Fly Away

"This was your idea, you buy the drinks." Ray Balzac Courland drained his glass and held it up as a signal to the waitress. Beside him, his friend Pierre groaned and clutched the pocket containing his wallet.

"There goes this month's allowance. I'll be begging for scraps from the kitchen help come Monday." He accepted his new drink from the waitress, flirting with her as she leaned forward low enough to give him a glimpse down the front of her very low-cut blouse.

"Remind me to feel sorry for you later when I'm much less sober." Ray saluted him with his glass before drinking half in one go. Pierre groaned again and collapsed against Eduard who patted his shoulder consolingly.

"Sorry, my dear friend, but I plan to be busy later, if you get my meaning. We didn't just come here for the beer."

Franz snickered into his glass and eyed the short, slim brunet waiting on the next table. "Pity we didn't get that one instead. He's a much nicer piece of landscape than that tart you've been flirting with."

Ray laughed into his beer and almost choked. He'd been dragged along unwillingly to this outlandish nightclub with extras, as Pierre described it, but he was actually enjoying himself. He hadn't been much on social interaction for the last few years while he pushed] through college at an accelerated pace. But now, with exams over and graduation in a week, he could actually relax a little. It helped that these three clowns hadn't given up on him, and actually still considered him a friend. How could he refuse when they invited him to the infamous Moulin Rouge?

It was what he'd expected for the most part - glitter and paint liberally applied to dress up faded buildings and tired people. Rayfound it sad and resolved not to think about it too much. For tonight at least he and his friends were just young men playing dress-up, the pressure of their titles and positions set aside for an evening of anonymity. Despite the noise and gaudiness, this place did have a certain charm.

"Look, look." Eduard pointed towards the large wooden floor where dancers in yards of ruffles and lace had been prancing around. They were clearing the center, near the stage, and the lighting was changing.

"This is it!" Franz all but shouted, gripping Ray's arm. "It's him."

Ray had no interest in watching some man make a spectacle of himself by prancing and singing on the stage, but Franz was determined to see the fabled new star of this place. It was one of the reasons they'd ended up here for their night of indulgence.

"And now," the announcer was shouting, trying to build up the audience's anticipation for the star. Ray looked around curiously, amused by how excited everyone around him seemed to be. "Please welcome our own sparkling Amethyst!"

The lights cut out, leaving only a soft white light focused on a spot in the center of the wooden floor. The audience fell silent, waiting, and then a shadow appeared in the light, growing as other lights in soft blues went on around the center light. Ray looked around, shaking his head before following Franz's gaze up towards the ceiling. A large silver birdcage was gliding downwards, stopping a foot above the dance floor. Inside was a slender young man, blond and pale as porcelain with breathtaking violet eyes.

He looked directly at Ray for a moment before reaching out to grasp the gilded bars. He pressed himself against the cage and the audience fell silent, waiting for the first, timid words.

"Someday I'll fly away." The singer reached out through the bars as though reaching for the sky. He didn't dance; in fact, he barely moved at all. Still, the audience, Ray among them, was riveted.

When the last notes lingered in the air, the blond climbed onto the swing in the center of the cage and waved as he was raised towards the ceiling again. The audience roared, screaming and calling for more but the only response was a single carnation fluttering downward to land at the edge of the spotlight. Nearby patrons dove for it as the announcer shouted into the microphone, offering up his brazen tarts in place of the fragile caged beauty.

Far enough along in their drinks, Ray's companions left the table in search of companionship. Ray alone stayed at the table, his eyes straying upward from time to time as he slowly sipped his drink.

"First time here?" the waitress asked as she set a fresh drink down in front of him.

"Is it that obvious?" Ray really wasn't in the mood for idle chat but he was curious about the singer and didn't know who else to ask. Before he could frame his question, she patted him on the shoulder.

"You should remember that everything here is for sale, sonny. Even that one. He's being auctioned off in a few days and then he'll be out on the floor working with the rest of us, more's the pity." She shook her head and busied herself putting the empty glasses on her tray. "I don't imagine there'll be much left of him a few months from now. I've seen that type before and it always ends the same."

"I don't understand," Ray pleaded, hoping to draw out more information. The woman wasn't busy now that most of the patrons were either dancing or had retreated to one of the bedrooms. "Why are they auctioning him off?"

"Not him, exactly." She glanced around, and then dropped into a seat beside Ray with a sigh. "Pretend you're flirting so the old man will leave me alone for a few minutes. You'll get your story and my feet'll have a rest." She laughed at Ray's expression. "You're not so clever that this old girl can't see what you're after. Mind you, I'd tell a rich man to buy that one and quick, while he's still got his innocence, but seeing as you're a student and all…" She shrugged. "Not many as come in this place I'd say that to, but you look the sort that wouldn't hurt someone like our Amethyst. Not like some that are waiting for that auction so they can dirty him then cast him aside for being the whore they made him."

