A King's Treasure (greenbunny and Zombie) [18+]

[Zombie_In_A_Box]

Zombie's character:

 

 

 

Name: Jasper Farrel

Age: 22

Height: 6'1

Hair: Ginger

Eyes: Dark brown

Personality: Fairly naive, but strong-willed. He hates doing anything he doesn't want to, though it's fairly easy to coerce him into doing things by changing his mind about the subject. Of course, humans cannot resist the idea of a reward, either. Growing up in a rather poor family, he clings onto the possibility of a better life, even for a day like a drowning man on a raft. For something he really, really wants, he'd be willing to sacrifice a lot.

 

 

"You sold me out?!" The desperate scream echoed through the empty room. Seriously? He knew they were poor, but God, to sell their own fucking son for money? That was a whole new level of fucked up. Brown eyes were full of fear as he stared at his mother, a tiny, thin woman, her hands crossed over her chest.

 

"This is for your own good. We can't take care of you anymore, you know." She spoke, looking away. "At least you'll get a nice place to sleep there and food." The woman added, as her own son was being dragged out of their little apartment.

 

"You're lying and you fucking know it! I could work, I could bring in money, how could you do this?" Jasper cried out desperately, struggling against the tight hold on both his arms. His screams weren't answered anymore as he was thrown into the carriage, left in the dark with the door locking with a click. Shit... His life was either about to turn to shit, or he was actually going to have the best years of his life. Well, until he got boring. Jasper curled up in the corner of the carriage, which was fairly hard to do for a guy as tall as himself.

 

So, long story short. His parents had apparently decided that they needed more money, and that selling their child to the king was the easiest way to get it. Nice family, indeed. Jasper pressed his forehead against his knees, his arm wrapping around his slim waist. He had to admit, he was curious about how his life would turn out to be, though that didn't mean he was mad as hell at his mother. One shitty mother she was, that was for sure.

 

The carriage stopped, and the door opened again. "On your feet, and behave." The guard ordered, while Jasper slowly got himself out, keeping his head down all the way as he was dragged off to the palace. He was shoved down onto his knees, his curls falling over his face as he kept his gaze down. "Your highness, he's here." The guard spoke clearly, while Jasper bit down onto his lip to still the sob that was threatening to slip past his lips. Ah, jeez. He really hoped this wouldn't be too horrible.

[greenbunny2468]

 

 

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King Thatcher

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Name:

Thatcher Tuor Amariah Desrochers

Age:

31

Personality:

Thatcher Desrochers thinks the sun shines out of his ass. His cruelty leaves people unwilling to contest his will; thus, Thatcher gets most everything he desires. Growing up around politics and told as a child he must be better than others left Thatcher with a slanted view of the world: his way is always the right way.

Most everything to him is a game of logic and forcing people to submit to him. He is very stubborn and possessive. His kingdom knows him as bloodthirsty and ruthless – people often call him “Thanatos” – the God of Death.

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The man pacing back and forth before him looked stricken, a pale sheen to his furrowed brow. Thatcher snorted.

 

“Calm yourself, Monette. I’ve promised to behave – what more could be tormenting you?” Monette waved away his king’s words absentmindedly, his frantic past gaining sped.

 

“You, my liege, are what ails me! What else besides you do I think about?” Monette ran a shaking hand through his hair, only to pause when his fingertips reached the bold-spot in the center of his head. Stress, the doctor had said, stress was making him go bold. Monette let out a humorless laugh. “Day in, day out – I think of nothing but you. I go to bed: you’re on my mind! I wake up! You! You, you, you – I’ll worry about you until all the hairs on my head disappear!”

 

Thatcher gave his loyalist advisor a bland look, his feet spreading wider as he reclined further into this throne – the picture of ease. “What an unhealthy way to live, Monette. I myself, hardly spare you a thought.” Monette tsked at the teasing words, his frown growing deeper.

 

“Today – today is not a funny day! Today one of the rebels after your throne was captured and stowed in the dungeon. Today the queen refuses to live her chambers until she is pregnant. Today protesters threaten to march around the kingdom ranting about some irrational cause. Today, a boy intent on joining your harem will walk through those doors any second. So, today you need –”

 

“I will be on my best – ”

 

“Your best behavior is hardly acceptable! Your best is beheading a man whose child stole from the market!” Monette was panting now, red in the face from screaming, and glaring down Thatcher who simply smiled.

“Then I will be…kind.” Thatcher looked pain as he uttered the last word, as if it was poison. Monette started to laugh; his hands wrapping around his stomach as he hooted, tears leaking down the corner of his eye.

