It was dark, quiet, and Seraphim's heavy breathing was the only sound that echoed through the still and silent halls. 

He padded in slippered feet behind Grigori, unaware of their final destination.

He had found out that while it was true that there was a page stationed outside the rooms at all hours while a Master was in residence, it did not necessarily mean that the page was awake. Their page, the little one who Seraphim had forced to show him around was lying on the marble floor, his arms crooked under his head, and was fast asleep. Many of the pages they passed were, and there was no sound in the halls, signaling to Seraphim that the rooms must have been soundproof. Not everyone, after all, could be sleeping.

Finally Grigori stopped in front of a large, ornate door emblazoned with a coiled sea serpent. In the serpent's mouth there was a blood-red stone that shone and sparkled even in the dark night, as if it glowed with an inner light. Seraphim stared at it and felt a little chill run down his bones; the serpent seemed to stare directly at him, and the stone was like a globe of blood, frozen in time. 

Grigori pulled out a bit of wire from his pocket and turned to Seraphim, whispering, "Master Seraphim, I have to tell you that I cannot call you Master while we are in these rooms. The Leviathan Key is highly skittish and will jump to as many conclusions as he can make if he thinks you are more than a page."

"The Leviathan Key..." Seraphim touched the carving on the wooden door and looked up at Grigori, his eyes wide and his whole body trembling, "He isn't as frightening as the carving, is he?"

Grigori shook his head and picked the lock slowly, then opened the massive door with a slight push. 

Inside, the main feature of the room was a raised platform that hung suspended from the ceiling above the height of any conceivable man, with a set of stairs winding around it, leading up to what appeared to be a massive canopied bed. Seraphim looked around, and in the dim moonlight that filtered in from the high windows he could see that he was on a path of carefully designed alabaster, which seemed to float on the pool that covered most of the floor. As Seraphim squinted, he made out other paths -- all leading to other rooms, one made of abalone, one made of red jade, and one made of what appeared to be silver. They all floated on the still, dark water, and as Seraphim gazed down he noticed that it wasn't a shallow pool -- he could not make out a floor.

He continued his visual exploration of the room, all the while shivering from the intense cold. The entire effect of the room was surreal -- like a dream. The silvery moonlight bolted and skimmed over the smooth surface of the water, and the walls shimmered with threads of silver and mother-of-pearl. He had never imagined a place so beautiful. 

Finally his attention turned back to the high platform and saw that on each corner of the suspended pavilion was a delicate candelabra done in the design of sea-serpents -- each serpent held a candle in its mouth and in each perfectly positioned claw. They seemed to be the only source of light in the room, as there was no visible fireplace.
Grigori climbed up the stairs, and Seraphim followed, all the while absorbing the contents of the fantastically done room.

Once they reached the top of the platform, Seraphim saw that there was indeed a massive blue-canopied bed, and in it laid a delicate-looking boy who couldn't have been older than fifteen years old. His skin was a fine marble-white hue, his curling thick hair blue-black. He slept peaceably in the bed, one fine-boned hand resting gently on the pillow beside his face, a few curling strands cutting across it. Even in his sleep, Seraphim could sense his melancholy air.

Grigori softly spoke, "Ariel, wake up. I came to visit you."

The boy on the bed fluttered his long lashes once and opened his eyes, turning to look at Grigori, then turning slowly to blink sluggishly at Seraphim.

Seraphim could tell even through the fog of sleep that Ariel's eyes were an eerie, pale amber color, and as he blinked and the haze subsided from them the color only sharpened. When he opened his mouth, a medium-pitched, wispy voice asked, "Who are you?"

Seraphim's mouth was dry.

This boy was indescribably lovely -- every facet of him created an image of delicacy and beauty. His lips trembled, and the long lashes that fringed his eyes only emphasized their eerie color. His fear made him look infinetly more fragile -- like the wing of a butterfly.

Grigori spoke for him, his voice soft and whispering, "He's another Key -- he wanted to meet you."

The sudden fear evaporated, and Ariel met his eyes. He smiled little shy smiles that illuminated his face for brief, fluttering moments. Seraphim sat on the bed and asked, "So your name is Ariel?"

"Ariel Ledrayn." Ariel nodded, and asked shyly, "What is your name?"

"Seraphim." He kept his voice low and soft as he drew a thick charcoal and a parchment from his robe and began to write slowly, keeping his eyes on Ariel. "How long have you been a Key, Ariel?"

Ariel crept closer and whispered, "A year and a half. How about you?"

Seraphim thought for a moment and replied as honestly as he could, "I'm not sure, really." He paused for a moment before asking, "Can I ask you some questions, Ariel?"

Ariel nodded, his curls shifting over his shoulders.

"How did you become a Key?" Seraphim started broadly, and broke eye contact to prepare to write the response.

