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I woke up with the Manachar account over my face. I put it aside. It pulled my owner away from his slumber as well. I was lying halfway over him. One of his black scaly arms held my waist. I pushed it away. I pushed the blankets away. I pushed away everything that I could. I got out of the bed. I caught an immediate, and massive headache. The pressure -- that draining, devouring detachment -- had increased tenfold. It was horrible.

-- Where are you going?

I was empty. I couldn't find any reason to survive. I put my hands over my head to contain the pain.

"Come back here."

I ignored the order. I freaked out. I paced in direction of the door.

"Slave! Bring your ass here!"

I sensed the threat. The pressure diminished. I was bargaining for trouble with the Outsider. He sat in his bed, prepared to dart after me if I touched the door. I refrained from doing so.

"Better. Now, breathe. Come."

The reptile stood out of bed, unclothed. He seemed much less muscular, au naturel. Actually, he was downright lean. His black scales drew a noble outline, blending together in a sturdy and supple natural armor. His striking horns and claws contributed to his dangerous allure, balanced by his near-permanent composed expression. Also, he was erect. I admitted it to myself: he was attractive, physically. This simple detail could be responsible for part of that guilt that gripped me when he did things to me. I heeded him, and I got closer. He caught me.

"Do that again, and I will put a bell on you. Back on the bed."

He let me go. I went on top of the bed, on my knees. He followed me.

"I know why you panicked, just now, and why you feel wrong. But first, spread open, like a good slave."

I moved my knees apart. I assumed he'd position himself behind me, but he didn't. He sat upright in front of me, leaning on the bedhead. He tapped the inside of his thigh, twice. I understood. I moved up, spread out, and sat over him. I was getting better at noticing some slight modulations between blank stares. This was a content, calm stare because I heard him breathe slowly and the tiniest hint of a smile was sneaking about the corner of his jaw. His eyes were also close to imperceptibly squinted. I felt his sex, poking and playing with me. I was facing him, this time. I had nowhere else to rest my eyes, so I gazed back to him. He gave out small impulses with his hips. His maleness slipped in, and worked its way deeper in the soft chasm between my cheeks. The head of his sex teased my dark, sensitive ring of flesh. Then it was the shaft. All the while, his hand moved up along my back, and returned to squeeze the black tip of my right ear. He rubbed it between his index and thumb.

"That is my good boy."

With the arm in my back, he pressed my body to his. His torso and shoulders waved serenely. He inclined his head until his reptilian snout moved against mine. He was furrowing his chin in my neck when his throbbing sex pulled back a few centimeters. The hand that was enjoying my ears slid under my ass and positioned it for the penetration. It swiftly went back to my ears to grab them firmly. His gaze attempted to read my soul while he pushed in me. I hoped not to show too much surrender through my impassivity, but it was a lost cause. Passivity was surrender in and of itself. When my anus stretched fully, I lowered my eyes, but a solid tug on my ears brought them back up. I gave in. I let him appreciate my defeat.

"I miss it, somewhat, when you were proposing that I fuck myself. Oh, well."

He was waiting. I had to do it. I had to fuck myself. It was a joke: not a funny joke, but a joke nonetheless. I did get it. I moved my skewered rump up and down, until I cottoned on to moving forward and backward on my owner's body, which was easier. He let go of my ears to grasp my shoulder where it joined with my neck. His other hand settled for the side of my butt. A soft slap encouraged me to put more heart into my submission, but I retained charge of the pace. This created a widely different experience of pleasing my reptile's robust barbarian cock. While the penetration still unambiguously hurt a lot, the possibility of giving myself a chance when necessary, along with the reassuring notion that I had some measure of control over the encounter contributed to keeping me more relaxed, all of which helped with the discomfort. I was careful, however, not to slow down too much for fear of having a less forgiving rhythm imposed onto me. I unrelentingly filled my most taboo of holes with the dick I was bound to please while my owner kept his tight hold over my body. He pushed on my shoulder, scraping my short-furred, vulnerable chest against his scales. It did something for me. The pressure increased. I heard whispers.

"Shhh. Calm down. Breathe with me. It is only arousal. It is normal, even if you do not want it. Let it happen. Do not blame yourself."

