A stone appeared in his throat hearing these words from his own father. His disbelief shook his head and glanced horrified at Mageia who reflected the same expression to him.

Finally, he found his voice. "Don't do this to her. Why be so cruel?"

"Cruel is how you've betrayed your family by bringing her within the palace."

Gris gave a dark mocking laugh. "You and those fools are not my family, you've made that very clear to me?"

The color in his father's face flushed, furious eyes wide with shock. "How dare you," he grumbled.

"You've lost your way father. You have," Gris said and forced out the truth. "Ever since mother took her life!"

"Enough," he shouted. With large steps he stormed towards him large hands clenched and prepared to strike. "Never speak of her under this roof, you foolish boy!"

Limp broke free of his guard and took a strong stance in front of Gris, chin raised and eyes furious. The King halted and the two men exchanged a chilly glare and for some unknown reason the King allowed the Strange manservant to keep his defense.

Gris trembled and refused to accept this man as his father. He had become just like the brainless delusional Fairs he surrounded himself with. The bastard had too much power to know how to use it for good.

The King raised a finger and jabbed it at Gris. "Damn you," he sputtered and then to Limp. "And damn you too."

Limp clasped his hands before himself and raised his chin even higher with defiance.

"For your involvement Rasheem, you and the maid will be whipped."

"No, I won't do it," Gris said.

"No, you won't have to. I'll get one of my men to do it," the King snarled. "Seventeen lashes for the seventeen years of you breathing on this earth."

The King clung onto his robe and turned away. "This is over," he demanded.

With one swift movement, he exited the sitting room with his escorts, the queen and her escorts, the stepsiblings and their escorts, and the guest. All witnesses of the unfairness and mercilessness of the King. This left behind Gris, Limp, Hasana, a few post guards pulling a speechless Mageia onto her feet, and a smirking Commander.

"Mageia, I am so sorry," he said.

Eron laughed and gestured for the guards to take her away. "So pathetic."

"Damn you," Gris heard Mageia mutter, but the hatred in her purple glare pained him more.

"You seem to do good with screwing up things on your own," Eron said then in a mocking whisper. "I knew about your secret endeavor, well, of course after I had some words with a few of my eyes and ears in your company."

"You knew?" Gris said. "At the Luncheon-,"

"Ha! I just wanted to see what you were going to do when Gideon arrived. I knew his travel was cut short. You were never good at hiding your emotions. You looked like a wife who got caught with another man."

"Curse you, Eron," Gris snarled at the Fiisen.

Eron snarled back and grabbed him by the neck to pull him close.

"Release him," Limp shouted hands already fighting against Eron's strength.

Before the remaining guards could grab him, Eron leaned back his head and slammed it into Limp's nose.

"Limp," Gris said as his friend stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. Eron then released him from his hold, and Gris rubbed the bruised area. "I hope the gods defect you sooner than later, Commander."

He gave a dark laugh that rumbled up from his chest. "The gods love me. I am Fiisen remember?"

With that said, he gestured to the guards to take their leave, and began walking away as Gris and Hasana comforted Limp bleeding on the floor. Then a hand grabbed hold to Hasana's hair and yanked her to her feet. She squealed and cried even more.

"Let her go," Gris demanded.

"No. She will not be whipped today. I have other plans for her," he said then dragged her away by the hair.

Gris tried to go after them, but the guards stepped in the way and pushed him back, hands resting on their swords.

"You wouldn't hurt a Royal," he said, but the glare in their eyes begged for a dare. He then spotted Dargany stalking away with his head down, apparently having his part in Gris' plan forgotten.

"Dargany," he called, but the soldier simply took a glimpse and scurried away.

When the guards finally left, Gris went back to Limp. "I'm so sorry Limp. I-I got you and-and Hasana into this."

"For a good cause," he muttered holding a handkerchief to his nose gushing blood like a waterfall.

"Yes, but at what cost," Gris said. "She-she is going to die t-tonight. W-what-,"

"There is nothing you can do, Gris. It's done for her, I am sorry," he said pain stricken.

Gris helped his friend off the floor, brain warping in millions of directions. "I got to help her, Limp. I must."

