Free Playing With Fire by Sean Michael Page B

the spines. He hadn’t needed to be in this room for so long.
    “Are you… You’ll be all right?” Wintras asked.
    He closed his eyes, the scent of his mother’s perfume somehow fresh, close. He wanted to be held again, to be touched and warm.
    “Zujan?” His name was whispered, Wintras suddenly at his side, tall and warm, one hot hand on his arm.
    He sobbed, leaning into the heat, trying to catch his breath.
    “Oh.” Wintras’ arms went around him, his prince holding him, patting his back awkwardly. He shivered, melting into those arms, refusing to think, to try and understand what this meant.
    “You’re cold again already.” It sounded like an accusation.
    “I can’t help it.” Zujan shrugged. It was how he was.
    “No wonder you’re always in such a bad mood.” Wintras froze as the words slipped from his mouth. “I mean…”
    Zujan blinked then started laughing, tickled down deep, amused that this stubborn, angry boy would say such a thing.
    Wintras stayed stiff, though the prince didn’t try to move away. “I’m glad to find I am finally amusing you.”
    “You will never be a diplomat, prince. Although, I must admit that my own skills do not live along that path either.”
    “I am simple like my people, Zujan. That is where my strength lies. In helping them, being one of them.”
    “We must all play to our strengths. Your challenge will be to hide your weaknesses.”
    The books caught his eye again, page after page teaching how to rule, how to control, tales of heroes and villains.
    “You mean like you do? Hiding how small you really are?”
    Zujan nodded, not really even paying attention then the words hit him. Being in this room made him complacent. “I’m not that small.”
    “Sure. And I’m not your slave.”
    “You are here as a consequence of your own actions.”
    Wintras snorted, and his arms dropped away, the long, warm body stepping back. “And you had nothing to do with it.”
    “You cannot control me; you can only control your own actions.” He could feel the fury, the frustration again, threatening at the base of his spine.
    “I would never dream of trying to control you, Zujan.”
    “Amazing. You do have a self-preservation instinct. Your father will be pleased.”
    Wintras snorted. “My father would have been pleased to have me return with him instead of my being held prisoner here. Why do you still pretend you’ve done this to help me?”
    He turned, heat leeching from him, fire blazing anew. “Because one day, prince, your mouth will find you beheaded and your lands lost, either to me or to another as strong as I am.”
    “And if you and your ilk were not greedy warmongers, it wouldn’t be an issue. My people have no wish for war or more land and jewels. They wish only to be happy, left in peace.” Wintras was back to the stiff angry boy, glaring at him, dark blue eyes shooting a fire of his own.
    “And the war that earned your father his crown? Are your histories so short you cannot remember even a generation ago?” He would not have this. Not here. Not in his home. Not in his rooms.
    Zujan moved through the door, through the barrier, leaving his room, the bar’cha flocking to him. They offered him forgiveness, strength, the illusion of size.
    All they asked was his soul.
    Wintras followed him out, a look of disgust on his face. “Our wars are in the past, there is peace now. I wish only to preserve it.”
    Soft voices hissed in his ear. Send him away. He hurts us. Send him away, our love, and all the pain and fury will fade. We will play again. We will call for the harem and have them warm us.
    Wintras shook his head. “I don’t understand how you could let them do that to you. I don’t care how powerful it makes you, it’s…” Wintras shrugged and turned his back.
    Zujan almost laughed. Let them? They were the first things he remembered, the lights surrounding his world.
    Send him away .
    “Go home, Wintras. Go home, and tell your father if I see him