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In the center of the palace courtyard, at the base of the stairs, a disused fountain dreamt of former glories. The Fair King had never liked it; it was too wasteful for his tastes. There was no nearby source of water to supply it, so a complex system of piston pumps activated by no less than three windmills were necessary to draw the water from a faraway pond high enough for gravity to be sufficient to carry the precious liquid through a complex underground canalization. It'd been dry since the Fair King inherited the crown from his uncle, but the Black King hated the impression it gave. There was no point to a dry fountain. He'd hired a renowned pair of master builder and architect to figure out a way to pump water instead from an underground source, too deep to be pumped from mechanically. Thus far, they'd dug a hole under the fountain to bare the pipes, and they spent their afternoons sitting on the edge of the basin, trying to imagine ways to make the impossible possible. Firmly attached to Meleth, I kept his pace while we walked around them and their fountain.

When walked on a leash, I was to remain at arm's length of my holder, to their side, and one or two steps in front, so as to stay in view and easily controllable. Under no circumstances was I to attempt to pull into any direction, or to influence my holder's path. Less than a hundred meters before us, I witnessed Jan's back, moving moodily away, about to leave the courtyard. I'd been a fool to hold any hope of talking to him. I even had no way to remove my muzzle. I gave up, and softly padded alongside Meleth. The fountaineers recognized the captain. They waved to him. They were an odd couple. One was old, the other was young. One was fat, the other was lean. One was tall, the other was short. Yet, they shared an unmistakable resemblance. Perhaps their manners were responsible, or their voices. Or the creepy way that they seemed to blink at the same time. Meleth oriented our walk toward them.

-- Guess I have to talk to them. You don't have to suffer it as well.

Meleth detached my wrist-shackles and my muzzle. He rolled the chain and put it in my hands.

"Walk yourself for, oh, two or three minutes. It should be just enough to run to your friend and say hi, maybe save his life. You will, however, be back at my side before I notice."

Meleth went to the fountain alone, leaving me behind, holding my chain with both hands, processing what had just happened. I turned and ran. I was outside. My hands were free. I held my own leash. After half a month of captivity, running free had become a strange sensation. I reached Jan in time, just before he went through the guarded gates that led to the streets. He heard me approaching, and turned to me. My presence dazed him, but there was something else in the way he stared at me. His pained expression reminded me that I wore an animal collar and black shackles at my arms and legs, that I was completely unclothed, offered for everyone's eyes, and that none of these things were supposed to be normal. I remembered that I used to have pride, and to inspire respect. It punched me in the gut. The wolf didn't seem to know what to say. I almost regretted showing myself in his presence. I should've been ashamed of my condition as a trophy and a sex slave. Why wasn't I more ashamed? I pushed that worry aside. I'd come here for a reason, and I had no time to engage in this brand of self-destruction.

-- Jan listen...

The sound of my voice startled me. It was coarse and uneven. I hadn't spoken for many days. It quickly returned to its usual quality.

"Listen up. I have little time. They think that you're involved in some sort of resistance. They're going to spy on you to see what you do with the king's money."

Jan nodded distantly.

-- I expected it, yes. Why are you here?

-- What? I'm warning you in case that it's true.

-- How did you escape?

Something was wrong. Jan seemed angry, unsympathetic.

-- What's up, Jan?

-- You want me to tell you, don't you?

He was defensive. He assumed that I was betraying him, that I was trying to bring information back to my owner. He'd seen me beg for my life, so that was his conclusion: I'd chosen to be a loyal slave. He didn't trust me anymore. I wasn't even sure I'd feel any different in his place. It hurt.

-- Of course, I didn't escape! They let me go because they wanted me to warn you. They want you to know because what truly matters to them is that the money gets where it's supposed to go. They don't give a shit whether you're a rebel or not, what they really need is to keep the Tsam out of their war.

-- So you hurried to do your master's bidding.

I couldn't believe it. The pain suddenly disappeared, replaced by the familiar empty emotional exhaustion that I could barely tolerate anymore.

-- I hurried to warn my friend, I uttered mechanically, because it was more important to me than going against the Outsider's schemes. Go to hell, Jan.

