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I allowed events to unfold. I had to act as if I knew nothing of the assassin. I decided to make that the policy in my mind as well. It granted me a special satisfaction to watch Red dive me while lunging with his staff. I repressed my laughter. Didn't he understand that we were unarmored? His weapon was blunt, and there was nothing to pierce through. He didn't need power; all he accomplished was to call out his attack too soon. I waited for him with a threatening defensive stance, holding my staff in front of me with the end pointing to my opponent's head.

Red thrust, aiming for my chest. I swatted his blow aside with the center of my staff, using minimal movements, and I propelled my arms forward with a single step. Red's snout crashed directly into the end of my rod. His momentum carried his lower body, and he fell onto his back, stunned. The audience gasped. When the king exclaimed his appreciation and applauded, the tension died down. The court had spent three months watching me groveling, getting beaten and getting treated like a sub person. Their instinctive response to that strange duel was that my humiliation should've continued. As soon as they saw that the king wasn't shocked, however, they accepted that things were proceeding normally. They remembered that I was considered as one of, if not the greatest warrior of the realm, and applauded. I felt it too. I felt it strongly.

It was magnificent and appalling. How easy it was to go from person to object, and back again! I took my staff in one hand, and I walked casually around Red's downed, moaning body. I waited for him at his end of the field. I could've ended it there, but I didn't. I wanted to be the proud Silver Warrior for as long as possible. Also, I relished Red's whines. He'd seen me collared, obedient on my knees, and he'd assumed what, exactly? That I'd lost my ability to kick his ass? That I was within his reach? That my status as a slave was some indicator about me, or my skill? He didn't know me. He'd underestimated me, and his conceit would cost him dearly. He should've never challenged me to that... duel... Oh.

Oh!

In the back of my consciousness, I kept track of Red, slowly standing up, and of the assassin, creeping up to his objective, but at that moment, I was a statue. I sought the Outsider with my eyes. I met his gaze. He smiled. That devious bastard! He was so goddamned smart! I smiled back, conceding that I understood the lesson. It was well played. Guilt coursed through me. I returned to Red.

The Bonehead chief was much less confident, now that he'd caught on to the fact that I was an actual threat. I read in him the crippling fear of getting trounced, publically, by a slave. I tauntingly waved my finger toward me, and it provoked a new charge. I baited the enraged feline until he was convinced that he could get me with a two-handed swing from the shoulder. He was slow and dull. I ducked at the last moment, and mowed him down with a simple swipe at his legs. He fell for the second time, knocking the wind out of himself. The audience was amused. A hint of shame spoiled my pleasure. I strolled to my starting area, granting my rival another break. It was true that it was fun, putting Red in his place. He'd murdered Harik and Edan, and was responsible for the deaths of two others. He took pride in that. I yearned to crush that pride into dust, to teach him that he was a feeble, treacherous coward, but that made me feel like a hypocrite. I knew that our situations were completely different: he'd flung his axe into the skull of someone to whom he'd sworn loyalty, while I was allowing my enslaver to be slain. That reasonable argument didn't help. The closer the marsh dweller got to his target, the more I wanted to put a stop to it. He was very close.

Red was now fully aware that I could mop the floor with him for as long as I desired. He fearfully imitated my stance, and kept his distance. Progress. I beheld his misery. I wanted to beat him until he cried and begged, and to impart essential lessons in respect and humility to him. Did that make me as bad as the Black King? I didn't know. I leaped forward and attacked. I feinted at his head, and I struck his stomach with the lower end of my staff when he raised his to block. He doubled over in pain. I struck his upper back. He crumbled in a ball, forgetting his weapon, trying to protect himself with his hands. I pushed him aside with a kick, and pressed the end of my staff against his throat. He was terrified of admitting defeat, even when the humiliation of fighting was worse. I breathed deep of this meaningless triumph. I looked to my owner, but he wasn't attentive to the fight anymore. The assassin had reached him. The king was staring straight at him, obviously suspicious of the serpent warrior's sudden desire to get near a manacharian ruler. It was only a matter of seconds before the attempt would be foiled.

-- I surrender.

I jumped away, and I threw my staff to the ground. The reptile that had conquered me returned his attention to me, staggered. He opened wide eyes, silently raising his shoulders with his palms facing up, amused, but confounded by my decision. The rest of the crowd made confused comments and noises, save for one. The marsh dweller seized the opportunity. He pulled the serrated blade from behind his back. I prepared to shout, but I held back until the exact moment after which it would be too late.

"Assassin!"

The small crowd reacted instantly, looking to each other, and searching. The dagger thrust into the Black King's side, through his ribs. He produced only a short, incredulous sound.

-- Ah!

