Hello everyone! This is my first Fairy Tail story. Thank you Peanut61654 for your support! Without you, this story would have never been written. This is a desert AU. I have taken some liberties with people's magic to suit the setting, particularly Juvia's and Lucy's. Also, Gray hasn't properly learned Tribal and so some Tribal words don't make sense to him. Instead of putting the unknown words in asterisks or random letters, I put them in Russian, just because I could xD You don't need to know what those words mean; anything vital will be explained in the story.

Hope you enjoy, and please review and favourite!

Chapter 1

Why is the day not over yet? Gray thought, suppressing a groan. A solid gold sundial above the assembled nobles' heads read 7.40 in the evening. Only twenty more minutes of this torture and it will be over for the year…

Gray watched the Lamia Scale tribe representatives leave the throne room. They were four men strong when they had first entered the room. They left the chamber with only three.

Gray hated it.

He hated how his king's eyes shone with mirth as he watched the small delegation leave, two of the three people sobbing quietly and wiping tears with the back of their hands. The third person had his mouth clenched so hard that it looked like his teeth might shatter.

"How many tribes are left?" asked Alastair Fullbuster, king of the independent desert city-state of Fairy Tail, and Gray's father. The herald gulped and checked his scroll.

"Two more tribes, Your Majesty."

The king's features tightened, and every civilian in the room grew tense. Gray did not envy whoever was visiting the king at the end of the day. Whoever was scheduled for last ran the greatest risk of displeasing the king. The king's manner was curt at the end of the day, his temper short, and his patience thin. He may even end up not letting his guests finish, instead making a snap decision and possibly punishing them for wasting his time. Gray had heard stories of visitors bribing each other to trade places so that they wouldn't be the last.

"Let the first one in, and be quick about it," the king growled.

Only two more tribes, Gray chanted in his head, tapping his arm on the edge of his father's throne. Oh, how he longed for the dreaded day to be over. The throne wasn't a chair as some city-states preferred, but a large rectangular bed on a raised dais, complete with a see-through canopy and a magnitude of ornate blue cushions. Usually a concubine accompanied the king on the throne-bed, fanning him from the desert heat and pouring him wine when his glass turned empty. The king would pluck exotic fruit from the concubine's hand, while his visitors watched with envious eyes from below.

Today there was no concubine, no fruit, and what seemed like no end at all. Gray leaned on the very edge of the throne, arms crossed, and pretended that his father was not there. There was nowhere else he could sit, as the room was bereft of furniture. The majority of the court stood, with only a few frail members bringing their own cushions, or sitting directly on the rugs that covered the floor. The only other things in the room, besides the royal guard that could have passed for statues, were numerous wall and pillar decorations, cast in royal blue and gold, featuring Gray's ancestors in heroic poses. Gray shook his head in distaste. He would have preferred to stand or sit on the floor like everyone else, but his royal status prohibited it.

The herald announced Red Hare tribe, and a group of five people entered the stuffy throne room. They wore tattered, faded clothes that were too big to fit them.

This isn't good. Gray frowned.

He fidgeted as they laid out ten jackal pelts and eight baskets of produce at the throne's dais. There was no gold, no fabrics and no spices. The oldest man, probably the leader, placed a blue velvet pouch on the pelts. Gray craned his neck to see inside, ignoring how undignified he might look. He glimpsed only a few gold coins inside, twenty at most. The blood drained from Gray's face.

"Do you think this is a game?" The king yelled.

The five people went on their knees, heads bowed. Sweat ran down their faces. The woman furthest on the left trembled.

"No, Your Majesty," the oldest of the group said in broken Common. The man looked about thirty years old, with deep scars running along his forehead and neck. "We had severe drought, shortage of food and—"

"You don't seem to understand what the tribute means." The king stood. "I protect your tribe, your women and your children, from the savagery of south, from the cruelty of the other city-states, and from tribal in-fighting. I give you special price on water, provide you with goods no other place will, and fight for your freedom in wartime!" Spit flew from the corners of his mouth. "In return, you show your appreciation of the great effort I spend looking after your tribe by bringing me tribute worthy of my cause. Do you think pelts and commoner food are worthy of my attention? Do you think they justify my efforts to keep you safe? Do you?"