My owner moved his hand from my buttock to under my tail. He pressed his fingers hard, and fondled along the crack of my ass from my lower back to where his sex was being serviced. He continued to hold me tightly.

"You gave up the war with me, but not the one with yourself. You still think you have the possibility to accept or refuse being a slave, but you do not. Your status remains the same, one way or the other. All that you may refuse is to adapt, but what good is that for you? You will merely suffer more, because you will suppress any comfort, any positive thing you might feel, out of guilt, or shame. Listen to me. Breathe. Do you want to feel at peace? Do you want to feel like you belong in your own life?"

I was listening. It was soothing. My shoulders and my butt were being touched, patted. I tried it. I made an effort to stop hating it...

It was easy. The pressure weakened.

With less panic and suffering occupying my mind, I was more aware. His male limb filled the slot in me, chafing my delicate flesh, nudging and prodding around my subjugated rectum to its contentment. As I tamely continued to ride my owner, the faint thing that had sent a shiver through my body the first time I was made to accommodate his full length came back. It happened in waves during my descending motion, and quickly became not so faint anymore. The shivers went out of control, almost as intense as the friction.

"Yes. Now, that is a nice, responsive plaything. You are stiffening. It is meaningless. Accept it."

He was right. My cock was growing. It troubled me, but not as much as before. The surprise had gone. So, being sexually submissive provoked a sexual response. Whoop-dee-doo. I could deal with that. No. The truly thorny part was-

"Think of your life."

I twitched, like someone beat me over the snout with a rock. Life as a sex slave. It was the idea that I would build from this. It was the idea that I would genuinely try to please the Black King, hoping for treats and rewards. It was the idea that I could, indeed, learn to navigate this new context of mine, working with it, letting it shape me, become part of me. That cursed lizard was correct again. If I accepted to adapt, to go on living with this, that external status would seep into me. I would truly be a slave, and I didn't want that. On the other hand, if I didn't adapt, then I would remain stuck in this effort of resistance against everything, eating away at me. I had no love for either of those options, but one was simply unsustainable.

"Give up your inflated pride that is so out of place, now. It is responsible for your shame, for your struggle. Accept your place. Look at yourself, and tell me: do you have room for pride? Is it helpful?"

My owner grinned callously, mockingly, but the way he caressed my rump was tender. I looked at myself. I was collared, and loyally sodomizing myself to service his dick.

-- No, my owner.

-- What other reason do you have for imposing needless torment on yourself?

I thought about it.

-- None, my owner.

As the stout shaft rummaged into me, my own limb finished hardening. Reptilian claws enclosed it, and began to grant me pleasure. I felt severely under-control.

-- Relax. Let it flow. You did not ask for pleasure, but that does not mean that you must punish yourself for it. You cannot stop me, so let me play with you. Allow the responsibility to rest with me, where it belongs. Continue to focus on your breath.

I did as I was told. I lay over my owner, so it was easy to sense his respiration. I inspired when he did, and expired when he did. I managed to pacify my emotions while I was put to use, even the pressure. After a while, I could examine them. Humiliation, for being conquered and tamed; pain, for the physical discomfort that I was under, and that was to come; but also a bit of safety and sexual pleasure, that I was just coming to terms with. The Black King was satisfied with me, so I wouldn't get beaten or otherwise punished, and I'd recently discovered that I could affect him too. My powerlessness was not as total as I thought.

"There! You appear considerably steadier than a few minutes ago. Does it feel better to accept your place?"

I nodded.

"Say the truth. I want to hear it, and you need it."

-- I accept my place as your lowly slave, my owner.

-- Will you do your best to perform adequately for me?

-- Yes, my owner.

-- Will you try to be happy?

-- Yes, my owner.

My butt was smacked.

-- Faster and harder. I am finishing up.

It was a confusing moment for me. While I pounded my ass harshly onto my conqueror's crotch, switching to bouncing up and down again because it was faster, I attempted to measure how much I'd meant what I'd just said. All three things had been very restful to say. Yeah, I'd meant them. It would take some time to sort all of this in my head.

My reptile was abruptly traversed by a violent but short earthquake. He spanked my ass as he ejaculated into it. After a few seconds, he stopped. He was finished with me, for the moment. He dropped me on the floor. He regained composure, and fumbled my ears.

