Chapter Twenty-One: Return of the Second Prince
Nilhin had been informed that Elder Matsha would be out of Neuma, alongside the head healer, Zaw Refti, and clan leader Zaw for the next few weeks as they travelled to Capvita for a seasonal conference and then they had to travel back. They were using a faster type of transportation than riding an animal, flying on their swords using their apex and internal energy. With that technique, particularly well-honed, a two-month long journey could be cut down to a few days. While they were gone, he was to continue with his duties without them to the best of his abilities. He refused to fail as soon as they left the area as well, and he continued with his dutiful and meticulous completion of his daily tasks.
Almost nine days after the clan leader’s departure, Nilhin began his day with a round of meditation, followed by eating a breakfast of berries and raw poultry over a bed of cereal grains. He cleaned up his mess and spent a few minutes speaking with the servants, and ensuring that everything they needed was taken care of before he returned to his room where the princes’ mail should have been delivered.
Sometimes there were only a few letters between them, and sometimes Nilhin was inundated with an avalanche of paper and packages for the princes. This day, it was the former, and he picked up the tied bundle of about twelve meticulously folded envelopes. He took it inside and sat at his desk, pouring himself a cut of valerian root tea for the stimulating effect it had on his physiology. Once it was separated into piles, one for each prince, he started to open them.
He was interrupted two letters in, only one of which was interesting: a marriage proposal for Shamisa, the first prince. The doors to his room were thrown open carelessly and a man draped in red and white clothing sauntered into his space like he owned it. Nilhin had never seen this man, but he recognised his furrowed brows and cruel smirk from the stories of the second prince, Awuron. The busty woman attached to his arm was similarly telling, since there was only one servant with such audacity in the entirety of Neuma. Nilhin stood up, setting his letter down, and held his hands out as he bowed.
“Second prince Zaw,” Nilhin acknowledged the man. He stood up to his proper height, not sparing his respect for any more than necessary. There was no need to impress the second prince, only keep him ambivalent towards him. “What can this lowly one do for you?”
“I heard you read all my mail,” Zaw Awuron said, strutting through the room before he plopped down across from his desk. The woman on his arm fell beside him, her breast pressed into his chest, and her hands on his chest as well, fiddling with the fabric that draped loosely over his form. The behaviour itself was inappropriate in front of guests.
“You’ve heard correctly. I keep all your incoming correspondence. Would you like to see something in particular?” Nilhin asked.
“I don’t care about my mail,” Zaw Awuron dismissed with a scoff. “I’m here because I’ve never met you before, and I’ve heard rumors upon my return.”
“I see… This one hopes he can confirm or deny any rumors second prince Zaw has heard to his satisfaction,” Nilhin said. He didn’t have enough tea to offer his guests, and it would likely render them both sluggish if they drank it.
“Are you fucking my brother?”
Nilhin nearly choked on the air or his spit. Such a question, and so crassly posed to him… it had been a while since someone had dared or even felt it necessary to speak to him in such a way. Nilhin took only a moment to settle himself. It seemed that the vulgarity and lack of class in the second prince wasn’t entirely an exaggeration. How was it that someone so regal, like the clan leader, had one son who was overly obedient and submissive, without an ounce of confidence in his body beyond the pride in his swordsmanship, and the other was like Zaw Awuron?
“It seems that second prince Zaw has received bad information. If you could let this one know where you heard such vulgar things, I could surely handle the matter. The truth is that first prince and this lowly one are not nor have we ever engaged in intercourse,” Nilhin said, lowering his head and eyes as he spoke. He heard Zaw Awuron scoff, followed by a soft sound, from the back of her throat, from the woman on his arm. Nilhin didn’t know her name because the other servants just referred to her as ‘the whore.’ Nilhin never spoke a word of his displeasure for the word choice, but upon seeing her, he had never looked upon his mother or his aunties and thought so poorly of them as he did of this woman.
What sort of servant sleeps with her late lady’s widower within a week of her death, elevated from a common handmaiden into a cherished pet of the gentry within a single night? It was a very shameful interaction and way of promotion. The other servants had more rage towards her methods than Nilhin did, since he understood the usefulness of seduction, but it was still wrong to do so to her former lady, especially so soon after her death.
“If he isn’t fucking you, then why is he seen training with you, and even laughing with you? Big brother doesn’t have friends, so I know it’s not that, therefore you have to be fucking,” Zaw Awuron reasoned. Nilhin forced himself to smile. That word, ‘fucking,’ was so… disgusting. There were a dozen words that Nilhin had long grown to hate from hearing them so often at the brothel. They were just so unseemly, and ‘fucking’ was one of them.
