Chapter Text
Ancel woke up to the heat of another body pressed close to his own, the sound of gentle snores in his ear.
For a breathless, panic-stricken moment, he froze, the weight of the arm slung across his chest threatening to suffocate him. By the time his sleep-addled mind comprehended that the arm must be his patron’s, he’d already let out an involuntary sound of distress.
He bit his lip to stifle himself, but it was too late. The man beside him stirred, and a sleepy voice slurred, “Ancel?”
Shocked from his stupor, Ancel thought quickly. Louans didn’t like it when Ancel made a nuisance of himself. It was practically unheard of that he let him stay the night instead of banishing him to his own bed after taking his pleasure, and surely the last thing he wanted to do upon waking was to deal with Ancel’s brief moment of panic. He needed a way to distract him.
“Mmmh, Louans,” he murmured, pitching his voice to a seductive purr with practised ease. He turned over to face his patron, prepared to flutter his eyelashes—
Only to freeze again as someone who was decidedly not Louans stared back at him.
“Louans?” The man frowned, his brown eyes puzzled. “Ancel, what—”
Fuck. Ancel fought down another surge of panic. What was happening? Had Louans loaned him out to an acquaintance, and, dazed with sleep, he’d forgotten all about it? It had happened before, whenever Louans wanted to curry favour with someone. The man didn’t seem threatening, but looks could be deceiving, and there was one thing Ancel was certain of: no man appreciated a pet addressing him by someone else’s name. Heart pounding, he tried to cover up his mistake as best he could.
“Apologies,” he breathed, gazing up at the stranger from under his lashes as he slowly brushed his fingers down his face as if to wipe away the remnants of sleep, lingering on his lips. The man’s gaze zeroed in on his mouth, and Ancel felt a mix of triumph and relief. He could still salvage this. “I must’ve had a strange dream,” he murmured, sliding closer to the man. “Don’t mind me.”
From what Ancel could tell, the man looked decent enough; the parts of his body that were visible above the bedcovers were trim without being excessively muscled, and he seemed younger than Louans or most of Ancel’s previous patrons; perhaps in his early thirties. His brown hair was tousled from sleep, and his features were neither particularly handsome nor ugly. All in all, Ancel decided, he’d definitely had worse.
He leaned in to trail his fingers across the man’s bare chest, but, with a quick, efficient move, the man caught his hand and held it captive between their bodies. He studied Ancel, the frown still marring his brow.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern plain on his face. “You seem…spooked. Did you have a nightmare?”
It was second nature to smile, to toss his hair behind him with an artful gesture that let his flimsy sleep shirt slide off his shoulder, baring his fine, pale skin. “I’m fine,” Ancel purred.
The man didn’t acknowledge Ancel’s move, instead continuing to regard him critically for a moment longer. “All right,” he finally said. He didn’t seem convinced, but he also didn’t bother pushing further. And why would he? As long as Ancel kept him satisfied, it wouldn’t matter to him what went on behind the façade.
“You’re awake early,” the man noted after a moment’s silence, glancing towards the window where dawn was only just breaking. “After you spent so long holed up with Laurent last night, I would have thought you’d want to sleep in.”
Not a jealous man, then, if he didn’t mind Ancel spending time with whoever this Laurent person was. Ancel wracked his brain for a face to go with the name but came up empty. The only Laurent he knew of was the Crown Prince, and besides living far away in the palace in Arles, he would hardly be spending time with the likes of Ancel.
“Since we’re both awake, why don’t you let me make it worth your while,” Ancel suggested, licking his lips obscenely to make his meaning obvious. He didn’t particularly want to be fucked by a random stranger, but it might be worth it to put the man in a good mood so he didn’t complain about Ancel to Louans.
To his consternation, the man shook his head, although he at least had the good grace to look regretful about it.
“Perhaps later, if you’re not busy? I have an early meeting about the new schools we’re going to build.” With that, the man sat up fully and then left the bed, shrugging on a plain brown robe over his sleep trousers. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to stay for breakfast, but I’ll make it up to you with a nice dinner, all right?”
The man vanished into an adjacent room, and Ancel heard the sound of splashing water. A bathing chamber, he assumed. Returning, the man walked over to a finely carved wardrobe at the far wall of the room and got dressed with efficient movements. He leaned in to press a quick kiss to Ancel’s lips, shot him a parting smile, and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.
