Baekhyun was a slave and the slave of Lords. He was a slender boy, as most of them were, and built like a swan, all limbs and graceful neck. He was bid from the slave blocks in south province when he was nine and sent to the palace for slave training and sworn by the great hall to be fruitful. It was a bountiful journey: he was gifted and all talents combined with barefaced beauty.

Days turned into years of waiting—it seemed to be direful but it was appealing for the most part, like a fruit waiting to ripe and brings pleasantries to a mouth worth a whole life of young unbedded slave.

It was his second year of training when a hatch seemed to be opened up for him. Half prostrated in the cold marble, the handler went in and made a one circle tour to examine him. It was never like this… the pulsing won’t ceased, the limbs rigid to an extreme degree. Skin flushing in every corner, a vein in the neck thick and filled with strong beat… but he was so… so pretty.

‘He’s so pretty.’ He heard he handler said and flushed all over, heat on his cheeks and red ‘rise.’

It was a normative manner to freeze in a few seconds after the order before to act to show the unhurried gracefulness and perhaps to preserve the ethics of slavery—it pleases the palace.

He recalled from his training days the exact and right amount of seconds before to act and sometimes, in a very special moment, a misfire of memories would occur, as his head thronged with numerous kinds of lecture and begun to mix in his head unhelpfully. 

He seemed to remember one and begun to count, the number visible in his mouth as he recite them soundlessly. At the count of three that seemed to be an age, his body begun to slowly move, one knee first—a hand on the floor for balance, No! Keep your knees a close as possible! He closed his eyes as he remembered the corrections to errors. His slender and milky legs moving like water, as he finally went on his feet. His small head bowed a little, his lashes like downfall of copper veil, his collarbones stretched like an instrument ready for sweet notes, his arms creamy and refined.

The handler stepped forward and spent a few more seconds to watch him. ‘You don’t need to count with your mouth moving.’ Said the handler before he reached out and touch the side of his face with the back of his hand. ‘You are perfect.’ And turned to the keeper ‘pack his things he is to transfer to the royal keeps.’

Things had changed quickly, like an endless development as he blossom and slave no more in his feature. It seemed to be a flood of blessings as his name spread all over the palace and in other fort and provinces, from harem to battlements. He no longer a slave like from the blocks… they knew him now a courtesan, a simple raging call for an expensive, successful royal entertainer. 

All of these were not what makes him like what he is now.

It was more than what commoners would’ve imagined.

‘Come. Try this.’ Junmyeon said, passing him the cup of an old wine. They sat at the couch in Junmyeon’s rooms.

‘What’s this all about?’ Baekhyun asked, as his eyes strode past the foods and drinks atop the table. ‘What feast it is?’

‘No feast. Come on try it.’ Junmyeon said and reached out to push the cup.
Baekhyun rolled the purple drink around the open cup before he took a sip. ‘Oh, it’s good.’ He compliments. His eyes straight to Junmyeon’s dark ones, he sat straight back, he was looking at his handler longer than it seems. Though there some silence threatening to grow, it was never awkward for the both of them.

After what seemed like forever, Junmyeon begun to move closer. ‘Remember what I said?’ he ducked his head a little. ‘The slave bidding happening in spring.’ smiling ‘remember my promise?’

Baekhyun’s heart moved in his chest. He had been ready for this. He knew that—and still felt surprised. He nodded.

‘The palace is preparing for the prince viewing and they are expecting me for a new gift.’ Junmeyon said, smiling. ‘Guess what,’ he pressed his lips for a quick moment then, ‘I chose you.’

Baekhyun’s gaze followed the couch fabric back to where Junmyeon sat, trying not to fidget. ‘Thank you.’ He said with a knot in his voice.

The handler’s brows drew together, ‘Is that all you can say? Thank you?’

Thank you was the word he used. A polite expression of gratitude since he can’t say Why?

‘Baekhyun.’

His name sounded strange on his lips; he almost did not recognize it. Was i