"You care for him, don't you?" Ray studied her curiously. She was older than most of the women working as dancers and entertainers. There were lines around her eyes and mouth but it was easy to see that she had been beautiful, before time and this place wore her down.

"I've seen the inside of that cage, though it's been more years than you've been alive. But I remember, and so do the others who've been in there. The ones who weren't destroyed." She glanced around again and leaned in even closer, putting her hand on Ray's shoulder. "No one's supposed to know, but our Florian's an aristocrat. His family's out of money but too proud to work like the rest of us so he ran away a few months ago to look for work and ended up here. Boss snatched him up like a gold coin from the gutter and he'll squeeze every penny he can out of him until there's nothing left. You can't help him so you'd best forget you ever saw him."

The waitress leaned over and kissed Ray on the cheek before standing up. "Tell your friends to take you to a coffeehouse next time." She took the money Ray offered with a smile and walked away, swinging her hips as she wove around the mostly-empty tables towards the bar.

Unable to spot any of his friends, Ray sighed and slipped on his coat. It would be a long, cold walk unless he was very lucky and found a cab. The air was brisk, but not as cold as he'd expected and Ray took a moment outside the club to really look at it. He'd been in some less than glamorous places in his life, but he couldn't imagine being trapped here among the glitter and bright lights, waiting to be sold.

"Oh!" A thin body collided with Ray's and they clutched at each other trying to maintain their balance. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

Ray got a better look at the figure shrouded in an oversized hat and coat and realized it was the singer. "Are you alright?" he asked, meaning more than just his physical state right at the moment, but unable to tell the other man that.

"Fi... fine." He looked around nervously. "I'm sorry, I have to... I shouldn't be out right now but…" He gestured with the envelope he carried, looking around again, his hand shaking. "I have to mail this."

"I could do that for you." Ray was careful not to move suddenly or do anything the singer might consider threatening.

"I don't..." A voice sounded nearby and the singer flinched. He shoved the envelope into Ray's hand, his eyes pleading before he turned and ran.

"You there!" A deep voice called for Ray's attention. He slipped the envelope into his pocket before turning to face the large man. "If you're done with your fun, move along. This is no place for loitering."

"Just waiting for my friends, "Ray replied sullenly, putting on his best annoyed expression.

"Could be a long wait," the man laughed. "Get along with you. Come back when you've the money to indulge."

Ray glared at the man but turned and walked away. He didn't really care about the laughter or being made sport of, but he did want to keep their attention on him long enough for the singer to be safely away.

XXXXX

Back in his rooms, having safely evaded the dorm monitors, Ray pulled the letter from his pocket and studied it. The handwriting was precise and graceful but strong. There was a small blob of ink at the start of one line and a faint smear on another as if written in a hurry. It was addressed to a Madame du Rochefort on the Rue Martine, a fashionable but fading area with sprawling mansions of the older aristocracy. The singer's mother, no doubt.

Holding the letter up to the light, Ray could see that there were very few lines of writing on the paper within, but beyond that he detected the weight of paper money. Foolish to risk sending any sum through the post, but clearly the boy was desperate. Making a decision, Ray tucked the envelope safely into an inner pocket in his jacket and decided to deliver it personally tomorrow afternoon.

XXXXX

Ray Balzac Courland rarely second-guessed his own decisions, but he was seriously questioning his own sanity as he climbed the front steps of the Rochefort mansion. As expected, it was a magnificent older home that was showing signs of neglect. He'd done a little research this morning and confirmed that his family was distantly related to the runaway Rochefort. He hoped to use that connection as his excuse to deliver the letter. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to betray the young man's secret.

"Count Courland to see Madame Rochefort." He announced himself, presenting his visitor's card to the woman who answered the door. She stepped back to let him in and asked him to wait in the foyer while he was announced.

Ray detested these little formalities, having spent half of his life in another country living a very different life. The restrictions placed on him here in Paris chafed, but he supposed they were a small price to pay for the freedoms his money and title permitted him.

"Count Courland." A small silver-haired woman held out her hand in greeting and he kissed it as etiquette demanded. He used the moment to assess the person he suspected was the blond's mother. She may have been beautiful once, but that beauty had now faded and her face was lined with too many cares for one of her age. Her clothing was fine, but out of style and a bit faded. Her eyes were cold and didn't match her smile. "To what do I owe this honor, sir? I don't believe we've met."

