Sleipnir had even managed to surprise himself with his outburst. The words that had left his mouth were some he had never intended to speak. However, he could not deny that it was something that had circled silently around in his mind for a while now, always keeping it just out of the reach of his Liege.

Sleipnir stood still when Barnabas came closer; never one to move away from His Majesty, no matter the circumstances. Even so, the words felt like a slap to the face.

Did he feel jealousy? He thought it impossible, but he could not deny the accusation.

Yes, he was jealous. It truly shouldn't surprise him – had he not subtly gotten rid of the last person Barnabas had brought to bed? He had thought them unworthy of his Liege's touch and attention, even though he knew that Barnabas hardly cared about them.

There was apparently always the fear that he would care. That he'd be replaced.

"Am I not your creation?" he questioned, voice small than usual – obviously shaken by his own revelation. "Shaped to be to your liking, yet you have never looked at me in such a manner."

He let out a small breath. He was getting ahead of himself.

"I should not feel like this."

Sitting down on the edge of the large bed in Barnabas’ bedroom Sleipnir sighed quietly, he was relieved he was finally able to return to his King’s side after completing all the missions he had been sent on to push their plans ahead. Sleipnir was always a willing tool to be wielded by his liege, and while there was no one more devoted and no one that was more willing to do the things that were necessary, he couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest that grew with every step that put a distance between him and Barnabas, an ache that would only cease to hurt once he had returned to his King’s side.

Whenever Barnabas asked him to do something Sleipnir would kneel at his feet and keep his head bowed, telling the King he could count on him, that he would do what was needed, that he would not disappoint him.. and that he would return to his side as quickly as possible.

Sleipnir loved being useful to his liege’s endeavors, but he hated being away from him even more.

The fact that he was now sitting in Barnabas’ warm bedroom was a comfort, but there was nothing that was as rewarding as feeling the King’s hands on his shoulders. Sleipnir almost immediately melted under the touch. This was not the first time he was about to spend the night in his King’s room and bed, but there simply wasn’t any getting used to being this close to the man you loved, the man you dedicated your entire existence to.

Some would argue being an egi wouldn’t exactly leave any different choices, but Sleipnir firmly believed that he was here because he wanted to be here, that the things he felt for Barnabas were real. And no human could tell him otherwise.

Sleipnir was trembling with anticipation when he felt Barnabas’ hands free his hair of the little braid he always wore it in; he simply was sensitive to his King’s touch, or even his entire presence, though while the proximity was not unusual at this point, it never failed to send his heartbeat into an unsteady rhythm.

Sleipnir would hardly call it a trivial matter. To see his liege so burdened would always urge him to offer comfort, in whichever way he could. The longer he was human, the more he came to understand the emotions of those he were imitating. He would always be devoted to His Majesty, but said devotion had long since gone beyond what was demanded of him.

"I would never dare to consider you foolish, my liege," he assured, tone matching the other's teasing one. He moved forward so he could stand at Barnabas side – hardly daring to hope that his mere presence might ease some of the weight the other was carrying.

Being allowed to stay told him more than words could describe.

Send me "Good boy/girl" for my muse's reaction to your muse saying that to them! || always accepting || @wardenofdarkness

Sleipnir was already leaning into the touch; as if feeling a magnetic pull whenever his Liege was near. There was no hesitation as he met Barnabas' eyes, but it could not have prepared him for the words that would leave the King's lips.

An unexpected shudder went through Sleipnir's body and he let out a shaky breath, lashes fluttering. He did not expect such simple words to give him such a visceral reaction, but he could not deny the pure satisfaction he got from being called good.

For Barnabas, he would be anything and do everything. Nothing pleased him more than to please. "My Liege..." the words were slightly husky, an intense desire suddenly made blatant by the light in his eyes.

