Re: The King

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Asa didn’t wait for the slave girl to invite him in. He slipped between her and the door and trotted inside. The fox’s head swung both ways, looking at all the guests inside. He looked at Ahmose on the cushions, and noticed Dante Bartolo and a few others, but he seemed interested more in the warm milk prepared for him. The fox went to the milk and dipped his head down to drink. The milk colored a bit red from his bloody nose, and he raised up his head to stare at it with a little distaste, but continued to drink anyway. Once satisfied, he dipped his paws in the milk and padded them on the floor until they were dry.

He then walked over to the fireplace and shook himself of the water on his fur. Someone near caught some of the water and stared at him, but to their surprise, the fox looked up and stared right back, and didn’t look away until they did. He stood by the fire until his fur was warm. It was a bit wavy from the rain, and his tail had some bits of broken leaves from passing through the woods.

When he was finished, he went to the prince and laid down beside him. He crossed his paws beneath his head and gave way to a heavy sigh. A few times he sneezed and shook his head, but otherwise, his ears pricked up to listen to conversations, but not to be seen. It was easy to tell what he was listening to, as his ears would turn to the conversation he liked best.

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[Guest]

There were not many people who seemed to have minded the animal guest. The slaves certainly made no fuss of it--and Ahmose, having had his own animals wandering freely in his palace, felt very much at home.

‘I think that doctors should be more available, quite honestly,’ Bartolo was arguing. ‘They should act like Jesuits and live among the poor, serving the poor . . .’
An older woman, the wife of a noble, was disagreeing with him. ‘That is absurd. Do you know how many priests there are, Doctor? Most of them have had holistic training. They are smart enough to care for the poor.’
‘Yes, but most of them do not have the instruments to care very properly . . .’
‘And that is why the poor have their town priests, and the rich have their doctors, Dante. It is very economical, if you ask me . . .’

Ahmose did not seem entirely drawn into this conversation. He looked down when he felt something close to him, and he saw it was the fox. He saw the fox was dry and relaxed, and he gave his own satisfied sigh.
‘Selene,’ he said out loud, clapping softly. She came to him. Selene was not the slave who had opened the door, but a different one. She was also veiled, but had blue eyes. Ahmose spoke to her in Greek, asking her to get a soft brush to take the broken leaves from the fox’s tail.

Wordlessly, she obeyed. She knelt behind the fox and gingerly took his tail, brushing it softly.
Ahmose clapped again and said ‘Gabriel!’
A male slave came this time. He was lithe, and also veiled, but wearing white harem pants and a white shirt rather than a dress.
‘Entertain us with something strange, and take off your veil.’

Bartolo and the other woman stopped bickering. Gabriel obeyed. He took off his veil and revealed a beautiful young man underneath. He had dark hair with soft tight curls and no facial hair. He had features similar to Asa’s, though they were much darker.
He took out five knives from his waistband. All of them had been concealed in such a manner that they would not even be noticed. He began to juggle them effortlessly, his lithe body balancing to keep in pace with the knives.

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He looked at Ahmose when he spoke, and the fox watched a slave come near him with a brush. He did not move when she began to brush his tail, and Asa closed his eyes, contented, after a moment or two. When Ahmose spoke again, the fox opened his eyes and watched with interest.

Asa noticed how concealed the knives were, and surmised that Ahmose was a very dangerous man. When the slave took off his veil, his eyes went between Ahmose and the slave. His curiosity was peaked. Was this one of his bedded slaves? Asa watched the slave toss the knives. That. Is very dangerous here, he thought. It was dangerous enough tossing knives, but in front of gifted men and women? One could make a knife fall for their own entertainment.

His ears went forward in attention. When the slave finished brushing out his tail, the fox rose and stretched in place. He sat up and looked around. He seemed unsatisfied with something. He looked at Ahmose and pawed at his leg, then leaned over to nip the end of his pantleg and pull on it. His eyes stared up at him expectantly.

When Ahmose finally rose to follow, Asa squeezed through people’s legs and led the prince to a bedroom. He went to the edge of the large bed and snapped his jaws over a corner of the bedsheet and began to back up to pull it off. The fox then burrowed underneath the sheet, and on the other side, Asa’s face appeared. He stood up in the dark with the sheet around his waist and held it with his hand. Beneath his eyes he was bruising, and his nostrils were red. His hair had reddish streaks through it that gradually faded.

“Do you have clothes I can borrow, Your Highness?”

His expression was tired, but he was trying hard to look clever and amused.

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[Guest]

Ahmose was deeply entertained by the sight of a young man juggling five very sharp knives. He seemed to watch the youth’s body, the way it moved, and the hands--but also the slave’s face, for the expression. It took great commitment to be able to juggle like that.