I left. I walked straight back to Meleth. The sun still shone. The captain finished his silly discussion with the fountaineers. In short, no, they still had no clue about how they'd accomplish their task. It should've been funny. I was inhabited by the unambiguous impression that I wouldn't ever again feel something positive. Everything related to my old life was crumbling and dying. The Black King was reinforcing his military hold over the realm, my mind was changing to accommodate his wishes, and my old friends despised me. I handed over my chain. My shackles clicked when they were tied in my back again. My muzzle was secured.

-- So, did you warn him? asked Meleth while we climbed up the stairs.

-- Hm.

Meleth noticed that I was upset. He added nothing else, but kneaded my shoulder gently. Since my capture, I was constantly touched by others, but the Black Guard captain was the one from whom I tolerated it best. I needed the reassurance, and some peace and quiet to put my emotions in order. As time went by, something heavy and evil loomed closer and closer. Believing in the impermanence of my enslavement required more effort, more willingness to lie to myself. The expectation that every day in my life would be similar to this day was a greater weight than I could carry. I wouldn't survive that existence. My body might, but not me.

Later, since the king wanted me out of his way, I was sent to scrub on the second floor. Battlehammer waited for me with bucket and cloths. I was about to ascertain how bad a single day could get.

At first, the white tiger was his usual self: he called me a slut, slapped me in the face to make me more pliable, pulled me to him, groped my privates, and pushed me to the floor.

-- Keep teasing me, you slut, and you'll really get it.

I tried to make myself as non-teasing as I could while hand-washing corridors, bare ass, on all fours. I kept my tail stuck between my legs, covering me, and I used as few movements as I could to rub the bricks clean. The Outsider's rules about me weren't all that well-defined, but as a general rule, it seemed that I was his exclusive property unless express permission was granted. The way Battlehammer kept looking over his shoulder when he tormented me gave me the confidence to resist. I wasn't his. On the other hand, I could avoid a lot of trouble by behaving docilely to my regular guards. My solution had been to let the burly feline handle me however he wished, as long as he had a sufficient excuse. He could fondle my body while he moved me around, because I had to be close to him then, but I'd defend myself if he tried it while I worked. It wasn't a good solution at all. Battlehammer kept overstepping his rights.

The hefty presence moved behind me. He crouched very close to me, as if he was carefully watching what I was doing. I knew his game. He waited there for a few minutes. What could I do? I couldn't strike at my guard because he was near me. Soon enough, I felt his hand around my thigh. I interrupted my scrubbing to remove his hand with my elbow. It moved away.

"Keep cleaning, slave, or I'll report your disobedience."

I returned to work. Almost immediately, the hand was around my thigh again. I attempted to ignore it, and I soaked my cloth.

"I know what you want."

The hand moved to my ass. I stopped.

"Work!" my guard shouted.

I didn't know what to do. I resumed my task, somewhat prepared to accept his insidious assault. I heard his belt being detached. Enough. I kicked at him. He threw himself over me, grappling my chest. He was huge, and I was restrained. I wasn't exactly difficult to subdue, but I elbowed at him frenetically. I produced loud muffled sounds. He was surprised.

"Cut it out, stupid slave!"

He didn't relent. Neither did I. He tried to hold me in place with one arm while the other grabbed at my leg, and tried to force it open. His hard cock poked at my ass. I fought him.

"Shut the fuck up!"

I realized what he was afraid of, and I made more sounds. I groaned combatively, loudly. I trashed about with my entire body.

"Fuck!"

He swore and flung insults, but he couldn't wrestle me into submission. He struck me over the snout again. The blow seemed to echo painfully in my head. Blood fell out of my nose, but I hung on. I might be a slave, but he didn't have that right over me. Unable to make any progress, he changed position. Battlehammer used his full body weight to pin me to the ground. With him sitting on my back, I was finally immobilized, scarcely able to breathe. I suffocated. He spat into his hand, and stuffed his fingers in my ass, unmistakably trying to cause me as much pain as possible.

"Little fucking tease. I'll give it to you anyway. What do you do now, huh? Didn't see that coming, eh slut?"

I remained in check while I got roughly fingered. The tiger mocked my attempts to defend myself. It lasted for half a minute. I moved my legs around, but I couldn't reach him on top of me while he angrily shoved his fingers under my tail.

Footsteps. I heard footsteps in approach, and so did Battlehammer. He instantly ceased molesting me, and moved away. He was enormously irritated. He put his large bulge back into his pants.

