Sorry for the long wait...! This chapter ended up at least three thousand words longer than originally planned. And I might actually add a little drabble to the end eventually, to wrap everything up a little more tightly.

But anyway, i hope you enjoy the read~

By the time Ichigo made it back to the opposite edge of the forest and dismounted, the sky was beginning to lighten upon the horizon. Pulling the bag from where it had hung upon the saddle horn, Ichigo slung it over one shoulder. He got hardly more than a step when the strange horse thundered off and disappeared into the shadows. Staring after it for a moment, Ichigo left the trees behind and made for the castle, hoping he could slip in before anyone too important woke up.

When he made it through the yard, he found only a few guards standing at their posts, but they would say nothing, and merely bowed as he passed them. Candles had been lit in the kitchen, but that was easy enough to avoid, and he quickly skirted the area and trooped up the stairs to the second floor where his room was located as quickly and quietly as he could. The books were a heavy weight upon his shoulder, but he did his best not to jostle them around too badly, lest he damage the apparently precious objects.

To his complete surprise, when he made it to the door of his chambers, he found that he had company. Stripped of the light armor he'd been wearing the night before, Grimmjow sat slumped against the door, his head bowed and knees pulled up. The sword that had been belted to his hip sat cradled across his lap, sheathed still.

Ichigo took a moment to smile down at him, before unceremoniously nudging him a little harder than need be with the toe of his boot. He had to stifle his laughter when Grimmjow jerked awake with a surprised grunt, his hand wrapping tight around the handle of his sword.

"Come." He half whispered, nodding toward the door of his room as he twisted the handle to enter.

"Prince…" Grimmjow frowned hard at him, and climbed to his feet to follow behind the young prince. There was an obvious hint of surprised relief and curiosity to his voice, "Ichigo, you met with the necromancer?"

"Of course." Ichigo grinned at him, dropping the satchel of books onto his desk with a dull thud. "It was just as he'd said. An escort awaited me at the forest's edge, and took me to his fortress. And I see you hadn't expected for me to be gone so late."

"I hadn't expected for you to return at all," The guard growled back, "and upon your failure to return with the sun, I was prepared to be the first to ride out in search."

"Well it's good that you intended to be well rested, then." Ichigo turned away, hiding his amused expression as he pulled free the books and cleared space for them upon his desk. He received another growl for his teasing. "Honestly, Grimmjow, you worried needlessly. He was a generous host and a much kinder man than you give him credit for."

"For that I am relieved." The guard admitted, "I pray you're done with him."

"Not likely," Ichigo muttered, but quickly changed the subject. "We've a couple more hours before my lesson. I would rest, if you don't mind."

Grimmjow frowned a bit, but bowed slightly, "Of course not, prince." then backed back out the doorway. Before he got far, Ichigo called quietly to him.

"Please, Grimmjow, speak of this to no one."

He let his displeasure seep into his expression, but nodded all the same, before continuing from the room and heading for the staircase. Ichigo was left to himself and climbed wearily into bed. No doubt his sparring partner that day would make quick work of him.

A scant few hours later, Ichigo found himself out behind the castle, in a private courtyard hidden away within the walls. Flowering vines climbed the harsh stone, reaching toward the early morning sun. The color and fragrance was lively and refreshing, but the prince was anything but awake.

After the fourth mark against him, he dropped his sparring sword and threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat and turned towards his instructor with a worn sigh. A step away and facing him, Grimmjow lowered his blunted blade as well, and shook his head.

From across the courtyard, where he sat with his advisers and spoke of business, Isshin frowned in his son's direction. The boy was sluggish and tired, but his guard and sparring partner seemed less than surprised and uncharacteristically quiet about it. Normally, Grimmjow was a cocky sparring partner, jeering and prodding his son into a lively dual. It was half the reason Isshin had allowed the guard to start sparring with the prince in the first place, rather than an actual instructor. It helped that the two had known each other since Ichigo had been but a boy, before Grimmjow had become a member of the royal guard after the death of his father.

The king knew he shouldn't have allowed them to get so close. His son was the future king, royalty and pure, while the blue haired young man was a peasant, muddied, and a mere guard. But the two were good for each other, and while they'd both just been kids, there was no harm in it. Now, however… He often wondered how long it would take his oblivious son to realize how truly fond of him the guard had grown.

"We're done with this." Ichigo announced, stepping over his dropped sword and heading for the arched gateway that would lead back into the castle proper. "It's doing no one any good."

The instructor turned to watch him go, looking almost as frustrated as the prince, but more or less powerless to go against the young man's wishes. Half a beat later, Grimmjow handed his practice blade over to the instructor, handle first, and picked up his real sword as he carded past the man and followed behind the young prince.

Isshin merely shook his head, watching the two disappear from the yard, "Someday those two will catch on."

Beside him, an advisor noted where his attention had fallen and dared speak, "Perhaps that's what happened to have disrupted the prince's mood so, Sire."

The king grunted, shook his head again, "Perhaps it is." and finally turned back to the work before him. A moment later, his frown deepened as it sank it what his advisor may have been getting at.

Later that evening, the king found his son hidden away in his rooms, hard at work and studying the mountain of books he'd spread across his desk. Upon his entry, the prince looked up sharply, and eased the large book closed as he watched his father approach. Little did Isshin know, the book wasn't for his studies, "What ails you this day, son?"

"Nothing, father," Ichigo sighed, absently flipping the book over so that it's blank back cover was the only part visible, He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out before him, "merely tired." Something of a grin tugged at his features as he climbed to his feet and faced his old man with a surely expression, "I think a day off is in order."

Isshin chuckled and clapped his hand upon his son's shoulder as they turned from the room, "Kings do not get days off."

"Then it's good I'm not yet king, isn't it?" Ichigo replied as they both exited his room. In truth, he hadn't the energy or the desire to be out and about at that moment and would have preferred to bury himself in his bed with one of the texts Shirosaki had sent with him, but deferring his father's attention from such things was more wise.

Later that afternoon, after Ichigo had wandered off and Isshin had returned to his duties as king, Grimmjow finally rejoined his charge. As the sun reached and passed the midway point in the sky and the shadows began to lengthen, the guard dared the edge of the forest, knowing full well where the prince would go to avoid everyone else. He first insured he was alone and unfollowed, before stepping from castle grounds and into the forest. He made it all of twenty paces, just where the light of day began to bleed out amongst the perpetual darkness of the forbidden forest, when he was halted by a familiar voice.

"Didn't you know, Grimmjow, these woods are haunted?"

"Truly, Ichigo?" The bigger lad grinned as he rounded a thick trunk and, without actually looking at his younger companion, slid to sit at its base. "Than it seems no place for heirs to the throne to go without their guards."

Beside him, Ichigo smiled, a book spread open upon his lap. He didn't bother looking up, still half immersed in the world of magic and taboo he studied. "What fortune that my guard has happened upon me, then."

The guard took one look and knew exactly what it was the prince read from. Ichigo wasn't interested in the throne, never really had been. He was an adventurous sort, and young too, the only male born to a widowed king whom refused to remarry. The burden of future rulership was ever upon his shoulders, but it was training and teachings and studies and grooming he was forced to endure alone.

Grimmjow sighed a noiseless breath and pulled his sheathed sword around so that it sat across his lap, relaxed but within easy reach. Just in case. "Haven't seen them in a while, how fair your sisters?"

Ichigo finally looked up from his book, though not at the young man at his side. His gaze traveled upward, studying the tops of trees not far off. "This morning seemed a good one." He said, a small shrug accompanying his words, "Karin was up a bit, sitting in her chair. Yuzu is mostly bedridden still, but…"

The guard nodded and the sentence went unfinished.

The twins had been sickly all their lives, born frail from a dead womb. The queen had struggled through the first daughter, Karin, but her life gave out with one babe still within. None thought the two would survive, not even the king. But they had and while not strong in body, both were brilliant in mind.

Karin liked to discuss battle tactics with the royal army's commander when he visited her father. She'd even beat him a few times with their games of strategy. And Yuzu could read and write like no one else in all the kingdom. A scholar, she had told Ichigo once; she wanted to study and learn all about the world and its workings.

Ichigo wished with everything he had that he could make her strong enough to travel, to see the world and visit all the places she wanted to study. He wished he could make Karin strong enough to ride a horse, or train in swordsmanship. No one understood, not even Grimmjow; God wasn't answering his prayers, but maybe the necromancer could. Maybe Shirosaki could give him the answers he sought, and in return, when Ichigo was king, maybe he could use what he learned to alleviate the citizens of their fear and ignorance, and welcome an outcasted man back into the city.

The prince watched with a little detachment as a calm breeze rustled the tops of the trees. A few leaves shed, floating peacefully to the forest floor, caring very little of the world around them. Ichigo tracked their rhythmic, fluttering movements until they fell still. They looked just like any of the other leaves littering the ground. Then he went back to his book.

At his side, his guard was silent.

And so went the days. The young prince Ichigo spent his mornings in the spotlight of his future kingdom, training and learning all that his father and his tutors could get to stick. Then, sometime after he grew tired or had finished his tasks, he would retreat to his room and the books and scrolls he had hidden there. He drank in all that those ancient tomes had to give him, scrawled in careful, curling script. He learned about the channels and paths magic followed and flowed through in the body. He read about the different flavors of magic; good and evil, earth based or astrology based, learned verses natural talent. And accompanying each lesson or chapter, more hand written interludes from the author -Shirosaki himself- detailed personal experiences and findings. The wealth of knowledge and information the necromancer had so willingly handed him was incredible, and yet despite how much studying and training he did, no matter how much he pushed through the clogging, cloying channels in his own mind and body, Ichigo could do little more than parlor tricks by the time he finished reading through all those books and scrolls. All that help, hours and hours of practice and trial and error, and he had so little to show for it.

Late one night, long after the king and castle staff had retired for the evening, Ichigo dressed and padded from his room, a candle in hand to light his way and a book tucked under his arm. Down the stairs he went, and turned for the entrance to the castle, but first, before he left altogether, he passed it by and ducked down a mostly unfurnished, nondescript corridor that ran along the outer wall of the castle. This was where the quarters of the live-in staff were located; maids, kitchen crew, the stable boy, the guard commander. Generally, if a member of the royal family had need of someone who stayed there, a messenger would be sent with a summons, despite it being so nearby. However, despite having not traveled the corridor often, Ichigo remembered where his destination was from his time at play as a child.

He hadn't far to go, as he counted three doors down on the left side. Pausing before his destination, he shifted his light source to his other hand and raised his fist to knock upon the door, as loud about it as he dared. It didn't take him long to get a response.

It being the middle of the night and all, a summon would only come if the situation was urgent. So when he was jolted awake by a knock on his door, Grimmjow nearly tripped springing from his bed. He hurried across the room half dressed, and flung the door wide, only to see his younger charge standing before him, looking amused and maybe a bit sheepish, but certainly not panicked or distraught.

Arching a brow in a very unamused expression, the guard glanced down each side of the hallway around the prince, then leveled his chilling blue gaze at the heir himself. "You realize it's the middle of the night?"

Ichigo barely stifled his laugh and couldn't hope to hide the amusement on his features as he glanced at the half naked man. Nodding, he took a quick look around himself to insure he'd not woken up anyone else, then pushed his way into the guard's room so that he could close the door and not be caught standing in the middle of the hall in the middle of the night. "Yes I do, Grimmjow. Get dressed, quickly."

The larger man frowned a bit, but turned and snagged his pants. "Where are we going?" He asked as he pulled them up, ignoring how improper it was for the prince to be there at all, let alone while he was in such a state of undress.

"Out." Ichigo said unhelpfully, but he reached across himself and pulled the book from under his arm to show the nondescript cover to his guard.

"More magic." The big man grated as he began pulling an undershirt on.