The fox pawed at his leg and pulled at his pant. Ahmose looked at the creature, wondering what it could want, but bore no impatience toward it. He followed the fox, excusing himself from the Doctor and the aristocrat. Dante was staring at the juggling slave with no expression on his face--the female aristocrat was in awe. Others watched as well.

When they came into Ahmose’s bedroom, he closed the door behind him. Turning around, he watched the fox pull the sheet off the bed. As the fox did this, Ahmose went into a walk-in closet and took out a long cream shirt, with long sleeves, a pair of black silk harem pants, slippers, and a red cashmere shawl.

He had already put these items on the bed when Asa asked to borrow some clothes.
‘Is there anything else I might do for you, Lord Azerola?’ he asked. ‘Shall I leave you as you dress?’

Ahmose seemed withdrawn, but polite. He looked at Asa with a slight and hospitable smile.

[Guest]

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“No, you’ve seen plenty the same as me, I think.” He went to the bed and blinked, then turned himself to look at Ahmose. He was about to ask how he knew he needed clothes, but figured it might have been obvious, perhaps just not to himself. He walked around to the clothes and dropped the sheet around him. He pulled on the trousers, and stretched to pull on the shirt.

His eyes suspiciously went to Ahmose as he pulled on the clothes. “Why are you serving me?” He brought the shirt over his head as his ribs pressed against his skin. “Why did you take such interest in me?”

A prince looking at him hospitably was a little surreal. He sat down on the bed to put the slippers onto his feet. Asa then pulled the shawl to him, bunching it in his hands. He looked a little more pathetic than he usually did. He didn’t want to look in the mirror at his bruised face and evidence of his selfishness. He did, however, reach up to tenderly touch his nose, and the young man winced, a soft groan of pain admitting from his throat.

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[Guest]

As the Lord Azerola dressed, Ahmose lit some incense. Asa did not complain, so Ahmose assumed the clothes fit him well. After Ahmose lit the incense, he went to his own vanity and reached into a drawer, where he took out an round ivory box.

‘I serve you because you brought me in here, Lord Azerola. You needed clothes, food, and warmth, and I provide it to you because you are a guest. I take such interest in you because I feel we are kindred in spirit. We both have a similar taste for luxury and entertainment.’ He opened the box and in it was a cream-like substance. He left the top on the vanity and turned to Asa, approaching him. He saw that Asa flinched upon touching his own wound and frowned.

‘You were wrong to have tormented Lady Almaviva in such a way,’ he said softly, dipping his finger in the substance. ‘May I?’ he asked, looking into Asa’s eyes.

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The clothes, honestly, were a little big for him, but he didn’t complain. It was comfortable enough. The young man watched him light incense and wondered what that meant--if they would stay in there now, or if it was just a custom to do so. When he sat down, his eyes watched Ahmose, and he feared that he would owe him. In his heart, he didn’t believe him. His view flickered to the door, but eventually, he relaxed in his seat.

It didn’t matter. He was Asa Azerola. He didn’t owe anyone, anything, and he would rather get punched in the face than owe someone.

“I do a lot of things that are wrong, and I take the punishment.” He watched the man’s dark fingers dip into the cream, and Asa carefully nodded.

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[Guest]

Ahmose smirked when the Azerola made his remark. He sat beside him, lifting Asa’s chin with his pointer finger, and holding it there. He seemed to be looking at the shapeshifter’s nose, studying it, to see where the cream was needed. He applied it liberally, taking great caution not to put too much pressure on it.
‘This is a special cream. It will soothe the pain. Fortunately, it does not look too bad. It’s fractured,’ he said, getting up to go back to his vanity, ‘but it will heal all right.’

Ahmose put the box together again and set it inside of his drawer.
‘Would you like to stay in here? Or would you like to go outside to the party, Lord Azerola? I could have one of my slaves bring you something to eat.’ Ahmose turned to face Asa, taking a seat in front of his vanity.

[Guest]

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Asa sat still and moved when Ahmose touched him. He said nothing. Ahmose touched his nose so gingerly and with care that Asa stared with strange emotion. This was a foreign prince who nearly ruled a country and he was trying to fix his nose that they both agreed he deserved. Tears pricked his eyes, and when Asa shut them, the tears rolled down his cheeks. He opened his mouth a little, and it came out in a faltering voice, “It hurts.”

He looked down at the floor when Ahmose left him and went to the vanity. He wiped his tears off his cheeks. “I think I’ll stay in here. If I go out there, I don’t want to go like this.” His lip curled slightly. He didn’t want to look in the mirror and see how he looked down, with his bruised face and the cream there. “I’m not hungry.”

He was conflicted, but mostly annoyed. He was annoyed that a prince, a gracious, beautiful prince who was everything Asa wanted to be was helping him. His brows knit together and he went silent. There weren’t anymore tears. He wondered what his mother was doing, and realized, suddenly, he had probably ruined her dance, too. “You can call me Asa.”

