Chapter Text
It was a fine day in arid J’tare, port city and capital of Tarinth. Bright sunlight sparkled on the white marble that the more prominent houses and businesses used. It was Market Day, and everyone seemed to be out either shopping or selling.
He strode through the crowd, cloak rippling in the wind created by his quick pace. Frightened mothers grabbing their children from his path, but he paid them no mind. Ignoring the strange looks his appearance drew, he sucked in breath harshly through the mouth of the rough-hewn wooden mask he wore. It was very crudely made, with a rough bark exterior and barely smoother inside. With the cloak’s hood up and mask in place, he felt confident that none could possibly recognise him. The long-lost Crown Prince Daresso of Shaylore’s face would turn heads even here. Even after all this time. After all, every silver piece had his profile set on it.
He had one purpose today at this bazaar, something that he had resolved to do months ago. But something from his old life stayed his hand, some sense of right and wrong he thought he had wrought out of himself long ago.
He turned down a street that looked distinctly different from the clean and pristine marble of the high street. The crowd was thinner here. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he was full of mixed emotions as he arrived at the Slaver’s Auction House.
As he moved into the crowd around the stage, he watched as the auctioneer began presenting a Sahtashi girl, who was in her early teens. She wore a very rough-spun tunic which only reached to her upper thighs.
“Another foreign beauty! Fit for work! Fit for child bearing!” The auctioneer manipulated the now-sobbing girl’s body to display her ass to the crowd. "A prize from afar! Who will steal this precious gem?”
Daresso tightened his fists, shifting uncomfortably as the men in the crowd excitedly bid up the price of the girl. As much as he wanted to give freedom to all these slaves, he didn’t have the money or the manpower to take on the ingrained system of slavery that is commonplace here in J’tare. He steeled himself to wait until he saw a slave that would at least speak his mother tongue.
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It was another miserable day in J’tare, the hellpit of Tarinth. Since his capture, he’d been stripped of his autonomy—his uniform torn off and replaced with some cheap fabric that offered no protection from the scorching sun or chilling nights. Not even shoes to protect his soles. It wasn’t a life worth living, and most would want to kill themselves in this position. But instead, he fought whenever the opportunity presented itself—attempting to escape despite the chains digging into his wrists and ankles; trying to fight for something as simple as freedom.
Evidently, the whip-lines marking his calves only proved his failures.
And now, he was standing by the back-entrance of the stage, hidden from sight yet able to view the crowd from where he stood as he silently waited for his name to be called; as he waited for his life to be handed to the hands of some greedy stranger looking for control. It pissed him off, to the point that his knuckles turned white due to how hard he was clenching his fists. But he remained steady for now, waiting as the slaves before him stepped out onto the stage mournfully, up until it was his turn to walk on.
Magnius stepped onto the stage as the auctioneer announced his name, the chains around his ankles rattling against the planked stage. He tilted his head to glare down at the crowd standing below him while the auctioneer advertised him, clenching and unclenching his hands as the whole situation tested his patience. However, what broke the camel's back was the words “fiery yet trainable” leaving the man’s lips—only encouraging the slave to part his lips and snarl, shouting in Shaylorian.
“You’re all mad!” His hands tugged against the chains restricting him, stepping closer towards the edge of the stage as he continued swearing. “Pathetic, silver-spoon pieces of shit!”
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Daresso had had enough of watching women and omegas put up for auction like pieces of meal. None were from Shaylore, none of the slaves so far would be able to talk to him in his native tongue. He wasn’t bad at speaking a multitude of the other languages in the region, but for this experiment, he wanted to speak Shaylorian.
Steeling his nerves and reminding himself to remember his quest, to remember the greater good, he approached the stage as a new slave was being thrust to the front. He looked promising, a good build and still with some fight in him. Listening closely to the slave’s protests - Daresso immediately noticed that they were spoken in fluent Shaylorian. Shouldering his way to the front, he cried out to the auctioneer, voice hoarse from disuse. “Shaylorian? Is he from Shaylore?”
“Yes, this Alpha worker-slave comes from Shaylore! Just put him in the fields, he’ll do as he is told!” The auctioneer tried to make a show of the Alpha’s arm muscles, continuing his hawking, but Daresso had heard enough. He felt vaguely disgusted that he had seen even this much of the display and so ended it by tossing a small pouch to the auctioneer.
The man opened it eagerly and undoubtedly recognized the contents, since he stuttered out, “S-Sold, to the tall man up front. Sold!”
