Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“And what am I supposed to do with him?”

The voice was sharp, lilting with the accent of the mountains, cutting through the fog in Mark’s brain. He couldn’t move. Kidnapped. It was a threat he’d been aware of for as long as he can remember, but it had never actually happened. The lands held by the empire of the TigersEyes were safe. Peaceful. There hadn’t been a war in generations, just calm annexing of neighboring countries to create a union stronger than any one individual land. Pirates on the sea were a pain, but aside from the occasional successful raid, their navy held the threat at bay. Their only physical neighbors, the mercenary spies and assassins of the Emerald Division that held the jagged mountains cutting across the land, kept the more organized Sapphire Sea kingdom at bay. There was no real danger in Mark’s world.

And yet he had been kidnapped anyway, snatched from the landlocked palace while enjoying a catnap in the autumn sun. Fuzzy memories were finding their way back to Mark’s mind. It had felt so good to stretch out in the warmth. He had closed his eyes for just a minute… someone had grabbed him, strong fingers pressed against his throat…

Kidnapped in broad daylight. From a palace. Thomas was going to have some words for him…

“This was not part of our agreement.”

Sharp-tongue was still talking. Mark couldn’t quite hear who he was talking to. The other’s words were muffled and tinny, as if shouted over a long distance. Could he risk opening his eyes? Testing his bonds? Maybe. Mark cracked his eyes open, peering out...into darkness. A blindfold? He almost sighed, but that would have alerted Sharp-tongue to his consciousness. He had no idea if the other man was looking at him or away from him.

“If his brother…”

Oh yes, be scared of Thomas! Mark growled at Sharp-tongue in his head. His brother, Thomas, was the King of TigersEye City (and the surrounding lands), powerful and strong. TigersEye was peaceful. That didn’t mean they were weak. One of the reasons there hadn’t been a war in so long was precisely because TigersEye was so strong. They asked nicely for cooperation, but they did carry a big stick, one that hadn’t been allowed to swing in years. As soon as Thomas found out where Mark was, Sharp-tongue was going to be in for a world of hurt. Mark just needed to stay in one piece long enough for Thomas to find him, and the army would be more than happy to see some real action.

“Our defenses are not in question.” Sharp-tongue was pissed at whomever he was talking to. Mark hid an internal smile. Anger could be manipulated. “Our alliance, however…”

Alliance? Mark’s smile faded, a cold knot of fear developing inside him. Sharp-tongue spoke like an Emerald from the mountains. They had trade agreements with TigersEye, but no alliance. Was Sharp-tongue allied with Sapphire? He spoke like someone used to command. If the Emeralds and Sapphires joined forces, then the Emerald Division would no longer be a defensive wall for TigersEye to relax behind. An actual war was not something TigersEye was prepared for…

“Do not test my patience.” At least there was some friction between Sharp-tongue and the other person. Maybe Mark could use that to his advantage. “I will agree to this request, this time. See that you do not ask again.”

There was a faint click, and then footsteps drawing closer to Mark. He could hear the soft scrape of leather on stone more through his ear pressed against the floor than anything else. If he hadn’t been lying on his side, he likely wouldn’t have realized Sharp-tongue was drawing close.

A scratchy gauze fabric brushed his nose, and Mark wrinkled it automatically. Suddenly, the blindfold was yanked off and Mark was left blinking in the bright light of the chamber he was in. Crouched in front of him, dressed in a sleeveless black bodysuit and airy green gauze, was a sour-faced man with an iron crown settled in green hair. Emeralds were set in the metal, in his ears, around his throat, around his arms. King McLoughlin.

Mark had never met the Emerald royalty. There was a king and a queen and multiple children. That was the full extent of his factual knowledge. The Emeralds truly were a reclusive people, hiding behind their mountain fortresses, keeping their kingdom tightly under their control. Trade was done in the foothills, and ambassadors were sent from the royalty to speak with their voices. Rumor had it the Emeralds had a way of far-speaking with people. Rumor had it the Emeralds were shapeshifters. Rumor had it the Emeralds were cannibals.

Rumor had a lot of things. Rumor didn’t have that the Emerald king had hair like fresh spring grass or eyes as blue as a summer sky. It also didn’t have the dark circles smudged beneath those eyes, across pale skin that didn’t see nearly enough sun.

“Kidnapping royalty is an act of war,” Mark said, hating how scratchy the words were. He coughed to clear his throat, struggling now to sit up. Obviously, the king knew he was awake. He twisted his wrists, testing the bonds that held him.

“We did not kidnap you, Prince Mark.” There was no question that the king was Sharp-tongue, his voice still buzzing with agitation. “We had you delivered to us as a gift, by our so-thoughtful friends.”

“I wasn’t aware the Emerald Division had friends.”

The king’s smile was razor thin and humorless. “There is a lot about us you don’t know.”

“I already know more about you than I did this morning,” Mark pointed out, managing to push himself up with his shoulder so he was almost eye-to-eye with the king. “I know what you look like now, your Majesty.” No point in being rude just because he was a captive.

That thin smile didn’t falter. “But do you know my name?”

“Patrick,” Mark answered. The king of the Emerald Division was Patrick, and his wife was Florence. Mark knew that much. They did have many agreements with their neighbors, and Mark had been present for at least some of the signings. Even though King Patrick or Queen Florence were never there in person, their names were signed on the documents.

“Seán.” The thin smile remained, even as Mark’s own confidence faltered. “My late father is no longer with us.”

Seán McLoughlin. Mark racked his brain for any knowledge of Emerald’s crown prince. The king and queen had been mysterious enough, only sending words through the voice of an agent. Their children were all but invisible, known to exist but never heard. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Mark said, letting his tongue run on autopilot as he hooked his fingers into the ropes around his wrists. His arms were tied behind his back. Someone knew how to hold a prisoner. “Your father was a great man.”

“So well-mannered,” Seán said, reaching out to pinch Mark’s chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. “You’re not at all the foul-mouthed brat I’ve heard so much about. Except, of course, that this is your political face.”

“Hey!” Mark protested. “I’m not…” Foul-mouthed was a fairly apt description of him, actually. When Mark wasn’t playing the part of the prince, he tended to be excessively liberal with his speech. “...a brat,” he finished weakly. For just a moment, Seán’s thin smile came to life, and the sour-faced king looked like a normal human. For just a moment. He can appreciate a joke, Mark noted. Good to know. Royalty with a sense of humor made things easier. “You’ve heard a lot about me?”

“I make a point of hearing about all of my neighbors,” Seán said. “Especially the dangerous ones.”

“TigersEye is not dangerous,” Mark protested. “We’re peaceful!”

Seán raised a thick eyebrow. “Is that what you’ve told all of your conquered states?”

“No one died…”

“And you don’t think that makes it worse? At least with deaths, their pride had a chance.”

“Pride is useless if you’re dead,” Mark said. “Our way, we all benefit, and no family mourns a loss.”

“Perhaps you underestimate the value of one’s pride,” Seán said, but he shook his head and rose to his feet, releasing Mark’s chin a beat too late and forcing the prince to look up at him. “What am I going to do with you, Prince Mark?”

“You could send me back to my brother,” Mark suggested. “I’ll put in a good word for you. ‘Beds are hard, but people aren’t too bad. Would visit again.’”

“You are not sleeping on my floor.”

“Oh, is this your room?” Mark looked around with interest. While a king’s bedchamber was actually a semi-public room, the little personal touches could tell a lot about a person. Thomas’ room had paintings of their family and a corner devoted to his hounds, for example. Any knowledge on the Emerald royalty was more than what TigersEye already had. Every attempt to get spies into their neighbor’s kingdom had been quickly thwarted. The Emerald Division was firmly locked down against outsiders.

Unfortunately, Seán’s room was completely non-descript. The furnishings were dark lacquered wood with emerald green tapestries and carpets and upholstery. A landscape painting of the Emerald mountains hung over the massive stone fireplace. The bed that dominated the room was decorated with sharp, geometric shapes. There was nothing organic or alive about this place, nothing that spoke to Seán’s personality. How long ago had he inherited this from his father? Had it been long enough to leave his own mark on the place?

That thin smile was back, as if Seán knew exactly what Mark was trying to do. “We do not open easily to our guests,” he said. “You’re going to have to try harder if you truly want to learn our secrets.”

Mark sighed, letting his shoulders slump. “I suppose I’ll have to live with your mysteries, as I won’t be around long enough to tease out the truth.” He certainly didn’t want to stay around in this dead, desolate place. There wasn’t a room in TigersEye City that didn’t have some breath of life to it, even if it were only a bouquet of flowers in a vase or hanging by the door.