Alone, Ancel sat up slowly, his mind whirling. What the hell had just happened? And, more importantly, why couldn’t he remember anything about this strange man?
Perhaps the stranger’s belongings would give him some clue. Ancel looked around, noting the fine quality of everything from the bed linens to the expensive-looking carpet covering the floor. There was no way Louans could ever afford furnishings of such quality, so this must be the stranger’s home, and he must be richer than anyone Ancel had ever met before.
Getting slowly to his feet, Ancel took stock of his body. To his surprise, there were no deep aches or fresh bruises mottling his skin, and his head didn’t hurt the way it sometimes did after Louans got carried away pulling his hair while he fucked him from behind. Huh. The stranger must have been unusually gentle, Ancel supposed. Well, he wasn’t about to complain.
The window was open, and Ancel shivered as a cool breeze hit his skin. He didn’t see his silks anywhere, so instead he reached for the man’s discarded robe, which had been neatly placed over the back of a chair beside the wardrobe. It looked plain, no decorations adorning the brown fabric, but Ancel almost gasped out loud as he felt its softness. Without further ado, he pulled it on over his thin sleep shirt, a soft sigh escaping him at the immediate feeling of comfort settling around him.
There wasn’t much else to be found in the room beside the bed and the wardrobe, so he made his way through the door that didn’t lead to the bathing chamber and found himself in what looked like a mix between a study and a sitting room. A couch and several comfortable-looking armchairs were grouped around a low table, while a sideboard held an assortment of expensive-looking bottles and decanters. Placed below the large window letting the morning sun into the room was a large writing desk, overflowing with books and documents. Clearly, the stranger was a learned man.
For a brief moment, Ancel regretted that he couldn’t read. Surely, among the many documents, there would have been some clue to the man’s identity, and perhaps even information about how long Ancel was expected to serve him. Still, it couldn’t hurt to have a quick look. Perhaps there were seals or crests he might recognise.
He picked up the topmost document, which from the looks of it appeared to be a recently written letter, with an address line and a neat signature at the bottom.
Berenger, it read.
For the second time in less than an hour, Ancel froze.
How did he know what the signature said? He couldn’t read, couldn’t even recognise a few simple words. He’d signed his contract with Louans by scrawling a large X for his name, after having the contents read to him. So how the fuck was he suddenly able to understand—
Feverishly, his eyes scanned the rest of the letter, starting from the top. It was addressed to a certain Parsins, and—Ancel’s hysteria rose ever higher as he continued to read and understood every word, slow going though it was—it gave a brief account of the writer’s last few weeks, along with instructions regarding the writer’s estate back in Varenne. Again, I cannot thank you enough for all your invaluable help, the last line read. In gratitude, Berenger.
Ancel sat down hard on the plush chair in front of the desk, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he fought to keep a hold of himself. His mind was buzzing with questions upon questions. What on earth was going on? Was he losing his mind? How was it possible that he suddenly knew how to read? And who was this Berenger, and why had Ancel been loaned to him? He was positive he’d never heard the name before; but if the contents of the letter were to be believed, the man’s estate was in Varenne, which was on the Vaskian border and a long way from anywhere Ancel had ever lived, so why would he have?
A knock on the door shocked him from his frantic thoughts, and while he was still debating whether he should simply hide until Berenger returned and demanded his company, or whether he should try and bluff his way through whatever awaited him on the other side of the door, the decision was taken out of his hands as the door swung open and a man dressed in what was clearly a servant’s uniform entered from the small vestibule, balancing a large tray.
“Lord Berenger asked for breakfast to be sent up,” the man explained with a neutral expression. To Ancel’s relief, he didn’t seem surprised to find him in the lord’s rooms, so perhaps Berenger had left instructions with the servants. The man set the tray down on the low table, gave an odd sort of half-bow, and left before Ancel had gathered his wits enough to try and find out more about his situation.
