There was a moment Breck almost allowed himself to be lost in Hayden's kind, compassionate gaze. If only the answer to her question regarding a Queen had been that easy, but no. He was not a man who had been so blessed. The careful squeeze of his forearm from her was what had brought him back out of his memories. He chuckled softly at her reassurance, lips twitching upward that she'd care so much. Really. Not only had he felt comfortable talking to Hayden about concerns and worries that only mattered enough in his own thoughts as the people involved were either long dead, or fairly recently dead (he'd made sure of that, and more than once), but particularly Breck had felt at ease with the presence of his emotion visible where she (or anyone) could see.

Lightly, he stroked a very platonic graze of a hand down Hayden's cheek and ruffled the woman's hair just a little. "No, I have not met my Queen, not at all. But ... I have seen men die without having found one. So there are times that I wonder." Azure-gold eyes flickered with a wry amusement then grinned, laughter in his expression as it was plain enough that topic, at least for this day and this specific time, was a closed one. He was not looking to cause Hayden more melancholy ache from his personal musings.

“As to the matter of your closet," he remarked with a sly, sharp grin that was encouraging, cocky, and more than half humour, when in reality all Amerys would have to do was give him a look and he'd give in and leave the ladies to their dressing without him, but not without a few excellent tips, perhaps. "A sleek black dress with trousers and good pockets enhanced with Craft not to rip or stain, equipped with good shielding as part of the fabric? You might be amazed at what I could put together," he cajoled. "Simple, elegant lines."

"Clothes should make you feel more comfortable in your skin, I have always thought." Another seemingly tense moment between them caused his heart to feel as though it constricted in the chest, and it was difficult to read if this was only something he felt. It took effort not to look at her mouth, as he knew he'd be lost. Breck counted to ten thousand and breathed relief in his self-control that had barely held. But then it passed and for a moment he felt closer to Hayden than a tumble in his bed could possibly have given at that point.

Her easing close to hug him, however, caused the chatty Prince to return to that floating, precise silence. Breck was careful not to allow too much skin contact at such a range for both their sakes, but mostly his own control. Again, he allowed his forehead to fall against Hayden's cheek, but he'd be damned if he didn't drink the contact in more than they had that whole bottle of alcohol so far and then some. The extremely repressed shudder from him and the rumble of sound low in his chest made perfectly clear that she was well more than welcome to touch him, even still. He found himself stroking his nails through her hair, his presence that perfect, beautifully intimate manner the Blood possessed that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with deep comfort and closeness. He was suddenly aware just how very little of late he'd had the time for simple touch.   

Eyes closing and remaining so, the Prince laid one hand against the middle of her back, perfectly Protocol correct, never stepping outside of bounds. "I do dance, yes ... but while I can handle all the Courtly business, I do prefer a little more of a modern get down, if you know what I mean," he explained with a deep laugh, only aware that his hand was still moving in Hayden's hair because it was so soft. He'd found just that right moment with her, now finding himself floating in delight. It made the hole in his heart go absolutely silent.

The words spilled out before he could think it through.

"Stay, please? Just to sleep. I don't ... want you to leave. You have trusted me with this, a piece of you, your incredible trust. I understand if you cannot, but I felt compelled to ask." Then he hugged Hayden for real, firm and full as if he would never let her go, in her friendship and tenderness.

"Whether you stay or not, do not you worry whether you will have someone a century or even five from now. I'll be here," he reminded with a fond, reassuring rumble.

[b]Arthur Gosse[/b];; claimed by Rated Em, June 20 [b]Choi Seung-hyon (TOP)[/b];; claimed by Rated Em, June 20 [b]Daniel Liu[/b];; claimed by Rated Em, June 20 [b]Eddie Redmayne[/b];; claimed by Rated Em, June 20 [b]Janis Danner[/b];; claimed by Rated Em, June 20 [b]John Boyega[/b];; claimed by Rated Em, June 20 [b]Paul Bettany[/b];; claimed by Rated Em, June 20
(releasing domhall gleeson; sofia boutella is released to reidbro as seen in his above post <3.)

Trigger warning: descriptive violence/torture

---

With no other options--and apparently, no illusions about the Lady al-Kaid--Ama Ea-Nasir showed the pair of them into the low sandstone building behind her. Haneul shielded himself and Lord Noor to stave off any surprises. He trusted his own psychic shields to keep Lady Ea-Nasir on her own and isolated, but they were on her playing field right now. She could lead them anywhere she liked, and he didn't intend to risk himself or his escort. They stopped in a high-ceilinged cell. "Ain't no one to come back here," said Ama. "On account of the smell."