"Do not worry, everyone has to adapt to their circumstances. It is not unique to you. Maybe one day they will change, and you will be the one who holds my fate. If it happens, I guarantee that I will squeal and beg, just like you. Do you believe me?"

It was a bizarre question, and I didn't know how to answer it without risk, so I didn't. The king laughed.

"Good boy."

It was praise. The previous times I'd been called a good boy, I'd received it as an insult, meant to emphasize my submission. It hadn't been said differently, I was the one whose outlook had changed. It was slightly mocking, but nonetheless legitimate praise. I noted that I was still hard.

"Oh, and do not touch yourself. I will decide when you deserve release."

Yeah. He'd noticed too.

I spent the day with the Outsider. I kept him company, waiting by the throne as he heard reports about the state of the realm, or tagging along while he patrolled the city walls to survey the progress of the reconstruction. When we were alone, he confessed to me that he didn't know shit about building fortifications. He merely showed himself from time to time to remind the builders of the importance of their task, and to make them more self-critical.

It was good to walk around the palace and the city. The pressure wasn't completely gone; sometimes, I'd feel like I was betraying myself, or the kingdom, or something, because I wasn't fighting the notion that I was a slave, now. When it occurred, I heard the Outsider's voice in my head, telling me to fucking breathe, and the worst was that it worked. I could survive this. The only problem was that, since I was willing to envision enslavement as the condition in which I would exist from now on, I couldn't disengage as easily as before. I couldn't argue to myself that whatever pain or humiliation I suffered was merely temporary, I had to deal with it. I had to deal with living as the Outsider's bitch, at least for a time -- potentially forever -- and that didn't go down so well. I did note the progress, though. The muzzle was gone, and I had no intention to give my owner any excuse to use it ever again. My wrists were also tied in my front instead of my back, which represented a consequential increase in my ability to do literally anything. Instinctively, I knew that the key was speech. If I could get my owner to grant me extensive speech privileges, mistreating me would come at a much greater cost for him. I'd be more of a person, and less of a trophy. In the meantime, I chopped my pride dead, hung it in a corner, and let it dry and wither under the sun. I had to be a good boy.

Days went by. They became months. The entry hall pillar enjoyed precious little of my company. I was sent to scrub much less regularly. Cane took care of me most of those times. I suspected that witnessing my misery at his buddy Oran's hands -- as well as my joyful demeanor whenever he turned out to be my warden -- vanquished his initial reluctance about the job. Most of all, I avoided much pain because the Black King kept me close by. Whenever he had time, he read to me. Needless to say, I learned a lot about Witch King Manachar. A _whole_lot. We burned through the first book fast, so he searched for others. When we were done with those, he told me of everything he'd learned over the years, and had consigned to memory. Meleth would stick around, sometimes, and audit the Manachar crash course. He would generally interrupt, and contest this or that event, arguing that it wasn't well-established, or that some source disputed it, which aggravated the king to no end. Eventually, he ran out of interesting details. On that day, I was sitting in his lap, in a mostly empty throne room. He was finishing an explanation of the Bonehead Kingdom's collapse, long after Manachar's death.

"... at this point, the manacharian war effort was fully expended. The Southerners were quickly driving them back into the Lowlands, and the Lowlands themselves were only half-conquered. The only way to operate such a complicated front was to grant huge powers to local chiefs, allowing them to act independently. The Boneheads and the manacharians both did this. As troops moved around, the balance of power shifted dramatically in each region, and after many long years of ruling, the local chiefs were often more concerned with keeping their lands than with waging a war that appeared decreasingly relevant, as the strength of both kingdoms waned. They simply switched allegiance to whoever had the stronger presence in their area. Politics became a nightmarish tangle. The chiefs grew bolder. The stronger ones declared independence, and, in the end, the Bonehead Kingdom belonged to no one. It dissolved. Manacharians continued to spread around, however. Today, you can still see the effects of the divide: conquered Bonehead clans in the North have a lot of manacharian words in their language, and often have a ruling class of manacharians. Clans that resisted have a feline ruling class, and speak a language more similar to your own."

The reptile paused to scratch my chin. I gave his hand an appreciative nudge. He didn't resume, and frowned.

"I cannot think of anything else. I think we have exhausted the subject."