"You'll regret this."

Cane appeared. I looked to him and gave out a pleading whimper, so that he'd know things were not going well. He saw us and effortlessly grasped the nature of the events he'd just missed. He wavered. In that moment, he wasn't on guard, and, therefore, he wasn't responsible for what happened to me. Obviously, he was tempted to go, and to pretend he'd seen nothing. He made up his mind.

-- What are you doing, Oran?

-- The little bitch tried to escape!

-- Sure, he did. He tried to escape in the middle of cleaning the corridor. He didn't get very far either. His bucket is right here.

Cane squinted at Battlehammer -- I mean, Oran.

"I guess he must be pretty stupid. Some people can't help themselves, and they do things that'll get them in a lot of trouble. Don't you think so?"

Oran was stuck. He realized that he wasn't going to get what he wanted, this time.

-- Yeah, I do. You can watch him, then.

Unexpectedly, the tiger left. The smaller feline threw his arms up in disbelief.

-- What?

I found myself alone with Cane. He was annoyed at having to pick up Oran's shift of playing warden for me, but I wasn't. I settled down more calmly, sitting over my ankles. I showed Cane, with the utmost seriousness, that I was thankful. I even wagged my tail a little. I wanted him to know exactly how much I appreciated his protection. I also sought to make him stay, in case Oran would return. I touched his calf. He stepped away. He sighed.

"Fine. Get to work."

I did my pointless chore. I was almost happy. Almost. I _was_proud, though. I'd blocked Oran. I really had! Perhaps next time he'd think twice, or he might decide that I wasn't worth the effort, and lose interest. For about forty minutes, I was optimistic.

Then, a pair of Boneheads that weren't among my usual guards fetched me. They walked in on us, and grabbed my underarms. Cane asked why they were taking me. They responded in a dialect I wasn't used to, but I understood.

-- King's orders, they said.

They dragged me up into the dungeon tower. I hardly touched the floor until they threw me on it, in a large, dark cell used for interrogations. My owner was already there. I looked to him, desperate to figure out what was going on. Next to him, yet another soldier waited. The feline was bare-chested, with brown fur, not unlike a much more muscular version of Cane. The way he stood straight, with nary an unnecessary movement, screamed Black Guard. He held a large leather strap, with a thin, flat metallic weight at the end. He lifted me by the collar, and began to chain me up in a wide spread-eagle. The Black King was very, very aggravated.

-- I thought we understood each other. Yet, you immediately go and disappoint me. Maybe I was too lenient on discipline. No matter. I assure you that, today, you will learn to respect your guards. You will work when you are told, with the same obedience and humility that you show me. You will not ever again display any aggression toward them.

I caught on. Oran hadn't simply given up. He'd gone to the king. I didn't know what he said that I'd done; he could've said whatever he wished, because I was muzzled, forbidden to speak. The torturer finished chaining me into a perfect X-shape. I was totally open, entirely vulnerable to the strap. The Outsider went to attend the rest of his business, trusting his troops to manage my punishment.

"Begin."

The king's cloak disappeared behind the cell's walls.

-- One! Two! Three! shouted the torturer in Southern.

I took the first hit over my lower back. The strap was broad and heavy, designed to bruise deeply, but not to cut. I attempted to scream to get the pain out. The muffled sound was interrupted by the second strike over my right thigh, and a third one over my shoulder blades. After this initial outburst, there was a pause. I pulled onto my binds, shaking, made breathless by the constant smothered shriek.

"One! Two! Three!"

My body automatically tried to get out of the way, to avoid the announced hits, yet I remained perfectly immobile when the metal end of the strap bit my buttocks, my back, and my left arm. A new pause allowed me to regret what I'd done some more. I sobbed imploringly, to demonstrate that I'd already learned my lesson, that I would obey anything, that-

"One! Two! Three!"

Cold water woke me up. It splashed unevenly over my back and nape. I shivered. I pieced together that I'd lost consciousness during the last strikes. I heard the torturer give the bucket to one of the guards, who undoubtedly left to refill it. The torturer folded the strap in his hands, and walked to my front. He watched me agonize. The suffering moved through my body. It was everywhere in me, but wherever I focused, it was worse. Since I couldn't focus on nothing, I ended up focusing on everything.

"You yap once, yes, twice, no. Understood?"

