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I emerged from the lukewarm liquid. I rubbed the bar of animal fat soap in the fur of my right arm, just as I'd done for my left arm and my chest. The bath was a good distraction; it prevented me from thinking about the Silvergate too much. It'd been two weeks since my prolonged contact with the artifact, and I could easily put it out of my mind.

I splashed a bit of water, and it caught my guard's attention. It was Lackey, the river reptile. Of all my occasional wardens, I preferred Cane by far, with whom I was safe. The large lizard enjoyed my nudity a bit too much, but he didn't work up the nerve to do anything when he was by himself. Battlehammer was the worst.

I washed my lower body carefully. No matter what I did, I felt dirty down there. When I scrubbed my privates, I thought only of what had been done to them, or what would be done to them. I cleaned myself, wondering if I was doing it out of obedience, or for my own comfort. Lackey ogled when I climbed out of the tub, and I stood before his view, lifting my arms. I rotated slowly, so that he could appreciate that I was entirely spotless, ready for the towel. Mostly, I'd survived that first week by becoming particularly adept at shutting down.

Lackey took his time eyeing my wet body. He made an unconvinced face, and gestured for me to revolve again. After I did, he threw me the towel. I dried myself as best I could. Lackey paced around me. He made sure to happen to be standing behind me when I bent over to wipe my legs. I folded the towel over the edge of the bath, and I stood straight. My muzzle came on first. Then, it was my collar, identifying me as a "Sakorum saelev". Finally, it was my arm and leg shackles, but only my arms were locked together, behind my back.

It'd become an ordinary day-to-day feature of the Quiet Palace: the Silver Warrior's stripped body was marched back to its pillar for further display. No one seemed particularly shocked anymore. Even the Southern lords and servants got used to the idea that I was just an ordinary slave. After all, _their_lives hadn't changed too much since the conquest. In the end, sex was sex. I'd been enticed by the sight of exposed market slave flesh as well, in the past. I felt okay with this, perhaps explicitly because they were slaves. By definition, they had no privacy to intrude upon. They were being punished for some crime, or they were defeated enemies. They'd deserved it.

Since I was a failed hero, so did I, apparently.

I let Lackey bind me to the pillar, and I prepared for yet another morning of decorating the entry hall with my surrender. New faces roamed around the court: visitors from the East. The Black King wanted to solidify his position by any means necessary, so he invited dignitaries from our other neighboring realm. The Southern Kingdom had always maintained a taut, difficult relationship with the Tsam Collective, and the Outsider made colossal efforts to present himself, to their eyes, as the preferable option for ruling the kingdom. He wasn't making any headway into obtaining their support, but that wasn't what he needed. What he needed was for them to tolerate his claim; he couldn't fight them and the Fair King, and he knew that the Fair King had been working tirelessly to secure the Tsam's help.

The emissary from the Highlands finished climbing the steps. The guards welcomed him through the opened bronze doors, and a servant loudly announced him, just like he had the morning before. The cervine clopped forward nobly with his entourage and protectors. He wore loose, brightly colored cotton damask in reds and yellows, with long hanging sleeves and baggy pants. Tiny golden chains swirled around his tall, vertical antlers. Numerous ribbons hung from them as well, the number of which he was allowed to wear signifying his status. The Tsam had no king; they ruled themselves via the Council of Eminents, an assortment of the wealthiest tradesmen in their lands, who assumed leadership turn by turn every two months. All decisions of the leading Eminent could be vetoed by a unanimous vote by the rest of the council. As I'd comprehended the previous day, the emissary wasn't an Eminent -- he used to be until his personal fortune wasn't sufficient anymore -- but he still did advise them, making him enormously influential. He also appeared permanently offended.

The Black King, dressed in his ceremonial armor excluding the cloak, ran to the visitor with surprisingly little dignity, until he minded himself, and slowed down. As usual, the doors separating the entry hall and the throne room were open.

-- A good morning to you, mouthed the emissary with no sincerity.

-- Welcome again to the Quiet Palace, Councilor Ghamed! I have it in good faith that you enjoyed your visit of the capital?