-- Impossible! teased Meleth, who was reading letters behind the throne.

-- Shut up, Meleth. He likes it.

-- Is he even alive? Did he survive the torrent of old, pointless stuff?

-- You have no respect for our ancestors. My slave has more, and he is a Southerner.

Meleth emerged in sight, folding the letters.

-- He's been with you for three months, give or take. How long have I been with you? How many Manachar speeches have I had to endure?

-- I concede the point. But I am hardly the only one here with an embarrassing fixation.

I had no clue what that referred to, but it successfully flustered the pale reptile.

-- I also concede the point.

He motioned to leave.

-- Was anything important in there?

Meleth shook the letters.

-- Important? Sure.

-- Important that I need to know, specified the king.

The captain reflected.

-- The Blood Circle are returning from battle.

-- What? When?

-- They're on their way from our siege camp at Cierra. That's all I know.

-- Well, alright. Anything else?

-- No. Take them if you want. It'll give you some reading material.

-- No, thank you. I trust your judgment.

Meleth strolled away with the letters.

-- Tell him about yourself! he shouted before he disappeared.

The Black King squeezed me slightly, hesitant. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought that he was timid.

-- Would you like to hear something about me?

I wagged my tail, and I stared attentively. I wasn't about to miss an opportunity to flatter and learn more about my owner. The more I knew, the better. He rubbed my ears distractedly. There was a long period before he spoke.

"I could not raise soldiers."

Lost in memory, the king even forgot to caress me. I wrapped myself around his torso, to warm him comfortably, and to encourage him to continue.

"I was forbidden to raise soldiers. I was a tactician for the Blood Masks, perhaps even a strategist. Someone important, you know. I designed plans for offensives. I followed the chiefs to advise them when they carried them through. I was important, but without power. I wanted power. I began to join the attacks. I was not supposed to, but it was useful. I could command from the field. I got noticed. The troops loved me. I led them to victory, but I could not raise them. I was not a chief. Far from it."

The petting resumed. The reptile lowered his face to gaze at me while I rested against his chest.

"Do you know what I did? I was allowed to hire bodyguards. I asked the chiefs if I could recruit a few from their soldiers. Naturally, they said yes. I went to the troops that I commanded, and I asked them to dye their armor black, like mine, if they wanted to be hired. I went back to the chiefs, and I said that I wanted an army to attack my own targets. They looked at their troops, filled with my black guards, and they figured that I already had my army, and that they might as well make it official."

I displayed my doubts.

"It is a funny story, no?"

That couldn't truly be how the Black Guards were formed, could it? He was almost certainly pulling my leg. In fact, he did pull my right leg a bit, and played with the pads on my paw.

"It is your turn. You tell a funny story from your life."

It was an unexpected request. What could I tell him?

-- Um, I destroyed a massive golem when-

-- Do not tell me about Blackpatch. Everybody knows about Blackpatch.

-- Okay.

I searched for an appealing, but harmless anecdote that wouldn't help him control me.

"I met a Diviner, once."

-- Now, that is interesting. Go on.

-- It was after Blackpatch. The Fair King wanted to reward me with something unique, so he purchased the services of a Diviner. I assume you know how complicated that is.

-- Better than you do. The Diviners trained me in magic.

I was stunned.

-- Really?

-- You are telling a story, not me.

-- So, a Diviner came here, to the Quiet Palace. There was a ceremony. It was all very formal.

-- Which one?

-- What?

-- Which Diviner? They are people, they have names.

I shrugged.

-- I don't know.

-- You received the honor of having a real Diviner travel all the way here to tell you about your future, and you do not remember their name?

-- Uh, no? The content of the prophecy seemed more important at the time.

-- Fine. Keep going. What did your future entail?

-- That's just it. The prediction was wrong.

-- No, that is not possible. What did it say?

-- That I'd defeat you, my owner.

The Black King laughed out loud.

-- You are right. That is a funny story.

It was getting vexing. I sulked.

"In all seriousness, what did the prediction say, exactly?"

-- I would protect the kingdom against the greatest evil, and I would die smiling.

My owner sighed.

-- I mean the specific words.

-- How would I know? It was years ago.

-- You did not note them down? You did not put the Diviner's prediction about yourself on parchment?

