Yeijiro stood outside the Black Orchid, turning the coin in his hand over and over as he considered.

There were numerous entertainment districts in the Golden City, but the Orchid was off on its own, at the end of a quiet street of gardens and elegant restaurants that charged more for one meal than Yeijiro made in a week. This was not a place where Yeijiro could ever have come on his own.

But the symbol on the token in his hand unquestionably matched the flower painted in a subtle, almost invisible, black-on-black on the door. Yeijiro’s research had revealed that this entire neighborhood belonged to the Serpent, and it was, without question, a Serpent who had summoned him.

There was no public record of the Black Orchid. It wasn’t listed or reviewed among the city’s numerous pleasure houses. It had taken a moderate amount of cleverness to find this place. Not a great stretch of his abilities, but this was definitely Tōru making Yeijiro earn his audience.

Yeijiro hadn’t forgotten what Elena said, about Tōru and the games he played with marshals. The careers she believed he’d destroyed. What was the truth? What was the reason? One couldn’t spend more than five minutes in court without noticing the conflict between the Swan and the Serpent—and, more specifically—between Roderich and Tōru. It occurred to Yeijiro he might be nothing more than a pawn. It occurred to Yeijiro he should be careful.

On the other hand, if being careful meant saying no to Tōru, Yeijiro wasn’t sure he could do that. Whatever Tōru wanted of him, Yeijiro yearned to give it. Which was why there had never really been a question that Yeijiro was going in.

Yeijiro showed his token at the door and was ushered inside, through two different curtains, to a nook where he was offered a glass of cool, sweet tea as one of the house attendants took his jacket and boots. Everyone here was masked, and the curtains made it so, if there were other patrons moving through the house, Yeijiro couldn’t see them. This wasn’t the Golden Moon, where half the house was public, where people came to gather with their friends. The Black Orchid was a private space, a Serpent space.

Yeijiro was led up two flights of stairs and down a long hall. His feet padded softly on the thick, soft carpet. Everything was silent, down to the footsteps of his escort. Yeijiro suspected the nima at work.

At the end of the hall, Yeijiro’s escort opened the door and gestured for Yeijiro to enter. He stepped in and the door was closed behind him.

This was a very different room than what he’d found at the Golden Moon. Three times as large, with curtains implying there could be even more. Soft rugs spread across a tiled floor, warm beneath Yeijiro’s feet. Heated, he suspected. Low lights were nestled behind furniture and decor, so that the whole room was suffused with a soft glow. The barest hint of rose and fresh rain was in the air.

Tōru was here, seated at the dark wood and glass table that was at the center of the room. Two file folders lay open before him, but his attention was on the tablet in his hand. The remains of a meal spread across the table, with a half-empty carafe of wine at one corner. There was only one chair, which was fine, as Yeijiro wouldn’t have presumed to join him without invitation.

So Yeijiro knelt.

Tōru's mask tonight was jeweled in an abstract pattern that glittered softly as Tōru moved his head. Hinged at the mouth, so he wouldn’t have to remove it to eat. Otherwise, he was dressed in a casual fashion: a long, black silk jacket over loose pants. Soft, suede boots. A picture of relaxation.

It was no hardship to sit here in the quiet, to wait, to watch Tōru at his ease. There was an intimacy to it. A peacefulness that Yeijiro allowed to move through him.

A peacefulness disturbed when Tōru set the tablet down and looked over at Yeijiro and all his nervousness returned.

“It seems,” Tōru began, “that you were seeking glory all along.”

This wasn’t at all what Yeijiro had expected. The accusation threw him off balance, put him on the defensive. Even as it occurred to him that was probably exactly what Tōru wanted. “That isn’t true.”

“Oh?” Tōru stood, crossed the room towards Yeijiro. He was in no particular hurry, as relaxed as when he’d been seated, but it was the casual movements of a predator who knew his prey had no escape. “I saw your face when the Emperor told you your accomplishments must be kept secret. Your frustration. Your disappointment. Will you claim otherwise?”

