Will's first thought, upon waking up in the royal palace of Erebus, was that it was nothing like he'd heard about. It was made of black stone as he'd been told, yet it wasn't the dark, cave-like place everyone in Delos said it was. Its hallways were wide, airy, and luminous, the glossy stone shining under the sunlight.

Will could even have found beauty in it, were it not for the slave's chains bound around his neck and wrists.

Only a few weeks ago, he was still Crown Prince of Delos, heir to King Apollo. It had all changed when the king had died, and Will's half-brother Octavian had taken over, capturing Will and sending him off to be a slave in a nation who was historically an enemy of Delos. It was almost ironic that Will was part of a gift to the royal family—twenty-four slaves for the Regent, and Will himself for the Prince—that would cement a peace offering, after he and his father had worked so hard for that very same peace, in vain.

He'd been drugged most of the way, but he hadn't expected to wake up directly in the palace. Apparently, whoever oversaw the slaves had brought them in a day early to have them prepared by the palace's staff, before they were formally given to the royal family.

That was how Will ended up walking along with the others, bound with chains made of gold—a ridiculous, purely aesthetic restraint that wouldn't have kept him long, though the guard still kept him in check. All of them, men and women alike, wore only a plain, white tunic, embroidered with golden thread at the hems. They'd been bathed, shaved, perfumed—all together, under the eyes of guards, overseers and countless other slaves, a humiliating experience Will still shuddered thinking about—all to please the royals of Erebus. Will felt less like himself and more like a whore—which was probably the point.

He wasn't privy to most of the ceremonial, as the slaves waited outside the throne room's massive doors, surrounded by guards, while their overseer talked with the royals.

Finally, a man came out of the throne room, and ushered them all in, the slaves meant for the Regent in two lines, and Will behind all of them.

"Highnesses," a voice said, "here is Delos's present to the both of you. Twenty-four slaves for the Regent, the finest of our stock." A dramatic pause followed, and Will saw three men walking by the slaves. He recognized the first, the one who'd spoken: he was Delos's ambassador in Erebus ever since their countries had reached a truce a few years ago. The other two had to be the Regent, and the Prince, easy to tell apart by the difference in age—the Regent was an old man, while the Prince, his nephew, was a little younger than Will himself. Both were clad in Erebus's black, though the Regent's clothes were half blue as well, while the Prince were almost completely black with hints of silver. The Regent inspected the slaves one by one as he passed them by, but the Prince seemed disinterested.

Until they reached Will, that is. "This one if for the Prince," the ambassador resumed. "Word reached us that you enjoyed training your own slave, so we provided with an untrained man."

The Prince gave Will a once-over. "He looks too well-bred to be a slave," he said, his tone undecipherable to Will.

A soft, joyless laughter came from the ambassador. "We selected him for his beauty, of course, though your palace staff worked wonders."

"Did they now." The Prince took a few steps forward, towards Will, looking him closer, before settling his gaze on Will eyes—a gaze which Will held without blinking. The Prince was a little shorter than he was, though not as much as he'd first assumed when he'd seen him from afar. His eyes were a deep black, like a void, sucking everything inside and never letting go.

"Your Highness, he is untrained—it could be dangerous."

The Prince's answer came full of derision for the ambassador. "He's in the middle of the palace, unarmed and surrounded by guards. If he's stupid enough to attack me now, there's no point trying to tame him at all." Then, in a softer voice, he added, "Can you understand me?"

It took Will a moment to realize the Prince was talking to him—long enough for the Prince to repeat in the language of Delos. "Yes," Will replied—in the language of Erebus.

A hint of a smile appeared on the Prince's face, but it faded quickly. "I thank Delos for this present," he said, without bothering to turn back to the ambassador. "I'll be sure to make the most of it. Starting right now, if you'll excuse me."

"Nephew," the Regent said, sounding almost chastising. "Don't you want to stay for the feast? We should give the ambassador a proper welcome, after he's been away for so long."

The Prince finally tore his eyes from Will to face the Regent. "I'll be sure to make an appearance later, Uncle."

His tone was cold—unashamedly so—but the Regent replied with an almost fatherly chuckle. "Did you finally find interest in someone? I'd begun to lose hope you ever would."

The Prince only scoffed. "I will see you later, Uncle. Ambassador." He turned, only pausing on his way out long enough to wave at Will to follow him.

Will followed the Prince through the palace, guards falling in behind them, until they reached his apartments.

"You may leave us alone," he said, and the guards left—though Will noticed their hesitation. "Do you have a name, slave?"

"Will." He realized his mistake only when he saw the way the Prince's eyes narrowed faintly in surprise. Their nations were enemies—of course the name would be familiar to him.

"Like your late Prince William?" 'Late'? Had Octavian claimed he was dead. Will supposed it only made sense.

Still, he managed to remain collected. "It's a common name," he said in a neutral voice.

"And you'll tell me you have common looks for Delos too, I assume." The Prince paused with a chuckle. "I am Prince Nico of Erebus. In the privacy of my apartments, you may call me Nico—but only here. Speak my name anywhere outside these walls, and my uncle will cause me trouble—which means you'll be in trouble as well."

Will refrained from pointing out his situation could hardly get worse than being enslaved—mostly because he realized it could get worse, actually. He was at Nico's mercy, after all.