"Indeed not, Madame. I've been busy with my studies and not had the privilege of meeting many of my distant relatives since I've been in Paris. My studies are nearly complete and I'm hoping to make amends for my rudeness."

"Nonsense, sir. Your studies are more important than socializing. But, as you are here, please, join me for tea."

"You are most kind, Madame, and I am sorry to have to refuse. I must return to my studies, but I was compelled to bring you this. It was received from an acquaintance of mine who felt it was of some importance. And since I am a distant relative who had not yet had the honor of your acquaintance, I imposed on his good nature and persuaded him to let me deliver it."

Ray removed the envelope from his pocket and handed it to the lady, watching her face carefully. Although there was no return address, it was clear she recognized the handwriting immediately. She paled and pressed one hand to her breast.

"Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?"

"An acquaintance, Madame. I assume it is of some importance."

"Ye--- yes. Please." She clutched at his arm, then seemed to recover herself and abruptly let go. "Forgive me, but this is important. Your acquaintance. Did he say where this came from? Who gave it to him?"

"I believe it was from someone here in Paris, Madame."

"Paris. Forgive me. If you wouldn't mind..." She sagged into a nearby chair and opened the letter with shaking hands, looking inside and taking out only the letter. She scanned the few lines of text and went even paler. The servant who had been standing unobtrusively to the side hurried over to offer assistance.

"Tea with a dash of spirits if you have them," Ray commanded and the woman hurried off to comply. She was back in a minute with a porcelain cup filled halfway with fragrant tea.

"Slowly, Madame," the servant urged while Ray buttoned his coat and prepared to leave.

"Forgive me, Madame. I did not mean to cause you distress. I'll leave you to rest. I hope we might meet again in better circumstances."

"No!" It was quiet but forceful and Ray turned back to the older woman curiously. "Please. My son Florian... My son is missing. This letter is from him, but it doesn't say where he is." She reached out to him, pleading. "He's all I have. If you can tell me anything…?"

"I regret that I can not, Madame. But I will ask my acquaintance and report anything that I might learn." He bowed deeply. "Now I must go so you can rest. Good day."

He let himself out the front door, closing it carefully behind him, his stomach turning at the thought of telling that woman what had become of her precious son.

XXXXX

Florian stared at himself in the mirror. He would look different afterwards, he was sure of it. No longer a poor but noble boy, he would instead be a whore, painted up to please whoever could pay for his time. He looked down at the small chest laying open on his vanity with an array of precious jewels glittering within. It would bring his mother enough money to keep the house for years and yet it was a mere token for the man who'd given it to him. He should be grateful for that, but instead he was terrified.

Monsieur Romwell was a powerful man, used to getting what he wanted. What worried Florian was what that man did with things he no longer found interesting. He'd heard stories from some of the others here, about Romwell's casual cruelties. How he'd toy with someone, then toss them aside, broken. Was this the man who would buy him? Not just for his first night, but for as long as he found Florian interesting? And when he was no longer interesting… would he be cast out among the other whores who strutted and teased for a few minutes with anyone who could pay?

Florian allowed himself a moment of bitter self-pity, thinking of the precious family secret. His mother had passed the knowledge to him on his sixteenth birthday when he'd taken his title of Marquis. Little good either thing did him now. In a few days he'd have fallen too far to ever go back. As for the secret, his mother could take it and the precious family treasure to her grave. What use would a whore have for a 120-carat diamond entrusted to his noble Rochefort ancestors?

He thought of the handsome young man who'd taken his letter and distracted the guard so he could get back to his room without being caught. The man had such kind and beautiful green eyes. If only...

Florian shook his head and looked back at the chest of jewels. He'd seen the man with his friends, all obviously college students. It was wishful thinking to even consider him when this was his reality. A pretty plaything to be bought on a whim and then tossed aside. Florian slipped the amethyst ring on his left hand, moving it from side to side as he studied the effect. He'd wear it that night, and every night until Romwell tossed him aside. Then he'd sell it and go as far from Paris as the money would take him. The rest of the jewels would go to his mother as a farewell gift.

XXXXX

"Hey, Florian, Zidler wants to see you in his office." Florian shifted his gaze so he could see his friend's reflection in the mirror. It was half-an-hour until his first show and Florian was putting on his makeup.

"Does it have to be now?" he argued. "I'm trying to get ready."

"Zidler insisted. Seems M. Romwell is back with more presents for his prospective bride." Solomon tapped the back of Florian's chair. "Better not keep him waiting."

Florian frowned at Solomon but obediently put his makeup brush down and followed the older man out of the dressing room. Solomon was one of the few people at the Moulin who didn't seem to resent Florian's presence. Many of them were still upset that Zidler had taken in the hapless boy and made him the star of his show so quickly.