The feline had a thick accent, but he was neutral. This was just business to him. I produced an isolated whimper.

"Very good. I is charged with increase your obedience. Only I decide objective is accomplished. Understood?"

I yelped.

"Total number hits you receive is my discretion."

I yelped.

"I not ask your input."

I tensed up horribly when the torturer moved behind me, I awaited to hear the terrible words.

"One! Two! Three!"

All hits landed on my back. The pain was permanent, like the flesh under my skin had been mashed into blood-filled jelly. I tried to twist in place, to defocus the hurt, to feel something else, that would drown the suffering a bit, but I couldn't. It simply endured, nauseating. I was getting a headache too, as if my brain wasn't fit to deal with that influx of pain. Luckily, the torturer took another break, and returned to my sight. He scratched his chest.

"You want punishment is end, do you?"

I yapped feebly.

"Louder."

I yapped.

"I too. I not like it. Is bore. But I obey order, I do even when I not like. You do same. Understood?"

I responded.

"Very good. Now, you listen next question. You say yes. Is order."

The torturer marked a pause.

"You want strap?"

The feline walked behind me, awaiting my answer. My mind raced. I really, truly didn't want more strap. The exercise was that I had to request the strikes even though I didn't want them, or else I would unquestionably get even more strikes. I briefly hung on to the hope that, if I requested them, the torturer wouldn't dispense them, but I was too smart to believe it. The training would only make sense if I knew that asking for the beatings would actually result in beatings. I closed my eyes, hard, and yapped.

"One! Two! Three!"

I fell unconscious twice more during the corrections. In the end, I simply waited to be told what to say -- or rather what noise to make -- and I voiced it without delay. The hurt wasn't avoidable, but the excruciating moment of knowing what I had no choice but to ask for, that I could do without. I'd transformed into a mindless bundle of torment.

"You want harder strap?"

I nearly said yes. I brutally realized that I hadn't been ordered to say yes prior to the question, that one time. I stressed the fuck out. Was it a test? Was I supposed to say yes anyway? This was about obedience, but I received no instruction regarding my answer. The point could be that I was supposed to anticipate what the torturer wanted, even without a direct order, but that technically wasn't obedience. The point could also very much be to test whether or not I'd actually learned a lesson, or if I was mindlessly responding the way I'd been conditioned to. In this case, I might be expected to say no. I had no idea what they wanted. The torturer watched me hesitate. He grinned.

"You not sure. Good. You notice I not give order. Say what you like."

I produced two soft moans.

"I do job. You learn very good. Now you is punished your disobedience. After, done."

I wasn't one hundred percent about that last sentence. Was I done? Or did he tell me that I hadn't been punished yet, and that it was just about to happen? When the torturer left with one of the guards, I assumed -- wrongly -- that it was the first option. I began to relax a little, but no one detached me. Furthermore, another cold shock went through my body as I was again hit by a bucketful of water.

I remained in the dungeon, shivering, splashed with icy water every twenty minutes, for the entire night. Those interminable hours of exhausted freezing, while everyone else in the palace rested cozily in their beds, turned out to be worst ordeal I'd endured up to that point. Even the soldiers keeping me wet took turns, so as not to have to disturb their night too much. If offered a trade, I would've begged for the strap.

Late in the morning, the torturer brought the trembling mess that I was, covered head to paws with bruises and strap marks, to the Black King for an assessment. The reptile glanced at me. I kept my head low and my back straight.

-- So? asked my owner.

-- He obey, now.

-- Send him back to work.

With no food, drink, or rest, I was returned to the tender care of Oran, who was to be my guard again. He was obscenely pleased with my battered and neglected state. He gladly took my chain from the torturer. He asked if I'd learned my lesson. I didn't answer, but I was utterly tame when he led me into a secluded area of the mostly unused third floor. He tried multiple doors at random, until one opened. It was a dusty salon, empty save for a lonely table in the middle. He dropped my bucket and cloths carelessly, and went directly for the table. He laid me on top of it, on my back. He lowered his pants. I offered no resistance when he wedged his hands under the folds of my knees. My legs were opened wide, stretched until it hurt. He aligned his dick, contemplating what he was about to do. And, then, he slowed down. In fact, he interrupted himself one or two centimeters short of fucking me. Naturally, my mind was drawing blanks, by then, sunk into its protective, but less and less escapable quicksand of detachment. I lay back, disabled. All that I was aware of was that my knees were drawn open over me, and that seconds passed.