“I’m not returning you to TigersEye. Your brother does not know you are here. He has no reason to suspect our involvement. For now, this is the safest place to keep you.”

“Much to your chagrin?” Mark asked, watching Seán turn away and stride toward a wall. He moved like a snake, all sleek and rippling, a tight black bodysuit clinging to his muscles, green gauze fluttering around him, giving him an ethereal aura.

Seán glared over his shoulder at Mark, his mouth tight. “Exactly. You are far more trouble than you’re worth, Prince Mark.”

“Let me go, and I won’t be any trouble at all.”

“I can’t do that.” Seán pulled a cord on the wall, summoning someone. Mark knew the bell-pull system from his own home. A servant? A guard? “Do try not to upset me, your Highness. Your brother does not know you are here. He does not ever need to know.”

As threats went, it was subtle, more of a warning, really, but Mark just needed one look into the king’s cold blue eyes to know that it was entirely backed up by conviction. If Thomas didn’t know where Mark was, and Mark proved too much of a handful to keep contained, Seán could easily execute Mark without Thomas ever finding his body. The Emerald Division guarded its secrets fiercely. What was one dead prince, when they already hid the fall of their king?

Two armored guards appeared in a doorway, their helmeted heads looking toward their king for instruction. Seán waved an emerald-encrusted hand at Mark. “Take him to a guest room. See that he is comfortable, then lock the door.”

The two guards bowed to their king and approached Mark, mailed feet ringing on the stone floor. Mark tried to back away, but they caught him under the arms and hauled him to his feet. Seán was already moving away, apparently uninterested, as Mark was frogmarched out of the room.

@>---}----~----{---<@

Either the path to the guest rooms was incredibly convoluted, or the guards were deliberately trying to confuse Mark. He tried to keep track of the dark halls, but there were so many twists and turns, so many similar decorations, that he was soon hopelessly lost. The only way he would get back to the king’s room was with a map.

The guards marched in silence despite Mark’s attempts to get them to open up. A piece of black gauze covered their faces behind their helms, keeping any hint of their identities hidden. Perhaps that could be useful. If Mark could get some of their armor, he could mask his own face and pass unnoticed. If silence was encouraged among the soldiers, it was a perfect corps to hide in.

It could not be that easy. The Emerald Division was the master of stealth and secrecy. Surely they covered their own army from such an obvious infiltration tactic. It was probably just because they were escorting him, enemy royalty, a captured prince.

Mark stumbled as he was shoved through a door, catching his foot on the corner of a green rug. A strong hand caught his forearm, keeping him from falling. The second guard pulled out a knife. Mark held his breath, unable to hide the bite of fear that he would be murdered here--but surely not. This was obviously a nice bedroom. The mess from his blood would be too much of a hassle to clean. If he were going to be murdered, surely it would have been in a room without carpets on the floors.

The knife slid between his wrists, slicing easily through the bindings around his arms. Mark pulled them forward quickly, rubbing feeling back into his skin and backing away from the guards just in case.

“This room is outfitted with all essentials you should need.” The first guard spoke in clipped, female tones. Mark hadn’t been expecting a woman to be wearing armor. “A servant will attend to your fire and bedding, and will bring you your meals. Is there anything you will need before the morning?”

“My freedom?” Mark asked, looking around the room. It was nowhere near as opulent as Seán’s bedchamber, but Mark actually liked it better. The natural grain of the wood in the bed and furniture were visible, and the green decoration was more the color of a thick forest than the somber gloom of a swamp. A huge window dominated one of the walls, and Mark crossed the room to look out. Would there be an escape route there? Or at least a garden to give him something to look at?

The horizon dropped away in a dizzying descent. Mark stood in a high tower, sheer walls surrounding him. The Emerald Palace was one of the few known locations within the Emerald Division, a sharp, crystalline structure of green marble and glass that towered among the mountains and cut into the sky. On a clear day, when the sun was setting just right, the dusk light would hit the facets of the building and reflect an eerie green glow visible even from the eastern side of TigersEye. There was no ivy or vines crawling up these walls, and barely even a seam between the stones. Escape out this window would lead to an almost-certain crushing death.

“Freedom is not an essential.” The second guard was also female. Mark glanced at the two women over his shoulder, eyeing them thoughtfully. Their black faces were shrouded and expressionless. “Are you in need of immediate food? A larger fire?”

There was a small fire burning now, just enough to take the chill out of the room. A glass pitcher stood on a table near it, holding what looked like water, along with a simple glass tumbler. Mark sighed, letting his arms drop to his sides. “My room looks adequately furnished. Please give my gratitude to your king.”

The two guards bowed, not nearly as deeply as they had to Seán, and turned to leave the room. Mark heard the heavy thud of the lock sliding into place and scowled at the door. This wasn’t a cell, but it was a prison nonetheless.

Kidnapped! Mark twisted and punched his fist into one of the green cushions, growling at the less-than-satisfying whumph it gave. How could he have been so stupid, so off-guard! He was kidnapped and far from home, at least a full day’s travel from the border even if he had a map to keep him from getting lost. The Emerald Division was allied with an enemy of TigersEye, and Mark had no way of warning his brother. Surely his absence was already noted. From the look of the light out the window, it was already late evening. Mark last remembered being in TigersEye before noon. And…no, it couldn’t even be the same day. It took three days to get from TigersEye City to the eastern border, and at least another day beyond that to reach the Emerald Palace. Half a week gone? Thomas had to be frantic. Mark was frantic. How had he lost four days? Only vague, half-remembered things came to mind when he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate. The occasional word. Tones of voice. The chemical smell of ether, sweet and cloying.

Four days. Mark glanced down. He was half-dressed, still in his shirt and leggings, the tigerseye bands marking him as royalty still in place around his arms and forehead, but the rest of his outer regalia was stripped away. Someone else must have taken care of him while he was unconscious, cleaned his body and forced food down his throat. Mark couldn’t remember any of it. He sank down onto the windowseat, shoving his hand into his mouth and biting a knuckle to keep from screaming. How had this happened to him? How could it happen?

What was going to happen?

@>---}----~----{---<@

The wardrobe had held a small complement of clothes, mostly black. There was a white nightshirt folded on a shelf, though, and Mark changed into it, taking the opportunity to examine his body for injuries. Aside from old bruises around his throat from a chokehold, he seemed unharmed. At least his captors hadn’t taken the opportunity to hurt him while they kept him unconscious.

Mark tucked his tigerseyes beneath the pillows and curled up into the bed, closing the hangings and trying to pretend he was back home in his own bed. It was no use. His golden hound Chica was not at his feet, her snuffles lulling him into dreams. The hangings were heavy and green, not the soft reds and golds that had surrounded his bed from the day he was born. The pillow smelled old and unused, not dirty, but not comforting. Certainly not like the lavender sachets always tucked around the royal rooms. Mark closed his eyes tightly and tried not to think about the suffocating weight of the brocade blankets above him.

Raindrops pelting against the window woke Mark up the next morning. He lay still in the bed for entirely too long, trying to remember where he was and what he was doing. Was he travelling? Visiting the nobility, being seen around the empire…no. Emerald. He was kidnapped and being held in the Emerald Division.

Mark folded the blankets back, sitting up slowly. The air inside the thick bedcurtains was cool and stifling. He couldn’t hear anyone in the greater bedroom, couldn’t hear anything except the sound of the rain. Mark felt under his pillows, relaxing minutely when his hands closed around the leather bands bearing his tigerseyes. He strapped them around his biceps and set the headband over his forehead, checking his ears to make sure the studs were still in place. Good. At least the king had left him this much of his dignity. His gems were spelled for protection and strength, working passively to negate the day-to-day trials of a prince such as the possibility for food poisoning or a nasty head cold. Apparently, they didn’t do much against thumbs jabbed into carotid arteries or ether pressed against noses.

They didn’t do much for cold floors either. Mark yelped when he pushed his curtains back and set his feet on the bare stones, hastily drawing them back. Emerald was so damn cold all the time! No wonder King Seán had trouble smiling. Mark wouldn’t smile easily either, if all his energy went to keeping from freezing. He shuffled along the bed to the end, standing up and jumping from the foot to one of the thick rugs in the living section of the bedroom. It was still cool over here, but at least the rugs didn’t freeze his feet.

The fire had been relit and breakfast had been laid on a small table. Mark lifted one of the silver lids, relieved to find recognizable food of eggs and plain toast beneath. His stomach whined, nauseated and starving at the same time. Whatever Mark had eaten while barely conscious, it hadn’t been nearly enough. The lingering effects of the ether still made him a little unsettled, but surely toast, at least, was edible.

