Michael hated Rowan Stein with a fiery passion for the rest of his life. It is as simple as that. He was a Black to the core, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not manage to mold himself into the young gentlemen that Aunt Jill longed for him to be. He was a ruffian, a ragged wolf dressed up to be as elegant as a greyhound. Eventually, Aunt Jill gave up and gave Michael the chance to do what he enjoyed most: take care of the animals. He was still a prominent member of the family, and he was not forced to quarter with the servants, though he chose to anyway. He shared meals with us for the first few months after being assigned to his new position, then decided that he simply could not stand the severe environment anymore. Happiness came back into his eyes, and that made me smile.

Loran managed to conform, but only just. She was always a little too clumsy, a little too shy and gauche in public situations. She clung to Rose’s arm like a lifeline. Had it not been for my sister, Loran may have left the household altogether and gone in search of Mother.

I’m not sure how I managed it, but I became just what it was that Aunt Jill wanted me to become: I became a gentlemen.

I found that I was naturally adroit at pretending I knew what it was I was doing, so I could easily breeze through dinner conversations, and each and every one of my etiquette errs were written off as, "That rebel…" A little charm, I found, goes a long way.

On my sixteenth birthday, Mortimer gave me a sleek roan stallion that had been captured by Kalaweinvyrismerian officials on Torakibian territory. Mortimer’s wealth and influence got him more than just that horse; it also afforded him quite a hefty sum of money and other artifacts that Aunt Jill arranged in splendid formation around the household. I was content with my roan stallion.

One of the first things I had learned to do upon arriving at the du Monte estate was how to ride a horse. My uncle, Otis Black, had given me my first lesson, and I had taken to it like a natural. The horse I had initially ridden was an old chestnut mare that was nearly twice as old as I was, and she died from an acute horse cancer a few months after my eighth birthday. I had temporarily given up riding after that, as Chase (that was her name) and I had become quite close.

Otis found me lingering in her stall one day, moping and looking as pathetic as I felt. He clapped me on the shoulder and frowned. "Roc, this simply won’t do," he told me kindly, but firmly. "Chase was a good horse, but age catches up with us all. It’s simply a fact of life. You’ll have to recover eventually, son."

"I know," I sighed. "But that doesn’t make it hurt any less."

"No," he agreed somberly, "it doesn’t. But there will be another horse. There always is, especially with lads like you." He winked, then walked to the stall that his own huge, black war horse was stabled inside.

Uncle Mortimer du Monte and I had never had a relationship worthy of merit, but I knew that he did not dislike me. On the few occasions that we spoke, he was kind in a distant, ascetic sort of fashion. He was kind enough to tousle my hair once in a while when I was younger, but once I became a "man" in the eyes of my family, he refrained from touching me in any fashion at all. I wore my black hair in an elegant tail at the nape of my neck, tied with a deep purple ribbon that Aunt Jill and Miss Katherine chose for me. The slight make-up that I wore accentuated my more pleasant features; my nose and lips, to be precise, and once, Kathy dared to put a little eye-liner along the edges of my eyes. "Brings out your eyes," she told me with a shy smile. "They’re such a pretty pale blue; almost purple!"

After that, I took to putting it on myself, simply because I agreed. And because every time Ulrich and I spent an afternoon together, he kept looking at my eyes.

But back to my original point.

The roan stallion became my pride and joy; I brushed his coat each morning to a glossy sheen so that even the slightest exposure to the sunlight had him glittering like a diamond. The name he originally responded to was much too difficult for me to pronounce, so I settled for "Kio," which was the closest to his actual name that I could manage. Michael had a white mare of his own, and on sunny afternoons we would race both Kio and his mare across the estate. Kio was faster, but only just. Michael kept his mare in impeccable condition.

Upon returning from one invigorating ride across the estate one afternoon, Michael and I led our horses into the stable, and found the stable master Jeff putting up a foreign horse into one of the empty stalls. It took me a moment to recognize the gray gelding, with his silver forelock and white withers—Frost. Ulrich’s horse.

