Desire

The storytellers and bards of Unaria had no end of tales concerning brave warriors in their repertoire. Everyone knew the tale of Ulrich the Mighty who encountered a mountain demon, and the legend of Emperor Toli who conquered the Kingdom of Greer with his flaming sword, and Marnel the Small who fought the Giant Ogre of the Davi. There were stories of loyalty to the Empire and brotherhood between soldiers, stories of overcoming insurmountable odds, stories of magic, stories of war, but in all of Unarian literature there was only one great romantic epic, and that was the tragedy of Emperor Mali and Queen Tasha.

Mikhail could not remember many of the details of that story, but like most Unarian fables, the story had a moral, and he remembered it very well: Lust and wisdom cannot reside in the same man. It was one or the other, and today, he had certainly proven that moral to be correct.

While learning the daggers, the Princess had listened to his advice, and had almost smiled at something he'd said. She had asked questions without the sharpness of accusation and above all, though he swung a sword at her repeatedly, she had trusted that he would not harm her. It was the first time in all the years he'd known her that he'd actually started to believe there was a chance that someday she might hold a small amount of regard or at least respect for him.

And in one foolish moment, he'd completely destroyed that chance. She'd called him an animal, and to be fair, he'd certainly deserved it. After all, what sort of man would lay with a woman on the frozen ground in an open field where anyone might happen upon them? What sort of man grew hard and was overcome by lust from a single, freely given touch? What sort of man assaulted a woman he had sworn to protect?

An animal did those things, an animal that lusted for her even now. He could not close his eyes without seeing her shivering flesh and wide blue-green eyes. He could taste her lips still and hear the way her breath caught in her throat as he ran his tongue down it.

"Fuck!" he growled and slammed his fist against the wall.

Pain had always cleared his head before, and the stinging throb of his bleeding knuckles did somewhat lessen his desire.

How would he face her now? She had begged him to stop and had then run from him. When he saw her again would there be fear in her eyes? Perhaps she would refuse to see him. Perhaps she would return to her isolation and fade away before he could find a way to send her to safety.

Mikhail shook his head to clear it and drew a deep breath. He would not allow that to happen. The girl was far too valuable. He would not touch her again, just as he'd promised. There were other ways to quiet the animal side of him.

The Prince ceased his pacing and threw the doors to his office open. Two soldiers from his personal guard standing at attention in their posts outside, saluted him.

"Send for Ilya," he commanded, "and bring me the Vezdan slave who serves the Princess."

He shut the doors and went to sit behind his desk. After a few minutes, Ilya hurried into the room, he seemed worried at having been called.

"My Prince, what has hap-"

"I shall need you to find a blacksmith who can fabricate a fish scale shield gauntlet in the Princess's size," he ordered. "And a master in daggers. Someone to train the girl."

"My Prince, do you think it would be wise to bring in an outsider to train the Princess? I would only find such a man in the capital, and a master of daggers would surely have received training within the palace. Training a woman in daggers, let alone the captive Princess of a conquered kingdom, is a peculiar enough thing to catch the Emperor's attention, and that is not something we need right now," Ilya reasoned.

"Perhaps... you are right," the Prince admitted scowling. "I will need the gauntlet at any rate."

"If I might be so bold as to ask, my Prince, did something occur this evening that-"

"No," the Prince stopped his question. "That will be all, Ilya."

His aide nodded, though his face displayed his uncertainty. He turned to leave, but stopped, and turned back around to face the Prince.

"We have... an odd sort of relationship," he began in a low voice. "We were friends before we became master and slave, and though we can never truly be friends again, still there are pieces of that old bond remain and when I see you so distressed-"

"You are not a slave, Ilya," Prince Mikhail snapped.

"Not in name, but we both know it to be true. Just as we both know that you also have a master you must serve," Ilya insisted.

Mikhail sighed and rubbed his forehead as though his head pained him greatly.

"I attempted to take certain liberties with the Princess," he admitted.

"Outside?" Ilya clarified.

"Yes."

"On the field?"

"Yes."

"Just now?"

Yes."

"Ah," Ilya nodded. "And... was she... receptive?"

"No," Mikhal growled.

Ilya's face betrayed the internal struggle he faced as he tried to contain his laughter. The Prince scowled.

"She called me an animal," he admitted.

Ilya lost his battle and let out a whooping laugh at that.

"Forgive me, my Prince," he chuckled. "Please pay me no mind. I had thought your troubles to be of a far more serious nature."

"If I cannot convince the Princess to trust us and become our ally, then neither of us may ever have a chance to know freedom. I may have destroyed that small chance and yet you laugh," Mikhail scoffed.

"No, my prince. Women are difficult, but inconstant creatures, always changing their minds, and I am sure the Princess is no exception. This can surely be smoothed over. I laugh only because it is funny to see a man who is so used to conquering become distressed at losing so small a battle, and also... it is good to see you finally admit that your interest in the Princess is more than a debt you owe her or mere curiosity at what powers she may hold," Ilya soothed. "Now, it is good you told me this. I am nothing if not an expert on charming women. I understand them very well, you see. Let us discuss how we might "

"I have no need of your advice on this matter," the Prince dismissed him. "I will not make such a mistake in the future, and I have already sent for the Vezdan girl. She will be far more useful in resolving this matter."

