This is not a pleasant story. As labeled by the mature rating, the themes involved might not be suitable for adolescents. You have been notified.

And without further ado, let us begin.

Chapter 1: His Gift

Despite it being early summertime, a light snowfall covers the kingdom of Crodinia on the prince's sixteenth birthday. He made it clear the week before that he does not want visitors coming to the castle to save him the trouble of remembering their names and titles; however, the king wants to make an example of his kingdom and have an excuse to drink and feast—mostly to drink and feast.

As the lines of carriages and horses ride in with the royal passengers, the prince stares out from his balcony and loses himself in thought, the names of kingdoms slipping off his tongue.

"The Unity of Dotriba," he murmurs as recognized by the bold triad of black, blue, and gold, all noble and powerful colors belonging to an even more powerful union.

"The Alliance of Thursaunia," he then recognizes by the recently changed banner under the marriage of a king and queen from neighboring and allying kingdoms. Their new flag bears a rugged stallion with the gallant wings of an eagle. While not the most intimidating of banners, the new Kingdom of Thursaunia is strong enough to hold its peace against Dotriba, and that alone is worthy of respect for its winged horse.

"The United Kingdom of Tabrini." A collection of four provinces rule under a single family; each province is overseen by one of four brothers. Its naval forces are as impressive as is its conquest of neighboring islands, expanding its influence across the ocean. That even one of the ruling brothers is attending his party is considered to be a great honor.

"Belethren," he easily names for the king's strong alliance with its ruler. It is also because of their kingdom that their alliance with Tabrini still stands.

"And…" He frowns when he sees the last royal flag waving like a ghost's sheet in the summer snow's flurries. The ends are tattered, and the flag bearer cannot be more than a peasant. Dragging behind the flag bearer are a few worn and tired men carrying a cart so shambled that it does not even have windows in its sides.

The prince is honestly surprised some of them have even made an attendance in the winter-ridden lands of Crodinia, the kingdom of the cold north. After the murder of its last emperor and pillage of the remaining heirs, this is the last place a representative of the fallen kingdom should be.

"Altorien."

"It's an honor to have all of you today in my grand halls, everyone!" the loud king smiles and greets his fellow neighbors with open arms and open doors. "As you know, today is my brother-in-law's sixteenth birthday, an important milestone, as he is officially an adult!"

"Here, here!" the halls ring. The prince twists his lips together and wants to look away, but his brother is watching him like a hawk. He needs to be on his best behavior in front of everyone, and so, instead he smiles and waves welcomingly to his guests.

"And without making this welcome too long, let us travel to the great halls to feast on this wonderful day!"

The prince watches as the king rises and leads his guests to the great halls where the tables are piled high with meats, breads, wine, and freshly imported produce from the warmer lands. The prince's brother, the king's husband and second-in-command of Crodinia, follows closely behind his king and takes the prince's hand.

In the halls, the kings and queens chatter about everything but politics: the health of their lands' crops, dueling, a comical fire prank set in a stable, and one instance involving sticking fish in a jester's trousers. The prince tries his best to listen and follow these conversations, as he understands he will one day have to produce his own interesting tales to tell. Occasionally he shares some information about how he has taken up riding or wants to travel across the seas, but other than that, he has little to offer in light of the older kings' and queens' adventures.

Sensing how uncomfortable he becomes, the prince's brother excuses himself and takes his brother out to the courtyard for a breather.

"How is everything, dear little brother?" he asks him as they walk along the stone paths dusted with a fine coating of snow.

The prince takes a while to respond, his heart heavy and his stomach stuck between deciding whether he is hungry or sick.

"Terrible," he finally speaks out. He is never dishonest with his brother. He never tells a lie. Born into royalty with only his brother as his life-long companion, he is the only one he ever trusts and obeys without hesitation. If he tells his brother of a problem, his brother will provide the solution.