"Ah!" said Jeff suddenly, and he dusted off his grimy hands on his trousers as he saw us approach. He strode forward swiftly and took Kio’s reigns from me. "Master Rocielle, Master Ulrich is here to pay you a visit. I informed him that now was the time you set aside each day to take Kio out for a ride, and he returned to the du Monte Manor, where I believe he is awaiting your arrival."

"Already?" Michael said in surprise and shot me a quizzical glance. I shrugged.

"He has a remarkable habit of turning up whenever I’m out," I replied with a wry grin. Jeff started to lead Kio towards his stall, but I reached out and caught the reigns from him. "Don’t bother with that, Jeff," I told him. "We’ll probably end up going into town anyway." At Jeff’s pointed frown, I said sincerely, "I promise I’ll water him before I go. Honest."

He sighed and relinquished the reigns with some reluctance. "I ought to have realized it’s useless to argue with you anymore anyway, Master Rocielle," he said with a slight smile, then waved me off with one hand. "Go on; your brother and I can manage things here for now."

I was back on Kio’s back before Michael could protest, and, giving him a little reign, Kio sprang forward into a gallop and raced along the dirt path towards the manor. Mud was flung up by his hooves, the earth moist and liquid after the heavy reign of the previous day. Michael and I always enjoyed letting the horses amble along the muddy paths after the rains. It gave us the opportunity to talk with one another and get caught up on what we missed out in each other’s lives. He was something of an enigma to the rest of my family, and it seemed that only I understood him.

Perhaps he was the only one who ever understood me.

Aunt Jill was waiting impatiently for me on the steps leading up to the entrance of the manor, a scowl on her face that I could see from a full fifty meters away. I dismounted from Kio’s back even as he continued cantering along for another few paces; I didn’t fear him running off.

Aunt Jill wasted no time in reprimanding me. "Where have you been?" she demanded as I strode forward, "and look at those boots! I certainly hope you have no intention of coming inside this house with all that mud on you! And where is your horse going?"

"He’ll be fine," I said absently and walked past her. I caught myself before going inside and instead simply leaned inside the arched doorway. "Ulrich!" I shouted. "I’m outside!"

"Where are your manners!" Aunt Jill hissed to my back, affront wrought across her face and coloring her cheeks red. I smiled at her, took one of her hands, and kissed her cheek.

"I left them in the stable, Aunt Jill," I told her kindly, and despite the fury she tried to pump into her glare, a smile slowly crept across her face. She sighed, giving in, and swatted at my arm.

"Go on, off with you then," she said reluctantly, "but if I find out that you’ve been to that horrible club in the Diamond Quarter—"

"But you won’t find out, Madame," Ulrich purred as he lounged on the doorway. At my glance, he winked.

There was something about Ulrich Stein that was simply… exotic. His skin was a rich caramel hue unlike the almost icy white pale of his relatives, his hair a glossy, unkempt black that brushed his shoulders; he made no attempt to pull it back into any semblance of a tail. He moved almost like a prowling jaguar, limbs languid and loose and his eyes roving the area as if he expected to be surprised by something pleasant at any moment. He radiated an energy that was almost sexual in its intensity, and each time he touched me, I felt as if a lightning bolt had just struck the top of my head, resonated through me, and centered painfully at my groin.

I’d felt compelled to seek him out from the first time our eyes met at the Stein residence ten years before, although it had been another two years before we’d even been given the opportunity to speak. The second time we met was when Elsa and Roderick Polaris were married. All the prominent families of Kalaven City, Crystal City, and even the lesser known city of Haven attended the wedding, or at least sent representatives bearing gifts and blessings. Ulrich and I were pressed together in one of the pews of the temple in the Twilight Quarter of Kalaven City.

Throughout the ceremony, I felt his frame pressed up against my side, and even at eight years old, I felt the warmth of his body against mine and was totally and completely enamored by him.

The details of how we became formally acquainted have become fuzzy in my mind, but I distinctly remember that we had sneaked out of our houses for some reason after that to set alight to the bushes outside the Stein kitchen. The old cook had been so livid with us that he reported us to Otto, who, after receiving permission from my austere uncle, Mortimer, gave us both a beating that we wouldn’t soon forget.