 

“You –” A blank-faced male walking into the room, dressed as a guard, interrupted Monette before he could speak.

 

“My king,” the young man said before gesturing towards the large throne room doors where another guard was dragging someone into the room. “I present: Jasper Farrel.” Thatcher and Monette both looked at the boy held by the newest guard. The first thing crossing Thatcher’s mid: curly. Jasper Farrel was a lanky man. His red curls messy and fiery. He looked as if he was about to cry, his thin, pink lips trembling as encased his bottom lip between his teeth – most likely to withhold any noise from escaping.

 

Thatcher had never seen anyone so freckled. It was as if a painter had stared listlessly at his creamy skin before yelling “what the hell” and splashing paint on his face – uncaring of the little dots and specks left behind. Thatcher had never met anyone who looked messy yet neat at the same time. And the way he was looking down – as if afraid to meet his fate…Thatcher felt something in him shiver.

 

“So, this is the best pleasure my money can buy?” He was addressing Monette, yet the older man held back, pressing his lips together firmly. Thatcher gazed lazily at the male a little longer before turning his gaze back on Jasper. “…I’ve always hated buying things without…” Thatcher paused to think, the correct words escaping him. “Testing the goods.” Were the words he settled on, his voice slow, measured as he eyed Jasper critically as if considering a painting. “Therefore, to make sure it’s money well spent…Jasper, my dear: would you mind terribly if I asked you to strip?” Monette used his now trembling hands to cover his ashen face. Of course, this was Thatcher trying to be kind - the brut.

[Zombie_In_A_Box]

Jasper could feel the man's gaze on him. He couldn't get himself to look up, though. He was afraid of what he would end up seeing. He'd heard plenty of rumors about the king, though who knew if those were actually rumors. It was said that the king was ruthless, a merciless, crazy man who bought people for his own entertainment or pleasure - since the latter part was true, he wouldn't be too surprised if the batshit crazy part was true as well. Either way, he was feeling absolutely terrified, which meant that he was willing to do whatever to keep himself alive and unharmed for as long as possible.

 

The flinch was hard to miss as he was asked to strip. Well, it wasn't like he had much of a choice. Slowly rising to his feet, the man reached up, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the freckles going over his shoulders as well. While his skin wasn't exactly milky-pale, it wasn't that dark either. The freckles still appeared well enough, all over his arms, his shoulders, his back, and soon for the whole world to see - his hips and even his ass. There was a time where he was ashamed of his freckles, but he'd learned to embrace them. Hell, they were a part of who he was.

 

As the shirt fell down onto the ground, his arms were revealed - although he was tall, he didn't have that much muscle. There was only slight definition of it, thanks to the farm work he had been occupied with up until now. The ginger fumbled with his belt slightly, his fingers shaky and numb, but he managed to undo his belt, the button and his zipper, causing the shorts to slip down his slim thighs, now leaving him with just his underwear. Somehow, Jasper just knew that wouldn't be enough. Why were people most often sold? To be used as sex slaves, of course. Besides, the man had told him to strip... If that wasn't evidence enough that all of his body was to be showed off, he didn't know what would be. Hooking his thumbs over the waistband of his dark underwear, the man gulped down nervously, then slowly slid the last piece of clothing off of his body. He stepped out of the underwear, his hands balled into fists by his sides, his heart racing, and his gaze still turned to the ground.

 

"Is... This alright, your highness?" Jasper's voice trembled, drenched in fear and uncertainty. However, it was a wonderful voice. It was smooth, rather low, but not rough. No, anything but rough. It was a voice that, if his family had been different, would've been the one people heard, perhaps, in a church, singing solos along with the choir accompanying him. In his free time, he did sing, mostly songs he'd heard from people passing through, but sadly he'd never gotten any actual musical education. They simply never had the money for that. Finally, the young man dared to raise his eyes, but at that moment, he honestly wished he hadn't. He wanted to keep the image of a terrible man, both outside and inside, in his mind, but God, this would make it really hard to hate the man.

 

Jasper's lips parted in awe, for a moment even forgetting that he was naked. Hell, he actually wanted to thank his family for sending him away. If it meant that he would get time to spend time with that, he didn't mind not seeing them again. Oh, man... He was only human, after all. He couldn't help the fact that he felt attracted to someone who looked as godly as the king... Maybe he wasn't human, that seemed entirely possible right then. Jasper was just a young man, standing naked in front of an incredibly gorgeous man, probably ten years older than he was - and boy oh boy, he was lusting after him already. He was sure there were plenty others who lusted after him as well, but the difference was that Jasper actually had the chance of touching him. In his awe, he even forgot about his fear. It seemed stupid to be afraid of someone so beautiful.

