His Master was angry.

Even though the smooth movements of the hand that gently caressed his glossy black hair contained no hints of fury, the roiling emotions that seethed in the air and the tense set of his Master's jaw were enough to tip Rouge off that this was not the time for his usual playfulness. So he sat quietly against Luvaki's knee, gaining a subtle, feline enjoyment from his Master's petting and an illicit pleasure from the knowledge that Luvaki was with him, and not that unnamed her. . .

The hand suddenly halted in its movements, and Rouge flinched guiltily, the sudden suspicion that he'd said that last part aloud growing stronger when his Master simply said, "She's a bitch." The tension in the room grew, and Rouge silently sighed.

This again.

Rouge closed his eyes, leaning back against Luvaki's knee and letting his hair flow over his Master's thighs as he idly rotated his head, hearing bones pop from being immobile for so long. Hearing his Master's sharp intake of breath, he grinned, his eyes still shut.

A quiet laugh brushed his right ear as Luvaki leaned over him. "Minx. You know that now isn't a good time."

He opened wide eyes of pure silver mischief. "And why not?" he purred, reaching up and raking his fingers through ash-blond hair, loosening the tight hairband so that thick locks of pale gold settled smoothly on Luvaki's shoulders.

"Because I'm not in a state to properly appreciate neither your talents, nor your beauty," his Master murmured, but his hands were already reaching to pull Rouge up into his lap.

Luvaki slowly pulled on his clothes, taking care with every button and tie -- Livia would have his head if he didn't appear immaculate. She already suspected that he kept a lover, but he felt no need to oblige her with a confirmation, which rumpled clothes and tousled hair would most definitely be. His anger resurfaced at the thought of his earlier argument with his wife, or rather, what his wife had become, but he shoved it down, preferring to let Rouge sleep undisturbed by any physical manifestations of his fury.

It was Luvaki's belief that when it came to separation, a lover's last glimpse of his beloved, or in this case, a slave's last glimpse of his Master, should be one unmarred by regret or anger.

A faint smirk touched his lips as he thought, not for the first time, of what Livia's reaction would have been if she'd ever (fortunately, she hadn't) discovered the existence of the boy who currently slept on, oblivious of his Master's thoughts, in the lush bed of garnet-hued satin.

Garnet. Just another word for that particular shade of dark red, really.

How fitting that red just happened to be the color of carnality, and lust.

Another faint smile. And love?

Surely not.

Sin, perhaps. Yes, sin was far more appropriate.

A pity that this had been his final night to indulge in that sweetest of iniquities.

Viyuli muttered to himself as he absently paged through the Arithmetica, occasionally taking half-hearted notes. He hated the tome's stuffy, pedantic tone, and thought privately to himself that the compiler must have had hemorrhoids the day that he scripted this particular volume.

Behind him, Amyreis laughed tiredly. "He didn't, actually, if you want to know." She yawned, her exhaustion after three sleepless nights making itself evident. "The Prince Consort is finally dead, by the way."

"It isn't nice to read others' thoughts when you're not invited, 'Reis," he murmured. "When's the funeral?"

"I'm serious, 'Yuli," she retorted, subtly mocking his habit of shortening people's names. "There isn't going to be a funeral -- his body was burned yesterday on the orders of the Queen, and the ashes cast into the Sanctum fires in the Temple."

He finally looked up from the Arithmetica. "Luvaki's body's already been burned?" he repeated. "Wasn't making his death into a grand spectacle supposed to be the Queen's entire purpose of having him killed?"

Amyreis grimaced and nodded. "Yes, but she changed her mind, evidently, even though she still wanted him dead. He left you something in his will, by the way."

He looked at her blankly. "In his will? All of his possessions revert to the Temple for his successor, don't they?"

"Only his public estates and holdings. Luvaki's private belongings, on the other hand, he left mostly to be divided between the Heirs, both of whom are currently catatonic, if you want to know, but evidently the will states very specifically that Yehala's Garnet was to go to you and no other."

Viyuli's brow furrowed. "Yehala's Garnet? What's that? And why are the Heirs 'catatonic?'"

Amyreis smiled slightly. "If you're so deep into your damned books that you don't know that, I don't think I'll tell you. As for the Heirs . . . you can find that out on your own. It's a gods-be-damned mess, and I didn't understand the half of it when the Queen told me. She's guilt-stricken, which is understandable, I suppose, but she seems to have a penchant for histrionics and half-hysterical ranting."

He gestured impatiently. "Don't play your little games with me right now, 'Reis -- you know that I don't follow Court history. If you don't tell me, who will?"

"My brother, perhaps?" She winced at the glare that reply was met with, and sighed. "All right, all right. Yehala's Garnet is basically what it sounds like -- a gemstone. By Arithmetica definition, it's a flawless, deep red pyrope garnet, perfectly round and hexagonally faceted. By Court legend, it's a fabulous treasure, one of the headstones of Queen Yehala's Lead Crown."

"Queen Yehala's Lead Crown . . . that I'm familiar with," Viyuli mused. "One of the headstones . . . what happened to the other one? A blue topaz, if I recall correctly."

"You recall correctly. Yehala's Topaz was lost with the Crown itself when she died," Amyreis explained. "The Garnet, however, she removed herself, and gave to her Prince Consort as a gift. Ever since then, it's been passed down to each new Consort at his ascension, but evidently Luvaki decided to break custom."

Viyuli shook his head. "I don't understand. Why me? I barely knew the man."

She grinned. "Probably because he knew your history, and felt that perhaps you needed it."

"Needed it?"

Amyreis mock-sighed. "Dear, dear Viyuli . . . you really don't know what a tragic figure you are among the Order, do you? I assure you, what with Kanadi and Rukala, you cut quite the martyr."

He rolled his eyes. "Perfect. What do they think I am, a suffering, deflowered virgin who spends all of his time weeping into his pillow?"

"Yes."

He was tempted to throw the Arithmetica at her, but knew that she'd only catch it and throw it back. "All right, aside from my reputation, why would he think I needed a gaudy bauble like the Garnet? He knows I'm not the type to be soothed by things like that."

Amyreis shrugged. "Who knows? All the will said was that he thought you deserved it, and could be trusted not to use it improperly, whatever that means." She frowned. "Oh, and he referred to it several times as the Garnet Key, if that means anything to you."

"No, it doesn't," Viyuli replied absently, turning back to the Arithmetica. "Haven't the faintest idea, in fact."

She yawned and stood to leave. "I guess you'll find out when my brother comes to give it to you, then."

"All right, then." His mind was already far away, the scratch of pen on paper filling the room once again.

It was minutes later that his head jerked up in horror. Her brother?!

"'REIS!! COME BACK HERE!!"