Author's Note: This story has been written by two people in a collaborative effort. It is written in a story format by way of role-play. This story is completely written but will be posted in chapter increments on a weekly basis.

His Slave

Chapter 1

Trent offered an annoyed but almost undetectable glare at the guard's back as he retreated after leading him to stand in line with the seven other boys present, quickly glancing aside just after to observe the hopeful looks on their faces as well as their constant anxious shifting. Scoffing to himself, he turned forward somewhat bitterly, staring fixatedly on the stone floor in front of him, reluctant to look anywhere else as he continued to overhear conversations echoing off the walls of the main hall around him, unable to do much other than internally hate the situation he'd been put in by his own parents due to a simple honorable title and an offer of wealth.

He couldn't believe that that alone would be enough for his own parents to sell their son to be the slave of the prince; a man he'd never even managed to get a glimpse of during the sixteen years of his life. He let his attention drift to his own wrists, turning them slowly within the thin-chained, linked shackles they'd been clamped with, sighing heavily as he looked up and over at the boy standing beside him, for a moment feeling helpless until his eyes continued to wander back over his shoulder, narrowing once more as they fixed on his parents and the supportive gestures they offered, as if they bore no sense of guilt and he, no sense of betrayal. Instantly, he snapped his head forward with an aggravated grunt, gritting his teeth within his mouth and remaining careless to the hair hanging in front of his eyes, making no move to toss it away as his shoulders slowly tensed on their own accord.

How did his parents expect him to accept this? He didn't understand and silently decided to make himself as unappealing as possible, knowing the eager attitudes the other boys were displaying would surely draw more attention. The sudden sound of the main hall's doors opening made his attention slip forward once more, his hands closing into fists slowly and his remaining narrowed as they focused on the two men heading through.

Sebastian let his hand slip from Scott's back, dismissing the supportive gesture as they entered the main hall. He let his eyes slip over the selection as they drew closer, wordlessly surveying them as he clasped his hands in front of him, practically staring down his face as he did so. As advisor, it was part of his job to ensure that Scott's choice was a wise one, unable to shake his unease at the fact that he wasn't present for the talk Scott had with his father, instinctively aggravated at that face due to his controlling nature, never satisfied unless every bit of information passes through him first.

Denying the urge to glance aside at his advisor for comfort or reassurance, Scott knew all too well that this was to be his first choice. A choice as a rising ruler that would reflect his ability to rule. A poor decision could cause others to deem him an unfit ruler and Scott wasn't prepared to stand down so easily. With a deep breath he tossed his blonde hair from his eyes and strode into the room a few steps, coming to a stop beside Sebastian. He stood tall; his hands clasped tightly behind his back in hopes of disguising his raised and tense shoulders as he glanced down the line of boys with an air of indifference. To act too eager or uncaring would be a mistake and so this is how he chose to handle the situation. To mask unease and pressure with a calm and collected, however forced expression.

The family members of these eight selected youths stood against the back wall, hushed whispers growing louder with each step Scott took into the room. He found them annoying and his bitter disgust for commoners caused him to turn away from the eager looking boys for a few moments to regain his composure. He understood that one particular family would become wealthy and share a title they could only obtain in such lengths as giving up their son that day, but he couldn't disregard his dislike for the undeniable pleading soon to come from the defeated commoners in regard to their son's talents and attributes.

The king then entered, following his son with a bit more earned confidence in his step. He let his smile widen, the sight of the eager looking boys pleasing him and reminding him of his own twentieth birthday. As he passed, his hand clamped onto his son's shoulder briefly before falling away, "Choose wisely, my son."

Scott's father had always been a man of clichés. Think before you speak, was commonly heard from him, but this particular moment he chose to reiterate himself from his earlier discussion with his son. After receiving no more than a nod from Scott, he turned to the boys and silently walked down the line of them, his grin spreading as none of them dared to meet his eyes. "Respect!" he bellowed, a hand lifting up to gesture widely to the row of boys in front of him. "Discipline!" he added as he returned it behind his back. He lowered his head a little as he walked the line of them, trying to see if any boy would waver in his stance and dare to look the king in the eyes.

