"Arrogant bastard, aren't you?" Vaneau growled at Willow's unmoving master as the man advanced on the two.

"I give you a last opportunity to cease this foolishness," his master stated, cold and rumbling, like thunder through thick ice. If the blond felt any concern for the wolfishly approaching men, no sign crept into his voice or his perfectly still form. If anything, he seemed even more at ease.

"Oh, it's going to be a pleasure to beat that arrogance out of you." The accompanying smirk of malicious glee on the much larger man's rough face brought a lump of fear to Willow's throat; And shudders crawling along his skin.

Willow backed a few steps, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as he wished to blend into obscurity with the dark green hedge. In spite of his master's confidence, he saw the conflict couldn't turn any other way but bad. Very bad.

It occurred to him when his master still hadn't moved while the three monsters slinked within arms reach, that maybe yet again he was the pawn in a demented game. Maybe, new master and old merely played conspired roles for his greater torment? Why else would the imposing blond incite the beasts to a conflict he apparently had no intention to fight?

Though, perhaps, it was just some odd tactic his master employed, like a deadly move which must wait until the last moment to strike an opponent. His cold master obviously practiced martial arts. Not that he had actually ever seen any before to know. But he'd read about them, in some of the more adventurous of his romantic novels.

Yet, Vaneau seemed as confused and agitated as Willow. His dark brows bunching in irritation and twitching, the man`s mouth curled into a scowl as he nervously tapped the flat of his dagger against his thigh. "You not going to fight?" Vaneau blustered.

Stillness. Willow's new master was becoming frighteningly predictable. So much so, that though several feet behind the young man, he could easily see the cold intensity on the angelic face, the ice burning in his blue eyes. Willow hugged himself tighter, a frustrated snarl on his lips. 'Don't just stand there!' he wanted to scream. 'Do something!'. But for once, his fear froze his tongue.

"So, you've seen sense, then?" Vaneau chuckled, a grating, mocking thing.

"Have you?" his master queried as his strong arms dropped casually to his sides in the deceptively submissive motion of a shrug and the blond head tilted upward slightly; almost akin to a haughty gesture, if Willow thought his master capable.

"You arrogant fuck!"

Had Willow blinked, he would have missed it. Vaneau lunged forward, his fist flying. It slammed into the blond's narrow jaw with a loud crack. The little slave cringed, the sound so familiar, so much a part of his life, he felt it like the blow had been for him.

Knuckles pounding against flesh, a flurry of blows quickly followed the first. After the several well-placed strikes to the blond's chest, his strange tunic fell open, fluttering in the violence stirred air. Each successive attack echoed of skin smacking skin and bone thudding against bone..

The horrible sounds of the beating strove to suck him into a terrifying pit of his own memories. Nightmares where the sting and ache and pain clutched him tightly, choked him, the slaps and cracks melting into his own screams. Only his master kept him anchored to reality. Or whatever the confusing scene before him masqueraded as.

His master hadn't moved. Hadn't attempted to defend himself at all. He merely accepted the attack as if a light, spring breeze wisped past him carrying the gentle chirps of tiny birds.

Vaneau must have noticed the passivity just breaths after Willow. Panting, his dark eyes sunk darker still as his broad face twisted into a rage.

Willow stole a quick glance to Vaneau's friends, who had left the fight so far to the large man, likely assuming they weren't needed. The two men peered at each other, brows lifted, mouths slack with shock.

A flash of silver snapped his attention. Shit! "Dodge, you idiot!' Willow screamed. "He'll kill you!"

Vaneau laughed. His knife slashed in an upward, shining arc across the young master's stomach. "You should know better than that, dear Willow," he jeered in a thick, lusty tone as he stepped back to survey his handiwork. "I like my toys to..." His dark eyes stared, startled and wide, at the tall blond's midsection. "...Suffer," fell from the cruel former master's mouth like a forgotten letter in the wind.

Willow scrambled forward, keeping along the hedge. His master should be stumbling, or at least bent over in pain. He knew well the agony of such wounds, red splattering everywhere, vivid and warm, the stinging only the messenger of the hot, aching torment to come. But there was no blood, no stumbling, no... wound.

