Love and the Stubborn

by Xenia Melzer

  Sighing, he pulled the sleeping Casto closer. He would find out one day. In the end, the only thing that mattered was that the young man was his.

  CASTO WOKE during an intensive, overwhelming orgasm. Dazedly he opened his eyes to realize that his master had rolled him sideways and entered him deeply. Renaldo was holding him tightly in strong arms from which there was, as Casto knew very well, no escape unless Renaldo wished it so.

  “Barbarian.”

  “Good morning, Casto. Did you sleep well?”

  “Until just now, yes.” A hard thrust, which made him whimper, was the punishment for his small unruliness. Then Renaldo turned him on his belly without losing contact and started taking him earnestly. Groaning, Casto came twice before Renaldo let him go.

  They went to the bathroom together, silently enjoying the feeling of intimacy, which was even more precious because it was still rare and fragile. During breakfast, Renaldo interrupted the peaceful silence.

  “Why did we fight yesterday, Casto?”

  Casto blushed, staring at his cup of tea as if he hoped to be aided by it. When he spoke, his voice was nonchalant and dismissive. “Because I acted like an idiot. I thought it would be easier to be obedient to you, but it’s really hard for me.”

  Renaldo caressed his cheek fondly before tilting his head to meet his gaze.

  “You didn’t act like an idiot. You were just agitated, and I didn’t realize it. So, what happened yesterday?”

  “If I tell you, you’re going to be angry, and I don’t want to fight again.”

  Renaldo furrowed his brow. “I promise I’ll restrain myself. Besides”—an ironic smile appeared when he continued—“if you don’t tell me, we’ll fight anyway.”

  Casto lifted his chin. It was plain how much he resented Renaldo’s insistence. “It’s because of Sic.”

  As he had expected, the smith’s name sent Renaldo’s temper flaring. He might have shown mercy toward Sic, but he would never forgive him. “What has that despicable little traitor done? Was he disobedient? I knew I should have killed him!”

  Casto hurried to soothe the ranting warlord. “No, Barbarian, you’re doing him an injustice. He hasn’t done anything wrong. When he came to the stables yesterday, he was confused and out of his mind. It took me almost two hours to take care of him.”

  When he remembered the wounds, all the blood, and his friend’s despair, Casto fell silent.

  For once, Renaldo realized immediately that the topic was worrying Casto so he kept his mouth shut, although he would have preferred to give him an angry shake. After some time, Casto started talking again, his voice troubled.

  “Noran blackmailed Sic into sleeping with him. Sic knows what Noran is doing to him, but he doesn’t see another way. All he wants is for Noran to forgive him. He was so desperate, so ashamed. And I’m sitting here, warm and safe, and enjoying being touched by you. It doesn’t seem fair.”

  Renaldo inhaled deeply. To his surprise, what Casto was telling him had affected him as well, and not just because Casto was clearly upset about it. Manipulating somebody into a sexual relationship was rape. Even though it was Noran’s right following Sic’s sentencing—a bad aftertaste lingered.

  “Casto, I did warn you. Sic has been declared a traitor, and he has no right to be protected by the laws he has broken. Noran can do with him whatever he pleases. As I see it, Sic should be grateful that Noran isn’t forcing him.”

  Imploringly, Casto looked up at him. “Isn’t there anything I can do? I feel so sorry for him.”

  Renaldo shook his head. “No, you can’t do anything for him. He pays for his sins.”

  “You don’t seem to care a lot.”

  “No, why should I? I’d lie if I said that I’m even interested. Because of him, I almost lost my heart. So whatever is done to Sic has my approval.”

  Renaldo anticipated another fit from Casto, but the prince remained calm. His eyes were clouded by sadness. Renaldo had never seen such an expression on Casto’s face before, and it took him some time before he knew what it was. When he realized Casto truly felt pity for the traitor, he felt a wave of black jealousy crushing him. It took all his willpower to fight against it.

  Casto’s next words didn’t help in the least.

