Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
T he door to Leander’s room opened noiselessly and the young demigod glanced up from the large book he had been reading when he saw a figure appear out of the corner of his eye.
Lying prone on his stomach with the tome before him, Leander marked his place in the book before closing it and rolling off the bed to stand and bow his head respectfully to the prince who had just entered his room.
If he was surprised, Leander hid it well; this was the first time in the six days since Prince Jarryn had bought him that Leo had been disturbed other than to have meals delivered, much less have his new owner walk into the room with two steaming mugs of tea in his hands.
“Good morning, Master,” the demigod greeted civilly, trying to keep the impish quality out of his tone.
The other man offered him a smile, an emotionless one that Leander couldn’t decide if it was comforting or not. “Good morning, Leander. ”
That was the problem: throughout his time knowing the prince, Leander was never sure where he stood in the other’s esteem.
Even as their relationship had blossomed into something…
more , Leander had not known if the prince truly shared his affection.
They had danced around each other for so long, and Leander had an inkling, but there was no sure way for the demigod to know definitively, given how well protected Jarryn’s mind was.
There was no doubt that Jarryn knew of Leander’s sincere feelings, though. Maybe he enjoyed the idea of a passing fling, a distraction, much like the ones Leander had often sought in the past.
The newly branded slave turned his gaze away and moved to sit in one of the many chairs in the room.
In the space of the past six days, Leander had done a lot of reflection.
A demigod to an aristocrat and now a slave.
His father and brothers had washed their hands of him, as was to be expected, but it was his mother who Leander found himself to be most hurt by.
The goddess had made no effort to reach out, no effort to help.
If she had given up on him too, then what home, what fucking hope , did he have?
And he wondered if Jarryn was liable to verbally attacking him again, like he had initially when the two had encountered each other. His expression wasn’t far off that of those times before Green Tryst when they had been forced into each other’s company.
Things had shifted between them, but there was still that undercurrent of mistrust that Leander could see in the eyes of Jarryn’s household, and he didn’t know if Jarryn still harboured ill-feelings towards him.
Especially now that he had been convicted of two crimes.
Now that Leander was literally his property, Jarryn could do whatever he pleased to his slave.
“I have some questions for you,” Jarryn said softly.
“Joy,” Leander muttered bitterly, and slightly childishly.
“Why don’t you just read my mind?” Though he had all the time in the world, he did not have the patience to tolerate whatever insulting conversation his new master now wanted to engage in.
That and the fact that, as property, Leander didn’t have the same rights and protections as free men when it came to the use of Aesthesia.
“We can do it that way if you prefer,” Jarryn responded, arching his eyebrows on an otherwise unreadable expression.
He indicated to the mug closest to Leander.
“Drink. You did not come out for breakfast. Or any other meal, for that matter. Soup and sandwiches are on their way up, you must be starving.”
Leander did not pick up his tea, not knowing the price attached to it, and not quite willing to accept anything from his new master. “I’ve been well fed from this room.”
Jarryn’s eyes narrowed. “Drink. I do not like having to repeat myself, Leander.”
Leander picked up the mug and blew on it before taking a small, placatory sip of the tea.
All the while, the Prince of Desanne watched him. “Did you do it?” He asked, keeping his gaze fixed on his new slave. “Use Aesthesia against the king’s advisor, I mean?”
Leander paused, considering the worth of answering the question. He saw no harm in it, as he was ultimately suffering the consequences of his actions anyway. He nodded. “Yes. You could have just found that out for yourself.”
Jarryn inclined his head. “I wanted to give you the chance for honesty, because apparently no one else will extend you the same courtesy.”
“How very thoughtful of you.”
Ignoring Leander’s sardonic tone, Jarryn continued his line of questioning. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Are you sure? Things that don’t matter usually don’t get this much attention,” the prince replied.
Leander glared, though Jarryn only seemed to be annoyed by the situation, rather than by him. There was something in his cobalt eyes that reminded Leander why he loved this man.