Mark drew an emerald blanket off a forest green couch and wrapped it around himself before taking a seat at the table. There was no one else in the room he had to be proper in front of. He could indulge in a little self-comfort of snuggling up warmly while he ate.

A porcelain carafe sitting near his breakfast held hot black tea. It wasn’t coffee, but it was almost as good. Mark cradled his cup of tea between both hands as he watched the rain pelting against the window. Last night, the weather had seemed so calm. This morning was quite another story. The wind howled as it whipped around the tower, stirring up ghostly harmonics from the crystal edging outside. Mark shuddered and pulled his blanket tighter. What a creepy place to live.

After breakfast, Mark poked around the room. His clothes from yesterday were gone. Laid out across a small bench was an outfit all in black, a bodysuit similar to the one King Seán had been wearing, but with none of the ornamentation (and thankfully with full-length sleeves), and black leather shoes with hard, sturdy soles. Mark washed his face and arms at the nightstand before reluctantly drawing on the bodysuit. It clung to his skin with a faint feeling of rubber, barely leaving anything to the imagination. Mark grimaced at his reflection, hating how dark and cold the outfit made him look, and wrapped the green blanket around his shoulders again. Better.

The hard soles of his shoes tapped loudly against the stones when he walked. Even if he tried to be quiet, it was impossible. Brilliant, stupid Emeralds. Mark couldn’t be barefoot or he’d freeze, but if he wore their shoes, he’d be easily heard if he tried to escape. He grumbled to himself, sinking onto the couch and staring into the crackling fire.

When the fire grew too boring, Mark stretched off the couch and began to explore his prison. There was a small door tucked behind a curtain leading to a garderobe. Mark examined the hole, wondering if he could escape by squeezing through it, wondering if such an escape attempt would be worth it. The smell wasn’t bad, implying that it was cleaned frequently...but surely the Emeralds were anticipating every possible escape and blocked it somehow. Mark wrinkled his nose and stepped away. He wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.

The room had changed when Mark returned. He froze in the doorway, staring around in surprise. His bed had been made, the table cleared, and a selection of books had been laid out. Whatever servants Emerald employed were swift and efficient. Mark couldn’t have been out of the room for more than a couple of minutes. Had they been waiting with their ears pressed to the walls?

Mark checked the door, but it was still locked tight. The rain still sluiced down the window, and the garderobe was still empty and dim. Mark felt his way along every wall of the room but could not find another exit. Resignedly, he gathered up the books he had been left and curled up on the couch again.

Three days passed in much the same way. To Mark’s surprise, his own clothes had been returned on the second day, clean and pressed. Not his boots, though. He was stuck in the hard-soled Emerald shoes. Fresh food and drinks, richer than his first meal as his stomach settled, appeared whenever Mark eventually succumbed to the call of the garderobe, and no matter how quickly he tried to return, he could never catch a servant in the act of tending to his room. It rained every day and cleared up every night, with surprisingly beautiful views of the moon and the mountains from the windowseat, even if there were no flowers or real colors other than shades of green. Mark spent most of his days just reading the selections made for him, finding a history of the TigerEye Empire particularly fascinating. There had also been an essay on the creation of colored glass and a sketchbook full of pictures of statues and views of the Emerald Palace.

Very little of what Mark was exposed to actually gave him much education on the Emerald Division. He had a better understanding of the outside of the palace, but the interior layout was still a mystery. So were all the inhabitants of the building. Mark hadn’t seen a single person in three days. He felt like he was losing his mind, pacing around the room and tugging at his hair. For all its amenities, this was still a prison, and Mark was about to scream. There was only one thing left he could think to do.

Dragging his feet and coughing as loudly and hoarsely as he could, Mark schlepped his way to the main exit. He pounded his fist against the dark wood door, letting his knees go limp and slide him to the floor. His knocking grew weaker as his fist dropped, and he drew himself up against the doorjamb, ready to pounce.

After a moment, a key scraped in the lock and Mark grinned. As the door eased open, Mark launched himself to his feet, tackling the guard checking on him. She tried to scream, but Mark had his arm around her throat, squeezing tight, cutting off her cry into a gurgle of pain. These inner guards didn’t wear any type of gorget. Silly Emerald soldiers, leaving such a vulnerability.

Mark didn’t kill the guard. He choked her into submission, then stripped her of her weapons and dumped her in his room. Closing and locking the door behind him, he slipped off down the hall, as quietly as he could manage. If he got up on his toes, his shoes weren’t quite so loud. Mark felt better with a sword in his hand and a knife in his belt.

Where was he going to go? Mark hesitated at an intersection, then turned left. Was he trying to get out? Get to Seán? If he could get the king hostage, he could probably negotiate a release to TigersEye. Then again, if he could just get out of the palace, he might be able to escape on foot, without pissing off the entire kingdom by holding a sword to their king’s throat. Decisions, decisions…

It was really a moot point, anyway. Mark didn’t know how to escape the palace. He turned left every chance he got, hoping he wasn’t going in circles. When he found some stairs, Mark went down. He had been in a tower. Surely the exit was down below.

A heated argument echoed its way up the stairwell, and Mark flattened himself against the central pillar. There was no place to hide. He’d have to fight his way out. Mark reached up to rub the large tigerseye gem over his forehead for luck, then tightened his grip on his sword. From the sounds of the scuffed footsteps, his unsuspecting victims would turn into him in three, two, one…

The first one squealed as his foot connected with her midsection, tumbling down the stairs. The second was faster on the draw, managing to slice across Mark’s face with a knife before he could slam his sword hilt into her side, winding her enough for him to smack her hand with the flat of the blade, getting her to drop the weapon. Majesty! Your Majesty! rang out from below, and Mark flung himself down the stairs, taking them three at a time. He knew what that tone meant. Seán was nearby, and his guards were rushing to him. If Mark could get to him first…

Mark burst through a room and straight into the green-haired king himself. Seán bared his teeth at Mark, lifting a dark gray sword to clash with Mark’s as the larger man launched himself at the king.

This was Mark’s only chance to escape. He slashed at Seán, trying to break his defense. If he could just get behind the king, he’d have his hostage. Seán looked so tired, his blue eyes heavy and dark. Mark shouted into his blows, making Seán’s thin arms shake with the force of each impact, each blocked strike.

“Your Majesty!” Unmasked guards were pouring into the room now, horrified at the skirmish. Seán’s eyes flicked to the side, looking at them, and that was all the advantage Mark needed. He feinted and stabbed, the king’s sword moving too slowly, his blade biting into Seán’s side. As the green-haired man gasped in pain, Mark fell behind him and held him close, holding the sword in place. The injury wasn’t deep...yet. Mark forced his elbow beneath Seán’s chin, tipping his head back against Mark’s shoulder. The guards stopped moving, keeping their distance. Their king was in check. If Mark pulled too hard on his sword in the wrong direction, he could spill Seán’s guts across the cold marble tiles.

Seán was breathing heavily. Mark could feel every echoed pant against his own heaving chest. He was warm, though, the warmest thing Mark had felt in this life-forsaken land. “Call them off,” Mark murmured into Seán’s ear. Those blue eyes slid closed. “Call them off,” Mark repeated. “I don’t want to hurt you. I certainly don’t want to kill you. I just want to go home. You let me go, and nothing worse needs to happen.”

“TigersEye isn’t dangerous?” Seán asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“They aren’t.” Mark grinned against Seán’s hair. “I never said I wasn’t…”

Was that a chuckle, that slight shake against his chest? Seán opened his hand, letting his sword clatter to the ground, then lifted it toward his guards. “Stop.”

The word was heavy in Mark’s ears, a leaden weight dropping into the room. The guards immediately froze. Mark smiled in relief...or at least he tried to.

Seán opened his eyes. They were green now, with a faint shimmer lighting them from within. Around his throat, his head, his fingers, his emeralds pulsed along with his heartbeat, with the light in his eyes. His emerald power reached for Mark, soaking into the tigerseyes he wore, turning his own stones against him. “Oh Prince Mark,” he sighed, reaching down to push Mark’s sword away from his side. Mark couldn’t resist the light touch. “Did no one teach you the hierarchy of gems?” He reached up, removing Mark’s arm from his neck, stepping away and turning to face the Tigerseye prince. Mark could only watch in horror as Seán straightened up and lifted his hand again, his eyes narrowing as he studied Mark. Green power pulsed around him, sparking through the gauze around his chest and arms and waist, crackling between the points of his iron crown. Seán brought his hand down, and Mark felt his knees fold, dropping him awkwardly to kneel in front of the Emerald king. “Emerald always trumps tigerseye.”