"More magic." Ichigo confirmed, "I've got to practice or I'll never figure it out."

Tugging on his boots, a lopsided, half-grin tugged at one corner of Grimmjow's lips, "After all the times you've ventured into the forest or snuck out alone, since when have you required me to practice? You're not going to try turning me into a frog or something, are you?"

Ichigo laughed, but shook his head, "No no, I couldn't even if I wanted to. You're safe."

Not more than a few minutes later, the candle the prince had carried left wispy, thin black smoke curling through the air in his guard's room as the two scurried through the castle grounds, out toward the stables.

"He's a beautiful animal." Grimmjow commented as he pulled open the high-walled stable door to the prince's favorite horse. The animal needed no prompting to perk its ears up and tread through the doorway. It walked right up to Ichigo, expecting treats despite that it was the middle of the night.

"Yes he is." Ichigo agreed, pulling a carrot from his pocket for the well bred stallion. Even just studding this horse out just once was worth more than his guard could ever hope to earn in an entire year.

While Ichigo spoiled his horse, Grimmjow selected one of the war horses from the opposite end of the stable; a strong but easy going beast that knew well when it was time for a fight and when it wasn't. The two saddled up and, Ichigo in the lead, rode from the high ceilinged stable and out across the castle gardens.

They turned down the main path that lead through town but didn't stay there long. After only a few minutes of trotting through the city, they turned down a smaller street, then a smaller still, until Grimmjow finally caught on to where they were headed.

Frowning, the guard clicked his tongue and brought his horse up alongside Ichigo's. "The river…" He stated more than asked, glancing over at his young charge.

Ichigo grinned a sly expression, "Yes, the river." But before they actually left the road, the prince guided them upstream a ways, and only then did he guide his horse from the trail and head towards the river bottom. The water was cleaner here, and the chances of running into other people was greatly reduced.

Sliding from his saddle, he guided his mount to the nearest sturdy tree and tied the reins off. Standing aside, he watched Grimmjow dismount and follow his lead for a moment, before turning towards the darker shadows of the woods around the river.

"In his book," He said, quiet in the quieter dark, and held up the book with a small shake, "he says that running water as from a stream or river makes for a good conduit. It should help channel power, I guess."

Grimmjow looked skeptical at best, and maybe a bit unamused about the early hour.

Ichigo merely shrugged.

The two ended up wading out into knee deep water, the book left safely on dry land as Ichigo tried a few simple tricks he'd read about in it. For a long while, he could get nothing to happen and his frustrations were beginning to show. Just like the book had instructed, his motions were simple and repetitive as he tried to channel energy from his body and through his hands the way he'd seen the necromancer. Shirosaki had been able to open doors and pull out chairs. Simple things, sure, but there was precision and a stunning lack of effort to it. Yet Ichigo stood in the middle of a river, surrounded by all manner of much smaller, much lighter things and he couldn't even move a small rock he'd set up on a larger rock.

He grit his teeth and tried again, scowling at his offending target.

Standing quietly on the other side of the boulder and far more patiently than the prince had expected, Grimmjow watched with slight downward tilt to his lips and crossed arms. Like most people, he knew next to nothing about magic, but he did know that what he was watching looked off. He'd never really seen the necromancer in action, not like Ichigo apparently had, but he was used to seeing the young prince move. He was accustomed to the way the heir's form and body worked, and what he watched now in that river was beginning to remind him a lot of their earlier sparring days. The grace was just within reach, the raw talent obvious for all to see. It lacked refinement, just as it had been when the prince first had a sword in his hand.

"Ichigo," The guard finally interrupted, edging a step closer, "slow your movements. You can work on speed later. First rhythm and balance."

Ichigo frowned at the sudden coaching, but after a moment of thought, his brows unfurrowed a bit and took a deep breath as he began again. Exactly as the book suggested, and slowed to follow what his sparring partner said, the prince's simple movements were smooth and graceful and precise. He remembered what the necromancer had explained all that time ago; how his movements, his hands, were merely extensions of what was already in his head. So he concentrated on what he wanted to happen as he did so.

It wasn't much, but when Ichigo's hands came back around, he thought…maybe… "It moved! Did you see it?"

Across the bolder, cool water flowing around his knees and filling his leather riding boots, Grimmjow frowned over at the prince and arched a brow. He shook his head, "I didn't see anything." He glanced down at the fist sized rock they'd placed upon the bolder's top, certain it was in the exact same place as before. "It's dark, I think you're-"

"No." Ichigo scowled, "It did! Pay more attention this time. What kind of guard are you if you can't pay attention to what's around you?"

The bigger man shot the prince an angry, indignant look and Ichigo half ducked his head, an amused little smile twitching at his lips.

"Honestly though, pay attention this time." He said as he once again began trying to move the rock with nothing more than his mind. Again, he kept his motions slow, gentle almost, and as careful as he could remember to be. Trying to get the hang of channeling magic was a lot harder work than it had right to be, though, and more tiring than it sounded. After the third try, he was growing frustrated again and Grimmjow was standing there watching him, waiting, with that natural smugness to his expression.

Ready to give up and call it a night, after the fifth try Ichigo threw his hands up in defeat, an annoyed, frustrated sound creeping from his tongue. He was just turning on his heel to storm from the river's cool water when a startled sound caught his attention and he glanced over at his companion in time to see blue eyes go wide in the dark.

Grimmjow ducked, hearing the sharp whistle of a fast moving object sail just past him. He rose back to his full height in a rush of splashing water and anger, and glared at the prince, "What the hell was that for?!" He growled in the dark, rounding the boulder toward the younger man.

"I didn't mean it-" Ichigo defended as the bigger man approached with obvious ire, "I didn't mean to!" But a wide, disbelieving smile was slowly taking over his handsome features as he stared at the place the rock had been. Thrown by his outburst, it had nearly hit his unsuspecting guard. There'd been no control to it, no finesse or direction. But still, Ichigo had accomplished what he'd been trying for. "Did you see this time?" He asked with a laugh, grabbing hold of Grimmjow's arm in his excitement.

The guard fought to hold his displeased scowl in the face of the prince's exuberance, "Next time, warn me that I'll need my helmet." He sighed and shook his head, and lost his battle as a bit of a smirk found his lips, "Yes I saw this time."

They called it a night an hour or so later, after several more failed attempts. The most the young prince could do on purpose was make the target of his magic roll dully and un-energetically. After much more frustrations, they remounted and turned their horses back toward the sleeping castle. The sun was just beginning to color the far horizon as they left the stables and walked across the yards, side by side.

"Thank you for accompanying me, Grimmjow." Ichigo said quietly as they entered the castle and neared the first corridor. "Sleep well."

"Good night, prince." The guard replied, his rough voice equally low in the silent castle. He watched from the mouth of the hallway as Ichigo continued further into his home and deeper into the castle proper, then returned to his own room.

In the coming days, weeks, months even, the prince studied harder than ever. His duty as heir to the throne came first, of course, but more because it had to than because he wanted it to. As much and as often as he could, he buried himself in his books and scrolls and the words of his absent tutor.

When he thought of the things he'd seen the necromancer do, things like bring a dog back to life and create a horse… Well, it only served to further prove how powerful the strange man was. Shirosaki had become powerful over years, decades, whole generations. Not a handful of months that almost totaled a year.

Seated in his room, he dropped his head into his hand, massaging against his temples as the candles that lit the room burned low. He waved his other hand absently and the normally thick smoke of burnt wax and wick dissipated like it had never been there. The books and scrolls and things he'd been so diligently studying for the past eleven months and more were spread out and open, scattered across the desk, the bed, the floor.

In the morning, a party to celebrate his eighteenth birthday and coming of age was to be held in the castle gardens. Half the kingdom was to be there; lords and landowners and high ranking noblemen. Ichigo had practically begged his father not to go through with it, but the king had insisted. He didn't realize his son wouldn't be attending the party.

With a sigh, Ichigo sat back in his chair and began rolling up the scroll directly in front of him, "I know you don't understand, but I have to go, Grimmjow."

The door opened with a quiet creak and in walked the guard, a blue brow arched but not in amusement. "Well you're certainly improving in that." He commented dryly, glancing around the room.

Ichigo shook his head, but managed a small smile, "I finally figured out how to ward the door. It's actually really easy. I knew it was you before you even got all the way up the stairs."

The guard grunted and bent to pick up a heavy, leather-bound book. The cover was more like the tanned hide of a saddle than the smooth, carefully stretched leather of most books. He closed it as he straightened, tossing it to the desk the prince sat at. The resounding thud made the young man jump, and the rough handling earned the guard a sharp look, as he knew it would. "Then why do you need the necromancer? You're figuring it out on your own." They'd had the same conversation almost weekly. He knew he'd never sway the stubborn young prince's mind, but what kind of royal guard would he be if he didn't at least try.

"I'm still disappointed in you, Grimmjow, of all people I would have thought it would be you that understood, even encouraged me to find such an adventure as learning magic with a supposedly dangerous man." Stacking the books carefully, he moved to collect the ones strewn across his bed. "Perhaps even try to join me. But instead you think me a fool."

"I don't think you a fool, Ichigo, I think you young and naive."

The prince scowled and snorted an unamused laugh. "Yes, and you're so much older and wiser than I." He tied a strap around the stack of books and began carefully arranging them in the bag he'd brought them to the castle in. "You're a castle guard, Grimmjow. You outrank the citizens, but you hold no authority over me."

"I didn't take this position for that." The guard crossed his arms over his chest as he watched, knowing he'd offended the young prince.

"You did it to be better than what your father was."

"Yes, at first. But I accomplished that long ago. I wanted to be your guard, Ichigo. You're my friend, and you're important to a lot of people." He watched the prince's movements and packing pause, but before Ichigo could draw any conclusions or begin asking questions, he continued, "What am I supposed to tell your father?"

"Tell him nothing." Ichigo said with a sigh, pulling an envelope from the folds of a riding cloak that hung near his desk. He held it up for the guard to see, than laid it upon his pillow. "He'll send you to fetch me when he thinks I'm late, he always does. Give this to him, it will tell him all he needs to know; that I needed a few days to myself, to focus on things for my own reasons."

"He's going to be furious with you."

"Yes he is, but if when I get back I can make Yuzu healthy, and Karin strong, he'll forgive me."

Blue brows pinched together as Grimmjow studied the prince. There was nothing in that statement that wasn't true. The cause was so nobel and the words were so hopeful, befitting of the future king. "I've just one last question, in attempts to sway your mind. If the necromancer is as good a man as you think him to be, why hasn't he come here to help your sisters on his own?"

"I haven't asked him to." Ichigo answered simply, "I have no doubt that he would try, should I ask it of him, and in truth, if I cannot find a way to do it myself, I might resort to it. But he wasn't well during my last visit, and you know as well as I that my father would never allow him into the castle, let alone anywhere near my sisters."

With that, Ichigo hoisted the heavy satchel of books over his shoulder and turned for his door. As he pushed it open, he was unsurprised by the hand that clapped over his other shoulder.

"When should we expect you back, prince?"

Ichigo smiled, "Ichigo." He corrected, then answered, "A few days, as it says in the letter to my father. The day after my birthday, I suspect, or the next, but surely no longer than a few. He said he would need help before we begin, and we start with the beginning of my eighteenth year."

It was the night before his birthday, which put his estimate at being gone for three days, four at the most. Grimmjow nodded. "If in a week's time you've not returned-"

"If I've not returned and not sent word, than I expect nothing less than to see you charging to my aide." Making to continue, Ichigo reached up and patted the hand holding him in place, "You worry needlessly. I'll not keep you waiting long."

The guard released the prince, but curled his fingers around the strap of the satchel and lifted it's weight from the younger man. Slinging it around his own shoulder, he motioned for Ichigo to proceed him. "I hope you're right."