The strike had been strong enough to push the king off the bench. Other screams echoed mine. Meleth bounded to cover the collapsed form with his arms.

-- No!

The captains stood in the panic. Red remained on the ground, utterly at a loss. Meleth spotted the unsubtle, but impressively agile killer, as he escaped sliding into the garden maze. The Black Guard captain's mask of pure wrath spun to me.

"Get him!"

I took me a moment to understand that he was talking to me, and not about me. I obeyed Meleth, picking my staff up. It was important that I appear to be fully loyal to the Lowlanders to maximize my chances to survive an eventual hunt for the conspirators. As I ran through the maze of hedges and varied plants and trees, alone, unrestrained and armed, I considered escape. The state of urgency would spread around the palace fast, however, and the city was still occupied. It was too much of a risk, for if I got captured, I would seem to be a party to the regicide. That would be dreadfully unpleasant, I wagered.

The Outsider was quite possibly dead. I shivered. I thought of his reputation for invincibility. An ardent desire to know caught aflame in me. I'd chase the killer as ordered, and then I'd go back to ascertain whether or not the person that had rubbed my paw that morning was gone forever. I had no idea how I felt about that. None. It was a mix. I couldn't identify the individual emotions. It was numbing not to know.

I heard branches crack and leaves ruffle. I turned a corner and saw the tip of the serpent's tail disappearing between two damaged bushes. I followed into the new passage, and I reached the culprit, stuck, lost in the maze. He faced me, and struck. I dodged in time, rolled to the side, and I was up again, cutting his only exit.

-- You can't get caught alive, I said in my best Lowlander.

The creature's resentful face showed no trace of fear or doubt. He knew.

-- Pity from the servile dog? he hissed.

He fiddled dexterously with his large dagger.

-- Do it now, or let me help. You're not escaping from this. They'll make you talk.

-- I don't fear death!

The serpent turned his blade against himself, and lifted his arms high.

"Remember the glory of your betters, Sakorus!"

The reptile dug the serrated blade deep into his throat, twisted it, and threw it away on the stone bricks. Blood flooded out of the wound with an ear-curling gurgle. The gigantic snake reclined, as his thin eyes looked to me less and less lucidly. He collapsed when Bonehead soldiers arrived.

-- Killed himself. Already done when I found him.

They took in the sight of the body, and when they turned to me again, I was gone. I was determined to remain distant from the scene before it became my fault. For the sake of the friendship we used to have, I did my part to make sure Jan was covered, but that was enough. I had to watch out for myself, too. I ran back to the central area.

Things were calmer in the eye of the storm. Only Meleth and Marshal Einar, the canine, remained near the Black King. The other captains were undoubtedly busy securing the Quiet Palace, and fetching help. Other less important nobles of the court, like Lowlander chiefs and converted Southern lords and their families had been chased away, and recovered further around the gardens. Red was nowhere to be seen. Einar maintained pressure on the wound. Meleth waited on his knees next to his friend's body, his hands also bloody from holding the wound. The king yet moved, but the amount of blood he'd lost boded badly. When he saw me, Meleth dashed to me.

-- Did you get him?

-- He stabbed his own throat.

Meleth nodded. He pointed low.

-- You're hurt.

My right paw was red. Behind me, I'd stamped paw shapes on the paved paths, and misshapen blotches in the grass.

-- I must've stepped in blood.

-- There's a large cut. I see it.

I balanced myself on one leg, and took my paw. Meleth was right. The assassin's dagger had nicked me when I dodged. If the blade was poisoned, I might die. I accepted that information with a low amount of distress. It didn't seem to matter.

-- Did he hurt his paw?

Aw fuck. It was him, that weak voice I heard. It was my owner. Why? Why did he fucking care about my paw, now? I couldn't take that.

The marshal intervened.

-- Would you please stop moving and talking?

-- Shut up, Einar. I will be fine. Is... is everyone else... alright?

No one answered, because the king lost consciousness after his question. I couldn't keep him in sight. I turned and sat in the grass. I cleared my throat, and I swallowed a strong cocktail of emotions. Guilt, grief, hope and anger were all part of it. I sensed Meleth behind me.

-- Don't worry. We'll take care of you too.

A pause.

"Thanks for trying. You saw, I mean, you saw it fast. I didn't. I didn't see anything until..."

Meleth didn't end his sentence. He walked away.

During the next few weeks, Meleth assumed rigid control. Black Guards poured into the Quiet Palace to secure it, countermanding the king's previous instruction to focus on preserving order in the capital. All palace guests were removed. The dungeon tower filled up with servants employed by the previous regime. Screams resounded out of it frequently. Newly sworn-in Southern lords were arrested and dragged to the palace for questioning. Everywhere floated an atmosphere of terror and mistrust. A considerable reward was posted for any mender who'd be able to heal the king, but no one responded. Rumors about the Outsider's health surfaced and sunk like a victim of torture by dunking. Access to him was entirely restricted, even for me. Meleth was on edge, constantly irritable with everyone. I was the sole exception.

