Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sentry pounding on his chamber doors echoed in his ears as he stood at the entrance to the throne room. He had been summoned by his mother. Interacting with her was one of the most painful activities known to him, but ignoring a summons from the Queen ensured an argument for the ages. Guards pushed open the massive wooden doors to the throne room, and he took a few steps forward as a herald called loudly,

“Prince Orion the Second, Your Majesties.”

Orion’s gaze shifted to his parents, sitting at their usual thrones atop a pedestal at the far end of the room. Their slaves knelt at their sides. His mother's, a burly blonde man, newly in her favor. Orion could not remember his name. His father's, also a new acquisition, but much more familiar. Penelope made frequent visits to Orion's chambers to deliver messages his father couldn't bother to bring himself.

He bowed his head slightly and began the ridiculously long journey across the hall. The familiar feeling of a dozen pairs of eyes settled into his skin, the soft click of his shoes against the floor making the only sound in the hall. As he approached the thrones, his mother’s voice echoed through the mostly barren room, “Orion, dear. Sit at your seat,” motioning to the smaller throne to the right of his mother’s.

He sighed and walked up the stairs at the foot of the thrones, sitting heavily upon the uncomfortable seat. His mother motioned to a guard across the room, who promptly exited the hall, the massive doors shutting with a great noise.

“May I ask why you’ve summoned me here?” he said, exasperation heavy in his voice. He very rarely sat in the throne room, especially not with both parents present. The intention of his mother was seldom clear to him, but even this was out of the ordinary.

“Just wait, all will become clear momentarily,” the Queen replied, glancing over at her husband, the King Consort, who was slouched lazily in his throne, unenthused as ever.

All of a sudden, the doors to the hall slammed open once again, the same guard the Queen had motioned to earlier crossing quickly to their thrones, holding a thin chain. Orion’s eyes followed to the other end of the chain, and soon found a human being, attached to it by a heavy, golden collar. A slave. A striking, male slave dressed in a simple grey shirt and trousers.

The slave followed the guard closely and knelt gracefully at the foot of the steps as the guard let go of the chain and moved quickly to the side of the hall. Straight, brown hair fell softly in front of his eyes as he bowed his head to rest upon the floor. Orion stared at the boy in shock, noticing the thin, silver shackles wrapped around his wrists, hardly restraining anything, heavy with symbolism.

“Mother, what is the meaning of this?” he said, his voice slightly louder than before.

“It is time, Orion,” she said coolly. “You cannot be King without a slave, it simply isn’t done.”

Orion’s focus snapped to his mother, glaring into her satisfied eyes. “You know I don’t keep slaves, mother. It’s barbaric, I won’t accept it,” the faces of the small army of gifted slaves he had rejected panned through his head. His mother should know better than to give him a slave.

“You do not have a choice,” replied the Queen. “He is the most desirable slave in the kingdom, won the Lenthinam two years in a row, breaking the record for highest score twice, and graduated number one in the A-class of the Royal School of Practice. I will not allow you to cast him aside, as you have other gifts of slaves.”

Of course, she purchased one from that ridiculous competition. Orion thought. The Lenthinam was an enormous ordeal; the annual slave competition wrought havoc upon the entire kingdom every fall. He had never attended; the whole ordeal was starkly against his beliefs. “I don’t wish to fuel that cruel competition, mother, it’s-” he began.

“The Lenthinam is a pillar of our world, Orion,” she snapped. “If you are to be a good king, you must avail yourself of it, or the people will riot.”

“Or perhaps it will finally fall out of fashion, and we can have an end to this,” he retorted, waving his hands in the direction of the slave, who remained extremely silent. His mother sighed audibly. “He is of no use to me; I manage just fine without a captured human being at my disposal.”

“Well, I suggest you find some use for him, for if you so much as try to send him down to the kitchens or gift him to one of your knights, I will personally assure you are stripped of all titles. You will not be King without a slave,” she said sharply.

Orion’s jaw dropped. She wouldn’t dare. “You cannot be serious…” he said, completely shocked at his mother’s command.

“I am, and there will be no changing of my mind. It is done,” she replied. Orion broke the intense stare with his mother, his gaze finding the slave in front of him.

“Take him to my chambers, and lose the chains,” he said quietly to the guard who had brought the slave in. The guard made his way to the slave, grabbing the chain, and they left the hall in silence.

“When you are King, you can never guarantee that any free person has your best interest at heart,” his mother said to him. “You must have someone who will be on your side until their dying breath, at least one thing you can truly count as loyal to you. Humans can be easily swayed, but a slave cannot.”

“Slaves are human, mother,” he said.

“You must get that notion out of your head if he is to be of use to you. Figure it out,” she said. The Queen stood from the throne, and his father immediately after. She stared into Orion’s eyes one final time before exiting the hall. He sighed. What was he going to do with a slave?

