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It is almost unbelievable now that the man in my arms, the one murmuring words into my ear, words that would be sweet if they came from anyone but him, once was my greatest enemy. Oh, hell can trick, it can deceive – yet it can never outright lie, and that is one of the many reasons why I will forever treasure his words of love.
___
It was a warm and sunny summer evening when I seriously contemplated murder for the very first time in my life. Light fell on the young man standing in the doorway who was turning his head back almost casually, surveying the room with empty grey eyes staring into a place in the distance that no one else but him could perceive. I suppressed a shudder and tightened the grip on my knife that I knew he could not see. Revenge had seemed such a very simple concept from afar, when I had been first fantasizing, then plotting, and then, finally, taking the steps that would get me into close range of my target. Yet faced with the reality of the deed, it became a lot more complicated.
With a curt nod to the two female servants who had been dusting atrocious wall reliefs I tried to avoid looking at too closely – I wondered how he had pinpointed their positions so exactly – he dismissed them, adding that he did not wish to eat this evening. He barely acknowledged their respectful curtsies, although I suppose he must have heard the movement of their skirts, and just shooed them out of the room with a few decisive hand movements, never even bothering to fully turn around. And then, finally, his back firmly turned to me, we were alone in that anteroom at the base of the prince’s tower.
Prince he claimed to be at least, that Pretender Prince Seru, son of a monster. I stepped closer to get a clear view of the one I would have to kill to avenge my family. If light were a spiral, maybe I could have seen his face more clearly that instant, maybe I could have made out some kind – any kind – of emotion in those features seemingly carved from cold marble, maybe. As it was, only thin beams falling through the spaces between steps of the circular staircase behind him lit his pale face, turning it into an otherworldly landscape of light and shadow. Dust motes danced in the air, a sparkling unholy halo over his head merging with the gleam of his white-blond hair. He appeared icy and remote, as if more than just a physical disability and a stolen title separated him from humanity.
I do not know how long we just stood there, the hilt of my knife turning clammy with cold sweat, until finally he spoke. “You are not a particularly good assassin, are you?” There was, I was surprised to notice, the hint of a smile in his voice. “Letting witnesses get away like that? Usually, I would assume my father had sent you, but it is the wrong night for that, and besides,” – he snorted quietly; do monsters snort? – “father appreciates competence.”
Admittedly, I had not even considered the matter of servants who might remember my face. I had not thought further than slaying the monster or, more likely, dying heroically in the process, and I felt seriously queasy then – it had never occurred to me that in my quest for justice, I might have to kill perfectly innocent kitchen maids whose only fault was being forced to work for a family of monsters. Besides, I had not paid any attention to them whatsoever, and would likely not recognize them if I met them again. To my shame, the logical solution did occur to me, but at least I can say I quickly discarded the idea of just killing everyone in this accursed tower. I do not have the nerve for mass murder, and I suppose I should be forever grateful for that.
So back then, I was at a loss as to just how to salvage the situation. Clearly, the prince had somehow noticed my weapon; whether from my movements or something else I did not know. The only thing he had done was, I noted approvingly, to get his servants to safety, which was not what I would have expected from a monster. He had, however, not called out for his guards, and I was intrigued by this lack of reaction. Did this imply he was convinced he could handle any threat I posed by himself? Or did he simply not trust his own guards? I had to admit the latter would be well justified. After all, the usurper family was not popular, and this was how I had managed to infiltrate the household as well: I had assumed a wrong identity with some faked references, which had been surprisingly easy, and had applied for a job in the Prince’s Guard, having been accepted immediately as the only candidate.
Knowing what I do now, Seru must have been terrified. And yet, none of that showed on his impassive face. “So. It seems you’re not going to stab me immediately, so you and I will talk. Who are you?” he asked, immediately catching himself. “No, wait, I suppose that does not matter. Why are you here, and who is the idiot who let you in?” Leave it to Seru to think practically. Of course, even under immediate threat, he would have wanted to know the details. That man has always run on pride and details, as long as I know him, a habit I suppose he had to develop, to survive as a blind man in a world of hidden knives.
