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"In My Master's Arms "Written By: Jewel of Hell Disclaimer: Don't own nothin' but these words Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Yaoi, lemon, violence, slavery, cruelty, possible OOCness, AU/Fantasy/Drama Pairings: 1x2 Summary: In a society where sorcerers are feared
and hated, Duo is given as a slave to a powerful warrior in order
to keep his tremendous power under control. All he wants is freedom
from his cruel master, but nothing is as it seems . . . "In My Master's Arms "
The Black King "None of the others can know about this, Beria. I don't trust any but you." "I understand, Relena. But what are we to do?" "Heero himself gave me the idea." "Heero?" "Yes. He cleverly told me he doesn't need his heart to rule. He needs only his head. Well then. We'll just have to remove it from his shoulders." 888 888 "Wufei." Wufei nodded when Quatre greeted him, and he settled in the man's private chambers on the opposite chair. Trowa sat right next to the blonde, one of Quatre's hands clasped firmly in his own. "I assume this is about Relena," he said, leaning back. "Yes," Quatre replied. "Yesterday when she and I went to speak with Heero, I could tell she was far more . . . uneasy, than ever before. She seemed almost desperate, trying to get Heero to show some sliver of emotion. I can't be certain, but I wouldn't put it past her to attempt something rash today at the coronation." "Rash," Wufei repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Surely you don't suggest assassination." Quatre shook his head. "Relena doesn't have to kill him to stop the coronation. All she has to do is incapacitate him. A few days is all she needs." Wufei drummed his fingers on the chair. "That is true . . ." "I'm not so certain," Trowa cut in quietly. His voice was cold and hard. "I believe she would assassinate Heero, if she thought she could get away with it. And she's very clever. A woman backed into a corner lashes out in unpredictable ways. Since Heero forced her hand and since we know Kazuhiko died of illness and not poison, I believe she very well may react rashly." Bringing a hand to his temple, Wufei massaged lightly. "There is truth in that, as well," he muttered. "Quatre? Is there any chance you could use your influence with her to . . . unravel this mystery? Perhaps she will drop a hint as to her plans?" Quatre looked troubled. "I could try. I gently questioned her last night, but she was clammed up tightly. Unusual. I know one thing for certain. We can't let any harm come to Heero." Wufei snorted faintly. "Easier said than done, these days. The boy's made himself a bigger and bigger target all the time." "Don't discount Duo," Trowa put in. "He's changed in the short time he's been here. Not much and maybe not even noticeably. But I can sense it. Can not you?" Wufei nodded. "Yes, he has. When I met with him in the dark streets of Cera, gone was the mousy child we met in the castle some weeks ago. He moved with confidence and a quiet sense of purpose. And seldom it is that he hides his ire toward his master." Quatre smiled. "He is either fearless or foolish. Perhaps both." "It is still early," Wufei said. "We will wait for your discussion with Relena. Glean what you can." Quatre rose. Trowa didn't let go of his hand, tugging. "Be careful," he said softly. "She is probably not in her right mind." Raising Trowa's hand to his lips, Quatre kissed it. "I will be. One of of you should question Heero's Lord General. Perhaps there is something to be learned from him." Wufei stood, too. "I will." "Trowa," Quatre said, "speak with Duo if you can. I'll be back as soon as I am able." The three men went their separate ways, and Wufei descended into the soldier barracks. Zechs Marquise, a man of regal bearing, looked surprised to see him. "Lord Chang," he said, offering a shallow bow. "How may I be of service?" Wufei beckoned him to walk with him. "Please call me Wufei," he replied with a little shake of his head. "I am not a lord. I am a priest and advisor." A hint of a smile crossed Zechs' lips. "Very well, Wufei. I should tell you now, my prince has given me explicit instructions I am not to speak with any of the Council of Nine about his coronation. He will not be swayed from his decision." Wufei folded his hands behind his back, the soft black sleeves of his robe falling over his hands. "That is not why I wish to speak with you," he said. "Not directly. I'm afraid the Council is at a disadvantage with Heero. We knew his father well, for it is him we served since Heero spent most of his youth away from Cera. I had wondered what you could tell me about him." Zechs