Ulrich and I had been friends ever since.

Aunt Jill glared at him disapprovingly, then gave her eyes a roll and mumbled, "Just don’t come home drunk again. It doesn’t look good to the neighbors, and it certainly doesn’t improve either of your reputations."

"Good-bye, Aunt Jill," I said with a smile, then motioned for Ulrich to follow me. I clamored up onto Kio’s back and offered down a hand to pull him up behind me. He gladly accepted.

We headed back towards the stable at a leisurely trot; Kio refused to do anything faster if he had more than one person atop him. Ulrich held onto my waist to keep from falling off, and inquired with a sly chuckle, "What was this Aunt Jill was going on about? Clubs?"

"Oh don’t even pretend you don’t know what she’s talking about!" I retorted tartly, but my grin was obvious. Ulrich laughed softly and let his arms slide suspiciously around my waist. He pressed himself up against my back in one fluid motion, and I felt every contour of his chest and stomach and thighs in vivid detail; it caused my eyes to water temporarily, and if Kio hadn’t known where he was going, we probably would have become lost.

"I’m not denying it," he whispered into my ear, his voice so low and sensual it was difficult for me not to shiver. Then he laughed and sat back again.

I was never sure if he was joking or not; the sincerity of his words varied depending on his mood. At times he could be as coarse and callous as Rowan Stein on a bad day, and on others he became a creature driven by impulses not wholly of his own control.

He clicked his tongue at me. "Stop being such a prude, Rocielle," he muttered and leaned in again to rest his chin on my shoulder. "No one is watching us anyway."

"I’m not being a prude," I responded a bit sourly. "I’m being logical. And anyway, there is someone watching. Michael has Frost ready for you."

"Really?" The mention of his horse piqued his interest immediately, and as soon as we were close enough, he hopped off of Kio’s back and walked over to where Michael held Frost by his reigns.

He bowed deeply, his theatrical performance earning him a laugh from both Jeff and Michael. "Thank you, good man," he joked with the posh accent of his aunt and climbed up onto Frost’s back. "Had I coin on me, I’d tip you."

"Tip’s not necessary," Michael smiled, though his eyes darted covertly to mine, then back to Ulrich. He had obviously noted the close proximity between the two of us, though Jeff was blissfully ignorant of it. He continued to chuckle.

"Stell’s going to strike you with a lightning bolt one of these days, Master Ulrich," he said jovially and leaned on the handle of his pitchfork.

We rode away from the du Monte estate at a swift gallop, Kio and Frost straining to outrun each other while Ulrich and I shouted, mad from the gleeful rush of ecstasy we felt at the flight. We rounded a muddy corner that would lead us directly into the streets of the Diamond Quarter and very nearly plowed into a serf as he stepped meekly back onto the property. Ulrich cried out in alarm and reigned Frost in before the horse’s front hooves cleaved the poor man to death.

"Watch where you’re going!" he shouted at the man in outrage. I frowned and viewed the aging man with sympathy; Ulrich’s temper often got the better of him.

"S-sorry, masters!" the man simpered weakly and scuttled away, hunched back hunching even further to obscure his face from view. Ulrich glared after him, then nudged Frost up beside me. We squeezed through a narrow alleyway that branched off from the main thoroughfare and headed towards the club that Aunt Jill had sternly told us not to frequent. I favored Ulrich with a slight scowl.

"You needn’t have been so coarse with him," I said, minutely indignant. "Joff is an old man, and he pulls his share on the estate. It isn’t his fault that he’s getting a little senile."

"I wasn’t coarse," Ulrich answered stiffly and refused to meet my gaze. Whenever we argued, which was rarely, it was inevitable that for a period of time afterwards, Ulrich would be unable to look at me. I wasn’t sure if this was because he was ashamed of himself for his behavior (I doubt this, as there was not much that could shame Ulrich), or if arguing with me was particularly difficult. On various occasions during the times I spent with the Stein family, I had witnessed many rows between Ulrich and Otto Stein, Ulrich and Elsa, Ulrich and Gustoff and Daniel; he fought with them as viciously as any of the city mongrels fought with one another. Yet when it came to sparring words between us, he didn’t seem capable of it.