“Your father murdered my family!” I almost screamed. The loss still hurt, even after all those years. It does even now, to be honest. And yet, he seemed completely unmoved. “I am afraid you will have to be a bit more specific. It is hard to keep track.” Hard to keep track of his father’s victims, he meant. How could he be so casual about that? I was seething, and the only thing that kept me from stabbing him right there, right then, were, ironically, my father’s words. A kingdom runs on justice, and that justice should always be served coldly and never in anger. So, avenging my father’s death clearly would have to wait. Sighing, I pushed my knife back into its sheath, which was rewarded with a fleeting smile. The false prince really was beautiful, I noticed absentmindedly, even through my rage. “Is your name really Jas?” he asked.
I should not have been surprised he actually paid attention to servants in his household, but I was. A long time ago, when I had had guards of my own… I admit, I only remember them as faceless and entirely interchangeable entities, and I cannot remember learning their names. I had been a young boy then, of course, no older than twelve summers, and maybe that will suffice as an excuse. Still, I suspect that kind of mistake has never happened to Seru. Ever.
“Jasper, actually”, I answered as calmly as possible. He only shrugged at that, answering it with “So, Jas it is”, and I thought he had not recognized the name – his faint amusement, I put down to the admittedly not particularly cunning choice of alias. Amazingly, Seru neither killed me nor kicked me out that night although honestly he could have been blamed for neither. Instead, he bade me help him up the steep winding stair, to his room at the top of the tower, leaning heavily on my arm all of the way. Only much later that night, back in my own quarters, I noticed he had used the opportunity to steal my knife. Seru had been entirely correct, of course – I was really what amounted to the world’s most inept assassin. I vowed to myself to be a better guard, at least until an opportunity for true justice arose.
___
The tower was a monstrous thing, looking like something right out of one of the darker fairy tales, the ones usually just told after the little children have been sent off to bed. It was not part of the royal palace the usurper currently inhabited. Instead, it was part of his – and thus, by blood, also the prince’s – old family estate. Gloomy, with its halls built of dark stone, the tower was located on a hill overlooking a small, obviously impoverished village and a lake rumored to be inhabited by unspeakable horrors lurking just under the calm surface. I did not doubt those rumors back then, and doubt them even less today. The halls were decorated with dark carpets muffling most sounds, as well as paintings, murals, wall reliefs and tapestry all depicting gruesome scenes involving beings with glowing eyes or entirely too many tentacles. I wondered just who was responsible for this style of interior design.
If I had been only slightly less driven by righteous anger while accepting the position, it could have occurred to me that possibly the young prince, legitimate or not, might not have been an entirely willing accomplice to his father’s crimes. He must have been what, ten years old, the night his father had bathed the palace in blood? Also, the clause in my contract that clearly stated to make sure the prince did not leave the premises could have given me a clue. So could have the fact that he trusted me enough to keep me on as his guard, even after the way we had met.
No matter how much I had prepared for my day of glorious revenge, I began to seriously rethink my previous concept of justice. I had trained as a fighter under my assumed identity, only with the goal of finally destroying my enemy, the man currently holding the title that should rightfully be my own. And yet… As it was, after spending a week or so at that tower, I resented the place as well as the false prince inhabiting it, but he still had to exhibit any sure sign of being an irredeemable monster or consulting with darker forces. Oh, Seru was icy, unapproachable, equally rude to everyone, and occasionally made jokes fit to freeze my blood, no doubt about that. However, surely, that was no crime deserving death. I also never saw him abusing a servant, and the chamber maids did not hesitate to enter a room he was in.
___
Unbelievably, Prince Seru seemed to enjoy spending the days in the old family library, sitting at an ancient reading desk whose carvings I tried my best to ignore. He sat there, quietly turning the pages in some book or other, apparently chosen at random. At my – less than tactful, I have to admit now – inquiry, he just replied he liked the feeling of book pages under his hands and the sound they made when turning them, just like any other scholar, and he was surely learning just as much from them. I did not ask again.
