![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
simeon_josueSimeon could feel heat rush to his face. He wasn’t entirely certain what had happened. It had seemed like a dream at first, only it had turned out not to be. He could not understand why that was—and why his body was still pulsing with pleasure, pressed against Josué instead of flinching back in disgust.
He’d kissed Josué. That hadn’t been a dream. He could remember every moment—the hunger in it, the seductive gentleness of Josué’s touch.
But that hadn’t been real, had it? All of this was just a game for Josué. All of this was meant to humiliate Simeon.
“Why am I here?” It wasn’t the question Simeon most wanted to ask—but he wasn’t certain he wanted to hear the answer to that. “What happened?”
Dimly, he could remember the long ride back home—he’d ridden with Josué, pressed against him, and he’d been cold, so very cold...
“You thought you could act on your own and fell into a pool of glacier water,” Josué said.
As he spoke, Simeon became suddenly aware of how close Josué was. Their bodies were still pressed together and Josué’s breath came warm against his skin.
“You caught a chill. By the time we arrived here, you were barely conscious. It took a while to warm you back up.”
“So you graciously allowed me to sleep in your bed?” The words came out weak and hoarse. Simeon felt as if he hadn’t spoken for a week. “How long have I been here?”
Josué laughed softly. “Only one night. Why, do you wish it were more? You were burning up with fever during the night, but it finally broke.”
Simeon flinched when Josué reached out and pressed his fingers against his forehead. Josué looked pleased at what he found, and Simeon didn’t feel feverish.He merely felt weak—so weak that even the thought of lifting an arm to shake off Josué’s touch was too exhausting to contemplate.
“You look much better today. I’m glad,” Josué said gently. “I know what you think of me, but I truly would be saddened to lose you.”
“Is that why you keep me chained to your bed?”
Josué made a soft, amused sound, his fingers searching out the iron that encircled Simeon’s throat. “Mere caution. You’d do the same in my place.”
Would he? Simeon wasn’t so certain. He couldn’t imagine ever being in that situation, nor had he any desire to. But arguing with Josué was too exhausting when every muscle in his body ached with weariness.
“You must be thirsty.”
Instead of leaving the bed, Josué leaned even closer until Simeon found himself once more caught in his gaze, unable to look away from Josué’s lips and the memory of what that mouth had felt like, pressed against his own.
“I enjoyed waking up to you here,” Josué murmured, his fingers trailing down Simeon’s cheek. “I hope you won’t blame yourself. It’s natural to seek out pleasure. Someone should have taught you so before.”
Then he rose, leaving Simeon to the guilty maelstrom of shame and a confused longing clenching in his stomach at the sudden absence of Josué’s warmth.
Simeon tried to push himself up to watch what Josué was doing, but it seemed that there was no need for the chain connected to his collar. The mere attempt ended with him collapsing back onto the bed, as weak as a new-born kitten.
It was not a comfortable state for a man who knew himself to be utterly in Josué’s power. But then, even when Simeon wasn’t weakened by fever, Josué could do as he pleased. Nothing had truly changed—except for the fact that something had changed.
It was impossible now to forget the memories of how good it had felt to press himself against Josué’s body—how good it had felt to thrust against him, to feel himself held in an embrace. And even though Simeon could claim that it had only happened because he’d been half asleep, unaware that it was Josué in bed with him, he hadn’t been asleep by the end—it had been Josué’s eyes he’d seen, not Philippe’s, when he’d spent himself all over Josué’s chest.
And he’d known exactly what was happening to him when he’d let Josué kiss him.
By the time Josué returned and helped Simeon gulp down cold water until his throat no longer felt quite as parched, the remembered pleasure had receded enough to make place for utter mortification at how he had to look—naked in Josué’s bed, covered with the drying remains of both of their pleasure.
Josué had already washed, although he hadn’t bothered dressing. A few drops of gleaming water were still running down warm, brown skin marked by battle here and there. Simeon found himself lingering on a scar on his thigh left by the slash of a saber, then hastily averted his eyes when Josué looked at him
Instead of addressing it, Josué merely set water to warm before he returned to the bed to help Simeon up. After he’d taken a few steps with Josué’s help, walking became easier, although Simeon still felt shaky. Without Josué’s assistance it would have been difficult to make his way over to the tub that had been placed in the center of the tent.
Once Simeon had sat down in the tub, Josué retrieved the warm water and began washing sweat and drying semen from his skin. The water felt good against Simeon’s exhausted body, but he was too shaken by their encounter to relax into the sensation.
“So tense,” Josué chided when he slid a soapy hand down Simeon’s stomach.
Simeon bit back a shocked gasp when Josué’s hand closed around his cock. He still felt sensitive. And even though this time, Josué’s touch was impersonal, he couldn’t help the way it made him shift in the tub, not quite sure if he wanted to flinch away from it, now when he was so weak he could barely walk without Josué’s help.
Josué smiled at him and tenderly draped his soft cock over his thigh before he returned to scrubbing at his chest. “It’s really very beautiful. You shouldn’t be ashamed of showing it off. I love how responsive it is to me.”
Simeon swallowed, then turned his head away. “I was asleep. It wasn’t you.”
Josué’s amused huff of air told him that Josué didn’t believe him. Simeon himself knew it wasn’t true.
It had felt good—just for a moment there, he’d wanted Josué’s touch.
It had been a purely physical thing, he told himself again desperately. But then, he’d no longer been desperate for relief when Josué had kissed him...
“Close your eyes,” Josué said.
His soapy hands slid into Simeon’s hair, and Simeon hastily obeyed.