I subtly raised my head. Oran was still there, like a statue, apparently lost in thought. I wondered then if he wasn't being haunted by Cane's words. Unarguably, I belonged to the Black King. If he took me in this way, he'd leave traces. It was a huge risk. I was flabbergasted when he abandoned my left leg, and began to masturbate. He held me in view, kept looking at my hole, and stroked his sex faster. I watched as he used me as masturbatory help. When he was close enough to completion, he let go of everything. He searched one of his pockets for the key to my binds. I was dragged off the table. I fell on my butt in front of him. He unlocked my muzzle, slipped it off, and gripped my lower jaw.

-- Open up, slut. You think I can't touch you? Watch this.

I waited, mouth agape, until he reached orgasm. Long, heavy streams of semen reached the back of my throat, covered my tongue, fell over my teeth and lips, but never did that cock actually enter my mouth. He was probably afraid that I'd bite. My maw was forced shut.

"Swallow."

I did as instructed. I'd eaten sperm before. The tiger seemed less on edge, but still frustrated. He'd discovered himself unable to take what he wanted. Because he was obviously unbalanced, he blamed me. Taking in his sordid seed wasn't humiliating enough. He raked his brains to figure out what else he would do to me. Suddenly, he showed his cruel fangs.

"I know something you can clean."

Oran sat on the edge of the table. He folded one of his legs, and held it close to himself. He opened the other, exhibiting his tail end. He brutally pulled my collar in there. My face smashed against his strong butt. He shoved my nose under his sack.

"Lick."

I took a few instants to comply. I didn't think I could refuse him; I needed to muster the strength to do what was just about the last thing I wanted to do in this world. Such was the lot of a slave.

"Lick!"

Oran was getting impatient. I forced my tongue out. I'd been a hero. I was a good guy! Why was this happening? Why did I have to rim this random asshole? I closed my eyes. I couldn't witness his satisfaction. It reflected how profoundly abject I'd become. I licked. I sensed the shape and taste of his ring.

"There! That's what you get for being a tease. More!"

I had to get it over with. I lapped the tiger's ass with a long, clear motion. After that, poking and tickling the edges of his hole wasn't as foul. He kept me at work between his legs. I rubbed my tongue in the same ways over and over again. It pleased him at first, but eventually...

"Deeper, slut."

The tip of my tongue pushed in a little. He laughed when I whined.

Oran spent the rest of the morning making me his bitch. Even when he tired of defiling me, and he let me return to my official chore, he continued to grope me. He also regularly accused me of "being boring on purpose" and beat me, or made me lick the dusty floor. I wished for people to wander by, and put a stop to this, but it was a quiet day, and no one roamed around the third floor. At last, Oran stomped his boot on my left paw one final time, and let me off the hook, but not without proclaiming that I'd have to do better during his next stint as my guard. He muzzled me again, and he went to drop me off in the throne room, but it was empty. He could've tied me to my pillar. Instead, he brought me to the king's room. The door was shut.

"Wait here for your master."

I went down in front of the door, low on my belly, extremely appealed by the notion that the guard was willing to leave me there, and to go far away. I certainly didn't want to make him doubt that decision by exhibiting any intention to run, or to do something equally stupid. He left.

Alone. I had a few minutes alone. No one could hurt me. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to be warm. I curled up in a ball. Every once in a while, people passed me by in the king's corridor. My anxiety rose. They ignored me. Rest didn't come easily; I tensed up with any footstep. I caught myself wishing I was inside. Oran hadn't tried the door, it might possibly be unlocked. I didn't dare take the handle, but I did listen at the door. I heard it. Folding paper. It'd been faint, but I was certain. My owner was inside, turning the pages of a book. Before I even considered what to do, my claws scratched lightly at the door. The king's bed squeaked, his mass moved heavily, and the door opened. The Outsider towered over me. I didn't even gaze at him, preferring to remain sheltered by passivity. He squatted. One arm took my legs; the other went around my back. I was picked up, not without difficulty.

-- I forgot how heavy you are.