“This one assures second prince Zaw that nothing of the sort is taking place between this one and first prince Zaw. It is true that first prince Zaw and I have become rather close, but this is most definitely in a friendly way. Similarly, this one doesn’t have many friends, nor have I wanted them before first prince Zaw, perhaps we simply have this dislike of others in common and have bonded over it.”
“That could be,” Zaw Awuron said with a hum. “But I heard you were raised in a brothel. Your mother was whore, wasn’t she?” Nilhin bit his lip, his lips twitching, but he refused to not continue his facade of pleasantness.
“My mother was indeed a courtesan,” Nilhin said. His mother wasn’t only someone who had sex for money, but she was an entertainer as well, who could recite poetry, play a variety of instruments, and even sing and dance. She was very talented, and to relegate her only to the fact she had sex with her clients undermined the real work she put into her profession and career.
“And you’re a fag, too, aren’t you?” Zaw Awuron asked. Before Nilhin could speak, Zaw Awuron continued to say, “I mean, looking like that, you ought to be. You could never pleasure a woman being so scrawny. I certainly thought you liked to lay on your back for my brother, or however fags do those sorts of things. I’ve never really looked into it, honestly… Maybe if you’re a fag, and you were raised with whores, you can give my sweet Krukru some tips on how to please me better.”
Nilhin inhaled through his nose and looked up to gauge Krukru’s reaction. The woman had slid one of her slim-fingered hands beneath Zaw Awuron’s top, stroking his nipples beneath his shirt in possibly the most obvious manner Nilhin had ever witnessed -- there was no finesse at all. Her lips lazily brushed against Zaw Awuron’s neck, while the man looked down at Nilhin demandingly.
“This one is not a… a fag,” Nilhin said. He hadn’t even considered a need to hate that word before. It wasn’t a commonly used word, but it was still as repulsive as the others that came tumbling from Zaw Awuron’s maw.
“So you like pussy?”
Nilhin bit his lip again just so he didn’t offer his real opinion on such a question, on Zaw Awuron and his tawdry inquiries.
“This one isn’t certain, to be honest, but certainly this isn’t an important topic for second prince Zaw to concern himself with,” Nilhin said, attempting to steer the conversation in any direction besides the current one.
“Are you telling me what is and isn’t important, servant?” Zaw Awuron asked, leaning forward, pushing his girl away from him. She huffed but moved to hold and suck on the prince again. Nilhin lowered his eyes again.
“My apologies, second prince Zaw, this stupid one didn’t mean such a thing, please forgive this dumb servant,” Nilhin said. Zaw Awuron hummed again.
“I don’t know why Shamisa’s interested in you. You’re so boring!” Zaw Awuron said. “I honestly can only see you being of any use if you were on your back, using whatever you learned at a brothel to use.” Zaw Awuron stood up, and his woman did the same, slipping her arm between his, hooking them together at the elbows. Zaw Awuron passed by Nilhin’s seated form, and he dragged the back of his fingers against Nilhin’s cheeks.
Awuron lowered his face, bending to pull Nilhin’s earlobe between his teeth. Nilhin repressed a shiver in disgust, his smile finally wavering before he quickly replaced it. Why had Nilhin expected for someone of a higher position to treat him any differently than this? Perhaps Elder Matsha’s indifference and Zaw Rronov’s dare-he-say fatherly affection had spoiled him from the real treatment of the upper class.
“Maybe when you’re done slaving away here, you can join Krukru and me in a real bed. I don’t like men, but you’re too soft to be a real man,” Zaw Awuron crooned against his ear.
“This one thanks you for such a generous offer, but--”
“No, no, don’t make up your mind just yet,” Zaw Awuron commanded. “One of these days, we’ll put on a show for you, something even the brothel couldn’t have prepared you for, isn’t that right, Krukru?”
“Absolutely, second prince,” the woman said. Zaw Awuron stalked out, head tilted back, chin pointed up with all the entitlement a prince could carry in himself. Nilhin watched him leave, not closing the doors behind him, and eventually he stood up and shut his doors. He sat back down at his desk and returned to reading his letters.
After he finished with both the princes’ letters, the correspondences with the allied clans operating beneath the Zaw Clan in the Tbai territory, and a break for lunch, where he leaned on his new aunties in the servants’ kitchen and let them fuss over him, twining braids into his hair as they insisted he eat more food because he was still so skinny. His new cultivation technique was helping with his gauntness, and he was able to actually live without the looming threat of starvation hanging over him, but he was still very small for his age, and underdeveloped by human standards. His aunties babied him far more than the aunties at the brothel, who were grooming him to take his mother’s place. These aunties just wanted him to be healthy and happy, just like his mother had wanted.