On the second day after the attempt, I was summoned to his chamber. I was initially happy about it. I liked Meleth, true, but I'd also been reduced to a decorative element of the entry hall for the entire previous day. It'd been excruciating. As it turned out, a really great way to make someone feel like a worthless object was to tie them up to another object, and to forget them there. It was mind-crushing. In comparison, keeping Meleth company sounded pretty good. I was brought in my regular attire; I wore nothing but my collar and shackles, with the addition of the bandages wrapping my paw.

Meleth's personal space was discerningly ornamented. The room had multiple oil lamps as light sources instead of only one. Two costly warm-colored rugs lay by the door and next to his bed. Multiple stands and small tables littered along the walls, covered with a single trinket each: an old pottery, a painting on a stand, a weapon case with a polished axe or sword. As the sole things hanging from the walls, two medium-sized banners faced each other. I recognized both easily. The first one was the colorless banner of the Black Guards, depicting a simplified version of the helmet of the Night Plate. By that point, everyone was familiar with the powerfully enchanted set of armor that the Outsider wore in battle, and what it represented. The other banner was the grinning skull of the Blood Masks, over a red background. So, Meleth had been a Blood Mask as well. I wondered for how long he and the Outsider had known each other. I felt stranded among his things until he got up from his bed. He'd been resting.

"I have to talk to you about something."

He was nervous. His uneasiness gained me. He was trying to work out a manner of making what he wanted to say acceptable. He failed.

"I have extensive rights over you. I've always had them."

I showed no reaction.

"What I mean is that the king talked about continuing your training in his absence. I could, I mean, he said you would surrender to me in every way. In private, you understand?"

What was I supposed to do with that? Not only did it hurt as hell, because Meleth was one of the few people that I interacted with a lot that didn't treat me like a cock receptacle, but I couldn't figure out why he was telling me this. His awkward declaration contained no clear order, merely a stupid rhetorical question. Of course, I understood the concept of being a sex slave, how could I not? Despite this, he expected some response. I was careful. I kept a thoroughly unenthusiastic face, and I barely moved my head in confirmation.

I saw that my careful response confounded Meleth. He'd wanted something that he could interpret as "permission granted". It made me angry.

"You would like it, wouldn't you?"

He stepped forward. An awkward hand cupped my tamed bum. I felt the repressed movements, the controlled breathing. Meleth was attracted to me. Meleth had always been attracted to me a whole lot more than the Black King ever was, I realized. I contemplated saying no, right there, to his face. I had no idea how he'd react to that, but I remembered the Tsam ambassador. I simply couldn't afford that risk. He had all the power over me. He had to know that! I adopted an expression that made unambiguous what I really thought about servicing him, and I nodded again.

"Okay. Good. I'd like that too."

He was oblivious. He wanted it to be true. My owner made me say "yes" to a bunch of things all the time. He loved to watch me degrade myself, but not for a single moment did he ever assume that I meant what he made me say. Whenever he wanted a real answer, he made it clear that he understood that I would factor in the consequences of my response -- of course! Meleth actually needed me to say yes. Then, like an idiot, he would believe my response to be the truth because that's what he wanted. My real owner would never be this fucking weak. I hated Meleth for that. How could he ever be my friend again? He was in charge of me, now. If he didn't want to feel guilty, he just had to not fuck me. Was he that dumb, or was he simply pretending not to understand? Was I not even worth him listening to his own moral code? Was I not a person in his eyes? My heart sank; I had to get it over with.

Meleth did nothing. Too intimidated. He shook life a leaf in the rain just from watching me stand naked for him. I sighed, and I began to display my training. I started with what my owner liked me to do to entice him when he was tired and grumpy. I turned around, bent a little, and described small circles with my butt onto his thighs and crotch. When he didn't react, I wagged my tail high to show him that it was okay to have me. He still refused to take the lead, but he did resume groping my rump. I turned around, and I stood closer. I couldn't embrace him on account of my wrists tied in my back, so I pressed my snout into his neck. I licked the tiny scales of his throat. Their edges felt faintly sharp to my tongue. I closed my eyes, kept licking, and slowly grinded my soft chest against his Black Guard tunic. I finally got a goddamned cue that I could react to. He touched my anus. I folded and spread my knees a bit to let him appreciate my privates more easily. He breathed heavily.

"Your master takes you dry, doesn't he?"