Willow fell to the soft grass, his limbs useless as his strength drained in a dizzying rush. No wound! Nothing. Nothing at all, not even a scratch. Mouth falling slack, Willow smothered a gasp with his slender hand. How? How could...? He saw... There was no way.

His master's arms still hung relaxed at his sides, fingers flexing in loose fists as the statuesque blond strode forward. He took just two steps with those long legs when his ice eyes peered mere handspans from the unmoving Vaneau, who blinked erratically.

"Shall we end this now?" his master breathed softly, like frost on crystal. "While no one has been hurt?"

"What?" Vaneau stammered, his dark eyes awakening from their daze.

"Surrender," his strange master spoke as if familiar with the challenge and its compliance. Willow shuddered, and gnawed his fingernails, infinitely more fearful of the cold angel.

"Fuck you! Freak!" Vaneau screamed, and then all became chaos.

His master's hand vanished from his side in a pale blur, and suddenly Vaneau flew backwards in a black, shrieking streak. He skidded along the grass yards from where he had stood, plowing a dirt furrow with his flailing legs.

However, before he had the chance to savor the vision of the demented monster writhing on the ground, rough hands grabbed Willow by the arms and hair.

"Let go...!" he hissed, his voice pathetically desperate to his own ears. A sharp coldness on his throat silenced him. Yet another feeling he knew well, he didn't need the instinctive glance of his fear-blazed eyes to confirm what he already knew: a blade. His throat became dry and thick, a tightness forming into a lump he swore pressed the blade closer to slicing his skin.

"Willow, don't move or we'll cut your lovely throat open," a voice slithered in his ear.

He fought a shiver. Neither of the two other men had ever spoken much, always leaving all the yelling and commanding to Vaneau. He didn't even know their names, just their cruelty. To yet again hear the rare sound, so like the venomous hiss of a snake, nearly unbound his tightly controlled fear. He wanted to kick and scream, and bite, claw their eyes, claw their hearts out, claw his way free. He wanted to curl up and die. Or cry.

Danger. Lucian spun to his left, the heightened energy of moments before ebbing to a passive tingling of cold, blue fire, but his other senses identified a more immediate threat. Willow. Or so the fool had called the strange boy.

"Don't move or he dies!" one of the man's companions smirked, a tanned hand wrenched in the slave boy`s braids and the other clutching a long dagger at Willow's throat. Though large-muscled like a warrior, the man held the weapon like a common thug.

The other of the two, not as over-muscled or dark as his companions, held Willow by the arm, and whispered something in Willow's ear which caused the small slave's face to blanch impossibly even more pale.

"What do you want?" Lucian asked calmly, his eyes narrowing to study the slave boy for any injuries. A small bead of blood painted a red path down Willow's pale throat. The cold fire within sputtered. Yet again he failed. When would he learn to stop making promises he couldn't keep?

"Your surrender," the man nuzzling Willow's ear sneered.

"Mine?" he stalled. "And what do you intend?" His eyes roamed the huddle of men: Two and a half strides; left man's left arm hidden behind the boy, right still tightly holding his upper arm; Willow stood perfectly still, rigid, his strange red eyes both accusing and pleading. Good, he wouldn't attempt anything foolish, at least not in the short time involved. The man on the right also stood rigid, right hand tangled in the boy's hair, left unwaveringly clutching the dagger to the boy's throat; Slowed reflexes and perhaps the disadvantage of an off-hand, also good.

"All sorts of things," the smaller man smirked, a hungry glint in his dark blue eyes very much like what Lucian had seen earlier on his entrance to the Palace. "I'm sure Vaneau will love to play with you once he wakes his sorry ass up."

Lucian would never understand why outsiders seemed to enjoy wallowing in their weakness. How could they stand it? Didn't they see how they were controlled, instead of controlling themselves? Slaves to their own weakness. Chained as surely as...

His gaze drifted back to Willow. "I see," he replied slowly. "Then I have no choice."

Defeated, the deep red eyes dropped slightly. Red, like the flame within, washing over the blue, melding with it, rising like a bonfire. His fingers twitched as the heat coursed through his veins, prickling like numbed skin brought back to sensing, then swirling with the almost dizzying contrasts of ice and fire. Red and blue danced through his being, exploding into a third fire of pulsating violet. Nerve and muscle flared with an intense energy, a heightened impulse, which breaths before they hadn't known. It was like he had been dead and now was alive.