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[Guest]

‘Asa,’ Ahmose repeated, smiling. He watched Asa, his expressions, his conflict. The shapeshifter had trusted him for some reason--had gone to him, even though he could have gone to his mother. Ahmose could tell that he was in a mood where he did not trust anybody.
‘You can stay in here as long as you would like, Asa.’

The prince clapped his hands again and called out: ‘Baqi!’
And, from the kitchenette, which was both connected to the parlour and the master’s bedroom, a boy came. He was probably seventeen, with a body that was naturally slender. He did not wear a veil and came shirtless. This boy had long, brown hair, worn loose, and large brown eyes. He stood before Ahmose, but could not seem to look him in the eye. He was blushing.

‘Baqi, would you fetch us some wine? And two tobacco pipes, filled to the brim.’
Baqi nodded and then left. One could tell that this was one that Ahmose was still “training”. He watched the boy leave with a grin. ‘Did you like him, Asa?’ he asked, looking at the shapeshifter.

[Guest]

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“You’re…” Staying with me? Why are you staying with me? He blinked when Ahmose clapped and looked up to see the boy come through. Asa was a little startled for some reason. He hadn’t expected it. Asa stared at the boy and saw him look down, his cheeks growing red. Asa held his breath until the boy left, and he kept staring after where he went.

He wasn’t sure what to think. He looked at Ahmose with his brow turned up, almost as though he was worried. “You have a party out there. You shouldn’t be here.”

He was scared of the boy, he realized. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he ever got a hold of him. Asa quivered slightly when he thought of it, knowing himself and knowing every emotion he had locked in would be used on him.

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[Guest]

Ahmose, for the first time, showed that he was surprised with Asa. Ahmose was quite a proud man--he considered himself a very good and very fair host, and he thought that Asa would be aware of himself enough to realise whose bedroom he was in, in a private suite that was not even his.

‘The guests can nourish themselves,’ Ahmose said in a low voice. ‘Did you want to be alone in my bedroom, Asa? Let me rephrase that,’ he murmured. ‘When you came here, what was the intention? Because I believed you wanted company--the comfort of a person you do not know, but who would be open to you. It is why you came here, accepted the hospitality I shared with you, and brought me in here, turned into your formal self and asked for clothes to warm your back.’

At that moment Baqi came in with a tray of wine, glasses, and tobacco pipes. He placed the tray beside Ahmose on the vanity and poured the wine out.
‘Leave,’ Ahmose said to Baqi, and Baqi, somewhat startled, obeyed.

Ahmose picked up a glass of wine and sipped at it, glowering at Asa. He seemed to be slightly insulted, but all of his gestures were very calm.

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He felt the change, and Asa shut his eyes in either emotional or physical pain. “I didn’t mean...I didn’t mean it like that.” The servant returned, and Asa watched him, and winced slightly and the abrupt order. “I don’t know my intentions. I’m here because I had no where else to go.”

He was ashamed to go to his mother, and he was ashamed to be alone with himself. His nose was evidence of everything bad in him, which was reason enough not to look in the mirror. He sighed, steadily, and rolled his eyes slightly. “You shouldn’t be taking care of me. A prince...shouldn't be taking care of me. And you're most certainly right. I probably wanted all that. But I shouldn't have company, or hospitality, or comfort. I don’t deserve this. You should be out there with better people, and I don’t deserve to be here.” He looked back at Ahmose with a bit of a bite in his expression. “That’s what I meant.”

If Ahmose was going to be insulted by misinterpretation and his wide assumption, then so be it. Asa set his jaw and looked back at the floor. He could go back to pretending--anyway, like he had thought earlier, there was always a catch. He wondered if Ahmose hoped to watch him and Baqi make love on his own bed, although Asa would have just torn out his throat. Asa stood up. “I should leave.” He no longer looked Ahmose in the face. The softness in his expression was gone.

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[Guest]

Ahmose watched Asa as he reacted. He watched very carefully. He received the answer he desired--which was all in honesty. Asa, he saw, was someone who could only superficially be in denial. As he talked, expressed himself to Ahmose, he could see that he was ashamed. The prince knew all of this already--he was simply hurt because Asa seemed very wary of his hospitality.

When Asa got up to leave, Ahmose lifted himself from his chair to stop him.
‘No, you should not leave.’ He went to Asa, looking at him in with more sympathy, and handing him the glass of wine. ‘Drink some. It will help you feel better.’
Ahmose had returned to softness, but it was with compassion attached.
‘Do not worry if you think you owe me anything for this, Asa. I have plenty in my heart and in my . . . home . . . to share. Please. I want you to relax, and I want you to feel welcomed.’

He paused. ‘I know it is strange of me to offer such hospitality to you, but do not ask me about it now. Just know I have nothing to ask of you. If you would like to use my bed to sleep in, Asa, you may.’
Ahmose was standing close to Asa, towering over him, and peering down at him with a compassionate frown.