He couldn’t. But still, Tōru was wrong. “Marshal Lindsay, the other marshals, they don’t trust me. They don’t like me. I wanted them to see, to know.”

Tōru circled Yeijiro slowly. “You want to prove yourself. To Elena.”

Yeijiro bowed his head again. “Yes.”

“To Roderich.”

“Yes.”

Tōru stopped in front of Yeijiro. “To me.”

Yeijiro could only manage a whisper. “Yes.”

Tōru brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from Yeijiro’s braid. “But how far will you go to be the person each of us is looking for?”

Yeijiro knew the questions Tōru was really asking. Who are you? And how much of yourself are you willing to trade? Yeijiro believed he knew the answers. But convincing Tōru, that would be another matter.

“Why are you here, Yeijiro?”

“Lord Miyōshi commanded me to come.”

He didn’t have to see Tōru's face to know that answer wasn’t good enough. It was the clever response, a courtier’s answer. It wasn’t the truth entire.

Yeijiro refused to fail this very first test. “I’m here because I want to be here. Because I want my lord to notice me. Because I want…” He closed his eyes, took a long, slow breath, “Because I spent months of Shadow Court dreaming of exactly this, of being on my knees before my lord.”

Tōru's low voice sent a shiver through Yeijiro. “What did you imagine would happen?”

The answer was, perhaps, the most embarrassing thing of all. But he’d come this far. No sense hiding any of it. “I don’t know.” He looked up. “Or rather, all I could do was imagine. I’ve never…” He gave a slight tilt of his head, a gesture towards the room they were in and all it implied.

“Never…?”

Yeijiro shook his head.

“How is that possible?” Tōru's voice was curious rather than accusatory. “You were at Shadow Court. You’re an Imperial Marshal, an acceptable enough occupation. You’re not unattractive.”

Yeijiro couldn’t hold back a bitter smile. “First, I was an honest man among Serpents. Then I was a Serpent among honest men.”

In the silence that followed his confession, Yeijiro had time to wonder if he’d made a mistake. Did Tōru—could Tōru, Lord of the Serpent, left hand of the Emperor, actually want Yeijiro? Or was this all part of some greater game Yeijiro didn’t yet understand.

Tōru caught Yeijiro’s chin, stroked his thumb lightly along Yeijiro’s jaw. Yeijiro looked up to the impassive surface of Tōru's mask and his own reflection in Tōru's eyes. “As I told you before,” Tōru murmured in that soothing, hypnotic tone, “you need never fear being honest with me.”

Yeijiro asked, in little more than a whisper, “What do I need to fear?”

Tōru's face behind the mask was impossible to read, but was it possible there was a hint of a smile around his eyes? He removed his hand, took a step back, and in a firmer voice said, “Come.”

Yeijiro stood and followed, through one of the curtains into another softly-lit room, this one dominated by a large bed.

Yeijiro froze. Now that he’d admitted what he wanted—all of it—and…things seemed to be happening—he had no idea what to do next. What did Tōru expect? What would he—

“Take your clothes off,” Tōru commanded.

Obedience, that was easy. Relief washed over Yeijiro. He did as he was told. All the while, Tōru watched and said nothing. Yeijiro felt strangely vulnerable under Tōru's unreadable gaze. Like he was baring more than just his body.

“On the bed. On your knees, with your back to me.”

Yeijiro took the position and waited. He could hear the rustle of Tōru's movements behind him, but he couldn’t tell what Tōru was doing. Until a cool drip of oil fell between his shoulder blades and trickled its way down his spine.

Tōru ran a finger over Yeijiro’s shivering skin. He dragged through the oil, back and forth, until Yeijiro recognized the Serpent crest Tōru drew on his back.

Tōru's finger was their only point of contact. Every awakened nerve in Yeijiro’s body seemed to be following it. He arched his back reflexively, drawing Tōru's reprimand. “Be still.”