-

After leaving the throne room in a great huff, Orion did not make his way to his chambers but instead trekked the convoluted path to the armory, which led out to the practice field for knights. He opened the door to the knight's field, a wave of cool spring air hitting his face as the sound of swords clanging and men yelling filled his ears. A bit of tension in his shoulders was released.

“My lord!” a familiar, deep voice called from across the field. Xander, Orion’s closest friend and recently named Knight Commander, stepped away from the spar he had been observing and jogged lightly towards the Prince. “How are you, my friend?” he said warmly, his burly arm extending to clasp Orion’s. Their eyes met, Xander, sensing the tension in Orion’s face, softened his voice. “Is everything alright, my lord?”

“No, everything is not alright,” Orion said quietly, looking off into the distance. “My mother has purchased me a very expensive slave.”

“Well, get rid of it! Arthur will take it; he always wants an extra.” Xander said. “Won’t you, Arthur?” he called, and laughter erupted from the group of knights.

“It’s not like the last times. She said I have to keep him, or she’ll strip me of my title,” he replied.

“Oh,” the Knight Commander replied. “What are you going to do?”

“I have to keep him, but I have no idea how to handle a slave. There are so many rules and subliminal things they pick up on, how am I to learn all of this now?” his voice moved very quickly, hardly keeping up with the millions of thoughts swirling through his head. “I mean, there’s a whole code for just greeting the bloody things? I don’t want to get it all wrong from the beginning, that’ll just make everything—”

“Woah, calm down,” Xander soothed, setting an armored hand on Orion’s shoulder. “I can’t answer everything at once, can I?” he chuckled lightly. “Would showing you how to greet him for the first time help?” Orion nodded heavily and inhaled deeply to slow his racing heart. “Kora. Come here.” Xander called to his long-time slave companion, knelt in the line of other knights’ slaves, watching the spar.

The short, young woman walked quickly to her master, her curly, blond hair flowing wildly in the breeze. She curtsied deeply to Orion, who smiled. He’d known Kora for ages; she was the only slave in the castle who didn’t make his skin itch. “Kora, darling. I’m showing His Highness how to greet his new slave. Do it just as you did when you came here the first time.” She nodded and knelt to the ground, folding her body over itself until her forehead rested on the ground. “First, no matter what, you must tell it to rise. Rise, Kora,” he said, and Kora lifted her torso, still kneeling but her head no longer resting on the ground, instead gazing at where it had just been.

“Then, you must show the slave what its purpose will be in your home. If you do not kiss it, that means that it will only serve domestically and non-sexually. You can lift its head to look at you, but nothing more,” he said, lightly holding Kora’s chin and tilting her face upward. Orion stared at Kora as she returned to her previous position. “If you want to tell it that you only plan to use it for sexual purposes, you should kiss it on the lips,” Xander said, lightly grabbing Kora’s face to guide her lips to his. Orion shuddered slightly. Regardless of the beauty and humor Kora had, which eased his hatred of slave culture, it always made Orion uncomfortable to watch Xander kiss her, even if he had seen it a million times.

Once they parted, Kora again returned to her original kneeling position. “Finally, if you plan to use it for both domestic and sexual purposes, you kiss it on the forehead,” he said, once again grabbing Kora's face and planting a gentle kiss on her smooth forehead.

“That’s it?” Orion asked.

“Well, not entirely. If you want to reject the slave or tell it that you are not satisfied with it, tell it to rise and then walk away. Don’t approach at all,” he said.

“My mother will kill me if I even try that,” he said, annoyed.

Xander chuckled, "I really need you alive, mate. You and Kora are all I got," he said, his face hardly revealing the turmoil that it had seen. Xander's parents died of the fever when he was young. His father was a Knight, leaving Xander in the care of the Royal Household. The two of them had been inseparable ever since.

"I know," Orion replied, a small smile finding his lips. 

“From there, it's typical to explain their duties or expectations. It’s hard to do anything truly wrong, they’re very accepting,” he chuckled, poking Kora gently with his foot. She blushed. Xander turned back to Orion, placing his hand on his shoulder once again. “You’ll be fine. Don’t overthink it. Who knows? Maybe you’ll like it.”

“I highly doubt it,” Orion replied. “I should be going. Thanks, mate.”

“Anytime, my lord,” he replied.

-

Orion stood outside the doors to his chambers, balancing his immense frustration with his mother and overwhelming desire to be good to the slave whom he couldn’t rid himself of. He felt horrible for the boy; he’d never want to deal with a master like himself. He took a deep breath and shoved open the doors to his chambers.