[Guest]

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Asa stayed in place and looked at Ahmose when he rose. He still stayed in the position to leave, still wary and a little scared. But he softened again once Ahmose approached him. The younger took the wine and drank from it slowly. He held the glass in both of his hands and looked into it. “I owe you nothing,” he repeated, as though he was saying it to finally confirm and convince himself. “Thank you.”

He looked up at the pipes on the tray. He gazed to the bed in thought. “If you are going to do this, then, will you smoke with me?”

His thoughts went to the guests downstairs, most likely some still waiting around after the ball, and Clovis. He thought of Costanza. His brow furrowed. “I was going to do another terrible thing tonight.” Clovis was most likely waiting. He should have had the chance to punch him, too. He wondered if he liked his mother’s dance, but then again, wondered if the dance ever finished in time.

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[Guest]

Ahmose was relieved when Asa asked if they could smoke tobacco together. He smiled and went to the tray, picking up both tobacco pipes. He lit them on a candle that was in the tray, which was there specifically for that purpose. Lighting the tobacco, he approached Asa again, handing him the pipe and sitting on the bed.

‘It would probably be wise to make a personal apology to the Almavivas,’ mumbled Ahmose. ‘But as far as everything goes, the ball is probably the least important part. What is more important are the coming days, where all the courtiers approach the King and clamour for his love.’
He dragged from his pipe and blew the smoke out in rings.

‘Do not feel too bad, Asa. You had much to drink when you acted that way . . .’

--

Clovis had indeed waited. He waited for some time. No one had come to him, not Sabin nor Costanza. At first he thought that Costanza was busy cleaning after the ball, and that Sabin--or Asa, rather--was busying himself with his broken nose and shame.

But then he worried about Costanza, remembering the vision he had had. He got up and called his guard to ask about and search for Costanza. He had waited some more--and after the word got back that she was nowhere to be found, he sat silent in his bed.

First he became nervous. He got up and paced around his room. He began to believe in the visions, however, that Costanza was not coming that night, or any night afterward.

Clovis began to cry. He stood by a table, remembering Costanza and her smile, her naked body. He remembered teaching her how to read, how to dance, and how to speak better English. He had loved her for what she was: a simple, dull, but beautiful Italian farmgirl. He would never be able to make love to her again, to see her smile, to hear her giggle . . .

He knocked over the chair that was beside the table and cried out in anger. He was extremely upset and he had had no control over what had happened with Costanza. Clovis blamed Asa, but then he blamed himself--O, if he had not brought her in, if he had just let that damned man-lover suck his prick or something, he would have left Costanza alone.

Clovis fell into bed, determined to self-pity for the rest of the evening.

[Guest]

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Asa sat beside him and took the pipe to take a drag from it. He watched him blow rings, and Asa tried to blow out one, but pretended he hadn’t when it came out a dull blob. “I wish alcohol could still hold up as an excuse anymore.” He drank another sip of wine, which he finally realized tasted like gold, before setting it down on the floor. He reached up to touch the shawl he wore and felt the fabric.

He seemed to finally be taking in his surroundings and what he had been given. He tasted the tobacco and looked at Ahmose. “Two questions, Your Highness. What is your gift? And can you teach me how to do that?” He gestured at a fading smoke ring in the air.

-

Emerson was downstairs into the early morning, watching the ballroom being cleaned up. It was not entirely his job, but he wanted to make sure it was done right. When he was finished, he went back upstairs, exhausted, but forced himself to stop at Clovis’s chambers. He looked at the guards and waved at them tiredly, and knocked on Clovis’s door before cracking it open. “Your Majesty, it’s me. I wished to say goodnight to you.”

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[Guest]

Ahmose leaned back in the bed, resting on his elbow, and grinned. He would answer the Lord his questions, but not after taking a pause. He took up the pipe again and blew more rings.
‘Blowing rings is easy. You make your mouth like this,’ Ahmose puckered his lips in an O shape, ‘and you pat your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you blow out.’

He then sat up to answer the next question, but he decided he would rather have wine instead. Ahmose got up and went to the vanity, taking the other glass of wine, and going back to the bed with it.
‘I have visions of the future,’ he answered simply. ‘They are not always correct, as the future is heavily reliant on choices, but they are mostly accurate.’

He took another sip of wine and looked at Asa.

--

When Emerson came, Clovis was still weeping as a heart broken man. She was his first love, and he had had her around since his mother died, when he was seventeen and she was fifteen. He had wanted to run away with her, marry her, have children . . . but it was all done now. It was all over.

‘O, leave me in peace!’ Clovis called out to Emerson, without thinking. He only wanted to be alone to mourn over the past and what could not be. He had grown so fond of Costanza . . . now she would be some other artist’s muse!

