If I fall along the way.

Larkin huffed and puffed as he walked away from the unguarded room, steaming away the unreleased anger he had within. He had plenty to do before he could return to that room, mostly the planning for tomorrow night’s ball. He did love parties, and looked forward to seeing the other governors. It was during these sorts of things he really got to be with his equals, people who understood the stress of ruling over a city (which might as well have been called a kingdom, they were so large). He could think of a few certain individuals he wanted to see, also. The governor of Ventinia, for example.

On his way to see the counsel, he put away his axe and then stopped by the kitchens to grab a bite to eat. He admired his chefs; they were the best. When returning to take this place from his uncle, the first thing he’d done was getting rid of the old ones. They were simply awful, and couldn’t cook any of his favorite dishes. Growing up here had been painful, not having a say in who to fire and who to hire. Wiping out most of the ‘employees’ and getting new ones had dramatically changed the way this place was run. It was cleaner, more efficient. But there was one thing he could never get right - those fool guards! Good people came with talents: cooking, cleaning, writing, and decorating. Good people did not just wait for someone to find them, and they certainly were not found in large numbers.

Larkin sighed and continued his way through the castle, taking his time and not looking forward to dealing with those ugly bags of loose, wrinkly skin. He almost shuddered; they had been the only ones he was unable to deal with being gone. They were just too helpful, too needed. Most of the old farts had left when he fired the scientists and chemists that weren’t doing a damn bit of good to him and his city. All they did was tinker and toy with their little experiments, way down below him in the dungeons. It had made him sick, some of the things they kept down there, most of which he’d had disposed of.

Crunching down on an apple, Larkin entered the room he was surely to find the advisors in. Sure enough, too, they were there, huddled all around the table and scribbling on pieces of paper. He didn’t want to - and didn’t have to - ask about what they were doing. Even though it was very much his concern, he knew they wouldn’t do anything stupid. Every now and then he did look through what they were doing, questioned it and got answers. It was rare that he found them doing something they knew he would not approve of, and that was because when he did, it was just another way for him to release his anger and frustration in one of the two ways he knew how to.

Immediately they looked up, careful not to look overly nervous at his unexpected arrival. If they did, he might feel the suspicion to see what they were up to. They watched as he passed the half circle of a table, and sat down in his chair on the other side, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position. He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, looking to them expectantly. When they didn’t say anything, he sat back up and narrowed his eyes.

“Well? Who’s coming and who’s not?” he asked, and they realized he was only concerned about his party. The old men had figured that, Larkin was predictable in some ways. One of them sorted through his papers and lifted one up, looking down his nose at it. He snuffled and cleared his throat, as if he were going to say something very important to Larkin. He didn’t.

“Ah, everyone, sire.”

Of course, Larkin had known no one would refuse his invite. They’d put off anything to come to one of his parties. Not only were they immensely enjoyable, but if someone had refused him, he’d probably drop by and see why. If unsatisfied with the excuse, they would regret it. Larkin hated to have his invites refused. He was feared and respected, and in his book, there was no better way to have respect than when it came out of fear. Larkin nodded at the man, and stood.

“Your majesty,” one man said quickly, bowing his head.

“What?” Larkin snapped, straightening his cape and retying the laces that held together the front of his shirt. He looked up, and awaited the man to explain himself. It was unusual for anyone but Larkin to bring up business, especially when it was he who had come to see them, and not the other way around.

“We want to know what you’re going to be announcing.” He said nervously, still not raising his eyes to look at Larkin. It was risky asking a question like that when Larkin seemed to enjoy the mystery of it. The news had to be very important, and they knew it involved the Sink, but how much they were unsure. Very significant if the governor was to throw a party over it.

Larkin didn’t want to explain it fully to them, and decided he’d give them an overview. It wasn’t his counsel that should be concerned with it, anyway. It was the other governors and who would assist him. He grinned at the ancient men, tugging gently at a strand of black hair in a girlish, innocent manner, “I’m going to tell them I know where the Sink masses can be found. I’m going to request they assist me in wiping them out.” He dropped the strand of hair, and mad a motion with his hands, as if wiping the landscape clean of its mountains and trees. “Whoosh,” he whispered, his eyes wide in mock disbelief. The advisors didn’t look much different, except that they weren’t feigning it. They glanced at one another, and became very uneasy. They shifted in their seats, trying to think of something to say. It was hard for them to decide whether to believe Larkin, to like this idea, or not. It was true that the Sink were getting their hands on very important things, and the raids and riots were becoming not only a nuisance, but a serious problem. This would make Larkin more respected and known than he already was. How would the people at the capital take it? They’d ignore it, more than likely. Just like they ignored it when Larkin took his enemies off the map.

Larkin left, stifling chuckles with a hand.

He headed down to the dungeons, and stopped to kick a guard, who had been sleeping. The man awoke and stared in horror as Larkin reached down to smack him across the face. He was sure the ruler was going to kill him right then and there, but instead Larkin directed him to go upstairs and guard a room that held someone very important. Someone that could not be let out, and if they were, it would be his head in exchange for the prisoner’s. The guard bowed, and hurried to his new post, thankful that he was not going to die immediately.

Down the stairs and past the rows of cells, holding the silent prisoners that feared their day had come as he approached, but breathed sighs of relief as he went on ahead. He went deep into the winding corridors and mazes of stairs and turns. Soon, the sounds of hammering and sawing came into his ears, and he entered a very large room, where wood was stacked to one side, and on the other were three contraptions being constructed. He stood in the doorway and stared for a moment, waiting for someone to notice him. One of the many men lifted his head and removed his glasses, dusting himself and hurrying to serve his master. He bowed.