With a spread of his fingers, the king forced Mark’s hand open. His stolen sword clattered to the ground. Seán lifted his chin, and one of the guards sprang forward to reclaim the weapon.

“Leave us.”

“With all due respect, your Majesty-”

“ Leave us. Now.”

Seán’s tone brooked no argument. The guards hesitated for only a moment before they backed away, closing the doors and leaving the two men alone in the room. Mark had no doubt that they were piled close on the other sides of the doors, just waiting for a chance to come and decapitate him.

The emerald power loosened its hold, and Seán touched his fingers to his side, pressing them into the sticky blood soaking into his black bodysuit. His skin beneath the cut was just as pale as that of his face, where it wasn’t covered in blood. Mark remained on his knees, knowing he was defeated. If he got up, Seán would just drive him down with the emeralds again.

Gem hierarchy. Oh, it had been mentioned before, but no one actually used it. Turning a man’s gems on him was a heinous violation. Especially a royal’s gems! It was an unspoken rule that you never actually exploited gem hierarchy. At least, it was in TigersEye.

But then again, TigersEye was one of the lower gems. The extinct Diamonds had been the most powerful, with Sapphire and Emerald shortly below. A gem could overpower and corrupt gems of a lower rank. TigersEye was useful for self-directed spells, but could do almost nothing against another’s gems. Emerald, apparently, could turn other men into puppets.

“What am I going to do with you, Prince Mark?” Seán sighed. His eyes were blue again, but they were not comforting. Mark swallowed heavily, wondering if his remaining life was better measured in minutes or hours. “Were you not treated well? Did you not have everything you needed provided for you?”

“I didn’t, actually.” Mark risked looking up at Seán. There was nothing preventing him from doing so. “I lacked companionship.”

“Companionship?” Seán repeated, meeting Mark’s eyes. “If that is all you need to stay put, we will arrange for a whore…”

“Not a whor ,” Mark said, grimacing at the thought. Oh, he had nothing against the ladies of negotiable affection in general, but he had a strong distaste for how they plied their wares. Sex was one thing, fun and good. Sex dressed up in false love felt cheap and disgusting, turning his stomach far worse than four days of ether. “People. Other humans. My family?”

Seán’s eyes were hard. “You cannot be returned home, Prince Mark. Surely you understand this.”

“It’s been a week,” Mark said. “You’d have too much explaining to do.”

“Or you would, and quite frankly, your Highness, I do not trust to you not tell your brother all you have already learned.”

“It’s hardly anything,” Mark protested. “So your king is dead. Someone gifted you my gorgeous self. Though I have my suspicions, I have no proof. And between you and me, your Majesty, Thomas will sooner box my ears than listen to a word I say after I let myself get kidnapped from the palace grounds.”

“I do know how older brothers work. He will be angry, but he will forgive you. He will be relieved you are home and you are safe. Once he calms, he will listen.”

“If you know how older brothers love their younger brothers, then you know if I die at your hands, he will rip your kingdom apart, gem hierarchy be damned. If my mothers don’t first.”

“The biggest threat to you here is your own stupidity, Prince Mark.” Seán pressed his hand against his cut side, his jaw tight. It had to be hurting, even if it wasn’t severe enough to kill. “If I permit the servants to speak with you, will you stay in your room?”

“Maybe for a day,” Mark said, opting for honesty. Seán was being surprisingly calm despite having had a sword in his side. Perhaps he’d actually work with Mark. “Maybe two.”

Seán sighed, angling a flat look down at Mark. Mark smiled innocently back up at him. “And then what would you be lacking?”

“Freedom,” Mark answered.

“You cannot-”

“Freedom to move,” Mark interrupted. “I don’t like cages, your Majesty. I need to move, to roam. If you know so much about me, surely you know that Thomas is always sending me on journeys. I travel with him, for him, across the entire empire. I move, and explore, and experience. I cannot be content locked in one room, or one building, or even one city.”

“You cannot have free reign throughout the country.”

“Then set a guard on me.” Mark spread his arms wide. Assign a guard I can slip away from into the night. “Set two! Four! I’ll take a leash, if only I can be free from the cage.”

Seán’s eyes remained narrow and calculating, but then he gave a nod. Mark’s heart leapt. Really? Is he really going to give me a chance?

“I will consider your request,” Seán said. “Prove you deserve my trust. Behave, at least until I have made my decision.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” Mark bowed low, still on his knees. “Thank you.” I’ll be a model prisoner, until you open my prison yourself and I fly free.

@>---}----~----{---<@

Regardless of whether or not he was going to let Mark roam free, Seán did change his servant policy. Two men, Wade and Bob, one tall and balding, the other tall and chubby, began to make their presence known, exchanging pleasantries with Mark when they came in to tend to his fire or bed or bring him meals. At Mark’s request and with Seán’s permission, Wade brought in a game board and the two would join Mark for midday or midnight games of chess.

It rained every single day. After a week of gloomy skies, Mark was sitting despondently in the window seat, his cheek pressed against the cool glass. Bob was preparing a hot bath for Mark. “Does the sun ever shine here?”

“Sun?” Bob asked. “What’s that?” When Mark stared at him in horror, Bob burst out laughing. He had a truly infectious laugh. “Yes, yes it does, but winter is starting. There’s not much sun in the winter.”

“Shouldn’t winter be snow?”

“The snow will come later, and then you’ll be glad for this warm room.”

“Warm? It’s drafty. The wind comes right through the windows.”

“Not if you close the curtains.” Bob smiled, dabbing his fingers in the water. “Your bath is ready. Would you like to wear Emerald or TigersEye?”

“Why do you bother asking?” Mark asked, stripping off his clothes only once he’d reached the bath’s side. It was too cold to stay naked for long, and he eased into the hot water with a pleased sigh. Full baths were hard to get in these towers, apparently, but according to Bob, King Seán had requested that Mark be given one. Mark appreciated the thought. There were days where he felt he’d never warm up.

“The pri-the king has asked about your behavior,” Bob said. “I just thought you might wish to appeal to his good will by attempting to embrace our culture.”

“Does Seán have good will?” Mark grumbled, sinking lower into the tub.

“Come on now, he’s not as bad as you make him out to be! Look at all he’s given you!”

“He’s kept me trapped in this room for a week, dangling the temptation of freedom over my head if I behave. Gods know how long he’s going to keep it up. Probably as long as I let him.”

Bob hummed non-committedly, lathering up a cloth. Mark leaned forward to let the other man wash his back. The heat did feel good.

“Don’t try to pretend I’m not a prisoner here,” Mark said quietly. “My cell might be pretty and soft, but it’s still a cage.”

“It’s for your own safety as much as it is ours,” Bob pointed out. “We don’t have visitors in the mountains, and at least half the guards would love to have your liver on the end of their sword.”

“Just because I stabbed the king…”

“Nobody has drawn our monarch’s blood in decades,” Bob said. “We have the safest ruling family in the world.”

“Nobody kidnaps them from their gardens?”

“Nobody.”

Mark grimaced, wondering if Bob even knew how Mark had wound up as Emerald’s sole guest. “Do you want my liver on a sword?”

“Nah. I like your liver where it is.” Bob flicked his fingers against Mark’s back, making the prince growl at him. “No, I have served the king ever since he was a wee little baby. If he’s not after your blood, then I’m not. Besides, he keeps calling you his guest.”

“Only because it’s uncouth to call a prince a prisoner.”

Bob shook his head, dipping the cloth in the bathwater to wash off the suds. “Emerald’s cells have held royalty before. You haven’t seen anything resembling a prison here. You should try to be more positive.”

Mark swiped the cloth from Bob and smacked his hand with the wet linen. “Oh, fuck off. I’m the captured prince, I’m allowed to be as moody as I want!”

Bob chuckled, gathering Mark’s clothes and getting to his feet. “As you wish, your Highness. Do you need anything further?”

Mark sighed, settling back in the tub and sliding down until the water tickled his chin. “No, not at the moment. Thank you.”

Bob gave a little bow, folding Mark’s clothing neatly and setting them by the bath before heading out of the room.

Mark savored his bath until the water grew cool and his fingers wrinkled. He stepped out of the tub and toweled himself off, waiting until after he was dressed to call the servants back to take care of the tub. As Bob and Wade carried the tub into the garderobe to dump the bathwater down the hole (and rinse out the pit at the bottom), Mark eyed the wall where he now knew a servant’s entrance hid. Could he? Should he?

With a mental apology to the men he was starting to consider his friends (though he wouldn’t trust either of them with a secret), Mark pried the door open and slipped through while the servants were in the other room. His shoes still rang loudly on the stones in here, but the tight halls between the walls were blessedly empty in this section of the palace.

