Page 159 of Dragon Slayer

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TUCKED TAIL

“And so he returns,” Murat said from his favored chair, his audience chamber warmed with coal braziers, lit by dozens upon dozens of candles. “Not as a conquering hero, but with drooping ears and a tucked tail. You failed.”

An accusation would have been easier to swallow – he could have argued his case against it. But a simple statement of fact, such as this, settled across the back of his neck, heavy as a yoke. He clenched his hands together behind his back, nails digging into his palms. “I had but a small number of men. Vladislav’s numbers were superior.”

“Yes, and yet you didn’t stay and test them against your own. Knowing you, and your penchant for…futile violence. I expected rashness, rather than retreat.”

“Sorry to have disappointed you.”

Murat waved. He looked bored. “I overestimated you, it would seem. You are, after all, just a boy, and clearly not ready for leadership.”

Vlad opened his mouth and drew in a deep, fast breath; he felt his fangs against his lip. The former sultan’s attendants lifted their brows in some alarm.

He checked himself. Swallowed, forced his shoulders to relax. “If I had more men–”

“No.” Murat snapped his fingers and a pair of slaves stepped forward behind Vlad. “You may stay.” Thefor nowwas silent, but very much felt. “I will figure out what to do with the new prince of Wallachia. Until then, what remains of your belongings and retinue have been stowed away in guest quarters. You may follow the slaves.”

He bowed and did so. Furious. Shamed.

In the end, there hadn’t been much choice in returning to the Ottoman capital. Without any allies in the immediate area, fleeing from Vladislav’s forces, with all of his own forces belonging to Murat…they’d turned up on the palace doorstep only hours ago.

Vlad had never known such self-loathing.

The slaves both carried lanterns, and they led him out a side door and onto the grounds, all the usual beauty of the gardens muted and pruned back for winter.

A shadow peeled away from the trunk of a pear tree and fell into step beside Vlad, so quiet the slaves didn’t notice. Cicero.

Vlad wanted to scold him – he’d left the wolf with strict instructions to stay with their possessions and rooms, though he should have known his Familiar would want to keep close watch on him.

Soft enough just for Vlad to hear, he said, “Was your brother there?”

“No.” And he hadn’t expected him to be. “Neither was his master.”

But Val’s scent was here. Faint traces in the corridors, on the shrubs they walked past, here.

“They’ll want to keep us apart, I’m sure,” Vlad said. “And for his own safety, I can’t be seen seeking him out.”

“But your mother…”

Vlad sighed. “That will be a problem.”

~*~

“What’s happening?” Val asked, and Arslan stilled behind him.

When Val tried to turn his head, the slave corrected him with a gentle touch of fingertips at his temple, and resumed brushing out Val’s hair. It had grown long; sleek and flaxen, it held waves when the weather was damp, but could be smoothed into submission with a boar-bristle brush and a small dollop of oil. This was part of their now-normal morning routine, his and Arslan’s. After a great amount of obedience, and true effort in bed, Val had been able to request the slave as his own.

Something about that day after the failed duel, waking to find himself in chains, had hardened Val’s resolve. He no longer cried; no longer pressed tears into his pillow and choked back pained cries. But he wasn’t afraid of the sultan in the same way, either. He requested things; he negotiated.“You’re growing bold,”Mehmet had said with clear disapproval, but then Val had taken his cock into his throat, down to the root, and Mehmet hadn’t punished that boldness.

So two months before, Val had risen from bed, shaken his gold hair back over his shoulder, and said,“I wish to have a slave of my own.”

Mehmet had reached for the cup on his night table and laughed.

“I’m quite serious.”He still wore the cuffs, and a new collar, less noticeable, had been designed for him: delicate silver, with a sapphire set in its center, dampening his psychic abilities.“Concubines have servants. Am I not a concubine?”

“You do make a very good case.”

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