Esra dutifully filled a silver carafe with wine, tapped from a private cask that Umbra kept in a cabinet by his desk. Then he set it down, and, his small task complete, rested his hand against the cabinet top to at last steady himself. It looked white against the darkwood. He could see, if he squinted, a now faded mark on his index finger where he’d pierced himself with the darning needle, before his tiny world had shattered around him.
He couldn’t quite believe where he was now standing. His heart was still racing from when the strange knight Arturo had grasped him close, breathed him in. He felt the memory of the cruel hand around his wrist, holding him in place for examination.
Running to Umbra, after that, had felt like running to safety.
From the darkness at the edge of the room, he kept watch on the two knights where they were seated by the fireplace. It was difficult to discern the specifics of their conversation; they spoke idly of names that Esra didn’t recognise, politics of places he’d never been. They kept their voices low. Esra had never heard Umbra raise his voice, not even when angered. Others simply hushed to listen to his command. Perhaps, so assured of their authority, this was just how knights were.
At a lull in conversation, Arturo rolled his shoulders and leaned back luxuriously, a lion lounging in another’s den. In a languid movement, he removed his pointed mask.
Esra let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. The two knights were so identical in stature and build, that for a moment he’d had the chilling notion that their faces would be equally identical. Both had that height, and strength, the same almost unnatural savage perfection, the symmetry of feature.
It was a relief that Arturo’s face was his own. Esra was struck by his handsomeness, the masculine nobility of his features, his deep blue eyes. His dark hair swung forward, just long enough to brush his shoulders.
“Esra.”
The youth turned. In that same moment, Umbra removed his mask. Their eyes met across the room. Firelight glinted off the knight’s hair, caressed the curve of his cheek, brushing the length of his lashes with gold. Esra’s heart panged to see such beauty, his skin thrumming with the heat from the knight’s gaze. In a hot rush, he felt warmth rising in his cheeks, and was glad he stood in darkness.
“Two goblets, Esra,” Umbra said. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a softness to his voice that had been absent before. This private timbre, that was just for him.
“Only two?” Arturo asked. His dark eyes darted over to Esra, who held himself still in the shadows.
“My boy won’t be drinking,” said Umbra with finality.
* * *
As Esra approached the two knights with the heavy carafe of wine, he felt as though he were again walking through the meeting hall of his village.
The steel-clad men of Balor’s Fist sat around his father’s long wooden table, toasting their bloody victory where his father had once broken bread with refugees. He could not take his eyes off their swords, cleaned of gore, and sheathed, but still unnervingly within reach. He’d poured wine for them, these soldiers who had ravaged his home. He’d stoked the fire to keep them warm, as the day turned to night.
Mostly, he’d kept out of the way, and tried not to listen to their talk. As best he could, he made himself small, to pass beneath their notice.
But they’d all looked at him. He could feel the heat of their eyes, the sidelong glances when he stood by their elbow to pour the stolen wine.
He hadn’t understood, until later, that the knight had been looking too.
Two sharp gazes turned to him when he walked over with the silver goblets. His mouth went dry. The knights were mirror images of one another, darkly lit by the firelight, two majestic predators in their lair. The mere sight of them was intimidating. Some instinctual fear, or prey instinct, kept him alert, his pulse thudding. He felt it would be dangerous, somehow, to turn his back on them.
He approached Umbra first, but Umbra inclined his head, ever so slightly, towards the other knight. “Our guest first,” was all he said, his voice a deep rumble.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
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“Pa’r atf olcfra nlcajuf lc Mbwbglj.”
“Snfg rb ojlatoei ab beg Xbv jcv mbecags.” Cgaegb kjr ecjqqfjrfv. “Pa’r j ubbv fcbeut nlcajuf obg j ibgvilcu, wjsyf, bg obg j qglfra qfgobgwlcu atf Snbmjalbc. Dea rb rlcuif-cbaf. Cgf sbe afiilcu wf sbe tjnf cb mbcajmar jygbjv? Ktf klcfr bo Efwfgf bc atf Jbcalcfca tjnf j wbgf mbwqifz qjifaaf. Ktf milwjaf reqqbgar wjcs asqfr bo ugjqf meialnjgr, atf ofgwfcajalbc qgbmfrr lr ojg wbgf ecvfgrabbv, jcv atf julcu–”
“The wine is an import from Remere,” Umbra interjected, “presented in a more seemly container, befitting of your most honorable status. So, you may unguard your tastebuds.”
There was a heartbeat, as Arturo registered this. “At last, you begin to shake off your scruples,” he murmured, enormously pleased. “Victory has relaxed you into your station, it seems. A pretty heathen boy in your quarters, serving smuggled wine…” He took an empty goblet from Esra, without looking at him. “There’s a wild streak to you after all.”
“Hardly wild,” Umbra bristled. “His Majesty sees into me, and he knows my spirit is pure. These are but minor transgressions.”
“So they are. But you need not worry so,” Arturo gave a cavalier shrug, “After all, laws are for the common people. We cannot, as knights, transgress.”
