In another part of the Palace, a small, slender figure slipped through the darkness, hurrying, trying to keep his breathing light.

"Shadow!" The voice was curt and remonstrating, but pitched low, so as to attract no attention but his own.

Shadow skidded to a halt, turned slowly, and then breathed a sigh of relief. "Emmeline!"

"Shhh! You're going to get us both in trouble if you're not careful." The figure, taller but dressed in black just as he was, gestured for him to follow.

Shadow quickly glanced back down the hallway behind him, and then followed at a rapid pace.

Emmeline led him to an alcove a short way down the corridor, and the two of them slid into the seat there, out of view of anybody walking past.

"I saw you, earlier." The girl said. Shadow tried not to squirm under her disapproving gaze. He hated being told off, but he hated it most when it was coming from somebody he liked. "And the Master saw you too."

Shadow looked at her fearfully. "He saw me? Is he going to tell on me?"

Emmeline shook her head, dark braids swinging. "No, he didn't get a good enough look to be sure that there was anyone there. But that's not the point! You have to be more careful, Shadow. If you don't, you know that they'll assign you to serve another Key."

Tears welled in large, brown eyes. "B-but I don't want to be with anyone but Ice Angel!"

Emmeline put a finger to Shadow's lips, preventing the wail that was threatening to be let loose. "Yes, yes, I know. But if the Master thinks you're getting too much attention from his Key, then he might tell the Supervisor. And that would be bad for all of us. So you have to be more careful, ok?"

Shadow nodded in an exaggerated fashion. "Will be more careful. Promise!"

"Good. You can hang around Ice Angel all you like when he's not in use, but for the next week, make yourself scarce, ok?"

Shadow nodded emphatically again, beginning to smile again. "Ok!"

"Good. Now get to bed, it's late." Emmeline ruffled his hair affectionately.

Shadow broke into a grin and scampered to comply.

Sekka woke in an unfamiliar bed and frowned, confused. He rarely stayed the night with clients. He'd learnt long ago to get his money and get out as soon as he was done. Much safer that way. Morning brought with it a number of ugly truths that tended to involved him getting hurt in one way or another.

But after the momentary disorientation, everything settled back into place in his head. The Palace. That would explain the four-poster bed, not a luxury he'd had the chance to experience before. A glorified whorehouse with marble pillars and silken sheets. And for the first time in a very long time, he wasn't the whore.

His hand was bothering him, throbbing, with a nasty heat. Sekka brought it up to inspect, and saw that blood had soaked through the handkerchief he'd tied around it last night. He should have cleaned it up properly then, but he'd been too upset to go looking for supplies after what had happened with the Key.

Key. The Ice Angel Key, which was a little crystal figure, and a boy with the most angelic face he'd ever seen. But he didn't want to think about that right now, because if he did, he'd have to work out what to do about it, and at the moment, it all seemed a little overwhelming.

So he got gingerly out of bed instead, finding himself still in jeans and a t-shirt. No wonder he was uncomfortable. He made a quick trip to the bathroom, and then returned to the bedroom to pull on a clean t-shirt, careful of his stinging hand.

And finally, knowing he could put it off no longer, he headed for the door. As he passed, the shattered mirror reflected his image, disjointed and warped by the spiderlace of tiny pieces. He stopped to look at it for a moment. It seemed appropriate, somehow. His life had been in pieces for some time now, cracked beyond anyone's ability to glue it back together.

He turned away and went through the door.

Ice Angel had left the bedroom too numb to even whimper. He was deathly afraid. He'd never been sent away before, to sleep alone. Usually when he was punished, he was expected to remain so that his Master could admire his own handiwork as he pleased.

But being sent to sleep alone was something new entirely. He'd taken a seat at one end of the couch with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. White braids fell about him, scant protection against the night's chill. His sapphire eyes stared blankly ahead, unseeing.

And there Ice Angel had remained for the rest of the night. There was no windows in this room, and no clock. The passage of time was immeasurable. He didn't dare sleep, but in his exhaustion, he fell into a numb, almost trance-like state. If he didn't think, he couldn't be afraid. At least, that's what he kept trying to make himself believe.

The night crept stealthily through the hours, and then, outside, the sun began to climb through the sky.

The sound of the door opening snapped Ice Angel back to reality, and he blinked a few times, his eyes dry from staring. He found his legs stiff as he unfolded himself, the circulation slow to return as he got unsteadily to his feet. As he rose, he snuck a quick look up, before fixing his eyes on the floor again.

