A one-shot, part of the War’s End universe. For more War’s End stories please look at:
The Princess and the Rebel (F/M)
The General and the Traitor (F/M, crowd/M)
The King of Traitors (F/M)
The Soldier and the Farmhand (F/M)
Happy reading!
Samuel stalked around the tight cell, counting paces until he hit one stone wall, then turning on his heel to face the other. The cell wasn’t as small as the one he had lived in during his time in the gladiator circuits, but it was far from big, and it was definitely overkill.
“Hey!” he yelled through the bars. “When David learns about this, he’ll have your head! Forget David, when General Cilen learns about this!”
“Yeah, yeah, rebel bastard.” The guard called from down the corridor. The dungeon made the thin man’s voice boom. “Keep ranting, see how far that’ll get you.”
“Ranting?” King David’s lieutenant spat on the cobbles outside the cell. He pulled dark curls of hair out of his eyes, wiping sweat off his forehead. He tried to crane his head far enough to catch sight of the guard. “I’m not ranting. You’re out of line. You’re so far out of line you can’t see the line anymore. What in gods…” He took a breath and squeezed his brown eyes shut. “Ignorant. He doesn’t know. He’s just an ignorant idiot!”
As the guard’s chuckle carried down the stone hall, Sam dropped to his knees on the straw piled in the back of the cell. Definitely more comfortable than what the gladiator circuit had. Not great by any means, and definitely not the bed he had claimed in the main castle, but comfortable.
It wasn’t supposed to happen again. Dave would put it to a swift end. Cilen would put it to an even swifter end. For now, he had to deal with that idiot. At least it was just one.
Fuck, if only he’d taken up Dave on those lockpicking lessons.
He flopped into the straw, cursing under his breath, and stared up at the checkered pattern cast on the ceiling by the bars.
Bars on the ceiling?
Sam stood, and he could just catch hold of the bars crossing the cell’s roof. They were strong, no doubt, and slowly he let the bar take his full weight.
It was definitely staying put. But Sam didn’t need to as well. Maybe he could take care of a missed workout or two; he spent so much time in that damned war room he didn’t have time to keep up with his own regimen.
He jumped up and grabbed the bars, his breath hissing between his teeth as he did pull-up after pull-up. It had already been hot enough, with the dungeons nearby the furnaces, and a long trail of sweat emerged down the front and back of the tight prison jumpsuit that guard had forced him into. With another soft curse, he let go of the bar, undid the buttons of the jumpsuit, and tied it off at his waist. It wouldn’t get in the way now.
“What in gods’ name are you doing? Oh…”
Sam turned. The guard stood slack-jawed at the front of the cell, his blue eyes racing across Sam’s olive skin, the defined muscle covering his form, and the scars knitted over it.
Sam grinned. “Like what you see?”
“What? No! I mean, I—” the guard reddened, kicking at the dust.
Sam squeezed sweat out of his hair, walking up to the cell bars. “I think you do.”
“I do not!” the man insisted, but Sam reached a hand through the bars and ran his fingers through the thick blonde hair cut short at the base of the man’s skull.
“My name’s Sam.” He drew the guard in by the back of the head. “What can I call you?”
“Thomas,” the man said, then cleared his throat. “I-I mean Sergeant Calawig.”
“A sergeant.” Sam smiled. “Tom. How about that? Well, I’m a lieutenant.”
“Of the rebels?”
“Of Cerces, of Astal, but no one keeps track of that anymore. I’m not sure why you are.” Sam guided Tom’s limp hands to the key ring at his waist. “Now which one of these is the one to this door?”
“T-this one.” Tom’s fingers shook as he thumbed through the keys and slipped the right one into the cell door.
Sam should really just shove past him and make for the main hall. Surely someone with half a brain would see him and help. But he found himself grasping Tom’s hands and leading him into the cell. “Welcome.”
Tom turned way too late, instead watching Sam pocket the keys to the door. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should I, but we’ll get to that later.” Sam stepped around him, head tilted as he examined Tom. “Now how did a skinny guy like you get into the guard?”
“I’m part of the inner castle staff. I don’t need to look threatening.”
Sam scoffed. No wonder the castle had fallen so easily. “I see.”
“I’m strong! I look good, too!”
“Prove it.”
Tom reddened, then bent in two, his tunic flipping over his head and taking his armor with it. Sam jumped back, startled, then fumbled to snatch up the guard’s cuffs from the pile of abandoned clothes.