[Guest]

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When Ahmose rose, the younger took his wine and moved back on the bed into the pillows to smoke his pipe. He tried to blow a ring and failed miserably. “Easy,” he repeated with a scoff. Asa tried again to no avail.

He remembered the clothing that he had laid out before he had asked. He held his wine in one hand and his pipe in the other. “So, did you see this happening?” He looked at the prince with his wine tilted lazily in his hand. “Did you see anything else about me?” Asa took a long drag and held it inside of himself, relaxing, then released it through his nostrils.

-

Emerson went inside and shut the door. He saw the chair turned over and Clovis weeping in bed. Emerson sighed at the dramatic plea and went to his king to kneel beside the bed. “Your Majesty, I’m sorry the ball wasn’t to your liking.” It crushed him to see the king so upset, and to his knowledge, he had failed him. “What can I do?”

He hadn’t expected him to be this crushed, though, especially with the amused grin from him when Asa caused a scene. But Emerson just assumed he had been saving face.

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[Guest]

Ahmose sighed when Asa began on a stream of questions. He sat on the bed, near the foot, and leaned on a bed post. He was looking into air, focusing into it. He knew Asa would ask these questions, but they were somewhat difficult to answer . . .

‘I saw you coming here as a fox,’ he began. ‘I did not know you would bring me in here to change. In my vision, I saw you falling asleep and my slaves making a bed for you. But then, as you were bringing me here, I had a vision that you would change and ask me for clothes. I also knew you would try to leave . . . but I did not want you to. If something depends on my choice, I may not always see the outcome. It is a faulty power. I think shapeshifting is much more useful.’

Ahmose dragged on his pipe.

--

O, he hated it when Emerson called him “Your Majesty”! He despised it!
He looked up at Emerson, but could not be mad. Emerson thought that it was the ball that had upset him so, but it was not.
‘Costanza’s gone, Emerson--she’s gone, just like that. Elisa gave me a vision . . . in it, I saw Costanza leaving. She left me, and it’s because of that rat Asa Azerola. He got rid of her . . .’ he began to sob again. ‘O, Emerson, the heart is such a delicate thing! O, love--O, travesty!’

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Asa frowned slightly. “Shapeshifting is pretty useful, but…” He thought. “Yours sounds more wise.”

He thought of the slave, Baqi, and Asa closed his eyes to shift into him. He seemed to grow younger, his hair grew longer and darker, and his face changed. Asa stared at Ahmose and smoked his pipe. “I can’t say it isn’t entertaining to see reactions, either.”

The young lord drank finished off his wine and set the glass aside. He sat up to try again at the smoke rings, but kept failing at it. “I wish my gift was simple. Like smoke rings.” He gazed at Ahmose. “So. Why are you not a king?”

-

Emerson stood up the moment he heard Costanza’s name. He was silent for a long while, but in a sudden movement, he jumped onto the bed and pinned Clovis down. “Costanza? Costanza?! You’re upset after a night that was dedicated to you, after dancing with various women who would fall at your feet, with the finest wines, the finest food, the finest clothes and music, and you’re upset because some kitchen maid ran away?!”

His face was red, and he smacked the side of Clovis’s head. “You are not in love with her! You think she has a nice ass!” Emerson shouted. He smacked him again, although lighter than the first. “I made the entire ball for you, I picked the women, I made sure everything was perfect, and the stupid Lordling of Azerola ruined a part if it--disregarding that--and all you can think about is your dumb, stupid servant girl, someone anyone can have! Someone I can have!”

The reagent grit his teeth. “Clovis, I love you, but you are sometimes the most foolish man I know.”

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The prince’s eyes could not leave the shapeshifter when he changed his form to Baqi. He was awe-struck. There was Baqi, the boy he had planned on taking that night since he could not have Asa. Ahmose sipped at his wine, and took Asa’s glass to refill it.

‘I am not a king because I have an older sister, who is queen. Her name is Bathsheba. She is the current queen of Egypt. I have a principality by the coast. My sister is very generous.’ He poured more wine for himself and for Asa, bringing the filled glass back to him. ‘We have trade ships which go to Turkey, pick up stock, and sell it around the Mediterranean. That is how I get my wealth. My siblings have places in Bathsheba’s court, but I decided to have my own. It is not out of jealousy or resentment . . . but I like my independence.’

He sat down on the bed once more. ‘And what about you, Asa? Are you married? Do you have siblings?’

--

Clovis was helpless to Emerson. He had been pounced on and slapped and reprimanded for his thoughts, but all Clovis could do was try to cover his face and cry out when Emerson successfully slapped him. His face was red and his eyes were swollen from crying. He did not hold it against Emerson to act this way--they were very close to one another, and though Emerson was practically assaulting Clovis, he knew that he was right.

