Seraphim relaxed into the comfortable sofa as Grigori prepared tea in the small kitchen attached to the living room. Seraphim looked  around the room some more, paying close attention to the details of it - the room was more like a suite of five rooms - besides the living  room and the kitchen, there was the bedroom, which Sera could see from his view point on the couch, a work room and a bathroom. He  pulled out his scraps of parchment and promptly began to take notes as Grigori returned, bearing two cups of sweet-smelling lavender tea.

Seraphim looked up as he took the cup and smiled a little, blowing on the steaming tea to try and cool it. After a few moments of sipping  in silence, Seraphim broke in by saying, "Well...I suppose you should get to know me a little better..." he paused, thought for a moment  and continued, "I'm twenty-two years old, I've lived in the capital all my life, I'm a scholar researching Keys..." Seraphim's eyes flitted to Grigori's and he stopped. 

"What about you?"

Grigori's voice swept in, gravelly, "I'm thirty-seven years old, and I've been the Gargoyle Key for fifteen years, Master Seraphim."

Seraphim furrowed his brow and he interrupted by asking, "That's unusual, right? I mean, I have it my notes;" he immediately began to dig through sheafs of parchment paper, "that most Key's only remain Key's for approximately 6-10 years on average. Do you know any better? I mean, that's what I'm here for." He finished the speech with smile.

Grigori set down his teacup and sighed, "You're right, Master. Most Keys do not remain Keys for much longer than five or six years."

"Oh." Seraphim bit his lower lip, and realized that Grigori was not going to volunteer any information. He tried again, "So...what else can you tell me about yourself?"

Grigori smiled his crooked smile and said softly, almost shyly, "I like to work with my hands - make things."

"Did you make all those toys on the mantle?" Seraphim stood and went to inspect them. They were all very intricate, made of metal and wood, and all seemed to be mechanical in some way or another. He reached out to pick one up and marveled at its design - it was a bear that would beat a drum of wood and cloth when he was wound up.

Grigori's voice came from almost behind him, "Yes, these I made." He smiled proudly at them, and continued, "I enjoy them. Would you like that one?"

Seraphim stared at it, and wound it up. The bear immediately began to rhythmically beat on the drum, making a soft, low sound. He smiled and nodded, clutching it gently to his chest.

"Perhaps you are hungry, Master Seraphim?" Grigori asked, then suggested, "Or do you wish to take a bath?"

Seraphim looked up and asked, "Do you want to look at my research? I...I mean, can you read?"

Grigori smiled and nodded, and Seraphim gaped, "Really? My lover, he can't read - he's just a Principial Guard, so he never had to learn how...I'm not saying that he's stupid, though! I mean, he's very smart, it's just that so many people can't read and he's one of them and I'm babbling, aren't I?"

Grigori laughed and Seraphim blushed. "I mean...I guess I would really like to take a bath. If you want to read my notes, you can..."

With that said, Seraphim fled into the bathroom, his face a brilliant scarlet color.

As the bath water ran, Seraphim stripped cautiously and smoothed his hands over his arms, gathering his hands together. He hadn't meant to reveal anything about himself other than that he was a researcher - he hadn't meant to say anything about Mal, especially anything as private as the fact that he couldn't read.

Mal was three years older than Seraphim, and always so supportive of him, of his career, no matter how miserably it went at times. As Seraphim slipped into the bath, he thought of all the reasons that he absolutely loved Mal, and sighed as the feelings rushed back soothingly to satisfy him.

Seraphim relaxed in the warm water, enjoying the luxury of having truly hot water instead of simply lukewarm, and tried to organize the project in his head. He needed to know what the life of a typical Key was like, so at least he had a somewhat typical Key to work with. But more importantly, he needed to know what the Masters of the Keys were like, and how the Master/Key dynamic worked. Because he had very little interest in Grigori other than in his position in the Palace, he would need to explore another relationship - one that was not his own.

It's just a matter of how to get there...

Seraphim's thoughts were interrupted by a click of the door handle, and the door swung open. He looked up sharply, and when Grigori entered, he was taken by surprise before shrieking.

Grigori looked shocked for a moment before the first splash of water flew in all directions, and he had to flee the bathroom if he didn't want to get wet.

Grigori went directly to his workroom and began to work on his latest project. He shook his head and thought how strange his newest Master was, this researcher of Keys. If he had wanted a typical Key, why did he buy the Gargoyle one? Everyone knew that he was far from the average Key - he was not beautiful, or young, or at all angst-driven. He didn't engage in strange sexual games, and was calm, passive and optimistic.

Maybe he didn't know what he was getting into, Grigori thought. Well, no matter. It's still my job to make sure he receives everything he desires.