"How's the musical coming?" Florian asked politely as they wove through the backstage chaos towards Harry Zidler's office. Solomon was the piano player, but he was hoping to be a writer and spent all his spare time working on a musical play.

"The third act's still weak and there's too many props - Harry'll never go for it if it costs too much. But the good news is that I found some old costumes in storage that will work." They reached the stairs and Solomon motioned Florian on. "Hurry up or they'll be putting Oscar in the birdcage tonight."

Florian laughed at the thought of the huge bouncer being stuffed into the silver birdcage. He waved Solomon off and hurried up the stairs where he knocked, then entered the office.

"Ah Florian, my boy. Good. Good. Monsieur Romwell and I were just talking about you and it seems he has a proposition for you."

"Monsieur." Florian bowed to the man, using the moment to school his expression. He could not let the other man see his fear.

"My dear, you're out of breath. Come, sit next to me and relax. We can't have you distressed before your performance." Romwell sat on the stiff settee and patted the empty space next to him. Florian settled into it gingerly. "Have you forgotten? You must call me Azura." Florian nodded his understanding. "If I may?" Azura directed the question not to Florian, but to Zidler who readily agreed. Azura took a small box from his jacket pocket and opened it, displaying the pair of amethyst and gold earring studs to Florian. "This will cause a bit of discomfort, I'm afraid. But the result will be worth it. Don't you agree?"

Florian nodded, unable to do otherwise.

There was a moment of agony as the needle pierced Florian's earlobe, followed by a throbbing that filled his whole head. A second, lesser pain followed as the earring was forced into the new hole. The process was repeated on the other ear, but Florian could barely differentiate it from the initial pain. He felt lightheaded and there were tears tracking his face.

"Beautiful," Azura breathed, leaning in to kiss the tears away.

Florian cast his pleading gaze towards his employer, but the man turned away.

Weak and defeated, Florian leaned into Azura's embrace, feeling as if his price and his future had already been set.

XXXXX

"Someday I'll fly away." The song was different tonight, as were the tears that glittered on the blond's pale face. It was heartbreaking, and not a soul in the house was unmoved. When the blond reached through the bars, audience members throughout the club surged forward, seeking to answer the young man's pleas. When the cage was drawn upwards, there was a disconsolate cry.

"What happened to him?" Ray demanded of his waitress, the same woman who had spoken to him the previous night. This time she simply shook her head and walked off to serve another customer.

Feeling awkward for being there alone, Ray nursed his drink and waited, trying to be casual as he looked around at the few others that were still drinking rather than pursuing other entertainment.

A lone figure with silver hair caught his attention. He was half-shrouded in shadows but that long, thin frame and arrogant expression were somehow familiar. The man was obviously waiting rather impatiently for something. As Ray tried to place the figure, he saw a man approach – the same one who'd been serving as announcer for the show. At his side was the blond singer, looking nervous and uncomfortable. There was a moment of conversation and then the customer stood, coming fully into the light and revealing the scar over his left eye. Taking the blond's hand, together the three men walked towards a door marked 'private'.

"Anything else, love?" The waitress was back, her eyes knowing as she smiled at him. "Let him go, doll. That one's been claimed already. The auction's just for show now that Romwell wants him."

Ray's stomach was tight with apprehension. He'd known the man by another name not that many years ago when a silver-haired boy not much older than himself had saved him. They'd run the streets of Morocco together, along with the other strays until fate and Ray's relatives had separated them. He'd often wondered what happened to Azura, and now he knew. The question was: what was he going to do? He'd made some discreet inquiries about the infamous Romwell since first hearing the name and what he'd learned had not been encouraging. In polite circles, Romwell was spoken of mostly in hushed conversations. He had a reputation as being ruthless in business and rumors indicated he was just as ruthless in his private relationships.

At first Ray had not believed what he'd learned – the Azura he knew was tough because he had to be to survive, but he had never been cruel. But then Ray remembered the timid young boy who'd been under Azura's care when Ray arrived. He rarely spoke and never looked directly at anyone. He just stayed silently at Azura's side. A few days after Ray arrived he'd woken in the night to muffled sobs and had found the boy curled in the darkest corner, shivering. Even in the dim light Ray could see bruises on those thin arms and blood on his lips. He held the boy until they both fell asleep and in the morning he was gone. Ray never found out what happened to the boy and none of the others would even talk about him. With a pang of regret, Ray realized that he had no memory of the boy's name.

"Drink up, man. You look like you need this." Without his noticing, the waitress had retreated to the bar and returned with a glass of scotch. Ray slammed it back without hesitation, trying to burn the sudden vision of Florian, bruised and bloodied, out of his mind. Apparently he'd need a lot more than one drink for that.

