Bartholomew looked down on the battlefield laid out on the table before him. The pearly table supported the fine board of obsidian and ivory- atop which; a terrible, bloody battle had just ended in yet another victory in his favor. The few times he had met his combatant as a child, their games would always end with Titus frowning at the superiority of his brother’s tactical mind, but in their lengthy separation, both the brothers had grown. Bartholomew had required fewer moves to set his brother in check, but Titus had, in turn, learned to accept his defeats. In fact, if he hadn’t known better, he’d have accused the fine Duke of letting him win, as the bright grin was far from becoming of a sore loser such as he.
Bartholomew leaned back on the chair and took a sip of his water to raise an eyebrow at his brightly grinning brother. “You are awfully cheery for having lost four games in a row.” He accused his kin.
Titus, in turn, leaned back and fluffed his golden shirt in an effort to cool his clammy axillae. “How could I not be? For the first time since your arrival in Pilta; you are smiling.” Bartholomew scoffed and straightened his aching back on the hard, gilded chair.
He raised his hand to the air to explain; “I had a good night- I told you... Kerras knows how to throw a good party.”
Titus clapped his hands together and nodded his approval before leaning over their battlefield to whisper; “Did you...” His brother’s efforts to at least seem depraved were admirable, but even his winks were oh so disgustingly proper.
Bartholomew threw his head back in laughter; “No, no- not with him. I am not one to decline a good buggering, but these days... well, I am certain you can understand why I would rather avoid having someone press against my back.” Titus’ efforts had their limits, of course. Upon hearing what appeared to be criticism of their father’s decision to brutally scar him, his humor dried up.
“Well... perhaps, if those scars plagued you as much as you claim, then you would’ve remembered to leave your dear brother a message before disappearing for an entire night.” This genuinely bemused Bartholomew and reminded him that his brother was, and always would be, his Father’s most beloved son. As much as he desired to spit a globule of venom, Bartholomew decided to instead keep their tone civil and offered; “Perhaps. I shall invite you to come with us next time- there was at least one woman there whom I suspect you would find to your liking.” Titus uncomfortably looked over his left shoulder- towards the smooth-chinned Purged standing at attention over by his bed. Petrus raised his hand to cough into his fist- a less-than-subtle sign between the two of them, signifying something, supposedly, beyond Bartholomew’s understanding.
The factum they still tried to hide it was another attestation to his brother’s devotion to their Father, but Bartholomew doubted any of his siblings were still unaware of the tall stacks of bitten-asunder pillows in their shared past. Petrus had, after all, come into their House when they were still young and since then; the two had been inseparable- often to the point where they would be inside one-another, or so Bartholomew suspected. Knowing his brother; inquiring any further was ill-advised. Titus leaned back on the chair and scoffed- feigning a frown as he shook his head. “No, sadly, my duties do not allow any such shenanigans. With any luck; you will soon be as busy as I am, but until then, I suggest you continue to enjoy your time here in Pilta.”
Petrus concealed his glare beneath the rim of his hood as Bartholomew stood from his seat to ruffle his brother’s red, curled hair. “Well... If you ever need any assistance; I would be more than happy to lighten some of your heavy load.” Titus chuckled at the suggestion and exchanged a meaningful, pained smile with his brother before watching him stride off- closely followed by his obedient Purged.
When Lita had closed the door in their wake, Petrus finally stepped from the shadowy corner to which he had been banished and scoffed mockingly at Bartholomew’s now-empty seat. “As if we need this ‘Kerras’ help to have a good time.”
Titus looked sternly over his shoulder to glare at his companion. “I will remind you, Purged, that he is both my brother and your superior.” Petrus knew Titus had a propensity to take offense on Bartholomew’s behalf- a phenomenon that had preceded his arrival in their fair city. Still... even in the knowing he would likely get punished for his insolence; he could not help but feel a certain disdain for the man. He had, after all, added to the competition and seemed not grateful in the least.
Petrus took a step back and nodded his agreement- hoping it would please his Master, but to no avail. Titus stood up to glare at his lesser with disgust. “You know of his crimes and you know of his atonement... why, then, do I sense that you still seem to harbor ill will against him?”
Petrus sounded a gulp as he shrank down beneath his hood. “I-I do not, Master Titus. I just-…" The Purged stopped to consider his next words cautiously before continuing; “I just cannot understand why any man as glorious as you would... copulate... with the filthy Ungodly. I know it is not in my place to judge any- not with my cursed blood, but I still cannot help but feel as if he... He should have known better.”
Titus stood to his height and lay a shoulder atop his servant’s shoulder. Next; he leaned close to whisper into his favored Purged’s ear, “You are little more than an Ungodly, yourself. My brother has repented for his crimes and by long; he will assist me in the duties you have been tasked with thus far... perhaps, ultimately, that has been my wrongful decision all along.”