I kept licking, and gave a nod. Meleth chuckled anxiously.

"That's cruel. I k-kind of want to try it. You want me to try it, right?"

His trick of asking me for permission to dump his guilt when he knew perfectly well that I couldn't refuse was growing old, fast. If he wanted an eager bitch, he'd get one.

I watched Meleth's absolute shock when I jumped onto him, locking my legs around his waist, and pushing him onto his bed. I stuffed myself under his tunic, probably ruining it as I heard tearing fabric, while giving out horny, inviting yelps. I covered his scales with my tongue until he managed to pull his shirt up to take it off. I switched my assault to his belt, attempting to undo the buckle with my teeth. At last, he got a clue, and he helped me. His rod jumped out of its prison and into my mouth. Every bit of it was covered in abundant saliva within five seconds. I leaped off of Meleth and on the covers, bent over, and I spread my ass to offer my tight, helpless and hungry ring of flesh as his prize. I whined and cried for his cock while I held my tail straight up and motioning in cute circles for him to come sodomize my imploring, desperate body. He was on me, and fucking me at full speed before I could count to three. He grunted like a work beast, and I manifested my extreme pleasure with repeated thankful yaps for every hurtful bump against my rump.

I hated every second of every part of this. I wanted it to end so much, that it reminded me of that first day, when my real owner introduced me to total defeat, and to my fate as his conquered sexual plaything. Pain had been the main reason for my suffering before. Not this time. I'd stretched, or I'd gotten used to it. Probably both. No. This time, it was the knowledge that this would be how Meleth would see me from now on. He used to be on my side, but from this point on, he would stroll around with a dim satisfied feeling about himself, thinking of how happy I was to wait for him to be ready to glorify me with his dick. Fuck him. His feebleness was insulting. I almost wanted him to grab my ears too while he pounded me because... because that's how it was done. No. That was just how the Demon did it, but he did it better didn't he? Wow, it was amazing that I thought that.

What was wrong with me?

Meleth finished up inside of me with a loud moan, and then he breathed deep. He put both of his hands over my hips, laughing happily.

"I guess this means yes, then!"

I pulled away. I was so violently disgusted, I felt physically nauseous. This guy wouldn't spot irony if it bit his face off. Meleth was unworthy of being my owner. There. I got off the bed. He was finished, and so was I. End of show. I stood by the door for him to come, and to escort me to work. I wanted to scrub, and I really, really didn't like scrubbing. Even the fucking pillar would be better than this.

"Is something wrong?"

Holy asinine bullshit! I twisted my head to give the most toxic smile I could conjure up, and turned right back to the door. He might even have swallowed that too. He sounded completely lost.

"Alright. Let's go and find you a guard, then."

I was leashed. We grabbed a bucket and cloth, and walked toward the living quarters of the garrison. This scrubbing shift hadn't been planned in advance, so it would be a matter of whom we encountered first, and was available among my usual guards. We met Oran. Terror struck me, but I didn't fight it. From a dark corner of my soul, a voice told me that I was getting what I deserved. I should've been a loyal slave. I should've protected my owner. I didn't, and, since then, everything was falling apart. The kingdom headed into a dark period. Meleth betrayed me. Now, I was about to experience what Oran would be like without the shadow of the Outsider looming over him. I cowered in submission when the large striped feline accepted my leash. As soon as we were alone, he bared his fangs, and he squeezed my throat.

-- Back for more already, bitch?

I offered mild resistance, putting my hands over his arm and pulling slightly, to let him know that I needed him to stop, but that I wouldn't actually try to use force. He was in control.

"Good to see you remember your place."

He released. I kept my gaze low and my ears dropped. I let the Black Guard soldier lead me to the third floor, which was emptier than ever given the state of the palace. Only the garrison's quarters were overcrowded to a ridiculous degree. We stopped in one the dusty corridors. He placed my bucket down. I sat, holding my knees close to me.

"Get to scrubbing, slave bitch."

The order was a surprise. I'd expected the mistreatment to start right away. I got on all fours, and I cleaned with full devotion, soaking constantly to remove the thick grimy dust. If Oran was disposed to make me work, then I would gladly contribute. He walked circles around me, kicking my legs open. My tail was swept aside as well. I made sure to offer him quite a display, rolling my hips a lot more than I really needed to, in a similar fashion to the sort of things I did when I showed off for my owner. Oran had never been very interested in watching before, but if I could just keep him-

"You dirty fucking slut, you really can't help yourself, can you? I see you already got fucked today, your hole is dripping even while your master is dying. I wonder who had you? Everyone you saw, right? Just to spite me. Okay. You'll get what you deserve."