-- I don't need to write down two sentences to remember them.

The king appeared disappointed.

-- Obviously, you do, because you remember it wrong. A Diviner would never make such a vague and stupid prophecy. Greatest evil? There is not even a word for "evil" in daom.

It was a tall order to save face while sitting bare-ass onto my owner, and getting stroked, but I tried anyway.

-- I'm positively certain that those words were used!

-- In this case, the blame lies with the translator. Your prediction was translated wrong. You should have had it written down in the original daom.

I was kind of annoyed that there might still be a prediction about me, out there, that I simply couldn't access anymore.

-- Are you sure?

-- Yes. What do you make of it, otherwise?

-- Well, I could defeat you later.

The Outsider laughed again.

"Or, maybe you're not the greatest evil, and it refers to something else entirely."

-- I might not be the single worst thing in the world? Please, stop with the flattery.

-- Sorry, my owner. You're probably correct. Maybe it's wrong.

-- To be fair, I think the bit about smiling at the moment of your death is probably accurate.

-- But that's the stupid part that doesn't tell me anything.

-- I think it tells you the only important thing.

My acute hearing informed me that soldiers were being welcomed in the entry hall. We couldn't see them because the doors were closed. I told the Black King. He nodded.

"Enough talk."

I was pushed off his lap. I went and sat in the nearby steps. Since the Black King had ordered his army to abandon their defensive positions along the border to the Highlands, and to reinforce the bulk of the troops surrounding Cierra, battle-worn fighters steadily returned to the capital for rest as they were replaced. Bonehead clan chiefs and even auxiliary leaders were invited to stay at the palace, and to meet with the king to personally receive his thanks for their efforts. In other words, it was the usual. Two names were announced. Neither rang a bell for me, so I paid them no attention. My job in these situations was to wait politely, and to let my collared presence make my owner appear more dominant. Simple enough.

The signal to let the visitors in was given to the guards. They heaved onto the large handles of the great doors, and passage was granted. The chieftains advanced to meet their liege. One of them slithered its vast legless form, undulating whole as it progressed. Its glossy serpentine scales reflected multiple changing colors as it moved in the light filtering through the throne room's high windows. As with all marsh tribe leaders, it looked mean, and fiercely unhappy to have been dragged out of its swampy territory. Serpent marsh dwellers were known for tolerating only those felines desperate enough to place themselves at their service. They'd resisted the manacharian invasions, and absolutely despised their desert-bred reptile cousins. Only the threat of the Blood Masks had been sufficient to move them to bow to their newly unified Bonehead neighbors. It felt eminently odd to watch that hostile creature come here, in the Quiet Palace, as a vassal to a manacharian king. In fact, the colossal snake followed the comparatively tiny Bonehead chief closely. The marsh dweller understandably caught my attention first, but when I examined the tan-furred feline that preceded it, my heart missed a beat. My fists tightened so powerfully that my claws dug into my skin.

It was Red.

On the day that the Outsider's invasion began, I was beyond the Northwestern border with my squire, Edan, and two traveling companions: Aerin, a wizard from the Wizards Guild that had been one of my teachers, and Markel, a necromancer. We were on a fact-finding and diplomatic mission. A young Bonehead shaman and clan leader named Harik had accepted to meet with us, when he was betrayed and murdered by his second-in-command. I could still see the vicious expression under the red face-paint, as he slew Harik in cold-blood, and attacked my squire. Because of his betrayal, my friends were slaughtered. I'd survived only thanks to my teacher, Aerin, sacrificing her life.

