He had never been a particularly kind master. With his every wish and thought granted he had attained a disturbing amount of arrogance at a very young age. He had killed before, in cold blood. He had ruined the lives of those who dared call him friend because of some imaginary dishonour they might have done him. Rape was as common to him as breathing.
Tanis , the younger brother, second in line for the throne, the spare, knew only too well that he was kept alive as insurance. He had been kept under heel since birth to ensure him amiability. No one wanted the second in line to have a back bone, less his start to have delusions of grandeur.
Tanis had watched his brother, the man he would one day have to bend his knee to, with growing concern. Their father was blind to Christian's cruelty. He seemed to have convinced him self that his eldest son's wrong doings were merely acts of boisterousness, that the arrogance was pride and the other gleaming imperfections were too slight and unworthy of notice.
Watching him stalk into the court, bedraggled and five days late for his audience with their sire, Tanis could not help but wonder if their father would finally have his say with his wayward son. Everyone at court had heard the rumours of what Christian had done to the baron's bastard son. Tanis unsuccessfully tried to keep back his smile. Such an unworthy foe yet he had caused so much intrigue. Tanis had met the half blood once, years ago, before he had attained his first blood. Even then he remembered looking down at the outlandish young man. Tate had been polite and clearly well educated for a bastard, but one need only glance at him to guess he would never attain his first blood. Tanis wondered if the half-blood had proved them all wrong. The prince favoured his bandaged right hand. Had he been attacked, and if so who else would dare but the rebel bastard?
His pale blue eyes flicked briefly over Tanis but there was no warmth in his gaze. The younger man looked away quickly. He had made it a point to seem as unthreatening and unassuming as possible since childhood. He doubted it would take much on his behalf to anger his elder brother into doing something to him. The king had other younger sons; Tanis was not so important that he could not be replaced.
"You are late." The king said, his grizzled voice carrying easily over the court room as he lent forward in his throne, his light eyes fixed sourly on the prince.
Christian dropped to one knee and bowed his head rigidly. "Forgive me my lord, a matter of urgency kept me away."
"We have heard. Did you manage to catch your bastard Christian?"
Tanis looked up in surprise. He was not the only one gaping. The king had just openly mocked his golden child. It only showed just how displeased he was. A quiet wave of laughter passed through the court. Tanis saw Christian's fist clench and wondered what poor soul would pay for his humiliation.
A tense quiet passed over the court as the prince continued to stare at his boots. Suddenly he lifted head and stared at the king for a long moment before a huge smile broke out on his face. He chuckled good naturedly and shrugged. "Truthfully my lord, he got away fro me." He stood without invitation and approached the throne. He stepped beside the king and spoke quietly into their father's ear. Many emotions rolled over the king's features, settling at last with a look of grudging acceptance. "You are young Christian, and therefore mistakes are going to be made." The king smiled very slightly. "You are forgiven."
Of course he is, Tanis thought as he watched Christian drape him arm possessively over their father throne as he stepped behind the old man and looked out at the court. He could only be grateful that Christian had not caught up to the unfortunate young man that had caught his eye. He just preyed for the half-blood sake that he never did.
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A month had passed since Tate had escaped the only home he had ever known. During that time he had travelled among the tinkers, a people he had previously and wrongly believed were weak willed and filthy. Once again his bigoted upbringing had been sorely misleading. The Gypsies were the kindest and most worthy people Tate had ever known. Their love for one another and the simple lives they lived was a breath of fresh air for him. They didn't believe in killing and their arguments were not solved with violence. They were far from soft but they were certainly pure, or so they seemed to Tate who had been brought up amidst a torrent of death and cruelty.
Almost all of them had accepted Tate easily into their tribe, not pushing him about his past or the circumstances that had landed him with them. He had refused to offer his name and everyone, with the exception on Lucas, had respected his wishes. Lukas had been somewhat difficult to put off in some other areas as well but his advances had not and, Tate realised, never would become too forceful.
He thought briefly of Christian as he sat silently beside a happily talking Lukas and wondered if he was really free of the other man. Surely the princeling had lost his scent after so much time? He would have had to go back to his kingdom and face the wrath of the king he had forced to wait for him. Tate was free and safe. He should have been able to relax.
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Christian pushed past the guards, half hoping they would try to stop him so he could finally let free his anger and frustration. He had lost him, lost him because of the dithering old fool he was forced to bend his knee to.
Fortunately for the guards they did not try to interfere. Christian snatched the silver key from around one of their thick neck and let him self into the high tower room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
A tall, thin figure sat staring out between wide open windows. His face tilted upwards, pointedly ignoring the prince's presence as he seemingly studied the wide open skies. The prophet could always be found in the same position, looking out at the heavens, reaching for the unattainable.
"The night sky is most particularly breath taking tonight, is it not Miliananious?" He asked brightly.
Two milky white eyes turned unseeing in his direction. "Why have you come to see me Christian?"
"I thought you were the prophet. Why not tell me?" If Christian was not so painfully aware of Miliananious true nature he might have found the prophet breathe taking. Hair as black as midnight and skin as smooth and as brown as an apple seed. Christian had known the prophet all his life, just as his father had and his father's father before him. In that time the prophet had not aged a year. A constant youth, yet one need only look into his blinded eyes and no man would mistake him for anything but ancient.
The chains attached to the prophet's wrists rattled loudly as he fumbled for a chair. He stared out at Christian, his expression sorrowful as it always was. "You would know your destiny, my lord?" He shook his head and laughed quietly. "I could at least respect your grandfather Christian; at least he was not stupid enough to ask me so directly. How do you know I won't lie?"
"I know my destiny, creature. I come seeking someone; I would have you find him for me."
The prophet shifted his head, his sightless eyes turning back towards the window as he reached out and traced the lines of his chains. "If there is one so fortunate to escape your grasp what makes you think I would agree to find him for you?"
