the idea. But Heero . . . it is likely the pair of them will never trust you. They will rest quietly in your care until they are strong again, and then you will most likely find yourself with two angry Myda on your hands who will do whatever it takes to escape you."

Heero raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that. They're not mindless creatures. They have the ability to understand a man's intent, as well as his words. But I will think on it more when Sheneva is secure under Venya's rule."

Wufei smiled. "And I will be right here, continuing to act as guide and counselor." He reached out and ran a single finger down Heero's jaw.

A tiny shiver ran over the surface of Heero's skin. He'd heard that often, powerful sorcerers from An'Cresse came to the mainland to take 'normal humans' as their lovers and consorts. He wondered if that was true, and if Wufei would have taken him were he not the Crown Prince. That seemed a little too personal to ask, so Heero simply took a step backward and turned on his heel as if nothing had happened.

Wufei easily fell into step beside him. "I'll wager Trowa was not happy that you're not wearing armor," he said with a grin.

Heero snorted. "Probably not. But he understands the symbolism as well as any. It just means you will have to be on your toes should anyone attempt to shoot me full of arrows."

Now the sorcerer chuckled. "I am always on my toes with you, Heero. Ever since I first met you as a little boy."

Heero tried not to wonder if that was an insult. Wondering things like that would drive him mad, for Wufei could be a cryptic ass when he wanted. They were halfway down the hall when Trowa caught up, wearing his simple armor. The captain of Heero's personal guard was with him.

"Everything is ready, my prince," the captain said, inclining his head. "Your horse looks every bit as resplendent as you."

Heero had never liked that word, resplendent. He felt it was unnecessarily showy. Even so, he accepted the compliment for what it was and merely nodded his thanks. In the courtyard, the six royal guards of the castle were waiting, and to Heero's surprise they'd already had their armor emblazoned with his crest. It pleased him, and he let it show on his face.

"We are ready to escort you, my prince," the captain said, "and word has already spread through the capital that you are on your way. Rumor has it people are dancing and singing in the streets." His eyes twinkled with good humor.

Heero tried not to look smug. Wufei would chastise him for it later, which would be annoying. As if he were still a boy prince and not a powerful leader. "Good. Captain, will the honor of leading be yours?"

It was his turn to look surprised. He bowed deeply. "Indeed, Highness."

The ten men mounted their horses, and Heero's deep-chested black stallion frisked a moment. Heero brought him under control easily, patting his neck. The silver bridle caught the sun, winking. The doors swung open, and the small procession made its way down the moat and into the city proper.

The captain had not exaggerated in his claim. People were quite literally laughing and dancing in the streets, and as soon as they caught sight of Heero, he became the center of their joy. Many of them came rushing foward, throwing flowers under his horse's hooves, and he heard many a joyful voice exclaiming over the death of the Tyrant King, and how the Warrior King's son had liberated them from his oppression. Heero accepted it, often leaning down to touch one of the reaching hands. They were looking at him like a savior, and Heero allowed it. If the people believed in him, regardless of how the nobility felt Sheneva would fall easily under Venya's rule.

o0o 0o0

Relena Andarial Peacecraft stood before her gilded, full-length mirror and studied her reflection with a critical eye. Of every meeting of her life, never had such an important one come before her. Heero Yuy was a powerful symbol to all the people of the Highlands. Indeed, he was a hero to them, as his name well indicated. They considered him abdicator and savior, liberating them from her father's tyranny. It meant she could not oppose him and have their support.

The heiress looked herself up and down. She was an attractive woman, if not classically beautiful. Her dark blonde hair had been drawn up into an artful pile, allowing curls to cascade down her neck in a comely manner. Almost flirtatious. The gown she wore accentuated the impression by being cut off-the-shoulder, showing her moderately pale skin off without seeming indecent. The neckline formed a modest 'v' over her bosom, showing no cleavage. The last thing she wanted was for the prince to think she might try to seduce him.