It hit Haneul like a wall of bricks: suffering. Yua's fear clung to the bricks. He could feel how they'd tried to scrub it away, the aftertaste of failed hearth-Craft. His certitude shuddered for a moment, the realization of how afraid his friend had been. There was the old taste of blood at the back of his throat and he clenched his hands at his sides. He wasn't going to give in to his base instincts. It wasn't the way he'd been taught. Seung Corro would never have given in to the urge to strike a woman in anger. Kill one on the battlefield, yes, spar with one in the training yard, yes. But strike one? Never.

Haneul was not his father.

He backhanded the woman. The sound, flesh into flesh, cracked across the stones. So loud! It echoed inside his skull. Mother Night, it'd been easy to set aside the suffering of the market. He didn't know these people. He didn't know any of them from Ungyeo. But Yua was familiar to him, was his, and he was a Gray Jeweled Prince and that came with possessiveness. The number of people willing to put up with a man who wanted to sleep the day away, who appeared to have no interests, was an incredibly small one. Yua was one of very few people who put up with Haneul and she deserved better than this awful, tiny cell with its high window and filthy floor.

While Ama Ea-Nasir pushed herself back onto her hands and knees, Haneul Craft-locked the door at the end of the hallway, shielded the space with every single kind of Craft he knew. Then he called in a memory crystal and activated the spells woven into it.

"How did Prince Adelphos know about the Healer," asked Haneul.

Ama, to her credit, didn't snivel. She pressed a hand wreathed in a cold spell against her cheek. "Hard to miss, innit she? With that Ebon Gray Queen an' all, who could miss that mob. Ain't nobody seen Taceans in two centuries." Haneul's clenched fist jerked back, and she quickly elaborated: "Night Mother! He's got friends what tell him all about those comins and goins, since he got that Queen a his. Hundred Families got plenty of marks to pay wharf rats for news."

That Queen of his? Haneul could ask later. For now there was more to do. "Did he know about her Jewel?" Ama shook her head. "Aloud, Lady, I'm not recording visuals--thank you--now, how the hell did a Dena Nehelean get involved?"

"Short-lived move more easily with other short-lived, even outta their own Territories. An' the Dena Nehele Guilds are cutthroat. Do anything for money. Enough marks, used to be they'd kill a Queen."

He wished she'd mouth off again. The violence that had led him to strike her was still there, and he was containing it, but he didn't want to be. Haneul wanted to pound his fist into her face until it caved in, wanted to make her swallow her own blood and fragments of her own teeth. His hands ached from how tightly he'd balled them into fists. "Did you arrange the contract?"

Ama shook her head emphatically. "Prince's got men for that."

"Tell me about the Guildsmen."

"I do that, she'll come after me too," said Ama, so Haneul--quick as one of his sisters snagging the last rice bun--stomped on her hand where it rested on the floor, grinding his heel into the fine bones. She screeched until he lifted his heel. "I didn't see her clear! Hells! Couldn't get a read on her scent. My Masudah handled all that." Her pain and fear was drowning out Yua's psychic scent, the remaining fear and anger and humiliation. "Mercy, Prince, I only did what I had to do!"

Taceans went hundreds of thousands of years without slavery and got by fine, thought Haneul. "Who handled the contract? Did you have any further contact?"

She didn't know about the contracts. Prince Adelphos had come looking for the Healer and been irate for the mistake. For every question Haneul asked, for every scrap of pain he inflicted, she had an unsatisfying answer or no answer at all, a scream and a cry of Mercy, Prince. He kept at it, dogged, rewording each question until he was sure she was keeping nothing back, breaking fingers and wrists if he had to. No one came looking for her. No one walked down the long hallway. How alone had Yua been as she waited here? How afraid? All that time... Maybe they could've reached across the space between Kemet and Tikal and gotten somewhere. Maybe they couldn't have. Would they have been able to find a single Red Healer in all of Terreille?

It was too late for regrets.

"Last question," he said. "What Queen?"

The witch cringed back from him. "That Tacean girl. The Sapphire. Something Kordo. My Ong? Myang?"