Scott's father nodded at length and came to a stop in front of one of the boys whose attention was obviously averted from him not for the purpose of fear or excitement, but perhaps dislike of the situation. He let out a thoughtful sound before his smile widened and he turned from the line, heading over to his massive throne nearly fifty feet from the common people. "It is your time," he spoke to his son after taking his seat slowly. He waved briefly at Sebastian, ordering him silently to present to the chosen slave the newly engraved cartouche.

Trent's eyes remained averted, even as the King's stare burned into him, his fists still clenched as his knuckles began to whiten, knowing well that despite his feelings toward the situation, to meet the King's gaze would be as far as a life-threatening decision.

As the King retreated to his throne, however, he couldn't help but raise his eyes to watch his back, having seen the King before but never in such a close context. What happened next was inevitable and he regretted it instantly-

His attention fell on Scott, the man who was about to decide his own or one of the seven other boys' destinies and to his surprise, he could barely force his eyes to leave him. They traveled over him, careless to the shocked expression on his own face or even the utter disrespect of his action.

Then he remembered. This was also the man who had to the power to enslave him. Bitterness returning, his eyes dropped and his anger began to well up inside him once more.

Sebastian, on the other hand, merely nodded in response to the King's signal and reached into the pocket of his robe, pulling a folded silk scarf from within it moments later. He gently ran his fingertips down along the chain extending from somewhere in the folds of the material, his eyes drifting to Scott in silence.

Scott kept his arms behind his back as he took another deep breath to calm his nerves, stepping up to the first boy and standing there for a moment, mentally arguing with himself on whether to choose in silence or from responses of questions asked. He licked his lips briefly as he stood face to face with the first boy, staring down at him and only once speaking as his eyes surveyed the top of his head with the same forced indifference. "Look at me."

Instantly Scott's brows rose and he instinctively leaned back a bit from the boy. He cleared his throat quietly and tried not to seem too dismissive as he stepped down to the next boy, careless of his obvious dismissal due to the boys appearance. He kept the same stance and expression as he questioned the second boy on his name, the timid and meek sounding reply being that which turned him away. He turned and began to head down the line once again, casting his father a short glance and after receiving a small nod from the king, Scott gained a bit more confidence and turned sharply as he reached the next boy in line. Instantly noting that his expression differed from the others, he tilted his head a bit to study him, again demanding, "Look at me."

"Look at me."

The words held such a commanding quality; something Trent had never heard directed toward him before and he wasn't sure what to make of it. His dark brown eyes stayed fixed on the floor as his shoulders grew tense, the faint clinking of the thin shackles around his wrists knocking against one another the only sound leaving him with the exception of his steady breathing.

It only made him hate the situation that much more. He had to fight his urge to look back at his parents; it would do nothing since they were responsible for everything that had befallen him.

Hesitantly, he slowly and finally lifted his narrowed stare from the ground, meeting Scott's gaze and almost immediately growing defensive, becoming aware of the measuring look he'd been receiving.

You don't want me, he thought...but it was also an internal plea-but he wasn't going to let his defiant expression fade. The shackles quietly clinked together once more as he unconsciously shifted his arms, uncertain of what to expect.

Scott blinked, it being the only sign of recognizing the boy's movement since his face remained impassive. Titling his head slightly, he easily noted the boy's pleasant features. There was no doubt that this third boy presented to him was thus far the most attractive, but that wasn't the only reason Scott was drawn to him. Something he couldn't explain, and knew he shouldn't be thinking was slowly slipping into his subconscious. In the boy's eyes he saw, in the simplest terms, dislike. Scott was then forced to concentrate on his own dislike of the situation itself and the fact that this one simple decision, something that could be as easy as pointing or as difficult as taking hours upon hours, was what would be forever looked upon as his first royal judgment.

He caught himself mid-thought and sighed heavily, disliking how a simple look could cause such unease to arise within him. His hand came up without thinking, hoping to force away his thoughts as he took the boy's chin somewhat roughly and turned his head aside to study him, seemingly looking for any trace of deformity or scar… anything that could make him step down the line that much easier.