The King of Waloed would never be unguarded, wherever he went his Lord Commander was always nearby, even in the safety of his own castle. To be infiltrated by traitors was always a possibility and even Mythos was expected to make an appearance sooner than later, but Sleipnir wouldn’t take any chances. He would defend and protect his master and King until he would draw his last breath, which was also the reason he stood as close to Barnabas as he dared, always being the watchful eye in his King’s shadow, ready to snarl and bite. Whatever it was the other needed from him in that moment.

His adoration and loyalty for Barnabas was also why the Lord Commander froze when his King turned towards him to take his hand in his own and he had to fight the urge to pull his hand away when Barnabas brushed his lips over his knuckles. Sleipnir, the ever-confident Commander, watched on almost in shock, barely able to comprehend what was happening. Had his king fallen ill, or worse, had he been possessed by something that made him act so uncharacteristically? He dared not ask, lest he would upset the man he served, but he was conflicted as it was his job to protect the king, even from himself.

But why did he lean in then instead of stepping back? Sleipnir’s lips parted and he sighed quietly when his chin was held in place while Barnabas ghosted his warm lips over the Commander’s sharp jaw. Every touch made him shiver as a pleasant wave of warmth rushed through his body, his skin felt like it was burning wherever the King touched him. It was almost overwhelming.

Sleipnir was still struggling to come to terms with the emotions that had started to plague him lately, he considered them a disadvantage that came with spending too much time in this human form, but it was a burden he was willing to carry if It meant he was able to support his king more in his every endeavor. Though it were his King’s words that made his eyes widen and Sleipnir looked at him with shocked confusion, but at the same time his human heart ached terribly in his chest. Barnabas wanted them.. to share a bed tonight.

For a short moment Sleipnir’s gaze wandered to the door of the King’s chambers that were just down the hall before he forced himself to look at the other’s face again. How many times had the Commander wished to be the one to be allowed to share a bed with the King, even if only because any distance between them caused the egi physical pain; how often had he glared at any woman that was invited into that specific chamber while Sleipnir was left to boil in anger he was not able to identify as jealousy just yet. And still..

Sleipnir sunk to his knees, leaning forward to rest his head against the King’s hip, not daring to look up at him.

Ever since Vincent had gotten separated from his older brother during their escape from Sanbreque, self-preservation was the only thing that spurned the young boy on. It was a quest for survival for Vincent who had never known what it felt like to be safe, to be loved and wanted. Cast out from his own home due to the bad omen that was the crimson colour of his right eye, sold into slavery to amuse the noble families of the Imperial Capital, he had now somehow made it from the shores of Drake’s Head to the dark kingdom of Drake’s Spine as a stowaway, and once he had reached the lands of the kingdom of Ash his fight for survival would start all over again. Hoping for a brighter future he simply had not known the dire state the Kingdom of Waloed really was in.

Neglected and starving the boy had made it to Stonhyrr, the capital of Waloed, and with a frame as slender as his he had squeezed himself through gates and holes, in a constant search for food and a dry spot to sleep, but he had to run out of luck eventually, when he had to pass through a market, trying to slip something as simple as an apple into his sleeve, so he would at least get to eat one thing a day. And unfortunately that was when one of the royal guards caught him, and before he had the chance to run or defend himself, the large man picked him up by the scruff like one would do with a cat. Vincent struggled against the grip, trying to kick the man in the shin to free himself, but with a harsh slap of the soldier’s gauntlet to his face the boy was stunned into the silence while a dark bruise bloomed on his cheekbone.

When he was taken towards the castle and thrown to the ground in front of a man in a fancy chair, Vincent glared at said man from beneath the long strands of blond hair that served to hide his cursed crimson eye.

“Should I know who I speak to?!”, the boy spat back, small body trembling because he had a vague idea who he was at the mercy of in that very moment. A fancy chair, a man who could command everyone around him, his body wrapped in the finest and softest looking fabrics. This had to be a king, an emperor or any sort of royalty or nobleman. Vincent knew them all. They all had ruled over him with a harsh hand simply for the colour of his eye.