"Why are you feeling so ill on your sixteenth birthday?" his brother asks, running a hand over his fair snow-white hair to comfort him. The prince lazily closes his eyes to absorb the gentle sensation of his brother's touch. He is never fond of anyone touching him save for his brother alone. When his nerves are loosened, he tells his brother of his predicament.

"I don't know if I can do this." He sweeps his arm towards the arch leading back to the great hall. "All this socializing and parties…it's not me, brother. I don't know any of these people, and I don't want to. I don't like them."

His brother sighs and plants a gentle kiss atop his head. "Sweet little brother, it is all a part of being a king. In the event that Mathias and I are not here to rule, you have to take responsibility and keep your alliances. Socializing is an important part of it, and the sooner you understand that, the better."

The prince blinks away the flurries from his lavender orbs. "But even then, I never see you speak to lengths with the king." He closes his eyes when his brother cups his cheeks and kisses him again.

"That is because I am his shadow to his light. If he needs the support, I will be there for him. If there are those who doubt him, it is my job to convince them otherwise. And if his body longs for comfort, I provide him with that. That is the duty of someone married to a king. You will understand that one day, little brother."

At his words, the prince leafs through his memories and remembers the instances when his brother supported his husband. In times when they were warring, his brother's intellect and solid grasp of strategy helped them push back invaders and contain their lands. When the king's own council doubted his aloof nature and easygoing demeanor, his brother stepped in and told them of how much his people loved their king and his strong, unrelenting heart. As for his body, the prince does not have to recall any specific moment in time. There are plenty of nights when he wakes up to the sounds of his brother and the king making mad love to each other in their chambers.

The brothers remain outside for a short period of time before deciding to rejoin their king in the halls. On their way, the prince's brother quizzes him on the banners of the guests to pass the time. The prince remembers all of them, but when he arrives at the last one he remembers, his voice falls into a whisper.

"Altorien," he says. "Brother, why are they here? I thought that we—"

"Whether friend or foe, your birthday was meant to be a celebration of the peace that we've finally achieved," his brother cuts him off. "And considering you've reached adulthood, the celebration is bigger. We are not welcoming them as enemies. The war is over. They are ours now."

His brother, the prince notices, never uses the word "ally" to describe them, and he can understand why: after being a rising power for so long, the emperor of Altorien once threatened to swallow the other kingdoms until a grand gathering of several rulers rose up and fought against the emperor's armies. After many bloody years of fighting, the royal family in Altorien was executed, and the last of its reign ended. With all of Altorien scattered into small, confused groups, the rest of the kingdoms tore the empire apart piece by piece like vultures ripping off the flesh of a rotting carcass. Many people were enslaved and converted within the conquering kingdoms until Altorien was only mentioned in history as a dead empire with a fruitless purpose. The prince was twelve years old when news arrived that the emperor of Altorien had been dethroned and killed by Crodinian forces.

For the prince to see an Altorien flag, however, must mean there are still people who are loyal to the old empire and family. Even if it is just a peasant, the prince finds it strange that the king will have granted him passage into their castle. While strong and brave, the king has never been too sharp on the intellectual side. The prince wonders if perhaps he wants to show the Altorienese how grand Crodinia can be.

"Speaking of the Altorienese, I have a surprise for you, dear brother."

"A surprise?" the prince repeats, wondering what his brother can possibly give him on an important birthday; he usually ends up giving him something practical like a cloak from Tabrini or a knife carved with steel forged in Thursaunia. Thinking about it makes him excited. After being so preoccupied with his previous studies about the neighboring kingdoms, a present is something he looks forward to receiving. There is no doubt that whatever it is, it will be something wonderful.

With the promise of getting a surprise, the prince's spirits stay in tact for the rest of the evening until the night grows old and the cooks are too exhausted to continue cooking. The wine cellars are nearly empty, and the royal guests withdraw into their provided and guarded chambers for the night. The great hall falls silent, and outside, the snowfall blankets the castle grounds with a fresh new sheet of white.