Mark went down and over and around, ducking past servants who barely paid him any mind the further he went from his rooms. He found another set of stairs going up and climbed, figuring an exit was out of the question now, but some exploration certainly wasn’t. Mark sang a picking rhyme under his breath with every new door he passed, ending on a nondescript one in the middle of a hall. He pushed it open and eased through as quietly as he could manage.

It was hard to tell the intent of this room. Undyed linen sheets covered all the furniture, transforming the living space into misshapen lumps and bumps. A single lamp was lit, burning on a desk, casting strange shadows across the walls. There was an open door to the left, with another lamp within, but Mark’s attention was caught by a family portrait hanging between two windows. He picked up the lamp and approached it, staring up at a family of McLoughlins.

King Patrick was obvious in this picture, looking just like the sole portrait Thomas had as a gift from one of the Emerald ambassadors. He sat in the center, with a woman who could only be Florence, his queen, at his side, a baby in her arms. Four children stood around them, each with bright blue eyes and chestnut hair dyed with green. The two boys had green on top of their heads, like their father, while the girls sported green sections in their braids. From what Mark had seen of the guards and servants, green-streaked hair was fashionable, but only the royal family wore so much. Mark held the lamp up higher, wondering which of the two grinning princes was Sean.

“What are you doing here?”

Mark turned quickly, nearly dropping the lamp as he was startled. King Seán himself stood in the open doorway, scowling at Mark. “You’re not supposed to be out of your room.”

“I got bored,” Mark said. “I told you I’d only be okay for a day or two.”

“You managed seven. I was hoping you found some inner peace.”

“Inner peace? Me? Fuck that.” Mark turned back to his scrutiny of the painting, ignoring how the king came up behind him. Seán had plenty of excuses to murder him already. He was safe(ish) around the Emerald king. “I’m never at peace. Not when there are so many secrets to explore.”

“This is not one you are meant to find.”

“Is this your family?” Mark continued on as if Seán wasn’t obviously trying to get him to back away from the painting. “You all look so alike. Are you the boy on the left or on the right?”

“Prince Mark, this is not your place.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t even tell me that? I knew you had siblings, just didn’t know how many!”

Seán was silent, glaring at Mark’s ear with his arms folded, but then he closed his eyes. “Neither.”

“Are you not in this painting? Were you the painter!?”

“No.” Seán sighed, then cast one arm up, gesturing at Queen Florence. “I’m there.”

“...the queen?”

“The baby.” Seán rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Mark turned back to the painting, his mouth hanging open. “Wait… you’re the baby? Do you have some bass-ackward inheritance laws here or something?”

“They are the same laws you have in your countries,” Seán said, folding his arms against his chest again, but this time, there was a bit of a hunch to his shoulders. “Perhaps a bit more liberal, if anything. Women can inherit the throne as well, in birth order.”

“And these are all your siblings?” Seán didn’t answer, but Mark just had to glance at him for the confirmation he needed. This was clearly a touchy subject. Mark couldn’t resist. “Did you kill them?”

“What sort of monster do you think I am?” Seán hissed, a green-eyed glare whipping toward Mark. Mark held up his hands defensively, his gaze unwittingly drawn to the iron crown Seán still wore. Was he going to bind Mark with the emeralds again?

No. Seán closed his eyes, his posture sagging. “There was a plague,” he said. “Rich or poor, noble or common, it didn’t differentiate. We all got sick. They didn’t survive.”

“And you did?” Mark was not trained as a healer, but he couldn’t be a TigersEye without picking up some of the gentler art. Now that he was actually looking at Seán, he could see all the signs. The pallid skin, not quite fitting over a body that had wasted away in a bed. The sunken face, the smudges under his eyes...Seán had only recently risen from his death bed to command a country.

“No, I died too.” The sarcasm dripped off Seán’s words, his eyes cracking open in a weak glare.

“How long ago was this?” Mark asked, looking back at the portrait. Seven happy people, a large family, all gone, all dead, except the one baby in the middle wearing their iron crown.

Seán didn’t answer. Mark pressed harder. “The servants you sent me sometimes still call you Prince or Highness. They aren’t be accustomed to calling you King yet, so it couldn’t have been that long ago…”

Seán’s arms pressed tighter against his chest. “Two months,” he murmured, his voice as solid as the gauze winding around his body.

Two months. Mark bit his lip, then sidled a step or two closer to the king, unsure if a hand on the shoulder or hug would be more appropriate. Seán growled under his breath at Mark. “Don’t even think about it.”

Mark tucked his hands behind his head, playing innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Seán glared at Mark before turning away, stalking back toward the other room. Mark followed him, for lack of anything better to do.

“How old are you, anyway?” Mark asked, stopping in the doorway. This was a bedroom, a bedroom with much more personality than any of the others he had seen before. There was actual color in this room, with the bed made in bright red fabrics and trophies decorating the walls. Seán sat on the bed, curling his legs up beneath him, and Mark knew instinctively that this was Seán’s old room, from when he was still a prince, the youngest of five, nowhere near the throne.

“How old do you think I am?” Seán asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Uh… I pegged you at about ten years older than me when we first met.” Mark rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “But now I’m not so sure…”

“Ten years older!?” Seán gaped at Mark. “Try a year younger! I’m twenty-six!”

“Oh. Really? You’re younger than me? But you’re…”

“I’m what?” Seán demanded.

“...a king?”

“I’m king because my family is dead,” Seán spat. “That’s what happens, regardless of age. You of all royalty should know that.”

Mark shut his mouth, remembering all too well how it had felt when his father died. Even though he had been anticipating it, moving a step closer to the throne had terrified Mark. He couldn’t imagine how Thomas had felt, actually ascending to be the king.

How much worse must it have felt for Seán, who had likely never even imagined being Crown Prince, much less actual ruler?

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mark said, finding he actually meant the words this time. “That’s some… that’s some jack shit luck you’ve got.”

Seán closed his eyes, grimacing as if in pain. “Jack,” he said quietly. “That’s what they used to call me. Nobody calls me Jack anymore. Jack is not a kingly name.”

“Why Jack?” Mark asked.

Seán was quiet for a minute, slowly looking up at Mark. “I...haven’t the faintest idea,” he said, his voice tremoring on the edge of a crack. “My mother always insisted it was a nickname. I never thought to ask…”

“...I could call you Jack?” Mark didn’t like the lost expression on the Emerald king’s face. Seán was aloof and cold and poised, not a lost young man mourning his family. Jack, though...Mark could see the grieving boy on the bed as a Jack.

Ah, but that glare was all Seán. Mark smiled anyway, moving to sit beside him. “No, really. I could call you Jack. And…I could help?”

“Help?” It should not be possible to fill one word with that much scorn, but Mark was learning the mountain accent was capable of just about anything. “You can’t even help by staying put in your room. What could you possibly do to help?”

“I’m an heir,” Mark said with a shrug. “I got all kinds of lessons and stuff on what to do should something happen to Tom, god forbid. Did you get any lessons like that?”

“I have advisors,” Seán said coolly.

“Yeah, but I have sass.”

“Sass?”

“I make you laugh.” Mark reached over to poke Seán in the arm.

“You have not made me laugh once.”

“I could make you laugh. And that’s important. A good king needs to laugh.”

“You could not make me laugh.”

“Wanna bet?”

Seán eyed Mark warily, his mouth pinching smaller. “...no.”

Mark grinned, triumphant. “I make you laugh,” he said. “Even if it’s only inside your head. You haven’t called for your guards, after all. You like me being here.”

“You overexaggerate your qualities,” Seán retorted. “I haven’t called for my guards because you’re still stupid enough to wrap your head in tigerseyes with no defense. You can’t possibly hurt me.”

“I can’t help it if I’m proud of my birthright.”

“And yet you do not value pride.”

“I value life more.” Mark turned to look back at the door to the other room, the room with the family portrait. “Your Majesty...Jack. Be honest with me...will I ever be allowed to go home?”

In the course of fifteen minutes, Mark had learned more about the Emerald Division than any of Thomas’ experts. For a kingdom that thrived on secrets, Seán... Jack had certainly been giving up a lot.

To his credit, Jack did not turn away from Mark. He was silent until Mark swung his gaze back to the young king, and then he slowly shook his head. “You already know the answer to that. I am sorry. You were not supposed to have been brought here.”

“So why don’t you just kill me?” Mark asked quietly. “Aren’t I more trouble than I’m worth?”

Jack sighed. “Right now, you’re still useful as a bargaining chip, despite your trouble.”

“But not one that will ever be released.”

“Your brother doesn’t know that.” Jack met Mark’s eyes. “I’m sorry. This is how politics are played.”

