TWO

    The archaic phrasing was so absurd it took a moment to register. "Are you insane?!" Mars exclaimed, his voice hoarse. Struggling was futile; the man’s grip was like iron.

    The man’s eyes, a startling, sharp green,widened then narrowed at the boy. "Is that the way to speak to-"

    "Shut up!" Mars snapped, the dam of his composure breaking. "I don't know where I am, and I'm hungry. Do you think I have the energy to deal with you?" Tears, his ever-present betrayers, welled in his light blue eyes, and a flush of pink spread across his pale cheeks and nose. He was tired, scared, and so, so hungry.

    "You're a man," the stranger said, his tone shifting from threatening to deeply amused. "Why are you crying?"

    "Excuse me," Mars sniffled, trying to twist away.

    "And why do you think I would let you go, hmm?" The arm tightened, pulling him impossibly closer.

    'What the fuck is wrong with this guy?' Mars thought, despair washing over him.

    "Uh, I don't know... basic human decency?" he retorted, forcing down the urge to do an eye-roll.

    The man looked genuinely baffled, his head cocking to the side like a predatory tiger. Finally, he released his hold. Mars scrambled back, putting a few precious feet between them.

    "Thank you," he mumbled, warily watching for another move.

    A sudden, desperate thought struck him. This man, however terrifying, was the first person he'd interacted with. "Wait! What is this place?"

    The man's brow furrowed again. "Are you a foreigner?" He studied Mars, noting the strange way he spoke. "So you're just a slave, and you dare to talk back to me." The amusement was gone, replaced by a cold, swift anger. In two quick strides, he was on Mars again, grabbing his arm and hauling him towards a lone, ornate carriage.

    "What the hell are you doing?!" Mars yelled, his struggles as effective as a moth beating against a windowpane. He was unceremoniously shoved inside.

    The man climbed in after him, and the carriage lurched into motion. A moment later, something was tossed into Mars's lap: a huge, roasted chicken leg, glistening with juices and spices.

    Mars stared at it, then at his captor. "Uh? Oh... er... thanks?" His stomach answered for him with a loud, guttural growl. Dignity abandoned, he tore into the meat, the flavors exploding on his tongue- a mix of cumin, pepper, and something smoky and unfamiliar. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

    Finished, he shamelessly held out his greasy hand. "I know you have another one. Give it. You've already kidnapped me; at least feed me."

    A faint, almost imperceptible tug lifted the corner of the man's mouth. "You are strange. And you talk in a strange way, yes?" he noted, handing over a second, even larger piece. Mars devoured it, barely hearing the words.

    For the rest of the journey, silence reigned, broken only by the clatter of hooves on stone. Mars stole glances at his kidnapper: the fiery red hair, the god-sculpted profile silhouetted against the passing torches, an aura of vague, dark cruelty that clung to him like a shadow.

    The carriage finally halted. The man stepped out, and Mars hesitated, a half-formed plan of escape flickering and dying. Before he could move, the door was yanked open, and a strong hand seized him, hauling him out and throwing him effortlessly over a broad, toned shoulder. The world turned upside down, his view filled with the fine fabric of the man's tunic and the muscular curve of his back.

    "Your Highness!" Armored guards rushed forward, their eyes darting to the strange, flailing figure on their lord's shoulder before snapping back to attention. They knew better than to question.

    The prince merely nodded and strode through towering gates into a palace that glittered with torchlight and gold. Mars, dangling like a sack of grain, kicked and squirmed.

    "Let. Me. Go!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the vast, marbled entrance hall.

    Mars’s world was a dizzying jumble of inverted opulence. Dangling over Keith’s shoulder, his view was limited to the prince’s broad, armoured back and the floor rushing past in a blur of polished stone and intricate mosaics. They moved from the vast, echo-filled entrance hall into a corridor that stole the breath from Mars’s lungs.

    This was no mere hallway; it was a artery of power. Towering arches, carved to resemble papyrus stalks blooming into lotus flowers, supported a ceiling lost in shadowy grandeur. The walls were sheathed in panels of dark, fragrant cedarwood inlaid with turquoise, lapis lazuli, and gold, depicting scenes of hunts and conquests. Between these panels, tapestries of deep crimson and sapphire-blue silk hung, their threads weaving tales of serpentine river gods and soaring falcons. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and myrrh, smouldering in brass braziers shaped like crouching sphinxes. Their flames cast a dancing, animated light, making the gemstone eyes of the carved figures seem to watch his ignoble passage. Guards stood as still as statues at intervals, their armour a combination of scaled bronze and supple, tooled leather, their faces impassive beneath helms crested with horsehair dyed blood-red.

    Finally, he was unceremoniously dropped onto a lush, hand-knotted carpet before a pair of immense doors made of ebony, inlaid with a sprawling, golden sun-disc motif.

    The door opened and a frail, elderly man, swathed in simple but clean linen robes, emerged and bowed deeply. "Your Highness," he intoned, his voice a dry rustle of leaves. Mars’s mind reeled, recalling the guards' same address.

   'Holy crap, he's royalty!'

    From within the room, slightly ajar, came sounds—heated, breathy moans and the rhythmic creak of a bed. Keith didn't even glance inside.

    "Take him to the servants' quarters. He will sleep there, maybe?" the prince said, his tone dismissive. He then slipped into the room, the door closing with a soft, definitive thud that seemed to seal Mars’s fate.

    The attendant turned his gaze on Mars, looking him up and down with a scrutiny that made the young man feel like a piece of grime on the pristine floor. "You will need to bath first," the old man declared, his nose wrinkling slightly before he led Mars away from the gilded corridor into the palace's plainer, colder underbelly.

    ♡♡♡

    When he woke, he was alone in the cramped, airless room. The night before, after a perfunctory scrub in a communal trough of tepid water, he had been shown to a thin, scratchy mat in a chamber packed with sleeping bodies. Now, it was empty, the other servants having risen before dawn to begin their endless labour. They had left him to his slumber, uncertain of his status. If the head servant hadn't given orders, perhaps he wasn't one of them. A relative, maybe.

    He stood grudgingly and stretched, his bones cracking in protest, his muscles screaming from the unforgiving hardness of the floor. The cold of the stone had seeped into his very core, and he shivered.

    Curious, he wandered out. A few servants paused in their sweeping to watch him, their eyes curious and wary. Self-conscious, Mars hurried out of the servants' wing and back into the main palace, a labyrinth of soaring halls and branching corridors.

    "Who is he?" one servant whispered once Mars was out of earshot.

    His colleague merely shook his head, his expression guarded. "No one knows. Best not to ask."

    "Just where the hell am I?" Mars muttered, continuing his exploration. In the early morning light, the palace was quieter, a sleeping giant being preened by an army of silent attendants. His stomach growled a fierce complaint. He patted it with a sigh. "Maybe we should look for the kitchen," he said to himself, taking a subsequent gurgle as an affirmative.

    But as he turned to retrace his steps, he walked face-first into a broad, hard chest. In an instant, his feet left the ground, and an iron grip closed around his throat. He was staring into the sharp, murderous green eyes of Prince Keith.