"Thanks," he said roughly, handing the waitress an extravagant tip as he lurched to his feet. He hadn't overindulged, but he felt unsteady and confused.

"Can you get home?" she asked him quietly, her eyes too knowing for Ray's comfort. When he nodded she gave him an encouraging smile. "Don't let me see you here again, love. Go spend your time with proper company and forget you were ever here. It's better that way."

Ray nodded again but had no words to spare as he struggled to pull his cloudy thoughts together. He stumbled a little as he crossed the threshold into the damp night air. He found a cab only a block away and thought of nothing as he returned home, buildings and people passing in a blur. It wasn't until he was safely back in his room, lock secured and brandy half-gone that he regained his senses.

Regarding himself in the mirror, he straightened his posture. He'd neglected his hobby in favor of his studies, but perhaps it was time for a little indulgence. Giving his reflection a smile, he turned to his wardrobe and slid the secret panel aside to extract his black cape and top hat. Perhaps it was time for Noir to pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge.

XXXXX

Harry Zidler had dreams like any other man. In his youth he'd dreamed of his future as an important businessman, master not only of his own future but of his employees' as well. While he'd done more than a few questionable things in his past, he'd never actually done anything he regretted in the dark of night. Well, nothing that kept him up from a sound sleep, anyway.

So why couldn't he sleep? It was late and he was certainly tired enough, but not overtired. Yet here he lay in his large, comfortable bed staring at the ceiling, the memory of those frightened violet eyes haunting him.

Damn it! Didn't the boy realize the gift he was being handed? Sure, Harry would make money off the deal with Romwell, but it's not like the boy was going to stay a virgin all his life. Why give something away freely when you could make money off of it?

No, he wasn't promising the lad happily ever after, but then only fools believed in that nonsense in the first place. Harry was doing him a favor, shattering his aristocratic little fantasies now while the boy was still young and attractive enough to take advantage of his assets. Those things didn't last forever. Ask any of the bitter old waitresses about that and you'd get more than an earful.

Of course he'd heard the rumors about Romwell, but who could believe rumors? The man wanted Florian and he was willing to pay a princely sum to have him. Surely the boy could understand it was for the best. And Harry had promised him a place at the Moulin Rouge once Romwell was done with him. Providing, of course, the boy still had his looks. This wasn't a charity after all.

Feeling much more settled, Zidler turned onto his side and drifted off to sleep, never noticing the extra black shape in the far corner of his room.

XXXXX

Selecting the most valuable jewels from the case with the "R" embossed into the lid, Noir returned the case to the safe in Zidler's office and stowed the gems in a secret pocket of his jacket. With the safe secured and concealed once again by the hideous painting, Ray in his guise as Noir slipped out of the main building towards the huge elephant-shaped structure in the courtyard. He'd heard rumors about this place – how only the wealthiest of patrons ever saw the inside of this monstrosity. He'd also heard that the blond was being kept there in preparation for the auction, now only a day away.

There was only one entrance to the elephant and the guard was barely awake. Ray simply bypassed him by scaling the outside and entering by way of the open windows.

The blond was asleep at the small writing desk, the candle he'd been using almost burned down to its holder. Scattered across the desk were half a dozen crumpled pieces of stationery and the contents of a small, overturned jewel chest – a dozen amethysts.

Reaching over, Ray picked up one of the stones and studied it. It was the size of his thumbnail and nicely cut even if it wasn't the most valuable of gems. Reassured by the blond's soft snores, he moved closer and tried to read what was written on the only uncrumpled stationery left on the desk. It held a formal greeting to the young man's mother, but nothing else.

How did one inform their parent that they're about to be whored out? They certainly didn't cover that in any of Ray's classes. But then, the Rocheforts were a much older line than the Courlands, and aristocrats had never had problems selling their children for political and financial advantage. With a surge of anger on the man's behalf, Ray snatched up the gems closest to him and shoved them in the pocket with the gems he'd taken from Zidler's safe. He'd be damned if he let the blond send everything to his mother and keep nothing for his future.

The blond shifted suddenly in his sleep and almost fell off the chair. With a huff of annoyance, Ray lifted him, ready to muffle him should the movement wake him. It did, but before Florian could make a sound, Ray covered the singer's mouth with his own. The blond struggled wildly for several moments before calming, his hands moving to pull Ray closer.

"What are you doing?" he asked breathlessly once they separated. His eyes were curious but not afraid as he regarded the man carrying him. He didn't protest as Ray transported him to the large bed and settled him gently on the left side where the pillows were piled high. "You shouldn't be here," Florian told him, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry outside and alert the guard.