With a swirl of the goblet, he gestured wordlessly for Esra to pour. Esra quickly moved to obey.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Arturo’s head swivel to peer at him. He could feel the severity of the knight’s inspection, judging the poorness of his peasant garb, the peculiarity of his features, his small shaking hands. Esra knew he was not much to look upon. Doubtless the other knight questioned what quality he possibly possessed that could have captivated Umbra so.
“You’re very obedient,” Arturo noted, “for a rebel.”
Shame sliced through him, chest clenching with the pain of his father’s disappointment. Proud Marten had given his life so that his son could warm the black knight’s bed, and serve fine wine to the enemy.
He kept his wet eyes downcast. It took focus to still his hands. The wine gushed from the mouth of the carafe, dark and red as blood. He dared not spill a drop.
“He has been very well-behaved,” said Umbra, by the fire.
Arturo nodded, thoughtful, his eyes still trained on Esra. “Suppose if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be standing here,” he mused.
Esra had thought only of his own survival the night of the bonfires. If he obeyed, if he kept his head down, did everything that was asked of him, he would go on to live another day. And so he had. But to what end? He had survived that torment, only to make it to another.
When Umbra took his goblet, his fingers brushed warmly over the shaking skin of Esra’s palm. As their eyes met; the firelight caught sparks in the smoke of the knight’s eyes. Esra was momentarily captivated. They were back in the meeting hall together, the youth serving the black knight wine. In that moment, their thoughts were as one. They thought of that other world, where, if not for a whim, he’d have let the soldiers drag Esra out into the dark.
His survival depended entirely upon Umbra’s favour, and it would be unwise to forget it.
“Do you know, little one,” Arturo began, breaking the silence, “I’ve known Umbra as long as he’s been a knight, and he’s never brought anyone back before. Was starting to think he didn’t have it in him.”
Esra held his tongue, but his heart pounded in bewilderment. Umbra was so formidable, so experienced, that Esra had naturally assumed there had been others before him. Unable to help himself, he stole a glance at Umbra, seeking confirmation.
Umbra swirled his wine. “My interest is rarely piqued,” he said, and took a sip.
“Suppose I can see some of his appeal, if this is your preference,” Arturo surmised, his unblinking gaze flickering over Esra’s slim figure. “A little underfed for my tastes. But he is unusual-looking enough to strike one’s fancy. Still, you were never one to be swayed by mere good looks. ”
If only they would stop talking about him. Then he could retreat into the safety of the shadows, and wait for the stranger to leave. Instead, he had to stand here, trying to be still, while they examined him as if he were a calf taken to market.
Arturo clicked his tongue with amusement. “All right, Umbra, I yield. Tell me of this one. What makes him so remarkable?”
Umbra settled back. “You know of my mission.”
“Of course.”
Umbra raised an elegant hand, a wordless summon. In that gesture there were echoes of their first night, when the black knight had offered his hand, and Esra had let himself be pulled in.
He swallowed his fear. Arturo’s eyes burned into him as he rested his hand over Umbra’s palm.
Long fingers curled around his own narrow hand, as it was completely engulfed in Umbra’s hot grasp. He was tugged in a little closer, and then Umbra turned his arm, holding the youth out for display.
“Their leader had one son,” said Umbra. There was a gleam in his eyes, of gratification. “This is him.”
Esra’s stomach curdled with shame. He wanted to duck his head, hide his face away, so that he wouldn’t be seen for the pathetic creature that he was, a traitor to his father’s memory. Yet he could hear the pride in Umbra’s voice, the obvious pleasure at his obedience. He dared not move an inch.
“How poetic,” Arturo remarked slowly. His blue eyes were dark, calculating some unknowable quantity. “A souvenir of sorts, then?”
Umbra looked right at Arturo. He was smiling still, but his eyes were hard. His thumb circled gently over the top of Esra’s hand. “It’s my right to take from the populace as I so desire,” he replied. “Learned that from you.”
There was an edge to Umbra’s voice that made Esra’s skin prickle. He could feel the heat of the fireplace at his back, overly warm.
“Why don’t you sit with us, Esra,” Arturo invited, and patted the space on the couch beside him.
Esra’s thoughts raced at the invitation. He dared not disobey a direct order yet the idea of sitting beside the strange knight terrified him. It was not who he belonged to. It was far beyond his station to take his place on the cushions as if they were equals. Arturo must have been teasing him, or testing him. Esra would have understood it more if he’d been asked to serve as a footstool.
Umbra gave Esra’s hand a squeeze, and then released him. “Esra,” he said darkly, “sit down.”
Esra looked at the seat beside him, hesitant. Umbra’s movement stopped him.
The knight plucked a large cushion from the couch, and dropped it on the floor by his feet. He didn’t have to point at it, or pet it like one might with a dog. Esra knew, instinctively, what was expected of him.
He had to be perfect, he reminded himself, as humiliation crept up his spine. His chest seized up as he looked at the stuffed red pillow on the darkwood floor. Head bowed, he dropped silently to his knees.
Arturo let out a little exhale, dark blue eyes widening at the sight before him, the luminous knight in his richly decorated rooms, a slim youth arranged on a cushion by his feet.