When Emerson finished, he groaned in exasperation.
‘Yes, yes! I am a foolish man,’ he replied, pressing his hands against his face. ‘I just couldn’t . . . I’m sorry, Emerson. I wish you would have taken Costanza away from me. You did such an incredible job with the ball . . . I would never be able to thank you enough for it, and I know, here I am crying over a servant girl, but you know me, Emerson, I don’t like to socialise. I like to study and lay in bed with a beautiful girl, talking to her, just talking . . . sometimes I believe I should have been born an artist rather than a king . . .’

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Asa tossed his head a little to feel his hair. He reached up to touch it and seemed to not like it. He liked his hair shorter than that. His eyes watched Ahmose with interest when he spoke, and the lordling drank more wine. He was growing a little tipsy again. The aching in his face was gone from the wine and whatever Ahmose had put on the wound.

He kept forgetting he was sitting with a great prince of Egypt, although it seemed very obvious when he looked at Ahmose. Asa chuckled a little. “You are the kindest prince I have known, and I have only known one prince.” He lifted his glass slightly in a weak toast.

“I have a brother, Roderick. My sister died when I was younger. I am not married, and I don’t want to be married.” He frowned slightly. “But, I think I would like to have a family.”

He stared at Ahmose for a moment. "You're not married, are you?"

-

Emerson caught the king’s face, and it was not a gentle touch. He pinched his cheek. He was looking at his swollen eyes and his rubbed nose, and he smacked his shoulder. “I hate you sometimes. I hate that I have to listen to you complain about how you can’t do things that you don’t allow yourself to do. Any of those girls would do that. They would lay in here and watch you study or talk to you. But you have to have Costanza, who stares at you dull eyed every day and has nothing in her skull, no matter how much you cram into it.”

He sighed heavily, looking toward the door, but then he looked sharply back at Clovis in thought. “Don’t say you’re in love with her, or mention it to me. You don’t know what that is. I have to listen to you complain about everything you’ve been gifted, while I’ve nothing except you. You have everything. You have the choice to be with Costanza, to be with a beautiful woman, to be at the ball, to be crying here in bed, to let me hit you or kill me for hitting you, and you choose to say you only have one choice! Go be an artist instead of a king, then. But just know you’ll always have everything and everyone at your feet!”

He hit him one last time and finally got up and out of his bed. He pulled at his hair but then ran his fingers through it and calmed himself. “Stupid, dramatic man,” he muttered. “Sit up.”

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The prince laughed shortly when Asa offered a toast for his princedom. He touched the had on his head and put it next to him on the bed, revealing a bald head. He had a tattoo above his right ear. ‘You are too kind,’ he said in response to Asa’s compliment, and looked on at the man with a bright smile.

When he heard that Asa’s sister had died, he frowned and clicked his tongue quietly in sympathy. His fingers played with his silk sleeve, and he nodded in understanding when Asa expressed that he did not want to be married, but that he wanted a family.

When asked if he was married, Ahmose shook his head, but he looked down when he did. ‘I am not. I have plenty of concubines, and slaves, but no wives. I am like you. But . . . I have seven illegitimate children.’ He couldn’t help but chuckle, despite it being cruel.

--

Clovis was quiet as Emerson expressed, in cruel and furious words, his disappointment, frustration, and repulsion with Clovis for essentially being a spoiled, ungrateful, and over-romantic brat. He lay there, limp when Emerson hit him again, his eyes glazed over as he focused on the immaterial. He felt something inside of him harden, and he was not upset anymore. He gave a great sigh and sat up when Emerson told him to.

‘What do I do now?’ he asked calmly, wiping his face. He did not care anymore. He did not like it when Emerson used such vocabulary against him--he did not wish to be insulted, or have his character lashed out against like that. He had only been hurt . . . but was Emerson jealous? With all of those things that Emerson had just expressed--was it all jealousy?
‘Did you want Costanza, Emerson? Were you--are you--jealous of me?’ he asked, thinking it better to ask in honesty than to retreat in resentment.

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He shrugged at the quiet sympathy of his sister’s death. Rita had died slipping down the stairs, an unfortunate and meaningless accident. The lord looked up at Ahmose and watched his fingers, then his face when he looked away. Asa’s face screwed up. He put his wine aside.

“Seven? From different women?” He raised his eyebrows. “Where are they? Do you see them?”

Asa had always wanted children. He wanted a son and a daughter, or if he had only been able to have one, a daughter to watch over and adore. Not unlike Baldassare and Ravenna. He had seen her cling to his sleeve and Lord Almaviva look back with affection, and it tugged, secretly, at Asa’s heartstrings.

Asa leaned forward and stretched across the bed, not unlike a cat, with his pipe in hand. He took a drag and blew smoke into Ahmose’s face, mimicking and mocking Ahmose’s own gestures in the visage of his own slave, Baqi. “And tell me, what is the most interesting prediction you have about this entire king’s event? The biggest secret you have?”