stopped, gazing out over the courtyard that spanned alongside the barracks. "I wasn't expecting a request for a description of his character," the man admitted. Wufei allowed a ghost of a smile. "Not all of us on the Council act only in our own interest. Heero has the potential to be the most influential king Corai has ever known. Perhaps even the world." "Yes," Zechs said, after a moment resuming his walk. "I listen to his soldiers, Councilor. They adore him and hate him and fear him. I've never encountered such a complicated attitude toward any one man. I daresay they don't even believe he's human. They believe he can do anything, they're afraid to even whisper of him in the darkness of the halls for fear their words will conjure him. His purchasing a Black sorcerer only solidified this belief. There are whispers of his plan to conquer the entire world. I . . . I am no longer entirely certain he couldn't, if he so chose." Wufei felt the burden of that knowledge acutely. "Yes, that is a common attitude throughout Cera. And much, much farther north. When I traveled to Lark on hiatus a year ago, even there the Black Prince is known for his cruelty and power. They fear him almost as much as they do here in Corai." Wufei didn't miss the sudden pain that sprang up in Zechs' eyes. "Councilor, will you swear to me on your god that what I speak here will go no further than your ears?" Blinking, Wufei nodded. "I swear on Drammon, God of Wind, Lord of Justice." Zechs seemed satisfied, but it was many moments before he spoke again. "There are times," he began at length, "that I see something shining out through Prince Heero's eyes. The light of a noble soul, intelligent and clever and fair. But it is always buried quickly beneath the seething darkness. He has so much power, Wufei. So much power he could use for good, and instead he chooses to use it for ill. And yet . . . perhaps it is wishful thinking, but I believe I see torment beneath the dark, as though he makes terrible decisions and hates having to make them. I wish I knew the cause of his torment, I wish I could remove it so the darkness would evaporate, leaving only the light." The words left Wufei feeling slightly breathless. He knew of everyone in Cera, none had spent more time with Heero than Zechs. Could there be truth in any of it? Or was it all wishful thinking, as he said? "Has he ever shown this side to you?" "Not directly," Zechs admitted. "But once, I saw Duo speaking with Heero when no one else was around. The moment passed quickly, but the sorcerer did not look upon his master with hostility or hatred. There was nothing in his eyes except sadness." It took a great deal of self-control not to react to those words. Sadness? It seemed the more Wufei tried to get to know the prince, the more mystery he revealed. Outwardly, he only nodded thoughtfully. "I have long thought," he said slowly, "that Corai was slowly sinking into her own darkness and would eventually be swallowed by it. Perhaps one day Heero will stop channeling her into oblivion and lift us back into the sun." "That, Councilor, is all I pray for." 888 888 Quatre closed the door behind him upon Relena's invitation to enter. The woman looked a bit calmer than she had yesterday, but he didn't relax his guard. Not unlike Gridanja herself, Relena could be unpredictable. She smiled when she saw him, rising off her divan to pace to his side. "I'm glad you came. I wanted to apologize for my . . . objectionable behavior yesterday." Quatre smiled, reaching up to touch her shoulder. "We all of us are under an unusual amount of stress. You have no reason to apologize. Have you thought of a way to delay the coronation?" "In a manner of speaking," Relena replied, taking his hand and lifting it to her lips. "By noon, all of this will seem unimportant. Including the reasons for our being apart." Her words sent a bolt of anxiety through Quatre's gut just as she leaned forward and sealed their mouths together. Her hands wrenched the belt of his robe loose, plunging them into them to find the bare skin of his chest and stomach. He yelped at the coldness, though the sound was muffled in her mouth. What does she mean, it will be unimportant? Can she actually mean to have him killed? His floundering thoughts jerked back to the present when she broke the kiss and bit and sucked down his jaw to his neck. He hissed when she bit too hard. "Relena," he gasped, pusing at her arms, "stop." Her teeth snapped together even harder. "Why?" she purred. "I have wanted you so long. I'll take you to the stars, Quatre. I'll make you feel such pleasure as you have never dreamed possible." Her hands dragged down to his backside, grinding him