Lucian spun his long legs into what would have been a kick if he'd had an opponent, twisting his body as it hung mere seconds in the air, the plain, black cloth of his loose trousers snapping as it fluttered with his movements. Flowing effortlessly into a roll that brought him to the floor and on his knees, he finally stopped.

His breathing and his heart rate were only mildly accelerated. His skin tingled with a faint sheen of sweat and the warmth of exertion. He brushed a hand through his pale, tousled hair to push it from his eyes.

Settling onto his knees and the balls of his feet, back straight, he rested his hands calmly on his thighs. With a deep cleansing breath, he closed his eyes, focusing his mind to a core within, still and cold. He centered on the hours spent in practice; every motion of his body, twitch of muscle, spark of nerve, pulse of blood, replayed and analyzed. Every flaw in form: noted, every limit in body: noted, every action short of perfection: noted. All to keep himself in discipline, to push himself to greater skill, to purge himself of his weakness and eliminate distractions. All distractions.

Even his awkward, kneeling position for his mediation was designed to conquer the urges of his body and mind. To master himself would be the first step of many in mastering the highest skills of a Jiei. And to do so would bring much honor to Sul'yen, his Jiei master, perhaps enough to pay the debt of his failure. An unconscious twitch around his closed eyes instigated yet another analysis of each function of his body and mind., and the errors he was sure to find.

Willow squirmed. The black satin coverlet bunched underneath him like the rippling of a pond in the darkness of a moonlit night. Night. If not for the muted light through the skylight, he would have had no awareness that night had not yet fallen. And if he hadn't been so numb with boredom, the odd brightness of a sunlit sky would have startled him. Days, hours, minutes, seconds, all blended into a thick haze.

Time was as still as his master. So completely unmoving he wanted to scream. Once the mesmerizing dance ceased, and the blond began whatever the hell he was doing, or rather, wasn't doing, Willow became painfully aware of how sluggishly each moment passed. Granted, each tick of time brought that much more of a reprieve from the sick games his master would torment him with, however, it also brought that much more apprehension. And that much more boredom. With a sigh, he squirmed again, shifting to stretch his numbed legs.

How the hell could anyone sit as still and as long and as silent as his master has? And on the floor, no less? Sure, it was carpeted, but even the far more comfortable bed became anything but if one didn't move, at all, long enough. Willow twisted his fingers around a braid and flopped back onto the bed. God, how much more could he take? Not that he wanted to be used, but being useless was maddening. The instinct to please had been, much more to his annoyance, too ingrained into his nature.

With a growl, he hauled himself upright once more, clutching to the bedpost. He clunked his head against the spindling wooden vines.

"God-dammit, you're driving me insane!" Willow yelled. "Shit! You're fucking boring!"

His scarlet eyes glared at the silent young man sitting perfectly motionless across the room. Not even a flinch or flickering eyelash in response.

"You are the sickest bastard of them all! You're going to bore me to death! I think I prefer being whipped!"

"Boredom is merely a state of a weak mind." Lucian said evenly, his eyes still closed and his hands still resting calmly on his thighs.

Willow growled, delicate lips twisting into a snarl. He didn't know which made him angrier: that he thought the blond bastard was laughing at him behind such an insult, or the fact that he wasn't. "Fuck you! It's your fault I'm bored."

"How is it my fault that can't occupy yourself with something useful?" his master replied with, frustratingly, still no emotion.

"Because you're here and I've never had to 'occupy myself with something useful' when a master was around."

His master was silent for several moments, then narrowly opened his blue eyes, gazing intensely at Willow. "Very well. Show me to a quiet, sunny spot in the gardens, where I won't be disturbed, and I will leave to your own designs until nightfall."

"What? You serious?"

His stoic master stared at him with unblinking blue ice.

"Oh. Right." Willow rolled his albino-red eyes, shaking his head, the tiny braids swaying with the slight movement. "Okay. It's a deal then." Unraveling his shaking hands from his hair, he stood and gazed warily at his master.

The statuesque blond nodded and rose in one fluid motion. "Lead the way."