In an instant, he appeared in front of Willow, who looked at him as though looking through him. Or looking where he had been. Lucian shot his hand forward, grabbing the dagger by the blade and sliding his palm down it's razor edge until his knuckles brushed Willow's throat.

The blue flame within swelled as the blade slid along his skin, but regardless of how tightly he held the shining metal, his palm remained unharmed. He kept his hand firmly between the blade and the little slave, protecting the boy's soft skin from further damage.

Lucian yanked the dagger away from Willow. While, at the same moment, his left leg swung upward, planting his bare foot firmly in the rightmost man's face. The man released his hold on Willow's arms, stumbling backward, clutching his hands to his face. Blood oozed through his fingers. Without sparing the man even a glance, Lucian tugged at the dagger trying to wrest it from the other man's hand. Unfortunately, the surprise of his swift attack began wearing off, as two sets of eyes finally drifted to where he actually stood and the arm wielding the dagger began to resist.

But he still moved quicker than their eyes could easily follow. Using a lightning-fast flick of his wrist he released the blade then struck it with his palm. The mass of intense blue energy flashed, then again ebbed to the cool fire. The dagger shattered into a silver cloud of fine metal dust, destroyed by it's own bite.

Surging through the silver mist as it fell like glittering snow, he lashed his arms around the more muscled man, supporting him so the man wouldn't fall and yank Willow's braids from his head. The red fire flared, tongues of flame separating into a deeper, more subdued scarlet. The energy flew to his fingertips, seeping into the large body, relaxing the huge muscles, soothing the man's blood, until the weight Lucian braced increased and the body sagged.

Lucian glanced over his shoulder. The man's hand slipped from the silvery braids and slapped gently against his side. With a sigh, the blond lowered the heavy form to the ground, careful not to disturb the unnatural sleep.

He stood, and turned to Willow. "We must go."

Willow blinked then nodded, his tiny braids falling freely about his narrow shoulders. Not bothering with a warning, there wasn't the time, Lucian swept Willow into his arms and over his shoulder. And ran.

So swiftly the boy's hair snapped in the resulting wind like a cloak in a heavy storm, he continued to run. Green and white, sprinkled with streaks of various colors for the span of less than a breath, blurred by them as they sped to their room. Willow yelped and struggled and fought, but had barely begun when Lucian set him on his own feet in front of the willow-marked door.

He released the fires, letting them wane to a single blue flame, cold and comforting. However, as the power drained from him, so did his strength. He lifted a weary hand to his head, fighting the dizziness rolling into his mind like a fog.

He sensed Willow's eyes on him, studying him. Shaking off the disorientation, he fumbled in his pants pocket for the key.

"Wait until we get inside to yell at me for my failure," Lucian sighed, breathing heavily, his lungs on fire, and his voice a raspy whisper. With a thud, he fell against the door for support to keep standing, his muscles wobbly, and thrust the key into the lock. His head drooped, cool wood rubbing along his cheek. Gasping for breath, a cloudy gray drifted into his vision bringing a lightness.

"Let me do it," Willow growled in the hazy distance and Lucian`s limp hand was swatted from the key.

With a click barely audible over his master's heavy breaths, Willow flung open the door. They stumbled inside, his master struggling to stay on his feet. One would never know by looking that mere moments before the blond fought like a shining hero from a fairy tale: golden hair a wild blur, every motion of the perfect body a vision of grace; well, when it moved slow enough to be seen.

Willow slammed the door shut and fell against it with a sigh. Safe. His gaze drifted to his master, who had dropped to one knee near the bed, hunched over and panting as if out of breath.

"Master?" Willow began tentatively, his mind still drowning in awe and fear, submerged too deeply to draw out a caustic tone.

"Lucian," the his master muttered and lifted his head, jewel blue eyes peering through a fall of windblown gold. "My name is Lucian. Not `Master`." Lucian coughed, the sudden motion swaying his weakened body, and his hand clutched onto the bedpost to steady himself.

"Oh..." Willow could only stare at his master in stunned silence. No master had ever told him their name. He had only learned Vaneau's indirectly, from his friends. No need for him to know. He was the slave, they were the master. And no one, not a single master, refused the title. How can one play the role without the title? But, then, `Lucian' had been an extremely odd master from the very first...