It was undoubtedly a waste of crystallized Source. The slavers would make a pretty penny reselling it, or perhaps smoke it like fools and choke on it. A younger slave waved at Daresso from the edge of the crowd. Daresso had occasionally watched the slavers operate, but this part of the transaction was something not easily observable. Rolling his shoulders, he followed the slave into the compound behind the stage.
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The plan had been to deter people from purchasing him by having an outburst; wanting to instill fear into the bastards standing below him. But much to his displeasure, the plan came crumbling down when a tall figure in a strange mask stepped closer to the stand, asking the auctioneer whether he was Shaylorian, before tossing a small pouch at the man and officially purchasing him.
Before Magnius could even react to the man, he was herded off the stage and led to the back, where rows of pens lined the facility, where slaves were “prepared” before being handed over to their new owners. He made an attempt to resist, but a kick to the calf was enough to get him into one of the pens, where he'd stay until his owner arrived.
And as if on cue, there the man was.
Magnius turned his head to glare at the stranger, only for his brows to furrow at the odd appearance. Now that they were standing closer, he got to take a better look, his eyes roving up and down the man's body. After getting his fill, a sense of dread seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach as he came to the realisation that he'd been auctioned off to some tall, masked freak.
Goddamn it, he growled lowly, glaring at the stiff mask covering the stranger's face.
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Daresso hated what he was about to do, though it was necessary. Those three words repeated like a mantra in his head, as he tried to absolve himself of this guilty feeling. After all, he had taken men’s lives before. That must surely be worse than what he did here.
As he saw the anger in the eyes of the man, his now-slave, he felt a bit of fear over what he was about to do. He was beginning to delve more firmly into true moral ambiguity. But this was the path he needed to travel, if he was to ever go back to Shaylore. His fists tightened at the thought, tension mounting within him. He pressed his short nails into his palm as he heard the slaver making more lewd comments and offering the usual in terms of marking a slave: bands brands, or ink. But Daresso meant to make him belong to him with another, more permanent way.
Affecting the hoarse voice again, Daresso remarked, “I have what I need to mark him as mine without your… assistance. Thank you for the offering, though.” He drew his dagger, slowly. The look of anger on the man’s face grew, if that was even possible.
The slaver looked quite curious now. “Carving into his flesh? A shame. But to each their own.”
“Not exactly. This is something older.” Daresso abruptly stepped close to the man, dwarfing his smaller frame and noticing the way he cringed. Carefully pointing the dagger away from him, he took hold of his shift, ripping it deeply in the center. “Hold the cloth open, slave,” he ordered.
After a shove in his ribs from the slaver, he reached to his chest to part the thin fabric there, exposing his pecs in the process. His gaze swept across him, but Daresso had little time to dwell on the musculature displayed there. He got on with it.
Pulling the blade of the dagger against the palm of his hand, he drew his own blood. Making a loose fist with his bloody hand, he let his blood drip on the slave’s sternum and run down between his pecs and lower. He nodded to himself as the blood seemed thick enough to perform the short ritual.
Sheathing the dagger and lowering his bloody hand, he began a low stream of susurrations. His clean hand traced patterns into the blood with one finger, following the trail down his body. Darresso had never actually performed the ritual before, except on animals. He focused deeply on the task, and was gratified to see the runes glow in a faint light as he completed the final pass, the blood absorbed and the skin revealed there to have taken on a slightly raised texture, silvery like an old scar.
“My word!” the slaver exclaimed. “A blood bond.” He genuinely seemed amazed. Daresso for once was glad that Tarinth had no laws preventing blood magic. Back in Shaylore, he would be sentenced to death.
Ignoring the slaver’s interest, Daresso grabbed the man’s chin. “Listen well. I have bound you to me. You will only find yourself able to leave my presence when I allow it. You will find yourself drawn to me when I summon you. Do not fight the urge to obey. And do not run. If you choose either of those paths, pain awaits you.”
Releasing him, he ordered, “Cover yourself.” Watching as he did, he continued,“We will go to buy you more appropriate clothes. You will walk behind me. Test the bond if you wish… but you are warned.”
With a slight nod to the slaver, he turned, stalking back towards the streets of the bazaar, never looking back. He murmured some words of command under his breath, activating the bond and drawing the man’s presence to his. He heard a slight sound of shock as he undoubtedly felt it as well.
The slave’s footsteps rang on the rough-paved road behind Daresso, and he stepped out into the rising sun’s light.