Sabin had grown up in the shadow of his twin, who was the elder by just a few
minutes. He hadn't really fought it; he'd accepted that his brother
was the elder and, therefore, more important, for he would eventually be
king someday. He was often left to his own devices, usually spending the
time with mistress Eliza, the young woman who had the charge of the
twins.
Eliza was a gentle soul, and it was perhaps this constant contact with her
that made Sabin more sensitive to others' feelings. He especially got to
know Eliza herself, noted the little things that signaled a change in
mood. When she realized she could not hide her feelings from him very
well, they became close confidants, and she was a comfort during Sabin's
awkward teen years.
It wasn't that he had no luck with women. On the contrary, his boyish,
innocent charm made women fawn over him. He was everything a woman
dreamed of: caring, kind, very much masculine (he underwent a vigorous
training session every day that gave him a muscular build), and a prince
to boot.
But even though he had his choice of beautiful women, none of them
appealed to him. His years of relative solace, away from politics and even
from his own family, allowed him to pursue martial arts, and he felt the
best companion was himself. He was taken up more with searching for
answers to philosophical questions rather than solving the practicalities
of everyday life. He didn't encourage women, but they practically offered
themselves, and his sexual experience amounted to a few casual trysts that
happened when he'd been too tired to push the woman away.
Truth be told, he hated being a prince. He felt useless in his role, as
his brother Edgar was the one being taught diplomacy and foreign policy.
Sabin learned just enough of court etiquette so he wouldn't embarrass the
Figaro name, but otherwise he was content with remaining in the
background. As the years went on, he longed more and more to be free of
the plastic role that he had been born into.
Sabin's jaw clenched involuntarily as the memory of *that* day surfaced.
It had been a day of upset...he'd learned that his father was dying, that
Edgar had kept it secret until it was nearly too late. Though love for his
parents he had none, Sabin's martial arts made him feel deeply a sense of
duty to them, and he was severely hurt by Edgar's unwillingness to trust
him and tell him the truth about their father's condition.
The next thing he remembered was being comforted by Eliza, who had long
since passed into the age of being a matron rather than mistress. Sabin
caught his breath as he saw her again in his mind's eye, the beauty he'd
found there that he'd never fully realized. And when he looked into her
soft brown eyes, he knew why no other woman could take his heart. It was
because it had been stolen a long time ago...and he had not realized its
keeper until that moment.
And he knew that, for the first time, he was in love.
Sabin remembered well the lovemaking that had followed, their wild, stormy
union on a desk in the castle library. But now, when he thought back, he
could not only hear her moans, but also her stifled sobs from deep
within.
And then...the denouement, after he had given her a part of himself that
could possibly lead to a life together. It was one he would have never
expected. Eliza told him that she was really his mother. His *mother*!
And slowly, as it filtered through his shocked, innocent mind, the petals
of the rose of his love fell one by one, until a dried, dead stalk was
left.
And from that day, his heart had frozen toward women. He felt Eliza's
betrayal deeply, and coming on top of his own brother's distrust, he felt
as if there were no one in the world he could turn to. The burden of his
father's death and the question of the succession all added to the weight
on Sabin's shoulders. The only thing he took comfort in was that once
Edgar took over the kingdom, he would be free -- free to lead his own life
as a regular man, and not a prince. He avoided the matron and grew more
distant from people, but even so, he was unprepared for that final
day...
The day Edgar revealed what Figaro's true stock in trade was.
Edgar had called him to a meeting, which Sabin entered into cautiously,
unsure of what to expect. His brother was pleasant enough. "Now that
Father is gone, Sabin, we will have to share the duties of ruling this
kingdom," Edgar said.
He felt the blood drain from his face. "But I thought...you would rule
alone," he stammered out.
"Of course not. Father always intended we rule together. I would be the
foreign diplomat and you would oversee the castle and residents. Why do
you think you were allowed to spend so much time at the castle?"
Sabin had merely stared, and his twin continued. "And because you will be
in charge of the castle, it's only right that you know of
Figaro's...er...specialty." A strange, almost cruel smile lit up Edgar's
face as he went on, describing the sex rooms, the tools, the policies of
using unwilling participants...
Sabin, his shock turning to a righteous anger, had stood up slowly,
horrified. Thoughts of the matron -- his mother -- churned in his stomach,
even as his groin tingled with anticipation, which only angered him more.
He was appalled, at his brother for the truth, and at himself for feeling
the way he was. He closed his eyes, feeling sick.
"I don't want any part of it," he'd croaked out. "I'm leaving...leaving
this filthy castle behind and all its sick inhabitants! Especially
YOU!"
"Sabin, wait!" Edgar cried out, running after him.
But Sabin flung him aside. "The throne is yours, brother!" he snarled. "I
never wanted it anyway! And I'm sure that as king, all women will be eager
to grace your bed!" An involuntary shudder passed through him as the
thought of his father and Eliza together came unbidden to his
mind.
"Sabin, please..."
The younger prince fixed steely eyes on the elder one. "Good-bye,
brother..."
And with that, he left the castle.
Four years ago....funny how quickly time passed. Sabin slowly opened his
eyes, the familiar flush running through his sytem, which happened every
time he thought of Eliza. It was ironic that it was her image that spurred
him in his new lifestyle. He had only to conjure up the image of her when
she was still a mistress, imagining her in the extremely revealing dresses
that all the women were made to wear in Figaro.
Sabin centered his thoughts as his master had taught him. He felt the
emotion coursing through, was conscious of his heart pumping boiling blood
throughout his veins. His cock practically popped to attention in response
to the flowing energy. And slowly, another face replaced Eliza's in his
mind...and Sabin's face flushed with pleasurable anticipation. A name
came painfully to his lips.
"Vargas..."
With an excited groan, Sabin's eyes flashed open, and he stood up. An
overpowering sexual aura surrounded him, mixed with a tension straining to
be released. He must find Vargas. In this state, Vargas was the only one
who could calm Sabin down...the only one who made the best use of the
energy and brought Sabin to such heights that he had never reached, even
in that one tryst with his mother.
He mentally reached out for Vargas. At once he felt that warm, inviting
personality fill him, enticing him. *I hear you,* a husky voice echoed in
his mind. *Come, disciple...come to me so that we may share in the aura
you bring...*
"Yes, my master!" he exclaimed joyfully. And with a powerful leap, he was
off, headed to find the Disciples of Duncan...
...and Vargas, the master's son.