"Neither should you." Even as the words left his mouth, Ray couldn't imagine where they were coming from. "You could leave with me. Now."

"Leave? But…" His eyes narrowed. "Why would you want me to do that? At least Romwell is paying."

"Yes, you idiot. He's paying to despoil you and your dear employer is going to take every bit of that money and you'll have nothing to show for your sacrifice. You think those pathetic amethysts will ensure your mother's future or your own?"

"No." The blond's chin was set in a stubborn line. "But if Azura wants me badly enough to offer Harry jewels enough to make the man speechless, then surely there are others who will pay as well."

"Pay for what? A pretty blond whore? How long do you think that will last? A month? A year if you're lucky. There'll be another pretty boy along to catch their interest soon enough and you'll be entertaining gentlemen in dark alleys for pennies. How will you help your mother then?"

"I'm strong. I'm smart. I'll find other work."

"What respectable business will hire a fallen aristocrat turned whore? If you're lucky, you'll be someone's kept boy, just waiting for the missus to find out or your owner's interest to wane." He leaned in close to the blond and spoke the words in his face. "Want to know what will happen if you're not lucky?"

"No!" The blond was trembling. "Why are you doing this? What do you want? You could be the very person you're warning me about."

"Or I could be someone who wants to help you." He backed up a little and bowed. "Count Courland at your service. It's Marquis du Rochefort, is it not?"

"No." Florian shook his head slowly, sadly. "It is Florian Rochefort now, Count Courland. A common man with no family ties."

"It's not that easy to cast off your lineage. Come, won't you…"

Voices in the courtyard interrupted Ray and he swore softly before hurrying to the window and looking out cautiously.

"I'm telling you, I have my orders." A short, bespeckled man was shouting up at the guard. He was easily visible in the pre-dawn light and Ray realized he'd stayed much longer than he had intended. There was no way he'd get the blond out of here now.

"It's Azura's valet," Florian whispered into Ray's ear. "I'm to have fittings today for my… 'bridal attire'." The blond said the last bitterly, but then continued quickly. "You can't be seen here. But how…"

"The window. I'll be fine. But I'll be back for you tonight. Be ready. I promise you, from one aristocrat to another, I will not abuse your trust."

Florian studied him hard for a long moment before nodding. "Come tonight at three. I'll be packed and waiting. Now go! They're on the stairs." Florian watched as Ray easily slipped out and away. He turned away from the window just as the door opened.

"You're up then. Good. Good. Master Romwell's arranged a full day for you and we've got to get started." Toulouse, the valet, hurried around the room, taking note of everything. Florian hurried to gather the jewels and the scattered notes, tossing the latter in the trash.

"Well, get dressed. You can't travel in your night clothes." The valet looked at the few outfits hanging in the closet and made a face as he selected one. "Dreadful. You'll have to be dressed properly once we reach the house. You can't let the Master see you in such rags. Well, hurry up!"

Overwhelmed, Florian gathered up the garments and slipped into the bathroom to dress. He could hear the valet complain to the guard about the dreadful conditions that the master's new charge endured while living in such a place. "An elephant indeed!" The small man was indignant and Florian couldn't help but laugh - he sounded just like Florian's mother.

Emerging from the bathroom fully dressed, with teeth cleaned and hair brushed, Florian felt a bit less like an object on display. He nodded to his guard and followed Toulouse downstairs to the waiting carriage. He didn't notice the two sets of eyes watching from two very different vantage points.

XXXXX

It was a cruel joke, Solomon was convinced of that. He'd been up three nights straight and still he couldn't resolve the problems with the third act. He needed something daring, something to make the audience sit on the edge of their seats in anticipation. He tossed down the paper in disgust and went to the window to stare morosely out at the pre-dawn sky. He was ready for a good sulk but unexpected movement drove all thoughts of self-pity out of his head.

His eyes narrowed as he watched the dark figure descend the elephant. Scanning the grounds, he saw the carriage with the distinctive "R" emblazoned on the side for Romwell.

Now wasn't this an interesting little tidbit about innocent little Florian. Perhaps Monsieur Zidler would like an update on the nocturnal activities of his precious golden boy.

Yes. There just might be a way for Solomon to get what he wanted after all.

XXXXX

Ray paced, ignoring the concerned eyes of his friends. They'd gathered in his room, hoping to distract him from whatever had made him so uncharacteristically agitated lately. It wasn't working and he clearly wanted them to leave.

"Tell us," Franz demanded, his best stern schoolmaster impression firmly in place. The others laughed at him, but Ray just glared.

"How did the three of you pass if you don't comprehend the phrase 'get out'?" He leaned against the open door and drummed his fingers against the wood.