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Petrus winced and quickly shook his head to whimper; “I-I know Sire. I am little better than one of them, but I have been Purified. We are not the same and I wish you would understand how much it harms me to hear you speak such cruelties...” Petrus raised his hand to wipe his cheeks in turn. He could already tell that his choice of tactics were appropriate, as the hand on his shoulder softened its grip. Titus’ lips grazed Petrus’ cheek as he regained his focus and whispered a humming apology; “I... I am sorry, Petrus- my dear Petrus. That was cruel of me... you are not the same- I never meant to imply such a thing. I merely meant to remind you that you might’ve been one of his conquered in another life.” Petrus threw himself forwards to embrace his darling Sargerrei- wrapping himself in that beloved, masculine scent of his carefully selected colognes.
“Oh, Titus- you fill my mind with such bestial imagery... in this other life; I hope I would have had you there with me to keep me warm in the wilderlands’ nights... as handsome as your brother is- he cannot live up to you.”
Titus chuckled and leaned into the embrace to touch his concubine’s posterior and dig his fingers into the well-traversed, well-explored flesh. “I cannot speak of the wilderlands, but... I certainly am cold now...”
Bartholomew snapped his fingers victoriously as he heard the distinctive sounds of fervent lovemaking from within his brother’s chambers. The hollow claps, the silenced moans- the screams into the pillow were all the evidence he needed to finally lay the question to rest. He looked over at his stewardess to see the faintest outline of a smile on her smooth lips.
“Did you know?” He questioned her in a whisper as a pair of armored guardsmen strode by the alcove leading up to the Duke’s chambers. Lita signaled her acknowledgement and confirmed his suspicions with a court, quick nod. He blew a bemused scoff through his nose and motioned for her to follow after him- down the long corridor leading up to his own chamber. She seemed somewhat uneasy as she gently strode behind him with an unusually pronounced hunch. When they had finally arrived inside and closed the door in their wake, he thought it best to question her unusual expression; “What is it? You seem almost frightened.”
She gripped her elbow and whispered; “I-I... It is not in my place to deny your Orders, Sire. If you wish to do as he-”
Bartholomew raised his hands and waved them about in a brisk, calm dismissal of her suggestion with a profound smile. “Heavens, no... you are far too small for me. That is not to say-… nevermind.” He paused the chuckle and unbutton his shirt before continuing; “I must say; I never expected you would speak your mind, or in this case, show your emotions.” She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped up to his dresser to retrieve the flask of ointment.
“No, Sire... It is just that-… We Sensates- we Purged...” She hesitated for a moment and looked at his familiar scars with a mute frown.
He looked over his shoulder with an unusually bright smile and urged her to continue; “Go on. That is an order.” She touched her finger to the ointment and began lathering the testament of his punishment with the same caution as ever.
She spoke barely louder than a whisper; “Y-you have asked me to tell you of my feelings, but until recently, I have been disciplined enough to suppress them... but the other day...” She swallowed and watched Bartholomew’s skin stand to attention in excited goosebumps.
Her voice was nearly inaudibly low as she whispered; “When we met that man- Kerras... I felt something- something I have never felt before. My chest pounded, my ears rung- my loins soaked. I am ashamed to confess that I wanted that man and since then; he has plagued my mind in every waking moment...”
Bartholomew gasped- not with the pain of his scars nor the cool of the ointment, but because Kerras had, in fact, asked him several questions regarding the Sensate, as well. Hearing her break protocol- break her vow by confessing to such dreadful sins was an Ungodly thing- a heinous act against all that the Order of the Purge held holy. Desecration- blasphemy... He had to resist the urge to act on his impulses- if only to save the girl the sight of him stroking his member.
“I-I see... well, as always; consider your secret safe with me...” He paused to consider the conundrum. Kerras had asked him about her abilities and her upbringing- neither of which he could answer. He heard a sniffle behind his back and turned to see her wipe her tears with the sleeve of her robe and plead; “I-I apologize, Sire... I should have said nothing. I-I-” Bartholomew raised a dismissive hand to stop her and make a confession of his own- one that would likely still her sniffles.
“To solidify this silence between us, Sister... I can tell you a secret of my own- one you must never tell another soul, lest my Father will kill us both. If I know one of yours, then it would only be fair for you to know one of mine.” She continued sniffling and wiping her eyes while her head bobbed fervently up and down.
Calmly, he spoke; “I do not enjoy the tortures they have wrought upon me, you or anyone else during my Father’s rule... that girl at the Pyre... she did not deserve her fate. A friend of mine wished to see someone punished for her suffering and together; we sought justice in her name... I am told none of the three men are anywhere to be found today.” She stared at him with an agape jaw and a glazed sheen to her deep-blue eyes- reflecting the numerous candles of the warm room. His genuine laugh stilled the uneasiness between them. “Now, then, Sister of mine... since we are both sinners, perhaps I can help you. Though I believe it a fool’s errand to attempt to woo him from his sister’s warm embrace, it would be a crime not to try- perhaps you would join me in seeing him this evening?” She sounded a gasp and continued hovering her hand over his back in genuine disbelief.
Could Bartholomew have fallen far enough to offer to assist one such as her? Could she really, with this man’s blessing... attempt to woo him? She swallowed drily and quietly nodded her acceptance of the offer with a bright, brave grin. His warm laugh reminded her that she still had work to do before this fated meeting- a meeting they were both eager to attend. In the comfortable silence that followed; the Sensate smeared the ointment on his scars with gentle dabs and a distant gaze- already pondering the coming night’s events.