His Master was standing in the doorway, looking sleepy, his black hair tangled. He didn't appear to be angry, but Ice Angel wasn't entirely sure how to interpret the expression on his face. He stretched out his senses, but found no dominant emotion at all, only a simmering undercurrent of many different feelings, all tangled and falling over each other inside of him.

It was not Ice Angel's place to speak first, and so he waited.

But the first words he heard weren't ones he had expected.

"Have you been sitting there all night?"

Ice Angel frowned, ever so slightly. Now his Master was starting to feel angry, and Ice Angel wondered if he thought Ice Angel had disobeyed his orders. "Yes, Master, I have been here, as you wished."

"But... just sitting there? No blanket, no warm clothes, nothing?"

Ice Angel wondered as to the purpose of the question. "The blankets and clothes are in the bedroom, Master." Ice Angel wouldn't have gone back into that room for anything, not after he'd been ordered out in such a fashion. What was his Master getting at? He didn't understand. What did it matter if he had blankets or warm clothing?

"Jesus-fucking-Christ!" The Master exclaimed, and Ice Angel felt another flash of anger. He had no time to think about it, however, for his Master had risen and crossed the room, and was now standing directly in front of him. He raised a hand and Ice Angel tensed, ready for the blow to come. But instead, the Master simply cupped it around Ice Angel's shoulder.

The hand was warm, the heat of it seeping into his flesh easily through his thin shirt. It felt good.

"You're freezing! Bloody hell!"

And then the hand was gone, and he felt a strange kind of loss, as his Master stormed away from him and back into the bedroom.

Ice Angel looked up, confused, unsure whether he was supposed to follow or remain where he stood. His Master was certainly acting most peculiarly. He heard the sound of cupboards opening and closing, clothes-hangers rattling.

His Master's voice floated through the open doorway. "Don't you have anything that's actually designed to cover your goddamn skin? What the hell is this? How would you even put this on?" The rattling went on a little longer, and then there was a sound of disgust and a cupboard being shut none too gently. "Screw this."

Ice Angel had almost given in to the temptation to go and see what on earth his Master was doing, when he appeared again at the doorway, looking rather pleased with himself. He was holding up a light blue jacket.

"Here. It's one of my old ones." He tossed the garment in the Key's direction. Ice Angel hadn't expected it, and only barely managed to catch it. He held it with both hands, unsure what he was supposed to do with it.

"Master?"

"Put it on, put it on." His Master waved a hand at him, practically hopping from one foot to the other. "Damn, where's the thermostat in here?"

Ice Angel absently pointed to where the little display was set unobtrusively into the wall. His Master wanted him to put on his jacket? Was this some kind of new game? Slowly, Ice Angel fed one arm into a sleeve and then pulled it around his shoulders. It was quite heavy, for a jacket, made of faded denim and lined in sheepskin. It was a little too big on him, and when he settled it more evenly on both shoulders, only his fingers peeked out at the ends of the cuffs.

But it was warm, and very soft on the inside.

His Master, meanwhile, was fiddling with the dial of the thermostat. "Better," he said in satisfaction, and then turned back to his Key. "Why didn't you turn it up?"

Ice Angel blinked. He thought the answer was obvious. "Because you didn't tell me to, Master."

His Master looked incredulous. "You don't do anything unless you're told to?"

Ice Angel was starting to feel even more edgy. He didn't understand the problem his Master was having with him. He knew he was a good slave, one of the best, and his pricetag was testament to the fact. Many Masters had been pleased with his performance in the past. What was he doing wrong now?

"No, Master. I'm not allowed to."

There was a period of silence, during which Ice Angel continued to stand motionless, confused and very uncertain as to what he should do.

Then his Master spoke decisively. "Ok, I've screwed this up royally, but let's forget that for a moment and start over. Sit down at the table."

Ice Angel did so, obediently. At last there was an order he understood. His Master took a seat opposite him.

"Hi. I'm Sekka. Not Master, just Sekka. And your name is?"

Ice Angel bit at his lower lip for a moment. He didn't understand this new game at all. But, as a good slave, he was obliged to answer. With an odd sense of deja vous, he answered: "I have no name, Ma-"

"Uh uh!" His Master interrupted. "Just Sekka."

Ice Angel mentally tasted the name for a moment. It was a short and almost jagged word, and seemed oddly suited to this person in front of him who kept changing direction seemingly at a whim.

Slowly, he began again, forcing himself to enunciate the syllables, even though it was extremely difficult. He'd never called a Master by his given name before, not without some kind of title. "I have no name, Sekka, but if you wish, you can call me Ice Angel."