Before I could figure out what was going on, I was dragged by my collar through the dust and into one of the near-empty rooms. I ceased choking when I was thrown against a stone table with a wooden base. My chain was passed into one of the sculpted interstices into the base, and secured in a loop. The feline brought my bucket, and poured it over me, clearing some of the dust from my fur. I curled up. It amused Oran. He left.

I had a lot of time to mull over my state, because I was secured to that table for a very long while. Every minute, I apprehended Oran's return. Whatever he'd decided to do to me, it wouldn't be enjoyable. I examined the wet bandage over my paw. It held, but I'd have to change it. Walking normally did tend to make my cut bleed a little. It wouldn't absorb now that the bandage was wet. I reclined in the puddle on the floor. Would Meleth let me change it? If so, when? What would be done with me? I could scarcely believe how lost I was without my owner to direct my days. Was I that broken already? No. I reassured myself. It made sense. The entire world in which I'd been living for the last months was forged by the Black King. Of course, if he disappeared, this universe lost its center, its coherence. As a slave, I was barred from being self-sufficient. Who'd check that I was fed? Who'd make sure that I wasn't forgotten in a corner, tied to a table? I'd just done my very best to make Meleth extremely uncomfortable with me. I didn't regret it, but if I'd pushed him away, who'd care for me? I belonged to the Outsider, who would I belong to if he was gone?

After over an hour, Oran returned to provide me with a nightmarish answer.

The feline brought a bag. He dropped it with a sound of bundled iron pieces. First, he unfolded a long, wide black strip of cloth. He made sure to exhibit it clearly before he blindfolded me with it. I was scared, but I didn't dare take it off. I heard iron. I also heard him fetch some wooden furniture that he dropped carelessly. I was seized, and brutally folded over the furniture. It was an inverted chair. I sensed iron padlocks being slipped under my wrist and ankle cuffs. My legs were fastened to the lower chair legs, my arms to the back of the chair. New shackles were locked under my knees, and forced my thighs open even wider. I struggled a bit, quickly assessing that it was a spreader bar. I couldn't move much, my body uncomfortably offered to Oran's whims. His clawed fingers against my snout startled me. He pulled on my lower jaw.

"Open."

I worried about what would be put into my mouth, but I had no choice. I complied swiftly in the faint hope that it might inspire the tiger some mercy. A ring gag was inserted between my teeth, and secured by applying pressure around my snout with tight rope. It wasn't long before I drooled uncontrollably.

"Cock-hungry bitch. Here's your first meal."

My upper body was elevated by a strong hold on my collar. Oran's warm dick was inserted through the ring. I did my best to satisfy him, so he'd lose interest and let me go. I focused on the head of the cock, rubbing the sensitive crown and underside, like my owner enjoyed when I sucked on his reptile sex. Oran pushed in deeper. I gagged, choking on his thick tiger meat. The tiny spines chafed. Between two gag reflexes, I whimpered pleadingly for him to withdraw. He mocked my efforts.

"Feast on it. I'm guessing you won't last long after the king dies. Hehehe."

I wasn't offered much of a respite. I could barely take in any air while I worked the dick that filled my mouth and throat, and I nearly suffocated on it.

"Yeah! Take it, slut! Take it! Today you really get it."

When Oran began squirting his plentiful seed down my gullet, I nearly suffocated on that too. I coughed a lot, and my tormentor finally withdrew to finish up over my face. Disgustingly heavy curds hung over the sides of my muzzle.

The chair was suddenly moved. Helpless panic gripped me when it brutally angled up. Instead of facing downward, my restrained body was dragged horizontally along with the chair. I was portable. I felt the movement in my world of blackness. Everything was silent, everything smelled of dust. After a more-or-less short trip, I was placed somewhere. After that, nothing. Minutes passed as Oran stood wordlessly, perhaps choosing how to debase me next.

As I was about to discover, his mind had been made up for a long time.

I heard another presence approaching. It wasn't very familiar. Another feline, a soldier or something. Oran met it further. They whispered in a dialect I didn't understand well, but numbers were mentioned at some point. Then, a folded wet rag was placed over my nose. I had to breathe through my mouth, and, therefore, I couldn't identify anyone by scent. All my doubts about what was happening evaporated when I heard the distinct sound of coins being exchanged.

Oran, as a bold entrepreneur, rented the access to my ass.

The new presence settled behind me, grappled with my cheeks, pulled up my tail, and pushed into my rectum. I did the only thing I could. I forced myself to relax about the unknown cock visiting my personal space. It stabbed me repeatedly, and sullied me. I had nothing else to do but to focus on the rasping flesh and the poking tip. It was cathartic in a guilt-induced, self-destructive way.