Josué made an amused sound when he began to wash his hair. “Not many in this camp can claim that they’re been waited on by a lieutenant.”
You should be more grateful, was the unspoken admonition. Simeon gritted his teeth.
“I didn’t ask for it.”
Josué only laughed, his soapy hands rubbing Simeon’s scalp until Simeon found himself relax despite himself. It did feel good. Even knowing that Josué never did anything out of the goodness of his heart, it felt good.
“Then let’s say I do it for myself. I can hardly keep you in my bed with you looking as you did.”
“I assume there’ll be a price to pay for your generosity.” Simeon couldn’t even feel bitter about it. He was too exhausted. Whatever Josué wanted was going to happen anyway. Better to save his strength for the walk back to the bed.
Josué ceased for a moment, his hands still in Simeon’s hair. “For saving your life? No. That’s all part of the price you’re already paying for when I saved your life the first time. And the price is simple. Make it worth my while to go to all this trouble. And don’t force me to have you executed after all. I’m starting to get used to having you around—and I think so are you.”
“You could have left me where I was,” Simeon said quietly. “I wasn’t doing any harm, just living here in the mountains.”
Josué ceased for a moment, his hand warm on Simeon’s bare shoulder. “But what a lonely life,” he said softly. “Not even your Philippe to keep you warm at night.”
Because you killed him.
Simeon didn’t say it. Instead, he squeezed his eyes tightly closed. After a moment, Josué’s hand lifted from his skin. Warm water was carefully poured over Simeon’s head, rinsing the soap out of his hair, Josué’s hands firm and confident when they finally helped him stand and dried him.
Josué was being kind today, Simeon thought helplessly when Josué led him back to his bed. He didn’t have to be. He could have chained Simeon near the stove and tossed him a blanket. Simeon would have lived either way, now that he was past the worst.
Instead, Josué helped him lie down on his own bed. He brought Simeon more water and wrapped the blankets tightly around him, his hand lingering against Simeon’s cheek for a moment to check his temperature, his eyes unguarded and worried.
He was being kind. But even so, he made certain to affix the chain to Simeon’s collar once more before he returned to his desk.
***
Josué left him alone for a while. They had woken so early that Josué was dressed and shaved before Bibeau came in, and Simeon listened tiredly as Bibeau went around the tent performing his remaining duties while grumbling about how his lieutenant wanted to put him out of his job. Josué allowed it to go on for a while before he shut his orderly up with a sharp remark, and then the tent was mostly quiet as Josué went through dispatches at his desk.
Simeon resurfaced from his sleep once at the sensation of the mattress shifting beneath him. Someone had sat down on the bed. A moment later, fingers pressed against Simeon’s forehead and he mumbled a sleepy complaint.
There was soft laughter in response. Philippe? No, Philippe was dead… Even so, the touch was comforting and Simeon felt himself relaxing into it as the fingers drifted to trail through his hair instead, soothing him back to sleep.
The next time Simeon woke, the tent was filled by bright sunlight. He was alone. Someone had placed a pitcher of water and a plate with cold chicken by the bed. At the sight, his stomach rumbled hungrily.
Josué had chained him by his collar, but for the first time in days, Simeon’s hands had been left free. It seemed strange to just reach out for the chicken and eat, holding the bone in his own hand. He caught himself instinctively watching the tent’s entrance as he did it; it felt like he was doing something forbidden.
The realization was sobering. It hadn’t taken Josué long at all to have an effect on him. After he’d eaten and sipped more of the water, he sat up as much as he could.
He felt better—much better than when he’d first woken next to Josué. The food had helped, and so had the additional rest. His mind was clear. Although his body still felt weakened, he thought that he’d be able to walk on his own—although he wouldn’t want to take on Josué in a fight just yet.
Not that there would be any opportunity of that any time soon. He was chained to the bed by his collar, and while he could move a little, the chain wasn’t long enough to stand.
Again Simeon looked around the tent. For the first time since Josué had brought him here, he was alone, his hands unchained. He didn’t know where Josué had hidden the key—knowing Josué, he had taken it with him when he went out.
Still, there were other ways to open a lock. If he could find some sort of instrument now, he could try to pick it—or hide it until the next time Josué left.
With another glance at the tent’s opening, Simeon began by going through the drawers of Josué’s nightstand.
He had hoped that Josué might keep a different sets of keys there, or perhaps forgotten scraps—a broken nib, a nail or a pin, a belt buckle. Instead, Josué’s drawers were as tidy and sparse as Josué himself. Simeon found a book—a treatise on military tactics with an inscription from Archambeau in the front. There was a notebook—empty—and a pen, carefully sharpened, but no knife to do the sharpening with.
Simeon smiled wryly. It would not surprise him had Josué removed it when he’d first chained Simeon to his bed. Even with Simeon delirious and too weak to lift a single finger, Josué was not the sort of man to leave such things to chance.
Beneath, he found a small tub of ointment for the sorts of scrapes that came with a soldier’s life and carefully wound lengths of lint for bandages.
That was all that filled the drawer, and Simeon had no choice but to close it again with a sigh of frustration. It grated to have escaped most of his bonds at last only to find himself bound by one last length of chain.
Then another idea came to him. Taking hold of the chain, he slowly, carefully, went over it link by link. He had no doubt Josué had done the same before he’d first put it on him—still, it might have become weakened in the meantime.
But even Simeon’s focused attention revealed no link close to breaking. The chain was forged of strong iron; the links wouldn’t break until he found a file or a hammer.