  “I understand, my god.”

  They resumed their breakfast in silence. Casto dressed himself with erratic movements that mirrored his inner turmoil, told his master to have a nice day, and then vanished to the stables.

  Renaldo was left alone in his chambers, his head filled with a whirlwind of contradictory emotions and thoughts. When he had felt Casto’s sorrow, his first impulse had been to go to Noran, buy Sic from him, and give the smith to Casto. That would have been an elegant, acceptable solution to the problem. More importantly, it would have made Casto happy. But he remembered that the traitor had almost cost him his heart and his life. Sic deserved whatever Noran was doing to him, no matter how deeply it went against Renaldo’s own sense of justice.

  But Casto didn’t deserve to feel bad because of it. Renaldo thought harder. He assessed the problem from various angles and finally reached a conclusion.

  4. Trapped

  WHEN SIC was called away from work by an overseer, he feared the worst. Although his master had already used him twice that morning, it didn’t seem to have been enough. Why else should he have been called to one of the toolsheds, which were the only buildings around the pits? That’s why he was almost relieved when he saw the Angel of Death awaiting him instead of his master.

  The feeling didn’t last long. Before the overseer had shut the door behind him completely, the powerful master of the Valley had seized Sic by the scruff of his neck and pressed him hard against the wall.

  “I warned you, you piece of shit. If you cause Casto trouble, your ass is mine. How dare you burden him with your petty problems? In case you haven’t noticed, you’re nothing, a nobody in the Valley. Be grateful for still being alive and learn to live with the punishment your master has given you, but stop pestering my heart.

  “When Casto asks you the next time how you’re doing, you give him your sincerest smile and tell him everything’s fine even if Noran has shoved a hammer crosswise into your ass five minutes before. Do you understand?”

  Hypnotized, Sic stared into the god’s perfect face, which didn’t fit the brutish threats flowing from his lips. The pressure of Lord Renaldo’s hands on his shoulders worsened as the expressive gray eyes sparked in anger.

  “Did you hear me, slave?”

  Sic forced himself to concentrate. “Yes, Master, I understand.”

  Without another word, Renaldo pulled him forward, rammed his knee into his stomach, and then dropped him carelessly. While Sic fought desperately for breath, the demigod who was the personification of physical perfection left the shed.

  It still came as a shock when Lord Renaldo used violence, as if the crust on a stream of lava cracked to reveal the lethal, burning stone beneath. Everybody expected violence from Canubis—he emitted cold, unwavering determination—but his younger brother was like a book written in a foreign language. You only saw the precious binding, and it was impossible to comprehend the words of destruction written inside. Once you understood, it was already too late because Lord Renaldo was as unforgiving and lethal as he was beautiful.

  Arduously, Sic got up. The pain from the merciless kick distracted him somewhat from the other agonies assaulting his body. It was almost noon, so the overseer allowed him to wash up and go to Casto.

  Casto greeted him with apprehension. “You’re early today, Sic. Is everything all right?”

  Sic forced a smile. “I’m fine, Casto, thanks to you. My master didn’t beat me yesterday. I’m really grateful.”

  Suspiciously, Casto’s clear blue gaze bored into him, but Sic straightened his back and kept his cool.

  “Then I’m at ease. Until your wounds have healed, you’ll be having fun with cleaning the leather. After that, I’ll make sure to find more interesti
ng work for you.”

  Sic touched his friend’s hand. “Thank you, Casto. I’m so glad that you’ve forgiven me.”

  Casto smiled. “It’s my pleasure. I’ll see you later.” He made a face. “I still have to ride about a thousand horses before evening.”

  “Then I won’t detain you any longer. I already have my own work cut out for me.”

  Casto reached for the reins of the light chestnut mare a stable boy had brought him, mounted her, and started to mechanically go through his program.