Just as he expected, a figure was folded over in the center of the room, perpendicular to the door. Heavy silence filled the room as Orion stared at the boy on the floor. He took a few slow steps closer to the slave, his boots filling the quiet room with gentle thuds.

“Rise,” he said, taking a few more steps towards the slave until he was almost directly over him. Tension filled the air as Orion stared at the figure below him, not entirely sure which of Xander’s options he wanted to use. The slave was truly beautiful, thin and fair, but not in a manner that appeared sickly. It was like he was crafted from pure sunlight as Orion's gaze fell to the golden collar around the slave’s neck, which refracted incoming rays from the windows that moved as he breathed. He was perhaps the most magnificent creature Orion had ever laid eyes upon.

Making his choice, Orion took another deep breath and reached down to lightly guide the boy’s chin upwards, planting a very soft kiss on his forehead, lingering just a moment to gaze at the striking, angular face in his hand. He let go of the boy and hastily moved across the room to sit on one of the two large sofas.

“Um…please come here, I’d like to talk to you,” Orion said, unsteadily. The kneeling boy stood and quietly walked across the room, gaze fixed on the floor, and knelt a few feet away from where the Prince sat. Orion immediately felt stupid; he had wanted him to sit on the other sofa, but perhaps the boy would be more comfortable on the floor anyway. “What is your name?” Orion said, unable to take his eyes away from the slave, every moment spent not looking at him felt wasteful.

A light, smooth voice sliced through the thick tension, “My name is whatever my master wishes it to be.” Every hair on Orion’s body shot straight up in the air at the sound. Two minutes in and Orion already felt his resolve weaken.

“Oh, um…well, what were you called in the past?” Orion said. The last thing he wanted to do was be responsible for the name of a human being. What possible name could suit something as heavenly as the person beneath him?

“My trial master called me Azlon, and I was called Matthew during training, master,” he replied, his voice sounded prepared, like he had practiced the answers to Orion’s questions already.

“Matthew, then,” Orion said, it was simple. He could hear himself calling it. “Well, I would like to begin by saying, if it wasn’t already clear from the ordeal in the throne room, I have never had a personal slave before. So I apologize if I’m not the best versed in that…culture.”

“No, master. I apologize for being displeasing to you,” he said, slightly quieter than before.

God, I’ve already ruined it, he thought, immediately trying to backpedal. “No, no, you aren’t displeasing to me at all, in fact, your appearance is very…pleasing,” Orion managed, the word pleasing couldn’t describe how attracted he was to the slave. A slight blush spread across Matthew’s face. “I don’t entirely know where to begin. Would you tell me a little about yourself?”

“Yes, master. I was born at the Royal Institute of Slave Refinery and trained at the Royal School of Practice, where I was ranked top of A-class. After graduation, I was selected for the 263rd Lenthinam Slave Trials, in which I placed first and broke the record for highest score. I was asked to return for the 264th Lenthinam, and was placed in the service of a trial master between the competitions as practice for a future master. I won my second Lenthinam and beat my score from the previous year,” he said, with practiced cadence.

Even Orion couldn’t discount how insane it was for him to have won twice in a row. He knew very little of the Lenthinam in total, but it sounded like Matthew would likely be considered the best slave in the land. “Wow, um…impressive,” Orion replied. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Lenthinam; perhaps you’ll teach me.”

The slave’s head shifted slightly, as though taken aback by Orion’s unfamiliarity. “I would be honored, master.”

“Not that I don’t like it…” Orion found himself flustered, “I mean, I know I called it barbaric earlier, but I’m sure you’re not- I didn’t mean you…” He cut himself off, completely flabbergasted at his own inability to speak. “Forgive me, I’m flustered. Um…how old are you?”

“I have nineteen years, master,” he said, his voice returning to the previous volume. “I will have twenty in a few months, if you will it.”

Did the boy just suggest that Orion could kill him before he turned twenty? Orion thought before quickly brushing the notion from his mind. “I…um… of course I will,” Orion said, his mind trailing back to his knowledge of slave treatment. How rough and barbaric masters can get at their slaves' simple mistakes. “Forgive me, I’m not sure what to say. What would a regular guy do next?” Orion said, grasping at straws to fill the silence.

Matthew’s brow furrowed at the question he had never dreamed of having to answer. “I suppose the traditional master may say any rules or expectations of the slave, or perhaps break them in,” he said.

“Break them in?” Orion said, his mind almost immediately telling him the meaning. “Oh heavens, no. Nothing sexual will transpire until we have a better understanding of each other.” But wouldn’t it be nice to- the demon on his shoulder sang. He immediately tried to brush that demon away, focusing on the task at hand. “ Um…As for rules, be punctual, do as I say, and ask questions if you don’t know something. I’m horrible at explaining things, so um…questions are good.”