Once they'd made it through the castle yards and to the tree line, the walk silent, Grimmjow handed the heavy bag over again. He took his leave without another word, knowing he wasn't allowed to accompany the man he was sworn to protect.

Ichigo watched him go, watched the strength to his form and the smoothness to his stride. Then he turned and set out into the forest as the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon.

Wide, leafy branches loomed high overhead, dark and shadowy. The bag was heavy against his shoulder, but he hardly noticed it as he began the careful, not quite hesitant trek into the woods. He kept his eye open, looking for the pale shape of the necromancer's strange horse in the dark. All around him, the shadows crept in like slithering, tentacled beasts and for some reason, it reminded him of the necromancer's home. The entire forest felt dark and crawling and the young prince was reminded why people didn't dare stay in the forest after nightfall.

He rounded a thick tree, trying to retrace the steps he'd taken nearly a year ago. Not much had changed. Not much about the forest ever changed, even after winter stripped bare it's leaves and spring regrew them. The dark forest was always thus; dark and forbidding and unchanging. But in its forever unchanging state, the entirety of it looked the same. This tree looked just like the next, and the next after that. Aside from general direction, there was no telling if he was getting anywhere at all.

But he kept going all the same, his pace measured but steady as he looked and listened. The opening in the trees behind him that marked where the castle sat and village began disappeared, closed by distance and the dense foliage and shadows. Tucked safely within the castle, his sisters and father slept, his guard and friend sat alone and awake in his room, and there Ichigo was, lost in darkness and damp leaves. If there was ever a time in all his life that he felt truly alone, this was it.

He hadn't traveled long, however, and soon enough, as he pulled his riding tunic tighter about himself and readjusted the heavy bag over his shoulder, the stamping of annoyed hoofs on moist, soft earth sounded over the quiet rustle of leaves.

Brows arching, the prince straightened and picked up his pace a bit, searching around the threes and seeking out that splash of paleness. He found the odd construction near one of the many trees he rounded, its tail swishing and it's head slung low. Colorless ears perked toward him as the horse-creature rolled almost dead eyes to look at him.

A bit of a smile tugged at Ichigo's features, before slowly falling into an equally slight frown. Like the forest they stood in, and unlike the last time he'd seen the animal, something dark swirled about the horse.

"No necromancer to accompany you?" He asked, voice quiet but not whispered. The animal snorted at him like his question was absurd and half sidestepped into a turn. Ichigo hoisted the bag from his shoulder and slung the strap over the makeshift saddle horn protruding from the creature's back. "Still unwell, then." He assumed, and began pulling himself onto the creature's back.

The horse, of course, didn't answer and turned to head deeper into the forest without prompt; a construct doing as it was intended.

Ichigo fisted his hands in its mane, leaning close to its powerful neck. Below him, shadows swirled like black fog around the horse's legs. The ride seemed a rougher one than Ichigo remembered, like the horse's stride wasn't so smooth and light. They made it to the massive fortress without incident nonetheless, as the necromancer had promised, and Ichigo slid from his mount, his eyes glued to the front entrance. Belatedly he pulled the heavy bag down and hefted its weight as he began to ascend the wide, stone staircase.

Like the last time, no one awaited him and he leaned his weight against the massive doors. They creaked open with the tortured sound of old hinges and heavy wood. Within, the main foyer was dark and shadowed, just as the prince remembered it. Just as they had the year before, and the many years even before that, candles of white wax lined the banister of the spiraling staircase that led up. The flames barely flickered, nearly still in the cool air.

Shadows clung along the walls like crawling things and Ichigo shivered, thinking back to the times the necromancer had hinted about not getting lost in his home. Letting the heavy door fall closed behind him, he glanced around, expecting to find the powerful man's silent servant standing behind him, or waiting patiently to lead him to the necromancer, but Yylfordt was no where to be seen.

Ichigo frowned, thinking the building seemed almost abandoned, but surely if that were the case, the horse wouldn't have awaited him, let alone taken him to the fortress.

"Good necromancer?" He called, voice loud in the empty hall. Somewhere deeper in the fortress, old flooring creaked, then a door fell closed and the prince turned to face the sound, finding the necromancer striding toward him, a benign, almost fond smile on his pale features. Ichigo smiled too, a bit of his trepidation washing away.

"Good evening, little prince," The colorless man chimed, inclining his head in a very slight bow. He walked down the hall alone and when he made it near enough to see him more clearly in the gloom, Ichigo tried not to show his concern. He looked to have aged ten years in the one that had passed. His long white hair hung dry and limp around drawn, worn features. He walked with a slightly bent posture, like straightening any further cause him pain. One hand stayed pressed against his chest, like he had trouble breathing, while his other trailed against the cold, rough stone of the wall at his side for support. "I see you made the journey well enough." He remarked, his already distorted voice sounding thin.

"Uh-" It took the prince a moment to push past his shock, "Yes, thank you. Your guide did well just as expected."

"Very good," The sickly necromancer chuckled, motioning for Ichigo to draw closer. "I would offer ta take those, but alas, I don't think myself capable at the moment."

Ichigo's hand dropped to the satchel of heavy books and he shook his head, "It's no trouble at all," He assured, stepping closer and offering a supporting arm to his elder, soon to be mentor, "Thank you for allowing me to borrow them. They've been most helpful."

"Good, you've learned a thing or two from them, then?" The necromancer gratefully accepted the support, and looped his arm around the prince's. His fingers were cold as ice against warm, lively skin and muscle.

"Yes, a few things," Ichigo answered, trying not to be embarrassed by how little he understood in comparison to the man at his side. "Though laughable few, I suppose…"

Shiro laughed a short sound, motioning toward the stairs, "My study, if you would– Nonsense, dear prince, magic is a tricky thing. Learning anything at all on your own, with the aid of mere books, is a feat in itself. I've faith you'll do great things with your power."

Ichigo glanced toward his feet, hoping the man at his side was right.

The necromancer caught the look and a bit of a sly smile tugged at his lips. He made no effort to keep from using the young prince for support, his weakening form struggling with such a simple task as walking up the stairs, but he acted as if it were normal, as if he was unworried and unbothered by it. "You've plans for your growing talents already?"

The younger hesitated a moment, brows arching before he dared match that stunning, inverted gaze. A shiver worked down his spine and he did poorly in hiding it, catching the slight twitch of to the smirk that showed on ghostly lips. "I do…yes… My sisters, you see, they've been ill for as long as I can remember. I…" He hesitated again, pulling his gaze from the necromancer and glancing up the staircase, to the landing they neared, "I've wished all my life I could help them, make them healthy enough to do all the things they dream about."

"Such a nobel cause." The necromancer mused. He paused once at the top of the stairs, hand pressed to his damaged chest. The young prince hovered at his side, his thoughts transparent and his worry obvious to the all powerful man. "You would make a fine king, Ichigo."

After a moment to let the necromancer catch his breath, they continued down a short corridor lined with ornately carved doors made from dark wood to match the dark stone of the walls. Candle sconces lit the way, mounted between each arching doorway.

Ichigo remembered this, and realized they were headed toward the very same room the necromancer had taken him to when he'd been but a boy; the study with it's bloodwood desk and high-backed chair and shelves upon shelves of jars and chests and coffers and vials. He'd been so young then, so little, and everything had seemed so big and scary to him. Honestly, it still kind of did. The necromancer's home wasn't overly inviting, but Shiro himself made up for it.

"Where's Yylfordt?" He asked, looking about as they stopped before the study.

Shirosaki pulled a key from around his neck and unlocked the door, "Would ya believe he looks almost as bad as me?" He asked with an airy chuckle, "I sent him away early, since his presence wont be required and he needs ta save his strength."

"Oh…he's unwell also?" Ichigo frowned, pausing to let the necromancer into the room ahead of him.

On the same level of the fortress, in the opposite direction as the study, Yylfordt sat half collapsed against the wall in Shirosaki's bedchamber. Propped up in the far corner like a discarded plaything, he breathed in wheezing, hard-fought pants, his eyes glazed over with fatigue and effort. His strength had failed two nights prior and he'd sat there, alone, ever since while Shirosaki stretched and pulled and bent his very soul in ways a mortal's soul couldn't survive. His master, the undying necromancer, had fed from his life-force for thirty-odd years and now he stole the very last dregs of Yylfordt's waning soul, leaving the once lively young man to waste away in his final hours.

The young heir's question was ignored as Shiro pulled out the desk chair. He bid the lad to take a seat, then turned to one of the many shelves, a sickly smile lifting the corners of his lips, hidden as he turned away. "Shall we get started, then, dear prince?"

••••••

That next morning, with guests showing up from all across the land, Isshin stood amongst the closest thing to peers a king had and conversed in good nature. The great hall of the castle had been cleaned up and decorated for the celebration. A table laden with expensive desserts and finery took up one side; all the prince's favorites could be found. Guests laughed and jested, enjoying the festive atmosphere and toasting to good fortune for the heir. But one thing was missing from the party; the heir himself.

After nearly a half hour of entertaining guests, the king's gaze coasted about the room and still found no sign of his son. However, from across the room near the entry way and adorned in his finest dressage armor, his son's personal guard matched his stare. The look in those sharp blue eyes said it all, but Isshin couldn't help but frown at the very subtle shake of the guard's head.

With the single motion of the king's hand, Grimmjow was called to the man's side. He hesitated for the slightest of seconds, before following the silent summons and crossing the room, skirting between people and keeping out of the way. For the entire walk across the great hall, he scrambled for what he should say. He'd gone over it in his head a million times the night prior. Ichigo had made it sound so simple, like it was nothing to deceive his father, the king.

As he stepped up before Isshin and bowed slightly, he only hoped his sleepless night and restless thoughts didn't show upon his face.

A high standing land owner paused as he spoke with the king, seeing that Isshin's attention had fallen elsewhere. The man laughed as Grimmjow approached, "Still asleep at this hour, is he? Well, a young man his age…" He trailed off with a shake of his head, implying that the prince surely had a late night.

The guard's eyes narrowed slightly, the bridge of his nose wrinkling with his dislike, but Isshin arched a brow in question, waiting for his answer, so the guard jerked his attention away from the lower standing gentleman. "Not exactly, Sire." He said lowly, stepping closer as he produced a carefully folded letter. "I found his room empty, undisturbed aside from this laid upon the pillow of his bed."

Isshin frowned, taking the letter. Unfolding it, he found his son's clean, legible penmanship in dark ink. Clearly there had been a level of impatience while writing it, because near the last quarter of the short note, the ink hadn't been given the chance to dry before the vellum was folded and the ink was smeared here and there.

The king's dark eyes quickly scanned the letter, his frown steadily growing from confused to irritated. "What is this?" He asked, motioning the paper and giving the guard a sharp look. He wasn't naive or blind enough to not realize Grimmjow and his son were friends, on top of their working relationship.

Grimmjow shrugged a bit, matching the king's furious gaze with the calmest one he could manage. He didn't outright lie, but his words were as good as, and even though doing so was treason and could very well get him hanged, for Ichigo's sake, he kept the prince's secret. "It was addressed to you, Sire, I didn't read it." Then his chilling blue eyes slid to the side, landing on the nobleman Isshin had been speaking to only moments ago and the king seemed to remember he had an audience.

He tucked the letter away and sighed, "It seems Ichigo wont be joining us today," he half announced to those around him. Then, not wanting to make a scene or make the young heir look bad on his birthday, of all days, he pushed a half smirk across his scruffy features and threw up his hands, "Boys. Guess that late night turned into a late morning also."

The nobleman who'd originally made the joke laughed, a few others close enough to hear followed suit, and the festivities continued in the absent prince's name.