We were slowly but surely growing comfortable with each other, so I was not particularly surprised when, one afternoon in the library, he asked me to read to him. “A fairy tale, maybe”, he said. “Or a poem.” The book he held out to me was the Almanac of Common Poultry Diseases, and no doubt if the roles had been reserved, Seru would have found a scathingly funny remark to make. I, however, lacked his cruel wit. And so I began to read, a romantic fairy tale that had nothing to do with goose livers at all, and that Seru had no difficulties reading the ending of after my voice had grown tired. He even managed to find a Happy Ever After in the chapter about fungal infections.
Only once again I raised a knife against him, and that was almost in jest, without any intention of hurting him. It was not a real weapon anyway, just one of the small cutlery knives from the dinner table – not that those could not do any damage –, and I was merely trying to find out whether the prince would notice. Of course he did, immediately, although he refused to tell me whether it was the noise I made or the movement of the air. Instead, he scathingly critiqued my footwork. I honestly did not think my stance had been quite that bad, but all things considered it seemed gauche to argue the point.
And inevitably, in the mornings and the evenings, he demanded my assistance in navigating that staircase. In hindsight, I should have realized someone as competent and independent as Seru was unlikely to have difficulties with a staircase he knew well, in the home of his birth. And if he did, I knew at least subconsciously even then that surely my hand at the small of his back was not much of assistance in that aspect. Neither of us ever pointed that out, of course.
___
Still, I was surprised when one evening, instead of leaving me at the top of the stairs, closing the bedroom door in my face as usual, Seru invited me in with a regal gesture of his hand. “Sit down”, he said without inflection. I looked around. The only place to sit – since I definitely was not going to just sit on his bed without invitation – was an old ugly chair currently occupied by a pile of books. The bedroom reading of a blind man? I moved to put the books somewhere else.
Curiously, I looked at the titles. There were the tomes of dark magic and grimoires of demonology I had been fearing! I shivered, trying not to speculate about what kind of leather they were bound in… And some of the titles glowed. Despite my expectations, I had never seen any books of this kind in the library, presumably because Seru had removed them to his room first… I frowned at him, never mind he could not see my expression – surely he could guess my thoughts just fine. Not for one second I believed he could have simply left those books lying around by accident. These things just did not happen to Seru. So just what was he plotting now?
Seru sat on the edge of the bed, seemingly perfectly relaxed, staring off into empty space. His face, predictably, stayed perfectly still even when I carelessly dumped the books on the floor. I did not care in the least if someone’s demon summoning instructions acquired dog-ears. Apparently, neither did Seru. “I can read them, you know?” he said quietly. “The glyphs. They are written in hellfire, which is the only light my eyes will ever seen. Father has made sure of that.” I honestly did not know how to reply to that. Seru sounded forlorn, the first time he had ever shown me so much emotion, and I was torn between running from the room in a panic and simply hugging him.
In the end, I did neither. Seru would not have appreciated me to acknowledge his moment of what he would consider weakness. I simply sat down and waited, awkwardly looking around the room. It was a nice enough room, I supposed. Luxurious at the very least, and very tidy, with all furniture firmly mounted to the floor and all carpets glued down. The colors of curtains and carpet did not entirely match, which implied Seru might even have chosen them by himself. Or that no one had cared. I swallowed.
On the bedside table, there stood a small chess set, the most unusual I had ever seen. The board was beautifully crafted, with the black squares slightly raised compared to the white ones, and all squares having a tiny hole in the middle for the pieces to be plugged in. The pieces were marked too: the black ones with a tiny nail on top, so they could be distinguished by touch. A clever design, and I could not resist touching the pieces.
“Do you play?” I asked, aware that it was an inadequate answer to what he had just told me. And still, it seemed like I had said the right thing for once. Seru’s face lit up. “What, you think I keep the board around for decoration?” he drawled. “Because it looks so nice? Oh, wait.” Fortunately, he seemed genuinely amused, not offended or even hurt – I had learned to distinguish those emotions by now, although they looked almost, but only almost, the same on Seru’s face.