The end of the chain was fastened to the metal headboard of Josué’s bed. This, too, was made of sturdy material. Simeon would be able to move, if he wanted, by pushing the bed from its current position—but the sounds would arouse the attention of the guard outside, and even if that guard were to leave, how could Simeon flee while dragging a bed behind him?
Exhausted by the burst of excitement followed by deep disillusion, Simeon settled on the bed once more. He would not escape today, that much was certain. Still, there was progress in his situation. He’d gained valuable information. He knew now that Josué was willing to take the chains off him if he feared for Simeon’s health. He knew that he was worth enough to Josué that the punishing bondage he’d known before could be turned into comfortable nights in Josué’s own bed, if Josué was worried about him.
And Josué had been worried. That hadn’t been part of his game.
It was the only crack in Josué’s armor Simeon had seen so far. The only weakness he might possibly exploit.
Which meant that his first instinct had been correct, as much as he hated it. His best bet at escape was to play Josué’s game and allow him the illusion of thinking that he was succeeding in breaking Simeon. No matter how ruthless Josué seemed, he did want Simeon’s surrender. And in turn, whether he knew it or not, he’d start trusting Simeon.
***
Several hours passed. Simeon slept again. When he woke, it had to be close to noon. The camp outside was filled with sounds, and Simeon gazed at the tent’s entrance, wondering if the guard outside had been relieved yet. It helped, keeping track of these things. He might be chained, but Josué couldn’t keep him from preparing as best as he could for the moment when there’d be an opportunity.
Another hour passed before Josué entered the tent. Rays of sunshine gleamed on the epaulettes of his uniform, his posture straight and confident. The Litesian white-and-gold suited him; when he stood in the entrance bathed in sunlight, Simeon found his eyes lingering on Josué’s limber frame. In the light of the sun, Josué’s eyes appeared filled with warmth when he gazed at Simeon in turn. Even when he finally stepped closer, the cropped coils on his head no longer illuminated by a halo of gold, Simeon felt unsettled for a moment.
Josué had changed a lot. He was no longer the pitiless sergeant who’d done his lieutenant’s bidding with deep pleasure. The years that had passed had changed him just as they’d changed Simeon.
Not for the better—but also not for the worse. Josué had become more complicated. Simeon could see his progress clearly now. Ten years ago, would Josué have nursed him back to health? He doubted it.
But Josué himself had told him that he’d learned several lessons—one of them that the brutal punishments of Lieutenant Caron were an inefficient teacher. Josué still wanted what he’d wanted back then. He still enjoyed his power over other men. He’d merely learned to wield this power in different ways.
This subtler Josué was a terrifying enemy. Simeon could already feel his resolution start to slide. It was harder to cling to enmity when Josué’s gentleness amid the deprivations was so seductive.
“Awake again? Good.” The smile Josué gave him seemed genuine.
Simeon didn’t flinch away when Josué felt his temperature once more.
“No fever. How do you feel?”
“Better,” Simeon said cautiously. Would he now be chained in his former corner once more?
“Let’s see if you can stand.”
Josué unchained him, then took a step back.
Slowly, Simeon pushed himself up into a sitting position, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. Josué watched him carefully when he stood, but although Simeon still felt the weakness of his limbs, he was no longer as wobbly as he’d been in the morning. He could walk without assistance.
Josué gave him a satisfied nod. “Sit,” he said, pointing at a chair by the table where Bibeau usually served his meals. Then he brought a shirt and helped Simeon to put it on. It couldn’t have been one of his own—the span of Simeon’s shoulders wouldn’t have allowed it. Bibeau must have acquired it somewhere for Josué.
The shirt fell down to his thighs, covering his genitals, and Simeon felt a wave of relief. If Josué noticed it, he didn’t give any sign of it. Instead, he smoothed his hand over Simeon’s back, then nodded.
A moment later, Bibeau entered with another of his cheery melodies on his lips. He was carrying a tray—a tray giving off a scent that made Simeon’s stomach rumble.
“Looking good,” Bibeau said cheerfully. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d make it through the night. Never saw a chap look as blue as you did.”
He quickly placed Josué’s meal on the table—pungent mutton in a wine-rich gravy today, served with the fine, white bread that had graced the officers’ tables even back when Simeon and the other recruits had been gnawing on moldy hunks of stale bread.
There were two glasses, Simeon now saw. He watched, not quite certain what Josué intended, as Bibeau filled both of them with a clear white wine.
With a faint smile, Josué pushed one glass towards him. “I did promise you a meal at my table, didn’t I?”
Simeon wasn’t quite certain what to make of it. It was true that Josué had made that promise—but should he so easily have changed his mind after making Simeon beg for every scrap of food like a dog at the table?
Then realization came over him, and he understood what Josué was doing. In treating him like any other human, Josué was making it much harder for Simeon to go back to his former captivity and humiliation. Right now, Josué was showing him the privileges he could have if he did what Josué asked of him. And after this, it would be much harder to disobey when he’d felt first-hand how easy his life could be.
Slowly, Simeon took hold of the glass. Josué raised his own and held it out.
“To the grey mare who learned to surrender at last.”
Simeon raised his own glass with difficulty. He met Josué’s amused eyes, and for a moment, he imagined throwing the wine into his face.
It would be an easier end to all of this. Josué would have him back in chains within moments, and Simeon would no longer be tempted by the false freedom he could win through his obedience.
But he couldn’t choose the easier path. If he wanted to escape, he needed Josué to trust him. And so Simeon clinked glasses with Josué’s, said, “To the grey mare,” and sipped his wine.