Later that evening, after the party had come to an end and after the last of the guests had left, the servants were cleaning. Grimmjow stood in the arched doorway, watching with a stormy expression and awaiting the summons he'd surely be getting any minute now.

The king was unhappy, it was clear. At that moment, he spoke with other high standing members of the kingdom and the matters they discussed were surely business and not personal affairs, but the two bled together in a potent mix.

It wasn't ten minutes later that deep, dark eyes flickered off to the side to find the shadowed archway Grimmjow had taken up post in. Those eyes were nearly a match to Ichigo's, or rather the other way around; the prince's were a near match to the king's. In any case, Ichigo's were always so much softer, yet Isshin showed in the younger Kurosaki royal. It was easier to see from afar, when the two weren't side by side.

Without further prompt, Grimmjow uncrossed his arms and made his way across the room. He bowed a subtle but respectful motion as he pulled up in front of his king and waited for the interrogation to begin.

"Look at me, Grimmjow." Isshin demanded, watching the proud young man straighten. Handsome features were set and infuriatingly unreadable. Isshin could see why his son liked this boy so, and the same was true in reverse. It was clear, even in that moment, that the guard cared for his son in return. That was one thing those frigid blue eyes couldn't quite hide. "Tell me honestly, I know Ichigo speaks to you of everything. You knew nothing of this?"

Grimmjow glanced at the rolled parchment in the king's hand, and shook his head. "As I said, sire, I didn't read it. I don't pretend to comprehend what goes through the prince's head."

Isshin grunted a short, agreeing laugh, but handed over the parchment.

Tentatively, Grimmjow took it and unrolled it. Creases marked where Ichigo had folded it, rather than rolled it as the king had after reading it. He held the king's eyes as he ran a thumb across the wax stamp at the bottom, feeling the raised letters of the prince's signature. Then he glanced down and scanned the short letter.

Just as Ichigo had told him the night before, the message was brief and intentionally vague. There were no details, just a son addressing his father. The guard could tell, as he quickly scanned through the letter, that Ichigo had assumed he would end up reading it, else he wouldn't have had need to be so insistent that he knew what he was doing. It almost made it seem like he was getting himself into trouble, which didn't settle well with either man.

Once done reading, he put an intentional frown on his face, rolled the letter back up, and handed it over to the king.

"This does not sound like the rebelling of a child to me." Isshin stated, his voice even and serious as he took the letter back. He twisted it in his hands, gauging the reactions of his son's guard and closest confidant.

Grimmjow shook his head a bit, "I would agree, Sire, though nothing the prince ever does is childish. Naive, perhaps, but rarely childish."

Isshin nodded his agreement. His son had grown up fast, too fast, without a mother and two sickly, younger sisters to look after while his father was busy running a kingdom. Many would argue that Ichigo had it easy, the lavish life of a prince. To some degree, they were right, but the young prince's only parent was as good as absent and that wasn't fair to the boy. No, childishness wasn't a part of Ichigo. The king's sturdy shoulders seemed to sag and he sighed as if in defeat, weary of it all. "Then I guess our only option is to await his return, and trust his words."

The guard wanted to be relieved that his interrogation was at an end, and that he hadn't yet been hanged for lying to the king, but instead, he felt only a sinking in the pit of his stomach. The king didn't know the whole story, and already he seemed to know something was wrong, that trouble was coming Ichigo's way.

A week, he'd told the prince a week. If he wasn't back before than, he would ride out and slay the necromancer. But a week was a long time for a prince to be without his guard, more than long enough for something to go horribly wrong.

A few days went by, and no word was received; no missive, no runner nor even hawk. Not even a magical message or a ghoul. Nothing at all.

Grimmjow paced holes in the floor of his room and up and down the hallway. Without the prince in attendance, there was little to keep him busy. Occasionally Isshin would call for him and he would stand before the king straight-faced and straight-backed and this time it wouldn't be a lie when he told the man he'd heard nothing. He would have preferred he could lie, though, because at least than he'd know how the young prince faired.

Another day and the king finally sent riders out in search of his missing son. He trusted the boy, he really did, but a father always knows when something isn't right and Isshin knew there was something up. He also knew that his son's guard knew more than he let on, or at least had a good idea about what Ichigo was up to. But he couldn't just call the young man out on it, not in front of everyone. Grimmjow hadn't earned punishing, he simply did as his prince bid. If anyone had a lashing coming, it was Ichigo. But at this point, Isshin only hoped his son would find his way home safe from harm.

The riders came back empty handed.

Six days after the prince had set out to train with the necromancer, Grimmjow had decided he'd waited long enough. He requested audience with the worried king. As soon as he said it concerned the prince, Isshin dropped his duties and stepped down from his throne to speak with the guard. Lined up before him, a troop of seasoned men from the king's army stood at the ready, prepared to return to their search for the missing heir.

Grimmjow eyed the king as he entered the throne room, a stern expression on his younger features. Isshin looked right back at him, seeing the fire there, seeing what was to come before it happened. Then the guard stepped forward and something sank in the king's stomach.

"I know where he's gone," Grimmjow announced, his back straight and his features set. He was younger than most of those gathered, with less experience and less hard training. But in terms of rank, he was every bit their equal and he looked the part, "and I'll bring him back."

Isshin started to protest, "Grimmjow, you've no reason to feel-"

But the guard would have none of it. He waved the king's words off, cutting him short in a way that under normal circumstances, would have never been stood for, "Responsible or not, he was under my protection and I will bring him back." He took another resolute step towards the king, until he stood before the rest of the assembled men, capable one and all, and loyal to the king, "You can keep your reward, sire, I want none of it."

"…Grimmjow-"

"I will find Ichigo."

"Grimmjow…" But the king paused, the troubled frown upon his features lessening a touch. The silence stretched, nothing to break it being said, as the two studied one another. Then finally Isshin nodded, "I can't promise you what you want, Grimmjow, but if you bring my son home safely, you have my blessing to try."

The only tell the guard gave of his surprise was a very slight raise to his sever blue brows. Then it was gone and Grimmjow nodded and bowed. Turning on his heel, he headed for the exit without further word, but was halted by the king.

"Grimmjow." His voice was stern this time, but underlying desperation and sorrow was there to be heard for whoever might listen, "Whatever you need, it's at your disposal."

"Thank you, sire, I only require his horse." Then the guard left, determined to find the prince and kill the necromancer.

•••••

The necromancer's pale fingers were both startling frigid, yet sickly warm and Ichigo -still struggling against what was happening to him and still new to the horrid man's control- had the presence of mind to realize this where the unwanted touch settled against the curve of his neck.

Everything had gone so wrong so quickly. He hadn't even realized what was happening. One minute he'd been watching the sickly, weakened man gather supplies and spread them out upon the desktop before him, the next thing Ichigo knew, he could feel the necromancer's whispered chant wrap round him like cold iron. The words had invaded him, choked him and poured down his throat to fill his lungs. Cold fingers squeezed tight around his heart until each beat ached and pinpricks of ice burned in his veins. He hadn't known what was going on…. There had been no warning, nothing to give the necromancer's plans away, even as he stood there, bent like an old man, and whispered pretty words of an unknown language in Ichigo's ear.

The prince had sat there in horror, frozen, unable to move, to retaliate. Unable to even voice his fear and his concerns and his protests. So fast, it had been so fast. Just like that, the necromancer had taken everything.

Ichigo had watched through terror widened eyes as the necromancer had collapsed to his knees, head bowed and shoulders hunched. He curled around the gaping wound in his chest as if in immense pain, but an over wide grin had slashed across his pale features, twisting a previously benign expression into something horrible and wicked. The man's entire body had convulsed where he'd huddled, then previously labored movements had smoothed out, become less painful. His breathing had evened out again. His back straightened and the black that had wound tight around his chest and throat had receded and when the necromancer had climbed to his feet, he looked like a new man.

He looked like the prince.

Shirosaki leaned in close, a twisted grin on features that now looked like a mockery of the prince's own. He held up one hand and between his thumb and forefinger he held a pale, rounded stone. It was nearly a match to the color of the necromancer's skin but it shone like his black nails, like diamond. "D'ya know what this is, little prince?" He asked, a sickly sweet tone to his distorted voice, like he spoke to a child.

Ichigo's jaw clenched as he leaned away from that toxic touch as best he could. He had a startling lack of control to his movements; the powerful magic coiling around him, he knew, but it was nothing in comparison to what he was in for. Eyes darting toward the mantle, the prince's gaze widened slightly as he looked at all the small, smooth stones that glittered in the flickering firelight.

"That's right," Shiro whispered, drawing yet nearer, until his chin hovered just over the younger's shoulder and they were cheek to cheek. His lips were soft against the curve of the prince's ear as he continued, the unassuming little stone still held in his fingers before the lad's features. "it's a glimpse of your very soul, Ichigo, it's all I need ta reach inside and take what I needed." He stepped back again, though didn't go far, and closed his hand around the stone. When he opened his fist, it was gone. Then he reached to the front of his shadowy, black robe and yanked the front wide open. The dark, sickly marks that had cut deep through his skin were gone. The old wound that had threatened to bore through him, claim a heart long rotted black, and kill him, was gone. Smooth, pale skin was revealed, supple and young and lively again. "You've done me a great service, prince." His voice was half sing-song, mocking, as he dipped into a bow. "Poor Yylfordt very nearly didn't last long enough. The state he left me in while I awaited your arrival was truly deplorable."

Horrified and shocked, Ichigo shook his head in denial as he stared up at the man. "You can't do this! You'll never get away with it," He shot to his feet, finding strength to fight against the hold on him.

The necromancer arched a pale brow and eyed the prince without worry. "Sit back down." He demanded, and power laced his voice.

Ichigo could feel it in his very bones and was horrified to find himself complying. Without his want, he returned to his seat. Confusion and revolution rippled through him as dread began to show on his features.

"Dear little prince," Shirosaki shook his head, like what he was doing was no more than chastising a child, "Dear naive, little prince. Ya can't hope ta fight against me." He leaned in close again and his words were a sharp hiss against the prince's ear, "I am undying. I am all powerful. I've lived for centuries. If I say it, it becomes truth. You belong ta me, now." Then he stepped back and turned away, as if to leave Ichigo to himself and his growing misery. He crossed the room and only once more directed his attention to the prince when he stood before the flames of his glowing hearth. With a fondness that resembled what he'd shown the prince when Ichigo had been just a child, he placed his pretty, white stone on the mantle amongst all the others. There was something very final, very damning in the simple action, like everything Ichigo was and everything he had ever been was out of reach, set high above on a shelf. "I've grown old, Ichigo, I've grown inta all the things yer father tried ta tell ya I was. I will feed from your life, your soul, until it's spent. Then I'll cast ya aside and find another handsome young man, as I have done since before even the king can remember."

Ichigo fought back panic, fought back despair that threatened to choke him. "Y-you wont get away with this…" He forced out in a harsh whisper, "He'll come for me and he'll kill you. He promised."

The necromancer laughed as he left the room.

••••••

Horse hooves stamped in anticipation as the big creature sidestepped an antsy motion under the saddle cinched tight around its middle. It's tail swished out behind it and it tugged at the reigns in the stableboy's hand, ready and impatient to be on its way. No doubt it fed from its handler's own mood.

Grimmjow's features were set in a determined, grim scowl as he swung up into the saddle. The beast shifted below him, feeling the difference in his weight verses that of its usual rider. Horses were smarter than given credit for. The prince's warhorse knew they were finally going to war.

The master of the king's stable stood nearby, watching with crossed arms, "I'd advice you take a more seasoned mount, if you truly think you're in for a fight."

Grimmjow merely shook his head as he checked his sword and took the reigns from the stableboy. "This one is loyal to the prince." Is all he said, before his gaze drifted passed the older man and to where the king stood just outside the wide, arching doorway. "It also knows its way back home, and wont require much prompt to come back here."