-

Emerson looked back at his king. He was more uncertain when the king was suddenly very serious, very silent. Emerson had regret, realizing he had overreacted. He should have comforted him, or been more empathetic. His opened and closed his mouth, and ended up frowning.

He remembered when he and Clovis had played as children. They would wrestle, and Emerson, in his older age, would pin him down and try everything to not let him win. It was his only advantage over the boy king that Emerson had in his life. But then when he grew to like him, he would let him win, just before Clovis was taken away and Emerson was given a bit of a dirty look from his tutors and servants. Emerson, in his young age, would grin at them.

Was he jealous? Did he desire for Clovis’s life, for everything he had? The reagent watched his friend with a gentle expression.

“A little,” he answered softly. “Not for Costanza, not for your items. For, just...your freedom and access, because of your gift.” What a simple gift that Clovis had, a gift a light, but he was still seen as a king and good leader because of it, and rewarded. If Emerson had been trained to trick people into thinking he had a gift from when he was a child, he might have been able to rise up into the ranks. But he was given nothing. Emerson went and sat on the bed beside his friend.

“It’s not about Costanza. I want you to appreciate what you have. I want you to look at everything you’ve been given,...how lucky you are. I want you to be proud yet humble. I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He frowned. “None of those women will look at me like they looked at you, just because of my blood. Remember that.”

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[Guest]

Ahmose sighed when Asa asked him about his children. They were definitely not from the same women . . . they were the children of several of his concubines, and one slave. He did not regret these children because his concubines loved taking care of them--they had nothing better to do in their spare time.

'O, yes, I see them all the time,' he smiled, 'they run around the palace and play with each other. Most of them have light skin. They're beautiful children. The mothers are not all the same--one mother is a slave, the others are concubines.' His oldest children were ten-year-old twins. The youngest was still a toddler at one.

Ahmose sipped his wine as Asa, the Asa who looked like Baqi, blew smoke into his face. It was sexy--Ahmose certainly was not bothered by it. When he asked him for a prediction, a secret, a very large grin crawled along the prince's face. What controversial question.
'I can't tell you what I know positively, but I can tell you of a premonition. The cousin of Cosette Voltren will go mad and kill someone.'

--

Clovis allowed silence to drag on between them after Emerson had stopped talking. He had listened, and he was in thought.
'You don't know that, Emerson. Do you know what? If I could look at a girl, Costanza, and think she's the most charming thing in the world, I am sure another gifted could look at you and think the same way. And, not just that, but I doubt the bachelorettes all looked at me out of honest attraction. Most of them want power, the same power that you have. Do you know,' he said, looking at Emerson, 'that you are the second most powerful man in this Kingdom? You may not have a gift, as simple as mine or as complex as the Cabreras, but a woman has as much reason to look at you than she does at me.'

He drew his brows in. It was almost as if he had forsaken all emotion in order to deal with Emerson. 'You know what those bachelorettes will do, if they cannot have me? They will clamour to you. It's a matter of power, Emerson. It has nothing to do with what I've been given, other than my title and rulership. It has nothing to do with the small gift that I have. If I am handsome, it is a factor working for their odds. If I am ugly, they will have to deal with it. But it is all a power struggle. It is not easy . . . Costanza represented a way to leave all of that. The responsibility for intelligence, superior insight, and strategy. She helped me leave behind my feelings of superiority. It becomes very stressful, Emerson. I am sure you would understand, too, if you allowed yourself a girl to fool around with.'

Clovis paused, realising that he did not know the answer to the question he was about to ask. 'Do you even have a woman that you fool around with, Emerson?'

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He wondered what it would be like, seeing your own blood run around you, but not know. Did they know? Asa was naive in the practice of bastards and concubines. “Will they ever know about you being their father, or…” He paused. “There will just be rumors?” His eyes were earnestly curious.

The confession made Asa move his pipe from his mouth.

“Hart? Lord Hart Voltren?” He quirked a brow in interest. “Kill someone? Well. That’s astonishing.”

He thought for a moment. He could not imagine Hart killing someone. It was alarming. Should the king know? Should they take precautions? It could be Asa. He put the pipe to his lips again and blew the smoke away from Ahmose, although the grin that had appeared on Ahmose’s face from it was tempting. “You will have to keep me safe, then, or all this hospitality would be in vain.” He rose slightly, his back arching. The shawl slid off his shoulders and his collar was visible underneath his shirt.

“I can give you a solution to your children problem. A perfect contraception. Only fuck men.” It seemed twice more bad to swear before Ahmose, as Asa realized Ahmose had not yet swore.