It was cool and crisp in his mouth, and as he swallowed, he forced himself to hold Josué’s gaze, letting him find whatever it was he was looking for there.
It shouldn’t have felt like a privilege to be allowed to eat using cutlery, feeding himself instead of having to ask Josué for every scrap of food. But that was what it felt like—moreso because the chill he’d taken and the night’s fever had left him deeply exhausted. Simeon didn’t feel up to sparring with Josué, not when he felt so vulnerable, and so he gratefully took everything he was offered—the food, the chair, the shirt, trying not to think about what might happen after the meal.
There was no use in worrying anyway. Josué had made it clear what he wanted, no matter how much he tried to deny it when Simeon had asked him. And Simeon had no other choice but to play along.
The food was good, at least. Simeon had recovered enough to feel hungry, and Josué looked pleased as well to see that he had regained his appetite. Simeon sipped his wine slowly, but he managed to finish the mutton Bibeau had served him. When he was done, he leaned back in his chair, taking a survey of his body. He still hadn’t regained his full strength, but he felt better than he’d felt since he’d fallen into the lake.
When he looked up, he found Josué watching him again. With a slow smile, Josué gave him a nod, as if he’d come to the same conclusion as Simeon.
“I don’t remember much of what happened yesterday,” Simeon said. “Did we bring the ponies back with us?”
“You were half-frozen by the end of it.”
Simeon remembered all of a sudden the smell of Josué that had enveloped him, the sensation of warm wool around his body—the arms that had held him when he’d felt himself sinking into darkness. Even now, he could recall the sensation perfectly: the heavy, warm wool, the scent of sweat and horse and soap when he’d rested against Josué’s shoulder, the swaying of the horse beneath him and the determination in the firm body holding him upright, driving the horses forward.
Josué hadn’t done it out of concern for him. He’d done it because Simeon was an investment, and he’d planned to profit from it. Still, looking at Josué now across the table, it seemed nearly impossible that he should be the same man who had stood and watched as Philippe’s blood spread across the ground.
“We have all the ponies,” Josué then continued. Amused, he tilted his head at Simeon. “Do you want to see them? They aren’t far. A short walk might do you good.”
Simeon gazed at him in turn. He couldn’t say why he suddenly felt so out of his depth. Nothing had changed between them.
Only it had. For the second time, Josué had saved his life. It shouldn’t change anything. Josué was still seeing him as a useful tool; that was all. Simeon couldn’t allow himself to trust him. That would be the worst thing he could do in his situation.
Nevertheless, he found himself nodding after a moment, even though he knew it was the wrong choice.
“I’d like that. I hope the mare fared better than me after her dive into the pool. She was brave. I’d hate to know that I harmed her.”
*
Half an hour later, he found himself walking through the camp by Josué’s side. It was a strange experience to wear clothes while walking past curious groups of soldiers following them with their eyes. The shame was no longer quite as overwhelming. Still, there were the manacles at his ankles and wrists and the collar surrounding his throat, visible signs that Josué could change his mind at any point and have Simeon chained up however he liked.
Simeon forced his mind away from the memory of the endless hours he’d spent naked in his corner. He was given a rare chance today, and he couldn’t waste it.
As they walked, he took furtive note of the layout of the camp, mentally calculating paths that might keep him hidden behind tents, especially once the sun had set. In the daytime, he could now see, it would be impossible—unless he managed to steal a uniform and fabricate a queue to disguise his ragged hair, and even then the men had been marching and camping here for long enough that an unknown face would immediately raise an alarm.
The ponies were kept in a natural enclosure formed by trees, the space between them barricaded with branches. Within the small clearing, the ponies milled around, the grass beneath their hooves already cropped short.
Josué noticed his look and nodded in agreement. “Fodder’s our next concern, now that we have pack animals.”
“No army has ever successfully crossed the mountains.” Simeon kept his eyes on the small, grey mare who had raised her head to look at him. Surely she must recognize him. Guilt well up inside him. He offered her a silent apology. She, too, belonged to Josué now, who’d use her for his own plans, just as he was making use of Simeon.
“Ah, you forget General Desmarais.” Josué smiled at him.
He looked pleased by the conversation, and Simeon worried. He couldn’t figure out what it was Josué was gaining from this. Perhaps it was merely that Josué rarely got a chance to lecture.
“Crossed the mountains with three thousand men. Took several of Gabrada’s northern towns within days.”
“And within a few more days he lost them all, as well as most of his men, once he’d lost the element of surprise.”
“But it is possible,” Josué said softly. “It’s been done before. And we have his mistakes to learn from.”
Simeon smiled bitterly and averted his eyes. “Who am I to argue with an officer? A foot soldier follows orders and dies where he is told to die without complaint.”
The small mare was still observing him cautiously. Now she took a few steps forward, the other ponies keeping behind her—assessing the threat Simeon posed.
He’d already done his worst, of course. She didn’t know it yet, but it was Josué she’d have to watch.
“I don’t want you to die,” Josué murmured again. As Simeon watched, his hand came forward, holding out an apple. “If you follow my orders, you’ll live. And who knows. You might even find that there’s pleasure in ceasing your struggle.”
With small, careful steps, the mare approached, distrustful eyes on Josué. Simeon kept watching, his heart aching, as she came closer and closer, her ears flickering between them.
Josué kept still, holding out his apple. At last, the pony’s neck arched forward and she took the apple from his hand, crunching it between her jaws.