The gown was a rich coppery brown. It shimmered with her every movement, meant to be eye-catching and dramatic but not overly flashy. It warmed the dark hazel of her eyes, highlighting one or two freckles she'd been told were charming. It was belted at the waist in burnished gold, dropping a gold braid to the floor with soft tassels. The sleeves formed a 'v' over the backs of her hands, though at the elbows gossamer fabric fell in voluminous folds down past her waist. Feminine, tasteful, dramatic, and just a hint somber.

Her jewelry had been chosen with equal care. The delicate gold chain around her neck dropped a tiny amber stone to the hollow of her throat, cut to look like a small tear. It had no set, so it looked simple and almost plain. Her earrings were two tiny matching amber stones, and she wore no rings. The circlet on her head was meant more to add a level of winsome appeal than to point out her royalty. The plain gold braided metal formed a 'v' in the center of her forehead and had no gems adorning it.

She glanced at the reflection of her lady-in-waiting, Dorothy. "How do I look?"

Dorothy smiled, brushing her bright gold hair over her shoulder. "Elegant, regal, and stunning, my lady," she said. "I don't see how he will keep his eyes off you. I won't be surprised if he proposes to you in your beautiful garden."

Relena gave a slight smile in return, but she wasn't that naive. She sincererly doubted Heero would take a bride from one of his conquered kingdoms. What would be the point of that? All she wanted was to make sure her position was secure. She could handle going from 'Queen' to 'Governor' if she retained her sovereignty. The actual title meant nothing as long as the position was the same.

This late in the spring, Sheneva had warmed significantly from winter's chill. Relena appreciated the more hospitable temperatures as she glided into the gardens her father had built for her when she was a tiny girl. Grascien had been different back then. Not hopelessly embittered by the death of his wife. Relena could barely remember that side of him.

The only trees were willows. By now their bows were laden with the pale blue blossoms that would eventually darken into rich violet. Through the garden cut a narrow stream, and even the rocks on the bottom had been chosen for their aesthetic appeal. Vines crept up the stone walls, dripping with dark pink blossoms, and flowers of white, yellow, orange, pink, blue, and purple bloomed everywhere. The few intricately carved benches were settled under arches of ivy vines, which were covered in their white flowers. Beautiful. Spring was her favorite season, because not even summer could match these vivid hues.

She contrasted sharply with her garden, she thought with a smile. Her gown was more of an autumn color. But that was all right. A pastel spring color would have made her look delicate, and she wanted to seem strong when Heero first saw her.

She wondered what he was like. She'd heard, of course, much about him. Due to her father, she'd never met him. She'd never even left the capital city. If Heero made her queen, that would change. She fully intended to make herself known to the people, to assure them she was not Andreus, that she would rule them fairly. Assuming Heero allowed that to happen. She had no illusions that if Heero decided to appoint some schmuck off the street her people would demand he put her on the throne.

It was pleasant for her to pass the intervening hours in her garden. She knew Heero was in the capital, so she didn't wait impatiently. She wandered the well-tended paths. How much time had she spent here, coaxing her flowers to grow, diligently weeding and spredding mulch? Her father had never forbidden it, nor claimed it wasn't a princess-ly thing to do. She was grateful for that, at least. Some of the pale blossoms fell from the willows, landing softly on her hair and shoulders. She didn't brush them away. Let them add an innocence to her appearance.

So that was how Heero found her when he finally came. It was perhas an hour, maybe a bit more to sundown. The brightness of day was beginning to yield to the softness of night, though it was still fully light out. He strode in with confidence, but not an aura of arrogance. For a moment she was startled by how young he looked. I am at least six years older than him, she thought with a barely-concealed frown. Having never seen the prince, she'd thought he would be . . . older.

And though he was taller than her, he wasn't as tall as she would have thought, either. Even so, his carriage was regal and his countenance powerful and ever-so-slightly aggressive. He managed to look as if he had nothing to prove, and she wondered if that were natural or practiced. Most likely the former, if half of what she'd heard about him were true. He strode right to her side, and her eyes went unwillingly to the bejeweled scabbard on his belt. The sword he carried was long but simple, and she supposed the gem-encrusted sheath was meant to draw the eye to the symbol of his power.