Without ceremony, Grimmjow guided the horse from the stable, then set his heels to the animal's flanks. The stallion tossed its mane and set off in a swift canter, straight through the tree line and into the forbidden shadows of the forest.

The king watched him go, until the guard and horse had disappeared from sight. "I should have known…" He told himself, as he had over and over for the past few hours since his son's guard had confessed, "It was so long ago… I thought him safe, but I should have known that monster was after my boy."

Grimmjow rode through the rest of the morning, watching the sun raise along the horizon. The shadows around him seemed to never lessen, as if night and the darkness that came with it clung to the branches above him permanently.

When the imposing, stone fortress loomed before him, he finally slowed his horse. Despite having never been there before, he knew this was the place. Everyone had heard the tails; a shadowed castle to rival a king's own with rolling yards of surprisingly lively gardens, hidden deep in the forbidden forest. It was said that the plants and flowers the necromancer tended to were used to aid his deadly magic. Even the twisted, gnarled trees that lined the path. Staring at it all in person, Grimmjow believed it.

The animal he rode seemed reluctant to enter the grounds, like it sensed what awaited beyond the gates. Dismounting, he walked the animal closer to the castle. There were no guards at the open gate, no sentries posted outside. Grimmjow walked right up to the looming fortress of dark stone, leaving the horse not but a few paces from the wide entrance. He hesitated at the short set of stairs that led up to the entrance, looking up at the face of the fortress with hand on the hilt of his sword, but nothing happened. No one met him, no yelling or threats. Nothing at all.

The guard walked right in, like the building was abandoned, to find an entry hall filled with cold stone, dark shadows, and a spiraling staircase. Candles lined the way, but no smoke hung in the air, no smell of burnt wick or hot wax.

Very carefully pushing the large door closed behind him, Grimmjow eyed the top of the stairs as he went the opposite direction, skirting along the edge of the large room. He checked every doorway he came to. Some were locked, others were empty, not a trace of the prince nor hint of the necromancer himself. But Grimmjow knew he was in the right place. The dark creature's presence lingered. His magic left behind a bitter flavor to the stale air.

To his surprise, after no more than twenty minutes, he found who he was looking for in a large room at the far end of a short corridor upon the first floor. Ichigo sat in a high-backed, wooden chair that had been pulled out from a long table. His back was to the door but that bright orange hair and lean stature was unmistakable to the guard, even without the rich clothing and dignified stance.

"Prince-!" Grimmjow hissed between his teeth, checking the corridor around him once more before ducking into the room with all haste. He skittered through the dark room, only a small, dwindling fire in a grand fireplace at the far end of the large room to light his way. He rounded the chair, half diving in front of the prince, only to look up at startling blank features. There was life to the young heir, his breathing was even and normal and when Grimmjow grabbed hold of his shoulders, warmth seeped through the thin cloth of the shirt he wore. But Ichigo acted as if he didn't even realize Grimmjow knelt before him, staring blankly across the room at nothing.

"Ichigo," Grimmjow tried again, his voice a quiet growl as he shook the young the man. A deep frown dominated his handsome features, confusion and worry aplenty. "Ichigo, it's me, I've come to get you out of here."

Finally, dull brown eyes lowered slightly and found Grimmjow's studying glance. It took a long moment, but the very slightest hint of widening to the prince's eyes was enough to prove that Ichigo was still himself. Yet he didn't move, sitting perfectly still in the chair.

"Come." Grimmjow instructed, jerking to his full height again and tugging Ichigo by the shoulders to follow.

The prince swallowed, his jaw working, but no sound came out. He stared at Grimmjow with eyes that were just barely wider than normal, but the guard saw horror there. Then an echo of laughter interrupted the quiet and Grimmjow's hand shot down to the hilt of his sword.

"Sit down, little prince." The necromancer's lilting, distorted voice proceeded him. The soles of his shin length leather boots made not a sound on the smooth stone flooring but he was a looming shadow in the doorway as he approached.

A look of dread terror flashed through brown eyes, then Ichigo took half a step back, pulling away from his loyal guard, and lowered himself back into the chair he'd occupied, and stared straight ahead, no longer meeting Grimmjow's gaze.

Grimmjow glanced at him, than back toward the necromancer, rage and aggression twisting his features, but he faltered, all that hate crashing down, as the undying creature strode into the feeble light of the dying fire. Grimmjow found himself faced with familiar, pretty features; a mirror image of the prince he was sworn to protect. A sharp grin twisted normally kind lips, and brown eyes were too cold, too gold. The hair that framed the things features was white, colorless and long.

"My my, little prince," The necromancer called, not looking at his victim, but at the intruder instead. He stepped up to Ichigo's side and almost fondly threaded elegant fingers through orange hair. Oh so tenderly, he tipped the prince's head to the side and stooped to bring his features right along the young man's, "a most loyal guard you had…"

Ichigo said nothing, head tilted and the warmth of the necromancer against his neck, but there was a wet shine to his eyes.

Fury lit Grimmjow's spine. His sword hissed from its scabbard with anger to match its wielder's. He made it a single step as the horrid creature straightened and watched pale features turn serious. A single, careless flick of the necromancer's wrist, like swatting at a fly, was Shirosaki's response. Something fizzled and hissed in the air near his hand, but it was the opposite of a spark; darker than even the shadows of his abode, it stole light from the air.

Before Grimmjow knew it, he was on the floor, slumped against the wall beside the fireplace. The echoing concussion of his armor on stone rang in his skull and reverberated through his chest. His sword was a hollow clatter of useless steel as it shivered on the floor halfway between him and the necromancer's boots.

Grimmjow shook his head, trying to clear it. His blue eyes found Ichigo's brown and he watched a single, terrified tear streak young features. Then the necromancer was upon him, bent like a wretched beast with one, strong hand fisted in his hair. Achingly familiar features were pressed close, until he could feel warm breath upon his skin, but the grin that twisted those features was nothing like Ichigo's, and the teeth it bared may as well have belonged to a monster.

The crack of his skull against the wall behind him was the last thing Grimmjow was aware of for hours to come.

When he woke up, it was with a low, agonized groan and dizziness that made the dank room spin. The air smelled of wet dirt and stale moisture. A chill seeped along the bare, stone floor and bars reflected the glint of dancing torchlight.

As he tried to find his bearings, head bowed and in his hand, Grimmjow rolled into a sitting position. He looked outward through a curtain of his blue bangs, and froze when his sight settled upon bare, pale feet. Eyes widening, his gaze traveled upward slowly, almost hesitating to confirm who stood before him so calmly.

"Our dear little prince has told me much about ya, Grimmjow." The distorted voice was quiet in the dungeon-like room, holding none of the cruelty it had earlier, but certainly not showing the charm that had lured Ichigo in all those years ago. "Childhood friends," he continued, lifting his arms to throw back the thick mantle that had hung about his shoulders, "grown inta something…more. But he doesn't yet realize it, does he?"

Half dressed, lean muscle flexed and tensed smoothly below flawless skin as the necromancer stepped away from his dropped covering; long legs, cut hips, firm abdomen, elegant throat. His hair was longer than the prince's, much longer, and wild where it hung about his shoulders. Gold eyes glittered in the light of the fire, the dancing flames highlighting the curve of his neck and the handsomeness of his borrowed features. A smirk quirked one corner of tempting lips in a mischievous expression.

It was a twist of cruel irony that now, after all this time, Grimmjow was finally gifted with the sight of the body he'd longed for, ached to see, to touch, taste, for years as he'd followed the prince. He frowned, dragging his attention away to sneer at the wall past the man's shoulder, his raised hand falling.

Shirosaki laughed. "He could, Grimmjow. He could know. I would let ya show him in all the ways ya desire, and under my control, he would do anything ya asked."

The guard's sharp gaze snapped back to the necromancer's, fire lighting blue eyes. He curled his lip and bit out, "Hold your tongue, monster. When I get out of here, you will die by my hand."

Again, Shirosaki laughed and the flighty sound was like the chaotic beat of a crazed bird's wings. He stepped closer, until he was close enough to touch, no fear in the undying man, not of the guard that threatened him. Not of the sword he'd laid nearby, within reach. Not of the hate and anger he found in bright blue eyes. "You can't fight me." He all but whispered, his voice sweet like honey.

Grimmjow growled in retaliation, "I sure as hell can try."

The necromancer smiled and nodded, "You can try." and it was sickening how much like granting permission it sounded. Then, after he stood there and studied the guard a moment longer, he turned on his heel, "Let me know when you're ready ta see your dear little prince."

After the necromancer was gone and Grimmjow had sat and glared after him for a few minutes, it dawned on him that the door to the cell he'd been thrown in had never been shut, and that his sword had never been taken from him. In fact, the vile necromancer must have brought it to him. It sat barely an arm's length away, like a challenge in the dank room. He glanced towards the dark, yawning doorway the pale man had disappeared through before reaching for it and jerking to his feet.

Careful and quiet, he strode towards the open doorway the man had disappeared through, sword held out at the ready. But when he peered around the frame, he found nothing but open hallway. No one -necromancer or other- stood on guard. A disgruntled frown furrowed the guard's brow as his blue eyes swept the shadows between the candle holders mounted on the walls. Doorways yawned back at him, like lifeless eyes that seemed to track his movements as he tentatively stepped through and into the corridor.

He was positive his cell had been left open on purpose; the necromancer didn't seem one to overlook such things. It was as thought the undying man was toying with him, playing some perverse game he'd failed to detail the rules of.

After another minute of creeping down the corridor, in which he met no resistance, Grimmjow slid his sword back into the scabbard at his side. If the creature wanted him dead, he was certain he'd already be dead, still lying on the cold hard ground before a mighty fireplace with the sound of steel ringing in his ears. But he wasn't, and the necromancer had left him free to roam.

Grimmjow quietly, but surely, made his way to the very end of the corridor he found himself in. Having not been aware of his trip to the dungeon he'd awoken in, he had only the slightest idea of where at he was in the great mansion, but the first set of stairs he came across, he ascended. He almost expected to find the necromancer waiting for him at the next landing, but when he made it up the spiraling staircase, he found himself alone still.

Almost an hour went by as he navigated the maze of windowless hallways, hardly enough light in many of them to even see what stood before him had there been something waiting for him in the dark. Finally he came upon the massive, double doors he'd originally entered through, and their rounded, high ceilinged entry hall. The doors, like they had been before, were unguarded.

Pausing in the shadowed archway of the corridor he'd been traveling, Grimmjow glanced around the rotunda, before his eyes strayed toward the doors and the exit. But instead of heading for them, he went towards the side and found the room with its long table and massive hearth.

The fire had nearly died, burned low to embers that just barely glowed in the gloom. The prince was gone.

Snarling in the still, dead air, Grimmjow turned on his heel and stormed back into the rounded space where all the hallways seemed to converge. There he paused and weighed his options, glancing about him at all the doorways and shadowed corridors, and finally the grand staircase that led upward.

He took the stairs two and three at a time, until he was standing upon the landing, where a railed balcony of sorts overlooked the rotunda and it's massive doors below. Clear to his left, at the very end, light spilled under one of the doors. He crept to it, as quietly as he could, and paused outside to listen for the sound of an occupied room. Surely the necromancer awaited within.

But all he heard was silence, and so, with one hand on the hilt of his sword, he carefully pushed the door open. It slowly swung inward on silent hinges to reveal a room filled with shelves. A desk dominated one wall and like everything else he'd seen thus far, it was large and sturdy and carefully decorated. A flickering lamp sat atop it, the wick burned low but evenly and the reservoir for oil was still full. Next to it, a silver tray gleamed, all manner of medical tools had been laid out on its shining surface. Sorcery and magic was thick in the air, replacing the smoke that should have been let off by the lamp.

