Dymas Milelot. He pledged his loyalty to his king and for his king, he slit numerous throats. He was known for his mighty conquests before the age of thirty but before then…he couldn't remember his less-than-stellar childhood. He chose to forget a past when he had been a weakling.
All that Veren knew about his new master was that he commanded the Arlankis army with an iron fist. It was one of the reasons he was so respected and also one of the reasons he was so feared and hated by the other soldiers. Even by the king's court. No one understood him, no one spoke to him unless absolutely necessary. He was a man of few words. Large, tall and muscled.
But he had not always been so.
Dymas had been born a weak, scrawny child with feminine beauty. He had a head of dark blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and the face of what his mother called an angel. She always said he should have been born a girl and so did his father but the latter was not an endearing statement. His predicament was made even worse when during a sword play with wooden swords with his brothers he was hit so hard in the groin that the physician pronounced him unfit to be a complete man.
Then he earned the nickname Princess.
He had lost all hope of earning the affection of his father. The approval of a man he looked up to. Still, for years he practiced his swordplay alone, setting up dummy enemies in the woods. Soon he built up his strength and by the time he was 14, he was disarming his brothers in practice.
Nobody called him Princess after that.
Strength became his reason for living and soon, like his father before him, he began to detest any signs of weakness.
Gone was the milksop child who could barely hold his own beside his elder brothers. He became a man, challenging his brothers and defeating them.
When Vallezarii needed an army Dymas was first to swear his sword even though his father opposed Vallezarii's claim to the throne. But Vallezarii wanted an army that would get rid of any oppositions on his assent to the throne and his father was the strongest opposition Vallezarii had.
He cut his father's throat at that tender age without blinking an eye and would go on to do the same to the rest of his family to pledge his loyalty to Vallezarii. Without a family now to mock him, without his brothers being a constant reminder of the weak version of himself, he now lived by his sword, pledging loyalty to a king for whom he would rip out countless throats.
What his family could not see in him, Vallezarii saw and horned to a fine skill.
But for all his beauty and prowess, for all the lands he owned, he lived a lonely life.
His bed was never warmed by the presence of a woman, not for their lack of trying. What few women had thrown themselves at him now eyed him warily. Even his maidservants kept a long distance from him only appearing in his presence when he needed them. There were rumors behind his back about his prowess as a man. One of the most prominent rumors was that he sold his manhood to the devil in exchange for his extraordinary strength and to preserve his strength he sacrificed children and virgins to the devil himself.
Veren did not know how true those rumors were. In fact, there was no way to confirm if they were true.
He remembered the moment he felt Dymas's dark gaze on him. While Vallezarii mocked their attempt at killing him, Dymas had stared with dark, intense eyes at Veren as if he could see what the king could not. And when the king commanded that the nobles could have their pick of them he had known instantly that he would fall at the mercy of the brave Arlankis warrior.
He feared Dymas thought him to be the mastermind of the plan. He was the tallest after all, he had a good build so it was easy for Dymas to have made that mistake.
But it was months since that day and he did not know what plans his new master had for him, especially now that his master was out on a mission for the king.
Would he kill him upon his return?
That did not seem like the likely plan. So far, Veren noticed Dymas barely had any servants as opposed to the other members of Arlankis noble Houses. Although, that may have something to do with the fear everyone had for the man.
But his lord's castle was always kept clean. In fact, Veren didn't know what his duties were when the few servants in the castle kept it very clean.
The only thing that was left to do was put his master's chambers in order. That was the one place he noticed the servants never ventured. They avoided it like the plague.
There was only one time in the past months when Veren had ever ventured into his master's bedroom himself.
Moving down the halls that always held a slight draft, he had made his way to his master's chambers and pushed on the great doors. They were unlocked. When the doors swung in he took in the sight of the disarray. Tunics were strewn all over the place, pieces of armor that should have been arranged properly on the dummy in the far corner littered the stone floor. The rug beneath the giant bed pushed up against the wall was threadbare and very unloved. It stank.
There was a bowl of putrid water that had obviously been used for washing but no one had turned it out so it stunk and clouded over.
There was so much disarray.
Wrinkling his nose at the disorder in the room Veren had taken a step inside and set about clearing the room. He opened the heavy curtains to let the fresh air disperse the weight of odor in the room. He swept out the fireplace, replaced the wood, and set a nice warm fire going.
The evening was nigh when he almost finished. All that remained was to select the beddings and clothes for washing and replace the soiled beddings on the bed. He started to do just that when the doors of the chambers were thrown open with a large bang. They shook on their hinges.
Veren, ever calm, turned to the door to see his master, Dymas, a man with a full head of blond hair, beard, and icy pale eyes, all of which were soft in contrast to the solid build and muscle of his body. He was like a solid wall. His skin stretched tight over his hard-packed muscles.
"My lord…" he thought he had gone on his assignment for the king.
"What it is you do?!" Dymas had bellowed, so loudly that the walls of the room shook with the sheer intensity of his voice.
Serene and calm Veren continued to stretch the fresh blue sheets over the bed. "Performing my duties my lord. I assume I am to be your slave…"
Before he could finish speaking Dymas had crossed the room to grab his hair back so that he was looking into his face. There wasn't much difference in their height but where Veren was lean and bony Dymas was hard and taut with muscles.
"You do not assume anything, Baryn!" he sneered, his breath reeked of mead and his eyes were red-rimmed. He was drunk to the roots of his hairs. "You do nothing without my command, do you understand me?"
"Yes, my lord."
Shoving him roughly Dymas said, "Get out."
He had just taken a few steps away when Dymas swayed drunkenly and would have fallen if Veren had not reached out to catch him. Yet, Dymas swept Veren's hand away from him and landed on the bed with a painful thud. He groaned.
"Is there anything I can do for you, my lord? Perhaps I can call an umber from the king's castle?"
"You will call a prostitute and leave me alone."
Quietly, Veren went to the pile of clothes to be washed, picked them up, and said, "As you wish my lord."