I was intrigued.

We paused in front of The Tom Cat and dismounted. "I’ll take the horses around back," I said with a placating smile that hopefully eased the tension between us. "You can go inside, if you’d like."

To disagree would continue the unvoiced dispute. Ulrich dismounted as well, smiled, and handed me the reigns. "I’ll buy you a drink," he said almost warmly, then disappeared through the creaky doors of the club. I patted Kio gently on the neck and clicked my tongue to Frost, then led them through the skinny passageway towards the small yard behind the buildings.

A haggard young man sat on a narrow bench underneath a yellow-lit window, smoking a cigarette. As I appeared, garbed in my slightly muddy finery and with the du Monte insignia emblazoned flagrantly across the front of my tunic, he sprang to his feet, made a haphazard attempt at arranging his hair, and bowed to me. "Master du Monte," he greeted me in a slurred stammer. Then, he reached drunkenly towards both Frost and Kio’s reigns. "Shall I take in your horses, sir?"

"That’s all right, Bret," I told him patiently and slowly; I knew the man’s name well, as he often frequented the back streets late at night to find prostitutes. With a slightly puzzled and inebriated frown, he sank back down onto the bench and continued to smoke. I guided both the horses towards the small, sheltered structure where several other horses were located.

Bret watched me, and as I busied myself with the horses, he struck up idle conversation. "If you don’t mind me askin’, Master," he began suspiciously, "isn’t it a bit late for you to be out wanderin’ the streets? No disrespect intended, ‘n all that."

I’d grown accustomed to his insolence, and I myself was still not accustomed to being referred to as "master" anything. I continued brushing down Kio after getting Frost comfortably settled in, spending a little extra attention on him; he leaned around to nuzzle my shoulder.

"I spend as much time as I like wherever I please, Bret," I replied somewhat coolly. "I’ve no obligations, as far as I can tell."

"Yeah, but," he went on, puzzled, "Master Stein sure do. En’t he the next in line for the Stein estate?"

That caused my hand to momentarily pause as I brushed through Kio’s fur. This undeniable fact troubled me for the first time in many years. In fact, I couldn’t recall having ever pondered over it before Bret mentioned it.

I forced a stiff smile. "Ulrich has never been one to consider his actions very carefully before carrying them out," I answered and, after tethering Kio firmly in place, headed towards the main entrance. I heard Bret snort derisively behind me.

The inside of The Tom Cat was stiflingly hot and brimming with smoke; that was its most distinguishing feature—that and the women that ran rampant upstairs. I squinted through the yellow haze, hoping to catch sight of Ulrich somewhere in the dimly illuminated interior of the club. I spotted him, after a moment. He was sitting alone at a small booth in the darkest corner of the bar he could find. No kerosene lamp illuminated his face or the sheen of his hair. I saw him only by a trick of the light reflecting off of his obsidian black eyes.

He motioned me over.

As I made my way over to his table, I noticed several familiar faces in the oppressive, chattering mass of human bodies. The oldest Rivamonte boy shot me a snide glare from where he lounged seductively beside a young girl I gauged was hardly over thirteen. Beside him were two ruffians whom I did not recognize, but at a neighboring table was a distant relative of mine staying at the du Monte Manor. I nervously averted my gaze from her; she was a middle-aged woman with slightly graying brown hair, and she too glared at me as I walked past.

"Out late, aren’t you Rocielle?" she growled; for the life of me, I couldn’t place her name. "And didn’t your aunt specifically tell you not to come by here? Your reputation is foul enough as it is."

"As is yours, Madame," I replied pleasantly and kept walking. There was no sense in continuing the conversation.

I slid into the booth beside Ulrich, grateful for the safety that the darkness afforded me. The old woman turned to glare after me, but could not find me in the smoky opaqueness of the bar. At my side, Ulrich grinned. I saw the white flash of his teeth. "You’re not very popular this evening, are you?"

"Not with family," I responded sourly and leaned back on the uncomfortable wooden seat. I stretched languidly. "Especially not that old hag. I’m not sure how she’s related to us, but Aunt Jill seems to think she’s someone of significance."