Finally, at po-chas, Nilhin made his way to the private courtyard where the first prince, Shamisa, tutored him in the art of the sword. Nilhin had been given a rusted blade from the shed the young disciples used before their true swords were made for them. A real spiritual weapon, not just a unique sword, required both notoriety of the mage and a diviner to create, neither of which Nilhin had.
Nilhin came with his sword, still sore from the morning interaction with Zaw Awuron, and slowly feeling the frustration and the helplessness he was always forced onto with people like him.
“You look a little upset,” Shamisa said. “Are you okay?”
“Could we just spar today? Clashing swords may help ease this rage in me,” Nilhin said. Shamisa nodded his head, gazing at Nilhin with sympathy.
“I understand how that goes, Nilhin. We care to start when you’re ready, oka--” Nilhin lunged forward, slicing his rusty blade downwards. Shamisa’s eyes widened, as he barely reacted, bringing his sword up and tilting it just right so Nilhin slid right off. Nilhin kept swiping furiously, and Shamisa blocked each of his slices deftly and with the skill of a well-practiced swordsman. Nilhin took a pause to breathe after the exertion, and that’s when Shamisa began to attack. Nilhin was forced into the offensive, using his smaller size, and agility to get around Shamisa, and aim for his back and legs. Shamisa, despite being a tall and broad man, wasn’t without his own dexterity, though.
After what seemed like too long, with Nilhin’s braids all knocked out of place, his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his chest heaving with his frantic breathing, he managed to land a first slice on Shamisa’s flesh, despite nursing several wounds of his own that Shamisa had landed. His blade sliced through Shamisa’s wrist, and the blood started to well, and soon became a gushing fall of blood. The sword knocked from Shamisa’s hand with the force of the slice. Nilhin held Shamisa at sword point, his own hand trembling as he did so.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Shamisa said, trying to reassure him despite the fact he was the one bleeding out. “Put down the sword, kid. You’ve won this match.”
Nilhin tossed the sword to the side, and clutched his hands to his chest to try and stop their shaking.
“Is it any better? Did you work any of that rage out?” Shamisa asked, pulling the skirt of his overrobe up to stop the flow of blood from his wrist. Nilhin took a moment, shaking his head before the metallic scent of blood finally hit him. Instead of a normal response, his mouth began to water, and he turned his back to Shamisa. This didn’t deter the first prince, who came and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Nilhin turned on him and tackled him, taking them both to the ground. Nilhin’s shaking hands grabbed at the bloodied fabric wrapped around Shamisa’s wrist, and he brought his bloody fingers to his lips.
“Ah, you’re hungry?” Shamisa asked, rather calmly despite the situation, “I can ask the dungeons to send some meat for you. Would that help?”
“Why?” Nilhin asked.
“Because you’re my friend,” Shamisa said, like it was obvious, like Nilhin should have already known this. “It seems to me like you needed a friend even more than I did, and I don’t mind having a friend like you. You’re not annoying like everyone else.”
“Blood and meat only help when it comes from someone with spiritual energy in them,” Nilhin said. Nilhin leaned over Shamisa’ his forearm smashing against the dirt above Shamisa’s head. Their faces were so close, Nilhin’s dainty nose brushing against Shamisa’s much flatter one. “I hate it when I’m treated like I’m nothing but an object. Why do people insist on doing this to me?”
“Who was it?” Shamisa asked. “I’ll see to it that they’re punished.”
“It was--”
“You are fucking!” Zaw Awuron called, standing a few metres away from them, his finger pointed at where they were on the ground. “You filthy servant. You lied to me!”
Shamisa sighed, and pushed Nilhin off of him. Nilhin didn’t protest, and fell to the ground, only pushing himself up on his knees. Shamisa stood up and faced his younger brother.
“We’re just friends,” Shamisa said. “And why are you back in Neuma already? It’s only been three seasons, you were supposed to tour for four. If father comes back and sees your home early, you’ll surely anger him.”
“I don’t care about what father thinks about me, unlike some people,” Zaw Awuron said with a scoff. He peeked around Shamisa to look at Nilhin. Zaw Awuron’s arms were crossed over his chest as he drawled, “Let’s say that I do believe you, that you aren’t taking him whenever he looks so precious like that. Why else would you befriend him? You don’t like anyone, not even me, your own brother.”
“Have you considered that you’re not very likable?” Shamisa asked, crossing his arms as well, his bleeding hadn’t stopped, but it had slowed to something sluggish. Zaw Awuron made a gasp like Shamisa’s assessment was entirely unsuspected. “Despite that, father adores him. If he manages to impress our father, then he’s certainly someone worthy of befriending, isn’t he?”