As soon as they were abreast, Relena lowered herself in a deep, graceful curtsy. She would not pretend to be his equal. She was at his mercy, and they both knew it.

"My Prince," she said, keeping her tone demure but not simpering. For no one would she allow herself to seem weak. "I am pleased you have come." And surprised you came alone.

He inclined his head, but that was all. An acknowledgement of her deferral, but not of equality. "I am glad you requested it. Shall we sit?"

To her faint surprise he offered her his arm. She placed her hand lightly upon it, keeping her eyes on his face as he guided her to one of the benches and they sat. Now Relena deliberated how to start. Should she allow him the courtesy? Or jump right in?

Heero beat her to it. "Your people seem quite grateful to be rid of their king," he said.

It was as close to tactless as Relena had ever heard a noble or royal come. He either didn't know of the 'rules of engagement' in court, or he refused to play by them. For the moment, she decided to assume it was the latter. Best not to underestimate him.

"My father was . . . misguided, at the end," she said neutrally. "He gave me life, and for that I am grateful. But I do not feel he was a good monarch."

Heero smiled at her sideways. "From all I have learned since coming here, I agree. But I'm sure you wish to discuss your position?"

Straight to the point then. "Yes," Relena said, going along easily, "but there are a few other matters which greatly concern me I would like to address, as well. But first, please tell me your intentions. I'm well aware that you will choose whomever you wish to remain 'Governor' of Sheneva."

Heero, who had been leaning back against the bench, sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. "I can, but I want to make this transition period for Sheneva as smooth as possible. Your people are already familiar with you. And as long as you and your court swear fealty to me, I will give the position to you. If you do not wish to make any such oaths, I will release you from the court and appoint another in your place. No harm will come to you unless you committ any treasonous act against Venya." He gave her a charming, boyish smile. "Actually, Relena, the only thing I have done as far as you're concerned is make you a city-state of Venya. Sheneva is still a sovereign nation, but under the rule of our empire. You are answerable to none but myself and my father."

Put a bit at ease by his congenial attitude, Relena folded her hands in her lap. "May I ask why you've done what you've done?"

Now he looked pensive. "I can't tell you. Yet. Will you be content with my word that it was not a selfish whim that motivated me?"

To her shock, Relena realized she could be content with that. No man had ever looked at her with such an earnest expression. Honesty radiated from him. Sure, he was aggressive and proud and sure of himself. But he was a good man. Boy, really, she thought with an inward smile.

"I will," she said, "as long as you fill me in sooner or later. If I am to be your regional governor, I should like to know my lord's doings." She smiled, and it was genuine for once.

"Then you will swear fealty before your court?"

"Yes, and I will demand they do the same."

"Good. I am sure you've heard by now that I'll be holding open court for the commonfolk. I'll warn you now - if any make accusations against you, I will hear them out."

Relena lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. Nothing to fear, there. The commonfolk probably knew almost nothing about her. She'd remained somewhat sequestered growing up, alienated by her father's . . . eccentricity. He nodded once, apparently satisfied.

"Now, what are the other matters you would like to speak of?"

"Most of them are pithy, and can wait until things have settled down," she replied. "But of one I formally request your immediate attention. My father had a wife before he married my mother. I don't know how much of Sheneva's history you know, but the first queen was accused of treason and executed. They had a child, my half brother. Milliardo. My father married my mother only two months after his first wife's death, and my mother adopted Milliardo. My half brother was six at the time. But about five years ago, he began a quiet uprising to overthrow my father. He gained much support both from within and without the court, but when my father learned of it he ordered Milliardo's arrest and execution. The captain of the royal guard - who was put to death only a few days later - helped Milliardo escape. I have heard not a whisper of him since, and I would dearly like to know if he's all right. That he is welcome to come home, where he belongs."

Heero listened attentively. "Do you have a portrait of him?"

"Yes."

"Then I will do everything in my power to locate him."

Relena bowed her head. "Thank you, my prince."

Heero rose and turned to go.

"Highness?" Relena queried.