Sunlight played on Josué’s face as he smiled again, lending warmth to his brown eyes, and Simeon found that he had to swallow and look away as the mare gradually relaxed her stance—now utterly ensnared in Josué’s net.
He’d kissed Josué. That hadn’t been a dream. He could remember every moment—the hunger in it, the seductive gentleness of Josué’s touch.
But that hadn’t been real, had it? All of this was just a game for Josué. All of this was meant to humiliate Simeon.
“Why am I here?” It wasn’t the question Simeon most wanted to ask—but he wasn’t certain he wanted to hear the answer to that. “What happened?”
Dimly, he could remember the long ride back home—he’d ridden with Josué, pressed against him, and he’d been cold, so very cold...
“You thought you could act on your own and fell into a pool of glacier water,” Josué said.
As he spoke, Simeon became suddenly aware of how close Josué was. Their bodies were still pressed together and Josué’s breath came warm against his skin.
“You caught a chill. By the time we arrived here, you were barely conscious. It took a while to warm you back up.”
“So you graciously allowed me to sleep in your bed?” The words came out weak and hoarse. Simeon felt as if he hadn’t spoken for a week. “How long have I been here?”
Josué laughed softly. “Only one night. Why, do you wish it were more? You were burning up with fever during the night, but it finally broke.”
Simeon flinched when Josué reached out and pressed his fingers against his forehead. Josué looked pleased at what he found, and Simeon didn’t feel feverish.He merely felt weak—so weak that even the thought of lifting an arm to shake off Josué’s touch was too exhausting to contemplate.
“You look much better today. I’m glad,” Josué said gently. “I know what you think of me, but I truly would be saddened to lose you.”
“Is that why you keep me chained to your bed?”
Josué made a soft, amused sound, his fingers searching out the iron that encircled Simeon’s throat. “Mere caution. You’d do the same in my place.”
Would he? Simeon wasn’t so certain. He couldn’t imagine ever being in that situation, nor had he any desire to. But arguing with Josué was too exhausting when every muscle in his body ached with weariness.
“You must be thirsty.”
Instead of leaving the bed, Josué leaned even closer until Simeon found himself once more caught in his gaze, unable to look away from Josué’s lips and the memory of what that mouth had felt like, pressed against his own.
“I enjoyed waking up to you here,” Josué murmured, his fingers trailing down Simeon’s cheek. “I hope you won’t blame yourself. It’s natural to seek out pleasure. Someone should have taught you so before.”
Then he rose, leaving Simeon to the guilty maelstrom of shame and a confused longing clenching in his stomach at the sudden absence of Josué’s warmth.
Simeon tried to push himself up to watch what Josué was doing, but it seemed that there was no need for the chain connected to his collar. The mere attempt ended with him collapsing back onto the bed, as weak as a new-born kitten.
It was not a comfortable state for a man who knew himself to be utterly in Josué’s power. But then, even when Simeon wasn’t weakened by fever, Josué could do as he pleased. Nothing had truly changed—except for the fact that something had changed.
It was impossible now to forget the memories of how good it had felt to press himself against Josué’s body—how good it had felt to thrust against him, to feel himself held in an embrace. And even though Simeon could claim that it had only happened because he’d been half asleep, unaware that it was Josué in bed with him, he hadn’t been asleep by the end—it had been Josué’s eyes he’d seen, not Philippe’s, when he’d spent himself all over Josué’s chest.
And he’d known exactly what was happening to him when he’d let Josué kiss him.
By the time Josué returned and helped Simeon gulp down cold water until his throat no longer felt quite as parched, the remembered pleasure had receded enough to make place for utter mortification at how he had to look—naked in Josué’s bed, covered with the drying remains of both of their pleasure.
Josué had already washed, although he hadn’t bothered dressing. A few drops of gleaming water were still running down warm, brown skin marked by battle here and there. Simeon found himself lingering on a scar on his thigh left by the slash of a saber, then hastily averted his eyes when Josué looked at him
Instead of addressing it, Josué merely set water to warm before he returned to the bed to help Simeon up. After he’d taken a few steps with Josué’s help, walking became easier, although Simeon still felt shaky. Without Josué’s assistance it would have been difficult to make his way over to the tub that had been placed in the center of the tent.
Once Simeon had sat down in the tub, Josué retrieved the warm water and began washing sweat and drying semen from his skin. The water felt good against Simeon’s exhausted body, but he was too shaken by their encounter to relax into the sensation.
“So tense,” Josué chided when he slid a soapy hand down Simeon’s stomach.
Simeon bit back a shocked gasp when Josué’s hand closed around his cock. He still felt sensitive. And even though this time, Josué’s touch was impersonal, he couldn’t help the way it made him shift in the tub, not quite sure if he wanted to flinch away from it, now when he was so weak he could barely walk without Josué’s help.
Josué smiled at him and tenderly draped his soft cock over his thigh before he returned to scrubbing at his chest. “It’s really very beautiful. You shouldn’t be ashamed of showing it off. I love how responsive it is to me.”
Simeon swallowed, then turned his head away. “I was asleep. It wasn’t you.”
Josué’s amused huff of air told him that Josué didn’t believe him. Simeon himself knew it wasn’t true.
It had felt good—just for a moment there, he’d wanted Josué’s touch.
It had been a purely physical thing, he told himself again desperately. But then, he’d no longer been desperate for relief when Josué had kissed him...
“Close your eyes,” Josué said.
His soapy hands slid into Simeon’s hair, and Simeon hastily obeyed.
Josué made an amused sound when he began to wash his hair. “Not many in this camp can claim that they’re been waited on by a lieutenant.”