-- I did, continued to lie Ghamed. It was instructive.

-- Shall we get down to business, then?

-- Please.

The group advanced, but the councilor stopped when they went by my pillar, and stared at me. He'd noticed me the day before, but had pretended not to. He looked at my spread legs, briefly, and then he pulled on my collar to read the inscription.

"Is that the Silver Warrior?"

-- Yes.

The Outsider was pleased. My display was having the effect it was supposed to have, or beyond that. The emissary seemed intrigued. The Tsam had two obsessions: commerce, and their ardent faith in the religion that gave its name to their country, and to its people. The Tsam religion imposed rigid rules of conduct that they'd codified into their laws. One of these rules was known -- even in faraway realms -- as the Rule of half. The Tsam considered it thoroughly depraved for a single person to earn more than the combined wages of the poorest half of the people they employed. Therefore, whenever their trade ventures yielded more profit than anticipated, they were forbidden by law to use that currency unless half of it served to inflate the lower numbers on their payrolls. They not only abhorred slavery on the moral ground that it didn't contribute to commerce -- slaves didn't spend much -- but under the Rule of half, it was also unprofitable. Sadly, their religious zealotry also led them to consider that the non-Tsam were immoral, worthless wretches. In short, they saw absolutely no issue with the faithless slaying and enslaving each other. In fact, they possibly liked it.

"Would you like us to bring him along? You probably never had a Southern hero groveling at your hooves before. They are usually too busy bullying us, and trying to dictate us to serve them."

The Tsam representative remained unmoved.

-- You're trying to paint the Southerners as a common threat, but it won't serve your cause. I've no love for the Fair King, but we've been at peace with him for the entirety of his rule.

The Black King bowed his head to recognize Ghamed's point.

-- He will not live eternally, though. I hear the prince is not nearly as... tranquil as his father.

-- Perhaps. Perhaps it's good that we talk, but don't get your hopes up. You're a conqueror. We dislike conquerors.

The emissary returned his attention to me. He seemed not to hate the idea of my being conquered.

"Yes. Bring the Southerner. I wish to hold his leash."

-- Of course.

That was what I'd become: a toy for playing at domination. I felt it when the locks were opened, and the emissary gratefully took my chain to experience the pleasure of leading me around. It didn't pierce through my armor of impassivity. I was in some kind of survival mode, sheltering my mind against that which would cause too much damage. It was no restful state to be in, however. I was aware of the pressure created by the insistent tugs that forced me to the center of the group, where I was poked, patted, and otherwise handled by the curious Tsam, who enjoyed discovering the thrill of total power over me, in one of those rare occasions of freedom from their moral principles. Ghamed, his followers, the Black King and I, moved to the throne room where we met Meleth and a bunch of Northwestern captains, waiting by the throne. Complex introductions happened. The stag reined me in closer. He considered me as I stood under his control, utterly disinterested in the formal procedure that was going on. I saw Meleth notice it. He elbowed the Outsider discreetly, and, with a quick eye movement, showed him the problem.

"It might be best if we discussed a few matters privately," proposed the king. "My court can continue to introduce themselves without us."

For the first time, Ghamed appeared to have to make an effort to stay annoyed.

-- It'd be unusual, but it sounds appropriate considering the nature of my visit.

-- Shall we head to the gardens?

Meleth handled the transition, seamlessly taking over the dreary introductions. The king and the emissary left side by side, bringing me with them.

The clouded sky covered the plants and the alleys in a cold grey light. A wind gust made me shiver. The Lowlander and the Highlander prepared quietly for what was coming. The emissary initiated the discussion.

-- The Council of Eminents is trying to figure out where their interests lie. They've sent me to observe and to report to them. What I've seen so far is a military occupation. You have no claim to these lands. Why did you come?

-- I do not grant any value to Southern claims based on absurdities like bloodlines. Neither do you, I trust.

-- The Southerners don't want you here.

-- It is not always easy to recognize what is to one's advantage. After all, that is what you are trying to assess, yourself.