Willow stalked along the white marble paths crisscrossing throughout the Palace's grounds, his imposing master mere strides behind him. He was oblivious to the manicured beauty growing around him, intent only on finding someplace acceptable to leave the dangerous man and see if he would keep his promise, allowing Willow a few hours to himself.

Willow rarely had been let out of his room in all the years he'd been at the Palace, so he didn't know his way around like he had let on. But the opportunity to be free of his master's clutches, for even just a little while, was too sweet to pass up.

Navigating through the thick flowering trees, high, maze-like hedges, and flower beds exploding with vivid reds, blues, yellows, purples, and their every variation, he led his master down increasingly deserted paths. With the dwindling of people other than themselves, he suspected he most likely neared a section of the gardens his master would accept.

He stepped from a path of hedges into a small clearing, a circle of, ironically enough, willow trees with a patch of sunlight, pale golden bands streaming and fluttering where it peeked through the leaves, warming the grass.

"Will this do?" Willow said blandly, his hands on his slender hips.

The tall blond brushed past him to stand in the streaming light, a ghosting of fingers along the slave's bare arm in a flare of heat, then quickly gone, with his master. "Yes. It is sufficient. Thank you." He lowered himself to his knees, sitting much like he had in Willow's room, hands resting on his thighs, and closed his eyes.

Willow stared for a few moments, mesmerized by stunning gold shining in the sun, like a halo glowing around an angel's face as impassive as marble. He frowned and with a scowl at his own stupidity, he left.

Each step away from his strange master eased the anxiety from his tense muscles, but still suspicion shrouded him. No footsteps followed behind him, to rob him of his small taste of freedom while under a master's control. A part of him expected he would, listening alertly. However, only the thundering of his heart, twittering of birds and other sounds of nature, met his ears. Occasionally, as he drew closer to the Palace itself, giggles, and moans, and voices of guests and their slaves drifted to him, though he had yet to encounter any face to face.

He breathed easier as he gained distance. Hopefully, he could manage to return to his room without being questioned. Slaves at the Palace were rarely allowed to wander freely on their own. Except, when dismissed to their room by a master. At least as far as he had been told.

As he crossed from one maze of hedges to another, trying to remember his way back to his room, a large, dark shadow fell across his path. He looked up, a scowl twisting his face at being possibly detained. A scowl which flashed to fear.

The stocky man before him smiled, a malicious twinkle in his dark eyes.

"Well, what have we here?" the man sneered. "My Willow. Been looking for you. I've missed you."

"Well I haven't missed you! Out of my way!" Hands defiantly on his hips, Willow quickly masked his panic with an answering sneer of his own.

Two other men stepped up on either side of the first, completely blocking the passage from the hedge. Willow swallowed, shoving down his fear. Vaneau and his friends. The ones who had broken and beaten him so severely it had taken over two months to recover. The ones, above all others, he had hoped to never see again.

Vaneau's hardened face tightened in anger. "How dare you speak to me that way, slave!" He lurched forward, hand arching to deliver a slap. But Willow stumbled back, dodging the blow.

"You're not my master! You have no right. So leave me alone."

"I'll always be your master, Willow," the man hissed, advancing slowly towards the albino slave. "Don't you ever forget that!"

Willow retreated just as slowly, his scarlet eyes darting between the three men. "No, you're not. I have a master and he's not you."

"No one else can own you but me." Vaneau snatched Willow's wrist, twisting his arm awkwardly as he jerked him forward.

"He won't be pleased if you hurt me." Willow bluffed. Honestly, he had no idea if his master would even notice, much less care.

"We'll see about that" His former master's breath slithered against his ear, drawing a shudder from the pale slave and an acidic roiling in his stomach. The revulsion only grew with the nearness of the man.

A sudden wisp of air fluttered behind him, more heard than felt, followed by a soft thump on damp grass. Willow would have thought nothing of it, assuming one of the garden's exotic birds had flittered onto the path, except Vaneau's eyes darted over his shoulder, startled.

"Yes, we shall." said the even, whisper of a voice Willow was shocked to recognize.

He spun his head around, his eyes falling on the one sight he had no expectation of seeing. His newest master stood calmly, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted down slightly, intense, ice blue eyes glaring.