You should be more grateful, was the unspoken admonition. Simeon gritted his teeth.
“I didn’t ask for it.”
Josué only laughed, his soapy hands rubbing Simeon’s scalp until Simeon found himself relax despite himself. It did feel good. Even knowing that Josué never did anything out of the goodness of his heart, it felt good.
“Then let’s say I do it for myself. I can hardly keep you in my bed with you looking as you did.”
“I assume there’ll be a price to pay for your generosity.” Simeon couldn’t even feel bitter about it. He was too exhausted. Whatever Josué wanted was going to happen anyway. Better to save his strength for the walk back to the bed.
Josué ceased for a moment, his hands still in Simeon’s hair. “For saving your life? No. That’s all part of the price you’re already paying for when I saved your life the first time. And the price is simple. Make it worth my while to go to all this trouble. And don’t force me to have you executed after all. I’m starting to get used to having you around—and I think so are you.”
“You could have left me where I was,” Simeon said quietly. “I wasn’t doing any harm, just living here in the mountains.”
Josué ceased for a moment, his hand warm on Simeon’s bare shoulder. “But what a lonely life,” he said softly. “Not even your Philippe to keep you warm at night.”
Because you killed him.
Simeon didn’t say it. Instead, he squeezed his eyes tightly closed. After a moment, Josué’s hand lifted from his skin. Warm water was carefully poured over Simeon’s head, rinsing the soap out of his hair, Josué’s hands firm and confident when they finally helped him stand and dried him.
Josué was being kind today, Simeon thought helplessly when Josué led him back to his bed. He didn’t have to be. He could have chained Simeon near the stove and tossed him a blanket. Simeon would have lived either way, now that he was past the worst.
Instead, Josué helped him lie down on his own bed. He brought Simeon more water and wrapped the blankets tightly around him, his hand lingering against Simeon’s cheek for a moment to check his temperature, his eyes unguarded and worried.
He was being kind. But even so, he made certain to affix the chain to Simeon’s collar once more before he returned to his desk.
***
Josué left him alone for a while. They had woken so early that Josué was dressed and shaved before Bibeau came in, and Simeon listened tiredly as Bibeau went around the tent performing his remaining duties while grumbling about how his lieutenant wanted to put him out of his job. Josué allowed it to go on for a while before he shut his orderly up with a sharp remark, and then the tent was mostly quiet as Josué went through dispatches at his desk.
Simeon resurfaced from his sleep once at the sensation of the mattress shifting beneath him. Someone had sat down on the bed. A moment later, fingers pressed against Simeon’s forehead and he mumbled a sleepy complaint.
There was soft laughter in response. Philippe? No, Philippe was dead… Even so, the touch was comforting and Simeon felt himself relaxing into it as the fingers drifted to trail through his hair instead, soothing him back to sleep.
The next time Simeon woke, the tent was filled by bright sunlight. He was alone. Someone had placed a pitcher of water and a plate with cold chicken by the bed. At the sight, his stomach rumbled hungrily.
Josué had chained him by his collar, but for the first time in days, Simeon’s hands had been left free. It seemed strange to just reach out for the chicken and eat, holding the bone in his own hand. He caught himself instinctively watching the tent’s entrance as he did it; it felt like he was doing something forbidden.
The realization was sobering. It hadn’t taken Josué long at all to have an effect on him. After he’d eaten and sipped more of the water, he sat up as much as he could.
He felt better—much better than when he’d first woken next to Josué. The food had helped, and so had the additional rest. His mind was clear. Although his body still felt weakened, he thought that he’d be able to walk on his own—although he wouldn’t want to take on Josué in a fight just yet.
Not that there would be any opportunity of that any time soon. He was chained to the bed by his collar, and while he could move a little, the chain wasn’t long enough to stand.
Again Simeon looked around the tent. For the first time since Josué had brought him here, he was alone, his hands unchained. He didn’t know where Josué had hidden the key—knowing Josué, he had taken it with him when he went out.
Still, there were other ways to open a lock. If he could find some sort of instrument now, he could try to pick it—or hide it until the next time Josué left.
With another glance at the tent’s opening, Simeon began by going through the drawers of Josué’s nightstand.
He had hoped that Josué might keep a different sets of keys there, or perhaps forgotten scraps—a broken nib, a nail or a pin, a belt buckle. Instead, Josué’s drawers were as tidy and sparse as Josué himself. Simeon found a book—a treatise on military tactics with an inscription from Archambeau in the front. There was a notebook—empty—and a pen, carefully sharpened, but no knife to do the sharpening with.
Simeon smiled wryly. It would not surprise him had Josué removed it when he’d first chained Simeon to his bed. Even with Simeon delirious and too weak to lift a single finger, Josué was not the sort of man to leave such things to chance.
Beneath, he found a small tub of ointment for the sorts of scrapes that came with a soldier’s life and carefully wound lengths of lint for bandages.
That was all that filled the drawer, and Simeon had no choice but to close it again with a sigh of frustration. It grated to have escaped most of his bonds at last only to find himself bound by one last length of chain.
Then another idea came to him. Taking hold of the chain, he slowly, carefully, went over it link by link. He had no doubt Josué had done the same before he’d first put it on him—still, it might have become weakened in the meantime.
But even Simeon’s focused attention revealed no link close to breaking. The chain was forged of strong iron; the links wouldn’t break until he found a file or a hammer.