While his client availed themselves of the possibility to conquer a real-life Southern hero, defeated and bound for their pleasure, Oran roamed around, doubtlessly checking that everything happened the way it was supposed to. Client satisfaction was important to him.

Yet another mass manifested itself. No words were exchanged, but coins clicked again. Two large clawed hands lifted my head, and a manacharian shaft introduced itself to my maw. There weren't as many manacharian troops as there were felines among the Northwestern army, but there were enough that I'd never be able to know which one's sperm I was about to be fed. I serviced that cock too, slurping at its tiny hole, and whipping it as vigorously as I could with my tongue. The males shoved harder into me. I bobbled into my iron binds. A brief and lonely yelp let them know that they were being harsh. They chuckled. I was a little surprised when they mellowed somewhat.

Both of my ends were creamed, one after the other. The three presences faded away. One returned -- which I logically assumed to be Oran. A refilled bucket of water was poured over my seeping anus and my gagged mouth. That was it. I was ready for new anonymous customers.

I remained bent over and restrained to that chair for an indefinite time lapse. I thought perhaps it was over, when in truth it was commencing. More horny bodies came to ravage me. Some were spaced out, some arrived together. I was afraid and in pain, but the constant anal stimulation gradually drove me erect. At this point, the clients decided that I loved it, and that, therefore, they could be meaner, by a leap of reason that I couldn't quite make out.

I lost count of how many times I was put to use while Oran pocketed his loose change. It lasted for hours. I wasn't sure that anyone was looking for me, so I wasn't sure that it would end. The repeated abuse and inability to change position was too much. I was getting injured, and losing some feeling in my arms and legs. After one particularly vicious pounding, I broke my rule of silence. I had to supplicate Oran to allow me to go. I was afraid for my life. I squealed and sobbed and mumbled. He hit me, but I continued. He undid the rope muzzle, and he removed the ring.

"What?"

I gave him everything I assumed he wanted to hear.

-- Please, sir, please. It hurts. I apologize. You were right, I wanted your dick. I won't ever lead you on again. I'll be a good bitch. I know my place, now. I'll take your cock whenever you like. Please, I-

-- Shut the fuck up! Don't tell me shit I already know. Open your mouth.

The ring was shoved back in place. My snout was tied around it. The wet cloth was replaced. Another client arrived, paid, and fucked me.

Two more enjoyed me lengthily after that.

I rubbed my arms with my numb hands. My sense of touch reawakened, little by little. I stood broken before Oran. He'd carried me back to the first room before he detached me from the chair. He threw me my scrubbing cloth, and pushed the bucket to me.

"Clean yourself."

I removed the scum from my fur. I had no illusion. This would happen again. Oran had found a new and profitable way to damage me. I'd die from the way he treated me, next time, or the one after that, or the one after that... My deadened fingers dropped the cloth.

"Hurry!"

I hurried, soaking and washing my body as best I could. Boots ran in the corridor.

-- What the hell?

It was Cane. The least I can say is that I was happy to see him.

-- Oh, fuck off, Nyloth, warned Oran. You're not on duty.

-- But you are! That's the Black King's slave!

-- King's dead. It might as well be my slave, now.

Nyloth. That was Cane's real name. With a quick look, he took in my wretched state. The short feline frenzied.

-- The Outsider can't die, you dumbass! And if it was possible, which it isn't, then that would make him the boss' slave.

-- So what? Turn me in. See what happens.

-- Unbelievable.

Cane calmed down.

"I won't turn you in. Why can't you leave him alone? His life is hard enough as it is."

-- Cry for the pampered Southerner whore, some more, why don't you? They didn't kill any of your kin.

Cane got offended.

-- Hey! I loved your brother too, you know, but at some point that just becomes an excuse to give in to your sadistic crap. It was war. We killed a lot of their brothers as well.

-- Not enough.

Cane palmed his forehead.

-- Just go. I'll take care of him, or weren't you done already?

Oran's hand dove into a pocket, and flourished a pouch bloated with coin, producing dull chinks.

-- Yeah.

The tiger stepped sharply in my direction before leaving. I flinched.

"For now," he added cruelly.

Oran was gone. A quiet tension rose while I meekly rubbed the cloth into my fur. Cane kept his distance, unsure of what to do.

-- It's, uh. It's going to be alright. I heard the others talk about what was going on. Are you okay?

I was most positively not okay. I felt no need to explain it.

"Yeah. I guess not. Well, you'll be fine, now."

He was embarrassed. He didn't know how to deal with my pain. I was abruptly seized by the terror that he might abandon me there. I moved to him and clutched his Black Guard tunic around his back. I burrowed my nose into the brown fur of his neck. The feline awkwardly patted my shoulder. His long tail brushed my bandaged paw.

"Come on. Let's get you really cleaned up."