"Good looks," Franz assured him blithely, taking a seat and crossing his arms. The other two groaned and headed out. No one could reason with Franz when he was like this and they had no desire to watch the battle of wills to come.

"We'll send someone to clean up the blood later," Eduard called over his shoulder as he dragged Pierre away.

"Well?" Ray asked Franz, but the blond just shook his head and remained seated.

"I'll leave when you give me an honest answer about what's bothering you. We leave here in less than a week and you're so distracted you're likely to miss your own graduation."

"Hardly," Ray countered. "You're making too much of nothing."

"Then at least tell me her name. Or his, I should guess." He appraised Ray's body openly. "Lucky bastard."

"Him or me?"

"Him at least. I'd have to see him to judge the latter."

"That was a very poor attempt. I expect better from you, Franz."

"Your stubbornness exhausts me. I'll do better after a rest. Now put me out of my misery, I'll leave you alone and we'll practice our verbal sparring later."

"Or we could save ourselves a lot of aggravation and just stop now." Ray shook his head, unable to get rid of the vision of the blond, tears streaming down his face as he reached through the bars of that cage.

"No one ever asks what happens to the prince," Franz commented quietly.

"What?"

"You know, in the fairy tales? It's all about rescuing the princess, but when it's over all we're told is that they lived happily ever after. They never tell us how. What happens when the princess doesn't need to be rescued anymore? Does the prince become a bureaucrat, pushing papers and signing decrees, all the while thinking about his daring exploits? Does he then go back to the princess and make small talk at parties? How does he stand it?"

"He can't spend his whole life rescuing princesses. He's got more important things to do. As long as he loves her, it should be enough."

"But does he love her? And does she love him, or is it just gratitude? Princes aren't necessarily smart just because they are royalty. You ought to know that. What happens if he loves the danger rather than the princess?"

"He doesn't."

"How does he know?"

"How does anyone know? But he can't keep looking for people to rescue his entire life just because he knows what it's like to want to be rescued. "

"It must be lonely, being a prince," Franz observed quietly.

"I suppose," Ray conceded. "And I suppose some princes are fools."

"Then again, some have excellent instincts." Franz stood and placed a hand on Ray's shoulder. "And concerned friends."

"Lucky prince," Ray responded, watching the reflection in the window as Franz left the room.

XXXXX

Ray had inherited the family mansion along with its contents and staff when his grandfather passed away. He was rarely there while he'd been in school, only visiting occasionally or staying when school was on break. In the last week he'd had most of his belongings moved back and soon he would live there full-time.

He surveyed the rooms with different eyes as he walked through the house. He wondered how it would look to his houseguest. There was a suite on the second floor that would be perfect for the blond. It wasn't as large and well appointed as some of the other rooms, but it was in the back of the house and had large windows that looked out over the garden. It got the morning sun and he had a feeling that the blond would like it.

"He'll be here early tomorrow, so I want the house ready. Ray was instructing his long-time servant and friend, Laila. He'd known her since his youth and she'd been his devoted follower all that time. She was somewhat lacking in domestic abilities but he had staff that assisted her with things like that. He trusted them to get the work done.

"He must be quite a person to have caught your attention like this. There was a bit of an edge in her voice but she returned the smile Ray gave her.

"He is. You'll like him, Laila. I know you will."

She nodded with a smile and hurried off to make sure the rooms were ready for the new arrival.

XXXXX

Florian stared at the tangle of leather strips that Toulouse was holding out to him. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with the item so he just stared at it.

"Come on, come on. Put it on so we can get started. You've got be to be trained and there's not much time. You wouldn't want to disappoint the master would you?"

Florian shook his head slowly, completely confused. Trained for what? He finally accepted the leather thing and was turning it over trying to puzzle it out when Toulouse threw open the doors to an ornate wooden wardrobe.

"Now then…" he murmured, surveying the array of items. Behind him, Florian gasped and staggered at the array of items he hadn't even imagined. One door held nothing but an array of whips while the other held various restraints and inside the cabinet...

Florian dropped into a chair, blood quickly draining from his face. He clutched the leather item, suddenly realizing it was something he was expected to wear. And those… things in the cabinet. Their purpose was clear even to someone as inexperienced as him.

"What's wrong?" Toulouse demanded, moving close to the wide-eyed blond. "Are you ill?"

"You're frightening him, Toulouse." Azura's voice was mild but there was a hint of threat behind it. He moved across the room, firmly closing the cabinet before moving to kneel beside Florian.

"Toulouse misunderstood." Azura spoke soothingly. "Such things are not meant for someone like you, my dear. I treasure your innocence." He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Florian's forehead. "I will teach you gently, with my own hands."