The end of the chain was fastened to the metal headboard of Josué’s bed. This, too, was made of sturdy material. Simeon would be able to move, if he wanted, by pushing the bed from its current position—but the sounds would arouse the attention of the guard outside, and even if that guard were to leave, how could Simeon flee while dragging a bed behind him?
Exhausted by the burst of excitement followed by deep disillusion, Simeon settled on the bed once more. He would not escape today, that much was certain. Still, there was progress in his situation. He’d gained valuable information. He knew now that Josué was willing to take the chains off him if he feared for Simeon’s health. He knew that he was worth enough to Josué that the punishing bondage he’d known before could be turned into comfortable nights in Josué’s own bed, if Josué was worried about him.
And Josué had been worried. That hadn’t been part of his game.
It was the only crack in Josué’s armor Simeon had seen so far. The only weakness he might possibly exploit.
Which meant that his first instinct had been correct, as much as he hated it. His best bet at escape was to play Josué’s game and allow him the illusion of thinking that he was succeeding in breaking Simeon. No matter how ruthless Josué seemed, he did want Simeon’s surrender. And in turn, whether he knew it or not, he’d start trusting Simeon.
***
Several hours passed. Simeon slept again. When he woke, it had to be close to noon. The camp outside was filled with sounds, and Simeon gazed at the tent’s entrance, wondering if the guard outside had been relieved yet. It helped, keeping track of these things. He might be chained, but Josué couldn’t keep him from preparing as best as he could for the moment when there’d be an opportunity.
Another hour passed before Josué entered the tent. Rays of sunshine gleamed on the epaulettes of his uniform, his posture straight and confident. The Litesian white-and-gold suited him; when he stood in the entrance bathed in sunlight, Simeon found his eyes lingering on Josué’s limber frame. In the light of the sun, Josué’s eyes appeared filled with warmth when he gazed at Simeon in turn. Even when he finally stepped closer, the cropped coils on his head no longer illuminated by a halo of gold, Simeon felt unsettled for a moment.
Josué had changed a lot. He was no longer the pitiless sergeant who’d done his lieutenant’s bidding with deep pleasure. The years that had passed had changed him just as they’d changed Simeon.
Not for the better—but also not for the worse. Josué had become more complicated. Simeon could see his progress clearly now. Ten years ago, would Josué have nursed him back to health? He doubted it.
But Josué himself had told him that he’d learned several lessons—one of them that the brutal punishments of Lieutenant Caron were an inefficient teacher. Josué still wanted what he’d wanted back then. He still enjoyed his power over other men. He’d merely learned to wield this power in different ways.
This subtler Josué was a terrifying enemy. Simeon could already feel his resolution start to slide. It was harder to cling to enmity when Josué’s gentleness amid the deprivations was so seductive.
“Awake again? Good.” The smile Josué gave him seemed genuine.
Simeon didn’t flinch away when Josué felt his temperature once more.
“No fever. How do you feel?”
“Better,” Simeon said cautiously. Would he now be chained in his former corner once more?
“Let’s see if you can stand.”
Josué unchained him, then took a step back.
Slowly, Simeon pushed himself up into a sitting position, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. Josué watched him carefully when he stood, but although Simeon still felt the weakness of his limbs, he was no longer as wobbly as he’d been in the morning. He could walk without assistance.
Josué gave him a satisfied nod. “Sit,” he said, pointing at a chair by the table where Bibeau usually served his meals. Then he brought a shirt and helped Simeon to put it on. It couldn’t have been one of his own—the span of Simeon’s shoulders wouldn’t have allowed it. Bibeau must have acquired it somewhere for Josué.
The shirt fell down to his thighs, covering his genitals, and Simeon felt a wave of relief. If Josué noticed it, he didn’t give any sign of it. Instead, he smoothed his hand over Simeon’s back, then nodded.
A moment later, Bibeau entered with another of his cheery melodies on his lips. He was carrying a tray—a tray giving off a scent that made Simeon’s stomach rumble.
“Looking good,” Bibeau said cheerfully. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d make it through the night. Never saw a chap look as blue as you did.”
He quickly placed Josué’s meal on the table—pungent mutton in a wine-rich gravy today, served with the fine, white bread that had graced the officers’ tables even back when Simeon and the other recruits had been gnawing on moldy hunks of stale bread.
There were two glasses, Simeon now saw. He watched, not quite certain what Josué intended, as Bibeau filled both of them with a clear white wine.
With a faint smile, Josué pushed one glass towards him. “I did promise you a meal at my table, didn’t I?”
Simeon wasn’t quite certain what to make of it. It was true that Josué had made that promise—but should he so easily have changed his mind after making Simeon beg for every scrap of food like a dog at the table?
Then realization came over him, and he understood what Josué was doing. In treating him like any other human, Josué was making it much harder for Simeon to go back to his former captivity and humiliation. Right now, Josué was showing him the privileges he could have if he did what Josué asked of him. And after this, it would be much harder to disobey when he’d felt first-hand how easy his life could be.
Slowly, Simeon took hold of the glass. Josué raised his own and held it out.
“To the grey mare who learned to surrender at last.”
Simeon raised his own glass with difficulty. He met Josué’s amused eyes, and for a moment, he imagined throwing the wine into his face.
It would be an easier end to all of this. Josué would have him back in chains within moments, and Simeon would no longer be tempted by the false freedom he could win through his obedience.
But he couldn’t choose the easier path. If he wanted to escape, he needed Josué to trust him. And so Simeon clinked glasses with Josué’s, said, “To the grey mare,” and sipped his wine.
It was cool and crisp in his mouth, and as he swallowed, he forced himself to hold Josué’s gaze, letting him find whatever it was he was looking for there.
