“Hey…” one bandit said slowly. “That’s…”
Catalin held his breath.
“A noble!” another one said joyfully.
… they’re idiots. Catalin exhaled. Thank God they’re idiots.
“What family’s he from, you figger?” another one piped up. “Elesons? The lot of ‘em have dark hair, right?”
“What’re ya, blind?” the first one snapped. “The Eleson family has brown eyes, this kid has blue. He’s obviously a Kasshen.”
“Kasshens never leave the capital, moron. They don’t have the cash for that anymore.”
“Which is why he doesn’t have bodyguards, idiot. I’m telling ya, he looks just like the last Kasshen the Boss had.”
… okay, Catalin amended. They’re idiots with disturbingly intimate knowledge of the noble families. That’s a little strange.
“What does it matter?” The beaten bandit clumsily shrugged off his defeat. “It’s for the Boss to find out, anyway. On yer feet, kid.”
“Huh?” Catalin said, remaining on his knees.
“You wanna see the Boss, don’cha?” A pair of them moved to Catalin’s side, each grabbing an arm and pulling him to his feet. “Get a move on, then.”
“Wait… I don’t… D-Damian!” Catalin managed as he was dragged towards the door.
“Oh, fine… since you asked nicely.” Damian jumped up and followed them.
Catalin and Damian were dragged down the long, narrow cave, the passage lit only by a few grimy lanterns. There seemed to be no way out, or at least away, but the way they first came. They walked just long enough to give Catalin plenty of time to consider all the repulsive things that could be done to him by this ‘Boss,’ before approaching another curtained-off cave. This curtain was slightly more presentable than the other, made of velvet instead of canvas, and with a curt, “Boss! We’ve got one for you!” Catalin was shoved inside.
Before Catalin could grasp where he was, he was greeted by a smooth, “Hey there, baby.”
Catalin backed as far against the curtain as he could without actually bolting out, bumping into Damian in the process. The speaker lay sprawled across a large four-poster bed, and he raised his head lazily to greet his company. He brushed thick, curly dark red hair from his eyes as he sat up, revealing a body that was toned to an almost ridiculous extent.
Catalin almost groaned out loud. It was unmistakably the bodybuilder from the King of the Mountain book covers.
“Well, there,” the King snickered. “What’s a cute li’l aristocrat like you doin’ all the way out here?”
“Be nice, now,” Damian piped up, stepping out from behind Catalin. “This one’s with me.”
“… Damian Meyers,” the King said slowly, standing up with a dark expression on his face. Damian walked forward so that the two were toe-to-toe, despite the fact that the King was over a foot taller than Damian. They stayed that way for almost a minute, and just when Catalin began to think that he should run before a fight started, they burst into raucous laughter.
“Still a ballsy little squirt, ain’t’cha?” the King laughed, pulling Damian into a painful-looking hug. “Where the hell’ve you been, kid?”
“Had some business to take care of, Kite,” Damian said, wriggling out of the iron grip. “What’s with the hideout? I thought you were going to decorate a bit once the cut from the next book came in.”
“Was gonna, yeah.” The King – his name was Kite, apparently – snorted. “But that whatsitcalled… the ghostwriter… said I ‘misunderstood the terms of the contract’ or some shit like that. Damn bitch… speakin’ of, you forgot to introduce me to your friend, here.” Kite pointed to Catalin and tipped him an exaggerated wink. “Come to see the King for yourself, baby?”
“Excuse me?” Catalin moved so that Damian was in front of him, and crossed his arms firmly. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m a man.”
“… yeah?” Kite looked confused. “And?”
Catalin wanted to dig a hole in the floor and never come out. So the King of the Mountain is THAT kind of person, was his first thought, quickly followed by, So the maids are THOSE kind of people.
It wasn’t as if Catalin especially cared; he would have been equally disgusted if a mountain woman was looking at him that way. But that wasn’t something he felt he could say to a man who could probably crack him into eight pieces and eat him raw for supper.
“Hey, Damian,” Kite continued, “he repressed or something?”
“Completely,” Damian sighed.
“All right, that’s enough,” Catalin snapped.
“You haven’t figured out why I brought him yet, Kite?” Damian asked, before Catalin could continue.
“Hmmm…” Kite thought about it, an action that looked painful for him. “You apologizin’ for the awful birthday present you gave me?”
“I thought you liked the scarf…” Damian drooped.
“I’m kiddin’,” Kite said quickly. “Uhh…” He squinted at Catalin. “… he’s in the Kasshen House, right?”