"Your Aunt Jill thinks that my Uncle Rowan is someone of significance," Ulrich pointed out sardonically, "and we both know how inaccurate she is on that account."

"Rowan’s not all that bad, is he?" I asked.

"He’s bad enough," Ulrich grumbled, then briefly called out to a bar maid as she sauntered past. The girl turned to look at us, squinted, then smiled and ambled over. She leaned heavily on the table and placed one slender hand on her waist.

"Good evening, lads," she purred; her voice was rich and velvety. "What can I get for you tonight?"

"One bottle of brandy," Ulrich put in before I could speak, "and two glasses. We’ll be staying here for a while."

"Oh?" the girl inquired with a waggle of one eyebrow. Her smile was coyly suspicious, her eyes darting between the two of us. "Well, if you’d like privacy, there are some rooms upstairs… And the girls would be more than happy to keep you two lads company tonight."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Ulrich answered again and flashed her a smile. I felt my blood run cold as he placed one hand on my shoulder, drawing me into a partial embrace. "Our reputations are soiled enough as it is."

"I see," she smiled and tipped me a wink; Stell above only knew what conclusions she drew to Ulrich’s words. "I’ll be back with your brandy in a moment." And with that, she sauntered off again, hips swaying seductively from side to side.

I turned to glare pointedly at Ulrich, mouth already parted and the beginnings of a reprimand on the tip of my tongue, but he was a step ahead of me. One slender hand lifted to touch my lips, silencing me before I could get a word out. "Hush," he told me with a smile. "Don’t act as if you’re angry at me, because I know you’re not."

"Not angry," I said tensely. "Just confused."

"By what?" he asked with a falsified innocence about him that made the corners of my lips tug upwards. I refused to smile, though a chill ran through me as he took his finger away from my chin and traced its tip down the line of my jaw bone. "I don’t find myself to be particularly puzzling, Rocielle… so what is it that makes your mind boggle?"

"This!" I hissed in an undertone and, with some reluctance, drew my head back from the touch. Briefly, I glimpsed a flash of uncertainty as it kindled to life in his eyes, before he frenetically attempted to cover it up. He drew his hand away from me and said in a calm voice not his own, "If I made you uncomfortable, Rocielle, you could have told me. I never intended that."

"It’s not that," I said recklessly, but bit my lower lip as the bar maid returned with our drinks. She smiled coyly at us.

"Here you are, lads," she grinned and poured the liquor into both glasses, leaving it at the center of the table. "If you need anything else, my name’s Geneva. Just give me a holler."

"Thank you," Ulrich responded with a smile, though it was fragile and barely reached his eyes. His tone remained the same, however, and Geneva suspected nothing as she wandered off yet again.

Once confident that she was out of ear shot, he turned back to me and asked, "If it’s not that," and he did not elaborate on that point purposely, "then what is it? You’ve never minded before now." He paused to look at his hands. "Sometimes," he went on softly, "I thought you might even… enjoy it."

This conversation had been long in coming, but I think we both knew that at some point, we would have to discuss the nature of our friendship. There were times when, in the dead of night when we shared a bed at either of our respective houses, we would lie in silence for hours staring into each other’s eyes and nothing more. Sometimes our hands would wander to each other’s faces, tracing the contours of each muscle, memorizing the curve of a cheek or the slant of a jawbone. When an entire group of boys would spend an evening together, our friendship was altered without question. We sat a respectable distance apart from each other and did not touch any more than average friends normally do. The very fact that we had to change the way we behaved around each other alluded to feelings that neither of us were prepared to face, but I think we were well aware that it was something that was in need of serious discussion.

I had never been uncomfortable around him. To be honest, I felt more at ease and comfortable around him than I did around anyone else in my life, save perhaps Michael, who I found myself drifting further and further from as the years progressed. I would need to rectify that soon—but I pushed it away to dwell on later. Cautiously, feeling safe and concealed in the dark shroud The Tom Cat provided, I reached a hand under the stocky table and curled my fingers around Ulrich’s. Reflexively, I felt his hand melt into mine, fingers interlocking while our eyes flitted nervously around the bar. I scooted closer to him so that I could whisper into his ear without fear of being overheard.