"I was sold, when I was very little, I think. A slave trader bought me. They brought me here. I wasn't the Leviathan Key until a year and half ago."

"And before that? What were you doing?"

Ariel stopped for a couple of moments then replied, "I was alone, a lot."

Seraphim stopped. "What?"

"I was alone. They left me alone, in a room. Sometimes, a man would come. He would teach me." Seraphim looked up at Grigori, who was silently watching, his gray eyes still and unreadable. Seraphim took a deep breath and his shaking breath asked, "What did the man teach you?"

There was silence, and suddenly Ariel hugged his slender arms around himself and murmured, "I won't tell. I promise I won't tell. Just don't hit me again..."

Seraphim went silent, then touched Ariel gently on the shoulder. The boy immediately reacted to the touch, crawling onto Seraphim's lap and nuzzling his head against his Seraphim's neck. Ariel softly spoke again, "I'm a good boy, I promise. A good boy."

There was silence in the room as Seraphim drew his arms around Ariel as Mal had often done to him when he had felt bad and pressed his nose into Ariel's sweet-smelling hair. He was about to ask again, when he heard the soft crying, and realized that it would be a very bad idea. 

An hour later, Seraphim fell into his bed and pressed his face against the pillow. He had been unable to draw any sort of information from Ariel past the initial few moments of their meeting, and had spent the better part of forty-five minutes comforting him. 

Grigori had remained silent throughout the entire time, keeping his own council, it seemed. He followed Seraphim into the room, and began to turn down the thick coverlet as Seraphim lay motionless in the bed.

Finally Grigori spoke. "He's broken."

"What?" Seraphim swallowed hard and shook his head, "I'm sorry...I don't understand. I just...don't understand what you're saying." 

Grigori tried again, pulling Seraphim into his arms. "It's the reason that you're so affected by him. He's broken. They pulled him away too soon, and taught him to obey to soon."

Seraphim pulled away from Grigori quickly and asked, "What are you saying? You're saying that they purposely did that to a person?"

Grigori nodded softly and Seraphim gasped, "You didn't take me there to meet someone who could tell me anything about the Palace -- you took me to see what the Palace does to their Keys!"

"Master Seraphim, if you wish to give an unbiased opinion of the Palace, you must also shine light on the more unpleasant parts of the training." Grigori answered, then elaborated, "Not all the Keys are like that. In fact, many are content here. They have a decent home, a place to call their own. I do not like to destroy your illusion, but from what I understand in your research, you seem to have a romanticized idea of perfection. Ariel is one of the most valued Keys in the Palace for his obedience and his beauty."

Seraphim nodded, taking notes. "Does he have a Master? Who's his Master?"

"He belongs to the Prince of Dawn. I believe that it is permanent, and that the Prince has owned him ever since he became available." Grigori spoke softly, and quickly. "But to him, it doesn't matter. If he believes someone to be a Master, he will present himself as a Key. That is how he is trained."

"Why aren't you like that? Why weren't you trained like that? What makes them decide on how to train the Keys?" Seraphim asked his questions furiously, and then started pacing madly. "I need to meet a Trainer. I need to know how it works! I have to find out..."

Grigori sighed again and smiled softly at his Master's excitement.

The next morning, Seraphim ate on the run, drinking his coffee and leaving the room as soon as he was able. He made no pretense about where he was going -- he told Grigori right away that he was going to find a Trainer, and interview him.

Grigori was silent as Seraphim left the room, and silent as he walked back to his workroom, starting his next project, a perfect image already in mind.

Seraphim scoured the halls of the Palace, hunting for the hall where the Trainers stayed. He finally managed to follow a page to a barren place where the doors were no longer ornamental but small and plain.

The page was so enwrapped in his chore that he never noticed Seraphim, who slipped away to the find a Trainer to explain things to him.

Seraphim was, initially, angry. He didn't understand why they would have to break someone to achieve the perfection that they desired -- and spending time talking Ariel down made him wary of the Palace. He realized, finally, that things were skewed -- Grigori, who was a fantastic person, so caring and full of patience was cheap because of his distinct appearance, while Ariel, who was stunning and so highly prized, had a badly broken mind.

He wasn't sure that was fair. He could understand what would drive someone to desire a beauty as rare as Ariel, but he didn't understand what would make a broken mind desirable.

As he thought about it, his anger abated. He realized that whole concept of the Palace was built on sex, not love. And while he could never see himself being in love with Ariel, he could certainly see himself wanting to have sex with him.

He stopped for a moment, horrified with himself. He had actually produced that thought -- he wanted to have sex with Ariel. That was an absolutely maddening idea. He slipped into the shadows closed his eyes, envisioning Ariel's sweet, soft skin running across his own, and he willed the thought out of his head.