He risked a look up, and found his Master - Sekka - grinning at him.

"Nice to meet ya, Ice Angel. I think we're gonna get along just fine."

Ice Angel blinked at him, unsmiling, still very unsettled, but his Master - Sekka, he mentally reminded himself, determined to follow his orders to the letter - was going on already.

"Ok, let's establish some ground rules, here." Ice Angel felt a sudden rush of relief. He liked rules, he liked knowing where the boundaries were. Otherwise, how was he to push them, to incite his Master to anger? "The first one is that I call you Ice Angel, and you call me Sekka. None of this 'Master' crap, got it? The second rule is, other than that one, there are no rules here. Absolutely none. You're not a slave or a Key or whatever the hell it is you are while I'm here. You get to do whatever you want, and I'll do whatever I want. We'll stay out of each other's way. Got it?"

The little colour there was drained from Ice Angel's face. This was terrible. He felt as though his world had just been turned upside down. Sekka didn't even want him as a Key? Had he been so utterly disappointing?

"But... why?" Ice Angel blurted, unable to hold his tongue. "What have I done wrong?"

"Nothing!" Sekka answered, looking startled. "You haven't done anything wrong! You're great... you're real good at what you do," he leered briefly, before suddenly become serious again. "I just don't wanna fuck you, ok?"

Ice Angel stared at him, bewildered. "But... why not?" Why had this man bought his Key, if not to enjoy him? It didn't make any sense.

Sekka sighed and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing when it caught in a tangle. His eyes fell to the tabletop for a moment, and then he looked up again and shrugged. "Because I don't fuck people who don't have a choice in it. Ok?"

Ice Angel still didn't understand. What did choice have to do with it?

Sekka's eyebrows drew down in a sudden scowl. "Topic closed. You're just going to have to get used to the idea, because I'm not going to screw you. So what do you think of the jacket?" He asked, suddenly brightening again. Ice Angel was getting dizzy trying to follow his changes of subject.

"J-jacket?" He looked down at what he could see of the jacket - denim and soft creamy wool lining, coppery buttons and neatly-trimmed buttonholes. "It's nice." He cursed himself mentally for not being able to think of a better word, but Sekka didn't seem to mind.

"It's a little big on ya, but it's cute that way - makes you look like a chibi." He reached out to neaten Ice-Angel's collar, which must have been sticking up on one side. "You can keep it. Looks better on you than me anyway." He grinned.

Ice Angel's eyes widened. The Master was giving him his jacket? Ice Angel had been given gifts before, on occasion, often as a reward for good behaviour. Generally it was jewelry - Masters seemed to like the look of delicate silver against his pale skin. But he had done nothing to earn this kind of present.

"Oh no, Ma--Sekka--I couldn't!"

But Sekka waved a hand at him, grinning. "Don't make me order you to accept!"

It was then Ice Angel finally noticed the redness of the hand, and a brief glimpse of darkened, dried blood.

"Your hand!" He exclaimed.

"What? Oh, yeah." Sekka frowned, turning his hand over to inspect the split knuckles, attempting to make a fist and then stopping suddenly with a wince. "Put it through the mirror last night."

So that's what the crash had been, Ice Angel thought. It had set his heart racing when he'd heard it, but he hadn't dared go to find out what had happened. He wondered how it had happened - had his Master tripped and fallen? He hadn't seemed so awkward earlier.

"It should be looked at," Ice Angel stated. He knew enough about cuts like that to know that if it wasn't cleaned properly, it was likely to become infected. "There is a medical wing downstairs. Shall I summon a page to take you there?"

"Nah, it'll do. Not fond of doctors."

"Then..." Ice Angel hesitated, not sure whether it was too bold of him to offer. "Then at least let me clean it up a little for you?" He asked shyly.

Sekka seemed surprised, but after a moment, he shrugged. "Yeah, ok." He said.

Ice Angel nodded, pleased. It relieved him to have a purpose, to be able to look after his Master in some small way at least. Sekka may have said that he didn't want to take him to bed, but Ice Angel knew better. He'd seen the flickers of desire in Sekka's dark eyes when he'd bared his skin slowly, inch by inch. He'd felt the rising heat, the naked want. No matter how much his Master resisted, the end result was inevitable. He'd just have to figure out the rules of the game, before he could break them, and earn his punishment.

But for the moment, he contented himself with going to fetch the medical kit. The time for seduction would come soon enough.