The young prince is not tired like the rest of the castle, however. His eyes are still bright even as the last of the departing guests bid him good fortune and prosperity. He thanks them for the wonderful day and for travelling such a great distance to visit their kingdom. His presents lay opened and carefully moved to designated spots around the castle, some being displayed in the courtyards, others mounted on walls specifically for allying kingdoms, and others in his own chambers like a glass lamp blown and crafted with the intricate patterns of an ice crystal.

Out of all the gifts, the prince enjoys his new lamp the most. Not only does it look beautiful in the candlelight, it is a gift from his distant uncle who reigns in another part of Crodinia, bringing it some sentimental value. Before retiring for the night, he gazes upon the ice crystal patterns that dance in his chamber walls. With its blues and whites and pinks, he feels at ease looking at the display. His eyes are so lost in his new lamp that he nearly fails to hear his brother opening his door and letting himself inside.

"Brother, come with me," he says in a quiet voice so as not to disturb the royal guests.

The prince turns over his shoulder and remembers his brother has not given him his gift yet.

"I know it's late, but I wanted to give you your gift before your birthday was over," he whispers. "You have to be very quiet so we do not wake the guests. We have to make a small journey. In order to retrieve your gift, we are going to go into the dungeon."

A chill runs through the prince's body when the destination is named. Of all the places, he hates the dungeon the most. It is a cold, dark place unlike any other in the castle, and on windy nights, the corridors howl with ghostly moans that haunt his memories.

"Why the dungeons?" he wearily asks.

"Because that is where your present is," his brother tells him, petting his head and stroking his cheek with a reassuring caress. "We could not put it anywhere else. Someone would have found it and taken it away. You can be brave, little brother. You are sixteen now." He kisses his forehead and rubs his shoulders. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," the prince softly answers. His voice is so soft that it can barely register as a whisper. He is afraid, but as an adult, now, he needs to build up his courage. It is not as if he is going alone; his brother will be there, and he is sure there will be several guards manning the posts underground. He can be brave.

The dungeon resides deep underneath the castle chambers on the far end of the west. While there are multiple openings, the main entrance resides in what can be considered a forgotten portion of the castle that only the most dangerous of convicts go to. The prince once questioned why anyone would allow the most dangerous people in the kingdom to be so close to the king. His brother replied by telling him that it is important to keep one's friend's close but one's enemies closer.

To the prince's relief, they are escorted by four guards walking on all sides. They descend through multiple flights of stairs that spiral downward until they reach leveled ground. The temperature down in this place is exceedingly colder than the prince's chambers, and he wishes he brought something more than a simple robe.

The prince's brother moves through the dungeon's bars, never flinching at the soft moaning of the prisoners of war and crime. The prince wishes to hold his hand as he did in the past, but he reminds himself that he is sixteen today. So as long as his brother is here, however, he already feels invincible.

"Stop here," the prince's brother says and holds up a hand to halt the guards. He turns to the left and stares ahead. The prince does the same. In front of them, there is a faint flickering light of a candle. In this darkness, it looks like the brightest star, and the prince cannot help but feel drawn to its source. His brother walking alongside him, he approaches the light until someone else comes into view. His heart nearly stops when he sees who it is: the flag bearer of Altorien.

"Open it," the prince's brother orders. Behind him, there is a heavy wooden door that the Altorienese man wordlessly opens. The prince's throat runs dry with anticipation. What is it, he wonders? A magnificent weapon, perhaps? A great magic scroll that needs to be contained away from sunlight? Or maybe even a young fire-breathing dragon that he can call his own?

Alas, his imagination gets the better of him. As soon as the door opens, a foul, indescribable stench wafts out and stings the prince's eyes. Unable to help himself, he holds his sleeve to his nose and gasps for air. Whatever is in there is most likely something he does not want to see. Suddenly, fear overtakes him. With the light being dim, he cannot see beyond the darkness that cloaks the entrance. Something shuffles inside its depths and sets the prince on edge.

Without warning, the prince's brother places his hands around his shoulders and starts to whisper. It is all the prince can do to suppress a startled scream from echoing in the dungeon.