"We have shortages—"

The king waved him off. "I don't want excuses. I want results. Where is your yearly tribute?"

Gray watched the atmosphere of the group shatter. The leader clenched his teeth, the others looked sullen and quiet. The two women looked like they were about to cry.

"If one of you does not come forward, I will chose one myself!"

A girl furthest on the left stood up. Her tattered dress reached to her skinny knees, with a low neckline in the city's style. She had pink hair and black eyes, typical of the tribal population. She wasn't too tall, had average features, and wasn't extraordinary gorgeous or hideously ugly. There wasn't anything notable about her, except for her shaking hands and the tears flowing down her olive coloured cheeks. She didn't know it, but her plainness was an advantage.

Gray watched the king's face contort with distaste. "Even your yearly tribute is mediocre. Come here, girl."

The king waved his hand, beckoning the girl to come forward. She flinched, but hesitantly shuffled over. High Priest Freed walked over from his spot near the wall, a slave collar already in his hand. He looped the silvery metal around the girl's neck with a resounding click. A loud sob broke from the girl and she collapsed weeping at the king's feet.

Gray couldn't help but notice the despair written on the remaining Red Hares' faces. The four of them huddled together, their howls joining the girl's cries.

Freed made a new cut on the king's palm. He swooped some of the king's blood, crouched down to the girl's level and drew several runes on her collar.

She screamed, her body convulsing on the stone floor.

Without warning, the group's leader launched toward the king, screaming with rage. The nobles gasped, some yelling in alarm. Gray didn't have time to move before the man was upon the dais, his claws extended and ready to shred. The prince had a split second cover his head in defense.

An ice wall suddenly shot up from the floor, followed by a sickening crunch. The man howled in pain.

Fairy Tail knights surrounded the man in an instant, shoving metal collars onto his neck and binding his wrists with rope. It was over as abruptly as it started.

Gray drew a deep, shuddering breath. The king tsk-ed.

"Please spare him," the remaining woman in the group cried.

The plea was punctuated by the writhing girl's scream. Freed held her down and continued his work. The pain wouldn't stop until the spell was complete.

Gray looked at his father, dreading the emotion he would find on the king's face.

The king's eyes shone with fury.

"Lyon, that's enough," the king said.

Lyon stood half-crouched in front of the king, his arms still in the Ice Make position. Lyon was the captain of the guard, the king's personal protector while in the palace, and Gray's half-brother. Gray and Lyon had the same father but different mothers. Gray's mother was the queen, while Lyon's was a slave concubine. Lyon gave the smallest perceptible nod, face unreadable, and the ice wall vanished.

"Arrest all of them."

The three bowed heads shot up, looking at the king in shock.

Lyon moved from his father's side, long with six other knights. Gray covered his eyes with his hand. That was another reason why he hated today. He heard shouts, curses, and sound of blows as the seven knights overwhelmed the remaining three tribesmen. Unarmed, the wildlings didn't stand a chance against Lyon and the king's guard. Gray chanced a look at the king, but he wished he hadn't.

The bastard was smiling, amusement plain on his face.

"You know what we do to rebels," the king sat on the throne and took a long drink of water. "Have them whipped at noon tomorrow. Twenty lashes each. Thirty for the leader." The girl stopped writhing now, and lay placid on the floor. "The pain should teach you about what makes a worthy tribute to your king and lord protector." The king flicked his wrist. "Get them out of my sight."

Red Hare resisted being dragged down to the door.

"One day we'll take back our sons and daughters you stole! You'll pay for ever taking them away from us! Someone, somewhere, will gut you like the vicious monster you are!" The woman cried as the knights dragged her away.

"Heh," the king chuckled. "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha." His laughter resonated in the suddenly hollow feeling room. "It amuses me how they all say that. They are like fleas, tiny and irritating. Isn't that right Gray?"

