Eros

The Sanguine Vow - 76

Sebastain awoke to knocking on his door and Eva's calling.

"Sir! Sir are you awake?"

His mouth was dry with the nasty aftertaste of alcohol. His head throbbed as if his brain was trying to smash its way out of his skull. He grunted, pinched the bridge of his nose, and clenched his eyes shut.

I fucked up again.

Everything since that first toast he drank felt more like a dream than reality. Especially the sex with Zein. For the most part, he wished it was a dream. But dreams don't make you sore and satisfied, wanton fucking does. Besides, his clothes were thrown all over the room, and the sheets were a mess.

"Sir!" The knocking and the shouting threatened to explode Bas' head. He glanced at the window. The stormclouds cleared, and the sun shone bright in the center of the sky. Why'd she wake him now, he scheduled their move out at nightfall.

"I'm up, I'm up." Despite the protest of his headache, he got up on his feet, found his breeches on the floor, and pulled them on. He went on to open the door. "Yes Eva, what's up?"

Eva opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her eyes trailed down his almost naked, tracing muscles, scars, and an old tattoo of a sword across his ribs. A blush rose to her cheeks. "Ahm, yes, eh-"

She cleared her throat, eyes focusing back on his. "There is a commotion gathering beneath the Black Tower. The Black Prince is said to make an appearance."

Sebastian snapped into focus, dizziness clearing. "Go wait for me at the door. I will be ready in a minute."

"Just the two of us, sir?" Eva smiled, returning to her confident self.

"Yes Eva," Bas said as he moved to close the door. "Just the two of us."

He splashed his face with water, wetting his beard and hair. His Ebonsteel called to him, but he sufficed for his other sword. He wore a simple breastplate over clothes, a grey cloak over that.

He didn't lie when he said it'd be a minute. They went out to the street, following a flock of Deadman Bayers towards the center of the city. With a bit of elbows, they made it through the crowd gathered before the Black Tower, gaining clear sight of the view.

A stage was raised before the tower's narrow entrance. It was built in squares of solid wood planks that had seen frequent use. Gory use, so showed the bloodstains.

The buzz of the crowd hushed as a man strode out the tower. A sharp black suit was tailored to his lithe physique. Blonde hair, emerald eyes, and fair skin seemed to shine in the sunlight. Sebastian once heard a rumour that Roman, the Black Prince was handsome. Now he couldn't deny it.

Two syndicate muscles came behind him, dressed fine in black and weaponry. They dragged a man by the arms, a rope tying his hands behind his back and a sack covering his head. The Black Prince breezed up the stairs, and took place at the front of the stage. Beside him, the captive was knocked to his knees.

The Black Prince surveyed the crowd. "Greetings, my fellow sinners."

He spoke loud and clear, his voice somewhat melodic. "Today, it is with great dissatisfaction that I bring before you one of our own. A man who many of us put on a pedestal as the best of smugglers."

A ghost hand took Sebastain's heart in its cold grasp. The Black Prince turned around, and with a flourish, snatched up the sack. Bas expected to see Zein, and still, seeing his face made his fists ball.

"The second hide house is two doors to the left of Lyandra's Thong saloon." He spoke sharply in Eva's ear, only Zein and he knew where the other half of the squad was staying. Against the Black Prince, you had to withhold every bit of information even from your own men. The torture he does breaks even the fiercest loyalty.

"Aren't you coming?" Eva asked, firm and focused.

"No, grab four more of ours on your way there." Sebastian answered, gaze returning to the stage. "I want to watch."

She nodded and left.

"As you know, traitors to the Syndicate usually get to fly off my balcony." The Black Prince spoke to the crowd with a charming smile. "Though Zein here managed to clean up a few of the more lacking Syndicate's gangs, tricking them to lash out on one another, plotting to assassinate me."

"I could still respect that. I encourage ambition." The prince paced across the stage, Zein's eyes following him, body flinching away. "But Zein here betrayed us to cut on his jail time. He conspired with Anerock. For his own skin, he was willing to bring the law in our one sanctuary."

Bas gritted his teeth. How could he know that Zein worked with Anerock? He doubted Zein told him something so discriminating. There were no signs of torture. Yet.

The Black Prince turned behind Zein, looking to the crowd. "I don't know about you, but I think this earns him a place on my stage."

Deadmen Bayers roared their approval, shouting for blood.

"Fucking liar!" Zein yelled from his knees, pulling at his bonds. "I didn't conspire with nobody, I just got sick of your bullshit. You're the one who plays royalty, speaking to us like we're your fucking peasants. About time some of us stood up to you."

Bas couldn't help to smile, though his joy died in the next moment. Behind Zein, the Black Prince stripped his suit's jacket.

"Let me tell you what you all already know," Zein snapped his glare at the crowd. The Black Prince started rolling up his sleeves. Every man and woman stilled. Zein's yelling echoed through the silence. "The Black Prince's law is worse than any king we ever ran from."

With a final fold, the prince secured his sleeves over his elbows. He unsheathed a feather from his belt. Zein rocked in his bonds again, the muscles of his neck tensing as he shouted. "Deadmen Bay has no king!"

The Black Prince strode up to Zein's side, feather twirling between quick fingers. His arm made a fluent swipe, and he struck the slender blade into Zein's eyeball.

Zein broke into screaming. Roman twisted his feather, turning the eye around in its socket, and pulling it out. Nimble veins drew after with the eyeball, lolling out the gory hollow. The prince stretched them slowly until they tore. Zein's screams turned mad, blood pouring down his cheek and nose.

Roman stepped in front of Zein, and threw a backhand into the wounded side of his face. The impact of the slap echoed, tossed Zein in his bonds, and sprayed the stage with bloody spittle. Zein hung limp, his face frozen in a mask of terror and agony.

Rage pulled Sebastain out of his shock, heating his blood, and throbbing in his head. There was nothing he wanted more than to jump on that stage and run his Ebonsteel through Roman.

With Zein silenced the Black Prince turned the crowd.

"My place couldn't have been more rightful, for one simple fact." He smiled, but not in his charming facade. It was a vicious smile, suiting his true, predatory nature. "Everyone who wishes it is invited to try and take it from me."

"I welcome anyone who has the ambition." The prince said and raised his feather, presenting the eyeball impaled on it, threads of gore dangling. "As long as they're willing to suffer for it."

His eyes went over the crowd. None rose to his challenge.

"Well then," Roman jerked his feather, sending the eye bouncing against the stage. "Let's get to work."

He cut Zein apart one piece at the time. First his fingernails. Then his fingertips, with his henchmen busy at his sides, bandaging the stumps to prevent too early death. Delicate and masterful in his torture, the prince incised the lids of his remaining eye with no tool but the tip of his blade. He cut the elastic flesh of his ears, strip after strip carving off under his feather, until nothing remained but bleeding holes the sides of his head.

Sebastian watched as Zein, howled, hollered, and cried for mercy. Every muscle in his body tried to turn him away, but he stoned his feet to the floor.

He needed to watch. He needed to see everything Roman would do. He needed his hatred to seeth and fester, consume him whole, until nothing else mattered.

Sebastain vowed, not to old gods, and not to the new one, but to himself. He will kill the Black Prince. Even if it's the last thing he'll do.