"You may only pick one. One, and that is all."

"One what?" the prince wants to ask, but his voice is lost in his gut. He chooses to trust his brother for leading him this far. Whatever lies within cannot be dangerous. His brother would never think of putting his life into jeopardy. The object that lies beyond this door cannot hurt him. Eventually, he gathers his courage and walks carefully inside the darkness beyond the door.

The stench is even more unbearable than before. The prince continues to keep his sleeve over his nose as he looks around, hoping his eyes will adjust to the darkness before he stumbles. When he walks a good five paces into the room, he turns back and sees his brother intently watching him at the entrance. His unrelenting stare offers the prince some comfort, as he knows he is not alone. He continues walking around until his foot hits something mid-step.

The prince stops. The object he kicked is firm yet soft. And that is not all. Even here in these desolate depths, it is warm. It is alive.

Then, he hears a cough. A human cough. The prince gasps and accidentally swallows a breath full of the awful smell. He quickly covers his mouth to keep from retching.

There are people in this room.

"Hold out the light," the prince hears his brother casually say. "I don't think he can see very well in there." The man sticks his hand in the room with the single candle, and while the light is faint, he can see the contents of the room.

Eyes after eyes stare hard at the light with death glazed over. The orbs' owners have thin limbs and spider legs for fingers. Their nails are uncut and overgrown like savage cats, and their skin hugs their bones and flesh like shriveled fruit peelings left out in the baking sun. The main features the young prince can make out on all of them is what disturbs him most of all, not their frightened expressions, not the pools of urine and feces they cower in, not the rotting smell of death waiting to pluck their little heads off their necks. These are all Altorienese boys.

"Best not to dwindle, brother," the prince hears from behind. "You don't want the smell sticking to your clothes. Hurry it up, so we can go to bed."

The prince does not know how to respond to that. His mind races as he scans over the boys. Some appear as young as eight years old. Others look like they are in their late teens. He does not know for what purpose he is choosing one. Is the one he selects supposed to be weak? Submissive? Attractive?

"Brother, I'm waiting."

The prince painfully swallows and searches with whatever composure he still has. As he approaches some of them for a better look, the boys shy away from him like frightened, cold pups taken from their mothers. Then again, with them being Altorienese children, he suspects they no longer have mothers.

He honestly does not know how to pick. Whatever cruel intent this is, he does not enjoy the responsibility of selecting any of these individuals. They are filthy, frightened creatures. He cannot even be bothered to call them human with the way they withdraw from the light. His breath short and his head spinning, the prince tries to finish his survey and choose a boy from the collection.

"Oh, for gods' sakes," the prince's brother finally snaps in an impatient tone. "If you don't pick one, I will."

The prince tells his brother to give him some time. He should at least have the luxury of picking his own present. However, with the light being faint, he is still indecisive. He is about to give up and let his brother pick someone after all when his eyes almost skip over an individual kneeling in the back.

There is something about this one that draws him in. His skin is not as flawed as the others, and his dark brown hair sweeps lower than the other boys' in an almost feminine fashion. And his eyes. The prince has never seen such a color before. Even for an Altorienese, this must be a rare trait. The boy's irises are a striking shade of pure gold that glows even in the faint light. He likes the way his almond-shaped eyes slant slightly upward and the deep pink of his lips. The only trait slightly off about him is the thickness of his eyebrows, but the prince can only be so choosy when all of the others are unappealing. After looking over this boy for a few more seconds, the prince tells his brother that he has made his selection. He wants this boy.

"I pick this one."

"This one," the prince's brother echoes and scans him from his head to his feet. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," the prince nods. "This one."

"Very well. He is yours."

Unsure if he heard that correctly, the prince blinks. "Mine?"

"Your pet," his brother elaborates. "You may do whatever you want with him. Dress him, walk him, beat him." The prince refrains from making a face at that last one. "He will be your responsibility. I am not going to replace him with another if he dies. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Happy birthday, little brother."

