the remarkable misfortunes of ryan ross

Chapter 5 -- Never, Never, Never

By the time they got to the castle the pain was starting to settle; if Ryan just didn't move, and held his breath, he could handle it. Of course, complete immobility was nearly impossible to maintain as the carriage rumbled over the cobblestones of the entrance through the palace gates and then lurched to a curt stop in the middle of the courtyard.

Ryan swallowed a groan; he wasn't going to give his captors any satisfaction from his discomfort.

The door to the carriage swung open, and the Collector barreled out. "Up! Up!" he stomped his foot impatiently, glaring at Ryan Ross.

The boy set his jaw and cautiously stood, bracing himself on the top edge of his seat in the carriage. He wobbled for a moment as he tried to find the position that caused him the least amount of pain and then gingerly stepped down from the mouth of the cart.

He watched tentatively as the other captives were unloaded from the iron-barred cell which had stopped at the back of the Collector's carriage. He lined up behind them. Chain-strung anklets were brought out and locked around each of the peasant's feet, tying them all together.

"One step at a time now," a man who was obviously the head guard took over.

Ryan darted his head to see where the Collector had gone and finally found him hobbling on his now bum leg with a man who interacted as though he were, himself, a doctor.

Ryan felt rough hands push against the small of his back, and he nearly puked from the pain that shot through him.

"One step at a time," the head guard repeated. Ryan nodded in sharp apprehensive jerks, and stepped forward, delicately, being careful not to twist his torso.

He was amazed at the magnitude of the courtyard and palace. He had never seen a building so large in all his life. The colossal brown stone walls towered above him with appendages going straight out from the main frame in a way that formed a large E shape, minus the center limb. It reminded him of a rectangle where the architect had forgotten one of the longer sides.

The windows soared and arched, and the shrubs formed caricatures of animals and mythological creatures.

Strolling amongst the hedges and fountains were dozens of members of the court, clad in fabric Ryan did not even know existed. They shimmered and laughed and the ladies warmed their hands in brightly furred hand muffs.

And there was a boy, surrounded by others, who seemed to glitter more than all the rest. People kept touching him, and the girls giggled around him for no reason. He seemed like a fantastically important person. Yet, for some unexplainable reason, his eyes were locked on Ryan, who was nothing more than a filthy, trembling wreck.

"Who's he?" the jeweled boy nodded towards the peasant who was busy favoring his ribs. A large guard whispered an answer into his ear, and the brown haired boy smirked.

"Zack," the boy addressed the guard again, "ask them his crime?"

Zack nodded and marched stoically towards the head soldier and whispered into that man's ear.

After a few moments Zack bellowed across the courtyard to the other boy, "Taxes!"

The other boy began walking closer and then stopped, "Bring him to me. I want to look at him."

Zack and the other guards nodded almost in unison as Ryan felt his ankle undone from the shackles and his body marched by the pit of his left arm in the direction of the obviously powerful boy.

His ribs were killing him, could they not try to be a little gentler?

When they mercifully came to a stop, the boy in front of him scowled, "Are you not going to bow?"

There was silence.

"Well," Ryan tried to keep his voice as soft and modest as possible, "that depends on who you are."

He kicked himself for his response as soon as the words flew out of his mouth. He had meant to sound much more respectful. It was just that he was new to all of this, and he really didn't want to do the wrong thing. He certainly didn't want to be set up in a trap by being coerced into a king-worthy bowing before someone that wasn't of that stature.

"I," the boy said, verging on indignation, "am the prince of England, Brendon Boyd Urie, and you should know better than to ask such questions out loud!"

Ryan slowly forced himself to bow and his eyes watered in pain. His hands shot instinctively to his ribs, and he bit down on his lower lip to keep himself quiet.

"Is this boy injured?" the prince's voice turned from mere indignation into full blown outrage.

"He tried to attack one of the other guards, your majesty."

Ryan's blood burned as the lie slipped past his ears.

"Yes, I am sure with his large muscle-bound stature that he was indeed a great threat worthy of ruthless force," the prince frowned. "Help him to stand," he ordered towards the head guard.

His request was roughly obeyed, and Ryan cringed at the pinching pain as he was jerked into an upright position.

"Let me rephrase that," the prince rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Please help him to stand gently."

The guard eased his grip on Ryan, and the peasant boy's face relaxed as some of the pain subsided.

"What is your name?" the prince asked, a hint of sympathy behind his words.

"Ryan Ross, your highness. Well, my first name is George, but everyone knows me as Ryan."

Brendon reached up and touched Ryan's face, his fingers sinking against the other boy's pale cheek. He touched his nose, and his lips, down his shoulder, and then rubbed the back of his hand across Ryan's ribcage. Ryan tensed at the tenderness in his damaged bones.

Brendon stopped, but his face remained stoic. While it was obvious he felt sympathy for Ryan, it was also obvious that his pity for those well beneath him only went so far.

"You are... exquisite," Brendon stared into Ryan's lowered eyes as though he were trying to see something on the other side.

What? Ryan's brain struggled to process what he had just heard. The prince of England had just told him he was 'exquisite'? He was unquestionably aware of his boyish good looks, but not to that extent. No one could look good with tiny remnants of hay matted to their forehead, mud caked on the palm of their hands, and their body covered in sweat and grime. He didn't look 'exquisite'; he looked down right pathetic.

"Tell me, 'thank you,'" Brendon ordered, and the guard grabbed Ryan's hair and forced his head up toward the prince.

"Th-thank you." Ryan panted, hoping his body would become desensitized to the pain in his ribs sooner rather than later.

"You're welcome. It is a misfortune that someone as innocent and beautiful in appearance as yourself would now be labeled a criminal."

"Th-thank you, your majesty. I haven't really --"

"That didn't require a response," Brendon cut Ryan's sentence sharply with his tongue. "See to it," the prince turned towards the head guard, "that this boy receives medical attention. It is obvious from his short breaths, if nothing else, that he is in constant agony."

"Yes, your highness," the guard bowed so low that his necklace scrapped in the dirt.

Ryan was turned and led back to the lineup of other prisoners, and again he felt the cold grip of the metal cuff clash around his ankle.

Brendon, however, never tore his eyes away until the peasant boy was out of sight and swallowed by the cavernous lower doorway that led down into the dungeons.

"What are you thinking?" Zack leaned in close to the prince who forced himself to bring his eyes back to the large guard standing beside him.

"I am going to have my way with that boy," Brendon said, as though the act had already been scheduled.

"No offense, your majesty, but he isn't exactly the same as one of your servants." Zack twitched his nose in repugnance at the thought. "Quite a step down. A mere peasant, and for that matter, a criminal."

"Does that mean he has any less of an obligation to obey me?" Brendon bore his vision into Zack's.

"No, but he is hardly in the condition to do so, and you are a very noble creature." Zack placed a favorable hand on the prince's shoulder, "You wouldn't want to hurt him. You never want to hurt anyone if you can help it."

The prince snorted under his breath, "I would prefer, for any partner, to enjoy it as best they can... but with him being a flat out criminal, I'm not entirely sure that his wants should outweigh mine."

"And the wants of your father?" Zack took his hand from Brendon's shoulder and pierced his lips in quiet frustration.

"Zack, I am sure you are aware that I never, never, never fail to get my way," Brendon said in a voice firm enough to end the conversation. "I AM going to have my way with him, and that is that."