[greenbunny2468]

Thatcher Tuor Amariah Desrochers had always been a predator. Something inside of him had always been able to sniff out weakness like a bloodhound. Often his father had told him he was good at reading people – an observant, smart boy. Yet, Thatcher had never truly been like other boys – like other people. Millions of individuals were observant – good at reading between the lines, finding weakness and storing it away for a rainy day.

 

Thatcher never stored it – as soon as he caught a whiff of weakness, he ran with it. Waved it in your face until you were begging him to stop, kept pushing you until you’d do anything for it to end. And that was the problem. Toys – that broke easily, were cheap toys. Thatcher could afford better – deserved better.

 

He didn’t know if Jasper Farrel was going to be a good toy yet. But there was something breathtaking in the way he removed his clothes. He hadn’t fought Thatcher on it – he simply did it, discarding each layer like a flower blooming slowly. Jasper’s obedience: Thatcher found it innocent and lewd all at once.

 

“You’re marvelous aren’t you?” Thatcher found himself saying aloud. “There’s nothing filthy or practically lustrous about your body, but I know it could be. I can see it – you pink-checked and flush as I tell you to kneel. You’d start to tremble, but it’s be half-nerves and mostly anticipation. You’d sink to your knees slowly, cock already red and swollen from the thought alone. I would stand before you, and you would open right up from me, wouldn’t you? Take me into that warm little mouth of yours…” Monette coughed discreetly, checks slightly rosily along with the other two men in the room. Still Monette fought through his embarrassment to speak;

 

“My king, we must –”Thatcher held up a hand, and Monette fell silent.

Thatcher sighed wistfully. “Duty calls, I suppose.” The king rose from his throne, and all three other men seemed to stand taller. Thatcher descended the steps that allowed him to tower over the others and crossed the room until he was standing before Jasper; one of his callous hands settling on a pale check.

 

“You must forgive me, darling boy. Today is a very busy day. Monette will escort you to the inner harem where you will be living from today forwards.” Thatcher ignored Monette’s chocked gasp at being put on escorting duty. “I hope you like it. From here on – you deserve only the best.”

[Zombie_In_A_Box]

Marvelous. Jasper had never been called that before, he found it truly satisfying. As the king continued talking, he could feel saliva gathering in his mouth - he would take him right in, and he'd thank for the opportunity to do so. Without fully realizing it, he was beginning to grow aroused. It was funny, how much words could influence a human being. The ginger's lips were still parted as Thatcher stood up, in all his glory. It wasn't hard to believe that the sun would shine for him and him alone. Jasper, he... He didn't feel worthy to be standing in front of someone who shone so brightly. Maybe he'd snap out of this trance later, but right now he was willing to do whatever it took just to be close to this man.

 

A shudder ran down Jasper's spine, his cheeks tainting red as a hand touched his cheek. He swallowed down nervously once more, looking up at the king's eyes - he was certainly willing to serve him, do whatever was asked of him. "O-Of course, your highness..." He muttered out, his heart beating like crazy. Oh, crap. He really hoped he didn't embarrass himself in front of the king. He wanted the man to like him. He wanted to be the one Thatcher liked most. That desire was just a small flame for now, but Jasper was sure it would grow as he spent time in the palace.

 

In a short bit, he was escorted through big halls to the harem, by Monette. He didn't actually get dressed, only carrying his clothes with himself, though they would most likely be taken away anyway. They weren't suited for someone who served for the king, after all. Jasper couldn't help but gawk at everything he passed - the windows, the curtains, the shimmering walls, even the exotic plants he'd never seen in his life. Everything looked so different. The palace seemed huge, everything just reminded him of how small and insignificant he actually was. It seemed fit for a man like Thatcher, though... It was just as majestic as the man himself.

 

At last, the two of them reached the harem. It was one big corridor with several rooms at each side, and at the end of it was the common room. It appeared that everyone had gathered there - probably to greet the newbie. Jasper looked around a bit nervously, his heart beginning to race again. There were people of all genders, races and ages there. Though, everyone was incredibly beautiful - none could surpass the king, though, but that was a given. There were ones who were as young, or even younger than himself, though there were those who were probably kept around for experience. He wondered what happened to those who became unwanted. "I-... My name's Jasper." The ginger managed a small smile, feeling all eyes on him. He felt a bit awkward. He was the only one who was fully naked here. However, that was about to change - he was given similar robes to the ones other people were wearing. He noted that he wasn't actually given any underwear, probably to make, err, easier access. It didn't seem like people hated him, though, so that was a relief.