His father's eyes focused on him, and it took Gray all of his self-restraint to remain silent and keep his hands in his lap instead of striking the smile off his father's face. It hurt, physically hurt to see innocent people be subjected to such cruelties. He hated attending these hearings, but at the same time he had to know what went on. He wished he could do something to change the way the city was run, something to alleviate the tribal people's suffering, but his hands were tied in much the same way as everyone else's. Lucy told him that the tribes thought him an extension of his father, and that the hate for the royal family ran through their blood. Gray liked to believe that they were wrong, that he was nothing like his father, but... Gray clutched his empty hands.

There was one thing he could do. He could attend these meetings and oversee that the least possible harm comes to the new tributes. Tribute was a fancy word to mask the real position of the tribespeople who joined the palace on this day.

Slaves.

Soon Red Hare's shouts faded and the room returned to relative silence. The girl's soft sobs drew everyone's attention.

The king's mouth parted in disgust. "Send her to the kitchens."

A knot in Gray's heart loosened. The man in charge of the household led the girl away. While Gray desperately wished he could call the housemaster back and return the girl to her family, but being assigned to the kitchens was a good result. There were far worse places that she could have been placed.

Not that Gray could have changed much if his father had set his mind on sending her someplace gruesome. He was as much as a slave of the city as any of them were.

There were five common places that his father sent new slaves to.

The first and, in Gray's opinion, the best outcome was if a slave was assigned to the palace household. This included the kitchens, the kennels, the messengers, the torch-bearers, making beds, waiting on the visitors and the myriad of other commoner tasks around the palace. While it certainly wasn't home, slaves in the palace had the best quality of life and had the lowest mortality rate compared to the other options.

The rest of the possibilities were not as peaceful. A slave could be sent to fight in the arena for the amusement of the masses. The only two options in arena were to win the championship or to be slain in battle. Usually, only the slaves that have known histories of war were sent there. As strange as it sounded, his father didn't seem to be fond of sending slaves to their deaths if he was unlikely get at least three battles out of them. Most of the arena slaves were tribesmen his father captured as war trophies.

Another direction the slaves were commonly assigned was to work at the watermill. The watermill was the reason why Fairy Tail managed to exist in the Fiore desert, and why it was so profitable. With the natural rain occurring only once a year, the city needed a constant water supply to stay alive. All city-states were self-sufficient and had their own water supplies, but Fairy Tail was the only city with enough overcapacity to sell water to others.

The watermill was a giant well that went deep into the earth. The slaves pushed an oversized wheel around the clock, which pumped the water to the surface. The work at the water mill was harsh on the body and the mind, and most people broke within the month. Being assigned to the water mill was like being sentenced to death. It was like the arena, only less glamorous. Even criminals feared such punishment.

Almost as bad as the water mill, in Gray's view, was the fourth option - being taken to the king's pleasure quarters. This was a potential danger to all pretty young men and women, particularly with blue hair. Some might think that being a king's concubine wasn't so bad off; they were given the finest clothes and living arrangements, but Gray knew different.

Gray's gaze momentarily rested on Lyon, who returned back to his position at the king's side.

And the last path that a slave may end up going, which was the exception rather than the norm, was to be given away to whoever held the king's favour at the time. Gray had seen slaves being given away to generals, wealthy merchants, nobility and to other cites' kings as gifts.

Gray attended the meetings for this reason. He refused taking assigned household slaves as his personal servants, performing all dressing and fetching himself. He kept the spot open to save one of the unlucky girls or boys from ending up in the king's pleasure quarters and hence sparing them from years of suffering. This was the one thing he could do: stake a claim on a slave and pray that his father felt generous.

This year's tributes were disappointing. Gray could see displeasure on the King's deeply lined face. All the young men and women presented his year were plain or average at best, and none had blue hair that the king particularly enjoyed. The majority were too weak to be assigned to the arena or the watermill, and became household slaves. Only two out of twelve new slaves were assigned to the watermill to face almost certain death.

The thought of the two dead men walking made Gray's heart clench. He could have saved one of them by staking a claim…

But he didn't.

Gray's legs started to cramp from being propped up for so long. He mumbled a curse, but refused to sit down on the same throne as that man. Just one more tribe and it's over…

"Bring in the last tribe!" The king yelled. "They better not bring ridiculous gifts like Red Hare, or god help them they will be leaving here a few limbs short!"