Jarryn continued, “I am not all that interested in what you did in your immortal life. You have made it clear that you will not be telling me any of it. So I will focus on the here and now. You broke the law and now you must live with the consequences. These are the consequences. I don’t know what, by the grace of the Nine, you did to deserve having your divinity stripped from you, but it can’t have been anything pleasant.
And it seems that whatever lesson they wanted you to learn… well you clearly haven’t learnt it.”
Leander stared, in sullen silence, at a spot somewhere over Jarryn’s left shoulder. His father has said almost the exact same thing. Had the two men been talking?
“If the point was to better yourself then you’ve done a shoddy job of it. Indentured servitude, I ask you?” Jarryn shook his head. “How the great have fallen.”
There was a knock at the door and, at Jarryn’s called invitation to enter, a servant pushed open the door. Prince and demigod were silent as the servant quickly placed the two bowls of soup and a plate of assorted sandwiches on the table and left with a deep bow.
“Eat, whilst we go over the rules of the arrangement,” Jarryn said with a pointed look, also indicating to the barely touched mug of tea.
Leander acquiesced, taking a sip of the tea before picking up a triangle of the thickly cut sandwiches, one with cheese and pickle fillings.
He hesitated, glancing up at the prince, before dunking it into his soup.
It was hardly the polite way to eat it, but that was how the demigod had always preferred the meal to be eaten.
He took his time, delaying the conversation Jarryn wanted to have with what little power he still had to control what was happening around him.
Swallowing his first mouthful, he finally spoke.
“So what you’re going to say is that I now have to live in a gilded cage.
” He gestured to around the admittedly very nice room that he currently occupied, presumably found as part of Jarryn’s court apartments.
“As opposed to a proper one… so long as I follow your rules? Perhaps it would be easier, kinder even, to keep me locked up in some dingy dungeon.”
Jarryn said nothing, and Leander chanced a momentary glance over at Desanne’s exiled prince, wondering how he was taking Leander’s hateful tone.
Taking another mouthful of dunked soup-sandwich, Leander chewed slowly and then continued between mouthfuls, “I’ll still be your prisoner, your slave. No amount of nice clothes or allowing me these opulent rooms will change that.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you had any true idea about how some slaves are treated in Vyrica,” Jarryn’s voice was soft and controlled, something Leander was aware as a sign of the depths of his annoyance. Jarryn was someone who grew quieter instead of louder when anger became him.
“Oh, I have a better idea than most,” Leander bit out. “I’ve spent more time with the people than you.”
Jarryn continued as if Leander had not spoken.
“You have been a mortal for long enough now, I thought you would know better than that. But I don’t think you do.
You seem to be working under the misconception that food, lodgings, clothing, and other material deprivations are what would make you a slave.
” The prince took a sip of his own tea. “Let me correct you on that.”
The fallen demigod worked hard to continue eating his food in as nonchalant a manner as possible, as if Jarryn’s predatory expression didn’t set him on edge.
“Being held captive is not about whether your cage is gilded or roughly hewn from iron. It is not about rags and bland food. It is about your complete lack of rights in this situation. Surely your time with Cysan, or even among the people here, taught you that?” Jarryn smiled, as if he was finding some sort of twisted amusement from the conversation.
“You have all these material comforts because I allow you to. You are not in control here, Leo, I am. ”
“So, what, are you threatening now? Whips and the promise of pain? You’ve already had me in chains.”
“Whilst it seems that society, myself included, was happy to allow you the misconception of power and control in a world where being special is a complete delusion, it is only a delusion that society allowed you to have. You might have been something as a god, but not as a mortal, and it’s taken slavery to make you realise how insignificant you are.
” Jarryn was holding nothing back. “Everything you do from here on out is subject to the whims of my mood and approval. Bars, chains, even keeping you secluded from society… deprivation of any sort only emphasises this base fact. It makes it easy for you to sit on your moral high ground. You want a real prison… because then you would not have to feel indebted to me. You would be free to curse and hate me…”
Something about the prince’s expression spoke of the sheer distaste he had for the words he was uttering. Leander was slightly comforted to know that the man he had come to love was still there.