My owner's leg shut the door. The room was cozy. I experienced the weirdest, most nonsensical feeling of safety in his arms. He carried me to his bed. I could see the depression on the covers, where he'd lain just before. He deposited me next to it. He sat. He reclined. He took the large, leather-covered book waiting on his pillow. He changed his mind. He put the book down, got up, and took a metallic cup from his desk. He plunged it in the jar of lukewarm water that he kept next to his bedside table. He drank. He plunged it again, came back to bed, and offered the cup to me. The water seemed to divide into wonderful tiny brooks that ended the drought in my chest. My owner took away the cup. He also removed the light chain that was used to tie my wrists in a way that allowed me to scrub, and my heavier chain leash.

"Go to sleep."

He returned to his book. I was confused, but too tired to mind it. I awoke a few times, when a page was turned, or when the reptile moved. Sleep swiftly caught up to me. It had been a while since I'd slept on a real bed -- or even on something soft, for that matter. I lost track of time. It might've stopped completely. Whenever I opened my eyes, I quickly realized that I was still warm, that my owner still read, and that the room was still silent. I craved that stability. The logical voice in my head informed me that it was assuredly not a coincidence that the Black King was nearby. I desperately required something, so there he was to provide it. The source was of no importance, though. I rested.

Consciousness returned. I'd slept for longer, I could tell. I pushed myself up, and I examined the room. I was completely alone. I breathed. It was considerably easier for me to relax in a closed room. The book lay on the king's pillow. I touched it. The leather was very old and dry, but high quality. I carefully opened it to read the title, but it was in daom. I closed it. I climbed off the bed, noticing my food bowl in the middle of the room. It was filled. Right next to it was a key exactly like the ones used for opening my binds. The permission was implicit, so I pawed it, and inserted it into the small lock behind my head. The muzzle loosened. I pulled it off. I sat against the wall, beside the pottery jar filled with water, bowl in hand. I ate, making little globes of paste with my fingers, and quickly bringing them to my maw before they crumbled. I questioned how long this moment of peace would last. My owner returned at that moment, so I figured it was the universe's way to tell me to shut up. He shut the door with a glance to me.

"That is not the way you are supposed to eat."

He used a mocking tone. I wasn't convinced he was being serious. I studied his reaction carefully, but carried on eating normally. Meanwhile, he took the bundle of leather and straps from the floor, and put it away into a drawer under his writing desk. He warned me.

"Be silent, or it comes back on. I will let you know if you are allowed to speak."

If it meant that I could avoid wearing that fucking thing all day long, I was more than willing to cooperate. I acknowledged emphatically. He watched me eat, and I watched him while he did that. It was super strange.

"Eat the right way. Total submission looks good on you."

I put my bowl down on the floor, and I ate directly from it. He sat on his bed.

"Come to me when you are done."

I made sure not to feed myself too fast. At some point, however, I had no choice. I crawled to the Black King, pathetic and ready to take more orders. I dismayed myself.

"Down, on your back. Be like a good rug, and warm my feet."

I rolled to my back while my owner removed his boots. I felt his claws on my belly.

"Sometimes, I try to picture what it must be like to have this amazing warmth inside yourself. Do you always feel snug, as with a tiny fireplace in your body?"

I didn't answer. He started wiggling his clawed extremities in my fur.

"You are right. I must form the habit of making it unambiguous when you should or should not respond. I will get better at this. Use your hands."

My understanding of what the Outsider meant was delayed, so I hastily wrapped and massaged his reptilian feet when it manifested itself. He seemed happy enough about it.

"Keep doing this. You make for a great rug. It is quite a status bump, no? You went from bad hero to great rug. You must be proud. Are you proud, rug? Answer me."

I nodded.

"With your voice, obviously. Do not be dumb."

He laughed at his own joke.

-- Yes, I mumbled. I'm proud.

-- Address me with due respect, slave.

-- Yes, my owner. I'm proud.

He was having genuine fun.

-- What are you proud of?

-- I'm proud of being your rug, my owner.

-- Excellent. You can shut up, now.

The reptile began to friction my stomach with his toes and claws. Pretty soon, I couldn't distinguish who was caressing whom. I very strongly felt like a pet. From my position at the side of his bed, I suddenly saw his book appear. He was showing it to me.

"I am reading this. The title is Witch King. I found it in the palace library. It is an account of the life of Manachar, written by contemporaries. I want to read a part of it to you. Listen to this."