Matthew’s gaze shifted slightly upward, clearly thinking. “May I ask a question, master?” he asked.

“Um, yes,” Orion answered. “But you don’t need to ask that question anymore, you always may.”

“Yes, master. Thank you.” Matthew replied. “What would you like me to call you?”

“Oh, because of the whole royalty thing,” he thought for a moment. “I don’t care really, whatever you want that isn’t, 'sir' is okay with me, that term is reserved for knights, which I am not. If you’re talking about me to someone else, I suppose you should say “Highness,” but if what you’ve been calling me is most comfortable, that’s fine.”

“Yes, master. Thank you,” he said.

“Oh, um, one more thing. I probably should let you know about punishing…or whatever.” Orion said, uneasily, daunted by the fact that he would ever have to lay hands on the boy for any reason. “I don’t take pleasure in hurting people, so I would only do so if you did something wrong. Accidents don't count, of course, but things like lying, disobeying, or hiding things from me do,” he said. “I um…want to be completely honest with you. Your place is fragile in this house, as is mine. A poor choice could have your head in a matter of hours, and past a certain point, I can’t help you. Trust no one, especially my parents and sister’s slaves-”

“Except for you, master?” Matthew interjected quietly, clearly still unsure of asking questions freely. “Trust no one but you?”

“Um, I suppose so. I hope you can learn to trust me, and I trust you. And unless you show me otherwise, I see no reason I should not have your best interest at heart.”

“I shall do everything to please you, master,” he replied, conviction suddenly finding a place in his voice.

“Yes…um. I hope you will.” Orion replied, beginning to feel overwhelmed. “Why don’t you go downstairs to the slave quarters and settle in? Come back with dinner in an hour,” he said, gesturing towards the door leading to the secret staircase to the slave quarters, the order feeling foreign on his tongue.

“Yes, master,” Matthew said quietly, standing from the floor and making his way over to the door.

Orion waited to hear the click of the door opening and shutting before burying his face in his hands with a sigh.

Chapter Text

Matthew carefully closed the staircase door, trying to make as little sound as possible. He released a deep exhale. He had done it. After nineteen long years of perfecting every possible aspect of himself, he had finally received approval from a master. Not just any master, the second-highest-ranked person in the entire kingdom. The weight on his shoulders settled back in almost immediately. He had work to do. 

Descending the slightly curved, long staircase, Matthew looked around. The room was filled with cobwebs and smelled as if fresh air had not been through the doors in a very long time. He really hasn’t had a slave before, Matthew thought. 

He gently opened the wooden door at the foot of the steps, and a wave of warm air, smelling slightly of cooked vegetables and soap, fell upon his face. Taking another deep breath, he entered the slave floor. 

It was a large, open floor, the lack of windows making the room glow with yellow candlelight. To his left was a series of doors, likely sleeping quarters. In front of him, a large wall of cupboards, bookcases, and shelves, filled to the brim with supplies needed to run the house. The hall to his right seemed to be the origin of the vegetable smell, the sound of pots banging on the stove, and boisterous voices told him to move in that direction. 

Moving through a small archway into the full kitchen, Matthew's jaw dropped. He had never seen so many stoves, dozens of pans dangled from the ceiling, and once again his nose filled with the most incredible smell. He snapped back to reality at a sharp voice.

“Oi! What are you doing here?” A large, older woman wiping her hands on a towel started towards him. She had a thin leather collar, denoting a low-ranking slave, but a small H was etched into the front of it. This must be the head cook. 

“Forgive me, ma’am,” he said, just loudly enough to be heard over the kitchen noise. “I’m His Royal Highness's new slave. I’ve come to put in his dinner order.” 

The burly woman grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the quieter area, away from the noise of the kitchen. “You’re the Prince’s slave?” she asked. Matthew nodded and felt her gaze rest upon his golden collar, reserved only for slaves of the royal family. “The Prince doesn’t keep slaves.” 

“Her Majesty, the Queen, purchased me for him. His Highness was told he must keep me,” he said. No matter how much his master had assured him, he still felt so utterly defeated that the notion of giving him away had even crossed his master’s mind. 

“I see…” the woman began. “Well, I’m Martha. I’m head of the kitchens and low-staff here,” she said, extending a hand to Matthew, which he gladly took. One of the best things a slave could do was get on the good side of the low-staff. 

“Matthew,” he replied. Martha studied his face a moment longer, as if having seen his face before but not remembering where.  

“You said he needs a dinner order?” Martha said. Matthew nodded again. “Did he say what he wanted?”  

“No, ma’am,” Matthew said quietly. He should have asked, his first mistake echoed through his mind. 