"You owe that girl nothing," he said with firmness in his voice. Gris trembled hearing this. "She knew what she was doing when she made that escape."

"Bu-bu-bu-but..."

"Grisonce, my boy," he said taking hold of his face, tears watering his eyes. "Please do not make this any worse than it is."

Gris understood what he meant. If he tried anything stupid now and it failed, his father could punish him more than just banning him from his chambers.

"I'm so sorry, Limp," he said tears trailing his face. He knew this was not manly or royal to do, but he was human. To hell with the laws, everyone in the Kingdom of Ardania were just simple mortals.

"So am I, son," he said and held him close to his chest.

He massaged his forehead where he had bashed the impotent servant. He groaned in pure distaste, yet he didn't know why. He was getting what he wanted, the thief was going to die, the Strange Prince was openly dishonored, and that annoying manservant was going to have his time with a whip. Still, he felt unfulfilled. And he figured out why.

"Make sure that thief is returned to the Taefo, to the Sacred Chambers. If she escapes from their possession, I will end their service with my sword."

"Yes sir," said a guard.

"Have her chained up. Give her no food or water or medicine, leave her injuries untouched."

"Yes sir." The guard scurried away to deliver the message.

He then spotted Dargany face stern and hand planted on the hilt of his sword as if he was waiting like a loyal dog for his punishment.

"Dargany."

"Yes Commander," he said.

"You were supposed to have this evening off am I correct?"

He glanced at the girl whimpering beside Eron and nodded. "Yes Ser."

"Well, that has changed. For your involvement with Grisonce, you will work double shifts every day for the next two weeks and you are stripped of your escort duties until I say otherwise."

The soldier's chest rose in a disappointing inhale and finally met his eyes. With a sharp nod he spewed. "Yes Ser."

"Dishonor me and your soldiers again, I would not be so chivalrous."

"Yes Commander. I apologize for my involvement. It will not happen again."

"No, it will not," Eron growled and gestured to the two soldiers standing nearby and began walking, pulling the Strange slave along.

She squealed and cried, fingers trying to pry him off her hair. "Walk faster, whore."

He glared at the slaves lucky enough to see this, especially those who were shocked to see him in the Slave Quarters.

He didn't want to waste any more time. He needed to double check on the security for the parade to the Ceremony and the ones setting up at the border. He also needed to get dress and meet the guest and Princess Relana who he's been assigned to be her date. And these were just the crumbs of the tasks needed done before nightfall.

Finally, they winded their way up to Grisonce's chambers and tried the door. He flung the girl into the side wall and cursed. "Get this open," he demanded the guards.

One of the guards pulled out a pin from his possession and began fumbling around with the lock. "It may be bolted on the other side, sir."

"No. Unless the boy had it fixed, which I doubt, it is broke."

Within minutes, the doorknob clicked open. He grabbed the girl's thin arm and pulled her inside. The mess and the stale mixture of smells made him nauseated.

"Damn rat he is," he said. He ordered the guards to stay in the hall, closed the door, and led her into the sitting area.

"Please," she pleaded.

"Shut up," he said and flung her to stand in front of him.

He studied the room until his eyes drifted up the stairs to the boy's study. "Take off your clothes."

The slave girl froze, arms already protecting herself. The Commander growled, "Do it now."

She shook in fright, but her dress eventually dropped to her ankles, revealing her chemise. He felt aroused, not by her, but by what he could do to her. He took in her brown skin not as dark as the Purple Thief's, but smooth, especially along the shapeless patches of ivory skin. He heard about this slave, spoken about amongst his men. They thought she was a pretty girl but wondered what she or her parents had done to cause the gods to dislike her in such a way.

He approached her and rubbed the back of his hand down the side of her wet cheek. She choked a sob and begged for mercy, "Please, don't."

"Tell me if there were anyone else in Gris' scheme."

She shook her head. "I-I wasn't a part of it. I-,"

She had no time to continue. He grabbed her by the hair again, flung her around, and pushed her to the dining table. With one swift motion, he cleared a section and slammed her face into it. She screamed and screamed, arms flinging for a useless defense. He yanked up her slip and warmed his hand against her thigh.