“Is father fucking him?” Zaw Awuron asked, his face scrunching up with the same disgust that Nilhin felt.
“Since when does father do that with anybody?” Shamisa asked instead of answering his question.
“Fine,” Zaw Awuron finally said with a frustrated huff. “We’ll wait until father arrives to ask him.”
Zaw Awuron turned and started to walk away from them. Shamisa waited until he was out of sight before he turned back around and offered his good hand to pull Nilhin to his feet.
“Let me tend to your wound,” Nilhin said, quickly tacking on a soft, “Please?”
They ended up in the infirmary, with a few young healers, all without the main healer, Zaw Refti, who had left with clan leader Zaw for the conference. They fretted as Nilhin put his first aid knowledge to use, cleaning the wound with caution and soapy water. Once it was cleaned, the healer stepped in to repair the actual damage with their magical expertise and knowledge of anatomy.
Once Shamisa was healed, the first prince walked with Nilhin back to his room. They stood outside the doors together, and Nilhin took a piece of the stained white fabric in his hands.
“Please allow me to try and wash this,” Nilhin said. “Since I’m the one who cut you and caused you to stain it.”
“There’s no way you’ll wash the blood out,” Shamisa said, shaking his head. “I’ll throw them away, and have new ones made. There’s no reason for you to worry about it now. For supper, please come by the upper kitchen to get some meat… I can’t imagine what it must be like to starve like you do. I hope you’ll let me ease that burden as much as I’m able.” Shamisa slid the fabric from Nilhin’s grip, and exchanged it with his own hands. Shamisa held Nilhin’s hands, and rubbed his thumbs over the back of his knuckles. Nilhin bit his lip as he looked at where they touched.
“I’m sorry,” Nilhin said, his voice cracking as he said it.
“Don’t be. It was an accident. You’ve seen me at my worst, it’s only fair I see you at yours.” Shamisa said this, as if he had even seen anything close to Nilhin’s worst. Nilhin just nodded, not feeling any need to correct the man. “I should go clean up before I have to go to the head table, especially since I need to pay a trip to the dungeons…”
“I’ll let you go, then,” Nilhin said. Nilhin released Shamisa’s hands, and they dropped against his thighs.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for more lessons,” Shamisa told him. “Seeing your improvements is helpful, because I can understand where we can work next. I think I know where we can work tomorrow. Hopefully, I’ll see you again.” Nilhin held his hands out and bowed at Shamisa.
“Thank you,” Nilhin said, bowing before the first prince. Shamisa held his wrist, the universal sign to stand up.
“No need, but you’re welcome.”
Shamisa walked away, and Nilhin went into his room. He was mostly covered in dust, his few cuts had also been tended to at the infirmary. Without the lessons from Zaw Rronov, he had more time to himself at night. He often spent that time writing poetry and perusing the library for his own studies on magic and anything else that caught his attention.
As he sat in the corner of the upper kitchens, eating the human flesh that the chefs were still uncomfortable preparing for him, he flipped the pages in one of the first non-fiction long-form stories he had ever read. He hadn’t gotten it from the library, but from one of his aunties. She had made a trip into Kotesh for supplies, and had found a piece of fiction she wanted to read. Of course, he had mentioned his hopelessness and inability to understand the point of romance earlier that day due to Awuron’s comments about his preferences, and she had given him the book, saying it would help him understand.
So far, the book wasn’t that interesting, nor was it written in any particularly great way, but he couldn’t stop reading it despite its faults. The main character was a young maiden, of course, who had fallen in love with a servant in her household, but was destined to marry a nobleman that she didn’t particularly care for. The taboo nature of the relationships were what kept Nilhin turning the pages, he suspected, and the fact the young maiden was so stupid and naive, as to not choose the right choice.
If she wanted to achieve her goal of being a noble lady, she must marry the man she didn’t like, but if she wanted to live a life of hardship, if her goal was happiness and fulfilling love, she would have to adapt to a peasant’s life when her family inevitably banished her for the shame she brought them. Nilhin honestly would have tried to take both, perhaps she married the man and kept her servant, seeing him when her busy noble husband was attending other duties. This was morally corrupt in most of polite society, but Nilhin saw no problem with taking what you wanted if you were in a position to do so, as long as nobody innocent was hurt in the process.
He would have to tell his aunties all about his assessment once he finished it.
He ignored the shrieks everytime he took a particularly juicy bite of flesh from his fork from the kitchen servants that were watching him like he was some great oddity, which he supposed he was. Their staring really didn’t help his appetite.
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