In the far corner, between the desk and the rows of shelves, something sat wrapped in dark cloth and propped against the wall. It was man sized, but no movement or sound came from it.

Hardening his features, Grimmjow took a steadying breath and crossed the distance between the doorway and the bundled object. He knelt at its side, glancing over his shoulder back toward the door, and oh so carefully found the folded edge of cloth near where -if it was a person- the head should have been. He pulled it back until he found long, blond hair and couldn't help the relief that flooded him. Then he yanked the cloth down further, hurriedly. It was indeed a man, but he looked to be long dead, staring sightlessly over Grimmjow's shoulder, like he'd watched his tormentor wrap him up and leave.

Grimmjow draped the heavy fabric back in place and stood. Ichigo wasn't here, and he had a lot of rooms to search.

••••••

Ichigo strained and grit his teeth. For all his struggling, all he did was swipe a hand through the air. There was enough power behind it that the heavy chest of drawers beside the necromancer skidded across the floor and toppled.

The pale creature side stepped it as he entered the room, watching its path. Then he turned to Ichigo with arched brows and an impressed look, a grin on his features. "I see you were being truthful!" He exclaimed, almost proudly, almost excitedly. "Fine then, lets see what you can do, little prince, free of my influence."

With the words, Ichigo felt as if invisible chains unwound from his body. Their heavy weight rattled in his mind as they loosened, then they were gone altogether and he was free again. With regained control, he snarled his hatred and put everything he had into a magical assault.

The necromancer, so unconcerned, didn't even move from the path of the wave of sorcery. It hit with a wildness to it, a complete lack of control, but there was strength behind it. It was enough to force him a half step back through the doorway and grinned all the wider -a truly manic expression- as he pulled a single hand up, flicking his fingers out toward the boy.

The simple motion had immense power behind it; years and years of training, of practice and mastery. It was a watered down version of how the necromancer had dispelled of Grimmjow, and like it had with the guard, it sent Ichigo sprawling. His landing was padded by the plush mattress behind him, the silken sheets cool to the touch.

As he began trying to right himself, Shiro stepped back through the doorway, closing the portal behind him this time. His smirk was maddening. It was a challenge, it was dark and promising and yet leering and lascivious all in one.

Ichigo cringed at the sight of it and how twisted it made the man's borrowed features look.

The necromancer asked as he drew yet nearer, "Now, are you going to play nice, Ichigo?"

The prince's attention was drawn to the rich mantle the creature wore, and the way it fell open and did little at hiding the half state of his dress. And then it dawned on him which room the necromancer had brought him to, and where the attack had landed him. Fear coiled tight in his stomach, nausea and even disgust close by.

He scrambled off the bed, backing away from the necromancer and along the wall, never taking his eyes off the man. Shiro smiled that expression he'd always taken as kindly wisdom before. It felt infinitely less friendly. Ichigo was allowed to skirt the wall, backing away and towards the door, and it made the prince realize there was no escape. The creature before him was old, powerful. He was a monster, like the things everyone thought lurked the forest. He was hunting, and Ichigo was the prey, already caught in the man's snare and left to run scared circles until he wore himself out.

Not looking where he was going, Ichigo ran into the chest of drawers he'd thrown and nearly tripped. The few things that had once sat upon its top were scattered around him. Something shined in the low lighting; a decorated letter opener with a blade of expensive silver and a carved, ivory handle.

Ichigo stumbled as he regained his balance and righted himself, snagging the letter opener in the process. He turned for the door, quick like he was trying to make a run for it. It left his back open to the necromancer and he heard the amused lilt of laughter behind him. As expected, the door didn't budge when he tried to push it open, but the letter opener was clenched in a white-knuckled grip and the prince clenched his jaw to match, waiting for that cool touch.

He didn't wait long, as he jerked on the door. Within moments, the necromancer was upon him. Long fingers found his upper arm, jerking him around. There was amusement in that pale face, a crazed spark to inverted eyes. Then there was rounded surprise, as Ichigo followed the spinning motion of the creature pulling him around, and slammed the letter opener home. It punched below the necromancer's outstretched arm, slid between ribs and sliced a tear in tender muscle. It ground through cartilage with a sick, slurping pop and still Ichigo pushed. Then it sank into something much softer with hardly a sound at all, a breath of air as it found the necromancer's lung, and Ichigo watched features that mirrored his own turn from surprise to shock.

The creature released his prize and jerked back, stumbling slightly as his bloodless lips curled and his hands shot to his side. He glared at Ichigo, stunned. Vivid, oxygen-rich blood seeped and bubbled from the wound, gliding in thick streaks down the curve of his ribs. He dragged in a strained breath and when it pushed out in a short, harsh gasp there was blood in that too.

For a moment, Ichigo thought he'd won his freedom, thought the nightmare was over. But only for a moment.

Then the necromancer sneered. His discolored tongue curled out from behind his red stained teeth and cleared the blood from the corner of his lips and his fingers curled round the ivory handle. He yanked the silver blade free with a slick, spongey sound and sent it spinning away from his person so fast it thunked into the wall and stuck fast, straight through the mortar holding the stone.

Ichigo watched in frozen terror.

The necromancer panted, chest heaving to make up for the punctured lung. Rage twisted his features. In the span of moments, in the three short strides he took to reach the prince, the wound was already knitting closed. By the time he grabbed hold of Ichigo again, and the young man found it in himself to begin struggling again, the worst of the damage was gone. In mere moments, a half dozen heartbeats' time, the creature's lung was healthy again, muscle folded back into place, cartilage reshaped. Not even a scar was left on the surface of pale, smooth skin.

His power was great indeed.

••••••

After hours of searching and yet still coming up empty handed, Grimmjow realized he'd never be able to go through all the rooms in the necromancer's mansion like this. The only way he'd find Ichigo was if the creature wanted him to. So he eventually dragged himself back down the spiral staircase, to the first floor again.

Finding the room with the long table and the great hearth, Grimmjow paced clear to the end and pulled out the chair at the head of the table, his back to the dead embers of the fireplace. Kicking the chair clear of the table, where he would have plenty of space to react, he dropped down into it, pulling his sword around to settle in his lap, and waited.

The creature didn't keep him waiting long and he suspected Shirosaki probably knew where he was at most times while he roamed the castle.

When the necromancer stepped through the door, he hardly even acknowledged Grimmjow. He moved to take his own place, seated comfortably at the table on the opposite side. He'd redressed, and once more wore his robes and high-necked, boned corset. The silver buckles that lined the front caught the flicker of flames and not a moment later, the slight tilting of Shiro's head all there was to show he concentrated, the fire came back to life in the massive fireplace along the wall.

The creature sighed, a pleased smile slanting his lips, like he'd missed the power coursing through his veins. "The prince provides an excellent source of strength." He admitted conversationally. "Perhaps, in the future, I'll start teachin' all my new conquests a bit of magic before I take them for my own."

Grimmjow grit his teeth, but remained quiet, knowing the creature baited him on purpose.

The necromancer looked almost disappointed. "Nothin' ta say, guard? You're much quieter than earlier. Perhaps lettin' ya roam my home was a little more traumatic than I'd realized."

"I'm not traumatized." Grimmjow assured, a growling tone to his voice.

"No? Well that's a relief." The necromancer waved one hand dismissively and jumped straight to the root of Grimmjow's presence, "I've already made it clear, I should think; ya wont be taking him from me. You're welcome to stay, most loyal guard, it's not often I have company. Or you're free to leave, but know this; if you step from this mansion, you wont find your way back."

There were two ways to take what the pale creature said, and Grimmjow's eyes narrowed on the man, "Is that a threat?" He asked, his voice dropping to a quiet, grave sound.

A wicked little smirk tugged at Shirosaki's pale lips, "Threat, and fair warning." Without warning, the necromancer stood gracefully and confidently turned his back as he made to leave again, sweeping through the room in a hush of shadows and the whisper of heavy, black robes. "You think me a monster, and you may be right." There was amusement in his voice still, "But I'm also a gentlemen. Or used to be, anyway. There's been a bed dragged into the cell at the end of the hall. You're welcome to make yourself comfortable in there. Lock me out if you wish, guardsman, it will do you no good, but you've my word that until I decide what to do with you, you're safe enough here."

Grimmjow frowned and watched him leave, just as suddenly as he'd come.

Before the door swung shut behind him, Shirosaki called back, without raising his voice, "My offer still stands; find me when you wish for a night with your little prince."

The guard grit his teeth in frustration, at a loss for what games the horrid creature was playing. The necromancer was old, and surely grew bored of the same things year after year, decade after decade. He toyed with Grimmjow, that much the guard knew. Ichigo had given the necromancer strength and power, Grimmjow gave him entertainment. They were as playthings, and treated as such.

As Grimmjow finally pushed from his seat, the frown permanent upon his brow, he began to realize that to beat Shirosaki, he would have to first join the game. Skirting the sidelines and watching would get him nowhere. It would be messy, he was sure, and dangerous beyond imagine, but what he had to lose was more than worth it. He'd given the king his word. He'd given Ichigo his word.

That very next day, after spending the night in an unlocked cell -where he'd found a straw mat and clean sheets, just as the necromancer had said- he began stalking the hallways all over again, but this time, he wasn't searching for his prize.

Grimmjow spent hours, walking the length of hallways, counting his steps and peering into rooms. Most doors were left unlocked to him, and within, the contents varied greatly. Some of the rooms looked as if they'd been left untouched for decades, some looked to be used regularly.

The guard began to form a pattern in his mind, as he mapped out the interior of the great mansion and memorized relative locations. He worked out a general layout in his head, and mentally marked where he believed the dangerous necromancer haunted the most, and where he seemed to avoid.

That evening, when he made his way back around and returned to the cell he'd been given to stay the nights in, he found a spread of meat, cheese and bread fit for a king. Unwatered, red wine sat in a small carafe nearby.

The entire set up made him feel like he was but a pet, and only enforced the idea that the necromancer merely toyed with him. Eventually, the creature would get bored of him, the way all spoiled children bored of their playthings. He needed to figure out how to free Ichigo before then.

Seeing little other chance of finding where the creature had locked the prince up at, Grimmjow left the hold the next morning and once again sought out the necromancer. As seemed to be a running theme, he couldn't actually find the creature on his own, but after only minutes of seating himself at that long table by a cold hearth, the necromancer came to him. This time, the young prince followed at the creature's heel.

When Ichigo stepped through the doorway, Grimmjow shot to his feet, his attention lingering on the prince. There was a dullness to brown eyes and a bone-deep weariness to his features, like the necromancer stole the life from him. Which was exactly what was happening.

After a moment of studying the prince, Grimmjow's painfully blue eyes costed back to the elder, cold and hard. Shirosaki simply looked back at him with that hint of madness and amusement.

"Have you decided to accept my generous offer, then?"

Grimmjow's hesitation was genuine, as he let his attention stray back to the young prince, where Ichigo hovered a step behind and at the necromancer's side, like a servant rather than royalty. "…is this truly Ichigo?" There was no life in the young man, no fire or cunning or hotheaded stubbornness.

Shirosaki smiled almost patiently, but the softness didn't reach his cold, dark eyes. He nodded once, "Of course. He'll liven up again once he's under your control, in private."

The guard nodded slightly, slowly, before dragging his attention back to the man he haggled with, like Ichigo was something to be bargained for, a good to purchase. He clenched his jaw, and nodded again, this time more firmly. He was determined in this, even if it meant actually going through with the act of intimacy against the prince's will. If it came to that, he could face the noose without regret, once he saved the prince and brought him home.