I took this to mean he wanted a match. “Choose your color.” I said, smiling and pulling the chair to a proper position at the bedside table. Seru looked at me point blank, and I wondered how much, if anything, he could make out in the reflected light from the glyphs still glowing on the floor. “You are black, then, Prince Jasper. After all, you have experience with impaled heads, or so I heard.”
My stomach dropped. I knew he was merely trying to rattle me before the match, a perfectly legitimate tactic, of course, and yet – how dare he? It was one thing to show he knew perfectly well who I was and how my family had died. Indeed, he probably had known on that first evening. It was another matter entirely, however, to make callous jokes about that kind of thing. There must be ice water flowing in his veins instead of blood. I hissed. “You are looking for a fight then, not a game.”
“Is there a difference?” Seru smiled coldly at me. No matter how angry I was, I also had to admit I liked his true smile a lot better. And also that he did not have many reasons to smile. Is it possible to be absolutely furious and feel desperately sorry for someone at the same time? If so, that comes close to what I was experiencing. Seru was not smiling anymore when he gestured with his hand to encompass the whole room. “Choose your weapon, then. It is not as if there were a lack thereof.” Only then did I notice the knives. Freshly oiled with gleaming blades, they were lined up on the windowsill, among them my own knife which to demand back I had somehow never found the right words for. I picked it up, waiting a few loaded moments before pushing it back into the sheath at my belt where it belonged. “I thought we had already established it is your first move”, I replied as calmly as possible, which was admittedly not very.
“It has been nine years, nine months and nine days”, he said quietly but intently. “Tonight, I believe there is going to be justice. Of some sort. Maybe.” I shivered. I had not been counting the days in this way, but the numbers probably had a meaning to the sort of person I was dealing with. I glanced at the ominous books on the floor again. If that was the kind of literature Seru had grown up with, I almost could not blame him. Much. I wondered what, if anything, he was planning to conjure that night.
___
What he then suggested shocked me even more, and I was only surprised that I had any capacity left for feeling shocked. Seru has always had that unique talent for rattling people… And still, I wondered what sinister scheme went on in his head. Surely, he was not suggesting this without any kind of ulterior motive. With his sworn enemy. Without eyesight. In a tower room filled with tomes of darkest magic. It seemed truly insane. Then again, if his hidden agenda was simply to shell-shock me until nothing would surprise me anymore, he was rapidly succeeding.
It is not as if I had been entirely unfamiliar with the basic concept. I had even played something like this before, although it had involved cards instead of a board, and more than just a few drinks… “You want to play what?” I exclaimed, incredulously. Seru just grinned. “But you – you are not even going to…” I trailed off, remembering my manners just in time, even if Seru did not remember his. Of course he knew perfectly well he was not going to see anything; there was no need to call undue attention to the fact. “I will know”, he simply said, ice cold bastard that he was. Of course, that meant I could not possibly back down.
Seru without hesitation opened with his King’s Pawn, and the fight was on. I could say now it was a fascinating match, but honestly, I cannot remember much of what was happening on the board. It was a hard fight, though. I clearly remember Seru’s nimble fingers dancing over the board, always keeping track of the position, and I remember the expression on his face, elated, happier during the fight than I had ever seen him before, as if he had been born for battle. He was beautiful. I wondered if that was what he looked like during other kinds of war, as well.
He played aggressively, and I had never expected anything else from him. He was also not making any compromise in his tactics when it came to the particular variation of chess we were playing. While I, usually not a particularly defensive player either, at least initially tried to avoid exchanging pieces, he had no such compunctions. In the more ordinary version of chess, it is a perfectly acceptable strategy to exchange a bishop for three pawns. In strip chess, it is madness.
He was not shy about his body either, and never hesitated when he had to take off an article of clothing, doing so in a swift and matter of fact way that I envied. Even knowing Seru could not see me, would not judge me by my looks, I sometimes hesitated, and was teased mercilessly for it. It was not as if I felt particularly ugly, either. I knew I was athletic, at least, which made up for a lot when it came to looks. It was just… Under Seru’s empty gaze, I felt naked. And at the same time, I wanted the game to never end. It was absurd, really. Never before had I felt so alive than in this fight.