__

Emerson grit his teeth lightly in his mouth and looked at the wall instead of at Clovis, and then at the floor. He listened carefully, and the older man looked at Clovis with soft recognition. “We are similar, perhaps, more than I think. These women will never take me seriously for my lack of power, and they will never take you seriously for your possession of it.”

He sighed. “I understand Costanza and yourself a little more. It makes sense. And, after all these years, I can still learn from you.” He watched the king. “I am still sorry I yelled, my brother. But I am not sorry to have hit you. You need it every once and a while. I should have embraced you after, though, for your tears.”

When Clovis asked about any women in his life, the reagent flushed and looked away back at the wall. “No. And I don’t want to fool around with anyone.”

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'They all call me uncle, but I treat them like a father,' Ahmose said, saying nothing further. It was all he had to say. Everyone knew he was the father--it was obvious, but as Ahmose did not have a wife, it would be looked down upon if they named him their father.

He nodded when Asa said he was astonished with this secret about Hart. Ahmose was quite astonished, too, and had only had this vision upon meeting Cosette. He could not imagine that a family with such an ability to surrender to abject insanity, but unfortunately, one of them would.
Ahmose smiled when Asa mentioned being protected, and observed the arch in his back when he stretched. He still looked like Baqi, and the way the shawl had fallen off his shoulder was very provocative.

Ahmose, however, did not move.
'I do fuck men,' he laughed, swearing in the same way Asa had. He was not shy. 'But I take what I want. If I want a woman, I'll have her. If I want a man, I'll have him. It makes no difference to me, but you are right. If I do not want children, I should fuck only men--but I don't think I could forsake one pleasure of the flesh for another.' He smirked. 'And what about you? Do you fuck men, or women? Or do you dabble in both?'

--

Clovis fell into a state of silent surprise when he had learned that Emerson had not had anyone to make love to, or even kiss, and had no desire for it. He was puzzled. He thought that maybe that was why Emerson was so high-strung about certain things. He never made love to a woman--but he wondered if it was because that he was so busy, that he never thought of it.

'Why don't you want to, Emerson? I think it would help you relax. Why not--' Clovis paused. He was going to mention Cosette, but he remembered what he and Elisa had discovered earlier that night. 'Why not take Almara, for example? She is beautiful, shapely . . . and quite open for the taking, I would say.'

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The end of the subject made Asa think. He felt saddened by it. It was influenced by his desire to have children. Ahmose had them, but could not take them. He sympathized.

Asa watched Ahmose and when the prince smiled, Asa smiled, too. He looked like a feline in his bed. Traces of Baqi fell away from him, and he laid down on his stomach, his hair blond and eyes back to blue. One arm was beneath his chin and the other held up his pipe that he still smoked. Ahmose was like stone. He thought it strange: most people squirmed under his eyes.

Asa began to laugh, falling into a fit of giggles when the prince cursed. It didn’t seem to suit him. He grinned at him. “Swearing doesn’t suit you, Your Highness.” He listened, though, and smiled lightly. “I lay with men and women, but prefer, wholly, the male sex.”

-

Emerson seemed to shy away all at once, and he drawing his face down and paling. “No, I don’t have a need for it.” He stood up and went to pick up the chair that Clovis had tossed aside. “No. Not Almara.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “I want to see you married, and I want to see you happy before anything. And not only that, but...if I wanted anything, I want to be married and settled.”

He gave a bitter smile. “Almara is not the type.” Of course, he had had thoughts. But they were innocent. He wanted a sweet girl he could kiss in the garden, and take for a walk and propose to. He knew Clovis hadn’t been like this, having Costanza where he could. But he liked seeing Clovis teach her to read and write, and spending time with her. That was what Emerson wanted.

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Again, the prince could not take his eyes off of Asa as he watched him change--his form melted into what he truly looked like, nose bruised and all. He was deeply entranced by his ability. It was much more erotic to see Asa as himself laying in the way he was, than to see Baqi, the slave.

Asa was a fascinating character. He was bold and very witty; Ahmose could imagine him being a very popular addition to the French court, with his attitude and sharpness. However, it probably did not help him to be able to shapeshift. He could go further than his wit and actually hurt someone with it: with manipulation, pranks, and treachery.

'Ah, so you and I are a lot alike in that manner--except I have no preference.' He grinned. 'I think I should swear more often; I like seeing you smile.'

--

Emerson was so admirable. He had none of the vices that anyone on the court seemed to have--illicit affairs, power struggles, manipulations . . . Clovis deeply respecte Emerson for having such pure and honest ambitions. But Emerson, in his thirty years, had never found or desired one person to share these qualities with. Clovis began to feel quite awful about it.

'Well . . . what about Cosette? Or Ravenna? Both of them are very sweet. I - I think they would make fine marriages. Emerson, you can not just think about me; you must think about yourself as well. It breaks my heart to think that you should use so much of your energy on keeping my life together when you should worry about your own.'

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