Ilya visibly paled at his words.

"The Vezdan slave girl... the one from Grieta's brothel, my Prince?" he asked.

"Yes, that one!" Mikhail snapped.

"My prince, forgive me, but I think... I think... that would be a very bad idea," Ilya insisted nervously. "We should ride to the capitol instead, spend a few nights at Grieta's. She knows your tastes well enough and--"

"I haven't time for that," Mikhail muttered.

"Yes, but please reconsider using that girl in particular," Ilya all but begged.

"I fail to understand the intent behind your words. State your meaning clearly or keep your words to yourself," the Prince ordered.

Ilya frowned and nodded.

"My Prince, I mean only to say..." Ilya thought for a moment, and heaving a frustrated sigh, began again. "As you well know, the Kingdom of Vezda is an archaic and backwards sort of country. Men, even noble men, are allowed to take only one wife. They are not accepting of our more modern sensibilities. I mean only to say that the Princess, having spent her life under this out-dated sort of morality, may be greatly offended were she to discover that you had taken her maid to your bed. Especially after you... er... expressed in interest in her. I understand, of course, that it would be an efficient way to relieve your... tension, but-"

"I have no intention of taking that girl to bed," Mikhail scoffed. "She has spent a good deal of time with the Princess over the past week and she is a Vezdan girl besides. I thought only that she might be prevailed upon to--"

A knock at the door interrupted the Prince's explanation.

"Enter," Mikhail commanded.

Fioria stepped through the doors, took in the two men and flushed, dropping her frightened eyes to the carpet immediately.

"This servant was called by our P-Prince?" she stuttered. Both men noticed that the girl was visibly shaking. Ilya gave Mikhail a pointed glance before smirking.

"Yes, be at ease," he commanded, returning Ilya's look with a glare. "I have sent for you because I have need of information."

"Information, sir?" she repeated, raising her eyes hopefully.

"Yes, I should like to gift your lady with something that might... improve her mood," Mikhail explained carefully. "You have spent some amount of time with her now, are there certain jewels or clothing or some such adornment that she might require?"

Fioria frowned and thought carefully.

"I-I'm not sure, my Prince," she mumbled.

"Has she mentioned some part of her wardrobe or jewelry that she wishes she had with her?" he prompted.

"My Prince... Vezdan nobility do not traditionally adorn themselves with jewels. Even the King and Queen themselves always wore simple gold bands, and the clothing of Vezda would be... inappropriate in our Empire... the air is much colder and... She hasn't shown much interest in..." Fioria's voice trailed off nervously. She glanced toward Ilya as though he would explain what this was all about.

"Then a book, a food she misses, a... a... what would a lady desire, Ilya?" the Prince snapped impatiently.

"Make-up-- rouge or face creams, perfume, oils," Ilya listed helpfully.

"She hasn't displayed an interest in books... and there were very few... enjoyable foods in Vezda, we were starving mostly," she mumbled, but then her eyes brightened. "Oranges! The Princess does enjoy oranges."

"Yes, something she doesn't already have," Mikhail sighed rubbing his forehead. "A perfume then?"

"I couldn't rightly say, but... I suppose there is one thing she has mentioned," Fioria frowned.

"Say it then," Mikhail prompted impatiently.

"She has repeatedly asked where the grave of her sister is located. In Vezda it is very important that we honor our dead, especially in the House of Eosin. She would like to perform the rituals for her sister. You might agree to supply what she needs for that service," Fioria explained.

Ilya and Mikhail traded an uncomfortable glance.

"Something besides that," Mikhail frowned.

Fioria's brow furrowed in thought.

"News of Vezda then? She asks frequently after Sir Aron and whether I've heard if the Empire has assigned a governer," Fioria said, her voice much calmer and firmer now.

"Something besides that," the Prince snapped. "Think, girl. A tangible item. It should not be this hard to determine an appropriate gift for your lady."

"A gift for her countrymen then," Fioria answered quickly. "She is greatly concerned about the state of Vezda and their preparations for the dry season. Should you agree to send a charity gift of food and supplies to the widows and orphans of the war, and allow her to choose the food and supplies herself, I think it would please my Princess far better than a bottle of perfume or scented oils,"

Mikhail frowned but did not dismiss her idea immediately. He appeared to consider it.

"I think the girl makes a fair point, my Prince," Ilya encouraged. "We can surely afford to-"

"Yes... yes, perhaps..." Mikhail frowned and continued to think it over.

"If that is all you require, my Prince, I must beg to be excused. I have left my Princess in her bath with only a new maid to assist her, and I-"

"Yes, go," Mikhail dismissed her quickly. Only Ilya noticed the way the Prince pressed his lips together and swallowed thickly as the servant girl bowed and left.

The silence in the room after the girl departed was tense for a moment. Ilya cleared his throat.

"A gift for the Princess is a fine idea, my prince. It will surely go a long way to smooth the incident on the training field over," Ilya commended him. "We should go to the Capitol to purchase wagons..."

"Mmm," Prince Mikhail nodded sligthtly, but it was clear to Ilya that his thoughts were somewhere else. He had a pretty good guess as to where.

"And perhaps we may have some time to visit Grieta's after all," Ilya added lightly.

"Yes, let us go," the Prince agreed quickly.