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Salas knew Emperor Eldron could be vicious and hold a rancor in his heart like no other, but he was no tyrant. Nor was he, however, benevolent by nature. But kind ideas, once placed before him, always seemed to spark an interest in him.
“I do not see how this benefits me other than my funds being thrown at the feet of palace whores,” the Emperor had said eventually, though not cruelly.
Salas’ head was still dipped, so the Emperor had not seen him cringe.
“The court will benefit as well. They will no longer see the birds as...as mere slaves. With their employment and higher standing, the birds will appear as something valuable. They will be prized and important. Give them gifts and trinkets of gold for them to wear and keep, and they will be treasured. Neighboring kingdoms will speak of your beautiful birds.”
Eldron wanted to be known as the almighty Emperor that his kingdom praised willingly. He desired to be one the bards would script into their ballads with nothing but admiration for their ruler. He wanted Susconians to say good things about him and his ruling in passing. He wanted a court that was consistently good-natured and entertained. He wanted birds around him who adored him and knelt pliantly. Salas knew this about him.
Salas' proposition had not been a lost cause.
It had taken a bit of time for the transition to realize itself, but eventually, it had happened, and everyone had benefited from it.
As had Salas. A seed had been planted inside of him. It was nurtured when he recalled how it had felt to whisper exactly what he wanted to the Emperor and watch as his desires were fulfilled. He had enjoyed the planning and the process of obtaining what he wanted. He liked pre-calculating the Emperor’s response, and the way it had stretched his mind like a muscle that had been relaxed for too long. He felt, for the first time, intelligent. He was no longer the caged bird that someone might mistake as being ‘soft in the head.’
The Emperor had listened to him, and the special, warm feeling the power had elicited had blossomed. Enough to the point that Salas could not help but to try again.
Lying in bed with the Emperor, while spirits were high from leftover pleasure, he’d requested for more avocado trees to be planted, for he liked a particular dish the fruit of the plant made. When this had been done, he had then requested that the theme of the Spring Festival be centered around a particular mer tale he liked. Again, it had been done. When Salas caught a usurping spy among the court folk who hailed from a hostile neighboring kingdom, Salas had asked for the spy to be removed. It had been done.
It was then that Salas knew that he was more than a bird. He had power here, in the Southern Kingdom of Suscon. It was more than he had ever expected. It was more than he could have asked for. Again, it was not something he would take for granted.
Salas immersed himself in politics, culture, and gossip so thoroughly, it came to the point where Eldron sought Salas out of his own volition to receive council. He would ask for Salas’ ideas and for suggestions, and in those moments, Salas felt as though their positions had turned. Though he would never speak the idea aloud, Salas felt as thoughhewere the Emperor, and Eldron were the bed slave.
He loved it.
The only problem was the future. Emperor Eldron was aging, and he had yet to claim a successor. The Emperor’s late wife, who’d passed before Salas had ever met her, had died without ever bearing children. That, and the Emperor’s strong preference for young men in his bed, had staunched the possibility of an heir to be born.
The Emperor had once mused, “When I made my wishes, I regret not asking for your anatomy to be complete with a womb in your belly, Salas.”
Salas’ nose had wrinkled at the mere suggestion. He pictured the rare court children, brought into the palace during holidays, their bodies’ more aligned to the proportions of starfish than humans.
“Ew,” he had said, with feeling.
But the issue still remained: once the Emperor was gone, what would happen to Salas?
He’d raised the question once, and only once, and the answer had appeased him. Eldron had assured him that once he passed, Salas would still maintain his position in the court. It was possible that the council members would choose the new ruler themselves, and place said person on the throne, creating a new era.
Salas had accepted this answer, trying not to think about the daunting prospect of someone else taking over the Emperor’s place, and therefore taking over Salas. They wouldn’t know about the conversations he and Eldron shared, nor the influence Salas had. Salas would, again, be just a bird. Moreso, he was the only bird without a contract. Salas had no freedom to claim. He was Eldron’s permanent prize.
Well, if the new ruler brings me down, Salas had thought,I will simply have to work my way up again.
Still, there was fear.
Don’t leave, he thought to the Emperor. Maybe if he thought it enough, his wish would come true.
Salas sat at an empty table and ran his hands over pale petal clumps. The party guests were already arriving in another wing of the palace, sequestered near the entrance. He knew they would work their way towards his own location once they decided to follow the sound of the lyres in the Great Hall.
“Don’t pretend you’re actually doing anything useful by arranging those petals,” an amused voice said over his shoulder. Jovack. “You didn’t actually put in the work to arrange any of this, did you, little bird?”
Salas rose from the bench and turned to sit upon the table top, facing Jovack and immediately pushing against his hard chest when Jovack made to move, seemingly on instinct, to stand between Salas’ legs. “Of course I played a part! How dare you. I chose the color scheme.” He glanced up proudly at his work, though when he arched his back to look up, the movement placed pressure on his rear and he winced. He’d left the bath less than an hour ago, and the plug hadn’t worked its magic in stretching him completely yet. It would be a while before it was no longer an annoyance.
“What was that look for, Salas? You seem uncomfortable,” Jovack wondered, innocently enough.
“My…” Salas began, but then narrowed his eyes on Jovack. “Step back, you rat. I’m terribly busy. The guests are arriving and my preparations are nowhere near complete.”
“Preparations,” Jovack repeated, glancing at the small tower of petals on the table that Salas had piled. “Of course.”
Salas ignored the jab and brightened with a passing idea. “You could help me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or you could start in on the sour wine you drown yourself in at these functions. I’ve heard several birds complain you’ve been unable to stir your cock as of recently, you’ve been so drunk.”