The slaves had cleared away Red Hare's tribute, so the mosaic floor became visible once more. The mosaic showed Gray's long-forgotten ancestor spearing a blue dragon through the chest. Why they had something like that in the throne room was beyond him.

"The last tribe to present tribute to King Alastair of Fairy Tail is the Fleetfoot tribe. Come forward and present tribute to your king."

Gray steeled himself for one more round of worry, life-changing decisions and guilt. Watching his father condemn innocent people was something he couldn't get used to enduring.

Gray looked at the door, pitying whoever was so unlucky as to present last. The king tapped his foot impatiently, his mouth a hard line.

A few seconds passed and nothing happened.

Hushed whispers filled the air. Tribe desertion, cowardice and death wishes flitted across the tongues of assembled nobles.

More seconds passed.

Gray felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Nothing.

Even the nobility's whispers dwindled into silence.

"Find them and bring them to me!" the king yelled, rising to his feet.

"That won't be necessary, Your Majesty," a sickeningly sweet-sounding voice said.

Two dark-haired men entered the room, their faces painted a garish white colour.

Gray's eyebrows shot up and he stood straight to see better. Two things struck him at once. First, he has never seen the two dark haired men before in his life. They were not from the Fleefoot tribe. Second, the men's black irises covered the entirety of their eyes, in sharp contrast to the white make-up. Gray felt a strange desire to get the hell away, which he squashed down with the discipline of nine years' worth of court poker face.

Fairy Tail knights surrounded the two men, spears poised to strike at the slightest sign of rebellion. Lyon had his spear poised at the taller man's neck, who appeared to be the tribe leader.

"You have guts to come this far, savages," the king said.

Gray's eyes widened. Everyone in Fiore heard stories of the savages who were exiled to the wastes south of Fairy Tail, stories of unbelievable brutality and of eating fellow men to survive.

Fairy Tail marked the southern-most border of the inhabitable land in the Fiore desert. Further than that, the desert became too hot to sustain life. Hardly any vegetation grew there, and whatever animals managed to survive were skinny to the brink of death.

No savage has ever set foot into Royal Palace. They were killed by the king's army or the surrounding tribes long before they reached Fairy Tail.

These savages didn't look like the savages Gray has seen. The men he remembered were filthy, malnourished and wild, with a deranged look in their eyes. These men were groomed, well fed and wore typical clothes of the citizens of Fairy Tail - long vests buttoned up front, and long loose pants gathered at the ankles. Both were made of white linen with purple trim - the next most expensive trim after royal blue. If it wasn't for the distasteful white paint covering the pair's faces, he would have passed them for minor nobles. As it was, they looked like clowns dressed in fancy clothes.

"We do not seek violence this day," the taller man said in surprisingly good common. It wasn't perfect, but it was a big difference compared to an average tribe, much less from savages. Gray cringed at the childishly high pitched voice.

"Then what do you seek? There is no place for you in Fairy Tail." The king replied. Gray detected notes of disgust and disdain in his voice, even though his face showed no emotion.

"Our name is Phantom Lord and we seek peace. Our greatest wish and hope is to move from the wastes to somewhere more hospitable, someplace where children wouldn't die as soon as they are born. Someplace where the land itself does not reek of death. We have come on good faith, as you can see, unarmed." The men lifted their empty hands. "We bring tributes to the king who we hope will one day become our king and lord protector."

A smirk appeared on the king's face, while contempt shone through his cold blue eyes. "Show me your tribute and I may consider letting you live."

The Phantom Lord didn't seem fazed. "We heard that Fairy Tail has long standing trouble with the Dragon Tribe scaring trading caravans by their tendency to camp near the trading routes. For reasons we do not know, but possibly because of the tribe's involvement in the war one hundred years ago, Your Majesty has not pursued the tribe. We know that Your Majesty offers no protection to the tribe, and the tribe is exempted from paying tributes. We believe this posed a big problem to the trade of our future king, and we decided to help him with the problem. We—"

"Get on with it," the king snarled.