“Alright, it’ll be ready in an hour,” she replied, not appearing to be put off by the Prince’s lack of requests. Perhaps he isn’t picky, Matthew thought, storing the information away for later. Martha turned the kitchen before quickly turning back around. “Oh, I should tell you. The Prince’s slave quarters are behind the green door,” she extended a finger to point in its direction. “You’ll be the only one in there, of course. Might be some cobwebs.” She turned around once more and entered the kitchen again. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

-

He began his way back through the halls, the noise of the kitchen growing quieter and quieter. The array of multi-colored doors once again became clear; the green one was closest to his staircase, thank goodness. 

Turning the wooden handle, he entered his new space. It was extremely dark, but had a tiny window at the top of the far wall that shone in a bit of late-afternoon sun. The room was lined with four small beds, none with any dressing or blankets, and as Martha expected, they were covered in cobwebs and dust. Nobody had been in this room for a very long time. 

Matthew started to create a mental to-do list when he heard a small knock. He turned around to the open, green door and saw a short woman, likely his age, with a beautiful tumble of curly blonde hair over one shoulder, holding a candle. “Hello,” he said warily. His eyes met a silver collar on her neck, a noble’s slave. 

“Hello!” she said cheerily, “You must be His Highness's new slave,” Matthew nodded. “I’m Kora, may I come in?” she said, not waiting for an answer and entering the dusty room. 

“I’m… Matthew,” he said. Kora had begun walking around the room, examining the dusty beds and cobwebbed walls. 

“Oh! Sorry, I’m being very impolite,” she said, breaking from her concentration. “My master asked me to check on you. He’s the Knight Commander. He and His Highness are very good friends, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Um…good. That’s good, thank you for…checking on me,” Matthew said. 

“Anytime! Come with me, we’ll get these cobwebs cleaned and some sheets for the bed,” she chirped, exiting the room as quickly as she’d entered, marching to the wall of cupboards and digging through them. Matthew followed, still feeling dazed. “His Highness was rather distraught at the notion of a slave; he wants very badly to make you feel comfortable. I’ve never seen him so flustered.” 

“Really?” Matthew asked. His master certainly seemed flustered, but how did Kora know?

“Oh yes, he asked my master to help him know how to do the greeting. I helped,” she said, pulling a duster out of one cupboard, slamming it shut, and beginning to dig through the one next to it. “He’s a very good man, the Prince. I'm sure he’ll be a very good master to you. Of course, it helps that you're probably very well-trained.” 

Matthew felt a small laugh escape his lips at the absurdity of the whole situation. “Um… yes, I was at the Royal School of Practice. Where did you train?” he asked. 

“Mechtenberg, but I didn’t actually graduate,” she said. “My master was on a tour, he saw me and asked if he could buy me early. They let him, but I’m sure it was no small sum. Liked me too much to wait, I suppose.” 

“How old were you?” Matthew asked. It was very uncommon for a slave to be bought before graduation. The Knight Commander must be very enamored with Kora. 

“Sixteen at the time, my master was eighteen,” she said. “I’m twenty-one now, best five years of my life!” She finally found whatever she was looking for in the cupboard, pulling out a roll of sheets and a blanket for the bed. 

“I…um, thank you for finding those for me, but I don’t want to make presumptions on how my master would like me to sleep,” he said. It would be a grave mistake to assume he was permitted blankets and such without asking. Kora gave him a funny look. 

“I’ll tell you now. I don’t think His Highness would want you to sleep in that freezing room without a blanket, that's for certain. He's very kind, especially for royalty.  Even if he is a bit...untraditional,” her eyes met Matthews, laced with a fear of messing up so early. “Here’s what we’ll do. Let’s set the sheets on one of the extra beds, and you can wait to put them on until after you’ve asked him. I’m sure he’ll say yes.” 

“Okay,” Matthew said, taking the sheets and duster from Kora. “Thank you for your help, truly.” 

“No problem at all! I’ve got to run, forgot to put my dinner order in. I’ll see you later!” she said, walking towards the kitchens. 

-

An hour or so later, Matthew had cleaned all of the cobwebs from his room, and now stood in front of the door at the top of the stairs holding an enormous tray of food. He knocked gently on the door and heard a muffled, “Enter,” from within. Turning the handle, Matthew once again entered the magnificent quarters of his master 

The room was truly massive. A giant four poster bed sat on one side of the room, next to it, a door leading to an ornate washroom and closet. On the other side was a large study area, with books lining the walls and a wooden desk piled high with important things. Next to the desk were the sofas they had spoken at earlier in the day, and in the center of the room sat the Prince, at a large round table. 

“Matthew, you can come in,” his master said. He was snapped out of his room-induced trance and hurried to set the tray in front of the Prince. “Thanks,” his master said. “Would you fetch some water please?” the Prince said, pointing to the jug and cup sitting on the bedside table. 

