Page 38 of Rise of a Fallen Man

My room quickly proved too small to hide from my thoughts. I felt restless, unable to sit still or to focus on anything long enough before the images of Ari with her highborn groom assaulted me. He was everything I wasn’t, which meant he was perfect, and she deserved the best. But that didn’t make me feel any better.

Long before the lunch hour, I left the room with no clear destination in mind. I didn’t feel thirsty, but maybe I should find a bottle of wine and drown the pain that burned through my insides like poison.

A moan sounded from behind the door of another gladiator. The sound wouldn’t be unusual on a night after the games when the court ladies visited. But it wasn’t even noon yet. Everybody had left the gladiators’ quarters for the day. I thought I was the only one left.

I stepped back, staring at the door. This was Regit’s room, the quick and always cheerful gladiator from the Tresed Queendom, who dressed as an elf in the arena. He had quite a few powerful women as his benefactors, but I didn’t think any of them would be visiting him at this hour, especially on the day of the royal wedding.

Another moan came from behind the door. It didn’t seem to be a moan of pleasure, I realized, as the sound descended into a sorrowful groan of pain.

“Regit? Are you alright?” I knocked on the door.

“Raeb?” His reply came in a subdued voice.

“Yes, it’s me. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” There was a note of resignation in his answer.

I pushed the door open.

Regit lay in his bed with the velvet curtains pulled back and tied around the carved mahogany bedposts. The thick embroidered drapes on the window of his spacious room remained closed. It looked like he hadn’t been up yet. In the dim light of the glowing incense lamp on his night table, his eyes appeared sunken into their sockets. His normally warm-brown skin had turned ashen, with perspiration beading on his forehead.

“What happened, Regit?” I crossed the room toward him. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” he deadpanned. “You’re not the most gorgeous man out there, either.”

“I know.” I shrugged. “Falo holds that title.”

“Right. That handsome son of a—” Shifting under the quilted covers, he groaned again and winced in pain. “Fuck...”

“What’s going on?” I touched his hand. It was feverishly hot. “Did you catch a trembling fever or something? It’s common this time of year.”

Regit’s high cheekbones darkened with a subtle glow of blush. “No. Not a trembling fever. But it does feel hot and gives me shakes...” He peered at me intently, as if gauging how much he could divulge.

I didn’t push him either way. We all had our secrets to keep. But if Regit felt I should know his, I was there for him.

After a moment of hesitation, he shoved away his silk cover.

“Does it look bad?”

“Fuck,” I exhaled, staring at his bruised and swollen crotch.

Ink-black blotches covered his lower stomach and upper thighs. His cock bloated to several times of a normal size, its surface uneven and bumpy. His ball sack had completely disappeared behind his enormous cock. A black pearl of liquid beaded in the opening of his crown like a drop of seed. By the glossy silver sheen to it, I recognized the liquid onyx.

Now I knew exactly what Regit was going through. His pain resonated with a phantom ache through my own pelvis area.

I lowered myself into the chair by his bed.

“Why did you do it?”

“You know what it is?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

I nodded. “I’ve seen it before.”

I’ve lived through it too.

I didn’t say that part out loud, afraid of questions I didn’t want to answer.

“Where did you get it done?” I asked. “Where is the warlock who did the surgery? Did he give you anything to take after?”

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