The man's smile grew larger. "Phantom lord is proud to present to you, Salamander, leader of the Dragon tribe." He did a shallow bow, to the extent that the poised spears allowed.

Commotion rose among the nobility. People peeked into the doorway. Awed whispers filled the air.

"Silence!" King Alastair commanded. "Bring him in!"

Two armed knights entered the room, dragging a struggling young man between them. The prisoner's hands were bound by rope, with a large metal weight attached at the wrists. Heavy looking round weights were attached to the prisoner's ankles, creating a horrible scraping sound as he was dragged forward and shoved to his knees. The prisoner snarled and tried to get up, but the knights pressed him down.

The young man looked to be about Gray's age, nineteen or so. He had pink hair which signaled tribal parentage, and deeply tanned skin of someone who spent long hours outside. Sunlight bounced off Salamander's forearms and Gray gaped at what he saw.

Metal bracelets covered the young leader's skin from elbow to wrist on both arms. Gray has never seen so much magic dampening applied to anyone, even to the most ferocious slaves.

The youth snarled when a spear was brought close to his chest. He glanced at the knights and about the room with the look of someone who was used to sizing up situations. For a moment, the pinkette's eyes met Gray's, and Gray was startled by their colour – light green. Green eyes were extremely rare in Fiore, with most of the population sporting black or brown eyes. Gray was struck by their intensity - it seemed like the youth would fight everyone in the room if set free. It struck Gray that the youth's eyes looked like those of a caged cat - fearless, proud, and wild. This one brief moment sent shivers down Gray's spine.

The nobles gasped and whispered agitatedly, craning their necks to see over each other's heads. They had a reason to. Dragon Tribe has earned itself a reputation for being nearly undefeatable. The previous king tried to get them under control and pay tributes like other tribes, but all attempts ended up in stalemates with heavy losses for the king. That was remarkable considering that the Dragon Tribe had women and children, and was only thirty members strong.

The strangers started talking to the king, but Gray's attention was drawn to the young pink-haired man as if pulled by a magnet. He was very attractive, Gray admitted to himself. His face was very pleasing to look at, with smooth-looking skin, full pink lips and those expressive green eyes. He looked strong without being bulky. His toned muscles looked ready to spring, speaking of restrained power, and he was mesmerized by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He was dressed only in low rise white shorts that were gathered below the knees. His chest was painted with strange symbols similar to the designs on the two men's faces. The symbols didn't resemble any magical writing and seemed to be more of a decoration than anything.

"Bring him here. I want to get a good look at him," the king said.

Lyon lowered his spear, and led Salamander by the arm towards the podium.

Phantom Lord giggled as they passed. "He can be a little…fierce."

Salamander jolted at the words. His head whipped towards the two men. "Pridateli!" He yelled.

Gray bit his lips. He should have paid more attention in Tribal lessons. The prisoner's face was murderous, directed at the two men. "Gajeel razorvet all of you na chasti! Otpusti me! I will otorvy their golovi with my sobstvenimmi hands!" Gray understood only some of the words.

Salamander suddenly rammed Lyon with his shoulder, and launched himself at Phantom Lord, despite having numerous knights surround them. He moved very fast considering the weights on his legs. Two knights readied their spears to take on the Dragon leader. Gray held his breath, unable to take his eyes away from the gruesome scene that was about to happen.

"Ice Make, floor!" Lyon yelled. A stream of ice shot from his hands, across the floor and enveloped the pink-haired dragon slayer mid-jump, just as his feet had connected with the spears, knocking them out of the knights' hands. The ice enveloped pinkette's legs and arms, leaving only his head and chest visible. The crowd gasped, someone screamed. A few sensible nobles piled out of the room, while the rest watched on, whispering.

King Aliastair stepped down from the dais toward the scene. The knights reclaimed their spears and moved the two Phantom Lords away so that the king could approach.

The king stopped in front of Salamander, no emotion showing on his face. The Dragon boldly stared back. The king grabbed the boy's chin, and moved his face this way and that. The Dragon hissed and pulled away from the touch as much as the ice allowed.

Gray gulped nervously. What the hell was his father doing?