I followed my improvised caretaker toward the garrison's quarters. Obviously, he couldn't use the royal bathing room without authorization, but the troops also disposed of such rooms. We entered a long, spacious hallway, busy with off-duty soldiers. On both sides, numerous doorless accesses were identified by painted wooden plaques above them. We headed for one of those with the old Black Guard shield symbol, and the number two. The other symbols belonged to specific Bonehead clans, and had only one room each, save for the Blood Masks. The grinning skull adorned even more gates than the black shield.

I strongly apprehended passing through Cane's dormitory. He squeezed my arm reassuringly.

"Stay close, you'll be perfectly safe."

The room was packed. Nearly all of the elongated rectangular floor space was occupied by cheap-looking beds. Some had been chaotically reorganized to fit even more, and obstructed the slim passage in the middle of the room. They had to be jumped over. The areas under and directly surrounding the beds were crammed with boxes and chests of the soldiers' belongings, as well as many of the less precious items, lying directly on the floor, on the boxes, or over each other. Many had makeshift shelves nailed above their beds. Those were also overcrowded with various objects from weapons to food. What little space remained was occupied by the Black Guards themselves. Since it was near-impossible to walk around, most sat or lay in bed, keeping busy or talking with their bunkmates. In terms of proportions, there were about three manacharians for seven felines. A few were female. A single one wasn't a Bonehead; it was Lackey, the river reptile. All of them interrupted what they were doing the instant we stepped in. An army of frowns converged onto us.

"Come, don't be afraid."

Cane dropped the chain leash. He locked a single knuckle under my collar to keep me even closer. I trod cautiously around the soldiers and their things, as withdrawn into myself as I could. I tucked my tail between my legs, and hid my front with my chained hands. The less attention I would attract, the better. I wondered how many among them had seen me coupled to that chair, folded and spread out, and had dropped their loads in me. We vaulted over the furniture we couldn't avoid. When we neared the exit, at the other end of the dormitory, our public resumed their activities.

Cane removed my restraints, shackles and collar. I took place into one of three small square areas with drains along the bathing room wall, separated at waist height by wooden panels. The two others were occupied by a naked feline with a rust mane, and a small manacharian of about the same size and weight as Cane. Each stall had its own water basin, a shelf with fat soap, and a pail for drawing the water. The lion was kneading soap over his sturdy round rear and tail. He couldn't care any less about our presence. The lizard, conversely, stopped rinsing his body to watch us. Sharp protruding horns ran along the edges of his chin, and made a crown-like shape at the top of his head. The back of his skull was just as spiky. His broad, rough black and yellow scales blended unsubtly, creating jagged horizontal stripes from his neck down. His face was solid yellow with pale horns.

-- Whoa, Nyl. What is this?

Only when she spoke did I realize that the manacharian was, in fact, a woman. Manacharians had no breasts, and being only half-turned toward us, I hadn't seen the front of her lower half, only her strong tail.

Cane spoke softly to me before he replied to the wasp-colored lizard.

-- Go ahead, he said with a small push toward the basin and shelf.

I did as I was told, and I grabbed the pail. Cane went instantly defensive.

"Don't start."

-- I'm not starting anything. Just asking why I'm washing with the Outsider's slave.

-- You're not washing with him. Different stalls, see?

-- You know what I meant.

Cane sighed.

-- He's vulnerable, right now. While the king's indisposed, and the boss is busy, no one's really in charge of him. Some have decided to-

-- Benefit from that, yeah. I've heard about Oran's little scheme. So what?

-- So, so nothing. I don't think he deserves that.

The lizard smiled humorously.

-- Good ol' stoic I-don't-give-a-damn Nyloth is gonna take care of him? That's so sweet! How'll you do that?

She leaned over the separator panel, arms crossed, and she stared at me. I'd just poured a bucket of water on top of my head, and I was soaking wet.

"Hello."

The fact that I was being addressed traversed my mind after about a second. I faced her.

"I'm Kherada. What's your name?"

I was about to answer, but Cane cut in to explain my silence.

-- He doesn't talk a lot. He gets punished when he does.

-- Oh. We won't tell. We're on his side.

-- We? Do you -- by any chance -- have any interest in helping out?

-- Do I!

One might imagine that, by then, I would've been fully desensitized to the shame of my nudity being viewed, and yet I felt a tinge of shyness at being detailed by Kherada while I cleansed my privates of other males' jizz. Cane noticed.

-- Could you not look at him like that?

-- Right. That was a bit rude, wasn't it? Sorry.

The reptile withdrew to her stall, and finished rinsing herself. She toweled her scales while she toed her way toward the entrance, leaving the very relative intimacy provided by the panels. When she rubbed her bum, I stole a peek or two. She noticed.