against her. Letting out something like a groan/growl, Quatre forced her back a step. "We don't have time for this right now," he insisted. "Noon is only a few hours away." She was breathing hard, her pupils dilated, chest heaving. A thin ribbon of red decorated her lower lip. She actually made me bleed. Finally though, she nodded. "Duty first, then pleasure," she agreed. She touched her lips. "Let me have a taste, though, Quatre. I will be satisfied with that for now. We have time for that, and I will be patient for the rest." Quatre watched as the already nominal distance between them closed. He couldn't turn her down without driving her away for good. His eyes closed in bitter acceptance as she sank to her knees in front of him. Nirande, please tell Trowa I'm sorry. Her frigid hands alighted on his skin, lips feathering over the hem of his breeches over his hips. Trowa, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry . . . He gasped when someone knocked on her chamber door. "Not now!" she snapped, her hands hovering over Quatre's groin. "It's me," Beria's voice called through the wood. "I'm afraid it can't wait, Relena. Kershac is here from Cendra." Quatre could almost hear her teeth grinding. "I'm sorry, Quatre. I don't want Beria knowing about us. Not yet. Not until this problem with Heero is taken care of." She stood, cupping his cheek in one hand. "Forgive me?" At the moment, Quatre felt like kissing Beria. "It's all right. There will be plenty of time later." "Very true," she all but purred. She kissed him once more, then let him go. Far too disciplined to let the relief show on his face, Quatre glided past Beria when Relena opened the door, nodding to the other woman. She returned it, but something cold lurked behind the surfaces. He couldn't have cared less. 888 888 "People of Cera. Though today we mourn the loss of our recently departed king, our grief is tempered by the joyous occasion of the crowning of our new king. I am certain I speak for us all when I say we have waited for this day since his triumphant return two years ago from Dobraia. Since he first earned his title as the Black Prince of Corai, Prince Heero has beaten back the Dobraian scum from our borders and swept the Penniar cowards up in his wake. He has become the most renowned monarch in not just our kingdom, but in all kingdoms. His influence has reached as far north as Jangra, and one day he may even rule the world. People of Cera, your Black Prince!" Heero smiled through his general's monologue, and he stepped up onto the dias on the open balcony. The courtyard was packed with people, and for once the castle gates were thrown wide open. More people flooded the streets, the throng stretching out as far as he could see. As soon as he came into their view, a raccous cheer went up. He could hear them chanting his name, and a strange warmth flooded his breast. These were the people he would save, he thought. He raised his hand in greeting, and they cheered louder and harder. It was a long, long moment before they settled enough he could speak and be heard. Of course, Duo amplified his voice to carry. "Today for the first time," he said, "I greet you not as your conquering prince, but as your king. Too long has Corai floundered in shadow, lost and hopeless. Too long has she waged war against herself without a known enemy. Too long has her glory been despoiled by poor leadership and poorer choices. I will restore the glory of Corai, and throughout all the land shall my name be spoken in hushed, reverent tones, the Black King!" He'd not thought the din could get any louder, but it did. He could see the women weeping, the men exalting. They were his, and with each and every victory of his armies his hold on them would strip away the power of the Council of Nine. One by one he would reveal their treacheries until the people themselves denounced those charlatans, and at long last their poisonous influence would tarnish Corai no more. Zechs Marquise stepped up beside him, holding the bejeweled crown of Corai. It was too big for anything but ceremony, but it caught the light and sparkled madly, dazzling the viewing eye. It was enough to quiet the throng again. "I represent the people of Corai," he said gravely. "Will you, Prince Heero Yuy, accept this crown and the responsibility of its burden? Will you act only within the best interest of Corai, our people, and our way of life? Will you defend us with your armies and protect us with your laws? Will yours be the way of justice and integrity?" Heero closed his eyes briefly with a smile, inclining his head. "Yes." In the slight pause when Zechs took a breath to continue, a harsh voice rang out, "Down