 

One by one, people came up to introduce themselves. Jasper's uncertainty and fear began trickling away, a smile lighting up on his freckled face. This was so much better than home, honestly. He had a feeling he'd really end up liking it here.

[greenbunny2468]

When Monette stormed into the mission room Thatcher was sitting behind his ordinate desk, Merlin and Arthur flanking him. As always the walls, covered in pictures depicting ordinate, graphic scenes of death and war made him draw short, but it was the appearance of the head intelligence adviser and military adviser that made Monette pause. Arthur’s bountiful chest barely contained by her lace corset gave the man even more pause. Unable to stop himself Monette addressed the woman, “You do know shirts were invented so you wouldn’t have to walk around in your knickers, yes?”

 

Arthur grinned cockily at the man, her lustrous blonde tresses reminding Monette of a lion’s mane as the woman snapped back at him. “If you got ‘em, flaunt ‘em.” Arthur’s rough way of talking made Monette shake his head in shame.

 

“If she just stood there and never talked no one would have to know such a beautiful woman was as slovenly as a mutt on the inside.” The words were muttered lowly but they still made Arthur bristle slightly, Merlin raise a perfect eyebrow, and Thatcher smirk.

 

Arthur puffed out her chest, an irritated look descending on her face “Ya little –” Thatcher gripped Arthur’s arm to stop her from marching towards Monette. The woman seemed to stiffen when Thatcher touched her, a flush creeping up her neck, as stars lit up her eyes. Monette rolled his eyes. Arthur’s infatuation with Thatcher was well known and slightly comical at times like these when she turned to putty in the king’s hands.

 

Undisturbed by his intelligence specialist acting odd, Thatcher waved Monette over. Monette quickly walked further into the room until he was standing before the king. He bowed quickly in a show of respect before glancing down at the papers the others at been inspecting.

 

Egon Berger the crisp sheet read followed by a picture of a stern looking young man glaring at the camera. “Age twenty-three,” Monette read aloud before glancing cautiously at Thatcher, a curious shin in his emerald eyes. “Is this…” Thatcher smiled, a small upturn of his lips that spoke of pain and suffering.

 

“What do you think of the Brazen Bull?” Thatcher’s voice was a pleasant hum as Monette blanched. His emerald gaze flickering to Merlin and Author, who both looked resigned, until he settled on the king’s elated expression.

 

“The bull is…” a solid piece of brass shaped after a bull with a door on the side containing a latch. Often prisoners or wrongdoers were placed inside while a fire was set underneath them. The metal would heat up, turning yellow, as the person instead slowly roasted to death. The bull designed to amplify their screams in such a way that made it sound like a bellowing bull…The last time it had been used…Monette shuttered.

 

“The bull would be ill-advised, my liege. Is not Egon required for integration?” Monette’s voice was barely a whisper, his head hung as he wilted under Thatcher’s dark gaze.

 

“Me asking your opinion was…” Thatcher paused, a smile lingering on his face as he gazed heavily at Monette. “Rhetorical. What I need is not information, but fear. For these fools to think my throne could be taken – clearly, I’ve been lenient in punishment lately. This boy will die tomorrow, the bull will be used, and my subjects will gather at the execution ground to witness – any confusion?” Like dominos falling one after another, Monette, Author, and Merlin sunk to one knee, one hand balled up in a fist across their heart, the other behind their back.

 

“None your majesty.” The phrase was spoken together as they bowed to Thatcher. The king let them stew before he spoke the words allowing his subjects to rise.

 

“Very good. Now, then Monette how is my darling Jasper?” The older man looked at the king slowly as if still afraid to encounter his wraith.

 

“The boy is in capable hands.” Monette’s words were measured and held a hint of distress. Keeping track of the king’s newest pet was beneath him – still since it was his new task, it would be done correctly. “He seemed impressed by the palace and received a warm welcome by those in the inner harem.” Thatcher nodded slowly, his lips pursing as he seemed to think.

 

“There is a merchant staying in the palace yes?” Monette gave an affirmation. The man, Albert, prided himself on his jewelry collection. He’d spent the whole of yesterday bragging about it, speaking about the rare pieces he’d collected from all over the world. The queen had been very taken with his stories. “Send him to the inner harem. Make sure Jasper gets first pick.”