-- Do you expect me to believe that you invaded the Southern Kingdom out of a desire to help it?

-- No, that was not the reason, but I will help it.

The reptile crossed his arms, and then pointed a claw to me.

"He is cold."

The stag hesitated for a second or two. He drew my nude body even closer. I tried not to think about how warm he was. The two reprised their argument as if there'd been no interruption.

-- In this case, maybe we should be at war, derided the emissary. Your help isn't the kind we'd like to receive.

-- We will not be at war.

-- How are you so sure?

-- It is bad for trade.

Ghamed went from offended, to super offended.

-- Your arrogance knows no bounds. Do you think that mentioning trade will make us stand aside, and let you do whatever you want? Let me tell you what's bad for trade. Getting conquered is bad for trade. Having our hard-working, faithful citizens slaughtered and their goods looted is bad for trade. You attacked the Midlands for no reason. If you get away with it, why wouldn't you attack us as well? Why shouldn't we ally with the Fair King, and destroy you while you're weak? The Eminents' first priorities are the safety and the integrity of the Tsam people.

I wondered, momentarily, about what would happen if I converted to the Tsam religion right there. It was a ridiculous idea, and I was muzzled, but I was increasingly sympathetic to the emissary. He continued to hold me close, and the warmth of standing there seemed weirdly less corrosive than before. On the other hand, it could conceivably be that anyone capable of standing up to the Lowlands Demon seemed like a source of protection for me. I studied my owner. I'd witnessed him talk his way out of bad situations before, and I withheld my hope. He did look confident.

-- Yes. Your desire for stability is precisely why we are the ally that you need. We are alike, that is what we bring to the table.

Ghamed scoffed.

-- We're nothing alike!

The Outsider showed a bleak smile. He took a few steps away, dramatically, and stared at the foliage.

-- Winter in the Lowlands. The soil grows too cold to plow. Go far enough north; it freezes completely, and deeply. The first snows fall. Everywhere, for all the Boneheads, it is the same ritual. Laborers go to their chief's tool shed, and trade in their spades, scythes and hoes for axes and shields. In winter, every village goes to war against every other village. Do you know why?

The emissary frowned.

"It is not because they love combat, or are inherently more violent. It is because no village manages to wrest enough food from the lands to survive the winter. They all need each other's reserves. We got good at it, you know. War. It is a skill. It has value. Midlanders know it, and so do you. Both of your realms love to hire us as cheap, desperate mercenaries to solve your own conflicts while you swim in bumper crops, year after year. We have simply decided to come over and to do a little bit more trade."

-- What trade?

-- Today, we offer order. You know the Southerners. They move for greed, not necessity. There will be no more intestinal fighting in the Southern Kingdom. No more barons, or earls, or counts attacking each other. No more nonsense conflicts of rivaling bloodlines seeking the throne. No more preventive raids into the Lowlands, to butcher my broken, hungry people before they swarm over the border, driven by their final survival instincts. I had no choice but to take the Midlands. Now, we have what we needed. Grain will flow to the Northwest, and stability will be enforced here, and there. Both realms will be stronger with the South under my rule. As for us, we need never be at war.

-- Why not?

-- Because you do not threaten us. I will not attack you, since I know with perfect certainty that you will not attack me.

Ghamed sighed.

-- And that certainty comes from where?

The Black King enunciated slowly, jubilantly.

-- War is bad for trade.

I was getting used to the Outsider's style of argument. If you stripped away the performance, it was fairly simple. The emissary wanted reassurance that the Tsam would be left in peace, so the Black King argued that he'd attacked us because we were greedy and threatening, and he wanted to provide for his people, exactly like the Tsam did for their own downtrodden. The Tsam being a good, honorable people, they wouldn't be attacked. It was a moral argument, and I could see how it'd been designed specifically to flatter and convince the Tsam, who thought of themselves as morally superior.

I peeked at the stag holding my leash, and saw how much it appealed to him. Ghamed caught my eye, and I looked away, but too late. The Black King laughed.

