Today had been a waste of time. The trinkets given were amusing. The flesh less so. He glanced around the hopeful again. They lingered even after he'd turned them away, hoping he might change his mind. And these were the best of those who came. He shuddered, thinking of the ones outside the gates, full of scars and worms and who knew what else. No, there'd be no new conquests today. He stood abruptly and stretched. Delano paused mid-speech.

"Master Castellan." Talkirk waited for Delano's bow. "I'm bored," he announced. "And going to sleep. Save the rest for tomorrow." He looked past his right hand man. "They can spend the night learning tricks. Something that will impress me."

As he turned to start his progress into the heart of the cairn, a lone voice called out behind him: "Just one more!"

It stopped him in his tracks. The usual rumble of voices hushed and stopped entirely as he turned back. His word was law. No one contradicted him. No one second-guessed. He was sure that when he faced the crowd the fool would be gone, mortified by his own boldness and headed for safer ground. He was wrong.

The gathered parted before the figure who came forward, instead. They exchanged glances, they whispered in one another's ear, but no one said a word out loud. Some of them shied away from him, not wanting to be touched. Others brushed their fingers down his back. He didn't pause.

He stood of a height with Talkirk, though he was narrow-shouldered, slender-built. He was pale, as though he hadn't often seen the sun, and yet hard muscle sculpted his shoulders, his arms and the bit of his chest that could be seen through the neck of his shirt. He carried a gnarled length of wood, shoulder-height and sanded smooth. He didn't lean on it, hardly seemed to need it. The butt rested beside his booted foot when he stopped.

Talkirk looked him over slowly, head to toe and back. Now this one better suited his tastes. He bit back a smile as he inspected the new arrival. Dark-haired and pale-eyed and well-made. He'd do.

Talkirk stepped off the dais, spreading his arms as he moved closer. Muscle shifted, demonstrating the breadth of his own chest. "I’m bored and tired. I need my rest. Why shouldn't I kill you for interrupting me?"

The stranger smiled, faint quirk of his lips. He spread his arms in mirror-like reflection. "Because I've traveled a very long way to talk to you."

Talkirk snorted, exhaling. Amused. "Half these people walked for days. That doesn't make you more important. Try again."

He didn't miss a beat. "None of them are pureblooded. None of them can save you."

Now the murmuring started in earnest. The watchers backed further away, forming small groups. They bent their heads together, whispering "pureblood" until the word seemed to shimmer in the air.

That wasn't what made Talkirk move. It wasn't what drove him to close the gap between them, covering the distance with one long stride. Even in times of so-called peace, men could – had -- tried to take the title he'd earned with blood. At the slightest sign of weakness, they would try again. Not today.

"Save me." He growled, the sound muted by lips and teeth. It made his throat tighten and his jaw ache. He pitched his words lowly, meant only for his challenger's ears. Talkirk stood inside the pureblood's circle of defense, so close they could and did trade breath. "There's nothing I fear that you could prevent. I don't need you." Another half step and their chests met. "What's your name?"

To his credit, the narrower man didn't give ground. He didn't push back, but neither did he yield. Their eyes met, held, then he tilted his head. "Lucan." He paused and his lips quirked again. "I have not come to test you. I come to offer myself."

Many men had made that offer. Every one meant something different. With this one, he'd be sure from the start.

He fisted one hand at the back of Lucan's head, roughly gathering his hair into a club. He pulled and Lucan's neck arched. Vulnerable. Exposed. Talkirk saw his nostrils flare, watched him swallow, but he said nothing.

He shoved the other hand into Lucan's pants, thick fingers closing around his cock. Judging by touch, the rumors about purebloods were untrue. He was not shrunken and shriveled, not possessed of a useless stem. Talkirk pushed back the skin that still covered the head and swiped a rough thumb across it. Lucan sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Do you offer everything?"

Lucan swallowed again. His cock hardened in Talkirk's hand. "Yes," he answered, tongue flickering out to wet his lips. "I offer myself. Whatever it takes."

Talkirk let him go as abruptly as he'd touched him. Released his hair and caught his wrist instead. "Audience is ended," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. The protest began immediately. It didn't matter. He was watching the flush fade from Lucan's cheeks.

Delano cleared his throat discreetly, at Talkirk's shoulder now. "A reprieve," he suggested. "If you end it two days early...”

"What's done is done. They can wait," Talkirk said, not looking at his castellan. "I've made my choice. I have what I want."

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