Tom glanced down, his flush continuing down his shoulders to paint his thin pectorals a light pink. “Oh. This wasn’t necessary.”
“About as necessary as imprisoning your king’s lieutenant for being a rebel. David is the new king, you know.”
“I-I know.” Tom stepped back, his brown eyes wide and glittering in the low light offered by the dungeons. “This was a mistake.”
“Absolutely not.” As idiotic as Tom was, there was something about his skinny form that piqued Sam’s interest. The man was only a few years older than Dave, about Sam’s age at best. Skinny, yes, but still defined, with thin abs that heaved as Sam examined him. The lieutenant cocked his head. “If I can ask, whose orders are you following? Because they’re not Dave’s, they’re not Cilen’s, and they’re definitely not mine.”
“Not orders, common sense.” Tom shook his head. “I arrested a rebel.”
“And if I told you the rebels were in charge? That would make you the traitor, wouldn’t it?”
“I… no, I am a guard of Astal. You are lieutenant of Cerces! You would never… I would never…”
Tom stammered, staring at his army-issued boots, and Sam pounced. Tom wrenched free for a second, shocking him, but a clever trick taught en mass to army recruits would not defeat a veteran of the gladiator circuits. Sam caught Tom by the ankle as the guard attempted to squirm away. Tom kicked off the boot, but Sam still held onto his skinny pale ankle, dragging him into the cell.
Tom’s fighting degraded to flailing. With a grin Sam grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet, clapping the stolen shackle around his wrist. “Now that’s more like it.”
Tom stopped, glanced at his captured arm, then clenched his free fist and bopped Sam in the nose.
Sam staggered, more surprised than hurt, and ran his tongue over his lips, tasting blood. “Nice shot. Cheap, but solid.”
Tom glanced between Sam, his pinned arm, and the shackle hanging from his wrist. “Thanks? Sorry, I mean, or—”
“Don’t apologize. Then I won’t have an excuse for this.” Sam flicked the chain over the bars crossing the cell’s ceiling and clapped Tom’s other hand into the open shackle. The man almost hung limp, the ball of his bare foot quivering against the cool stone floor. “Oops. Gotta fix that.”
As Sam kicked straw under Tom’s feet, the guard twisted toward him, his voice quivering. “Are you going to kill me?”
“I could.” Sam eyed the sword that still hung from Tom’s waist. “I really could. But no.” He stepped around Tom and planted his hands on his hips. “Let me tell you something. Astaleze soldiers almost tortured my best friend to death a few weeks ago. I caught them just in time and had to yank that poor kid out of that awful device. You know what it was?”
Tom nodded mutely, but Sam leaned in anyway.
“Tickling.”
“I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to, but he said he’d fire me!” Tom broke down in sobs.
Sam froze, halfway through collecting the strands of straw clinging to his jumpsuit. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just confess to that. And lucky you I’m really good at pretending, because if Dave had died I swear that sword would be through your heart right now, gods as my witness. But no, because something as pretty as you couldn’t have been part of that. Right?”
“Y-you think I’m pretty?”
Sam glanced up, his brown eyes fiery. “Right?”
“Right, sir.”
Sam took a breath. “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” He turned and unlatched Tom’s belt, the guard’s sword falling aside into the bay with a clatter. “Don’t need that. And since you just punched me, and said you tickled Dave, I think it’s only fair we get payback.” Sam cracked his knuckles. “Since Dave’s not around, I’ll have to take his place.”
“You’re not gonna…”
“I wish I could, but Dave keeps telling me not to.” He kicked away the sword. “I can see the allure, though. It means I can play with you for a while, then I can decide whether or not to kill you for insubordination.” Sam ran a finger under Tom’s chin, and the guard’s flush somehow grew deeper. “Don’t get so excited just yet. How ticklish are you?”
Tom stared. “I’m not. Not at all!”
“We’ll see about that.” Sam ran his fingers from Tom’s elbows down to the fur in his armpits, feeling the young guard flinch and lurch as his investigations continued. One hand ran through the downy cover of hair across his chest, the other trailing down over his ribs and the slight pudge of belly hanging over his belt buckle and sides. Tom squirmed as Sam reached his waistline, his protests little more than mewls.
“What, now you’ve gone quiet?” Sam toyed with the down on Tom’s chest. “Let’s see about that.”