"He just wants more attention."

The emissary was suddenly startled, and shyer.

-- He does?

-- For all of their arrogance, these Southerners learn their place quickly. You are much kinder to him than I usually am. He is probably impressed by you.

-- So, what do I do?

-- Whatever you like. He is learning obedience. You can pet him.

The bewildered Tsam forgot all about the argument he was having with the king, and I understood that the opportunistic king had won again. Now, I was going to serve as a bargaining chip. The hooved fingers barely brushed my shoulder.

"Go ahead. Let me show you."

The Outsider slapped his claws under my chin. He moved my muzzle around. He pulled me down to my knees, and then pressed my face against the emissary's thigh. It smelled of pine trees and wild nuts. It was warm. I knew that, unless I cooperated, I'd get severely punished. I stayed there.

"See? That is what he is for. Stroke his head."

The stag did as was suggested, touching my head more vigorously. I sensed my ears folding as his hand went over them. The cold, humid wind blew into my exposed fur again.

-- He doesn't seem to like it.

-- He does not know what he wants. Nobody really does. Pride often gets in the way, but it will be of little benefit to him here. Help him get over it.

The Black King seized my collar, and roughly put me in place before Ghamed's groin.

-- W-what are you doing? stuttered the stag.

The reptile didn't respond. He spoke to me instead:

-- And how about you, slave? Would you like my honored guest to assist with your training?

They both stared at me. I was stuck. Last time I'd disobeyed a direct order -- when I refused to eat ground food from my bowl that had visibly been ejaculated into -- I'd been tied down in the throne room, and my paws had been "teased" with red-hot pokers. I would've eaten the content of the bowl right then and there, but, following that, I'd been starved for two days, and only then was I allowed to eat the stuff that had become rancid, so I got sick. Technically, the Black King had asked me a question, not given an order, but his expression made it unambiguous that I had to play along, or else.

I gave out a single muffled yelp that could be interpreted as absolutely anything they desired. The Tsam representative adopted more convinced manners. He put one hand to the side of my neck. Playful, the king lobbed the key to my binds over to the visitor. He barely caught it.

"I apologize for the rudeness, but I have to egress. I must see to many urgent matters. We can continue this conversation later, if it suits you. You would merely have to stay at the palace, tonight. We can be very accommodating. I will trust you to return my property to the entry hall when you are done. With your walk, I mean."

The Black King turned his back, and he disappeared through the tunnels of foliage. The emissary took a moment to decide what to do with me, relieved by my owner's timely departure. He shoved my snout some more over the shape of his hard sex, through his pants. Then, without pause, he lifted me to my paws, by the neck, and by gripping the fur on my sides. Upright, I was as tall as he was, antlers aside. His embrace was full-bodied, and warm. The hardened ends of his fingers danced on my butt. The strong nutty fragrance kept my mind busy. It was easy to focus on it. The stag advanced into me, backing me up into a trimmed hedge bush, planted into an elevated stone plinth. His other hand joined the first under my ass, and he hoisted me up, sitting me on top of the cold platform at waist height. He stood between my legs. He pressed me against his torso. After that, with one hand, he rubbed my hip, with the other, he fondled my sex. The Tsam's firm touches were more cautious than the Black King's. He wasn't as detached as my owner, when he submitted me to his urges. The stag was kinder, almost voluptuous. I gazed unhappily to him, hoping that it might incur his mercy, but he kept touching me. I didn't want to feel that. It took a while, but I stiffened.

I watched him continue to stroke my erect penis. My arousal built up. I began asking myself why. Was I attracted to this? Had I always been attracted to this? I heard the king's words in my head: "He does not know what he wants." Was it true that, somewhere, deep inside of me, I'd always wanted to end up as a dominated plaything? Or maybe it was a new thing. Maybe it'd been beaten, and fucked into me by the constant humiliations I suffered. Shame pierced the armor that was disconnecting me from the events of my life. One way or the other, given enough time, I'd end up as a loyal cock sheath, tamed and trained, begging for my owner's attentions. I felt like I deserved to be a spiritless slave. I was trash. I was refuse. I knew how unreasonable it was to think that. Sexual pleasure was imposed to me. It wasn't my fault. But reason wasn't able to control my emotions. In the end, on what else could I base judgments of myself? All I did all day was to cower, work my chores, receive punishments, and submit sexually. Occasionally, it struck me that that treatment wasn't even special. It was the ordinary unbearable life of a slave. Other slaves didn't escape their predicaments, so why would I? All slaves either accepted their fates, or they died horribly, made into examples.