Umbra was looking at Arturo, a slight smile at the corners of his mouth as he watched his brother knight soak in the sight of Esra’s obedience.
His hand went to Esra’s head, and he smoothed over the youth’s silky hair in a soothing gesture. He’s pleased, Esra thought thankfully, and leaned into the caress.
“So obedient,” said Arturo again, with a slow curious smile. He seemed mesmerized by the youth now. “You know, his looks didn’t strike me immediately, but the more I look at him, the prettier he gets. Something in the shape of his features… some sort of haunted innocence.”
“How poetic,” Umbra remarked, amused. There was a pride in his voice that filled Esra with warmth.
The knight had not stopped petting him. His elegant fingers slipped easily through the silken strands of Esra’s inky dark hair, the touches rhythmic and soothing. A low thrum of pleasure had begun in the pit of his stomach.
The couch creaked as Arturo leaned forward a little, his eyes piercing Esra.
“Like I said,” Arturo considered. “Not quite my type, but I won’t deny his beauty. He has the look of one of Erasmus’s virgins.”
The attention made Esra want to squirm, but he dared not react, lest he betray Umbra in any way. He kept his head bowed, his gaze downcast, holding himself still. His skin tingled under the warm touch of Umbra’s masterful hand. It was at once calming, and strangely thrilling.
Umbra made a thoughtful sound. “Perhaps. I enjoy Erasmus’s work. Have one of the paintings from that series, actually.” And he gestured somewhere behind Esra’s head to the collection of hanged art.
“Yes,” said Arturo, and he sounded sly. “Believe you and he have similar tastes. You know, you could probably lend him to Erasmus as a model. He’s been on the hunt for his next muse.”
Umbra’s hand hesitated over Esra’s scalp. “Perhaps,” he said, with measured mildness, but Esra could tell he was genuinely interested.
That Umbra considered him worthy of a painting gave Esra a shy pleasure. But the thought daunted him. Surely these things were reserved for only the highest of nobility. Why immortalize a peasant?
Arturo tilted his head, and smiled upon the boy. “Nude would be purest. Lounging on silk sheets… that lithe little body on display.” He seemed to be savouring the thought, as he did the smuggled wine upon his tongue. “There are many who would relish the chance to feast their eyes upon such a unique vision…”
The blood drained from Esra’s face. Umbra could compel him to do this, if he so desired. The youth’s nudity forever captured, his shame placed on exhibition for all to see.
Umbra felt him flinch under his fingers. “Would prefer to keep him to myself.” His hand slipped over the curve of Esra’s skull, stroking a thumb over the nape of his neck in silent reassurance.
“Feeling possessive already, are we?” Arturo observed. “Perhaps one day you could even take that final step, and tell the God King of him.”
“His Majesty already knows my desires,” Umbra answered. “He’s seen Esra himself, of course. Through the mask. I will invoke my right of Knight’s Choice, and Balor has given his blessing.”
For the first time that evening, the other knight appeared caught off-guard, but it was only in the flicker of a moment.
“I shall keep my distance, then.” Arturo’s face broke into a wide smile. His eyes remained dark and unfathomable, like the ocean after nightfall. “Congratulations.”
Ohhhh the title has appeared in the story! I repeat, the title has appeared!!!! Now what does it mean? 🤔
What title?
“His Majesty already knows my desires,” Umbra answered. “He’s seen Esra himself, of course. Through the mask. I will invoke my right of Knight’s Choice, and Balor has given his blessing.”
Ooh when did their king see esra and he’s already introduced him to the king
and its good that esra is starting to feel safe around umbra Thanks for the chapter ❤❤
This chapter felt icky in the best possible way. Not sure of how best to describe it but the way Arturo looks at Esra and the way Umbra displayed him. I’m glad he won’t lend him out to be painted. they’ve a long ways to go. Thanks 😊
This chapter is very interesting. Is perhaps the time the king saw Esra is when he tried opening the door? Like one of those symbols may allow him to look through??? Anyways thanks so much for the update!! Love your work ❤️
You write beautifully but I really can’t stand seeing Esra being petted as a dog or treated as an object even though I know it might change in the future. I just want him to be free but I know right now it is not going that way. Although I’m really curious about the “Knight’s Choice”, maybe this will create a more equal relationship in the long run? Thanks for all!
I really hope Esra learns how to fight back.
Thanks for the chapter!
ONG OMG OMG, this is so fucking intense! And Esra has yet to learn the meaning behind this, omg. Und us, 9f course, too! Though I expect it to be a big thing, if another Kingt is congratulating on this (as if this was a wedding).
Esra: What’s Knights Choice?
Umbra: You’re my wife now.
Esra: 🤔
Arturo: ……
OMG THEY’RE GETTING MARRIED OHHH LALA~!! (at least, that is what I gathered from the last few sentences).
This chapter had me going through so many heart palpitations. First with Umbra referring to Esra as “my boy”, then the fierceness of his protectiveness, and then he flips his head and makes Esra sit by his feet like an object (something tells me Esra would love that if it were under different circumstances). I can tell just how much he treasures Esra… if only he would treasure him as a person instead of an object (looking forward to the character growth!)
Thank you for this chapter!