It shouldn’t have felt like a privilege to be allowed to eat using cutlery, feeding himself instead of having to ask Josué for every scrap of food. But that was what it felt like—moreso because the chill he’d taken and the night’s fever had left him deeply exhausted. Simeon didn’t feel up to sparring with Josué, not when he felt so vulnerable, and so he gratefully took everything he was offered—the food, the chair, the shirt, trying not to think about what might happen after the meal.
There was no use in worrying anyway. Josué had made it clear what he wanted, no matter how much he tried to deny it when Simeon had asked him. And Simeon had no other choice but to play along.
The food was good, at least. Simeon had recovered enough to feel hungry, and Josué looked pleased as well to see that he had regained his appetite. Simeon sipped his wine slowly, but he managed to finish the mutton Bibeau had served him. When he was done, he leaned back in his chair, taking a survey of his body. He still hadn’t regained his full strength, but he felt better than he’d felt since he’d fallen into the lake.
When he looked up, he found Josué watching him again. With a slow smile, Josué gave him a nod, as if he’d come to the same conclusion as Simeon.
“I don’t remember much of what happened yesterday,” Simeon said. “Did we bring the ponies back with us?”
“You were half-frozen by the end of it.”
Simeon remembered all of a sudden the smell of Josué that had enveloped him, the sensation of warm wool around his body—the arms that had held him when he’d felt himself sinking into darkness. Even now, he could recall the sensation perfectly: the heavy, warm wool, the scent of sweat and horse and soap when he’d rested against Josué’s shoulder, the swaying of the horse beneath him and the determination in the firm body holding him upright, driving the horses forward.
Josué hadn’t done it out of concern for him. He’d done it because Simeon was an investment, and he’d planned to profit from it. Still, looking at Josué now across the table, it seemed nearly impossible that he should be the same man who had stood and watched as Philippe’s blood spread across the ground.
“We have all the ponies,” Josué then continued. Amused, he tilted his head at Simeon. “Do you want to see them? They aren’t far. A short walk might do you good.”
Simeon gazed at him in turn. He couldn’t say why he suddenly felt so out of his depth. Nothing had changed between them.
Only it had. For the second time, Josué had saved his life. It shouldn’t change anything. Josué was still seeing him as a useful tool; that was all. Simeon couldn’t allow himself to trust him. That would be the worst thing he could do in his situation.
Nevertheless, he found himself nodding after a moment, even though he knew it was the wrong choice.
“I’d like that. I hope the mare fared better than me after her dive into the pool. She was brave. I’d hate to know that I harmed her.”
*
Half an hour later, he found himself walking through the camp by Josué’s side. It was a strange experience to wear clothes while walking past curious groups of soldiers following them with their eyes. The shame was no longer quite as overwhelming. Still, there were the manacles at his ankles and wrists and the collar surrounding his throat, visible signs that Josué could change his mind at any point and have Simeon chained up however he liked.
Simeon forced his mind away from the memory of the endless hours he’d spent naked in his corner. He was given a rare chance today, and he couldn’t waste it.
As they walked, he took furtive note of the layout of the camp, mentally calculating paths that might keep him hidden behind tents, especially once the sun had set. In the daytime, he could now see, it would be impossible—unless he managed to steal a uniform and fabricate a queue to disguise his ragged hair, and even then the men had been marching and camping here for long enough that an unknown face would immediately raise an alarm.
The ponies were kept in a natural enclosure formed by trees, the space between them barricaded with branches. Within the small clearing, the ponies milled around, the grass beneath their hooves already cropped short.
Josué noticed his look and nodded in agreement. “Fodder’s our next concern, now that we have pack animals.”
“No army has ever successfully crossed the mountains.” Simeon kept his eyes on the small, grey mare who had raised her head to look at him. Surely she must recognize him. Guilt well up inside him. He offered her a silent apology. She, too, belonged to Josué now, who’d use her for his own plans, just as he was making use of Simeon.
“Ah, you forget General Desmarais.” Josué smiled at him.
He looked pleased by the conversation, and Simeon worried. He couldn’t figure out what it was Josué was gaining from this. Perhaps it was merely that Josué rarely got a chance to lecture.
“Crossed the mountains with three thousand men. Took several of Gabrada’s northern towns within days.”
“And within a few more days he lost them all, as well as most of his men, once he’d lost the element of surprise.”
“But it is possible,” Josué said softly. “It’s been done before. And we have his mistakes to learn from.”
Simeon smiled bitterly and averted his eyes. “Who am I to argue with an officer? A foot soldier follows orders and dies where he is told to die without complaint.”
The small mare was still observing him cautiously. Now she took a few steps forward, the other ponies keeping behind her—assessing the threat Simeon posed.
He’d already done his worst, of course. She didn’t know it yet, but it was Josué she’d have to watch.
“I don’t want you to die,” Josué murmured again. As Simeon watched, his hand came forward, holding out an apple. “If you follow my orders, you’ll live. And who knows. You might even find that there’s pleasure in ceasing your struggle.”
With small, careful steps, the mare approached, distrustful eyes on Josué. Simeon kept watching, his heart aching, as she came closer and closer, her ears flickering between them.
Josué kept still, holding out his apple. At last, the pony’s neck arched forward and she took the apple from his hand, crunching it between her jaws.
Sunlight played on Josué’s face as he smiled again, lending warmth to his brown eyes, and Simeon found that he had to swallow and look away as the mare gradually relaxed her stance—now utterly ensnared in Josué’s net.