“St-ahahahp touching me,” Tom hissed through gritted teeth. “You rebel son of a bitch.”
“Oh?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Is there some fight in you after all, Sir ‘inner castle?’ I’d love to see this.” He tested up and down Tom’s sides before settling on squeezing the paunch on his belly. “Give me your best shot.”
“NAHAHAHAHOOOOO!” the guard screamed, his eyes bugging wide. “Lehehehehe gohohohoho!”
“Nope.” Sam spun around him, avoiding his kicking legs. “I think I found a sweet spot.”
“NAHA NOHOHOHO!” Tom squealed, battling the unbreaking cuffs pinning his arms over his head. He flailed like a fish on a line, but crashed into Sam’s sturdy form each time he managed to pull himself off balance. “Stahahap! Plehehehese!”
“Not yet, soldier. Coochie coochie coo!” Sam caught Tom by the hips, sucked in a breath, and blew a long raspberry into Tom’s belly. The guard let out an ear-piercing shriek. Sam staggered, and in a fluke Tom arced one of his frantic kicks up to plant his bare foot firmly on the lieutenant’s chin.
A pregnant silence fell between them as Tom struggled to catch his breath and Sam spat into the hay.
“Nice shot,” the lieutenant said.
“Thanks,” Tom managed between gasps.
Sam eyed the limp guard and the sheen of sweat covering his form as he dangled from the stolen cuffs. The lieutenant adjusted the knot holding the tight jumpsuit around his waist in an attempt to hide the wet spot that had emerged around the head of his swollen member.
So this was what Dave and the princess saw in it. Holy shit.
“Maybe that foot needs punishment too.” Sam pointed.
“You’re enjoying this, pervert,” Tom snapped.
“Maybe I am. And I think you are, too.” Sam reached for Tom’s waistband. The guard shied away, then allowed the lieutenant to free his engorged dick, pants falling to his knees.
“This is fucked up,” Tom stared at his hard-on for a moment, then Sam grabbed his chin, pulled his head up, and took him into a deep kiss. Sam began to pull away, but Tom pressed his captured elbows to the lieutenant’s temples, holding him there until he’d also had his fill. The guard grinned at Sam, drool hanging from his lips and trousers around his knees. “Real fucked up.”
“This is supposed to be punishment.” Sam frowned. This wasn’t for him, or for Tom, this was revenge for Dave. But not everything Sam did had to revolve around Dave.
Sam grabbed a fist of Tom’s hair, kissed him again, then halfway though began running the feathery end of his collected straw along Tom’s ribs. He reveled in the feeling of Tom’s scream into his mouth, then watched the young guard flinch away from his touch, then lean into his body. Sam continued to run and play with Tom’s ribs until he quieted to only giggles.
Sam leaned against him, then wrapped sweaty hands around Tom’s member. Tom gasped at his touch, his bound hands finding Sam’s hair, and the guard groaned into Sam’s shoulder as Sam jerked him into the hay.
The white stream still dripped from Sam’s fingers, and Sam licked his hand clean as he cleaned up Tom. Sweet. Flavorful.
He managed to pull up his pants, and throw Tom’s breastplate on him while the boy dozed in his post-orgasmic bliss. With a turn of a key he fell from his binds into Sam’s arms, and the lieutenant easily hefted the boy, armor and all. Carrying him like this hid his own desperate need from passersby, excellent, and like this he could bring Tom back to his quarters. With tight lips he examined the angered skin left behind by the shackle.
Tom still had to be punished. And no lover of his was going to be this selfish.
King David of Cerces strode down the castle hall. If his pants leg rode up, a padded silver shackle was just visible on his ankle. Otherwise, he was a successful rebel king, trying to lead a wartime force during a growing era of peace.
The man stopped in the hallway, blonde eyebrows raised as his lieutenant emerged half-nude from the stairwell to the castle dungeons. “Sam! What… what happened to you?”
“Eh, same old same old.” Samuel pulled Tom to his shoulder as the guard stirred. “Er, regarding you and Elana—”
“You’d like to borrow some old shackles?”
“No questions, Dave?” The lieutenant blinked.
“I trust whatever you’re doing. Just don’t hurt that boy, and make sure he’s okay with it.”
“It’s fine, I promise.” Sam grinned.
“I’ll have Aldien deliver the shackles within the hour. Go on. You deserve fun too.”
“Thanks, Dave. I’ll be a while.”