The voices from the back of the room began to rise again and only then did Scott realize what he had done. Without meaning to, without realizing his actions, he had touched this boy. He had laid his hand upon him in hopes of finding something to turn him away or even to cause the boy to speak out of turn, but in doing so had brought hope to those members of his family and distress to the others. "Your name," Scott demanded, his voice rising faintly above those speaking in hopes of silencing them with his authoritative voice.

Trent could do nothing as his chin was roughly grabbed and his face was turned aside, the suprise on his face unmistakable due to Scott's lingering attention on him, staring where his face had been directed and for a moment, his unease slipping into his features.

He heard his parents' voices and the hope in their tones as they began to speak between themselves, swallowing harshly in hopes of ridding the bitter taste in his mouth that resulted from hearing their approval at his own sake.

Scott's voice reached his ear, snapping his focus from his mother and father and while his eyes remained from Scott's face, he could feel his stare burning into him just as the King's had. His teeth grit tightly at the demand; was he doing something wrong? Why was he being studied more carefully than the other boys? Why had he been asked for his name?

His stomach turned as his voice seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Trent."

Scott hesitated and considered dropping the boy's—Trent's chin. Trent. Trent, he repeated to himself almost like a mantra in hopes of somehow forgetting what he'd seen in his eyes. He nodded curtly and released his chin just as roughly as he had taken it. There was no need to show kindness to this peasant, however there was no need to be cruel for any other reason than the dislike he'd be forced to consider. Just as he released Trent's chin, he turned from him, unwilling to look again in his eyes and see what he longed to dismiss, but at the same time he couldn't disregard the magnetism Trent's gaze held.

For a lack of any place else to let his attention turn, his stared over at Sebastian. His eyes dropped to the scarf, unable to see the cartouche from where he stood, but certain it was there. Mocking him. Voices once again rose and he inwardly cringed, realizing his action made it seem as if he were contemplating a decision. He knew to move on would be as if he were wavering in his decision, something looked down upon when it came to rule. Scott suddenly became uneasy, his gaze locked on the silver chain as it hung over Sebastian's hand. He swallowed harshly and prayed that it went unnoticed as he stood there, contemplating whether or not to move on. With an almost annoyed sigh, Scott completely disregarded his father's request to "not chose on impulse," and waved Sebastian over. "Him," is all he said, his voice firm and decisive as he stepped back from Trent. His pulse was racing and he barely heard the excited and even hysterical cries from the back of the room as his attention remained averted from Trent. He's a person, was all Scott kept telling himself, having been unable to draw the same conclusion after meeting the first two boys. He glanced over the remaining five boys and ignored the looks on their faces as they scrambled to remain strong as they stood there. He, too, was having the same difficulty.

"Yes sire," Sebastian replied calmly, an almost pleased tone dripping from his voice as his crimson eyes travelled over Scott's choice, his respectful demeanor unfaltering, even as his mind began to instantly question Scott's reasoning in choosing what he could only expect to be a disobedient young boy.

His motions slow, he carefully brushed aside the ends of the folded scarf, the silk material falling away to reveal the small, silver and gold-laden cartouche attached to the thin chain dangling against his wrist. His feet moved quietly as he started to approach Trent in line.

Trent's lips parted and he felt as if his heart had come to a complete stop. He had no time to consider the consequences of Scott's decision, nor could he concentrate on how abruptly his life had changed, his hands relaxing from their tight fists as Sebastian neared him. He'd been chosen; it didn't hit him until the thin chain was carefully draped around his neck and he stared down at it as if it were a hideous mark that seared his skin, paying no attention to Sebastian as he stepped back.

Desperation took over moments later and frantically, he looked over his shoulder, his features twisting painfully at the tears of joy trailing down his mother's face and the look of utter triumph on his father's. They didn't even look at him.

A mixture of anger, resentment, fear and even more so, helplessness settled in his chest, making it almost hard to breathe. Turning forward, his eyes searched Scott's face, praying that somehow his decision would waver, shaking his head faintly.

I'm...his. He had really been chosen.