"They have two leaders," the king said, voice casual. "What happened to the Steel Dragon?"

Phantom Lord smiled, his eyes flashing with something that made Gray's stomach squirm. "My tribe is fighting them as we speak. We'll have the Steel Dragon any day, my king."

The king hummed, in thought or appreciation, Gray couldn't tell. He released Salamander's chin, still looking at the boy, who stared back unafraid.

The king stroke his beard, and Gray tensed. What would the king do with him? Salamander was obviously not new to battle, given his reputation and the little stunt he tried to pull on the knights. He looked strong enough to withstand the watermill, at least for a while. To top it off he was very attractive, and the king could claim him for his harem if he so wished. Gray wouldn't put it past the man to try, probably thinking of it as an exotic experience. Gray didn't like how the king's eyes trailed over the young man's body.

"That is not all, my lord," the stranger said. Gray released a breath he didn't know he's been holding, thankful for his father's distraction. Phantom Lord clapped his hands, and after an approving nod from the king, three pairs of knights came in, each pair carrying a large wooden chest. The lids were pried open to reveal solid gold bars. Gray's eyes widened, as did everyone's in the room. There was enough gold to set up a new colony.

Another knight brought swathes of fabrics – blue, which was insanely expensive, followed by purple and gold.

The last gift was a set of twelve pretty crystal jars in various colours – a perfume set from Blue Pegasus, the original seal still intact. It must have cost Phantom Lord years to accumulate that much wealth. Especially for Blue Pegasus' prized perfume – how did they even manage to acquire it? They shouldn't have been able to cross Fairy Tail's borders, much less reach Blue Pegasus located in the heart of the desert city-states.

Alastair kept his face blank, most likely mirroring Gray's line of thought. "You are forgiven for breaking into Fairy Tail," the king said. Phantom Lord bowed, creepy smile still in place. "I accept your tribute and in return, I let you leave the city alive. Lyon, escort Phantom Lord tribe to the city gates, and ensure that they are safely on their way."

"Yes, my liege."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Phantom leader said, his eyes huge. His smile was so wide it must have hurt him to hold it like that. "We will be in touch." Both men did a low bow to the extent of the poised spears, then piled out of the room, flanked by Fairy Tail knights.

Gray heard grunts and turned to Salamander who tried to wriggle out of Lyon's ice.

"Freed," the king said.

Freed walked over, pulling a spare slave collar from his pouch. Freed was one of the court High Priests, and was in charge of binding all slaves to their magic dampening collars or bracelets. He applied the spells which allowed only one person, usually the slave's owner, to remove the collar if he or she so desired. Right now, the binds on Salamander that kept him from using his magic were generic – anyone, even the Dragon leader himself, could easily brake them like any jewelry. But once the binding spell was applied, the collar's steel became harder than diamond, imbued with binding magic, so that nothing but the master's will could remove it.

Freed paused, noted the dragon's forearms, and pulled out two more collars. The collars worked the same as bracelets, but were less bulky. Their greater length allowed more magic to be absorbed, so every four bracelets equaled one collar. Salamander wore twelve bracelets, which in itself was mind-bogging. The savages must have decided to be on the extra extra safe side and added… four more bracelets, Gray's mind reeled, than necessary to bind Salamander's power. Even Elfman, the current arena champion, required only two collars.

Gray would have turned to leave, but he was still waiting for his father to declare what he'd do with the Dragon Tribe leader. He didn't want to see his father bind the Dragon and thus become the only one to control Salamander's powers. Gray punched the throne. Just the thought of it happening angered him.

"Gray, come here," the king said.

Startled, Gray complied. Salamander watched him, a hateful glare in his eyes. Despite the hostile expression, he looked even prettier up close. Those perfect jaw lines and stormy eyes… Gray swallowed, and forced himself to look away from the attractive new slave to his father.

The king smirked and grabbed Gray's wrist. The prince tried very hard not to grimace. "Go on, Freed," the king said, thrusting Gray's hand forward.

"What are you doing?" Gray cried in alarm. Freed made a small cut on the side of Gray's hand.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm giving you a slave."