Red didn't wear, at that moment, the color for which I'd named him. It was war paint, and they were here for a respite. Nonetheless, he oozed confidence like only a young hotheaded chief can. When he finally spotted me, he halted so brutally that the marsh snake bumped into him. For a second there, I assumed the feline would be ripped asunder, but the auxiliary leader kept its place with a deferential bow of the head. Red disregarded the heinous expression that did not match the rest of the behavior. He was too busy trying to figure out what I was doing there. He reflexively reached for his weapon which wasn't at his side; the guests had been disarmed. In a rather disrespectful manner, he designated me with his hand, and almost yelled a question at the king. The latter let it slide, and responded in the same deep North tongue. Red's maw dropped. I didn't need to speak the language to guess what they'd just said. Red asked who the fuck I was, and the Outsider responded that I was his prize, the defeated Silver Warrior. We locked stares. I had to be careful. I hated his guts, but I couldn't disrespect him too openly, or it would reflect poorly of the king's control over me, and I'd end up in a boatload of trouble. To irritate him, I simply adopted a haughty air, and ceased looking at him directly. He wasn't worth my consideration. Without delay, Red struck the first blow -- literally -- by hitting me in the face. I leaped backward to a standing position on top of the steps, and I was overjoyed to have an excuse to spit at his paws. The serpentine marsh tribe chief demonstrated overwhelming displeasure at the sudden nonsense he was being exposed to. Naturally, the Black King reacted as well. He opened his palm, and threw some instruction to his guests that stopped them. He then turned to me. He pointed the floor with one finger.

"Down!"

I went to my knees, but I glared at the Bonehead leader. He shouted some insult that I couldn't understand. To my not very great surprise, my owner showed more interest than anger concerning our little scene. He questioned his guest first. After that, it was my turn.

"Why does my vassal keep referring to you as a filthy spy as if that is supposed to make sense?"

-- Because he has shit for brains.

The king wasn't impressed by my rude answer. I'd transferred a bit of my animosity to him. Refusing to actually answer a direct question of the Black King was a definite bad move on my part. I quickly worked to undo my mistake before the consequences came crashing down on my head. I apologized, and explained the whole shebang. At first, he remained as blank as usual.

-- You and your little friends chose the day of the second wave to cross the border, and to try to gather information about the invasion?

-- We wanted to preserve the peace.

-- Hahahahaha!

I didn't think any part of this was funny at all. I was already riled up on account of the other asshole, but this was wounding.

-- People I loved died for this!

When he witnessed how truly upset I was, the Demon laughed even harder. It was a violent reminder of how crucially uncaring he could be.

-- You chose the day we enacted our meticulously prepared assault, the objective of which was to conquer your kingdom wholesome, to open a dialogue? Hahahahaha! Perfect!

Even Red and the serpent warrior were thrown off by the Black King's hilarity. He hid his eyes behind his hand. He blew a few times, and managed to cool down. He waved his hand.

"I am sorry. It is the irony... on so many levels. It is beautiful."

I was silent. I refused to talk about this subject any longer. The end of the king's outburst brought forth a new attack from Red. He pointed to me, and argued extensively at the Black King. The latter responded. While he spoke, he motioned toward me a few times. Red suddenly seemed thrilled. He glanced cruelly to me. It didn't bode well, but, for once, my owner wasn't screwing me over. He casually translated.

"My guest deems you to be overly arrogant for a slave, and wanted to see you beaten as punishment. His cockiness and demanding attitude got on my nerves, so I offered him the opportunity to both correct you himself, and to make everyone's day much less boring."

The reptile paused for dramatic effect.

"You two are going to solve your dispute with a friendly duel. You may cream him."

Everyone involved, as well as a good portion of the court, when they realized that something exciting was occurring, moved to the central area of the Harmony Gardens. I was given dueling clothes: light, solid wool of a washed orange tint, as well as a staff. All restraints were removed. It was a singular joy to be clothed. I felt like a whole person again, deserving of respect. Even the Outsider looked at me differently.

My opponent received equipment similar to mine. I stood at my end of the designated fighting grounds, weighing my weapon and testing its balance. Opposite me, about ten meters of beaten dirt away, Red held his staff like it was some foreign object. On the side of the field to my right, the king, Meleth, and a few major clan chiefs chattered around a single long white marble bench. Among them was Red's companion, the marsh dweller, who preferred to stay further apart. The reptiles appeared delighted by the direct exposure to the sun; everyone else, much less so. Refreshments were soon brought by palace servants: fresh fruits and cool ale. One of them -- an older canine that I'd seen before, when the Fair King was still the master of the Quiet Palace -- brought his platter to the isolated serpent, who was manifestly uninterested. Yet, the servant remained. Ten seconds later, the servant left, and went to serve others. I observed him, but when he presented his jug of ale to the rest of the court, he behaved normally. It was possible that he'd simply zoned out. I tilted my focus toward the upcoming battle. Red held his staff like it was a long sword. I debated whether he was a complete moron, or if he actually knew what he was doing when he accepted the Black King's offer to fight me. Thus far, I didn't think his cluelessness was an act. I was still fearlocked, but I wouldn't require magic -- nor effort -- if he was remotely as incompetent as he seemed. I expected him to be overaggressive, overconfident, and to suck. I bided my time until that moment when I'd be able to crack his skull. My owner subtly gestured at me. He wavered his hand from left to right. He didn't want me to hurt his guest too much. I grudgingly inclined my head.