“Yes, master,” Matthew replied. The jug itself was probably worth more than his own life, porcelain and delicate. He brought it over to the table, poured a glass, and went to his knees next to his master’s seat. 

“Oh…” the Prince seemed startled. 

Matthew looked up to him, “Is something wrong, master?” he said, praying he hadn’t done something else to displease him so early. 

“Um…no. I’m fine,” He doesn’t sound fine, Matthew thought. “I’m just not used to this,” the Prince said, making a slight gesture towards Matthew’s place on the ground. 

“Would you prefer it if I move-” he began. 

“No no, please don’t,” his master said loudly, cutting him off. “Forgive me, it’s been a strange day.” 

Matthew felt his brow furrow. What could possibly compel his master to apologize to him? Matthew had clearly done a poor job, it was him who should be apologizing. A million thoughts flew through his head, every moment of silence in the room should be filled with him apologizing. Begging forgiveness for whatever he had done, even if he wasn’t sure what. He knew he didn’t deserve to kneel at the feet of someone so profoundly important, especially if he had done something wrong. 

The tension in the room was palpable, the only noise was the sound of silverware upon plates as the Prince continued eating his food. Matthew could sense something was wrong. He itched to apologize, to plead for correction, anything to right the wrong he had so egregiously committed. I must wait, he thought. To interrupt his master’s meal with the selfish desire for correction would be a death wish. 

The tension remained until the Prince finally set down his fork and knife, pushing his chair away from the table slightly. “We need to talk,” his master said. Matthew's body tensed up even more than it already had. His master stood from the chair and walked over to the sitting area where they had spoken earlier but did not sit. Matthew stood assuming he wished for him to follow. His master suddenly turned to look at him and Mathew felt his knees give way, he knelt and rested his head upon the floor once again. 

“Please forgive me, master. I beg forgiveness from-” he began. 

His master inhaled sharply and took a step back, seeming startled at his display. Matthew was mentally kicking himself, he should be better than this. 

“I’m so sorry, master. Please, I-” he tried again but this time was cut off by his master’s words. 

“W-what are you apologizing for?” his master stuttered loudly. 

“I’ve done something to displease you, I beg correction for my-” he was cut off again. 

“No no, we are not doing this.” his master said sharply. “Get up. Please.” 

Matthew lifted his torso, but kept his gaze fixed on the shoes of his master. How could he be so stupid. It had started so well, the moment of the forehead kiss replayed on a loop in his mind. How quickly he had squandered that moment and everything he’d ever worked for. 

“Matthew,” his master began. “Matthew, look at me please,” without even thinking, his eyes rose to meet his master’s face for the first time. Striking blue eyes set into a chiseled, tan face met his. Curly blonde locks sat atop his shapely face, and Matthew felt his own heart drop as he finally realized how striking his master was. The Prince’s enormous, muscular body far outmatched his own thin frame. But the most shocking feature of the face he gazed into was an expression, not of disdain or anger, but one of confusion. “I am not upset with you…you’ve done nothing to displease me. I will not let you d-debase yourself for no reason.” 

The smallest bit of weight lifted from Matthews shoulders. “I don’t want to talk to you because I’m mad at you,” his master continued. “I want to talk because I don’t know what I’m doing and I need your help in knowing how to treat you.” 

“It is I who serves you, master. How you wish to treat me is none of my concern…” he began. 

“Of course it's your concern!” his master exclaimed. “It is your body, your life!”

“Both of which belong to you, master,” he said quietly. “My body and life are not my own, they are yours to shape, master.” 

“So you mean to tell me that you wish for me to control every facet of your being? To give you no choice in anything? To treat you like a puppet? As if you are not a human being?" his voice quickly rising in volume. 

This has to be a trap, Matthew thought. It was impossible for someone as high-born as the Prince to not understand the biological differences between them. He wants to catch me in a false belief, he cannot truly think we're the same. "I know that I am not human, master...I'd never dare to suggest-"

"But you are human! You honestly think I believe that you and I are somehow...different creatures?” the Prince snapped, his voice teetering on the verge of yelling. 

“I do not dare to assume your thoughts, master,” he had no idea what else to say, feeling the prickly heat of tears begin to form in his eyes, “It is my purpose to serve you, master. Please...to be yours is my greatest desire." 

“I don’t know how…” his master said much quieter, defeat washing over his words as he threw himself upon the same couch he'd sat so warily upon a short while ago, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how to command a slave, how to make you feel useful and not like I’ve cast you aside. A personal slave is the last thing I want on my plate, but…you are so…utterly perfect…” his voice cracked slightly, as Matthew felt a single hot tear fall from his eye. “That I don’t want to waste you.” 

Matthew stared at him. His master thought he was perfect. He didn’t want him...but he thought he was perfect. He couldn’t tell if his heart should soar, or break. 

