This takes place in the Medieval days. Knights, Kings, Queens, Slaves and Castles + AnK = This story.

"Your Highness, we have many slaves here today," the puny and plump man wearing a bright red, tight and puffy shoulder tunic grinned, walking down the corridor with a confidence in each step. His greasy and stubby fingers gestured to the cells around the corner, "These were picked up a week ago, they are very young, lively and not to mention pleasing to the eyes. Hence why they are inside." Inside the cell were several youth of females and males chained to the walls with black iron links, each one laid on the floor, exposing themselves in hopes of catching some noble's eyes and be given another life outside of the walls.

"What about that one, Iason?" Prince Raoul suggested, pointing to a women with long sandy hair; she opened her legs in hopes of enticing the two gentlemen to pick her up and take her to bed immediately.

"That is a fine one," the gross man commented, analyzing the girl, "She is clean too. No diseases."

"Not my type," Prince Iason murmured, "I don't want another whore."

"Iason," Prince Raoul hissed, pulling him away from the business man, "What is wrong with you? You're choosing now to be gloomy? You need a new slave. Stop moping around and find one, or else you'll be a laughing stock."

"I would, Raoul," he breathed in frustration, grabbing onto the opening of his black cloak, "But there are none in these cells that appease me." None of them even intrigued him to waste more than a hair of a second looking at them. He was tired and annoyed of all the same slaves. Each one was trained to be obedient, but they all seemed to lack something.

"Then let us go elsewhere," the fellow Prince suggested, tugging him along through the crowd. He led him to an area of slaves, row after row, future bed warmers and servants stood as they waited for someone to take them home.

"You! Get back in line!" a guard shouted, cracking his whip; the sound of it hitting flesh met the blonde's ears followed by a small groan of protest. "You dirty thing! Get. Back. In. Line!" the guard hollered even louder, cracking his whip down with each word for emphasis.

That was when he laid eyes on him. An average height boy, about eighteen years old, strong build, toned muscles, smooth skin...and dark features. 'A mongrel...' he trailed internally. It was rare to find anymore of them. They were dying out because of famine and disease in their homelands. There were only a handful left and even then they were fleeing to new places, and there happened to be one before him; would this opportunity ever come to him again? He strode over, gripping onto the man's arm as he goes to crack down the whip again. "Enough," he ordered in a husky breath.

The man turned pale, "Y—your Highness," he sputtered, lowering his head to the Prince. "I did not mean to disturb you, this mongrel was misbehaving and needed to be dealt with."

His blue eyes sized up the boy, what an intriguing beast. The mongrel gritted his teeth as he met his eyes, radiating a 'What are you looking at?' vibe. "What are the boy's charges?" he inquired, stepping forward to closer observe the boy. He used his boot to lift up the mongrel's chin as another guard held his head up by his hair. The muscles bulged in the boy's neck as he scowled and snarled at the blonde. 'You are a vicious one...'

"He was caught stealing from a merchant," the guard explained, reading off the description from his list, "And has been accused of stealing before, but now has been caught in the act. He is a slave for life for his crimes."

"Hmm," he mused, staring down at the glaring mongrel, "Interesting."

"One second, please," Prince Raoul piped up, ripping Iason away and off to the side, "Are you insane?!"

"It's a mongrel, Raoul," he defended, gesturing to him, "They are practically extinct."

"But this one is a troublemaker," he hissed, trying to talk some sense into the fool, "You can't honestly be thinking of bringing that back to the castle, Iason?"

"I'd rather take that than another whore," he snapped, "I want something fresh. Something new and challenging." He pointed his gloved hand to the struggling boy, "And this offers all of that!"

"You are a fool," Prince Raoul groaned, pressing his hands gracefully to his temple.

"Oi!" the guard yelled as the boy thrashes around, trying to get away; he raised his whip. Iason stepped in between them, shifting to behind the boy so that he was grasping firmly onto him from behind. "Y—your Highness!"

"What is your name, boy?" he rumbled in the wild cat's ear.

"Riki," he spat venomously, refusing to add an honorific to respond to this son of a bitch noble; in return a guard used a switch and smacked him across his free hand, causing him to jolt in pain.

"And how old are you?" he pressed on, tightening his grip on the boy; he felt the struggle die out of him slightly.