Never before had I had an opponent like this. It is impossible to describe just how wonderful he looked. Most people, I had learned growing up, acted somehow differently when they were exposed to others, provocatively or shyly, depending on their personality. Not so Seru – he sat there as if unaware he was almost naked, his movements entirely natural, his face blank, apparently concentrating on the game only. Light played on his hand and his face, the shadows of his fingers marking the board as the sinister battlefield it truly was. He truly was the greatest opponent I had ever faced, and losing to him would mean no shame.
That did not mean I was not trying to win the game. I tried my best, knowing very soon it would not be enough. I was by no means a bad player but the largest part of my playing experience had been gained in taverns, where a game was mostly about the companionship, and maybe also a few coins, the price of the next beer. Seru’s cold, hard determination was something entirely else. Seru played to kill, pure and simple, and I could not keep my eyes off him.
Watching him meant I also could not help noticing his scars. I sighed inwardly, knowing that whatever had happened to Seru had been bad enough to enable him to casually joke about mass murder. I supposed it was not easy, growing up with a father like that. People whispered the usurper king had even sacrificed his own blood for attaining the throne… And that there once had been an older brother to the crown prince, once, a long time ago. No, Seru’s death would not bring any justice, I knew that now.
___
The game ended too soon. With a genuine smile, Seru indicated the combination that would checkmate me in eight moves. I would have never seen that one – it was complicated and required multiple sacrifices, but in the end, my king would have no way out. Seru laughed. “It seems I have not enough clothes left to play this”, he said. “You win.” Still, he did not seem to mind, and I was glad of it. Finally, I could tease him back at least a bit. “You know the rules” I reminded him. Of course, being a gentleman, I would not have insisted had he shown any kind of discomfort, and I was watching closely. Yet all Seru did was shrug and remove the rest of his clothes methodically. Did really nothing unsettle that man?
And then… “Undress for me?” he asked. Was there actually a hint of shyness in his voice? Still, he was clearly interested, judging not only by his words. I chuckled and joined him on the bed, careful to let him know exactly where I was. It was difficult to strip for a blind man properly, but I’d like to think I managed, going slowly and always making a tiny bit more noise than strictly necessary when handling the fabric. I could pinpoint the exact moment Seru noticed what I was doing. He actually sniggered. Still, he appreciated it just fine.
I have no idea who started kissing whom, and how exactly I ended up under him, writhing helplessly while he just calmly smiled, perfectly in control I longed to strip from him. Fortunately, I knew how to go about that, at least – or so I thought. Gently I touched him and equally gently I showed him how I liked to be touched. And Seru was just as intense in making love as in fighting. He was just as unconcerned with how he looked as earlier, even while having me in his mouth, unashamedly moaning and drooling seemingly without a care in the world. Of course, I also did my best to encourage him, not that he needed much in these terms. I guess I was – and still am – a very lucky man.
When he fetched the oil – the bottle from the windowsill, the same one he’d used to polish the knives – he picked up his own blade, the scary one with the magical sigils, and held it a bit longer than strictly necessary. I grinned at that. So he had understood my wordless message earlier. Strangely, it made me want him even more.
There was no further hesitation, and Seru needed less assistance than I would have thought possible – absolutely no question that he was in control, of himself, of me, of the situation, even while I was guiding his hands. How could I ever have thought I would manage to shatter that? Instead, I think I made some embarassing little noises that just made Seru smile at me sweetly while he was calmly continuing the things he was doing to me. For just one second, it was as if he was looking into my eyes, into my very soul. When he finally pushed into me, he gave a beastlike growl and I came apart.