“I know.” Mark fisted his hands over his thighs, breathing slowly. “I just...I hate this. I hate your kingdom. I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s very nice when the sun comes out, but it’s cold and wet and dead and there’s nothing to do. I’ve read every book you’ve given me, and I’m so sick of chess. I miss my family and my dog and my home and flowers, and I have nothing to distract myself from missing them. If I’m going to be here forever...If I’m never going to leave, could it really hurt to let me loose on more of the palace, at least?”

“Considering that the first time you were let loose on the palace, you cut me, and the second time you were let loose, you found your way to my private rooms, yes, I think it might actually hurt.”

“Does it help if I’m sorry I cut you?” Mark asked sheepishly. “Is it healing? I could take a look at it…”

“Our healers may not be from TigersEye, but that doesn’t make them any less capable, thank you all the same,” Jack said with a twist of his mouth. “You are very adept with a sword. The wound is not severe.”

That’s not the only thing I’m adept with, Mark’s mind supplied, but his brain helpfully silenced it before it could get out. The last thing he needed was to insult Jack, or make him think Mark needed a whore after all. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Jack reached up to shove his fingers through his hair, grimacing when the green strands got tangled in the iron spikes. Mark couldn’t quite hide a smile. Clearly, Jack was about as accustomed to his crown as his servants were to seeing it on him. He reached over to straighten Jack out, ignoring the dark-eyed glare he got in return (though Jack didn’t try to stop him). “You are difficult to contain, Prince Mark.”

“Please, just Mark,” Mark said. “I actually really hate being called a prince, unless I’m trying to act like a dick. I just hate feeling like I’m somehow entitled to being considered ‘better’ than others, just because of my family.”

Jack stared at Mark. “You are better than others, because of your family.”

“You know what I mean,” Mark said. “Yeah, the royals make the tough decisions, but we still eat and sleep and shit like the common people. We’re not better.”

Jack reached out and touched a finger to one of Mark’s tigerseyes. Mark nearly flinched at the Emerald king leaning in so close. “Only those of royal blood can call the gems to life,” he said. “Do they teach you nothing in TigersEye? You are special, because of your family. Even if you do have one of the shittiest gems on the hierarchy, it’s still better than having no gem at all.”

“...do you not shit?” Mark asked, keeping a straight face only from years of practice on Thomas. “Even with gem affinities, we’re not better. Different, yeah, I’ll give you that, but not better.”

Jack stared at Mark. There was a definite twitching in his lower face. Mark kept his expression as solemn as possible until Jack turned away. Then he leaned in close, over the king’s shoulder, to whisper in his ear. “Made you laugh.”

Jack drove his elbow into Mark’s ribs, and Mark toppled onto the bed with a hearty belly laugh of his own. Jack’s shoulders were shaking, and Mark relished in the muffled giggles the king was so desperately trying to hold back. “Okay,” Jack said, wiping his hand over his face. “Okay. You have sass.”

“And I can make you laugh,” Mark said, pointing at Jack. “You need me.”

“My sisters used to make me laugh,” Jack said quietly. “And my brothers.”

“You need me,” Mark repeated, sitting up again and reaching out to take Jack’s forearm. His fingers touched his thumb as he curled his hand around it. The king was so thin. How bad had this plague been? “Don’t keep me caged, Jack. Just let me help. However I can. However you need. Please. I just want to do something.”

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” Jack said, looking down at Mark’s fingers around his wrist. “It certainly doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“I understand,” Mark said.

“I want you to wear emeralds.” Jack looked up sharply at Mark. “If you want to be out of your cage, then you must wear a leash. Emeralds. Not tigerseyes.”

“Wait, but…”

“And I will hold onto your gems.”

“You can’t just…”

“You’re asking me to trust you with my kingdom,” Jack said. “With our secrets. Even if you do nothing more than organize books in the library, you are asking me for far more than we have ever given anyone. And you have already proved you are difficult to contain. You miss your family. You want to go home. I cannot give you more information and simultaneously give you opportunities.”

Mark didn’t need his gems. He didn’t even really need their protection. The tigerseyes were home, though, all he really had left. He felt naked without them, only removing them to sleep or bathe, and only for the shortest amount of time possible. The gems stayed beneath his pillow at night and by his side in the bath. Bob hadn’t even tried to touch them. You don’t mess with another man’s gems. His hands had unconsciously crept up to cover the arm bands he wore. “But…”

“If you want me to trust you with my kingdom,” Jack said, every word deliberate, “you will surrender yours.”

“What will you do with them?” Mark’s heart was pounding in his chest, irrational fear flooding his limbs and tightening his throat. He would not die without his gems. He didn’t even have to give them up! It was an option, just an option, a trade. Gems for freedom.

“I’ll keep them safe,” Jack said. “I’ll store them with my other personal treasures. And if, at some future point, I decide that you are actually trustworthy...I may give them back.”

“May?” Mark asked.

Jack’s blue eyes almost seemed to grow softer. “I won’t harm them, Mark, no matter how much you vex me. I will not sell them, gift them, or trade them away. They will remain yours, but in my care. And you will wear my emeralds.”

“So you can control me.”

“So I can control you,” Jack agreed. “If necessary. I hope it will not be.”

Mark’s hands tightened around his gems, feeling their smooth surfaces against his skin. Emeralds were sharp edges and cold green. Tigerseyes were warm and soft. They were nothing alike. Mark would always know the difference, without even needing to look at them. “Can I keep one?” he asked, hating how high his voice went when he was genuinely scared.

Jack looked Mark over, then leaned in and pressed his finger to the gem that hung around Mark’s neck. “You may keep this one.”

Mark closed his eyes, forcing a shaky breath out of his lungs. If Thomas could see him now, there would be more than just angry words. “I want to see where you keep them. How. I want to see that they’re safe.”

“Of course,” Jack agreed with a nod. “You will need to command the emeralds to access my safe. You won’t be able to steal them away even if you know where they are.”

Then only the royal Emeralds could access that safe, and according to Jack, the royal Emeralds were down to just one sole survivor. “What if something happens to you? What if you die, and they’re locked away forever?”

“That would be unfortunate,” Jack said, climbing off the bed and stretching. The green gauze fell in waves around his body. Mark wasn’t quite distracted enough at the thought of losing his gems to not eye the king’s lean frame with more than a healer’s eye. “You’ll just have to make sure I don’t.”

“You would be the only king to have a bodyguard from an enemy state.”

Jack smirked over his shoulder. “Unconventional is the Emerald way.”

@>---}----~----{---<@

Mark hated the emeralds. He was always catching their green glint out of the corner of his eye, wrapped around his arms, and he was acutely aware of the chill from the gems bound against his forehead or piercing his ears. His affinity to tigerseye had screamed when he first wore the emeralds Jack provided him with. Now it just snuffled, tucked down small in his chest, hiding behind the lone tigerseye Mark had been permitted to keep around his throat.

Jack seemed content with seeing Mark leashed. He never fed his power into Mark’s emeralds, and for that, Mark was grateful. Bad enough he had to wear the alien gems. If Jack tried to control him with them… Jack poisoning his tigerseyes had felt like enough of a violation. Mark could only imagine how much worse it would be coming from Jack’s own stones.

The emeralds did have one other benefit. Jack’s guards did not attempt to make Mark suffer for what he had done to their king. They sniggered when they saw him walk past, bedecked in the green jewels, and there were some stinging comments thrown his way about how he was the king’s trained lapdog, but no one dared lift a hand against someone so obviously marked as belonging to the king. They no longer wore the black gauze masks anymore either, clearly not caring about what he saw. Mark could ignore the comments and laughter. He had to, in order to stay sane.

At least Jack was putting him to work. Mark spent most of his days near the king, serving as a scribe and sitting near him during the smaller meals. He was getting a firsthand look at how the Emerald Division ran and how Jack kept abreast of all the petty little squabbles and concerns that seemed universal. Mark remembered his own days at the TigersEye court, and he did not envy Jack’s position one bit.

Mark wasn’t allowed to sit in on Jack’s council meetings, so he used the time to explore the palace. Eventually, with Wade’s help, he was able to find his way to the stables. Mark loved spending time with animals, and while none of the Emerald horses or hounds knew him, they still recognized a friendly hand. Where TigersEye favored golden hounds bred for speed, Emerald clearly favored size, with huge white and brown dogs full of slobber and happy tails filling the kennels. Their horses, on the other hand, were smaller than Mark was used to, actually ponies, with thicker coats and placid, soft eyes. Mark loved them all. He wondered, if he ever managed to get out of Emerald, if Jack would let him take a pony or puppy with him.