“May I try to help you, master?” he said quietly. “I know you don’t want me…and I wouldn't dare to try and change your mind. But…if I can make myself useful to you in any way…” 

“Yes. Please.” his master said, opening his eyes to look out the window, where the sun was beginning to set. “I know it’s early but I’m sure you’re as exhausted as I am. Get some rest and we’ll start fresh in the morning.” 

“What time would you like me to wake you, master?” Matthew asked. 

“The eighth bell. Thank you.” his master replied, his voice weary. 

“Yes, master” Matthew said, just above a whisper as retrieved the empty plates from the table and started back towards the slave door. 

“Goodnight, Matthew,” he heard his master call. 

“Goodnight, master,”

- 

Matthew returned the plates to the scullery and made his way back to his dark quarters. He realized he had never asked his master if he was permitted the blanket, so he curled up around himself on the barren bed, and cried himself to sleep. 

Chapter Text

Sunlight poured through the windows of Orion’s room; the tolling of eight bells could be heard faintly in the distance. He lifted his head from the pillow to see his new slave heaving open the heavy curtains with great force. For having such a small frame, Matthew was very strong; moving those curtains was no easy feat. 

Orion sat up in the bed, his eyes meeting the steaming breakfast Matthew had placed on his table. His gaze shifted to the slave, who must have realized Orion was awake and knelt with his head tilted towards the floor. “Good morning, Matthew,” Orion said groggily, heaving his legs over the side of the bed and making his way towards the table. He had never been a morning person, but this was a very important morning. 

“Good morning, master,” Matthew answered quietly.

Orion sat at his place at the table with Matthew, hesitantly moving across the room to kneel at the place by his feet. Orion shuddered. He didn’t know how he would ever get used to this. “I…um,” he began. “I wanted to apologize for yelling at you yesterday. It isn’t your fault. I am not upset with you or anything like that,” 

“Master, it is I who should-” Matthew began. 

“No,” Orion cut him off, unwilling to listen to another string of unneeded apologies. “Don’t apologize when something isn’t your fault.” He felt Matthew’s eyes on him. Slaves were meant to absorb the faults of their masters, and not allowing Matthew to do so would likely cause only confusion. He didn’t care. “Have you eaten?” he asked. 

“No master. I was not given permission or instruction.” Matthew replied. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Orion asked, to his knowledge, he’d been at the castle for nearly a day. That long without food could cause irreparable damage. 

“Yesterday, master. Early in the morning, on the cart ride over. It was still dark.” Matthew said. “It was only slave nutrition drink-”

“Oh my…” Orion said. “You must be famished. It completely slipped my mind yesterday.” He had no idea how his parents’ slaves ate or how to give him instructions on what to eat. 

“I’m fine, master,” Matthew said lightly. It was clear that he didn’t mind the lack of food very much. 

“What are you…supposed to eat?” Orion said, “I don’t really…” his voice trailing off, unable to find the words. He knew that offering Matthew some of his breakfast would be met with refusal, but the boy needed sustenance. 

“I will eat whatever you want me to, master,” he said. Orion furrowed his brow, and seeing this, Matthew continued. “But…I’ve been on a slave nutrition diet for my body type my whole life.” 

“And what does that look like?” Orion asked. 

“My body is intended to be thin, so since puberty, I’ve had two low-calorie slave nutrition meals each day. The morning one is a liquid, and the evening, a scoop of powder that is mixed with water to make a porridge. It has protein and vitamins…”

“That cannot possibly taste good…” Orion muttered under his breath. “Is this diet…is it your preference? I shall have some ordered, but if a normal diet would be pleasing to you-” 

“I wish for whatever pleases you most, master,” Matthew interjected quietly. Orion should’ve known better than to ask his opinion; the boy was wired to defer to his desires.

“I would like you to make the choice,” Orion said. Perhaps forcing Matthew to learn to make choices would be good; the constant refusal to express an opinion would drive him to the point of insanity. 

Orion felt Matthew’s eyes upon his once more. Orion looked down to find his gaze, but Matthew’s eyes darted away as soon as they’d met.

“I-” Matthew began. Orion observed the slave’s face; mental calculations were apparent in his eyebrows, which furrowed in an oddly charming way. “If you permit the diet, master. I wish to maintain my physique for you.”

That was not the answer Orion had expected. Orion knew how particular the aesthetic requirements would have been at his training school; each slave was crafted for a specific body type to match their personality and make them easy to market. Matthew’s body matched his demeanor exactly, thin and easy to overpower. It was begging for someone to submit to. Orion felt something stir within him at the thought, but pushed it down as soon as he felt it. Disgust washed over him for his own desire. 