He glanced at her. "What is it?"

"I do have one other question."

"Ask."

"What of my eventual marriage? Normally my father would have chosen my husband, but he was . . . extremely concerned with his own matters. Will you choose my lord?"

For the first time he looked a little hesitant. "We will speak of that later," he said, "after things have settled down."

She inclined her head.

o0o 0o0

As soon as Heero stepped back into the castle, Wufei fell into step beside him at once. "How did it go?"

Heero frowned at him. "She brought up something I had never considered. It's proper for a king to choose a husband for his daughter. Andreus is dead. Do I choose, now?"

Wufei raised an eyebrow. "That depends on several factors." He grinned. "Shall I go into them?"

Feeling a little cornered, Heero cast about for a distraction and almost pounced on Trowa when his brother appeared. "Trowa! You have some word?"

"Yes. The word has spread you will hold your first open court tomorrow for any who wish to come. Our messenger pigeons arrived, and your father has requested Wufei help transport the court scribes to Sheneva, since it is a long journey from Venya."

Heero looked at Wufei. "Is now a good time?"

Wufei smirked. "You got out of it for now," he said, "but this discussion isn't over." And he vanished.

Glaring at the now-vacant spot, Heero finally looked back to his brother. "Come on," he invited.

On the way back to their bedchambers, Heero told Trowa about Relena. "She's a strong woman," he surmised. "In simplest terms, I think it would be easier to put her on the throne than try to find someone equally qualified." He smiled a little. "She had willow blossoms in her hair. I think they fell there, unnoticed."

Once the door was secured shut and they were alone, Heero turned to his brother. "Why do you always call him my father, but never our father?"

A strange look flitted over Trowa's face. One of mixed bitterness and sadness, as well as a hint of possessiveness. Hn, that was new.

"You are my brother," Trowa said presently, "but I will never think of him as my father. He has never acknowledged me, so why should I afford him any more courtesy?"

Heero's face twisted into a grimace. Yes, the joys of being a bastard child. He'd been so angry when he realized the court's feelings toward Trowa were so petty. His father had abandoned Trowa because he was a political inconvenience. He'd sworn, when he was a seven-year-old boy, that he would make sure Trowa was never lonely agin. Or felt useless. Or anything like that. He'd always hated being an only child, so learning he had an older brother had been an unexpected delight. Through the years of his life Trowa had been a source of steadiness and comfort, his unwavering devotion and loyalty reminding Heero that he - Heero - was a good person, and that there were others who felt the same. Or at least, some measure of the same.

He realized his intense study of Trowa's face was making his brother curious and looked away. "I've never liked holding open court," he admitted, allowing some of his weariness to be heard. Trowa he could trust with anything. "A lot of people use it as an excuse to come in and complain about everything. Anything." He sighed. "But it's a good political move." He made a face.

Trowa chuckled softly. "Political obligations are your lot in life. You endure them graciously."

Heero rolled his eyes. "Thanks. I'll put you on that throne a few times, and you can speak for me while I go horseback riding somewhere."

Trowa's face went still, as if he weren't sure whether his brother was serious or not. And though he knew Trowa would do exactly that if Heero demanded, he couldn't put him in that position. So he gave him a light smile.

"I'm teasing. You couldn't endure it at all."

Trowa returned the smile easily. "Not at all," he agreed. "The strain would have me collapsing after half a session."

Heero snorted. "Fine general you are." Then he sobered. "How is it coming, the release of the slaves?"

"For the most part, it's going smoothly," Trowa reported. "There are a few who seem to have no living family. I can't in good conscience kick them out of the castle and tell them they're free. What would they do? Where would they go?"

Heero frowned slightly. "See if they can be given jobs around the castle. In the kitchen, in the stables, or with the regular staff. Scribes, assistants, you know. Any who can't are welcome to join my army until they have enough money to do something else if they wish."

Trowa inclined his head. "I will see to it tomorrow morning, first thing. There are three, two women and one man, who can't read or write, so I believe they would gladly accept an offer to join your army's ranks."

"Good. And . . ." Heero hesitated. "What about the two Myda?"