"A room has been prepared for you next to mine," Nico continued. "Your orders come from me or my intendant—no one else. That includes my uncle."

There was a threat there, though Will wasn't certain it was directed at him. Still, he felt uneasy at his words—if the Regent did order him around, Will hardly saw how he could refuse him. But he couldn't voice those doubts; so he chose the only other answer that came to mind. "You mean I won't be sleeping in your room?"

Nico glanced at him, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Not unless I ask you to."

"But I've been gifted to you as a pleasure slave."

"I take no pleasure in sleeping with someone who has no say in the matter. I said I'll make the most of you. I never said in what way."

Will stared at him silently, surprised at his words—and relieved, if he was honest with himself. "Then what will you need of me?"

Nico's gaze traveled down Will's body, just like it had in the throne room—fast and analytic. "I'll have to determine what you can do. In the meantime…whatever I need you to do. Right now, for instance, I'll need your help readying for the feast. But," he added before Will could even make a movement, "not just yet. No one will think we got down to anything interesting if we come back too fast."

He laughed at the blush that crept up Will's face.

They only went to the feast hours later, Will by Nico's side—as his "pet", as Nico called him. Courtiers seemed intimidated by Will's appearance, and impressed at Nico's courage for bringing an untamed slave to a public event—or so they acted, anyway. The moment Nico left them, Will overheard more than a few call him foolish or reckless for those very same things.

The ambassador of Delos, at least, seemed pleased that the Prince appreciated his gift, though the Regent, sitting on the other side of the ambassador, radiated disapproval.

"He's going to handle all your food, nephew. Aren't you afraid he'd try to poison you?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm not," Nico simply retorted.

Will dismissed the exchange as meaningless banter—but it came back to his memory, later that night. As the feast was drawing to a close, the last group of entertainers dancing and singing before the nobility, Nico caught his attention as he coughed—once, then again, and again, more violently each time.

After only a few fits of coughing, Nico attempted to stand, but stumbled and fell to the floor instead. Acting on instinct, Will knelt by his side, helping him lie on his side to make sure he didn't choke on his own spit. As Nico coughed and retched, blood came out, mixed with faint traces of an ocher-colored liquid.

Around them, others had gathered, a physician emerging from the crowd. "Poison!" he called out, pushing Will away. "Fear not—I'll help you get it out, Your Highness."

He took out a feather at his belt, and opened Nico's mouth, who had stopped coughing and was barely breathing now. Will had studied with his court physicians for years, and he was familiar with the technique: by showing the feather down Nico's throat, the physician would force him to vomit whatever he had ingested. But the feather was glinting in the light, ocher-colored specks, only visible to Will because he was still so close.

It clicked in his mind, as he recognized the poison: Stygian berry extract. Highly toxic, it could kill in minutes—and with the feather coated in more poison, Nico would look like he got better just long enough that no one would react as he died.

Antidotes were also very common—and very easily remembered, too, as they were all sacred plants of the goddess of harvest. Will scanned the feast's table with his eyes for something: there, mint tea. It should do.

He snatched the feather from the physician's hand, and he practically lunged to get the tea. A few people gasped, but no one stopped him yet, too shocked to react to the slave's random actions. By the time the guards reacted, he was by Nico's side, shoving the physicians out of the way and helping the Prince drink up.

For agonizing seconds, nothing happened; then, finally, Nico coughed again—painfully so, judging by the look on his face, but he was breathing, at least. It took only a moment before he caught his breath.

By that time, guards had surrounded them, swords pressed against Will's throat and back—likely for daring to lay hand on the physician, taking that tea, or maybe because he'd foiled the assassination attempt. Nico blinked a few times, then looked up at them, and raised a hand. "Leave him be," he said. He stood up with difficulty, and glanced down at Will before he turned to the courtiers around them. "It was nothing. Something caught in my throat. Please, don't interrupt the ambassador's feast for my own foolishness. I just need some rest." Then, to the ambassador himself, "If you'll excuse me."

The man looked stunned—and he wasn't the only one. "Of course, of course."

Will fell in behind Nico, refusing to stay away from him—not with what had just happened, and not with the way the guards were still looking at him. Nico didn't seem to mind that he stood closer than protocol dictated, either.

They went back to Nico's apartments, and only then did Nico collapse on a couch with an audible sigh. "Please tell me you have more of whatever that was. My lungs are still on fire."

"It'll pass. If there was still some of the poison in you, you'd be dead already."

Nico cast him a curious glance. "You saved my life. I didn't expect that sort of loyalty of an untrained slave."

"You don't seem very surprised at being poisoned, though."

Nico shrugged. "I let my guard down. My mistake. But this is far from the first attempt on my life." With a smirk, he added, "Can you guess by whom?" Will didn't understand his question—how was he supposed to know that?—and after a moment of confused silence, Nico ended up laughing. "Ah, well, I suppose politics and treasons aren't your domain."

Will repressed a scoff—politics and treasons had gotten him there. Clearly identifying them wasn't his domain. That Nico had figured it out so quickly hurt more than he'd like to admit.

"In any case…I thank you. I suppose I found a use for you after all." He broke out in a smile, and for the first time in the day, it looked genuine—he looked genuine.