He waved Toulouse away and the man went quickly, knowing he would be punished later for making such a mistake. He closed the door behind him and let the couple be alone.

"Come, walk with me in the garden. The air will strengthen you."

Florian smiled weakly, color returning to his face. He accepted Azura's hand and allowed him to guide them out into the garden leaving that wardrobe and its terrifying contents behind. Although the vision of those items wouldn't be forgotten so easily.

XXXXX

Florian was confused. He'd caught glimpses of Azura that had frightened him, but he didn't really know the green-eyed Count much better. What if he wanted the same thing?

Still something inside Florian told him to trust the younger man, so when the clock struck three a.m., Florian was standing, waiting with his meager belongings tucked into a pillowcase. The clothes from Zildler would be left behind. Only the gifts he received from Azura were his and he would give them to his mother to help keep the family home.

The ring he'd slipped onto his finger yesterday still rested there. He'd take it off once he was safely in his new home.

"Ready?" Ray asked as he swung easily in through the elephant's window.

Florian smiled and nodded, holding up his pillowcase. "Yes."

With one last glance around to be sure he had everything, Florian followed Ray out of the window. He followed the dark-haired man carefully as they swung down to the ground, landing lightly, fully aware of how sound carried. They had barely taken half a dozen steps when three figures emerged from the shadows under the elephant.

"Going somewhere?" Zidler asked, his tone heavy with anger. He hated to be shown up in front of one of his richest clients. And he really hated that he'd had to promise that little weasel Solomon Sugar that he'd produce his play before the man had agreed to tell when Florian was going to try and escape.

"I…" Florian shrank back into himself for a moment, but then he straightened his back, drew all his resolve together and stepped forward. "Yes. I've been given a chance to have my life back – a life that doesn't require that I sell myself. And I'm taking it. You have my gratitude, Monsieur Zidler, but not my future."

Ray was beside him now, giving his strength. They held hands tightly and Ray watched, wary not only of Zidler, but more so of his old friend.

"I thought I'd seen you, Ray," Azura said mildly, stepping forward. He moved close to the pair, his eyes on Florian but unreadable. He reached out and took Florian's chin in his hand studying the amethyst depths for something. After a moment he smiled and stepped back. "I should congratulate you, Ray, on winning such a fine prize. He mock-bowed to the man and snapped his fingers. Toulouse, who had remained in the shadows now stepped forward into the light carrying a heavy chest.

"For you, my pretty Amethyst. Consider it a gift for the bride." He held up a hand to stop the protest. "I won't be refused. Take it." He narrowed his eyes at them for a moment, and then smiled. Before Florian could move or Ray could protest, Azura leaned in and claimed Florian's mouth in a hard kiss. He held it for a long moment before slowly breaking the contact and backing away. "You've ruined him, Ray. You've sold him a fairy tale. How cruel." He half-bowed to the confused pair before motioning to Zidler. "I've given you the agreed price. Let them go. It's too early for all this drama." He cast one last look back at the pair, just watching them for a moment before turning away.

The men disappeared into the club while Toulouse followed. Solomon stared after them before turning to watch as Florian and Ray leaned against each other, the heavy chest in their hands keeping them from doing anything more. He burned with anger as the blond lifted his face for a kiss and the dark-haired Count leaned down to comply.

They didn't even notice Solomon as they walked away towards the street where Ray had left his carriage waiting to transport them to the home they would now share.

XXXXX

Solomon clutched the flawed, heart-shaped ruby, his anger flaring. There was no card, but he knew it was a message from Florian's precious Count – a reminder of how Solomon had tried to betray them. If only Azura hadn't…

Well damn them. Damn them both.

He dropped into his chair and slammed the stone down on the scarred wooden desk next to the second-hand typewriter. He glared at the blank page waiting for inspiration to strike.

He'd show them. He wasn't a high and mighty aristocrat, but he was smart. He'd sell the ruby they'd sent; it wouldn't bring a fortune but he'd be comfortable for a while. He'd use the time to write, to show them what Solomon Sugar was made of.

That's it! He'd take their precious fairy tale and make it a tragedy. He'd gain his fame and fortune by turning their happiness into misery.

In his story, the hero would be a poor but honest writer, done wrong by a Count… No, too obvious. A Duke! The singer would be… not an innocent little blond, but an experienced – very experienced – redhead. Female of course, take that, Florian! And after overcoming hardships and self-sacrifice, they'd finally be together only to have her die, painfully, in his arms. With the little tart gone, the tragic but noble writer would tell their story and become a hero.

Perfect.

With a laugh, Solomon flexed his fingers and began to type.

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