Monette wouldn’t dare to challenge the king, but shock lit up his face none the less. “Of course, my liege.” The man turned, intent on carrying out the king’s orders, but he stopped short, speaking to the king without turning around. “Shall Sir Albert visit the queen as well?” Displeasure crossed Thatcher’s face as he consumed Monette words.

 

“Do you know the proper way to train a dog?” He asked in lieu of a proper answer. Monette gave an answer in the negative. “You order them to complete a trick, and no matter how horrid they perform as long as the trick is complete you give them praise for the effort. You do this continuously by rewarding them with treats until your spoken praise is enough to motivate them. Then they get used to doing it without the praise, body condition to a simple word or phrase.” Monette refused to turn around, dread feeling him at where this was going.

 

“I asked your queen to stop acting foolish – told her to leave her room, and be content with money and power. She did not obey. Therefore,” Thatcher spoke slowly, voice emotionless and cold. “She earned no treat.”

 

“And Jasper?” Monette asked unable to help himself.

 

“He obeyed wonderfully, that darling boy will make a fine dog.”

[Zombie_In_A_Box]

Jasper sat on the comfortable leather couch, a woman in her late twenties or early thirties sitting down beside him. "Love, I see you're nervous." The motherly way she addressed him made him feel like he was melting. "It's not that bad here once you get used to everyone. Just don't fight back too much. It'll do you good." Her voice was soft and warm, like fresh honey. Jasper looked up, a smile pulling at his thin, pink lips. "I don't intend to fight someone like that." He assured the woman. He assumed she was one of the more experienced ones. There were marks on her neck, her collarbones, and he was willing to bet there were plenty on her chest and downwards.

 

Her pale skin showed the bruises greatly. They came into contrast with her near-white hair. It didn't seem real, and Jasper almost wanted to ask if it was natural, but he felt like it would come off as rude. It seemed incredibly soft, though. Like the foam on ocean waves. Her eyes were just as light, but blue. It was no wonder the king would want her in the harem. Had her fate been different, she probably could've been a queen. Her name was Cecilia, which seemed to fit her perfectly well. Hell, had the woman not been claimed by another man, he would've tried to get her attention, at the very least. She was stunning.

 

A bit of time passed, and another person approached the common room. Thinking it was the king, Jasper was quick to rise to his feet, only to be pulled back down by Cecilia. "The king rarely comes here himself. Do not worry." She spoke, lightly squeezing his hand before pulling away. The place she'd touched still felt hot. Jasper's brown eyes stared at the door impatiently, curiously, with childlike wonder. What he saw enter through them, well, the person himself was very disappointing, but the object... A cart, full of precious jewels and accessories. His lips parted again, just like they had when he first set his eyes on the king. He hadn't even seen that much treasure in one place before!

 

"I was instructed to let a man named Jasper pick first. He should be a newcomer." At that moment, Jasper felt a shudder run down his spine. Now he was sure that everyone was staring at him. "Come on, move along, boy. We all want to get something." A voice came from the side of the room. Jasper glanced at that direction, his gaze meeting a young, rather fragile-looking black-haired boy. He was leaning against the wall, a scowl on his face. He reminded Jasper of a raven. Not everyone were as nice as Cecilia, he assumed. Even she seemed to be a bit taken aback by the king's gesture... Jealous, even. Still, Jasper rose to his feet, walking up to the cart, with everyone following his every step. He let his eyes skim over the options, but a massive golden ring with a beautiful blue diamond in the middle. Jasper pulled back, slipping the ring on his finger, for a few moments admiring how wonderfully the light reflected from it. Never before had he had the chance to own anything like this. It almost felt like a miracle.

 

Jasper couldn't fight off a small smile from his face. He walked away, letting others have their pick as well. He wouldn't say he chose the most expensive thing, but it was one that seemed the most beautiful. He'd be sure to always wear it. After all, it perfectly fit his slender finger. With the small smile playing on his face, Jasper sat back down on the couch, where Cecilia soon joined, with a new pair of big jade earrings. "Welcome to the good life." She muttered with a smile, taking Jasper's hand to examine the ring closely. It felt oddly warm against his skin. Metals usually didn't behave like that, but... Maybe it was just Jasper's imagination.

[greenbunny2468]

Thatcher, despite public opinion, was anything but fond of the castle's underbelly where the dungeon resided. It was cold, dark, and strangely wet. Thatcher was sure no matter the time of year the dungeon would always be damp - it infuriated him the way the humidity clung to him like a cheap glove. The scent of musk and a tangible air of terror left behind by past prisoners trailed after Thatcher as he stalked down creaking stairs and into the dungeon's belly.