"No," she cried.

He pressed himself on top of her, keeping a hand firm on her head and neck. "Tell me the truth. Do not lie to me."

"I am..." she sobbed.

"What was your part in this?"

"I had none. I came in to give Limp a message." He made his hand heat up partially licking her tender skin with tiny flames. She wailed and buckled to no avail. "Please stop it burns."

"Talk, you whore."

"I knew Gris was up to something- everyone did, but we didn't know what. Please, ser, I didn't know what was going on."

"You lie."

"No," she cried.

"Can you not tell me something useful girl, for the sake of your defected skin?"

"I told you what I know. Orlan came to me with his message from the Luncheon. I only came up here to tell Limp and I saw she was here."

He remembered Grisonce's message to Orlan to return a gift he bought for his father.

"Of course, he was talking about her..." he said to no one in particular. "Did you ask why she was here? Anything?"

"No. I figured Gris' hand was in it, and I didn't want to pry."

Eron growled. And allowed some flames to lick her skin. She screamed and trembled beneath him until she shouted, "Wait. Wait. Wait."

He sucked in his flames and felt thick blood dribbling down her leg. "What is it?"

"I remember something."

"Speak it."

"W-when I came in. When I came in. Limp- Limp was in the bedroom and the girl was here at the table."

"Doing what?"

"Writing something. I don't know. She was over there," she wept pointing across the table.

Eron growled. "If you're lying to me. I will burn off your legs."

He pushed off the slave girl and stormed around the table, scanning the mess for what she mentioned. He halted. Sitting before one of the chairs was a folded-up parchment and a dried-up inked quill.

He glanced at the girl weeping mad and snatched up the paper.

What do we have here?

The Strange thief's handwriting was elegant and smooth of someone who was taught by another with great penmanship. He began to read the contents. Dear Dean and the family... His lips cracked into a dangerous grin. When he was done, he cut his gaze to the girl. With calm steps, he approached her, and she stood too frozen to move.

"This is a letter to her vagabond family," he said. The girl looked clueless. Apparently, she wasn't lying about not knowing anything. "A letter must be sent somewhere."

She shrugged. "I only came in and she was writing. I swear to the gods above. I heard nothing and saw nothing more. Gods as my witness, that is the truth."

"I believe you..." he said but the girl did not relax. He patted the paper falling deep into thought. "Perhaps, the limping Master of the House knows."

He pulled out his timepiece and curled his upper lip. It was already going on two in the afternoon. He had no time to make another side trip.

"What is your name?"

"H-Hasana."

"Surname?"

"Mavory, sir."

"Mavory. Do you have any living family, Hasana?"

The girl's red puffy eyes lifted to meet his, which was a bad mistake. He could see she was wondering whether to lie. Good for her in this situation, she told the truth.

"Y-yes."

"Who..."

"M-my father died when I was eleven. My mother still lives."

"Where?"

Hasana shifted feet her unease noticeable. "Strana," she said but he waved a hand for more information. "Westside, Windal Street."

Eron took a minute to draw a picture of the area. He knew the divided cities like pattern of his burn scar. Once he saw what he needed, he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"I have a task for you," he said. "Find out where the Thief wanted this to be sent. Talk to Rasheem or Grisonce or whomever. I don't give a damn. Give me the information by six, before I leave, or I will take a little stroll down Windal Street."

"No. Please, don't."

"Oh, I will."

"W-what if they don't know? What if she hadn't disclosed that-,"

"Ah! That is your problem," he said leaning close into her trembling face. "Get me what I need, or I will kill your mother then I will burn you alive. Tell anyone about this, do remember, Grisonce may have his eyes and ears amongst your kind, but I have mines too. Do you understand?"

Her wide eyes filling with new tears was all he needed. "Best work fast. Time is moving. Now get."

She scurried away, picking up her dress, and dashing out the room. Eron shivered, soaking in the girl's fear with an arousing pleasure. He rubbed his hard groin and gave a groaning sigh. Eron had to admit, that one was quite pretty.