  His thoughts were racing. He knew Sic wasn’t well. That he was trying to convince him otherwise could only mean somebody had threatened him. Nobody besides Renaldo and Noran could have done that, and Casto was sure the Barbarian was responsible for Sic’s behavior. But it would only cause his friend more pain should he pursue the matter further, although he didn’t want the Barbarian to think a Prince of Ummana was so easily led by the nose.

  It was more than enough that he had lost all means of control regarding the wedding. He didn’t want to show weakness with this as well.

  When talking to Renaldo, Casto had pretended he didn’t mind his freedom being gradually lost, and in a sense, it was the truth since he loved Renaldo to distraction. But it didn’t keep him from panicking outright when thinking about the wedding. At that moment, he could still lie to himself; he could convince himself that he was staying with his master of his own free will, that he could leave him anytime. It was still his decision whether he chose to stay or leave.

  As soon as he swore loyalty to Renaldo in front of witnesses, that fragile web of lies would rip once and for all. Then he would belong to Renaldo, the Angel of Death, in every way.

  Casto felt his chest tightening when he thought about it. There was no escaping for him now, but he was still afraid to admit that publicly. He also didn’t know a lot about the ceremony, something that only heightened his fears.

  If he wanted to make an educated decision, he had to know all the facts.

  “CASTO, I’VE been wondering when you would grace me with your presence.” Bantu smiled kindly.

  “Am I that easy to read, Lord Bantu?”

  The older man’s smile deepened. “No. Believe me when I tell you that you’re a mystery to all of us, including the Angel of Death. But your mind is a precise and logically working machine that I can comprehend. You’re here to learn more about the wedding ceremony, isn’t that so?” Casto nodded. “You’re lucky, I’ve already prepared everything in advance. Here are the details about the ceremony, and this”—Bantu placed a small leather-bound book on the table—“is a summary of the future. Or to be precise, your future, should you really be Lord Renaldo’s heart.”

  “I thank you, Lord Bantu.”

  “I’m always willing to serve those who seek wisdom.” The Emeris patted Casto’s head in a friendly way, placed a cup of tea next to the safety lamp, and left him alone.

  Casto started to read with a sigh. The wedding ceremony itself was a ritual that followed strict rules that didn’t allow any variance. The only thing that was flexible was the exchange of gifts after the vows. Usually both partners gave presents of a certain value to show their mutual respect. If one party was much richer than the other, it was also acceptable if only the wealthy partner gave away gifts while the poorer could take them without losing face.

  All Casto owned was the clothes he had worn when Renaldo had captured him. And since his escape, they were more rags than clothes. He only kept them out of a sense of sentimentality, not because they were still usable or worth anything. In a small, worn leather bag, he kept some gold coins he’d received as payment while he rode with the caravan. Compared to the riches Renaldo owned, it was a drop of water in an ocean.

  If they were in Ummana, Casto could use his private fortune—treasures that outdid even the possessions of the Angel of Death. But this was the Valley, and his title, and everything attached to it, had no worth there.

  It went against everything inside Casto to enter a relationship as the obviously weaker person. So he decided to give the Barbarian a present that would outshine everything he could bestow on him.

  After having read the prophecy and about the formalities regarding the ceremony, Casto was starting to get an idea of what his gift would be like, but he still had to think it through properly. Already tired of reading the heavy text, he went for the smaller book Bantu had given him. That had been written by a seer of the Ancients, a female who hadn’t recorded a vision on the pages, but a dream that had haunted her every night.

  The dream told her the role of the hearts in the lives of the divine brothers.

  And once the Masters of the World acknowledge their Hearts, they will return to their former glory. Their splendor will blind this world and all those living in it, and the nations will kneel in front of their Masters. The Hearts will be the first to bend their knees before the glory of the Gods, and they will set the example the world will follow. The humility of the Hearts will be the humility of the world, their obedience absolute.

  And the Masters will know the thoughts of their Hearts, just as they will know the thoughts of all people. The will of the Masters will be the will of the Hearts, their bodies the temples in which the Masters enjoy the ultimate worship. And thus the fate of the Hearts is an example for the fate of the world.

