I guess we'll continue on with this one for the moment! And I think I finally have a handle on how to post here. Let's test that theory, shall we? Keep in mind, if you didn't read the prologue, this will make no sense to you whatsoever. So please read that first!
Warnings for this chapter: Some language, maybe, but like I said, this fic is nothing worse than a PG-13.
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The Imperial Guard
Chapter One
Catalin realized within moments that he’d missed his split-second opening to get away, and tried to curl up and protect himself. But he didn’t move fast enough. The kick came anyway, burying the booted toe deep in his stomach. As his assailant gave him a few moments to struggle to catch his breath, a timid voice came from the doorway.
“Rakan…” Catalin recognized it as Mary, one of the maids. “Don’t you think you’re being too rough with him?”
He could hear Rakan clearing his throat, and then the squeak of his boots as he moved across the floor. Catalin then found himself being jerked to his feet by the end of his hair, and it took all his willpower not to curse out loud.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Rakan sighed, “but I can’t afford to be lenient with this one tonight. If you’ll excuse me…” He yanked harder on Catalin’s hair, leading him into the corridor, and Catalin struggled to match his pace, still out of breath.
As they turned a corner, Rakan finally let go, and Catalin slumped against the wall, holding his stomach.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” Rakan blurted out, sounding panicked. “Are you all right, Catalin?”
“Rakan, for the love of…” Catalin managed, coughing.
“I didn’t mean to kick so hard,” Rakan said miserably. “But that maid was watching, and I wanted it to look real—”
“Didn’t I tell you never to pull my hair like that?” Catalin glared as he finally uncurled himself and stood upright.
The nervous look faded from Rakan’s face, and he sighed, “Is that what your problem is? I told you, as long as it’s that length, it’s hard for me not to use it. You should just get it cut.”
“You know I can’t do that!” Catalin crossed his arms. “All—”
“All nobles wear their hair long, I know,” Rakan said, with the air of something repeated dozens of times.
“Then stop suggesting it.” Catalin held his arms forward expectantly.
Rakan detached the manacles from his belt, putting them on Catalin carefully. “Your collar is backwards. You know His Highness likes the Carmine insignia facing front.”
“Tell me that before you cuff me, Rakan.”
“Oh. Right.” Leaning forward, Rakan straightened the iron collar, carefully centering it. “Shall we be on our way, then?”
“You know I don’t want to be late for my very favoritest night of the year.” Catalin attempted to inject some flippancy into his voice to combat the tightening in his stomach. “And don’t be so obvious about talking to me. If someone sees you—”
“Will you relax?” Rakan grinned back at him. “After the show I put on back there, I don’t think anyone would suspect me of being a sympathizer. And besides, if I left you on your own tonight, you might explode.”
“Ha ha ha.” Catalin rolled his eyes. “I’m not nervous, you know. I’ve done this a million times.”
“Fourteen times to be exact,” Rakan said. “And this’ll be the fifteenth.”
“I can count, Rakan.”
“All right, come on, no need to get touchy.” Rakan raised an eyebrow at him. “No one expects you to get used to this sort of thing. It’s okay to be on edge.”
Catalin groaned inwardly. This touchy-feely routine of Rakan’s was going to destroy him one day. And if he stopped to admit he was nervous, he would probably end up psyching himself out, anyway.
So instead, he focused himself on the elaborate cream-colored decorations that licked the robust red palace walls, the vaguely majestic busts of the Emperor and the portraits of every extended relative in the Imperial family. These sights normally made him annoyed, but were almost soothing and familiar tonight. After all, if everything went well, he’d never even have to look at them again.
The nobility, the military leaders, many of the important people of Myrrh now lived their lives as unpaid servants of the Carmine Empire. They were scattered everywhere around the capital: some worked in luxury resorts for the wealthy, others worked in the farms that were scattered on the fringes of the city. Catalin had heard rumors that some even worked in brothels now. To reclaim their former positions, these people would have to swallow their pride and give Carmine some sort of “collateral.” But that was a sham, too; they would still be under the control of the Emperor, just in a different manner.
