Tributes

Chapter Four

"What is your name?" Tyreol eventually settled for drawing the boy out slowly. If he had food on him, he would use that to lure him out like a wild animal but at the moment, he could only talk. Talk and hope the boy wasn't too far gone in his fear to respond. There was no answer. Just the sound of a calming heartbeat and frightened breathing. He could remember tributes with far better homelives reacting worst than this. It was manageable. He just had to stay calm and in control. "Don't be shy, boy. What is your name?"

There were another few moments of silence. "Paul," a small voice whispered, sounding wary and obviously young. Not as young as the twins but still. The age range for his tributes was fifteen to twenty-five. He would accept older and younger, but not too much. He had only accepted the twins because Abel really did need help with his magic.

Tyreol nodded slowly, trying not to look too pleased that Paul had answered him. "How old are you, Paul?" he asked gently, keeping his eyes looking ahead, though he knew where the boy was hiding. Under the bed. It wasn't a big space, on purpose. The boy was small.

There was another pause before a hesitate voice answered, "Fourteen, I think." 

"I see," Tyreol commented carefully. Not being sure of your age was not always from being mistreated. Just as easy not to have been told because people were busy or forgotten because of many brothers and sisters. "I'm Lord Tyreol. You are the fourth tribute to arrive at my court. From now on, you will live by my rules until a time when I release you from my service. Did Heilan explain things to you?" Blunt but to the point. It tended to work better with people expecting the worse, better than reassurances anyhow. 

"Yes," whispered the boy, his voice trembling slightly. 

The urge to go out and kill whoever had harmed this child rose up in him. Even without the warnings, it was obvious this boy had been hurt by someone. Just how badly, he wasn't quite sure. Only that he hadn't been completely broken. Just. Tyreol kept his temper in check to avoid scaring the boy but the next topic was always going to be a frightening thing to discuss. 

"Good. I know you have past experiences with men," Tyreol pressed gently. There was another hitch in the boy's voice, his heartbeat racing faster again, letting Tyreol know the boy was well aware of what Tyreol meant. "You do not need to worry about that here. No one will touch you. You are mine."

"And you won't... Sleep with me?" the boy whispered.

"Not without your consent and certainly not until you are old enough," Tyreol said firmly. He did not need to force his tributes. Occasionally some pushes were needed, but he had never needed to hold one of his down to fuck and he wasn't about to start now. There were rules and conditions but it was not forced. "You won't be allowed to have sex with others before me but I'm not going to hurt you." The latter was entirely true, the former was not so much. Sometimes arrangements were made but rarely. Tyreol liked having the ownership. 

"Old enough? I am fifteen. Old enough to be wed if I were a girl," the boy snapped, fear flowing off him again. 

Tyreol felt himself tremble with contained rage as he heard those words. Words which had no doubt been yelled at him many times. Possibly during the act itself. The image of a small bundle crying as someone hurt him and the words were thrown at him made every instinct inside of him roar. 

"You are not a girl though. I am an immortal, boy. You are still too young for my liking to be playing those games. Even girls are far too young at that age," Tyreol declared with as much force behind his words as he dared. He did not sleep with children. In some ways, even the young age he did sleep with them was too young. In general, he slept with humans older than eighteen, though he did not take anyone to his bed regularly or allow them to sleep with anyone else until they were older then twenty summers if they came to him untouched. "May I see you?"

There was hesitate silence, but eventually, the boy moved. Slowly crawling out of under the bed, all bones and skinny limbs scrapping against the wood floor. Pale skinned, wide eyes and looking at Tyreol with a mistrusting look. Tyreol's face remained neutral as he looked the boy up and down. He could see why Helian's aide had deemed the boy as acceptable despite his troubled past. 

The boy was an albino. Rare and very valuable on the slave market. It made Tyreol feel almost ill.

His white hair looked almost grey. It was long, neatly cut so it tumbled down to his waist giving the boy an almost effeminate look but it was scraggly and not looked after well. His eyes were pink, big, wide and almost innocent, big dark bags under them as if the boy hadn't slept for weeks. If it wasn't for the haunted expression in them, they would be almost beautiful. As it was, he just looked painful vulnerable and fragile, practically shaking in front of Tyreol. 

"Turn around," Tyreol ordered. The boy bit his lip but obeyed. Spreading his skinny arms around and turning slowly.  

Those arms were covered in bruises, obviously from whoever he had lived with before being take as a tribute. Heilan would never have allowed anyone to handle someone like the boy roughly. His wrist's were covered with what Tyreol would only assume were rope burns. He had been tied down many times. His ankles covered with them as well. Unlike the others who had come to the castle wearing their clothes from their former lives, the boy was already dressed in an outfit made for tributes. One of Luke's if he wasn't mistaken. The servant must have decided the boy needed other clothing then whatever it originally was.

Tyreol closed his eyes, feeling his anger burn bright. "Those who have harmed you will be punished," he promised darkly, already letting his anger pass through the veil and to his brothers and sisters. Many of them who would happily destroy whatever soul would harm a child like this. "Come here, please," he ordered.

Paul took a step back, curling in on himself slightly. When Tyreol didn't react but patiently waited, the boy braved a step forward. Slowly moving over to him, every step hesitate and clearly waiting for the boot to drop and something bad to happen. Finally, when he was close enough, Tyreol grabbed Paul's wrist and yanked him onto lap as he shifted from his knees to be crossed legged. Paul yelled in fear and tried to scramble out but Tyreol held him still. Ignoring the weak hits, just breathing calmly and waiting. 

It took a few moments, but Paul relaxed after nothing happening other than being held against a firm chest. He stopped his struggles and whimpered, curling into the hold. He trembled and Tyreol cradled the child, letting him recover a moment. Paul didn't move into the hold but his hand clutched onto Tyreol's arm. 

"What will happen now?" Paul whispered, his body still stiff, his eyes low.

"I mark you as mine and you can meet the others," Tyreol stated with forced calmness. This was fine. Everything was fine. Nothing bad nor scary was going to happen. 

"Mark?" Paul's voice was apprehensive. He wasn't that trustful. 

"A nip on the hand, nothing more" Tyreol promised, catching the boys left hand and holding it firmly. Paul bit his lip and nodded in acceptance. Not that he had much choice in the matter. For Tyreol it was always so much better when they accepted this step willingly as opposed to fighting it but the smell of someone who had no hope because of it was almost sickly. Paul wasn't going to be able to do this step. He bit the boy's hand. Paul screamed and then there was chaos.