Hadrian

When the hay-haired guard returns to retrieve his torch, I'm standing by the bars, leaning on them as casually as the chain connecting my handcuffs to the hook in the floor allows. The second guard comes, too, and the two of them peer at me with the same curiosity they showed when they saw me first.

"How was your meal?" says the hay hair. "Did your wet nurse bring you something interesting?"

"Better than what you did," I say.

"I did offer you to suck my dick. Not my fault you're a picky eater."

"I might reconsider," I murmur, causing the two of them to chuckle.

"You're in a good mood," the second guard says. "Not like your friend. He's just lying flat and doesn't talk to anyone."

I frown. "My friend?"

"The one-eyed guy?" He raises an eyebrow. "Ah, of course, you don't know." He turns to his friend. "The whole capital is chaos, and he doesn't have a clue!" He turns back to me, grinning. "Your friend has poisoned Oliver today, and tried to poison our good queen, too. She barely survived the attack."

"Tomorrow, you'll be executed together," adds Hay Hair. "Perhaps you could hold hands as you hang side by side. Or hold each other's dicks—I'm sure you've been doing that a lot."

I blink, processing the new information. Bruno? Poisoning Oliver? No way. It must be Aurelia again, framing him up like she did everyone else. So, Bruno will not have a good life, after all. He will go down with me—because of me.

Despite the bad news, I can't help but feel a touch of awe. Aurelia's good. In some twisted, wrong way, I'm proud of her. She's constantly one step ahead of everyone else. No wonder Oliver hadn't seen it coming. She knows how to mess with people's heads, how to make them trust her despite their best judgement.

Which is an ability the two of us share.

"Are you leaving?" I say as Hay Hair reaches for the torch on the wall. "I hate being alone in the dark."

"Do you have a better proposition?" He comes closer and stops, peering at me through the bars. His mouth is grinning, but his eyes are exploring me quite seriously. I press my face to the bars and smile back at him, the metal cold against my cheeks.

"In fact, I do," I murmur. "They call me a Whore Prince for a reason, you know? It would be sad to go without having fun one last time."

"Don't listen to him," the second guard says. "He's up to something."

Hay Hair watches me with gleaming eyes. He wants to believe me. Like people around Aurelia do. You just need to identify what they want to hear and say it to them, help them believe in what they want to believe.

"What could I be up to?" I murmur. "There're two of you and I'm alone, unarmed and in chains. Isn't it only fair to grant a poor prisoner one last wish?"

Hay Hair licks his lips. "What wish?"

"Fuck me," I whisper, and the hypnotized look in his eyes tells me that he's hooked. I allow myself a glance at the second guard standing behind him, frowning at us confusedly. Yet there's a sparkle of interest in his eyes too, that I know I could blow into a flame.

"You can watch." I smile at him. "Or you two can take turns. Whichever you like."

Hay Hair starts untying his belt, his hands moving in fast, jerky movements, his eyes never leaving mine, which is good, which is how I keep him under control.

"Nice dick," I mutter, glancing down. I press my hands to the bars, but the cuffs don't let them go too far. Still it's enough for me to grasp his erection. He's pressing it into my fist, moving back and forth, his eyes dazed already. I press my face to the bars and his lips find mine, and I moan into the kiss. He groans and I pause, not wanting him to come too early.

"Come here," I whisper, stepping back, letting go of him. "Come inside. I want you... to come inside." I go down on my knees, my eyes half closed, my lips open, knowing damn well how I look to them, reading it in the way they are staring at me. "Please...come here. I'm unarmed. I'm at your mercy." It's all precise and measured, every glance, every intonation, but it must look real to them, for Hay Hair takes out the keys and starts unlocking the door.

"You're nuts," says the second guard, not too convincingly.

"Just stay outside," growls Hay Hair, opening the door. "I can handle him."

"I'm sure you can." I lick my lips as he approaches me. "I'm sure you will."

Then, his dick presses at my lips, and I accept it, like I did many times before, putting all thoughts and feelings aside, becoming nothing but a tool for giving pleasure. The floor is hard under my knees, and as he forces my head back and forth, his fingers tugging painfully at my hair, I see from the corner of my eyes the second guard entering the cell, stopping by the wall to have a better view. They're both here and fairly distracted, just the way I want them.

I pull back to catch my breath. "Wait... wait. Come here. Don't you want to fuck me?"

"That's what I'm doing," he growls, but he gels down on his knees, leaning over me.

"I want you to touch me... there." My fingers reach down under my oversized prisoner shirt, sliding towards my belt, underneath which they encounter the steel of the dagger that Clementa had placed in her wine flagon. She probably imagined I would slit my wrists or throat with it, wanted me to die with a measure of dignity. Yet preserving dignity has never been high on my priorities list.

"Touch you where?" mutters Hay Hair, leaning closer.

"There," I say, and, grasping the dagger with both hands, thrust it up and forward, into his throat.

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