Ghamed nudged my testicles. Leisurely, he brought his hand to his muzzle, opened his mouth, and licked it. A lengthy twine of yellow silk held his pants. He unlaced it, and pushed his pants below his buttocks. He took his cock, and poked mine with it.

-- Do you want this?

It was a direct question, and the Outsider wasn't there anymore. I calculated the risk. I didn't truly think that I would get away with it, but if I could avoid serving as the emissary's toy, it was worth it. I stared into his eyes, and I clearly, willfully shook my head from left to right. The stag ceased smiling. That wasn't the response he'd expected. He turned brutal.

"You do need more training, slave."

He closed his grip on both of our cocks, and rubbed them together, violently. My chest was pushed backwards, so that I'd lie before him. I fell into the bush. Dry branches and small spines dug in my flesh. He squeezed hurtfully as our rods chafed. I'd misinterpreted Ghamed's attitude. In his mind, he was entitled to me. I was a corrupt, unfaithful Southerner. He knew, deep down, that he was coercing me. He simply enjoyed the fiction that the king had spun to protect his moralistic sensibilities. By refusing him, I'd made him guilty. He'd wanted me to lie, and now he was angry, so he reverted to his default position; I wasn't a Tsam, therefore I was worthless. He could fuck me anyway, and if he was harsh, it was my fault for failing to please him as would've been appropriate.

His fingers persistently pressed my erection against his. He used the shaft of my sex, and its head, as tools to pleasure his own, grinding the interstice under his bulb with the crown of my cock, or sliding the tip of his head along my length. When the abrasion became uncomfortable, he spat on our cocks and continued. I quaked from the force he used, painfully embedded in the shrub. I tried to think of anything else, but all I could see was our dicks wriggling in the emissary's hand. All I could sense was the sexual burn that I was trying to disregard.

"Come on!" the stag grunted.

He grasped even harder, tense, short of breath.

"Ejaculate, slut!"

He climaxed first, angling our sexes toward me, covering my belly, my abdomen, with thin white streaks. I didn't move, or do anything. He just kept molesting my cock until I spurted for him, adding to the long stains over my chest.

"There," he said, victorious. "I'll have you in my chamber tonight. I'll try another part of you."

The heavy come seeped slowly in my fur. I thought about the fact that I'd been bathed this same morning. I was soiled again already. I couldn't stay clean even for half a day. Weirdly, this was the thought that broke me. I started to cry. Well, my eyes cried, anyway. The rest of me didn't seem to care nearly as much. I made no sound, but tears rolled around my snout, along the leather muzzle, and joined the sperm in my chest. I couldn't stop them. The Tsam representative was destabilized. He stared differently. He unhanded me, and cut his "walk" short. He hurried back to the entry hall, navigating the garden paths, abruptly anxious to get rid of me. He wouldn't stay the night, after all.

Captain Meleth was waiting for us. When he saw me, I saw the subtle change. He was polite and amenable to Ghamed when he took my chain, but he was faking it. Words can't describe how glad I was that Meleth was charged with waiting for my return. The pale reptile was the only palace denizen who was kind to me. Cane made me feel protected, sure, but to call him kind would be a stretch. I needed Meleth's compassionate presence badly.

As soon as the emissary rejoined the group formed by his attendants, the king got up from his throne, and accompanied them. They left by the great bronze doors. Meleth ordered a servant to fetch water and a clean cloth. The captain brought me into the throne room, and sat me down in the steps near the throne. He settled next to me. My tears ran continuously, all the while.