He tried to picture Mal's scarred skin, his large, expressive coffee-brown eyes, his rust colored hair that always fell so becomingly over his eyes. He loved Mal; he would stay with him forever, and would never, ever cheat on him, even if it was only in theory.

He had done a paper once on the idea of lust tied to the idea of love; it had been his most popular one, selling out three hundred copies in the capital and four hundred in the Principy alone. He had bought his apartment with the money that he had received from it; and he had met Mal a few weeks after, when he had given a copy of the paper to a nobleman in the Principial Home.

They had hit it off almost immediately -- Seraphim had sat for almost three hours with Mal while waiting for the nobleman to wake up. He remembered that his relationship had started with lust, and that he could envision sex with the other man.

Love always came later. He had thought the man too simple for him, not quick-witted enough or well-versed in literature. He had turned down Mal's first request for a date on that idea.

Mal doggedly pursued him, and Seraphim learned that love didn't discriminate. It was all too easy to fall in love with the roguish guard, and Seraphim didn't want to fall again, for someone else.

A stern voice interrupted his thoughts, "Who are you, and what are you doing hiding there?"

Seraphim opened his eyes and stared straight at a tall, imposing man who stood in front of him, his eyes hooded with his hands. The man wore a skin-tight black leather outfit that revealed only his stern face -- his hands were covered in gloves, and the leather came up to protect his neck.

Seraphim gasped, shocked, "Are you a Trainer?"

The man stared down and drawled, "Who, may I ask, are you?"

"I'm Seraphim Eres..."

"Stop." The man interrupted, then smiled, "I know all about you. The pages have been very vocal about a certain Master who is not doing as he should be." The man sighed, and asked, "How can I help you out with your research, Master Eres?"

Seraphim brightened immediately. "I would like you to explain to me the Training process, and how do you decide who gets trained for what purposes!"

"That's a very big question, I assure you. Allow me to introduce myself..." the man bowed elegantly, and said, "I am Asam, and I work here as a Trainer." He stopped and looked up, then indicated that Seraphim should follow him. "If you would please come with me, I would like to speak to you in my private room.

Seraphim was sitting comfortably in the large chair that Asam had in his room, which was much more like an office. Papers lay strewn over the small tea table that they spoke over, and a page brought them bitter orange and rose-hip tea in a delicate tea set. After all the formalities had been taken care of, Asam leaned back and explained, "I am the head of the Trainers in the Palace; I personally handle very few Keys, though I am the one of the only remaining experts on the various ways to train a human into submission.

The process to choose a Key begins in the slave-traders tents; many slave-traders desire to sell to the Palace because we pay very well for potential Keys. They will usually choose the most beautiful of the boys and offer them to us. Typically I am the one who chooses who comes and who goes -- though usually we acquire a large number of boys -- not only for Keys, you understand, but for the pages as well. But usually the trickle is slow and I don't always have room for new Keys.

"After they are chosen, there is a period of acquaintance with the different Keys; the individual trainer gets to know the potential Key to ascertain where their skills lie. We often choose training methods depending on their personalities and how they react to outer stimuli."

Satisfied with his answer, Asam stopped talking. Seraphim quickly finished his notes and asked, "Can you tell me about a Key that you trained personally?"

Asam smiled and leaned forward a bit. "I trained the Gargoyle Key." Seraphim stopped writing, and his curiosity overcame him as he looked up and Asam continued speaking. "He was a very strange Key when he came in. The had freed one of his other slaves. I accepted because I thought he might be an interesting add to the mix. He was very innocent, and naïve. He honestly had no idea what the Palace was.

"I decided to handle his training myself. He was generous, and very gentle, which can be highly prized qualities in Keys. He came in from training as a monk, and believed whole-heartedly in the concept of fate. But he didn't understand what we wanted him to do. He didn't know anything about sex except for the fact that it is necessary in the act of procreation. He must have been twenty-two at the time, and just barely under the age line to train. But I accepted him in the Palace.

"After we trained him, he was placed very low on the price listing, and brought in a number of costumers who wanted a one-night stand for the sake of a one-night stand; people who didn't want to pay exorbitant prices, but wanted the quality ensured by the Palace. His gentle demeanor often gave him clerks who wanted someone to talk to, but not to disagree with them."

Asam stopped again, and Seraphim asked in a soft voice, "What do you know about his past?"

Asam thought about the question for a couple of minutes before saying in a low voice, "He was in training to be a monk, and was very religious. His friend had been caught with another man, and the friend's father had sold his friend to the slave trader. But Grigori went and freed him -- however, he was caught, and sold here." Asam stopped, and thought about it some more. "That's all that he would tell us -- and now he doesn't like to talk about his past."

Seraphim nodded, and stared at his notes. He knew what he had to do -- he just didn't know how he was going to do it.