Oh well, further inquiries would have to wait until after breakfast. The mouth-watering smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries wafted through the air, and Ancel suddenly realised just how hungry he was. Abandoning his search of Berenger’s desk, he flopped down onto the couch and grabbed a delicious-looking croissant, still warm from the oven. He barely bit back a moan as the buttery taste flooded his mouth, and he finished the entire pastry in a matter of moments. In addition to the croissant, the tray held a collection of tiny, intricate pastries, the likes of which Ancel had never even seen before, along with candied fruits and sweet cakes. The food provided by Louans was miles above anything Ancel had grown up on, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the feast now spread out in front of him.
He was making a mess of the finely appointed room, spraying crumbs and little flakes of pastry, but he didn’t care. Let Berenger take it out on him later if he wanted; for now, Ancel was enjoying the best breakfast of his life.
Once the entire tray was emptied and Ancel felt half delirious from the sugar rush, he decided to investigate some more. Whatever had caused this annoying gap in his memory, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to find out as much about his situation as he could.
Sounds were drifting in through the window, increasing in volume as the morning grew later. His first glance outside told Ancel that he was somewhere he’d never laid eyes on before: the window looked out over a large, well-tended garden, and now that he was paying attention, he could detect the smell of the sea on the breeze, although it smelled fresher than the dockside districts of Sanpelier he’d grown up in. The garden looked new, many of the plants and trees still quite small, and some of the noise sounded like there might still be some construction work going on somewhere inside the building. A newly built place, then, and, judging from the view, larger and more extravagant than anything Ancel had ever seen before. Either Berenger was even more ridiculously rich than he’d assumed, or this was something else entirely.
Perhaps the documents on the desk would provide more information? Since he had apparently magically learned to read overnight, Ancel thought he might just as well make use of his new skill.
With newfound determination, he settled back down at the desk and began to leaf through the veritable mountain of documents. He quickly realised that it was a mix of extensive correspondence, ledgers, and notes on what appeared to be a project involving several new buildings—new schools, he recalled. Berenger had been talking about building new schools.
Another letter caught his attention, this one written in a spidery hand and addressed to Berenger. The signature at the bottom was a barely-legible scrawl, but Ancel thought it might say Parsins. Perhaps this was the letter Berenger had been replying to. He scanned the contents—while he was able to understand what had been written, it was still a bit of a struggle, as if reading was something he didn’t have much experience with—and did a double-take when he came to a paragraph that was Parsins asking Berenger how he was faring.
Has work on the new palace finally been completed? I would never presume to know the King’s mind, but it baffles me that he could not even wait for the building to be finished before moving the entire court to Marlas. How are you settling into your new role? I’m sure there is much work for the council as His Majesty and Damianos-Exalted plan the unification of the two kingdoms. Even though it is not my place, I would beg you to take care of yourself, and to remember to sleep and eat on occasion.
Slowly, Ancel put down the letter. He didn’t know much about politics—he’d found that most men didn’t care to hear his opinions; they only wanted his pretty looks and a slick hole to fuck—but he was quite certain that Vere didn’t have a King, and hadn’t had one ever since both King Aleron and his heir, Crown Prince Auguste, had fallen in the battle of Marlas. On that note, moving the court to Marlas? The royal court of Vere was in Arles, everyone knew that. It was Ancel’s greatest and most secret ambition to one day become one of the glamorous pets that lived inside the palace, serving the lords and ladies of the court. And wasn’t Marlas in Akielon territory anyway, ever since Vere had lost that fateful battle? Even more troubling, unification of the two kingdoms? Vere and Akielos were ancient enemies, even he knew that. Surely, he would have heard people talking about such a drastic change of politics?
Abandoning his position at the desk, he returned to the window, staring blindly at the colourful flower beds as he tried to come up with a logical explanation for what he’d just read. His first thought was that of an elaborate conspiracy, designed to trick him, but he dismissed the idea immediately. He was just a jumped-up whore, a nobody in the grand scheme of things. No one would go to this much trouble because of him. Part of him wanted to disregard the contents of the letter, dismiss them as falsehoods or even outright lies, but why would these people lie about something so easily verified?
No, he finally realised with a sickening lurch of his stomach, the contents of the letter must be true. But if the last thing Ancel remembered was Vere having a Regent, since the Crown Prince was still too young to rule…and if, apparently, Vere now had a King, the royal court had been moved to what he remembered to be Akielon territory, and Vere and Akielos were about to unite, then that could only mean one thing.
Ancel was missing a lot more time than just a day or two.