“The next meeting is tomorrow. And don’t hurt him!”
The Princess and the Rebel (F/M)
The General and the Traitor (F/M, crowd/M)
The King of Traitors (F/M)
The Soldier and the Farmhand (F/M)
Happy reading!
Samuel stalked around the tight cell, counting paces until he hit one stone wall, then turning on his heel to face the other. The cell wasn’t as small as the one he had lived in during his time in the gladiator circuits, but it was far from big, and it was definitely overkill.
“Hey!” he yelled through the bars. “When David learns about this, he’ll have your head! Forget David, when General Cilen learns about this!”
“Yeah, yeah, rebel bastard.” The guard called from down the corridor. The dungeon made the thin man’s voice boom. “Keep ranting, see how far that’ll get you.”
“Ranting?” King David’s lieutenant spat on the cobbles outside the cell. He pulled dark curls of hair out of his eyes, wiping sweat off his forehead. He tried to crane his head far enough to catch sight of the guard. “I’m not ranting. You’re out of line. You’re so far out of line you can’t see the line anymore. What in gods…” He took a breath and squeezed his brown eyes shut. “Ignorant. He doesn’t know. He’s just an ignorant idiot!”
As the guard’s chuckle carried down the stone hall, Sam dropped to his knees on the straw piled in the back of the cell. Definitely more comfortable than what the gladiator circuit had. Not great by any means, and definitely not the bed he had claimed in the main castle, but comfortable.
It wasn’t supposed to happen again. Dave would put it to a swift end. Cilen would put it to an even swifter end. For now, he had to deal with that idiot. At least it was just one.
Fuck, if only he’d taken up Dave on those lockpicking lessons.
He flopped into the straw, cursing under his breath, and stared up at the checkered pattern cast on the ceiling by the bars.
Bars on the ceiling?
Sam stood, and he could just catch hold of the bars crossing the cell’s roof. They were strong, no doubt, and slowly he let the bar take his full weight.
It was definitely staying put. But Sam didn’t need to as well. Maybe he could take care of a missed workout or two; he spent so much time in that damned war room he didn’t have time to keep up with his own regimen.
He jumped up and grabbed the bars, his breath hissing between his teeth as he did pull-up after pull-up. It had already been hot enough, with the dungeons nearby the furnaces, and a long trail of sweat emerged down the front and back of the tight prison jumpsuit that guard had forced him into. With another soft curse, he let go of the bar, undid the buttons of the jumpsuit, and tied it off at his waist. It wouldn’t get in the way now.
“What in gods’ name are you doing? Oh…”
Sam turned. The guard stood slack-jawed at the front of the cell, his blue eyes racing across Sam’s olive skin, the defined muscle covering his form, and the scars knitted over it.
Sam grinned. “Like what you see?”
“What? No! I mean, I—” the guard reddened, kicking at the dust.
Sam squeezed sweat out of his hair, walking up to the cell bars. “I think you do.”
“I do not!” the man insisted, but Sam reached a hand through the bars and ran his fingers through the thick blonde hair cut short at the base of the man’s skull.
“My name’s Sam.” He drew the guard in by the back of the head. “What can I call you?”
“Thomas,” the man said, then cleared his throat. “I-I mean Sergeant Calawig.”
“A sergeant.” Sam smiled. “Tom. How about that? Well, I’m a lieutenant.”
“Of the rebels?”
“Of Cerces, of Astal, but no one keeps track of that anymore. I’m not sure why you are.” Sam guided Tom’s limp hands to the key ring at his waist. “Now which one of these is the one to this door?”
“T-this one.” Tom’s fingers shook as he thumbed through the keys and slipped the right one into the cell door.
Sam should really just shove past him and make for the main hall. Surely someone with half a brain would see him and help. But he found himself grasping Tom’s hands and leading him into the cell. “Welcome.”
Tom turned way too late, instead watching Sam pocket the keys to the door. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should I, but we’ll get to that later.” Sam stepped around him, head tilted as he examined Tom. “Now how did a skinny guy like you get into the guard?”
“I’m part of the inner castle staff. I don’t need to look threatening.”
Sam scoffed. No wonder the castle had fallen so easily. “I see.”
“I’m strong! I look good, too!”
“Prove it.”
Tom reddened, then bent in two, his tunic flipping over his head and taking his armor with it. Sam jumped back, startled, then fumbled to snatch up the guard’s cuffs from the pile of abandoned clothes.