“Where’s Grub?” Larkin asked, eyes set on the newest addition to the collection of torture devices in his dungeon. The machine looked delicious, and he could only imagine what the many levers and straps did.

“He was by only moments ago, went to his quarters, I believe.”

“Good. Continue.” Larkin turned, and went the short way to where Grub usually spent his time, when there was no one to be tortured and nothing to oversee.

The door was shut when Larkin arrived and he was quiet opening the door, stepping into the darkness. His eyes were forced to adjust, the room even darker than darkest parts of the dungeons. A single candle burned on one side of the room, but the white of Lovely’s skin and clothes were easily seen. The man stood from his bed quickly, and stuttered out a shocked greeting.

“Master,” he breathed, hurrying over to the candle and lighting more. He knew Larkin was uncomfortable not being able to see where he was walking. He also wanted himself to be seen as well. He liked it when the man looked at him, and that rare expression of pleasure when he wore his hair down. It was down now, and he had just finished combing it straight. He looked up at Larkin. Only in the ruler’s presence were his deranged faces and sickly attitude lost. Lovely watched as Larkin shut the door, and slowly approached him.

“Inventions going well, I see?” Larkin said quietly, and he motioned that Lovely should sit on the bed, while he pulled over a small stool and sat down in front of him.

Lovely nodded, lowering himself back onto the edge of the bed, which was really only a cot. He risked a glance at Larkin’s expression, and saw that the man was looking at his hair. He smiled and looked back down, grateful that he had come to see him. The ruler’s visits were becoming less and less, and Lovely was afraid that he was beginning to lose interest. His hope was not renewed by this visit, however, and he found himself thinking of the rumors that were taking the dungeons by storm. He dared not let them linger, afraid that Larkin might hear his thoughts.

“Did you fix the passageway like I asked?”

“Yes,” he looked up at the smiling face of Larkin, who was now tugging off his gloves. He laid them across his knee and examined his long nails, gently picking at the ones that were not satisfactory. Lovely watched, his eyebrows furrowing as he imagined those hands on his face, like they had been so many times before. He chewed on his upper lip, the thoughts of rumors itching at him again. Hesitantly, he spoke, “Who is… who is staying in the guest room?”

“Someone from the Sink.”

“Are you… trying to get something out of him?” Lovely was always eager to help with a disobedient prisoner. His ways were usually effective, if they didn’t die first. But now he was merely curious, hiding it in the fact that he only wanted to help Larkin.

“Yes.”

“Would you like…?”

“No,” Larkin said slowly, his eyes lifting to look at Lovely’s face. Larkin knew there was something the man would not say, would not dare bring up, and exactly what that was. They stared at each other for a moment, and finally Lovely broke it, looking down. Larkin scooted his stool closer and leaned in to whisper words of reassurance.

“I’ve already got all I need from him. I believe he has a talent of the mind, I’d like to look into it further.” He said, placing his fingers against Lovely’s jaw, and pushing back the mass of soft white hair from his face. He enjoyed the surprised gasp that came from Lovely, and the look on his face as he lifted his head. Larkin knew he was jealous, suspicious, and it made this all the more enjoyable. The fact that Lovely was right to feel that way added even more to it.

Grub let Larkin pull him into a gentle embrace. He stared over the ruler’s shoulder, unable to rid his mind of the suspicion. He couldn’t bring himself to ask anymore of it. Surely Larkin was telling him the truth. He wouldn’t lie to Lovely, would he? It was unusual for Larkin to treat prisoners so well, or as well as Lovely had been hearing of. He closed his eyes, Larkin’s lips trailing kisses down the colorless skin of his neck. A gentle nip to his shoulder brought Lovely from his unresponsiveness, and along with it a misinterpreted invitation.

Larkin leaned back, grabbing Lovely’s hands. He looked down at his shirt, the laces pulled apart from their tedious weavings to reveal the flawless skin and muscles of his chest. Annoyed that it had just been untied when he had recently redone it, Larkin gave an aggravated sigh.

Frightened, Lovely gasped and quickly turned his head away, “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Larkin was so hard to read, how was he supposed to know what the man wanted?

He released Lovely’s hands and stood, taking up his gloves and slipping them back onto his hands. He cleared his throat and turned, saying, “I’ve things to take care of. There’s a ball tomorrow.” He opened the door and left Lovely sitting on his bed, confused and rejected.

It was a lie, a simple lie to keep Lovely from knowing where he was really headed. One thing to do before he settled down for the night: carry through the threat of punishment he had promised Tic. A fresh sense of frustration came over him at the thought of the boy and he made a face, unsure of how to rid himself of it. No one had done anything to upset him lately, besides Tic and that sleeping guard. But the guard did not interest him, and his own sleepiness forced him to sympathize with the man.

Out of the dungeons Larkin went, unaware that Matthias was still sneaking around in his castle, foolishly sure that the man was dead. Outside the door of the room Tic was inside of, Larkin stood, scratching the underside of his chin. The guard stood next to the door, straight and very awake. He didn’t dare look at the man, or anywhere for that matter. He hardly breathed, so long as Larkin’s attention would not fall onto him. Ever since he’d been caught snoozing, he doubted he would live through the next time he saw Larkin. But when the door was unlocked and the governor disappeared inside, he could hardly hide his joy and promised the moons he’d forever be in their service.

Larkin closed the door behind him, and glanced down at his shirt, fumbling for a moment with the laces. He quickly gave up; there would be no retying them without making a job of it. He looked across the dusty room, and set the key down on a stand before crossing the floor. It was dark inside, but the windows that were high on the walls cast down the gentle blue of the night moons and Larkin could see Tic easily. He lay on the bed, and Larkin approached quietly, his eyes squinting to see if the boy was awake or not.