 

Arthur bowed deeply when Thatcher appeared before her, the concrete room the rotting staircase had lead the king holding only his female advisor and a male chained to the wall. Egon Berger was a sight, shirtless and losing blood from innumerable oozing cuts Thatcher cared little to count. Although the crudely carved A cut neatly above his left nipple clued Thatcher onto the source of Berger's damage. Arthur was nothing if not flashy - the blonde women grinned wolfishly at Thatcher as if reading his mind. Her blue eyes gleaming in childish delight. Thatcher rolled his own.

 

"So this is one of the children getting overly ambitious lately - how sad it is when games come to an end and you are not on the winning side."

 

Berger sneered, the hiss slithering past his lips a mix of accumulated pain and acute distaste for Thatcher perhaps.

 

"You have not yet been declared winner either, Thatcher. Overconfidence is a quiet killer." The disrespect lacing Berger's tone was enough to make Thatcher raise a perfectly arched eyebrow in amusement, Arthur's reaction was more severe. Thatcher didn’t respond outwardly when her hand, lighting quick, grasped Berger's head and slammed it into the wall, a sickening crunch resounding throughout the sudden silence; inwardly, however, Thatcher frowned.

 

A dead man would be a horrible conversationalist.

 

"He is king. You will address him as such." Arthur's voice was fierce, the promise of swift death should she not be obeyed illuminating her eyes.

 

Conscious of the irreversible harm that could be bestowed upon their captive, Thatcher placed a calming hand on Arthur's shoulder.

 

"A fool will always act foolish. Don't lose your head over something expected, my dear."

 

Arthur stiffened at Thatcher's touch blushing prettily as she give a swift bow, releasing Berger and stepping aside so Thatcher could peer upon the kneeling man.

 

Berger snorted, his face twisting into an ugly scowl at Arthur’s swift obedience.

 

"I heard you collected dogs instead of men, or in this case," Berger gave Arthur a once over, leering spitefully. "-bitches, but what else would be expected of a coward besides commanding spineless sheep."

 

The growl Arthur released was more threatening then any noise a sheep could utter, but Thatcher's raised hand stopped her from doing anything drastic.

 

"Funny a thief should talk about cowards, don't you lot run in the same crowd?" Thatcher stated conversely, the disinterest blanketing his face unnerving in a chilling way. "After all only a coward would send a thief to steal from me."

 

Berger’s reaction to the casual reference towards his leader was immediate. The chains biding him rattling as he tried to lung forward, fierce protectiveness overriding the expression of pain on his face.

 

“You know nothing – the true king is twice the man you will ever be! Do not speak as if you know him.”

 

True king? The phrase resounded in Thatcher’s mind. The leader of the rebels was going around calling himself the “true king”? The idea of another man claiming his title was laughable, but even still something inside of Thatcher snarled at the reference. He was king – no one else.

 

“If your king,” the word was colored by revulsion. “Is half the man you claim, why is it you are kneeling before me and not him? Only a weakling would send other men in his place when he means to start a war. After all the only interpretation for attacking one of the caravans carrying my crest is declaring war.”

 

Berger laughed. “My king has more important things to attend then dealing with an imposter. Though I suppose he’ll make an exception when the others reach him and tell him of my capture – you’ll know the full might of him very soon, fake.”

 

Arthur’s gleeful chuckle was very inappropriate given the circumstances; however, even Thatcher found himself tying to fight his own urge to laugh.

 

Berger glared at Arthur. “Are you fucking brain dead? Why the hell are you laughing?”

 

Quick to replay before Arthur could Thatcher spoke. “As you said thief, overconfidence is a silent killer.” Thatcher’s tone was pleasant - kind even, yet Berger couldn't help the sense of dread stirring in his stomach.

 

"I mean," Thatcher continued voice light. "Stealing from me and expecting anything less than divine retribution is asking too much."

 

“They’re all dead.” Chimed in Arthur helpfully. “Each every one of them is dead.”

 

“One person is good enough to answer questions.” Thatcher said smoothly following Arthur’s joyful announcement.

 

Thatcher had never seen the color drain from anyone’s face faster than it did Berger’s own. The captive’s expression screamed of heartfelt sorrow. “You bastard! You – you’ll pain for this! The true king will make you pay! The true king will make you pay!”

 

One man only had so much tolerance, and as Berger kept up his infuriating chant of “the true king will make you pay,” Thatcher found himself at the end of his.