The servant arrived with the cloth and a jar. The manacharian thanked him. He dried my face first. After that, he plunged the cloth in the jar. He wrung it. The king called.

-- Wait.

The Outsider approached from outside. He gestured for the guards to close the great doors. The official visit was over. He crossed the entrance, and made his way along the central alleyway of the throne room, between the seats for the public. He reached us.

"Up."

I stood before my owner, demolished, and showed the white gooey lines fouling my fur. He examined my sullied body, my defeated obedience, and my tears.

"Fair enough. Go ahead, Meleth."

The captain tugged on my chain. I sat back down. While Meleth did his best to remove the seed from my pelt, the Outsider crouched to my other side. Flanked by the reptiles, I concentrated on a single stone tile under my paws. We stayed like that until Meleth was done. Parts of my fur were still a bit sticky, but it wouldn't cake. The king got up, and returned to his throne. Meleth dried my eyes again. The cloth was too dirty, so he used his hands.

-- Captain! I have a task for you. And bring him over.

Meleth shrugged. He patted the side of my face as encouragement, and responded to his liege, walking briskly toward the throne, with me in tow.

-- What can I do for you, sir?

-- I want you to send two invitations.

-- Mandatory invitations?

-- Very mandatory. I want to see Lord Jan of the Maran estate as soon as possible, and I want to meet with Einar -- I mean, Lord Einar our Marshal, tonight.

-- What about?

-- A business venture and troop movements. Why do you care? Tell them to be here. They are not out of the capital, are they?

-- Not that I know of.

-- Then, go.

Meleth bowed, and went about his new mission. My tears had been slowing down, but they redoubled when he left. I still didn't feel much: just a little tinge of sadness and fear. Mostly, I was blockaded by _something_that I couldn't describe. It pressured me, eating away at my will to live. From his seat, the king wagged a finger, directing me to approach. I ensured not to let my fear make me hesitate. He inclined himself forward, and squeezed my arms with his hands, right under my shoulders.

"You did good, today. You even got the Tsam out of my way. Tears, however, will not buy you much sympathy from me. Down."

I sat over my ankles, on my knees. The Outsider pulled me to his legs. I leaned against them. He fumbled with my ears. He loved my ears. He played with them on every occasion. I noted that his traits exhibited the regular amount of fatigue for a king. I wondered if he'd returned to the Silvergate, since the last time. I didn't think so. Perhaps I'd overestimated the influence that the artifact had on him. I certainly missed it, in that moment. The Outsider gave me something else to think about. He spoke:

"I think of you, sometimes, during my day. I imagine how you are doing, affixed to your pillar, immobilized for hours, or scrubbing floors senselessly. It is senseless, you know. The servants do it anyway, every week, and they do it better and faster."

It wasn't the first time that something like this happened. Far from it. When he was calm and satisfied, my owner talked to me. He could tell me anything, from thoughts or dreams he had, to how the war against the Fair King progressed, or, indeed, details about his day. Those sudden verbal outbursts could be somewhat gentle, mean-spirited, or both. Regardless, they generally indicated that I'd done something that pleased him, and, therefore, that I wasn't about to be punished. Oddly enough, it didn't make me feel better. Sometimes, it made me feel worse; it increased the pressure in me.

The scaly hand fiddled on top of my head more coherently. The claws waved up and down, halfway between scratching and petting. I waited patiently for it to end.

"I enjoy envisioning your misery. I realized lately that I still think of us as if we were in some sort of duel, as if I had something more to prove. That does not sound very sensible to me. I am no longer angered. Your obedience and sexual servility have satisfied my desire to shatter your pride."

He raised my snout, and forced me to look at him. He wiped two fingers under my damp right eye, and let my snout return to its low droop. He slid his fingers against his thumb, testing the texture.

"Yes. I am fond of your tears. I love to see you weak and sorry, but perhaps there is no cause to form a habit out of tormenting you. That does not mean that I will make it easier on you by lowering my expectations. You remain my property, to be trained into whatsoever I desire."