The oil dribbled lower, ran down into the crack of Yeijiro’s ass. It was everything Yeijiro could do not to squirm as Tōru's finger followed it down. The slick finger scraped lightly back and forth over Yeijiro’s entrance. And then pushed inside.

Yeijiro had explored his own body, but everything changed when it was someone else. When he couldn’t predict or control the motions. Tōru's fingers—first one, then two—slid around inside him, exploring, stroking. Never quite where Yeijiro wanted. Then exactly where Yeijiro wanted. In and out and around, radiating warm, melting pleasure through Yeijiro.

Tōru removed his fingers and rested his hand on the small of Yeijiro’s back. “Before we continue, I need to know you understand.”

No, he couldn’t bear for Tōru to stop. “Anything. Please. Anything.”

“Listen to me, Yeijiro. This is important.” His hand slid lower, teasing. “If we are to do this, you and I. Tonight or any other night. Roderich cannot know. Not a whisper. Not a rumor.”

Like a splash of cold water, the words ran through Yeijiro, leaving a focus in their wake Yeijiro hadn’t had since Tōru's first touch. He had to think. Tōru was giving him no time to think. The warm pleasure radiating out from Tōru's probing fingers tried to drag Yeijiro back down into the state of mindless, thoughtless pleasure.

“The Lord Marshal—” Yeijiro began.

“Wouldn’t understand. And wouldn’t forgive.”

Yeijiro knew that for the truth. Roderich would see this as a betrayal. It was possible Yeijiro was putting his entire career at risk. A career he’d sacrificed everything for.

But only if Roderich found out. Keeping this secret—was it breaking his oath to Roderich? Yeijiro didn’t think so. Didn’t want to think so. Because if Tōru stopped…Yeijiro couldn’t stand to have Tōru stop, to lose this pleasure he was only starting to discover.

Deep in the back of his mind, Elena’s voice. Do you know how many marshals your Lord Miyōshi has ruined? He treats like a plaything, and then destroys.

But what did Elena know of Serpents? And Yeijiro had wanted this for so long.

“Yes,” Yeijiro whispered. There was no other answer he could give. Even as a part of him wondered if Tōru hadn’t arranged it that way.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I’ll keep this secret. Yes, Dahle Roderich will never know. Yes.”

Tōru's finger withdrew again and something larger pressed against Yeijiro. “Breathe,” Tōru instructed as he pushed in.

It hurt. It didn’t hurt. The pain was a counterpoint to the pleasure, hot and sharp and raw.

Tōru's oiled hand found Yeijiro’s straining cock. It was too much, after everything else. Tōru's other arm wrapped around Yeijiro’s shoulders, held him steady as Yeijiro came.

Tōru continued to thrust. It was intense. It was agony. Too much. But this was Yeijiro’s service to Tōru. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t complain. He would not disappoint.

As Tōru came, he pressed his face against Yeijiro’s shoulder. The jeweled scales scraped against Yeijiro’s skin. Yeijiro welcomed the pain, the new sensation, the new way to prove himself.

Then Tōru let go and Yeijiro had to catch himself as he fell forward, more drained than he had realized. Tōru touched his back once more, a light gentle stroke from the base of his neck all the way down his spine. “Lie down.” The command was softer than before, a warmth to Tōru's voice that Yeijiro hoped wasn’t his imagination.

He heard the rustle of the curtains being pulled aside. When Tōru spoke, he was further away, but his words warmed Yeijiro to his core. “I see you, Yeijiro.”

Moments later, the curtains rustled again and the masked attendant who had escorted Yeijiro to the room returned. She had with her a basin of warm water and a pile of soft towels. Yeijiro didn’t have the strength to move as she cleaned him with care, then covered him and turned down the lights before she quietly retreated.

Exhausted in mind and body, Yeijiro fell asleep.