"Th-Thank you…" he quietly stammers as he stares apprehensively at his brother's gift. The entire time, the boy says nothing and does nothing. His head bows towards the ground as most Altorienese are accustomed to. Had he been upright, he might be as tall at him. The prince thinks that is the last of his brother's words until he stops and turns to his new pet.

"And you," he says. "Do you understand Crodinian?"

The boy does not move a muscle. The prince's brother sighs and changes his attention to the Altorienese man holding the candle. "Translate this for me," he orders and begins to speak. All the while, the man speaks in what the prince can only assume is Altorienese.

"If I so much as see one scratch on my brother or one tear fall from his eyes, I am going to make you wish you were never born. You Altorienese aren't the only ones famous for their methods of torture. We have ways of keeping you alive even when all the skin is peeled off your body and your limbs are crushed and eaten away at until you are nothing. But. A. Stump."

The prince is silent. He saw these methods of torture when the war was nearing its end. His brother and the king made him watch as traitors and prisoners of war were beaten, flogged, skinned, and slowly bled to death as a cruel reminder of what happens when people declare an attack on Crodinia. Even if they are the worst people in the world, the prince cannot imagine ever wishing that type of suffering on anyone.

All the while, the prince's brother continues. "You are to obey my brother at all costs. If he believes you should be punished, you will take it without a word. You will be his shield in the event he might be harmed. You are disposable to him, and you are disposable to me. I am the king's husband. My word rises above my brother's. If I believe you are not fit to be my brother's pet, I will have you killed. If my husband, the king, wants that, so be it. Do you understand?"

When the Altorienese translator finishes speaking, the boy soundlessly nods, never looking at the prince or his brother.

"Good. We're leaving now. Little brother, don't fall behind and lose him in the dungeon. He won't find his way out if you do."

"Yes, brother," the prince says and signals for his pet to follow closely behind him. He does not offer his hand to the boy, as his palms are caked with dirt, grease, and what appears to be old blood. He is not even sure if the blood on his hands is his.

When they exit the dungeon through the stairwell, the prince feels relieved to finally have some crisp, fresh air again. He looks back at his pet to make sure he is not exhausted from climbing the stairs, and when he sees his expression is as blank as before, he leads him towards the bathhouse to cleanse him of the grime and foreign particles off his body. The prince finds late-night servants and orders them to prepare a bath for the Altorienese boy while he goes off to find his brother who has since gone off elsewhere.

The prince eventually finds his brother also preparing for a bath in the royal bathhouse that was separately built from the one used for guests. He eagerly takes his clothes off and tosses them aside, exposing his pale, creamy skin that his husband loves to fondle so much.

"Um, brother…?" the prince hesitantly calls to him as he sits on the edge. As his brother resurfaces from the hot waters, he cannot help taking off his boots and soaking his feet to soothe his bones.

As he sits, his brother goes over to him and brings his hands out to his feet. He massages them and, with a wet cloth, wipes between his toes until they are free of dirt.

"What did you come here for?" he asks as he immerses himself back in the water. "You should be watching over your pet. He is your responsibility, remember?"

"I know," the prince says. "I was just..." He struggles to find the word. "Confused?"

"Why should you be? You're an adult, and before that, you were a decently responsible boy. Your pet should not give you any trouble."

That is not what the prince is concerned about. "Why an Altorienese boy?"

His brother runs some water over his blonde hair and cleans his face. The prince waits for him to finish before continuing.

"I thought you'd like something different," he says. "You've told me you've grown tired of seeing the same boring faces, so I thought having an Altorienese pet would be something to brag about."

The prince blinks. "Is that all you see him as? A different breed of pet?"

"And soon to be rare."

"Rare?" The prince frowns. "But what about all those other boys in the dungeon?"

"They're prisoners, and not very good ones, I have to admit," the prince's brother spits with distaste. "I asked for the best, too. I don't want to think about what the worst were like. They'll just be a waste of space and resources. In any case, brother, you don't have to worry about them. I've ordered the soldiers to kill them."