"Excellent." The necromancer lifted one hand and Ichigo stepped up to his side, allowing the pale copy to wrap that arm fondly around his shoulders. Long, pale fingers flattened against the opposite side of the princes features, brushing down his cheek and jaw like the necromancer pet an animal that had curled in his lap. "I have need of him today, but you'll be free to use him through the night, afterwards. I'll send word when and where to find him."

Grimmjow had to refrain from openly showing his revulsion at the nercomancer's words and the way he touched the prince. He swallowed the bile that wanted to burn at his throat, jaw tight, and once more nodded, his eyes coasting to lock with Ichigo's. Brown met cool blue, and for a moment, Grimmjow thought maybe he saw the tiniest spark of recognition, but it was short lived and snuffed out.

The necromancer laughed, threading his fingers through orange hair, and turned Ichigo toward the exit again.

The guard wasn't slow to follow after them. He paused in the doorway, watching as the necromancer seemed to float up the staircase, Ichigo ever at his side. There was a wicked grin on the creature's mockingly handsome features.

As he'd been promised, when the time came, word was sent and magic was involved. The necromancer was no where in sight and Grimmjow was alone, yet when he rolled over restlessly upon the bed he'd been given, impatiently awaiting his meeting with the prince, he found a folded letter where none had been only moments ago. The instructions written within were precise and clear, but brief, and Grimmjow followed them.

He slipped into a room with a door made of dark, heavy wood, and carefully closed it behind himself. The room may have very well been the necromancer's own, for all Grimmjow knew. It was richly decorated, filled with finery and decor luxurious in its lack of necessity. The bed frame was of carved, twisted wood, dark like the door. A chest of drawers matching it sat in one corner, against the wall. A silver candelabra hung from the ceiling, low over his head. The candles flickered and let off light, but no heat and their wax was still solid.

Ichigo was already sitting there, waiting for him with a worn out look on his face, like he was too tired and too scared to show it. His feet were flat on the floor and his back was straight and stiff, uncomfortably so. A long, luxurious robe had been pulled over his shoulders but the way the front fell and opened across his chest, it was clear he wore nothing underneath.

Grimmjow grit his teeth and crossed the space between himself and the bed, but when he went to reach out to the young prince, he hesitated. A deep furrow cut across his features as he looked down into the dark, heavy brown eyes just barely aimed up at him. There was a dullness there, a chill that shouldn't exist, but up close, below the controlling magic, the prince could still be found; all his fears, his anger and fire.

"Ichigo?" Grimmjow asked, his rumbling voice low, "He…he told you, right? You're to listen to me and what I say."

Ichigo swallowed and nearly looked betrayed as he nodded his confirmation. Still he didn't move, but his chest rose and fell in a too steady, too controlled rhythm below the robes he wore. As had been promised, there was more life to him now than had been back in the great hall.

"Good." The guard finally knelt and reached out, but rather than laying a hand on the prince, he tugged the front of the rich, dark robes closed and covered the bare skin that wasn't his to enjoy, despite what the necromancer had promised he could have. "Than…know that I'm not here for what he thinks I am. You're free to speak and act as you wish, under your own will."

Brown eyes widened and it was like something snapped free, "Oh Grimmjow–" and the prince practically launched himself against his guard, suddenly finding himself able to move and speak without hinderance. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around the bigger man's middle and bury his face against Grimmjow's chest. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… You were right, I-"

Grimmjow shook his head, unable to tell the prince his apologies were unnecessary, and slowly returned the unexpected embrace. "I'm going to get you out of here, Ichigo."

Pressed against the larger man, his face buried in the crook of Grimmjow's neck, Ichigo cringed against him, almost seemed to shrink, like he knew Grimmjow was serious, but couldn't bring himself to actually believe it. "How?" He finally whispered, forcing the word free of a dry, constricted throat, "How? We can't- Even if we can slip past him, he'll just call me back… Grimmjow, I can't- I can't control it. I try so hard to fight against him but I can't. His magic…"

Anger welled in the guard anew, rage to fill an ocean, "Then I'll kill him first."

"You can't…" Ichigo shook his head and swallowed, "You can't kill him. He feeds from my life force… Any wound you inflict on him…" He shook his head again, at a loss, for he'd seen the proof himself. "It would only heal and leave him as if untouched."

Grimmjow growled his dislike. Ichigo could feel it rumble in the man's broad chest. "Then I will find a way to break his magic."

Ichigo started to shake his head, started to explain that he'd already tried and that the bit of magic he'd taught himself was nothing in comparison to the necromancer, even fueled by all his fear and anger and indignation. But he stilled, freezing up as his eyes widened. In his mind, wreathed in dark, creeping shadows, he remembered the horrid creature and that horrid, toothy grin and he remembered the pale gem the monster had showed him.

'it's all I need ta reach inside and take what I wanted—'

"The stone…" Ichigo breathed, hands fisting in Grimmjow's undershirt. He jerked back, so that he could look the man in the eye, "The stone-!" He shook his head, almost disbelieving, and could see that Grimmjow had no idea what he was talking about, "It's his conduit, the physical manifestation of his hold over me. Everything he's done thus far, he told me about, written in those books he gave me to study. It was right in front of me all along…"

"Ichigo," Grimmjow halted his line of thought, and now that the prince had initiated contact, he felt like he couldn't possibly let go. He pushed one hand along the prince's upper arm, where he'd settled them as Ichigo had pulled away to look at him, up until he cupped the side of Ichigo's neck. "I don't know what you're talking about. What stone?"

"The- in the hall with the long table and the hearth- you were there, weren't you? I remember you finding me, I think…" Brown eyes lowered a bit, in thought and memory.

His loyal guard nodded, "I know the one."

Ichigo matched his nod, his mind still lost in thought, "Along the hearth, there's a row of jars filled with stones…" He paused and his lips thinned to a repulsed line. All those souls, all those people he'd tricked and trapped and used… "One of them, a white one, I think, is mine… He showed it to me. If you could get it from him…or maybe you would have to destroy it, I don't know." He shook his head a bit, only understanding half of all that was going on. He'd learned much from those books, and the necromancer was so forthcoming with his information, he was so confident. It was frightening. "But the stone is his control over me."

"Then I will find it, and I'll do what I must to free you."

Ichigo managed half a small smile, and leaned forward again, too tired and worn to care if it was improper for a prince to conduct himself in such a manner around a mere guard, but Grimmjow was more than that. Grimmjow was his friend and, at this point, his only hope to return to his life. When he spoke, it was nearly a whisper against the bigger man, "Thank you, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow lowered his chin, letting his cheek settle against the top of Ichigo's head and all that orange hair. "I gave my word."

"I know, but this is more than that. I know it is."

"He told you?"

The prince was quiet for long moment, and didn't answer. "He'll know we didn't–"

"I know he will."

"…what will you do?"

"Whatever I must."

"Grimmjow… I don't think I would mind it." Ichigo's voice was so quiet, and Grimmjow's hold on him only tightened. "You would care to be more gentle than him, I think."

The guard took his leave with rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach and hatred in his mind, ready to slay the necromancer for all he'd done and all he would surely continue to do. It didn't matter that the task set out before him was nearly impossible. It didn't matter that he was one man, one young guard with a pitiful, iron sword against an ageless creature of dark magic and cunning. He would face the necromancer and he would come out victorious. To lose meant to forfeit not only his own life, but the prince's as well. And after that, who knew what else the monster would set his sights on.

That night, Grimmjow didn't return to the prison cell he'd been told to stay his nights in. He made his way back to the room with the great hearth and its row of jars. The necromancer awaited him with a fine spread of food upon the table, despite the late hour. He sat on one side of the table, at the end closest to the fireplace. A chair across from him had been pulled out and an extra place had been made.

Grimmjow took the obvious invitation and sat across from the creature. The fire was a hot, lively presence to his right, the jars and stones that lined its top almost within reach. In front of him, the necromancer practically radiated cold. There was a sly smirk on his borrowed features, as usual.

A carafe of wine was pushed his way, and Grimmjow poured himself a glass, "Are you bored of me already?" He asked, not bothering to look up.

Shirosaki's smirk grew, "Of course not. The game's just beginnin'."

The permanent frown on the guard's features deepened. He didn't dare touch the wine he'd poured. "This is a game you wont win."

The creature laughed, "Do you think you -a guard and not even to the king himself- can outsmart me? Outmaneuver me? Overpower me?"

"No, I don't."

To that, some of Shirosaki's grin faltered. There was a confidence, an assurance, to the mortal's voice that the ageless necromancer couldn't quite understand. All that youth, and the arrogance and determination that came with it. It was an age he couldn't remember. He answered with a "Hmph." and took a sip of his own wine.

After a long moment, Grimmjow picked up his chalice, swirling the deep red contents. He studied it as a plan began to form. He would have to act fast, of course, the sooner the better. His only real chance was to use the creature's self assurance against him. If given enough time, or given enough reason to begin growing suspicious, the monster could simply force Ichigo to tell him his secret was out. If Shirosaki found out that Grimmjow knew his weakness, knew what bound the prince's soul to him, he would act.

Grimmjow needed to act first.

Like Shirosaki said; the game was just beginning. Grimmjow didn't plan on it being a long one.

Still fighting to keep his calm demeanor, he looked the necromancer in the eye over the rim of his cup. As he opened his mouth to speak, before he could even get the words out, the creature's grin widened.

Shiro nodded, "You know where his room is. If he's there, he's all yours."

Grimmjow matched the nod, and set his glass down, the wine inside still untouched. Pushing away from the table, he stood to take his leave of the creature's company.

Before he made it far, the necromancer spoke up again, halting him, "Before the brilliant idea comes to your pretty little head; know that ending him will not end me. I will be just as satisfied assumin' your shape."

The idea was revolting, both of them. Grimmjow sent a sneer over his shoulder and left the room. The necromancer's amused, mocking "Good night, guard." followed him out.

But Grimmjow had other ideas, none of which involved another night locked in this castle. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, where it was belted to his hip. It felt like useless, dead weight. Like a child's plaything. He knew it could never touch the necromancer, not truly, not while he was still drawing from Ichigo's life force, but maybe it would better slow him than bone and flesh, if it came to it.

Instead of turning down the dank, dark corridor to head deeper into the mansion, where the holding cell was located, Grimmjow went straight for the staircase that dominated one side of the great hall. He took the stairs two at a time, his pace determined and quick. He had little doubt the necromancer knew he was headed into bowls of his lair, but if he'd learned one thing about the creature, it was that Shirosaki was a confident, self-assured, surprisingly patient thing.

Once at the top, he hesitated, and maybe he should have went left and retrieved his supplies first, but he couldn't wait. He couldn't give those few extra minutes up, in the chances that he would be unable to find the prince again. So he went deeper through the upper level of the castle, until he'd come to the room he'd been told was Ichigo's.

He held his breath as he pushed the door open, and let it out in a relieved rush when he found a figure sprawled out upon the massive bed in the center of the room. Still wearing the robe and little else, Ichigo lay as if asleep, but his body was stiff, tense. When Grimmjow rounded the bed, he found a relief to match his own written upon the prince's handsome, tired features.

Brown eyes locked with blue for a moment, before Ichigo frowned and started to lever himself upright, like even just that was difficult. "…Grimmjow? You're back… What-"

The guard rushed around to kneel before the prince, "I have a plan." He said in a rushed whisper, taking the smaller by the hand.

Ichigo didn't resist as he was pulled to his feet, but the confusion in his features multiplied. He shook his head a bit, brows furrowing, "What will you do?"

Grimmjow managed half a lopsided smirk, "Whatever I must." He started to stand, pulling the prince up with him, but before turning to lead Ichigo out, he paused, and met the younger man's eyes, "Do you trust me?"