Seraphim spent the evening simply and quietly with Grigori - he finished his bath, ate the dinner a page brought and then curled up on a corner of the couch, scribbling notes and ideas on parchment before deciding to go to bed.

He stared at the bed, a large bed, and surely where Grigori slept at night. Seraphim couldn't imagine taking the Key's bed, and then turned to look over to where the Key sat, going through his notes with a severe intensity. Seraphim smiled at the memory of a similar look on the face of the Prince of Night when he had presented a finding to the court once. The Prince of Dawn had been disinterested, and the Prince of Day was ill that morning - but the Prince of Night found the paper intriguing - though he later commented on how it was difficult to read.

Suddenly Grigori looked up, and smiled gently. "Would you like company, Master Seraphim?"

Seraphim sputtered and blushed before he managed to stammer, "Um...well...I was going to just ask if I could sleep on the couch..."

"The couch. Nonsense, Master Seraphim. You will sleep on the bed." Grigori stood and set the papers down, then walked briskly towards the bed and proceeded to turn down the embroidered quilt-cover and arrange the pillows neatly.

Seraphim stared for a few moments before interjecting, "I really couldn't take your bed. I mean, I feel like a guest in this room, I'm not a proper Master at all..."

Grigori finished and smiled again, placing his massive callused hands over Seraphim's tiny, ink-stained ones. "You are my Master, despite what you may feel. And if you are uncomfortable with the thought of sleeping with me, then I will sleep on the couch."

Seraphim bit his lower lip and argued, "But..."

"Please, Master. I insist."

Seraphim was pulled from sleep by a soft noise, like slippered feet treading over a thick rug. It was the middle of the night, and he lay still, dwarfed by the enormous bed, his cheek warm in the soft pillow and his whole body snuggled in the thick blankets. He listened as the movement grew louder, then softer, then stopped altogether. He sat up in the bed and saw no one - only Grigori, asleep on the couch in the living room, his back turned to Seraphim.

He shrugged and nestled deeper in the bed, and tried to go back to sleep.

Seraphim woke in the morning to the thick smell of pastries and coffee - both rare treats for him. While most scholars sustained themselves on coffee, he could only afford strong tea; and so the smell of this rich drink made him smile in pleasure. Mal was such a sweetheart to bring him coffee! He opened his eyes slowly, and suddenly the blur and haze of sleep faded and he remembered that he was in the Palace of Keys.

He sat up in the bed, only to find a small tray sitting beside the bed on a nightstand - there were various rich pastries and a mug of coffee placed on it.

He began to eat, and slowly left the bedroom to find Grigori in his workshop. He sidled up to the much larger man and asked, softly, "I was going out - are you alright here by yourself?"

Grigori turned and gave Seraphim a puzzled look. "I am fine...although, if you wish me to accompany you, I will."

"No, no...no need. What I'm doing is very boring, and probably of no interest to you." Seraphim quickly cobbled together a lie, though he knew that he was pathetic at lying. Mal could see through his most thought-out lies with very little trouble at all.

Grigori merely shrugged and smiled crookedly, saying, "As you wish, Master Seraphim."

Seraphim closed the door quickly behind him and immediately looked around. He encountered a page standing next to the door, a quizzical expression on his face as he stared at the Master who had taken the work to leave his room without his Key. Seraphim looked at the page and asked, "You're here to...take orders?"

"Yes sir. There is a page stationed outside the room of any Key with a Master present for any needs the Master may have." The page answered formally, his voice shy and hesitant.

Seraphim looked over the page once, and decided that the young boy could easily be swayed to help him. "So...what you're saying...is that you have to do everything I say."

The boy suddenly developed a frightened expression, much like a doe caught in the line of an arrow. "E-everything?" He squeaked, and nodded.

Seraphim nodded and smiled enthusiastically, and pulled the boy's arm. "Then...show me what it's like to be a page!"

Seraphim entered the bustling page's hall with his charcoal pen in hand and his parchment in the other, scribbling notes frantically as he watched the pages breeze through, heading in every direction; toward the kitchens, from the rooms, to the rooms, or merely standing about, chatting lazily about one Key or another. It was clear to Seraphim that the Palace didn't function without the pages, and that the young, hyper boys did their jobs well. Seraphim stood, basking in the environment for a while before he was tumbled over by a page rushing; the page stopped, turned and helped him up, and asked in a wheezing breath, "Sorry, are you new? The Prince of Night has just arrived, and the entire Palace is in upheaval!"

Seraphim brushed himself off and walked next to the rushing page, asking him questions as they walked, "How many Keys work in the Palace?"

"Huh? Oh...I don't know...maybe, about a hundred and fifty?"

"Right...and how many pages?"

"About three hundred...are you just going to ask questions, or are you going to actually do something?" The page opened the door to the sun-dappled lobby, and Seraphim squinted at the enormity of the Prince of Night's party.