The prince's blood runs cold. His heart sinks into his chest at those words. All the others he did not pick are going to die. He could have saved someone else, but instead, he chose that singular boy just because he looked different. Now he knows why his brother said he cannot replace his pet—there will be no others to replace him with.

Another thought disturbs him. "Who was that man in there? The translator?"

His brother almost looks amused. "You're quite the curious one over the background of your pet's former empire."

Embarrassed, the prince's cheeks grow red, and his head hangs. "I'm sorry," he shamefully apologizes.

"Don't be. I didn't tell you about it, so it's only natural you have questions." He explains, "The man was charged with bringing Altorienese across the empire and into safe places all over the kingdoms."

The prince's posture straightens. "So, in other words, he was a sai—"

"Traitor. He's going to be executed with the rest of the boys later tonight." The prince's brother casually yawns as if the matter is as trivial as signing a document. "I'd have them do it in the morning, but the king wants to go hunting with some of the others. I'll need to wake up early tomorrow."

"I-I see…"

His brother rises from the steaming water, his body glistening and steaming from the heat contrasting against the cold. He approaches his brother and digs his wet fingers into his silvery locks. The prince closes his eyes when he feels his brother's warm breath on his cheek.

"Ah, little brother…" he sighs, softly smiling. "Do not worry about it. Think of this as your first step to seeing if you are fit to rule. This is a perfect gift for you."

"Then why didn't you have any…pets?" The last word tastes foreign on his tongue. He wonders if he should use that word when addressing his gift.

"Silly little brother," he chuckles. "I have you to dote over now and always."

"Oh." The prince falls quiet.

His brother pats his head. "You should go take a bath, too. It's been a long day, and the trip to the dungeon must have left some stench on you. Go wash up. Perhaps you can teach your pet how to bathe properly. I doubt there are any male servants to attend to him at this hour of the night."

"Yes, brother," the prince obediently nods and takes his leave. He removes his feet from the water, shudders at the brief cold spell, puts his boots on, and leaves his brother to bathe in peace.

When the prince returns to the guest bathhouse, the water is already prepared with the strongest herbs and minerals the servants can provide. He dismisses the servants, as they are women, and finds his gift sitting idly where he left him.

"Hey, um," he starts, "the bath is ready for you. You need to take off your clothes, so you can wash yourself off."

The boy makes no attempt to respond. Sighing, the prince remembers the language barrier between the two of them. While there are similar language roots in nearly every neighboring kingdom, Altorien has its own unique language and writing system that differs from Crodinian entirely. The prince will have to teach this boy how to understand Crodinian if he is to give him any commands or talk to him. Until then, he has to settle with taking care of things with actions.

"I'll just take off your clothes, then," he says and reluctantly makes a grab at the boy's paper-thin tunic. Immediately after his fingers touch him, the boy yanks his body away and holds tightly onto his clothes. The prince's eyes grow wide when he sees what sort of reaction the boy makes: defiance. He is not afraid of getting his clothes removed; rather, he does not want his clothes removed.

"Remove your clothes," he commands, using a firm tone of voice to assert himself. "If you don't, I'll have you publicly stripped and whipped."

He feels both foolish and guilty for saying those things. For one, he does not want to see the boy stripped naked and flogged, nor does he believe the boy can understand his Crodinian. With a heavy heart and a heavier spirit, he makes another attempt at the boy's clothes. This time, the boy does not pull away however hesitant he is about letting someone else touch him.

After some persuasion and patience, the prince manages to remove the boy's hands and strip off his tunic. Underneath, the boy's ribs are showing through his light olive skin, and his stomach line is thin and shrunk. Despite that, the prince can recognize muscles when he sees them. The boy's abdominal area still betrays sculpted muscles where they should otherwise be flat. Even his arms are noticeably thick around the bicep areas for someone who was taken prisoner. He must have been a hard laborer, the prince believes as he kneels down and carefully undoes his pet's trousers.