"Of course…" A frown deepened Ichigo's natural scowl, and then nothing but surprise and shock registered. A warm hand settled along his jaw; large and callused from wielding a sword regularly. The lips that found his were just as warm, and far softer. The kiss was quick but it was full of life, full of heat and everything that was opposite of the prince's short time locked away within the necromancer's castle.

All too soon Grimmjow pulled back and grabbed the prince's hand again. He didn't dare turn to see the look upon the younger's features as he led Ichigo from the room, his free hand wrapped around the hilt of his weapon.

He rushed them down the hall as quickly as possible, past the stairwell and the banister that overlooked the fortified entrance, until there was no farther to go and he was faced with a wall of doors. Pushing a single door open, Grimmjow felt the tug against his hand as the prince hesitated to follow him in and he knew Ichigo must have seen too much of this room already, but he insisted, tightening his hold on the younger's hand. He felt strength match his in return. Only then did he finally release his hold.

Not bothering to close the door, or explain what he was doing, he turned back to the row upon row of shelving that lined the walls in the necromancer's study. After a moment of frowning at the array of containers, Grimmjow stepped forward and selected one at random; a jar of clear-ish green fluid. Little, stringy bits of…something floated within.

The guard braced himself as he twisted the top off. Almost immediately he was hit with an atrocious smell, like rot. Gagging, he put the top right back on and placed it back on the shelf, moving to the next container.

This time, when he pulled a cork from a slender bottle, the sharp smell of toxicity and alcohol stung his senses. He replaced the cork and absently placed the bottle on the large, sturdy desk, and went back to the shelves, selecting containers, testing what was inside, and keeping the ones that would best serve his purpose. After a few minutes, he had a collection of jars and flasks sitting on the desk, all filled with liquids of various colors. Many of them had shriveled, preserved parts in them; a heart in one, strips of muscle in another, the head of a large rat with clouded, milky eyes in a different one.

Ichigo looked on, that feeling of warmth against his lips still lingering as if burned against his skin, and wondered what the guard thought he could possibly do with part of the necromancer's extensive, grotesque collection. There were more containers on the desk than could be carried by one man, so it wasn't much of a surprise when Grimmjow began handing him bottles. What did seem strange was that the guard seemed rather selective of which ones he was handing over, and which ones he planned to carry himself.

He turned to the prince, finally meeting his eyes after the sudden kiss, but said not a word. Together, they turned for the door and headed down the grand staircase.

"Your horse is outside, Ichigo, he leaves the doors unlocked. To my knowledge, there is no one else in the castle. If I tell you to run, you do so, to the horse, no questions asked." The commands were growled in a rush, blue eyes never losing their focus. "Don't wait for me. Don't turn back. I made a promise to your father, don't ruin my good name with your nobel ideals."

Ichigo frowned, but he understood what Grimmjow was saying; a prince's life was worth more than a guard's, no matter how loyal. He didn't respond, unable to promise and out of time to do so anyway.

Grimmjow threw the doors open with a loud bang and the creak of sturdy hinges and heavy wood. The fire across the room fluttered with the sudden gust of air currents. He marched straight for the necromancer, much to the creature's amusement.

Ichigo could see the thing's curiosity, but there was no doubt or unease to be found. He stood there and watched the guard advance with a patience to match his centuries of life, like he was indulging the antics of a child. The expression only faltered -shifting from mildly entertained to minute confusion and displeasure- when Grimmjow twisted the top off of a jar and unceremoniously splashed the foul smelling contents all over the creature's front. It soaked through his fine clothing and tainted the smell of the air. Glass shattered as the jar was dropped to the floor without second thought.

"What are you up to, mortal, are you tryin' ta make sure I get sick of you quicker?" Shirosaki drawled, a hostile hiss to the undertones of his odd voice.

His answer was the shattering of another bottle, as Grimmjow dropped this one to the floor still full. Greenish, toxic smelling liquid splashed across the guard's legs and the necromancer's. It puddled on the floor between them, kicked across the room and tracked around as Grimmjow trampled right through it and used his size to drive into the undying creature. Cold hands snagged at him, seeking purchase, but he'd taken the monster off guard. When he felt resistance, he turned his shoulder into the creature's chest and heaved with all his strength, gritting his teeth and letting his anger fuel him.

"What are you doing?!" Shirosaki practically shrieked, not used to being on the defensive.

But Ichigo figured it out. He looked down at the jars in his hands and realized what he'd been given. He started to surge forward, ready to help his friend. When he made it level with the progress Grimmjow had made, he was halted by a deep-voiced growl.

"No!" Grimmjow snarled, his gaze flickering over to the prince. "Throw it."

Ichigo froze, the overwhelming smell of embalming fluid sharp in his nose. The necromancer was drenched in it, and so was Grimmjow. Brown eyes coasted past the two, to the fireplace Grimmjow was driving the creature towards, all the stones upon the mantle, and roaring fire within.

He took the first of his jars and heaved it. Glass shattered against the stone at the back of the fireplace. Hot flames flared to life in a flash of hungry heat and the hiss of burning, toxic liquid. He threw another, and a third, and watched the flames char the mantelpiece. The heat warped the jars and stones toppled free, some scattering across the floor and others falling into the angry fire with dull thumps and the crackling of splitting caused by too much heat.

Shirosaki screamed an enraged sound and finally disengaged his hands long enough to start casting.

"Grimm–!"

But the warning was unneeded. The guard had been waiting for it. He took one of the bottles he still held, clenched his fingers around it, and slammed it straight into the pale creature's jaw. Glass cut his palm and the liquid stung so sharply it made his eyes water. He disregarded all of it, though, the entire point simply to interrupt the magic that would be his undoing. They couldn't lose this window. It was the only chance they had.

The necromancer grunted, head snapping back. He ended up with a mouthful of flammable embalming fluid. Behind him, the once peaceful fire raged into an inferno, fed by the tools of his trade. He flashed white teeth, gaging on the nauseating taste in his mouth and unsure whether it was blood or preserved fluids dripping down his chin and streaking his throat.

Sparks flew from the flames as it crackled and popped. Embers skittered across the floor with the spilled stones. Some of them found the pools of spilled liquids and the fire spread through out the room, trying desperately to catch at the edges of the necromancer's robes as he and the guard trampled through it. The fine wood of the table and chairs was like kindling as heat built in the room, consuming the oxygen, charing the ceiling, licking at the occupants.

"Go, Ichigo, run!" Grimmjow commanded in a growl, still struggling with the necromancer.

The creature hissed an inhuman sound and pushed words through his glass-shredded lips, "No, little prince, you're stayin' right here."

With the words, Ichigo felt the link in his mind snap tight like a chain, reeling him toward the monster that would have him call it master.

"Fight him, Ichigo." The guard clenched his torn fingers around a sharp shard of glass from the bottle he'd broken, driving his shoulder as hard as he could against the creature's chest.

"Oh, he's tryin'." Some of Shirosaki's grin returned, even as he was driven another step back. Even as his boots crunched on fired brick and his heel kicked up a smooth, white stone. "This wont kill me, guardsman, this will be as nothing. It serves no purpose other than annoyin' me."

The glint was like a diamond and it caught Grimmjow's eye through his struggles. He had no idea if it was the stone Ichigo spoke about, but when he looked down at it, past the lithe form of the necromancer, he couldn't seem to pull his gaze away. So he took a chance, and hoped it was the one.

Bringing his hand up, that shard of glass cold against his palm compared to the heat of the fire dancing around them, he used it like a dagger, stabbing it straight into the necromancer's chest. Leaving the glass where it sank, he shoved away from the creature and dove straight for the stone.

Off to the side, Ichigo's shocked gasp of air matched the necromancer's as the link between them flashed with cold pain.

It took the undying creature not but a moment to rip the glass from his chest and spin upon the guard. He wasn't sure how the simple human knew which stone he needed. Only he himself should have been able to see the differences in the souls contained within the stones. Yet the loyal guard inevitably snagged up the correct one, despite that it looked like so many of the others rolling around at their feet.

Shirosaki dropped the glass, letting it shatter and add to the mess on his floor, and threw his hand out so fast and hard that Grimmjow grunted under the pressure of the magic before he even had the chance to be thrown across the room. He hit the wall beside the fireplace, his armor protecting him from the wall of fire he'd been thrown through. The raging inferno to his side was hot. It burned at his arms and sought to catch hold of the sickly liquid that had splashed upon the guard. There was a surprisingly tenacious little grin tugging at his handsome features, though, as he grit his teeth and, working against the necromancer's magic, uncurled his tightly wound fingers.

The white stone dropped to the floor with a dull thump and the minute puff of ash in the bottom of the fireplace. Fire wreathed it, as hungry for the stone as it was for flesh and wood and bone.

The creature curled his lip to bare teeth, "Retrieve the stone, little prince."

Ichigo took a single step forward against his will, horrified. The grip in his mind was so startling cold that it burned as badly as the flames in the room, the flames he was about to start digging through for the stone that was the physical manifestation of his very soul.

But then something happened, and the cold grip in his mind loosened and warmed. A whining hiss rose through the room, followed by a sharp crack not unlike the breaking old, brittle bone.

The necromancer must have felt it as well. He froze, his inverted eyes wide where he met the guard's eyes. Then his features scrunched into pure rage and he gestured out to the side, easily swatting Grimmjow from his path.

As the hapless guard met with the long table and crumpled to the floor, Ichigo watched the flames steal the pearly, white color from his stone. The white muddied and charred to black. The crack down its middle split wider and two halves fell apart to teeter upon the flame ravaged floor. Shirosaki shrieked as the link was severed.

Ichigo, feeling true freedom of himself once more, didn't wait to watch as the creature all but dove straight through the fire to seek out the burning stone. It blistered his pale flesh, burned his expensive clothing, using the embalming fluid like fuel. It bit at his features and singed his long, white hair. But still the necromancer snarled and dug through the ashes as if impervious to the white-hot pain.

The prince dropped to his guard's side, "Grimmjow?! Come, it's done." He captured the guard's handsome features between his hands as Grimmjow groaned a disoriented sound. Then his eyes dropped to the handle of the sword his guard hadn't drawn. All he could hear was the monster's enraged yells and snarls and the crackling of hungry fire. Before he knew it, his hand dropped to wrap around the hilt, ready to draw the sword, but warmth covered his fingers as Grimmjow began working his feet under himself.

"You don't owe him that." Grimmjow assured, his cold blue eyes sincere and hard as he shook his head slightly. He pushed the sword back into its sheath, barely able to hear the slight sound of it settling and locking in place.

He climbed to his feet and grabbed the prince's hand, rushing them to for the door as the fire raced them down the table's length. The jars that had been left atop its surface, still full of toxic fluids and rancid ingredients, popped and exploded in small bursts of heat and shattered glass.

"You don't owe him anything close to quick." He knew exactly what Ichigo was thinking. It showed openly and honestly upon the prince's features and even had the guard not been paying attention to his young charge, he still knew Ichigo didn't have the capacity for cruelty in him.

In the background, as the two rounded the doorframe and made for the main entrance, the necromancer screamed and cursed their very existence. "You haven't seen the last of me," He promised as the fire ate his flesh and the severed link ate his youth. "I have lived for centuries, and I will live for centuries more!"

Grimmjow tugged at Ichigo's hand, refusing to let go, lest the prince turn back. "In your mercy, Ichigo, he would only ensure you die at his side."

And so the two fled the grand mansion, leaving behind the echoes of the monster's rage and pain and the smell of burning bone and blistered stone. Black smoke tainted the sky above the old castle, like its heart and all the secrets it hid were spewing forth.

Miles away, on the other side of the forbidden forest, the king watched the smoke blend with the evening sky, waiting and hoping.

Like I said, I might add a drabble to this verse so the ending isn't so open, but for now, I'm actually pretty pleased with it.

I would greatly appreciate your thoughts, though.