The Outsider closed his left fist around my collar. He moved me between his legs.

"If you demonstrate, here and now, that you accept your defeat, that your life is mine, and that you offer your abject submission to me, I will consider our conflict solved."

I was about to turn around, to bend over to the floor, and to spread open my cheeks to present my anus, as I'd been ordered to do before, to show subservience. The Demon didn't even let me begin the movement. He held me firmly in place.

"No. Do not present just yet. First, acknowledge, or do not."

The Black King showed me his right hand's open palm. He held his hand straight, vertically, about a meter away from where he held my collar.

"This is not for anyone else. It is strictly between you and me. I do not care if you believe that you are deceiving me, or if you tell yourself that this is meaningless. If you put your nose into my palm, I will know that you give up, that you regret defying me, and that you offer me your fate in reparation. I will know it, you will know it, and I will expect you to take your training to heart, and to show appropriate enthusiasm when obeying, or when pleasing me. If you do not put your nose into my palm, then nothing will change."

The king grinned.

"I will continue to have a nice excuse. Part of me hopes that you still have some fight; that you can still take me on. Show me that your spirit is unbroken, that you latched on to any shred of self-respect, so that I can continue to be delighted by those sad whimpers you make when I shove my dick up your butt, knowing that every smack on your ass, every hot poker under your paw, every load of semen in your face is that much more progress toward that exquisite moment when you will put your nose into my palm like a pathetic, beaten, mindless dog accepting its hopeless place in the world."

His little speech was infuriating. He managed to shake part of my torpor. He really did make me want to rebel again, and growl at him, but I didn't. The Black King used the same tricks, over and over again. I still had no choice but to behave submissively, since doing otherwise merely resulted in methodical punishment until I submitted. Everything he said was perfectly accurate on this point. Depicting my submission as optional merely served to lower me even more, by giving me the impression that I was choosing it. It meant to trap my mind.

"So? Will you proudly tell me to fuck myself, like that day we met, or are you housebroken already?"

It wasn't a difficult choice to make, but it was a difficult choice to assume. I began to lean toward his hand. He let my collar go. As I moved, I tried, I swear that I tried with all that I was, and that I had, not to buy into his game. It mattered none. I did feel housebroken. I did feel like a beaten dog. I did feel like I was conceding, and granting my owner more legitimacy to use me and to shape me however he wished. Shamefully, I poked his palm with my nose. Nothing happened, so I touched it more, and then more. I rubbed my nose in there until he stopped me by closing his hand over my snout, and petted it through the leather.

"I knew it. I am proud. I am also glad that we are not at odds anymore."

My owner took a breath.

"In this case, slave, I wish to take back what I said on that day as well. You have many flaws, but being dumb is not one of them."

The reptile let go of me completely.

"Now, you may present."

My lethargy returned fully when I crawled in front of the throne, bent for my subjugator, lifted my tail, and offered my privates as his toys. When I didn't hear him stand to avail himself of me, I assumed my position wasn't good enough. I stretched my buttocks even more, making certain that my anus was fully in evidence.

"You can come back, now."

With some uncertainty, I abandoned the debasing stance. I regained my place at the foot of the throne. The king's left leg huddled with my side, seeking warmth. After a few minutes, around noon, I was told to stay. My owner returned with a small, torn up loaf of bread and my bowl. It was placed in front of me. The cold-blooded manacharian munched his bread with remote interest. I was getting used to the taste of the cold, wet, paste that I was fed. It smelled like ground beef offal, or chicken giblets -- depending on the day -- mixed with flour. I ate little by little. I was regularly solicited by the king's hand hanging from the armrest. I had to interrupt my meal to let him pet me. We'd both finished eating when Jan arrived. He was announced, even though we could see him distinctly in the entry hall.

"Baron Maran, please, come in!"

I was sitting quietly by my owner when my wolf friend saluted the Black King. I turned out unable to decide whether it was better or worse than the last time he'd seen me. At least, I'd ceased crying, and I was clean-ish. Jan looked the worst I'd ever seen him. He wore drab clothes, and hid his concern about being invited by the king without success. Just from his appearance, it seemed to me that he half-expected to be executed. Why? The Outsider attempted to put him at ease.