A friendly white bitch named Lucy was on Mark’s mind one evening as he daydreamed by his window. She had recently had a litter, and her puppies were in the adorably chubby, get into everything stage of life. Lucy had rested her head on Mark’s knee all afternoon, consenting to ear rubs while the six pups had clambered all over man and mother alike, chewing on ears and tails and belts. They had been so friggin cute!

“Good day?” Bob asked, smoothing out Mark’s bedsheets.

“I love dogs,” Mark answered, turning a grin to the servant.

“I never would have guessed.” Bob picked a white hair off of one of Mark’s sheets and raised an eyebrow at him. Mark grinned sheepishly. “The king has a gift for you.”

“A gift? For me?” Was Jack giving him back his tigerseyes?

Bob nodded, picking up a black bundle from the floor. Mark’s face immediately fell. “No. Absolutely not. It’s bad enough he makes me wear the emeralds. I won’t wear black.”

“You don’t want new clothes?” Bob asked. “You keep wearing that same thing over and over again.”

Mark wrapped his arms around his belly, hugging his white shirt close. “It’s mine.”

“These are yours too.”

“I’m not an Emerald. I’m TigersEye. And I won’t wear black. It makes me look dead. It makes everyone look dead.”

“Black is much warmer,” Bob pointed out. “Our fabric helps trap body heat.”

“No.” Mark shook his head firmly.

Bob sighed. “Well then, that’s too bad. I’ll just have to tell the king you refused his gift, even after he sent all the way to the TigersEye Empire for the materials…”

“...what?”

Bob twitched the black cloth covering the bundle back, revealing not a stack of the black bodysuits favored by the Emeralds, but genuine, TigersEye-style clothing, thick shirts and soft suede leggings. Mark about fell off the windowseat trying to get to Bob, sinking his fingers into the white cloth with a happy little squeal he would forever deny making.

“He had this made for you too.” Bob moved to the wardrobe, drawing out a fur-lined cloak. Mark pulled it into his arms as well, burrowing his nose into the fur and taking a deep breath of the smell of home. “So, I take it you do want them?”

“Yes!” Mark’s voice was muffled by how much fabric he was pressing his face into. Nothing here was the rubbery black of the Emerald Division, and there was absolutely no green. Whites and browns and golds dominated, with some red detail work, Mark’s favorite color. There was even a sachet of dried lavender tucked into the cloth to keep moths at bay. Mark immediately secreted it into his pocket, sure he was going to sleep with it every night.

Bob chuckled, turning back to the wardrobe and pulling some satchels off a top shelf. “Good. He’ll be happy to hear that, since he’s expecting you to accompany him on the Grand Tour.”

“Say what?” Mark lifted his head from his armful of clothes.

“The Grand Tour. He leaves in two days, and you’re going with him.”

“You keep repeating that like I’m supposed to know what it means. What’s a grand tour?”

“The Grand Tour,” Bob corrected. “It’s the king’s annual trip down the length of the Emerald Division. Ordinarily, it takes months, but I believe they’re going to be rushing this time, to beat the snow.”

“Why don’t they do it in the spring?” Mark asked. The Emerald Division was almost entirely mountains. He couldn’t imagine trying to travel through them when winter fully hit.

“Usually, they do,” Bob said, his voice growing quieter. “This year, though…”

“Oh.” Mark remembered now. “The plague.” The royal family had actually been some of the last infected by the disease. It had swept through the entire kingdom, decimating the population. Entire villages had died. There weren’t nearly enough soldiers left to man all the fortresses. Food shortages were a very real threat, as the Emerald Division hadn’t been productive enough during their summer of disaster to fill their stores for the winter. The more Mark followed Jack through his daily routine, the more Mark saw of the absolute devastation the Emerald Division was hiding from the world.

“The king can’t not make the Grand Tour this year,” Bob murmured. “There’s too much struggle. The people need to see him, need to know Emerald is still strong. It has been delayed as long as possible, to give him time to recover his strength, but now the weather threatens.”

“Jack’s still weak,” Mark said. “I mean, I’m not a true healer, but even I can see it. The stress of his job saps what little strength he’s managed to recover.”

Bob sighed. “I’m not sure why he’s bringing you along,” he said. “But could you… could you try to make things as easy for him as possible? King Seán is… the people need him. Emerald needs him. No one wants this trip to be his last.”

@>---}----~----{---<@

Mark rode alongside Jack, watching the young king with a worried eye. Jack’s eyes were closed, and he swayed along with the motion of his pony. Was he sleeping in the saddle? As long as he didn’t fall off...he could use the rest.

They had been on the Grand Tour for two weeks now, and Mark was acutely aware that he was seeing more of the Emerald Division than any outside ever had before. Not only was he brought into the wealthy noble villas that dotted the mountainsides, opening their doors for the king and his entourage, but he also got to go into the little villages where the actual citizens of the Emerald Division lived and worked. He really was never going home. He’d live and die in this gloomy mountain kingdom.

Jack found time for everyone on the tour, greeting peasant and lord alike, marveling over a child’s toy the same way, whether it was a jewel-encrusted doll of a little lady, or a hand-carved wooden horse of a villager. Among the people, Jack smiled . He smiled and laughed and praised, clapping hands to shoulders, hugging wizened old women, and pressing kisses to the rosy cheeks of babies. He seemed lit with an inner glow, riding all morning and dancing all night, singing songs in the ancient tongues of the mountain.

Only Mark saw him at night, when the last fires were doused and Jack retreated to the most lavish bedchamber the local lord could provide. As soon as the door closed behind him, Jack would stumble, the heavy weight of his iron crown seeming too much for his head. Mark, sharing his room for safety, as a lone Tigerseye among Emeralds was unheard of, eyed with suspicion, would catch Jack’s arm and help him to the bed, stripping off anything spiky or extraneous. The first time he’d tried to remove Jack’s crown, Jack had caught him by the wrist and glared green-eyed at him, but he very quickly relented, allowing Mark to set it gently by the bedside.

Not even Jack’s servants were allowed to tend to the king until after he was asleep. Mark wasn’t entirely sure why. Surely Jack’s personal servants were aware of his fragile health. Perhaps Jack was afraid they would gossip too much. He needed to exude an aura of strength to keep his kingdom stable. If the servants undermined him with gossip…at least Mark had no other friends to talk with. He had no one to whisper about how he’d get the king down to just his bodysuit every night, tucking him beneath goosedown quilts, the king fast asleep before Mark had even finished.

“I could kill you right now,” Mark murmured once, crouched beside Jack’s bed and watching his pale face. “Kill you and go home.”

“But you won’t,” Jack murmured back, not as asleep as Mark had thought, though his voice was heavy with fatigue and he didn’t even open his eyes. “I have your gems.”

“Your own little hostages.” Mark sighed, then leaned over to press a kiss to Jack’s temple like his mother used to, when she would still tuck him in. “Good night, Jackaboy. I’ll guard your dreams.”

In the morning, Jack did a little better, letting his servants help him get washed and dressed and fed. Mark kept out of the way, sitting on his pallet bed and trying not to look too worried at how muted Jack was. As soon as the doors open and Jack returned to the public, though, life came flooding back to him.

His eyes were always green-tinged now, Mark had noticed. Jack was drawing strength from his emeralds when he mingled with his people. That wasn’t good. It could keep Jack going, but not unlimitedly. When this Grand Tour was over, Jack would need at least a week of rest.

Mark was half-tempted to stop denying that he was a healer. The healers of TigersEye City were the best in the world. If Mark claimed to be one of them, perhaps he could have enough sway to get Jack’s advisors to tend to his duties while Jack slept away the last vestiges of the plague that still clung to him.

Was it treason to try to help the Emerald king so much? Mark looked away from Jack, focusing back on the road in front of them. He liked Jack, prickly though the king still was. He was getting better at making him laugh in private, and one of Mark’s favorite pastimes was seeing how many times he could get Jack to choke on his wine when they dined together. It certainly didn’t hurt that the king had a fragile beauty about him, like a dried flower. Was this affection betrayal to his own country? Mark was careful not to tell Jack too much about TigersEye (though sometimes it seemed like Emerald’s spies knew more about his kingdom than Mark himself did), and he would never accept a task Jack gave him if he thought it would harm Thomas or his people in any way (not that Jack ever had). He had surrendered his gems to the Emerald king, but Jack had locked them securely away in a velvet-lined box. He had even brought the box along with him for this Grand Tour, so Mark could know that the gems were still safe, even if they weren’t on his person.

A pop of pink in the road caught Mark’s eye, and he almost fell off his pony. “A flower?”