Afterwards, he seemed subdued, lost in thought. “What is it?” I asked, hoping he did not already regret what had happened. I suspected it had nothing to do with that, though. I pulled him into my arms. “Do not believe even for a second I do not know you had an ulterior motive for seducing me. I know, and as long as you are not planning to sacrifice me to some hellish fiend or anything, we are fine, and all is forgiven. Really.” He gave a wobbly smile, promising it was nothing like that. Strangely, I actually believed him, even with the sinking feeling that a lot of forgiveness indeed would be required. “We are fine” I repeated, softly stroking his hair while Seru was dozing off in my arms. Who would have thought Seru liked to cuddle?
___
We had to get up again much too early. “Ah”, Seru said in a tone between disappointment and resignation. “He is here. He really came.” Carelessly, he dressed again in the clothes he had discarded earlier, expensive silks worthy of a prince yet hopelessly wrinkled now. He looked wonderful still, even with disheveled clothes and mussed hair. “It does not matter. I am prepared.” I wondered whether he was talking about the arcane texts glowing in the corner or that wicked-looking knife. Still, he made no move to pick either up. Instead he just sat back on the bad, sighing.
“Who is coming?” I asked tentatively, but Seru simply laughed at me. “Nine guesses” was his only reply. Answer enough, I supposed, and I shuddered, bile rising in my throat. Never had I even dreamt of going up against the king who had gained his throne by dark magic, and I had no hope of fighting him and win. Still, Seru was not running – of course not; I wondered whether he even knew the concept of strategic retreat – so neither would I.
After a few minutes – or a lifetime, depending on how you look at it – I also finally sensed what Seru had perceived much earlier. It felt like the very stone of the tower vibrating, recognizing its true master. I gripped my knife tightly, more to calm my nerves than anything else. It shames me to say, but honestly I was not able to move when the two figures entered the tower room, barely resisting the urge to curl up in a ball.
One was an ordinary looking man, sharing his son’s fine features but neither his hair nor, obviously, his eyes. The king had perfectly ordinary brown hair and brown eyes, and I supposed that was what Seru would have looked like as well, had he not been touched by the fires of hell. That alone would already have been enough for me to hate the man. The other figure, however, was nowhere near human. I would have called it a cat, if cats were twenty times as large, with purple-black scales and burning eyes that actually gave off sparks. I was fascinated despite myself, and I thought I even recognized the thing from one of the wall paintings. The beast was kept on some kind of leash; I noticed the collar glowing with the same kind of glyphs I was already familiar with from Seru’s books. The light itself was warped, wrong.
Seru, however, looked entirely unafraid when he stepped forward, facing man and beast… Or, I should say, the two beasts, for the one in cat form, while horrible enough, had at least not decided freely to wreak havoc in our world. It had been summoned to do so. So, there were clearly at least two hellish beasts in this room. Three? I was not entirely sure of Seru, and even today I believe there is possibly enough hellfire in him. Still, for personal reasons, I refuse to count him.
In that moment, I was incredibly proud of my lover. He did not flinch, not even when with a tiny movement of his hand, wordlessly, the monster in human skin let the cat beast off its leash. Seru just laughed, the coldest laughter I had heard from him yet. He paid no attention to the cat-beast circling him, although I was sure he could see the creature clearly. When he spoke, it was to his father only.
“Really, father”, he said. “I am disappointed. What did you promise this creature, anyway? Another virgin sacrifice? I have almost hoped you would try this.” He grinned without any actual mirth, poking the hellish cat on the nose with his finger unconcernedly, while a few things fell in place for me. I was impressed despite myself – that was incredibly cold indeed. “That is shoddy conjuring, right there…” Even before Seru had finished speaking, the usurper king was running, closely followed by the animal-shaped beast that had finally realized it would not receive the sacrifice it demanded. The king ran fast and made it far – almost down to the middle of the stairwell.
___
When I helped Seru down those spiraling stairs for the very last time – I was sure he would not want to keep living in that tower, and I was right – I carried him most of the way. No one should have to walk over his own father’s earthly remains, ice water in his veins or no. I have never dared to asked him whether, in those last few minutes, he had been able to see his father or not. Yet when we made our way down, I covered his eyes with my hands, just in case.