A chill ran down Haneul's spine. "Myung Hye Korro," he said. The witch nodded, emphatically, and scrabbled back as the temperature dropped. Her blood frosted over where it had splattered on the floor, and then froze glossy-dark. "Tell me..." Mother Night, it was all so clear now. He could feel the individual hairs on the backs of his arms standing at attention. The caress of the chilly air reminded him of the sea-spray of the shore near his mother's house. Myung Hye showing him how to use his Green. Passing him books and scrolls of poetry when his mother wasn't watching. Waking up with a quilt thrown over him and a note: Remember to eat. "Is she collared, too?"

"He worships her," she blubbered, her back hitting the wall. "She's an outsider an' he don't want her taken away. So he claimed her. The Prince loves 'er like a goddess--"

It was too much. Haneul pressed his palms into his temples, a sound not unlike a whetstone scraping a blade clawing out of his clenched teeth. Yua and Myung Hye. He'd failed both of them! They were both trapped by those fucking collars, this fucking perverted place, this monstrous hellhole of a Territory! Damn Yuki for opening the borders. Damn his father for letting Myung Hye leave! Yua, for being so credulous, for trusting anyone from outside their Territory, all of these monsters pretending to be human beings, and him too, for letting them all go.

The Gray leapt to his hand like a housecat to its favorite perch. His power whipped about an outstretched hand. "You promised," wailed Ama. Her voice scraped, unwelcome, against his eardrums.

So he ripped her tongue out.

He didn't bother cauterizing the wound. At some point she'd passed out. Blood pooled around her head, which looked... odd... for some reason, but he couldn't even fucking properly see it. He couldn't even cry; he was too cold to form the tears. Haneul snatched up the recording crystal and vanished it away. "Damn them," he croaked. It wasn't enough. He needed more, needed to rip something apart as it screamed. But he'd made a promise that she would have a chance. He took down the shields, and--finally--threw the meat in his hand on the floor, where it landed with a bloody splat.

At least he couldn't smell Yua's fear anymore. "Lord Noor," he said, "I hope I haven't superseded your brief." His sister. His friend. But now he had proof that Yua had been illegally sold. Was that enough?

“No, don’t hit like a little pussy. Form your fist like this, otherwise you will break your hand.” Lucky al-Izar took the small fingers of the child he was instructing and repositioned his thumb. “Now, when you make solid contact with flesh, you’ll hurt them and not yourself.” The child looked up at the Warlord Prince with large eyes, his tattered shirt and shorts gently swaying in the light wind. He repositioned his thumb like he was taught and lunged at his opponent, another street rat from Onn. The other boy pivoted, stuck out his foot, and tripped the determined fighter, using Craft to flick sand up and into his eyes.

“Hey!” The first child cried. “That wasn’t fair. That’s not how you fight!” Lucky picked the boy up by the scruff of his dirty shirt, raising him up to his eye level. The boy stilled instantly, afraid as the Eyrien’s wings twitched. “There is not fair in fighting. There are no dirty tricks. There is just winning. Honor in fighting gets you dead. Remember that.” He dropped the boy as Ennead called for him. Turning easily, his wings folding behind his back, the smile that usually greeted his friend slipped away. His eyes narrowed and the children scattered as the air grew sticky and warm. Lucky clenched his teeth and rolled his shoulders lazily, stalking forward like the predator he was.

How stupid of the Bali Queen to come here with only Ennead to guard her. He was a fierce Warlord Prince and Lucky loved him. It would pain the Mineborn to end his life greatly.

But he would. If need be. Lucky didn’t know what need might call for that, but his wants certainly did. Without this witch his brother would not have left them. His family would still be intact. Everything would be as it should be. That was more than enough to make him want to rip her head from her shoulders, but he has been blessed recently.

Or perhaps burdened. So the need was not there. If he killed the Bali Queen the future he envisioned for his territory and his family would crumble. A real shame. He hated most Queens and he would have enjoyed the blood running through his fingers like water. Growing up was such little fun.

So instead he snarled once at the children peeking out from around the practice equipment and they scattered off for good, leaving them alone. Then, he smiled, his white teeth vicious against his skin. “Ennead. How good to see you.” He paused. “Lady.” A curt bow accompanied his single word, Protocol perfect. “It isn’t wise to travel with so few guards. You never know when something could stab you in the back.” 

Like Omid had.

Ready for review again