 

Grasping Berger’s neck, Thatcher squeezed making the captive gasp, his voice cutting of abruptly at the sudden pressure.

 

“Listen thief, the only annoying person I can stand is Monette, not even my wife affords the same luxury – what makes you think you can madden me and keep your head?” Thatcher’s words were accompanied by a tight squeeze – Berger choked violently. “I am going to ask you two things and the only words that should leave your mouth are answers to my questions, understood?” Desperate to regain air Berger nodded quickly. “Good,” Thatcher replied pleased. “One – why did you attack the caravan and two - the man who is leading you, your king, tell me his name.” Glaring at Berger to enforce his seriousness, Thatcher applied more pressure to Berger’s throat briefly before releasing the man completely.

 

Wheezing urgently, Berger inhaled greedily before spitting at Thatcher's feet. “Of course the son of a used-up whore would only know how to speak with violence. As if I’d ever tell –”

 

Berger didn’t get the chance to complete his second sentence, for Thatcher’s hand was back around his neck, and this time – no matter how much Berger jerked and choked Thatcher didn’t let go until Berger’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body went limp with the type of stillness only found in death.

 

Arthur stiffened, her eyes going wide as she took in Berger’s dead body. “My king –”

 

“There will be others,” Thatcher spoke as he released Berger’s throat, allowing his head to sink swiftly towards his still chest. “This one was no good. Tell Monette to find something else to entertain the kingdom tomorrow since the execution won’t be happening – perhaps a carnival.” The words were said nonchalantly, as if Thatcher hadn’t just killed a man with his bare hands. “Also send word to the north that the caravan carrying their cargo was destroyed and to gather replacements quickly. At first light you will take ten men and personally guard the next convoy.”

 

Arthur’s replay was immediate. “Of course, my king. It will be done.” Turing his back on both the dead body and Arthur, Thatcher stalked irritably towards the staircase – the mention of his dead mother waking ghosts long buried in Thatcher’s head. Voice marred by his hostile mood, the last order Thatcher spoke carried chilling darkness behind it.

 

“Have Monette fetch Jasper before he does anything else, I want him brought to the throne room – it is time my new toy learns what is expected of him if he is to be owned by me."

[Zombie_In_A_Box]

Jasper really couldn't stop gawking at the gorgeous jewel that sat on his finger. He, a boy from such a poor family, now had a ring that... That probably was worth more than his parents got for their own son. That thought set back his joy. His hand lowered to his hip, resting on it as he turned to look around, sadness creeping into his freckled face. He was so overcome with different emotions - immediate lust he felt for the king, awe when he got to see the palace, love from Cecilia, fear for his own life... He couldn't even focus on the fact that his parents had left him, tossed him away like some trash. This wasn't how things were supposed to work. Parents had to love their children no matter what... It didn't make sense.

 

Jasper slowly brought his legs up to himself, leaning against the counter of the couch, seemingly deep in thought. As the king's pet, he could probably offer his parents some financial aid, if he behaved well enough, but... He didn't want to. His parents were the ones who threw him out. He was willing to help them, he was willing to work, he gave up all his dreams so he could provide for his family, and all of that was for nothing! Little by little, as his thoughts spun around his head, the sadness he felt turned into anger, fury even. Here he would have a better life. Better than anything he'd ever gotten. Jasper was absolutely certain it was worth obeying, and he'd try his damn best to please Thatcher, even if partially out of spite. He would get the best he could for himself. And nothing of that would go to his parents. If he was asked to choose between life here and going back to his home, the answer was already obvious to him. Even if he was hurt here, he would still have a nicer place to sleep, food and... Cecilia. Even though he'd only met the woman, he was already fond of her.

 

Footsteps approached to the room once more. This time, Jasper stayed seated, only glancing a curious look at the woman beside him. He didn't think there would be many people visiting them here, for some reason. The more he thought about it, however, the more reasonable it seemed for people to come here - after all, the harem was only for Thatcher's entertainment. They should have people bringing food for them, cleaning up... It wasn't their job, right? It seemed logical in Jasper's head, at least.

 

Brown eyes widened at the sight of the king's adviser. Why would someone so important be here? It didn't quite make sense. And here... The attention was drawn to him once more. "The king requests Jasper in the throne room." Those were the only words spoken, but they were enough to get Jasper to scramble up from the couch, nearly tripping over his robe in his rush. He glanced back at Cecilia just before he left, receiving an encouraging smile which gave him the last boost of confidence he needed to face the king. Monette walked fast, but thankfully Jasper managed to follow after with his long legs, without getting the least bit tired. The gigantic door opened right before his eyes, making his plump lips part once more in awe. Would he ever get used to such luxury? He was afraid of touching anything, what if he dirtied it? The only thing about him fitting in here was the ring, shining perfectly in the room.