"Eighteen," he hissed, adding in the tiniest and bitter breath, "Sir."

He let go, the guards regaining their task of holding him back. The gloved hands trailed along the tanned skin, down the opening of the tear in his ratty tunic, and stopped midway down his chest; the boy was strong, probably a fighter and leader. He would be a new task, a new toy to train; that would disperse his boredom, would it not?

"Iason," Raoul hissed, trying one final time to make his brother reconsider. "He has no skills in being a slave. You'd have to train him, that takes time which you don't have! Get someone experienced."

"I've decided," he breathed, gripping onto the boy's chin, "You're the one." He stared at the guard, "What happens to him if he's not sold by today?" The guard silently demonstrated a noose being hung around his neck; taking that as his sign to seal the deal he nodded. "Well boy, either you come with me or you're dead. So what will it be? Will you choose me over death?" he questioned in a harsh voice, "You'll be my personal slave. You'll dress me, bathe me, care for my clothing, serve me my meals and warm my bed. And I can do with you what I please; punish you, harm you, and kill you if I wish. I will own you body and soul, your everything will become mine. Do you choose me over death by the end of the day?"

He hesitated, but fell down to his knees; he didn't plan on dying by the end of the day. His hope was to escape from his new master once given an opening, he would play the part, but when given the chance he would flee and join his dying race once again.

"Kiss my boot, boy, and our deal shall become sealed," he ordered, watching the mongrel struggle with his pride. He gritted his teeth, staring up with eyes of hate, before lowering his head and kissing the leather. "Good job, boy. You belong to me now."

"You are a fool," Prince Raoul murmured for the hundredth time; he stared back at Iason with shame in his eyes as their third horse holds the mongrel his brother purchased. "Did you make sure he was tied up?" he questioned, checking out the ropes around the boy.

"Yes," Iason replied, "He's practically part of the saddle." His blue eyes drifted back to the boy who was staring down at his hands, he hoped that the rope wouldn't cut off the circulation from being so tight. He studied his new possession with a careful eye, yes, this boy would be amusing. His pride as a dying race would make things more interesting, he had made a wise decision today. He was sure of it.

"By almighty, what have you brought back that stinks of death?" Maria screeched, grabbing the Prince's cloaks and hanging them up. Her eyes fell upon the bound slave, "A mongrel...I thought they had all died off during the plague..." Her eyes further observed him, "He's skin and bones! I'll get back to the kitchen and prepare you all a hearty meal!"

"Don't forget to bring out the wine," Prince Raoul reminded the servant, before he turned back to Iason, "That needs to be cleaned before supper."

"I know," he breathed, grabbing onto the ropes, "Come." He gave a tug on the rope that is around the boy's neck and led him through the castle to his room. "You will be bathed by my other servants, then I shall take you to eat with me." He turned around, sliding a hand behind the boy's neck, "And don't you dare cause a scene."

"Your Highness," the male servant bowed upon the Prince's arrival. His eyes scanned the situation and new slave, "Shall we bathe him for you?"

"Yes, and get him some clothes that are not dirty," he ordered, watching in amusement as the mongrel fought against the group of servants luring him into the bathroom.

"Shall we shave him as well?" one asked.

"Everything except his lower regions," he answered, "I'll do that myself."

"Feeling refreshed, my mongrel?"

"I hate you," he spat, charging toward his tormentor, "Just let me go! You don't need me, you have many other slaves!"

"Aye, I do," he chuckled lowly, "But none as wild as you."

"Fuck you..." he hissed, thrashing around to try to escape from the noble; his fresh black tunic and tan breeches getting wrinkled. He had to act quickly and escape this man! The only remaining people of his race were leaving their homeland soon and he didn't plan on missing out.

"Have you forgotten?" the blonde growled, pulling his chin up, "You belong to me—body and soul. I bought you and your debt."

"I belong to no one," he snapped, baring his teeth up at his captor.

'Oh you will entertain me...how long will your fighting spirit last?'

Author's Notes: Hehehe. Sorry. I couldn't help it. The idea came outta nowhere, it's probably been done but I don't care. And if it has I claim ignorance because I haven't read anything with slaves, castles, and the Medieval days with AnK. Welp, Bye bye for now~ ❤