Tom glanced down, his flush continuing down his shoulders to paint his thin pectorals a light pink. “Oh. This wasn’t necessary.”
“About as necessary as imprisoning your king’s lieutenant for being a rebel. David is the new king, you know.”
“I-I know.” Tom stepped back, his brown eyes wide and glittering in the low light offered by the dungeons. “This was a mistake.”
“Absolutely not.” As idiotic as Tom was, there was something about his skinny form that piqued Sam’s interest. The man was only a few years older than Dave, about Sam’s age at best. Skinny, yes, but still defined, with thin abs that heaved as Sam examined him. The lieutenant cocked his head. “If I can ask, whose orders are you following? Because they’re not Dave’s, they’re not Cilen’s, and they’re definitely not mine.”
“Not orders, common sense.” Tom shook his head. “I arrested a rebel.”
“And if I told you the rebels were in charge? That would make you the traitor, wouldn’t it?”
“I… no, I am a guard of Astal. You are lieutenant of Cerces! You would never… I would never…”
Tom stammered, staring at his army-issued boots, and Sam pounced. Tom wrenched free for a second, shocking him, but a clever trick taught en mass to army recruits would not defeat a veteran of the gladiator circuits. Sam caught Tom by the ankle as the guard attempted to squirm away. Tom kicked off the boot, but Sam still held onto his skinny pale ankle, dragging him into the cell.
Tom’s fighting degraded to flailing. With a grin Sam grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet, clapping the stolen shackle around his wrist. “Now that’s more like it.”
Tom stopped, glanced at his captured arm, then clenched his free fist and bopped Sam in the nose.
Sam staggered, more surprised than hurt, and ran his tongue over his lips, tasting blood. “Nice shot. Cheap, but solid.”
Tom glanced between Sam, his pinned arm, and the shackle hanging from his wrist. “Thanks? Sorry, I mean, or—”
“Don’t apologize. Then I won’t have an excuse for this.” Sam flicked the chain over the bars crossing the cell’s ceiling and clapped Tom’s other hand into the open shackle. The man almost hung limp, the ball of his bare foot quivering against the cool stone floor. “Oops. Gotta fix that.”
As Sam kicked straw under Tom’s feet, the guard twisted toward him, his voice quivering. “Are you going to kill me?”
“I could.” Sam eyed the sword that still hung from Tom’s waist. “I really could. But no.” He stepped around Tom and planted his hands on his hips. “Let me tell you something. Astaleze soldiers almost tortured my best friend to death a few weeks ago. I caught them just in time and had to yank that poor kid out of that awful device. You know what it was?”
Tom nodded mutely, but Sam leaned in anyway.
“Tickling.”
“I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to, but he said he’d fire me!” Tom broke down in sobs.
Sam froze, halfway through collecting the strands of straw clinging to his jumpsuit. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just confess to that. And lucky you I’m really good at pretending, because if Dave had died I swear that sword would be through your heart right now, gods as my witness. But no, because something as pretty as you couldn’t have been part of that. Right?”
“Y-you think I’m pretty?”
Sam glanced up, his brown eyes fiery. “Right?”
“Right, sir.”
Sam took a breath. “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” He turned and unlatched Tom’s belt, the guard’s sword falling aside into the bay with a clatter. “Don’t need that. And since you just punched me, and said you tickled Dave, I think it’s only fair we get payback.” Sam cracked his knuckles. “Since Dave’s not around, I’ll have to take his place.”
“You’re not gonna…”
“I wish I could, but Dave keeps telling me not to.” He kicked away the sword. “I can see the allure, though. It means I can play with you for a while, then I can decide whether or not to kill you for insubordination.” Sam ran a finger under Tom’s chin, and the guard’s flush somehow grew deeper. “Don’t get so excited just yet. How ticklish are you?”
Tom stared. “I’m not. Not at all!”
“We’ll see about that.” Sam ran his fingers from Tom’s elbows down to the fur in his armpits, feeling the young guard flinch and lurch as his investigations continued. One hand ran through the downy cover of hair across his chest, the other trailing down over his ribs and the slight pudge of belly hanging over his belt buckle and sides. Tom squirmed as Sam reached his waistline, his protests little more than mewls.
“What, now you’ve gone quiet?” Sam toyed with the down on Tom’s chest. “Let’s see about that.”
“St-ahahahp touching me,” Tom hissed through gritted teeth. “You rebel son of a bitch.”