"Easy," he softly whispers when he detects some resistance. The boy's legs squeeze together to prevent him from pulling his trousers down. The prince tries to be patient with him. He can only imagine how he must be feeling, being brought to a foreign land, traded off as a pet, and being stripped by another man. The prince, seeing that it is pointless to force his pet, decides to make an example of himself.

He stands back up and juts his pet's chin to face him. "Look at me," he orders and stares into his golden eyes, making sure to never face away from him. He slowly starts to undo his robe and loosens the ties. When the belts are removed, he slides his robe off and begins removing his tunic. A cool breeze engulfs his skin, and he faintly shudders despite supposedly being adjusted to cold weather. Inside, the prince is embarrassed. He should not be exposing himself to his pet like this; it is something that should only be reserved for his closest servants. All the same, he makes an example of himself to show the boy it is alright to display to him his body. His cheeks growing warm, he loosens the strap around his trousers and leggings, casting aside the last of his garments.

"It's your turn," he says and hastily pulls his pet's hands away from his lower body. Disregarding the boy's silent protests, he yanks down his trousers and tells him to step into the water.

"Hurry before you catch a cold," he commands, keeping his eyes as fixated to the boy's face as much as possible. In truth, he wants to find something to cover the both of them up so they will not have to gaze upon each other's nakedness; however, the prince assumes the boy has never bathed in his life from the looks of him. It also should not matter by technicalities. Had his pet been a lion or a wolf, he would not be afraid of strutting bare-skinned around it. The prince will have to properly teach him how to bathe if he is to do it by himself one day. As he thinks of this, he remembers his brother's words. Rather than a pet, his brother had him to dote on, his little prince.

In that sense, he wants to try his best to pamper and raise this boy. His brother raised him well in the absence of their parents, and he became someone beautiful and humble, a figure loved by his people in the same regards the people of Crodinia love their king and his husband. The prince, he supposes, wants to turn his pet into someone beautiful, too, someone he can be proud of. His spirits and hopes high, he leads the boy to the tray of oils and sweet-scented soaps so he may cleanse him.

It is made clear in the first few attempts of scrubbing his skin that the boy is absolutely filthy. Dirt stubbornly clings to his skin like grease on old dishrags, and his hair is matted down with layers upon layers of grease, dandruff, and flecks of lice. At this rate, the prince wonders how peasants are able to cope with such an unsanitary lifestyle. He focuses his energy on cleaning his pet and scrubs vigorously until raw patches appear on the boy's skin.

The prince does not apologize, as he reminds himself that his gift is a pet and no longer considered human. "I have to clean you so you don't…ungh! Stink up the chambers…!" He takes a breather and sinks into the water, exhausted by exactly how much work is invested into bathing someone. His brother never complained when cleaning him, so he will not, either. Once he soaks his body into the herbal waters enough, he stands back up and pours oils over the boy's skin, hoping to combat the grease and fight his urine-caked stench.

Over time, the boy's smell fades, and the lice shed from his hair; his skin is rubbed raw and sore, though most of the dirt and grime is gone, and his face is clear and clean. The prince does not admit this out loud, but he finds the boy rather attractive now that he is cleansed. Give or take with some food in his belly and a few proper manners later, he will prove to be very handsome and likable. He clearly has a rugged appearance about him that the prince and his brother lack: his jaw is more defined and his muscles are atrophic but developed and shaped. The prince rather likes these qualities about his pet.

As he continues to inspect and observe his new pet, the prince's enthusiasm for his brother's gift grows. This might work after all, he thinks—a person to pamper and care for all on his own. He will teach him how to speak Crodinian and play chess. They will be able to talk about life in the castle while eating sweet cakes, and he will read fairytales to him. When the time comes, they will be able to ride together and even hunt alongside one another. And as the days grow shorter and the nights longer, the prince will have someone to keep him company indoors and cuddle next to by the fireplace. It will be like having a friend, but instead, this boy is his own property. It is like his brother said: he can do whatever he wants with him.