 

Jasper hastily dropped to his knees in front of the throne, bowing his head down. His thoughts were still all over the place, but he did remember the words Thatcher spoke to him. He swallowed, feeling his heartbeat increasing already purely from his excitement and quickly growing arousal. Just being in this man's presence sent shivers down his spine. Imagining his hands on his body was almost too much. Thatcher... Without even trying, he had Jasper in his full control. He didn't know if he was supposed to speak, if he was supposed to do anything - he didn't know the rules in this place, but the thing that made the most sense was to make himself look as insignificant in front of the king as possible and await for orders. He was afraid to even look at the other - not purely out of fear of doing something wrong, but just because looking at him felt like staring right at the sun. He didn't feel worthy of having the pleasure of looking at something so gorgeous, either. Quite frankly, it was all overwhelming.

[greenbunny2468]

By the time Thatcher had reached the throne room he’d shed his cold fury like a second skin. Irritation still lingered, but he was of clear enough mind to find humor in Monette’s own irritation. Annoyance radiated from the stout man like a vulgar smell.

 

Monette bowed jerkily before speaking, his voice alit with his dissatisfaction at being treated like an errand boy.

 

“I present one, Jasper Farrel, sire. As you commanded.” If Thatcher had not known the depth of Monette’s loyalty he would have considered the man’s words mocking, instead Thatcher accounted Monette’s chilly tone to his annoyance. Full of good humor Thatcher took in Jasper’s kneeling form. As always Jasper’s easy submission brought a satisfied smile to usually scowling lips – while it was always fun to break in the unruly new concubines there was something sinfully appetizing about Jasper’s ready appetence to submit to Thatcher.

 

“You may raise, dear boy.” There was a delighted edge to Thatcher’s tone as he addressed the kneeling youth that disappeared when he turned to Monette. “You are dismissed. I expect you handle your duty to assemble tomorrow’s carnival with more enthusiasm then you are presenting now.”

 

Monette seemed to flinch at his king’s bitter tone before he bowed once more, sweat gathering on forehead. “Of course, sire. It shall be done.” Turning with a grand sweep of his jacket Monette paused when Thatcher called after him;

 

“See to it that you also send word to our friends in the east that I require next month’s shipment to be made this month. You are to carry this order out with haste, understood?” Stunned by the uncharacteristic request Monette choked back his want to demand an explanation. Choosing instead to nod swiftly and depart from the cold room, leaving Thatcher and Jasper alone.

[Zombie_In_A_Box]

Jasper could have sworn his heart jumped when he heard the king's voice, directed straight at him. There was no harshness, no anger, but... Delight. It was so much different from how Thatcher addressed Monette. Truthfully, that brought immense joy to Jasper. Although there was only one sentence uttered to him directly, he found himself repeating it over and over in his head as he stood up, rising to his full height. At last, his brain stopped by the fact that he was called a dear boy. That may not have been something he was used to be called, but he adored it nonetheless. The way he was, Jasper truly was merely a dog, ready to fulfill any command given to him. He was so taken aback by Thatcher he didn't even need to be trained. But, who knew? Maybe he would find himself disobeying for one reason or another.

 

"M-My king, what can I do for you?" Jasper's voice, for himself, sounded so out of place in this enormous chamber. Finally, albeit shyly, chocolate eyes darted up to steal a quick glance at the king. Of course, the quick glance didn't stay that quick. No, he was still in awe whenever he looked at Thatcher. There was unmistakable hunger and lust growing in his eyes as he drank in the king's features - everything from his flawlessly sculpted face to his God-like body. No, the one in front of him simply could not be human. What little contact Jasper had with him was enough to convince him of that fact. No one could be this perfect.

 

Jasper held his hands down, clasped together as he awaited for further instructions. He toyed slightly with his ring, without consciously realizing the action. He kept shifting it on his finger, twisting it slowly, making sun reflect from it and dance on the walls. Although the room was cold, the man didn't feel uncomfortable. His own body could easily produce enough warmth to heat up the air around him. He was still young, unable to fight off any urges, after all. He would be a fun toy to play with. Jasper's plump lips parted slightly, tongue peeking out momentarily to wet them in his nervousness. What would he be asked to do? Could he really do whatever would be asked of him? He wanted to serve this man however best he could, but... What if it wasn't enough?