with the tyrant!" and a hissing sound filled the air. In the time it took to blink Duo stepped forward, holding out a hand. A glimmering sheet of blue energy appeared and the bolt bounced harmlessly away a hand-length from Heero's chest, clattering to the stone below. A gasp rippled through the crowd, and a moment later an archer on one of the turrets released an arrow from his bow and the would-be assassin toppled from his perch on the roof of the nearest building. Heero could sense the crowd stirring up into full blown panic, so he smiled at Zechs. "Shall we continue?" Somewhere down below he heard a man start laughing. "It'll take more than that to bring down our king!" and soon others joined him. In moments they were chanting Heero's name again. Zechs raised the crown over Heero's head. "Accept this crown on behalf of your people, my king," he said, voice carrying even over the throng. "People of Corai, your king." He placed the crown on Heero's head. The chanting escalated back into their cheering and exclaiming. As Heero turned to look out over them, he could hear a few snatches of, "Corai will be great again!" and "He'll carry us to the top of the world!" He smiled and let them cheer. 888 888 As soon as Heero descended from the balcony, he and Duo went to the room where the guardsmen had deposited the body of the would-be assassin. Duo, annoyed that one of them had shot the man, went over right away to examine him. He wore dark gray with no markings to distinguish him, and though his skin was smooth he didn't look all that young. Lord General Zechs Marquise watched him. "What are we doing here?" he asked after a moment. Heero set the crown on a table, his disregard for the gaudy ornament making Duo want to smile. "To see what can be learned, of course. Duo?" Duo's ire vanished. "He's not dead," he gasped. His eyes snapped to Heero. "Master-?" "Done," Heero said. "Hurry." The restriction gone, Duo immediately set about healing the damage to the body before him. The man may not be dead, but he was only barely alive. However, it was easier healing him than it had been healing Heero. It still took him the better part of an hour. Heero stood patiently at his back the whole time, never speaking or interrupting. When Duo finished, he took a step back and nodded. Heero took his place at the man's side and backhanded him across the face to wake him. Pale gray eyes snapped open, looking confused and disoriented. They focused on Heero and widened, the already white skin blanching. He tried to scramble backward, but Heero's hand shot out and clamped down on his shoulder, forcing him flat. "Welcome back," the Black King purred, voice awful and quiet and so, so deathly cold. "I'm so pleased to see you've recovered." The man's mouth worked like a beached fish, no sound issuing forth except choked whimpers. Zechs put a hand on Heero's shoulder, and to Duo's surprise the young man moved aside. Zechs took his place restraining the man. "Who do you work for?" the Lord General snapped, but the anger in his voice was normal. Natural, even. The man shook his head fiercely, his lips sealing shut. Duo frowned. "He's under an enchantment," he told Zechs. "He can't speak." "Can you remove it?" Zechs asked. Duo nodded. "I think so." "Do it, then," Heero ordered. Dispersing someone else's magic, Duo quickly found, was a far more difficult matter than dispersing one's own. The individual threads were more slippery, making it near-impossible to grasp them. Near, but not entirely. Lips peeling back in a growl, Duo eventually resorted to brute force and simply crushed the enchantment. The man flattened over the cot as though physically struck, panting hard. Heero chuckled, the sound soft and dry as the grave. "Did that hurt? Apparently my little sorcerer has a cruel streak. Now, tell me where you're from, and who sent you." The man's eyes did their level best to bug out of his head, and Duo could see him shaking slightly. "Kershac. I-I'm from Cendra," he finally choked. Heero raised an eyebrow. "You're from Corai," he said softly. "You would turn your bow against your own king?" Now he was shaking visibly. "P-please, my king . . ." "Tell me who sent you," Heero soothed, "and all this will be over." The man's lips tightened again, and he shook his head. Heero sent Duo a frosty look. "Duo?" Duo gave him a muted glare. "He's just being stubborn. The spell was broken." "Hn," Heero purred. "Very well. I'll
just have to coerce our guest into telling me." Even Death himself
could not have looked more cold, more unforgiving, or more final.
"And Kershac, you will tell me what I want to know."
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