Their bathing finished, the prince leads his cleansed pet out of the bath and onto the carpeted floors. He first wraps a robe around himself and then his pet, making sure every part of him is dry so as not to catch the chill of the nightly cold. Once that is in order, he takes him out of the bathhouse and towards the sleepwear provided by the dismissed servants.

"Here," he says as he opens his pet's robes and hands him a set of sleepwear. "These are for you. Dress in them." To demonstrate, he dresses into his sleepwear and throws his damp robe on the floor.

"Dress," he repeats and orders. To his delight, the boy does the same and rather efficiently. At least he is not entirely hopeless. Because he has properly completed a task, the prince decides to give him some positive reinforcement.

"Very good," he chooses to say and smiles, a rare occurrence nowadays with his weighing responsibilities. The boy blinks and says nothing as he waits for another command.

Next, the prince decides it is time for bed. He tells his pet to follow him with a beckoning signal and walks off in the direction of his chambers. Again, he happily finds that the boy obediently follows him all the way to his chamber doors. Here, he tells his pet that this is where he will sleep from now on. With those words out of the way, he leads the boy inside and prepares him for bed.

"Since I am a virgin unlike my brother," he speaks while taking some covers from his bed, "the bed is not big enough for the two of us. You'll have to sleep on the ground." He realizes it is pointless talking to the boy right now, but he finds comfort in being able to freely converse with someone besides the wind and the walls.

"Here we are." He makes a crude attempt to fold his covers and set them over his rug so the boy will not have backaches in the morning. "Lie down," he orders and points to the sheets. The boy silently obeys and sits on the sheets. The prince almost smiles when he sees his pet running his fingers over the soft fabrics. He is like a quiet, yet observant dog but more intelligent and obedient. Since his pet is in position, he drapes the last of his covers over him and sets him on his back. Lastly, he tucks a pillow under his head and pats his head as he might a dog.

"Very good," he remembers to say and is about to retreat when something crucial comes to mind. "That's right. I need to call you something. Let's see…" He ponders over how to go about introducing himself to his new pet and decides to sit over him.

"My name is Emil Steilsson, prince of Crodinia." He points to his chest and repeats his first name. "Emil." He points again and repeats. "Emil." Then, he points to his pet and silently waits, hoping to get a response. It is cute the way the boy stares up at him from outside his covers. The only things he can see are his dark hair and slanted golden eyes that practically saved his life.

To the prince's disappointment, the boy does not answer with anything after being pointed at. He thinks he needs to try again when he suddenly speaks with a strain in his voice.

"L—" He abruptly pauses as if struggling to even make a sound. "Le…on."

The prince cocks his head and tries to make out the name. "Leon…?"

The boy nods with an alert glint in his eyes. So that is his name. Odd, though. Considering he is Altorienese, the prince believes he would have had an exotic and hard-to-pronounce name. He cannot complain, however. "Leon" is far easier to say than anything in Altorienese.

"Well, Leon, starting today, you are my pet." The prince chooses his words to not sound too overly arrogant or pompous. "I know you can't understand me, but if you listen to me, I will treat you well. You've made it this far." Leon does not say anything, and so the prince simply decides to bid him goodnight.

"Goodnight, Leon," he says and returns to his bed. He hears no response as expected from someone who cannot understand Crodinian and stares at the ceiling until he can fall asleep. Overhead, the colorful lights from his uncle's birthday gift dance on his ceiling and cast lovely shapes of snowflakes and ice crystals. It is truly a wonderful gift, but as his eyelids grow heavy and his breathing deepens, the prince thinks that in his entire life, his best birthday present is lying silently on the floor by his bedside and he belongs entirely to him.

References for the kingdoms:

Crodinia: Anagram of "Nordic" + ia

Altorien: Anagram of "Oriental"

Dotriba: Anagram of "Bad trio"

Thursaunia: Anagram of "Austria" + "Hun"

Tabrini: Anagram of "Britain"

Belethren: Anagram of "Nether" + "Bel"