The blond drew a long, steadying breath. "Are you injured?"

Willow's eyes widened, a sting welling within them breaking him from his daze. "Uh.." What a strange question. Why? As if the answer mattered? It seemed as though Lucian truly wanted to know. When did it ever matter to anyone beside himself? Unless...

"Give me a moment to regain myself," Lucian whispered, fingers tightening on the bedpost.

Willow stared, studying the bewildering blond intently. He did seem rather exhausted. Lucian`s broad shoulders rose and fell under the loose, beige tunic, slowly gaining an even rhythm. Willow's gaze wandered to the smooth, bare chest also succumbing to the same steadying rhythm. And the smooth, bare stomach, perfect. Impossibly perfect. Impossible.

Willow's legs drove him forward before his mind realized and he sunk onto the carpet in front of his master... Lucian. His eyes never left the unmarred skin, pale, but not as his own, rather, a creamy bronze. Perfect. Beautiful.

His outstretching hand sought to brush fingers over the puzzling flesh; flesh he knew would be soft but like velvet over iron. But he caught himself and withdrew instantly, clasping his hands to his chest. Hanging his head, he hid his wince from the pain of his injured wrist beneath his mass of silver braids.

A strong hand gently grabbed his, carefully encompassing his wrist. A sudden heat soaked into his skin, easing away the pain which had slowly melted into his body with each moment he regained awareness of himself. Then the pain was gone and the hand withdrew with a quiet gasp.

"How..." he muttered like a confused child. His master had healed him. Somehow. The pain disappeared, completely vanished with his strange master`s touch. "How did you...?" He glanced up through his braids, meeting Lucian's calm, though weary, aqua eyes.

Lucian watched him, saying nothing, as if waiting for him to continue.

Dammit. He didn't want to sound like an idiot. Like an awestruck little boy. Why couldn't `Lucian ` figure it out? And why did he have to be so...so... Dammit! Stupid master!

"What the hell are you?" Willow blurted out, whatever spell he had been under disintegrating into his usual fire. "And how the hell did you do that?"

His master merely blinked. Willow supposed it was the blond`s version of surprise.

"I am a Jiei," Lucian replied simply.

"A what?" Willow's pale brows furrowed. Lucian spoke nonsense.

"A warrior trained in the disciplines of the mind and body to protect those destiny chooses."

What drivel! "What a load of shit." Willow scoffed. No one protected anyone without some hidden, self-serving agenda. Hell, no one protected anyone, period! He crossed his arms over his chest and jerked his head up defiantly, flinging long, silver braids behind him. "I'm supposed to believe someone would really protect people for no reason? It's only in stories. Fairy tales."

"Believe what you will."

"Yeah! Just like I believed you were really going to leave me alone like you promised. I'm not going to be fooled twice!" Willow yelled and jumped to his feet, looming over his master.

Lucian looked up at the him, raising one of his golden brows. "What are you talking about? I fully intended to..."

"Bullshit!" Willow interrupted. "You weren't! How else did you know I was...delayed? You followed me, you lying bastard!"

Lucian blinked again, though the rest of his face was expressionless stone. "I do not lie," he said in his breathy whisper, like an arctic storm. "And I did not follow you."

The bastard mocked him; probably thought he owned him completely because he `saved' Willow from `danger'. Like he was some fucking damsel in distress! And what was the point of healing him? If that was what Lucian had done. Could be an illusion... or a ploy to get him to... to want Lucian's touch. Well, damn him! He wouldn't! Not ever!

"Sure! Then, how?" Willow's hands perched on his hips as he rolled his eyes.

Lucian sighed. "One of my skills allows me to observe from a distance. Though, considering your obvious distaste for me, I do not understand how it succeeded." His golden lashes lowered as he glanced to the dark carpet, seemingly lost in thought.

"Distaste is putting it very mildly," Willow sneered like he was about to spit on the man at his feet. And a part of him wanted to, even screamed to do it. Yet, another...

"I see," Lucian said quietly and stood with a grace wearied but still breathtakingly exotic. Willow`s gaze was drawn along the smooth lines and planes and the fluid motion of his master`s enticingly perfect body.