"I am happy to have this time to speak with you again. Let me reassure you immediately: I will not waste too much of your time, I know that it is precious, and I am thankful for your quick response."

-- Of course, my king. It's my pleasure, said Jan unconvincingly.

-- When last we met, you mentioned your willingness to lend me a hand for my future endeavors. I have requested your presence to ask for a favor.

-- Ah.

Jan began to simmer down.

"How can I be of service?"

-- This morning, I asked my treasurer to go through the Fair King's books and reports about yearly collected tariffs. You appear to be importing many luxury products from the Highlands: dyes, fabrics, exotic fruit, spices, perfume, that sort of thing.

Jan nodded.

-- The realm is steadily getting wealthier, my king. Those products seemed like a wise investment.

-- I agree. You have been moving those trade goods for a long time. I assume you have a fine working relationship with the Tsam.

Jan, who had no political instincts when it came to military matters, appeared quite lost.

-- I do. They're a wise people; their ways have inspired many of the reforms that made the Maran barony what it is today.

Meleth entered the room discreetly, and joined his chief. The king cut to the chase.

-- I want you to invest some of the kingdom's money for me.

Jan was taken aback.

-- You do?

-- Yes. As I understand, the structures already exist, and it would merely be a matter of increasing your orders with your contacts.

Jan was becoming interested.

-- Indeed.

-- In exchange for your expertise, I would credit all of your tariffs for the coming year.

On that, Jan was gone. He was elsewhere, between worlds, undoubtedly calculating how much more profit he could make by using the saved funds to increase his own orders, which would also be tariff exempt. Not to mention the fact that bigger caravans would be safer on the roads.

The reptile gently mocked Jan.

"That is a lot of wealth to figure out how to spend, is it not?"

Jan returned to reality.

-- Yes.

-- Build more mills, whispered the king.

-- I'm sorry?

-- My people, in the Lowlands, are starving. The crown will soon buy flour in large amounts to supply them. Buy land, build mills.

-- That's...

Jan was gone again.

-- Think about it. I will send my treasurer to speak to you.

-- Alright. I mean, thank you, my king.

Jan was shaken when he exited the Quiet Palace. The Outsider frowned, sitting on his throne.

-- This lord expected to be arrested.

He patted my head.

"I believe that your friend is conspiring against me."

I'd gotten the exact same impression upon the baron's arrival. I displayed no reaction. I didn't want to corroborate his suspicions. The king leaned toward Meleth.

"Find someone close to Lord Maran who can inform us. I want to know precisely where my coin goes."

I thought about only one thing: a way to warn my friend. There was none, of course, but I searched. I couldn't send a message. I had no accomplice. I couldn't get in direct contact with him. Gloomily, I prayed that he wouldn't get caught doing something. I was startled when my owner clapped his hands.

"In the meantime, all I have left to do is to tell Einar to withdraw our troops from the eastern border, to help with bottling up the Fair King in Cierra."

-- Is that wise? asked Meleth.

-- We will maneuver under the assumption that the Highlanders will not attack. They should think twice before ruining a relationship just as it gets profitable. Besides, the faster we deal with our enemy inside, the safer we will be.

The Black Guard captain nudged his boss' shoulder teasingly.

-- Everything you do always hangs by a thread.

The Black King conceded with a shrug.

-- Where would the fun be, otherwise?

He jumped onto his boots.

"Speaking of fun, I have things to do," he declared. "Why do you not take my pet around the courtyard?"

-- What things?

-- None of your concern.

-- It figures.

Adrenaline pumped into my blood. Jan had just left. If we were fast, it was entirely possible that he might still be in the courtyard as well. It was a long shot; I'd still have to hope for an opportunity to get close enough to warn him. It was risky. Even so, I straightened up on my paws. In a flash, I stood near Meleth. I offered my chain to him. Luckily, the captain picked up my urgent pace. Seconds later, we were underway.