There were at least twenty-five Principial guards milling around; Seraphim looked but didn't see Mal anywhere. The Prince himself was stepping down from a litter; his majordomo overseeing his servants as they brought in trunks and bags.

The Prince of Night was not an overly handsome man, but rather graceful and leaning on the side of beautiful. He was lean and strong, like all the Princes. His black hair was streaked with gray, though he was young, perhaps only thirty-five or so. His brown eyes were expressive, and he had a soft nose not suited for nobility and giving orders. His face was round and pale from lack of exposure to the sun. It was easy to tell that when he was younger he must have been stunning.

He looked around and took a deep breath as the head of the Palace greeted him with honey-sweetened words and charming smiles and bows. Suddenly he spotted Seraphim in the rows of pages, though Seraphim had tried to look as unobtrusive as possible.

"You...in the ink-stained robes...you're that little scholar who presented that paper on court ladies, aren't you? What are you doing as a page?"

Seraphim looked around and stepped out of the line, took a dashing court bow and promptly fell over on his face.

There was a snicker through the ranks of the Principial guards, and when Seraphim looked up he found himself looking directly at the Prince of Night's elegantly slippered feet. He pushed himself off the ground and spoke softly as he answered the question, "I'm researching Keys, your highness, and thought that maybe I needed to explore the page's wing a bit."

The Prince of Night looked mildly amused and nodded. "I see. Are you going to present your findings to the court again? I would very much like that."

"I will, if your highness wills it so." Seraphim bowed simply this time, and when he stood, he smiled. "I am hoping to publish my findings by the end of the year."

"Three months? Then in four, I expect you in the Principial Home, ready to present to me." The Prince of Night smiled gently and offered the suggestion, "Though perhaps you should not make the text so impossible to decipher. Take it easy on my low-class sensibilities!" He laughed broadly, and Seraphim blushed.

Seraphim bit his lip and then smiled up at the Prince, "But your highness has certainly lost almost all of his 'low-class' behavior after living almost fourteen years as a Prince. But I will make the language simpler, if you should desire that."

"I do." The Prince offered one last smile and stepped past the foyer, and through to the halls where the Keys were kept.

As Seraphim walked back with the pages, the one that had rushed over him earlier stepped up to him and asked, "You were awfully friendly with the Prince of Night. We usually can't even get in a polite word around him - he's so silent. What do you know about him?"

Seraphim thought about it and confessed, "Probably not a whole lot more than you know. I mean, I know that he's around thirty-five, that he's been the Prince of Night for about fourteen years, that like all Princes of Night he came from the streets, that he married a young noble lady - though I did hear from my lover that he prefers the company of men - that he owns the Jeweled Key, and that his name is Bastian."

The page furrowed his brow and stated, "I didn't know that his name was Bastian."

"He told me, once. When I presented a paper, he asked me to call him that, though it shocked all of his retainers. I think that he's very lonely." Seraphim nodded softly and sighed. "I suppose that I need to get back to research; do you think that you can help me?"

The page nodded before Seraphim pelted him with questions.

By the time that Seraphim returned to the room, it was late, and the sun washed the room with pale purples and peach. As he slipped in the room he saw Grigori watching as a page prepared a fire. Grigori turned and smiled, welcoming him back silently.

After the page left, Seraphim began to arrange his notes when Grigori asked, "How was your day, Master?"

Seraphim barely looked up as he responded flippantly, "Oh, fine, fine..."

He suddenly looked up and asked, "Why did you become a Key?"

There was a look of shock on Grigori's face before it melted into a soft smile, "Are you hungry? I can fix something simple, if you'd like..."

Seraphim cocked his head and asked, "Why do you remain a Key?"

Grigori sighed and replied, "Perhaps some tea? I could make some tea..."

Seraphim tried again, attempting to muster some bit of command into his voice, "Why don't you answer my questions?"

"Master Seraphim, you really do not wish to know about my life. I guarantee you, it would only bore you. I am not very worldly." Grigori answered, shifting slightly on the couch.

"I am interested! I'm interested about how Keys become such, how slave-traders decide who is going to be sold to the Palace, how Keys live, how they can stay day after day after day, waiting for a break from the solitary life of sexual servitude!" Seraphim flushed with excitement, and he almost squirmed in his seat. "The fact remains that I want to know, Grigori, and you are the only one that I know who can tell me!"

There was silence in the room for a few tense, brief moments before Grigori broke it with a sigh. "I can show you, Master Seraphim. I can take you somewhere where someone else will tell you. But you must promise me something..."

"Anything..." Seraphim's response was needy, almost desperate.

"Promise that you will be kind, and gentle, and will not tell anyone about it."

Seraphim nodded, and Grigori spoke softly, "Then I will take you tonight."