"I apologize if I offended you in some way," Lucian continued in his calm, whisper of a voice which send chills through Willow, body and soul, as much for the sweet warmth it radiated within him as the cold lack of emotion. "I did not wish to intrude upon you. Frankly, I did not wish to be here at all. However, I will be gone at the end of the week. Until then, I am fatigued and need rest. Do as you will."

Lucian stepped past Willow, his movements steadier though more rigid, controlled. The slave shivered as the intense heat of his cold master's body brushed his skin. It was a contrast he found unnerving, much like the man himself: a constant paradox.

Halfway across the room, Lucian halted. He remained silent for a moment, his golden head slightly lowered. "Your anger towards me accomplishes nothing," he finally said evenly, without turning to face Willow. "It only wastes your energy and time in vain emotion which binds you as surely as any chain. Master yourself and you will be no man`s slave." Then Lucian strode away to the end of the room.

In the far corner of the room, Lucian eased himself to the floor, kneeling carefully into his meditation position. His whole body ached with weariness. The fatigue of sapped inner resources he was extremely familiar to him, but another fatigue assaulted him as well; One he knew only inklings of by dealing with Jet's stubborn nature. His current ache went deeper. At least she tolerated his presence, some times more than others, other times far less.

Why did the slave boy hate him? Not that he truly cared to be liked, but... His fingers dug into the cloth of his pants. He should be far beyond accustomed to the contempt, the anger, the frustration, directed at him. Ever since he was a small boy, he was hated. The other students at the monastery thought him arrogant and inhumanly cold. Yet in a way, they only proved him correct in seeking strict discipline over himself, eradicating the emotion they seemed to revel in. Emotions which would always make them weak.

But, the constant conflict exhausted him. How could he perform his duty when his efforts were focused on weathering another man's anger? But that was the point, wasn't it? He was not duty-bound. Not currently, and not to the confusing slave boy. And even if he had been, an inability to withstand the contempt of others, regardless of how justified, was yet another sign of his own weakness. He must be capable to surpass any challenge, no matter how mundane or difficult. He must, or he would continue to fail. And next time, it might cost someone their life.

Lucian sat in his corner, meditating, for what had to be hours. Whatever it was he was doing, it seemed to help him recover. The blond's back gained a less wearied and relaxed posture as time wore on, the gentle curve straightening into a sort of rigid ease.

Willow shook his head. Lucian's patience amazed him. It also scared him. A patient man could be cruel in ways he didn't even want to conceive. His gaze fell back to the pages of the book he had rummaged from his little wooden box under the bed. After staring at his master's back far longer than Willow could bear, he used Lucian's distracted state to relieve his boredom. Hell if he was going to sit in his room all day doing absolutely nothing but watch a human statue. No matter how beautiful it may be...

'The foul brigands lay, vanquished, on the side of the road to Hopewell Castle. Victor swept the lovely maiden, Margarite, into his strong, muscled arms. He lifted the shining helm from his head, and tossed it onto the dirt at his feet. A mane of honey-colored hair falling about his shoulders, he leaned forward and without a word, kissed the fair maid with a fevered passion.

His large hands roamed along her shoulders, trailing along her neck, and then seeking underneath the top of her bodice until they cupped her voluptuous, supple brea.....'

Willow flung the book aside, a scowl on his face. It hit the nearby wall with a flutter of paper and a thud. Stupid book! It's all bullshit, anyway. Why did he continue to read such crap?

He glanced over at the living statue. Lucian could make a potted plant look active. Willow sighed. There was no way he would bring out any of his other diversions. The book was risk enough. Not that Lucian would ever notice. But some things were meant to be private and personal. There had to be something to do. And `Lucian-baiting' he had realized to be more boring, and pointless, than a challenge.

"I'm hungry," Willow grumbled, shifting to sit cross-legged on the bed. He paused, waiting for a response of which he had no real expectation. And rightly so, for there was none.

"Well, so glad to hear you are too. Since that`s settled..." he added mockingly and crawled across the bed. After tugging on a velvet ribboned chain next to a bedpost, he flopped back, staring up through the skylight of frosted glass.

"Not that you're listening... Oh, I forgot, you are, you're just ignoring me. Anyway, I... I... uh..." He raised his head to peek at the back of the blond head. "Ah...nevermind...." Willow muttered.