Gray's mind went blank. There was mirth in his father's eyes. Why would his father give the slave to him, especially since Salamander met the criteria to be sent to all the hard places? It made no sense!

"Why?"

"Are you questioning my gift, boy?" The king's face darkened.

Gray bit back a nasty retort. "No, Your Grace." He tried hard not to glare.

"Of course you don't." The king scoffed. "Save your rebellious attitude for your new slave. I expect you to have him at your beck and call within the week."

Gray began to feel nauseous, which had nothing to do with blood pooling from his palm. Freed dipped his fingers into the blood, latched the first collar around Salamander's neck—

"Wait!" Gray grabbed Freed's arm. "No collars."

Freed paused, and looked at the king for confirmation. Gray seethed at the Priest's behavior. Even if he had no choice in accepting the Dragon leader as his slave, he at least wanted to spare him the indignity of being collared like a cow. It annoyed him that Freed looked up to the king for approval of every little damn thing. He was the crown prince, wasn't he?

"You heard him," his father said. Gray's shoulders dropped in relief. He had half expected the king to say no, just because he could. However saying yes left them with a bit of a problem.

The dragon's arms were covered in ice.

"He's your slave." The king tapped his foot on the mosaic. "Do something about the ice. I haven't got all day."

There were several ways to remove the ice, all of them unpleasant for Lyon. The ice was an extension of the caster, in the sense that it took conscious effort to maintain the magic, and that the caster was aware of what went on with his creation. Lyon would know if anyone tried to temper with his ice, or if there were any impurities. That was why all who could Ice Make rarely let their ice melt – it felt dreadfully unpleasant, similar to starving. That same feeling made it increasingly difficult to keep the remaining ice from melting – once the process started, it was harder and harder to stop it. Gray hoped that Lyon would recognise his magic and not resist. He didn't want to fight and exhaust his brother—not while the king watched.

Gray put his uninjured palm over the Dragon's outstretched leg and applied a little of his ice magic. There were a few seconds of resistance, and suddenly the ice fell apart like broken porcelain. Salamander dropped to the floor in an undignified heap, grunting in pain at the sudden impact. He curled into himself, his arms and legs having a distinct blue tinge.

Freed dipped his fingers into Gray's bleeding palm again, dropped to the pinkette's level and drew the first few lines cross the silvery bonds.

As soon as Freed drew the first rune, the Dragon gasped, his face scrunching up with pain. His body buckled as if pulled by invisible strings. Mirajane, a permanent kitchen slave, once described the sensation of the binding spell as being buried three meters under the sand and squeezed until your bones snapped. Freed pressed the struggling Dragon leader to the ground with his free hand, while drawing more runes with Gray's blood.

Gray bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making any sound. He felt sick, watching his new slave writhe in pain. He glanced away, and saw his father look at the scene with enjoyment. The king's smile was nearly as wide as Phantom Lord's.

Suddenly every bit of blood drained from Gray's face. All he heard were Salamander's pained grunts. I allowed Freed to take the Dragon's freedom with my blood, Gray thought. I'm a monster.

If it wasn't for his father's eyes that zoomed on him like a hawk, preying for weaknesses, and for two dozen gaping nobles, the raven-haired prince would have doubled over on the floor.

When the spell was finally over, the dragon slayer lay still. His chest rose and fell in a furious rhythm, and loud pants come from his throat. His body glistened with a sheen of sweat and he looked exhausted. Not a single cry of pain had escaped past his clenched jaws. A brief expression of relief passed across the Dragon's face, before he shot a fiery glare at Freed.

"Take him and the rest of the slaves to the branding chamber."

"Yes, Your Majesty." A couple of servants grabbed Salamander under the arms and led him away with a bit of difficulty. Gray couldn't keep his eyes off the hideous red marks that covered the rebellious leader's forearms. They taunted him, seeming to shout 'look what you've done! You're just like your father!'

Gray wanted to strangle that voice.