“Oh?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Is there some fight in you after all, Sir ‘inner castle?’ I’d love to see this.” He tested up and down Tom’s sides before settling on squeezing the paunch on his belly. “Give me your best shot.”
“NAHAHAHAHOOOOO!” the guard screamed, his eyes bugging wide. “Lehehehehe gohohohoho!”
“Nope.” Sam spun around him, avoiding his kicking legs. “I think I found a sweet spot.”
“NAHA NOHOHOHO!” Tom squealed, battling the unbreaking cuffs pinning his arms over his head. He flailed like a fish on a line, but crashed into Sam’s sturdy form each time he managed to pull himself off balance. “Stahahap! Plehehehese!”
“Not yet, soldier. Coochie coochie coo!” Sam caught Tom by the hips, sucked in a breath, and blew a long raspberry into Tom’s belly. The guard let out an ear-piercing shriek. Sam staggered, and in a fluke Tom arced one of his frantic kicks up to plant his bare foot firmly on the lieutenant’s chin.
A pregnant silence fell between them as Tom struggled to catch his breath and Sam spat into the hay.
“Nice shot,” the lieutenant said.
“Thanks,” Tom managed between gasps.
Sam eyed the limp guard and the sheen of sweat covering his form as he dangled from the stolen cuffs. The lieutenant adjusted the knot holding the tight jumpsuit around his waist in an attempt to hide the wet spot that had emerged around the head of his swollen member.
So this was what Dave and the princess saw in it. Holy shit.
“Maybe that foot needs punishment too.” Sam pointed.
“You’re enjoying this, pervert,” Tom snapped.
“Maybe I am. And I think you are, too.” Sam reached for Tom’s waistband. The guard shied away, then allowed the lieutenant to free his engorged dick, pants falling to his knees.
“This is fucked up,” Tom stared at his hard-on for a moment, then Sam grabbed his chin, pulled his head up, and took him into a deep kiss. Sam began to pull away, but Tom pressed his captured elbows to the lieutenant’s temples, holding him there until he’d also had his fill. The guard grinned at Sam, drool hanging from his lips and trousers around his knees. “Real fucked up.”
“This is supposed to be punishment.” Sam frowned. This wasn’t for him, or for Tom, this was revenge for Dave. But not everything Sam did had to revolve around Dave.
Sam grabbed a fist of Tom’s hair, kissed him again, then halfway though began running the feathery end of his collected straw along Tom’s ribs. He reveled in the feeling of Tom’s scream into his mouth, then watched the young guard flinch away from his touch, then lean into his body. Sam continued to run and play with Tom’s ribs until he quieted to only giggles.
Sam leaned against him, then wrapped sweaty hands around Tom’s member. Tom gasped at his touch, his bound hands finding Sam’s hair, and the guard groaned into Sam’s shoulder as Sam jerked him into the hay.
The white stream still dripped from Sam’s fingers, and Sam licked his hand clean as he cleaned up Tom. Sweet. Flavorful.
He managed to pull up his pants, and throw Tom’s breastplate on him while the boy dozed in his post-orgasmic bliss. With a turn of a key he fell from his binds into Sam’s arms, and the lieutenant easily hefted the boy, armor and all. Carrying him like this hid his own desperate need from passersby, excellent, and like this he could bring Tom back to his quarters. With tight lips he examined the angered skin left behind by the shackle.
Tom still had to be punished. And no lover of his was going to be this selfish.
***
King David of Cerces strode down the castle hall. If his pants leg rode up, a padded silver shackle was just visible on his ankle. Otherwise, he was a successful rebel king, trying to lead a wartime force during a growing era of peace.
The man stopped in the hallway, blonde eyebrows raised as his lieutenant emerged half-nude from the stairwell to the castle dungeons. “Sam! What… what happened to you?”
“Eh, same old same old.” Samuel pulled Tom to his shoulder as the guard stirred. “Er, regarding you and Elana—”
“You’d like to borrow some old shackles?”
“No questions, Dave?” The lieutenant blinked.
“I trust whatever you’re doing. Just don’t hurt that boy, and make sure he’s okay with it.”
“It’s fine, I promise.” Sam grinned.
“I’ll have Aldien deliver the shackles within the hour. Go on. You deserve fun too.”
“Thanks, Dave. I’ll be a while.”
“The next meeting is tomorrow. And don’t hurt him!”
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