  All will bow to the will of the Masters.

  Suddenly drained of all emotion, Casto stared at the lines that had voiced his innermost fears. It was as if the seer had talked with him before writing those lines. Getting his fears validated by somebody who’d been dust for several centuries was like a slap in the face. All his life Casto had focused on being free, but in the end, he’d only traded a ridiculous human tyrant for a terrifying divine one.

  He looked around the small room. The candle threw flickering shadows against walls that suddenly appeared to draw closer. The air around him was getting thicker; the whole Valley seemed to suffocate him with its narrowness.

  Casto got up hastily and, without speaking to Bantu, hurried out into the cold air of the afternoon. The sun was already about to sink behind the mountaintops, the last rays a mocking reminder of how far off summer still was. Casto abhorred the cold, the snow, the fact that for even short trips he had to wear several layers of clothing.

  It was too much.

  The betrayal, their fights, the reconciliation with Renaldo, Sic’s suffering, the wedding, the still-lingering doubt about whether he was truly his master’s heart, the maneuvering with Noran, his own aspirations…. Casto felt the pressure weighing him down, forcing the air from his lungs and rendering him helpless.

  There was only one thing that could help him now.

  He ran to Lys, who was contentedly standing in his stall munching oats. But when he saw Casto approaching him, looking so confused and helpless, he immediately stopped eating. Casto buried his face in the black stallion’s neck, his tears staining the silken hair. “Please, Lys. I want to be free.”

  The Emperor of the Storms gave his consent with a snort, and at that same moment, Casto was on Lys’s back. With a shrill whinny like a challenge to the whole world, Lysistratos charged out of the stables, galloping in long, measured strides toward the exit of the Valley.

  When they reached the plains, Lys’s ears perked up. A storm was brewing, darkening the evening sky with ominous shades of gray. It was probably the last one that winter, the time for them being already over.

  But at that moment, Casto was very happy to see it. He placed his hand on his brother’s muscular neck. “Let’s defeat the storm.”

  Huffing, Lys accepted the challenge. He threw his head back and then stretched his neck before he started racing. When the first gusts yanked the hood of his coat off his head and the cold air engulfed him like a living creature, Casto closed his eyes. Now, at this very moment, he was alive and free. He braved the elements; he was his own master.

  To that place, at the eye of the storm, nobody could follow Casto, nobody could ord
er him, and no responsibilities could bind him. For a terribly beautiful moment, he wished for that state to never end.

  But Lys wasn’t called the Emperor of the Storms for nothing. He overtook the storm that was gaining more and more momentum, changed direction, rode through it again, and finally returned to the Valley with his flushed, exhilarated rider.

  When the steep cliffs of their home embraced them protectively once again, Casto had tears streaming down his face. All that was left of his dream of freedom—a storm on the plains that couldn’t disturb the unshakeable walls of his home.

  He took Lys back to his stall and got him new hay and more oats. “Thank you, my brother. As always, it’s been a pleasure to run with you.”

  Soft nostrils blew warm air onto Casto’s cheeks. Lysistratos was content: he had beaten the wind again.

  He knew how deeply his brother was suffering, but he also knew he couldn’t help Casto. Just as little as Lys was able to escape his own destiny could the prince deny what was determined for him. Lys would always be there for him, but Casto had to learn to accept the inevitable.

  STILL AGITATED by his ride and the feelings he couldn’t understand, all Casto wanted was to have a bath and find oblivion in sleep. But Renaldo had different plans. With folded arms, Renaldo waited for his lover, his eyes cold and clouded, his expression frozen. He imperiously extended a hand, and faced with his lover’s unforgiving mask, Casto realized that this time it was better to be obedient.

  Demurely he stepped into the warrior’s arms. Renaldo grabbed him violently and kissed him hard. There was no gentleness in the kiss, and no passion. It was an assault Casto accepted nonetheless. What other choice did he have?