With that, the audience was over. The remaining noble men and women poured out of the room. Household slaves picked up the gold and the fabrics under Fairy Tail supervisors. Gray stood transfixed at his spot, mulling over what happened. His father beckoned the minister of trade, and Gray strained to hear their conversation out of reflex. It as an order to find out if Blue Pegasus had missed any perfume caravans. Huh, so he thinks that Phantom Lord stole the goods too. "And find out what happened to the actual Fleetfoot Tribe." Gray was glad for the momentary distraction. It kept his new slave out of his thoughts.

"Congratulations on your new slave, Your Royal Highness." A nobleman smiled at him like it was a cause for celebration. Gray felt like he might vomit.

"Please excuse me, lords, ladies." Gray made a hasty exit, not wanting to tolerate any more lies.

As he grasped the door handle, he had an unsettling feeling that someone was watching him. He glanced behind, and met his father's blue eyes. That satisfied smirk, that raised chin and the narrowed eyes…it was the face of a schemer. A shiver went down Gray's spine. He pressed the handle and left.

Someone grabbed his hand as he stepped through the door. Gray hissed, snatching his hand away. Juvia looked at him apologetically, until she noticed a red stain on her hands. Her wide eyes snapped to his, begging for an explanation.

"Gray-sama—"

Gray punched the wall with his bleeding hand, cutting her words off. The pain helped to relieve the turmoil in his heart, but only for a moment. His shoulders sagged, and he couldn't look Juvia in the eyes. "I am the worst…"

"I am sure Gray-sama did it to protect someone," Juvia said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"The hell I did. I'm the reason he writhed on the floor at my father's feet."

"So, you saved a boy?" Juvia's voice became cheerful.

He knew what she must have thought: him, bravely standing up to his father, like a mountain, shielding a small child from the worst possible fate.

His father had other plans.

"No. He's my age, possibly older."

Juvia's face darkened. "Did he…" She hesitated. "Did the king, you know…choose him?"

"I don't know." Gray clutched his hands into fists. "Maybe. Possibly. He was definitely attractive enough."

"Juvia doesn't understand. The king didn't assign him to pleasure quarters?"

Gray hit his head against the wall. "No. He assigned him to me."

Juvia's hand covering her open mouth.

"It was a gift, as sick as that sounds."

"Gray-sama…"

"He even took that one thing away from us. I wanted it to be on our terms."

"Gray-sama shouldn't feel so bad," Juvia said, gently taking his arm and tugging him away from the throne room door. "Any man or woman is lucky to be Gray-sama's slave."

"You are just saying that to cheer me up." He let her drag him away from the horrible room.

"Yes and no." She smiled. It wasn't a creepy Phantom Lord smile, but an honest one. "Gray-sama does not enjoy other's pain. He will be a kind master. Here," she took a jar out of her pocket. "Juvia made this medicine for the slaves, but kept one for herself. This should help with the pain and the swelling." She applied a dub of the pungent salve to his cut.

"Thanks, Juvia." Gray sighed. If only there was a medicine for the people of Fairy Tail, medicine that would heal years of pain and misery caused by his father's reign.

Juvia smiled again. It was the kind of smile that made Gray sad. A kind of slow burning flame shone in her eyes. She held his hand to her chest. "Juvia is happy to be of help to Gray-sama."

"We better hurry to the garden." Gray said, pulling his arm free and hooking his hands in his pockets. Juvia nodded and fell into step with him.

Once underneath the open skies, they sat on the bench furthest from the palace. Not a moment later, a faint scream broke the serenity of the garden. Juvia leaned into Gray, twining her arms around his bicep. Her eyes were scrunched shut and she looked close to crying.

Gray leaned back into the bench, conjuring his own ways to cope with the screams. This was all his father's doing. He had spelled the branding chamber to carry all sounds to the slaves' quarters, to serve as a reminder of something or other. It wasn't as if the slaves needed extra reminders with the collars hanging on their necks. The screams ended up resonating through most of the palace, and were quietest in the garden.

The unfortunate side effect was that as soon as it struck eight o'clock, they heard the citizen's cheer at this year's tribute intake. "King Alastair! Long live King Alastair!" The cheers eventually drowned out the tributes' screams.

Gray let Juvia cling to him this time. His eyes were directed skywards. He just wanted for this day to be over. That, and he dreaded hearing a certain Dragon leader scream.