The lizard began reading spiritedly from his book, like a kid showing off his new toy to his friend. I strove to decipher what to take from this unanticipated development, but it was crystal clear that the Black King was thoroughly excited about the historical figure after which his kind had been named. He didn't even bother attempting to maintain his usual pretense of indifference. He was into that stuff.

The passage he read concerned events after the manacharian hordes landed in the Lowlands, but before the collapse of the Bonehead Kingdom. In an attempt to stall the chaotic advance of the reptilian army, the Boneheads sent one of their greatest generals, Ambar the Rising. Ambar did something unexpected, and marched his army straight at the much more numerous desert warriors. The manacharian lines were crushed by Ambar's heavy infantry, but Ambar was defeated during the battle by Manachar himself, according to this source. The reptiles retreated, and this first major defeat was the origin of a four years break in the war, during which neither side attempted any major offensives. The Long Break ended with a renewed manacharian wave against multiple Bonehead fortifications. It was revealed then that the invaders had learned from Ambar's tactics, and had formed a specially trained heavy infantry corps to complement their terrifying archers and expert siege engineers.

The Outsider closed the book, and merrily brandished it.

"See, this account is from the Bonehead side of the war. Most texts that I previously managed to get my hands on were from manacharian historians."

He pouted briefly, and threw the book on the table.

"We have to face it, literacy was never a big Bonehead priority."

My owner seemed affected by this, which hinted at the fact that he considered himself a Bonehead as well. This was the history of how two cultures met and merged to eventually create him. It was a history of the modern Boneheads.

He lightened up again.

"Regardless, the manacharian texts made many mentions of a figure called The Rising, who modernized and adapted the army of Manachar. It was him! Ambar! He was kept alive. I did not even know that he was a captured Bonehead, or even that he was not a manacharian, but a feline! Is that not funny? They did just like us."

He stopped rubbing his feet into my fur, and bent forward over the edge of the bed to look at me. He wore the expression he usually wore when he was about to berate me.

"Except that Ambar was not a weakling who attacked without an army. And no account mentions anything about him squealing while Manachar fucked him in the ass. I suppose it is possible they simply omitted that part. Or they did not know."

The rubbing resumed.

"I guess Manachar was more forgiving than I am."

That was when it hit me. Manachar was the most important manacharian hero. He'd led his people into an invasion to escape certain death at the hands of other, more powerful manacharian nations from the unknown continent in the Far East. The Outsider led his people into an invasion to escape from starvation in the Northwest. He was emulating his childhood hero. In the fantastic world of his imagination, he was the good guy. I admonished myself for my surprise. Of course, he didn't think of himself as evil. Nobody did that, but it was unsettling to realize that he'd become what he was for almost the same reason as me. It made him more of a person, and less of a force to which I had to react. It made me just a little bit less scared of him. He really was a person. He might be great at mind games, but maybe two could play at these. I formulated a quick plan. I ceased massaging his scaly feet. He glared, half-annoyed, half-amused.

"What, are you finished? Did you decide that now?"

I prepared. I would have a slim window of opportunity. In the meantime, I raised my hands under my snout in surrender, and maintained a submissive visual contact. I needed to keep my owner as calm as possible. He was puzzled by my behavior. He curved forward. His hand moved for my collar. At that precise moment when it was in reach, I pushed into his hand and poked his palm with my nose. I emitted a begging whimper. It was perfect. To underscore it, I searched under his fingers, and nuzzled his palm again, longer. He froze.

"Okay. That was awfully cute. What do you want?"

I had to move fast. He was intrigued, but from his suspicious tone and frown, I knew that he was seeing through the maneuver. Without wasting time, but also without any sudden moves, I slipped out from under his feet. I stood up, and took two steps to the low table. I fetched the book. I went to my knees before the dubious reptile, and I presented him the book. He took it.

"What? Do you want me to read some more?"

I lay down on the floor, and recuperated my place as a rug, slipping under his claws. The massage of his scaly extremities resumed. I subtly examined his reaction. He was mine. No words can describe how much he wanted my interest for Manachar to be real. He squinted, but he couldn't repress his growing smile.

"I think that you are cunning enough that you might be faking this."

He allowed himself a moment.

"But I do not care."

The Outsider opened the book, and his face lightened up.

That would turn out to have been a spectacularly good move.