Vaneau snatched Willow to his chest which rumbled with laughter. "And what can a scrawny, pretty little thing like you do? He's mine!"

The cold, stone emotionlessness of his master's face sent a chill through Willow. As did the realization that Vaneau meant to fight for him. Willow had no escape now. Perhaps, the known terror of Vaneau's tortures would be better than the unknown, the inevitable, yet he couldn't let himself surrender to it. No one had been worse than Vaneau, before or since. Anything had to be better. Had to be.

"A man should not be possessed. He belongs to himself and himself only."

Willow's struggles in Vaneau's steel grip stilled as he gaped at his master with wide eyes..

"What utter foolishness," Vaneau mocked with another shaking laugh and a menacing grin.. "So do you give up ownership of my dear Willow?"

"I don't own him," the icy blond replied calmly. Panic rose in Willow's heart like a clawing thing. He wouldn't just give him over to such a monster, would he?

Then his master added, "But neither do you. Nor will you."

"And what will a pretty thing like you do to stop me?"

"Preferably, I will need to do nothing. But I doubt you have the wisdom to realize that to be your best course of action."

Vaneau laughed louder. " Hell, I alone can take you. But my friends here guarantee I will get what is mine. And maybe something more. You`re outnumbered."

" True, this would not be a fair fight."

No. Willow shuddered violently. It was hopeless. Vaneau would have him. And without even a fight. Maybe his master had been telling the truth about not wanting him. Well, damned if he would let either of them have him.

While Vaneau was distracted by his own laughter, Willow elbowed him in the stomach and, twisting his wrist painfully, wrenched his arm free. He tumbled to the damp grass, scrambling as quickly as he could away from the loathsome man.

However, Vaneau recovered too quickly and grabbed his arm, yanking him to his feet. "You little..." he growled, raising his hand to slap him. Willow cringed, clamping his eyes shut.

But the blow never came.

"What the fuck?" Vaneau cursed.

"I can not allow you to harm him," he heard his master's cool voice breathe.

Willow squinted open his eyes. Vaneau's hand hovered over him like it had been frozen in mid swing. His dark eyes seethed with anger as he reared back for another strike. Before his fist reached Willow's face, it recoiled, like it had been swatted away by some unseen hand.

"Release him." The blond's icy threat chilled far more than any emotional expression of menace.

"What the hell...?" Vaneau sputtered, a strangle of confusion and chaotic anger.

"Release him."

Vaneau's dark eyes narrowed and he released his hold on Willow, letting him stumble away. "I'm through playing games." His former master reached into his boot. "I think we'll take both of you."

"Master! He's got a weapon." Willow yelled when he caught the glint of silver as Vaneau pulled a long dagger from his boot.

"Get behind me." His master's head gestured with the words, his only motion since the moment he had appeared in the hedged path. His body otherwise stood in the same imposing stance, rigid yet somehow casual, much like a gracefully crafted sculpture.

Willow nodded and scrambled behind the tall blond, watching anxiously as the three men advanced, all with blades in their hands and maliciousness, and the all too recognizable lust, in their eyes.

"Let's get away. Quickly!" Willow muttered, his throat dry. "They'll kill us. Or worse."

"You should listen to him. I will make you pay for keeping my dear Willow from me."

The blond stood silently, his breathing even.

"Master!" Willow said urgently. He should just leave the lunatic. It was probably what the bastard deserved, to become the toy of his own kind. A bit ironic. And fitting. But something kept him frozen, and almost as panicked at the thought of abandoning the strange man as remaining with him; and at what the imminent defeat at the hands of his monster of a former master meant for them both.

"Just stay behind me. You will be safe," his master's voice kept the same emotionless tone. No arrogance. No fear. No anything. Just calm.

Willow nervously gnawed his lower lip. Bewilderingly, he found the blond's cool confidence warmed him; Warmed him a way he couldn't explain except through the conjured images from his treasured books, spinning fantasies of knights in armor rescuing fair damsels. And living happily ever after. But, though he was fair, he certainly was no damsel. And his master no knight. Willow shuddered, not sure if at his traitorous thoughts or the startling tangible warmth rising between them from his master's body.