We were about ready to begin the fight. The marsh dweller broke his seclusion, and suddenly mingled. I matched that weirdness with the previous weirdness, and I examined the massive snake attentively. He wore more decorative garments than marsh dwellers usually did, but that wasn't too odd given the fact that he was a chief. A brown linen chiton hung from his shoulder, and a belt with a silver buckle wrapped his waist. I'd assumed the belt was purely for status at first, but then I saw the suspicious shape. An assassin's dagger was wedged under the belt, at his back. It was perfectly sized to cause sufficient damage to be lethal with one blow, while remaining concealable. It hadn't been there before, so the servant had brought it to him. That was why he'd been so annoyed by the unexpected incidents; they had to change whatever their initial plans were. The serpent was maneuvering to progressively get closer to the king. I had zero doubt about it: the Outsider was about to be assassinated.

I repressed an urge to protect my owner. What the hell? I actively reminded myself that he was the enemy, that he'd enslaved me and done terrible things to me, that he was responsible for thousands upon thousands of deaths. All the same, I had to struggle to pretend that I hadn't seen anything. If he died, chaos might erupt among his troops, and the Fair King might have a chance to liberate the realm. At the same time, it was a risk. The Outsider's captains didn't like me very much, save for Meleth. Realistically, it was plausible that I wouldn't survive a purge ordered by a new Northwestern leadership. In a sense, the war for the Southern Kingdom was nearly over. If the Black King died now, the Midlands would burn anew. I tried to calculate the right thing to do. This king's reign had just begun, it was true, but he'd been nothing if not a skilled manager as far as I could tell. I was the only one to whom he was cruel... and not always.

I stared at the reptile king. He sat down, tranquil, surrounded by people he trusted. He noticed me, and stared blankly back at me, trying to figure out my thoughts. It disturbed me. He'd arranged that duel for me, because he thought that I wanted it. In his own unhealthy and dominating way, he did care for me. I was unwell. The marsh dweller's infiltration progressed. He went from noble to noble, dropping a word or two with unconvincing geniality. No. I couldn't bring myself to assist the Black King, but a part of me felt like a conspirator, a traitor. That part hoped that he would spot the assassin, and that the plot would fail. It had evidently been well prepared. I hypothesized about who was behind it. The first name to come to mind was Jan. It explained the old servant loyal to the Southern monarchy, but why and how would Jan use a Northwestern auxiliary chieftain? It could also be an internal coup. If the king died, Meleth would probably be in the best position to assume command, but I didn't believe that Meleth was the traitor for even a second. It could be the Blood Masks trying to get rid of their ally before he risked becoming a rival, but that could also ruin an invasion for which they'd sacrificed a lot. I thought about it. It seemed that everyone might benefit or suffer heavily from destabilizing the Black King's army. The results were impossible to predict. The only coherent conclusion was that it was us. No matter what else, killing the Black King would strengthen the Fair King. It necessarily had to be us. Was it worth plunging the South into many more years of war? Maybe. It depended on what the Black King's long term plans were. He'd promised to rule us justly on the day of his coronation. Then again, I had a unique vantage point. If I was to be considered a prime example of the Outsider's behavior toward those subjected to his absolute power, he would have to go, wouldn't he?

I was struck by the intense insight that, if I asked my owner about what he was planning to do with the Southern Kingdom, he would answer. That seemed like the sort of brutal honesty that I'd grown to expect from him. Too late.

The king rose from his seat. He spoke in the mixed Lowlands tongue so that as many attendants as possible would understand.

"The purpose of this duel is to allow our two combatants to work out their conflict in a civilized manner. The battle will be non-lethal, and must cease as soon as either fighter surrenders, flees, or fails to get up. No magic will be used. Proceed."