“I- um. Very well. I’ll have some ordered if the kitchens don’t already have it,” Orion said, not wanting the silence of his thoughts to last too long. “In the meantime, I want you to eat at least twice a day. Whatever you want.” 

Matthew once again shifted at the comment. “I- thank you, master,” he responded quietly. 

His words were soon overpowered by a heavy knock at the door. Orion’s eyes snapped to it. Who would be bothering him this early in the day? 

Matthews' head also turned to face the door before looking up to Orion, still not looking directly into him, a silent question. “Yes,” Orion said, “Would you answer it?” 

Matthew immediately stood and moved quickly across the room, his thin frame heaving the heavy wooden door open with ease. 

“You must be the new slave!” a familiar, deep voice boomed through the door’s opening and into the chambers. Xander. 

“Come in, you beast…” Orion called to his friend, playful annoyance dripping from his words. Matthew opened the door wider, allowing Xander to enter, with Kora not far behind him. She quickly knelt at the side of the door, out of the way. 

“Good morning, my lord!” Xander said, crossing the room, his head bowing and a smile spread across his face.

 Orion stared at him in feigned exasperation. It was not uncommon for Xander to burst into his room with little notice, but so early in the morning was rarer. He heard Matthew shut the door and looked over to see him mirror Kora by kneeling on the other side of the door. 

“Kora told me he was handsome, but my goodness, he's gorgeous,” Xander said, his head turning to look at Matthew’s kneeling figure. “He must have cost Her Majesty a fortune…” 

“I know, I hate thinking about it,” Orion said. Xander took a seat next to Orion at the table, his smile falling a little bit. 

“Is it going alright?” Xander asked in a quieter voice, leaning in closer to Orion. 

“He is wasted on me,” Orion said very quietly. He hated talking about Matthew as if he wasn’t on the other side of the room, likely listening to every word. “He is so…flawless, and I’m just a bumbling idiot. He ought to be some nobleman’s prized jewel, not at the beck and call of…me.”

“I know it’s new for you, mate, but you have to change your mindset,” Xander said. “If you keep thinking like that, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. He’ll only be wasted on you if you allow him to be.” Xander looked directly into Orion's eyes, his reassuring gaze trying to make Orion believe it would all be okay. “What’d you name him?” Xander asked. 

“I- um. I gave him his old name. Matthew.” Orion replied. 

“Tell him to come over here. You need to practice telling him what to do.” Xander said, not unkindly, but firm. Orion shot him an annoyed look, less feigned than the one he’d given him earlier. 

“Um…Matthew, would you come here, please?” he said. Matthew quietly rose and began to cross the room. 

“Come on, Orion. You can’t be serious,” Xander laughed. “You want to be a good master? Start acting like one. It’s not supposed to be a question; it’s meant to be an order.” 

Matthew stopped and stood a few feet away from the table. “Tell him to kneel by you. Properly.” Xander said. 

“Kneel here, Matthew,” Orion said, much quieter, motioning to the spot next to his chair where he’d knelt earlier. Matthew moved quickly to kneel again. 

“Better,” Xander said. “You have to be clear with them; beating around the bush doesn’t help anyone.” 

“Stop talking about him like he’s not right here!” Orion exclaimed, motioning to the slave who flinched at the sudden movement above his head. 

“I’m sorry, my lord. I only want to help…” Xander said. 

“I- I don’t…” Orion stammered, frustration once again beginning to take hold. With an angry huff, he shoved his chair away from the table. Matthew flinched away to avoid being hit by the chair, his shoulder slamming against Xander’s chair. 

A moment of tense silence echoed throughout the room. 

“Kora,” Xander said softly, his slave's head perked up to look at him. “Would you take Matthew out into the hall? We need some privacy.” 

“Yes, master,” Kora replied quietly, standing and opening the chamber door. Matthew’s eyes went from the door to his master. 

“He needs your permission to go, my lord,” Xander said, his voice still hushed. 

“Go, Matthew,” Orion said sharply. Matthew stood and hurried out the door, and with Kora close behind him, the chamber door shut quietly. 

“What has gotten into you?” Xander said, standing and making his way to Orion. “I’ve never seen you like this.” 

“He is so…refined and poised, and I’m… a brute who always says the wrong thing,” Orion said, his voice quiet and cracking. “I cannot treat him like an object, like she treated Davyn, but I cannot cast him aside. I am so…utterly confused on what to say to him and how to act-” 

“You do not have to treat him cruelly to make him feel useful,” Xander said. “Do you want to give him what he was trained for? Because I can teach you to do that. What I cannot teach you how to do is to retrain him. You will not change the mindset he’s had beaten into him his entire life easily.”

“Yes…it would be easier for me to change,” Orion replied, exhaustion already present in his voice. “How do I do that?” 

“You can start by knowing what you want.”