"Ah, Wufei is caring for them, but the smaller one is badly injured. He believes it will be some time before he is better. The little gold will make a full recovery far quicker."

"I see." Heero raked fingers through his hair. "Let me change and I'll pay them a visit. If they're awake, I'm sure they would like to know what's going on."

Trowa just nodded and moved to help Heero. The young prince didn't brush off his brother's hands, merely accepted the help for what it was. Once his ceremonial battle garb was safely away and he in more sensible breeches and shirt of linen instead of silk, he headed back out. Trowa paced quietly at his side, and though his posture was relaxed Heero could see his eyes were alert.

It didn't surprise Heero to see Wufei in the room he'd converted to an infirmary for the two Myda.

"I was wondering if you'd come see them," Wufei mused, rising from a stuffed chair by the fire.

Both of them looked small and fragile, lying on the separate beds. The gold had clean bandages around his neck, and though his body had many bruises, for the most part he looked like he would be okay with rest and a lot of food. The little auburn was swathed in bandages. Arms, torso, legs, the broken one in a heavy splint. He looked tiny, so pretty and tiny, Heero felt a surge of those protective instincts first brought out by his brother. Of course, Trowa had never looked tiny like this. The man was unfairly tall.

"Have they eaten?"

Wufei shook his head. "I got a nutritional supplement down them both, but it's a poor substitute for the meat they need. For now, rest is more important. Though they're both thin, they're not emaciated. Just malnourished."

"How old are they?" Heero asked.

Wufei nodded to the gold. "That one is an adult, though only just. That means his venom will have reached full toxicity, Heero, and he can transform into wild form, as well. Never forget he's a dangerous animal, sentient or not. That one - " he nodded toward the auburn, now - "is still an adolescent. I estimate he won't reach maturity for another four to six months. His venom won't kill you yet, but it will be one hell of a painful bite. He's too weak and sick to be much of a threat, right now."

"Can you wake them?" Heero asked.

Wufei frowned. "I wouldn't recommend it."

"Do it."

Looking reluctant, Wufei leaned over them and made a sort of sweeping motion with his hand. They both came awake slowly, looking groggy and disoriented. The gold recovered quicker, and he bolted upright when his eyes cleared. In moments he was in motion, jumping to the other bed to hover protectively over his companion. The auburn lifted his head, bumping it lightly against the gold's chest as though to inquire what was going on. The gold didn't take his eyes off them for a second as he lowered his head and nuzzled his smaller friend.

Heero's heart clenched. Poor little thing, probably in a great deal of pain and seeking comfort. And his devoted friend, offering it while remaining watchful. He could see the tension in the gold's frame, so he spoke first.

"I thought you two might like to know what's going on around here," he said. Two sets of furred ears perked, orienting on him. Cute. "Grascien is dead. He will never hurt you again."

Those words didn't seem to appease the gold. The suspicion in his eyes merely deepened. "What about you?" he rasped, growling.

"I merely want to help," Heero replied, folding his arms to seem smaller and less threatening. "The two of you will remain here as long as I do, and when I return home to Venya I'll take you along. There you'll stay until you're recovered and strong again. Then I'll take you wherever you want to go."

Aqua and indigo-violet eyes gazed at him, their surfaces blank and cool. Then, perhaps because he no longer had the energy to keep it up, the auburn lowered his head back to the bed and closed his eyes. The gold lowered himself to curl around the auburn, expression still closed. His head jerked down in a nod. Heero accepted his acquiescence.

"We'll leave you to rest. Do you think you'll be up to eating tomorrow?"

Another single, sharp nod.

Then Trowa startled Heero by taking a step forward. "Will you tell us your names, little one?"

It was amusing to watch the gold's ears go back, eyes narrowing in obvious displeasure at being called 'little one.' He laid his head down alongside the auburn's and closed his eyes, too. The dismissal could not have been more plain. Heero couldn't help a grin. Just like a cat. He nudged his brother.

"There's always tomorrow. Come on, let's let them sleep."

tbc

Chapter 4

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