"I do," I told him gently, simultaneously squeezing his hand. "I do enjoy it, more so because it’s you and not someone else… but it’s obvious that this sort of thing can’t go on for too much longer. You heard what Aunt Jill said about our reputations—and people in this city do talk."

"Let them talk," he whispered back with the logic of a bleeding-heart romantic. "See if I care. I get enough slack for not courting eligible women at home—"

"That’s the crux of the matter!" I said suddenly and disentangled my fingers from his. I reached up and turned his face so that his black eyes stared endlessly into my blue ones. "Ulrich, you are the heir to your estate! I don’t have that sort of a burden placed upon me, so if Aunt Jill or Uncle Mortimer were to find out about my… my preferences… it would not devastate the family. But you…" I sighed wistfully. "I just think it would be better if we were cautious, that’s all. And if we—"

"—didn’t let things get out of control," he finished somberly and closed his eyes. "I know this, Rocielle. But that doesn’t mean I have to be happy with it."

"You can’t deny it either," I pointed out.

"I can try."

I reached out and picked up my glass of brandy from where it sat, untouched, on the table, and took a slow drink from it. Beside me, Ulrich sighed out his dismay and picked up his drink as well. "You can’t possibly relate to the frustration I feel right now, Rocielle," he told me softly. "I don’t want the estate. I’ve not the willpower in me to keep up with every last detail of the place. I don’t want a thing to do with its maintenance. I’ve told Father that over and over again, but you know Father almost as well as I do."

"Who would you rather have the deed handed to?" I asked.

"Daniel, of course," Ulrich answered, as if this should have been obvious.

I could not contain my contempt for Daniel, and it spilled across my face like the plague, contorting my facial features into a mask of anger. "Daniel?" I exploded in a hoarse whisper. "You’d have Daniel take over your father’s estate? Ulrich, that’s the same as giving the deed over to Rowan, and you know it! It’s reckless. Daniel’s an idiot, and Rowan is manipulative and will—"

"I don’t want to talk about this now," Ulrich interrupted suddenly and sat back from me. He gripped his drink tightly and glared around the dark interior of The Tom Cat. "I don’t want to talk about it ever again."

I returned to the du Monte Manor at midnight and got Kio settled into his stall by myself. Jeff was sleeping by the entrance to the stable, evidently awaiting my return, but I carefully crept past him, hoping Kio would do the same.

After putting up his tack, I was preparing to leave when a firm hand gripped my shoulder and spun me about. Fear grabbed me, but was quickly dismissed as I realized who it was who had startled me.

"Where the hell have you been?" Michael hissed in an accusatory tone. His eyes were both angry and concerned, and I regretted worrying him. "Aunt Jill is furious with you!"

"Why?" I retorted without registering the words I spoke. "I stay out late all the time, and she’s never cared before!"

"You don’t always drag Ulrich Stein with you on these outings, Rocielle," he told me sternly. "A courier arrived a few hours ago demanding to know where both of you were—."

"A courier?" I interrupted. "From where?"

"The Stein estate, you fool! Where else?"

Ulrich had sworn to me that his father would not be worried about him. My doubts, it seemed, had been quite valid. Otto Stein had made a point of informing me, courteously of course, that he did not appreciate my keeping Ulrich out as late as I did. It really wasn’t my doing at all. Ulrich was a willful and persuasive young man, and where I was concerned he was keenly aware of how to wrap me around his finger and lead me around. Nevertheless, I couldn’t tell Otto this. It would spoil the image he held of his perfect son.

"People are beginning to talk, Rocielle," he told me quietly, nervously. A covert message was conveyed in the flicker of his eyes. "I didn’t believe it at first myself because I never thought of you quite in that way… But now…"

"What are you trying to get at, Michael?" I demanded and conformed my face into an expression of affront. My insides were frozen; if Michael had discovered the secret of my sexual preferences, my safety in the du Monte Manor was almost guaranteed to disappear.

He sighed. "Go back to the house, Rocielle," he told me firmly. "Aunt Jill is waiting for you."