“Mm?” Jack cracked an eye open, looking over at Mark, but Mark had already reigned in the pony and was scrambling to the ground. “Mark! What are you doing!?”

“It’s a flower!” Mark dropped to his knees in the road, ignoring how he had single-handedly caused the entire procession to stop. A single pink flower was nodding its head in the weak sunlight of the overcast day, the very first flower Mark had seen since he’d been brought to this wet and gray kingdom. “I didn’t know you even had flowers!”

“Get back on your pony.” Jack sounded exasperated, nudging his a couple steps closer to Mark with his knees. “We have plenty of flowers in these mountains. We don’t need to stop for a single blossom in the road.”

“Be careful you don’t trample it,” Mark said, swatting at Jack’s pony. It snorted at him, taking a step to the side. “It’s beautiful.”

Jack cast his eyes upward, sighing heavily. “Mark. Get back on your mount. We have many miles to go still.”

“It’s gonna get trampled anyway.” One of the guards leaned forward over her pony’s neck, smirking at Mark. “We’re not going to bother to avoid it.”

“Heathens,” Mark grumbled, cupping his hands protectively around the little flower. This was the first natural color he’d seen that was not stone or green, and he hated the thought of it getting trampled into the mud.

“Mark…” There was a warning to Jack’s voice, and Mark glanced over at him, wondering if the king would wake his emeralds to get Mark back on his horse. Jack didn’t really have the energy to spare for that, but he’d do it anyway, to keep them moving.

Mark didn’t want to force Jack to exhaust himself, so he pinched the flower’s stem, picking it delicately. He hated killing the only flower he’d seen, but it was better to give it a slow death in the sun than to crush it beneath dozens of ponies’ hooves. Getting back to his feet, Mark offered the flower to Jack. Jack declined it with his arms folded, no matter how sweetly Mark smiled at him, so Mark sighed and tucked it behind his own ear, climbing back onto his pony.

“Do you stop for every flower in TigersEye?” Jack asked as the party started forward again.

“Only the beautiful ones,” Mark answered. “So...yes. Yes we do.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but Mark was growing accustomed to spotting the tiny smiles Jack would hide in the corner of his mouth.

“Make you laugh,” he whispered.

“Shut up,” Jack grumbled back.

@>---}----~----{---<@

To Mark’s surprise, the lord and lady hosting them that night did not have a massive ball planned. The royal entourage arrived late in the evening, and Jack was immediately swept off to his room where a hot bath was waiting. Mark unpacked their essentials while Jack sank into the tub, sighing away the strains of the road.

“I’m so jealous,” Mark grumbled, glancing back at Jack. Without his black bodysuit, Jack looked like a statue carved of the finest marble, all white skin and defined muscle. Jack was thin from his sickness, but he was still strong enough. “Why do you get the first bath?”

“Because I’m king,” Jack answered, closing his eyes and resting his head against the rim of the tub. “Even if you weren’t my prisoner, I’d still outrank you.”

Mark stuck out his tongue, and Jack flipped him off without even opening an eye. Mark chuckled, turning back to their bags.

“Was the flower really that important?” Jack asked after a while. “It’s just one blossom. It will wilt and fade soon enough.”

“It’s not just a flower,” Mark said, finally leaving the bags to move to the side of the tub. He picked the flower out from behind his ear and offered it to Jack again. This time, the king accepted it, turning it in his fingers and studying the pink petals. “It’s life. It’s beauty. It’s… it’s warmth in a place I thought was frozen, softness in a world of sharp angles. It means… it means maybe I can do this. Live here. For the rest of my life.”

“One flower?” Jack asked.

“One flower,” Mark answered, dipping his fingertips in the warm bathwater. It didn’t rain every day, but near enough, and even on days when the sun managed to pierce the overcast clouds, the air was still damp and chilly. Mark was surprised half the entourage hadn’t gotten sick from the cold and wet. His fingers always felt half frozen.

“In the summer, the mountains are full of flowers,” Jack said, his voice dreamy and quiet. “The sun rolls down the slopes, and the flowers turn their faces toward it, pink and purple and yellow and red. The goats and sheep eat them, of course, but there are always more, always so many more. The air is dry, and rainbows dance in the mountain brooks, fed by the melting snow. The Emerald Division is not without life or beauty or warmth. It’s not without softness.”

“I’d like to see that,” Mark said.

“I’d like you to too.” Jack twisted the flower in his fingers before shoving it back at Mark. “Here, take your flower. Perhaps you can have it pressed between the pages of a book, so you can keep it forever.”

“I’d like you to have it,” Mark said. “To remember me by.”

Jack snorted, tucking the flower behind Mark’s ear himself when Mark refused to pull his hands out of the water, letting the warm water drip from his arm down Mark’s cheek. “What do you think I am, your sweetheart? I’ll only accept flowers from children or women.”

“Do you have a sweetheart?” Mark asked, reluctantly pulling back to adjust the flower. There were some books with the clerks. Surely one of them was heavy enough to press this flower in. “Is there a future Queen of the Emerald Division that you’ve kept hidden from me?”

Jack gave Mark a cool glare, slumping back into the water. “Eventually.”

“You sound so excited.”

Jack sighed. “The current prospects are all much, much older than I am. They were meant for my brothers. We’re currently trying to find a suitable match, but… it’s hard to play fresh politics without insulting the previous choices.”

“How fun.” Mark leaned against the side of the bath. The heat from the warm metal soaked through his shirt, a poor substitute for being submerged in the hot water himself. “Are you going to marry someone from the Emerald Division, or out of the country?”

“Emerald,” Jack answered immediately. “We do not dilute the blood with foreigners.”

“Do you dilute the blood with anything?” Mark asked, looking back at Jack. “Because inbreeding can cause things like double noses and no chins.”

Jack splashed Mark with a growl. “What sort of barbarians do you think we are?” he demanded. “We wouldn’t inflict that upon our families. The Emerald Division is large enough that I can find plenty of potential wives not related to me.”

“So is TigersEye,” Mark said. “Actually, it’s huge, and I was expected to find another royal match, to strengthen our union. Preferably a Ruby. I guess I’m freed from that now.”

“Lucky you.” Jack sighed, rolling his head to the side so it rested against the back of Mark’s shoulder. “Would you have gotten to pick your bride?”

“Mmhmm. We both would have.” Mark stayed still, letting Jack rest. “The council would suggest good alliance matches, and they would get to veto anyone they felt was truly unacceptable, but we could veto anyone they suggested that we did not get along with. Largely, we had the freedom to find someone we could love. Thomas needed a woman, but I could marry either gender. Provided they were royal, or at least noble.”

“I don’t have that restriction,” Jack said. “Emerald, and not related to me. And female, obviously, for the sake of children. I must continue the royal line. Other than that, theoretically my choice, regardless of their status. Actually, decided by my advisors, after we discuss the best match to not insult too many people or bestow too many honors upon an undeserving family.”

“What were your restrictions before the plague?” Mark asked. “As the fifth child?”

Jack huffed a little against Mark’s back. “Anyone I wanted,” he said quietly. “As the fifth, I was allowed to marry for love.”

“Did you have a sweetheart then?”

Jack was silent. Mark looked over his shoulder at the king. Jack’s face was screwed up in a grimace, his eyes clenched shut.

“She died?” Mark asked quietly. The plague that had swept through these mountains had killed so many.

“He did.” Jack pulled away from Mark, sitting up in the tub. “Fetch me a towel. The water’s still warm, you can have a bath if you’d like. I need to speak with Lord O’Dell before dinner. He has twin daughters near to me in age.”

Mark got to his feet, his head reeling at the admission. Jack... liked men? No wonder he was so unenthused about the prospect of finding a bride. “Your health should come first,” he told Jack as he helped the other man dress. “Don’t worry about marriage until you are well again.”

“I am the last of the royal line,” Jack said. “I need to ensure it is preserved in case I am never well again.”

Mark met Jack’s eyes, holding the iron crown between them. “But how will you do that if you’re stressing yourself to exhaustion?”

Jack couldn’t hold Mark’s gaze, his eyes dropping across his face. “I will do my duty to my people,” he said quietly. “To my kingdom. My own sacrifices are small, in the face of all they endure.”

Mark lifted the crown, setting it on Jack’s head. Those blue eyes lifted back to Mark’s, and Mark was struck by the sea of loneliness behind that seemingly-calm stare.

“Thank you.”

Mark remained quiet as Jack swept past him, straightening his spine at the door before re-emerging into the public eye. Jack was a king, for all that he had been forced into the role. He loved his people, even as it killed him inside. Try to make things easy on him, Bob had asked. Mark was starting to understand why.

He was starting to want to.