"Heh. It's only fair."

She stood in a natural pose, and flung her towel over her shoulder. Her scales quickly diminished in size between her legs. She seemed smoother. I saw a hint of her slit, in the triangle of shadows formed with her thighs. She was gracious enough, in a wild, exotic way. She attracted me, but I was in a bad emotional place relative to sex at that moment, which prevented me from enjoying what I saw. I would visualize her again later in my waking dreams, though.

With a tail swipe for balance, she twisted around, and made for Cane. He showed wide eyes, until she skirted around him to get to her clothes, which she'd folded in a bundle on the floor, beside the entrance. She dressed up in her Black Guard tunic, same as the others, and headed for the dormitory. She threw her towel to Cane as she disappeared.

-- Um, what are you...

She was already gone. Minutes later, the lion finished washing and grooming himself. He returned to the dormitory, stark naked, and apparently unembarrassed before his female peers. The rumors about Northwesterner societies being less restrictive concerning sexuality seemed as firmly rooted in reality as the ones depicting their willingness to torture and exploit their captives. Regardless, I left the middle stall not long after, and the fact that we'd forgotten to find me a towel appeared evident.

"Ah," said Cane as he connected the dots.

Cane handed me Kherada's. It was damp, but it did the job. It smelled like her. I detected similarities between manacharians' scents. The Outsider, Meleth and Kherada shared an arid, mineral smell, like desert wind. Maybe I was imagining things, but I could swear that they all had a faint bitter component, that one might expect in rare spices. It was cumin for my owner, ginger for Meleth, as for Kherada...

I held the towel close, and I breathed in. Paprika.

I still felt tainted inside, physically, but as sad as it is to say, I was getting used to that. Being fresh and clean on the outside was a decent start. I mechanically got near my caretaker, and offered my neck for collaring. Cane hesitated for less than a second, but it was sufficient for me to grasp that he might not have put it back on if I hadn't practically requested it. It would've been strange, walking around without my collar, but not unwelcome. I decided to try to be more attentive in the future, and less in a hurry to submit. I had to tread a fine line between eager obedience and plain reluctance. I might get away with more than I thought I could.

After the collar, my bracers and leg cuffs were returned, but not fastened together. Our arrival in the dormitory had less of an impact than last time, but a lot of attention was still drawn to me. I stayed within Cane's personal space, expressing that I was with him. We stopped in front of a bed near the center of the room.

"That one's mine."

He tapped the covers.

"You can stay here for a while. Try to rest."

I sat on Cane's bunk. In front, and three beds to the right, Kherada lounged over hers. I was holding her towel. She propped up her arms in a position to receive a thrown object, but I didn't dare. I climbed off the bed, made my way to her, and I handed it over.

-- Aw, thanks.

I swiftly returned in the area that had been designated as Cane's. If I was one of his things, others might be less tempted. Cane took a roll of bandages, removed my old, wet bandage and unskillfully attempted to cover my wounded paw. I took over, and bandaged it myself in -- oh -- five or six seconds. He whistled in respect, and pulled his covers over my waist. I was slightly less exposed, in the middle of that roomful of Lowlanders. Cane curved over me.

-- I have to go. I have combat drills soon.

He flipped around, and presented a broad warning.

"Do not mess with him."

He didn't sound threatening, but he did sound overwhelmingly stern. It was remarkable. The atmosphere in the room changed completely. Many Black Guards smiled, with amused shakes of their heads, but a very clear sense of general assent manifested itself. If it was important to Cane, they would respect his wish. I admired the Black Guard corps spirit. All the same, I caught his glance to Kherada. She put on an understanding air, and nodded once. She reclined against the wall, grabbed a box of material, and she began to clean and polish it, surveying.

As my body heat warmed Cane's bed, so did I become increasingly appeased, surrounded by these soldiers that I perceived less and less to be threats or enemies. The activity, the movements, the calm conversations rocked me gently to sleep. At that moment, Lackey got up from the chest on which he'd been sitting, hanging at another soldier's bunk. He walked to his own spot in the crowded barracks, which was revealed to be directly adjacent to me. The large gator threw himself over his bed. He leaned to his side, facing me. I tensed up. Kherada dropped the helmet she'd been polishing, and slowly prepared to jump out. Lackey wore a dense smirk that I couldn't interpret. He moved toward me. Kherada got up. Then, Lackey's muscular arm reached out for the shelf over his bed. He picked a small package, wrapped in a vegetal fabric. Kherada halted. The gator opened the wrapping. He tore out a piece of the firm, whitish-yellow object that was contained, and suddenly offered it to me. It was cheese, and I was hungry.

It was tasty.