NONE SO VILE

12: Roar of the Crowd

Albedo, Rennaire, 1802.

Leon stared out at the rain, paws clasped behind his back. His gaze went south, and through the grey haze of the downpour he saw the flashes of lightning strike the ground. Muskets fired distantly, followed by more lightning.

There was nothing natural about it. His recon squads were dead. Lazare was a living weapon, and he wouldn't be caught out so easily.

How do I get you? Leon wondered, picturing the blockade in his mind. It was closed on all sides, reinforced with his men in a stalemate. The royalists could not escape, but Leon could not get in, and neither side wanted to start a fight without being certain they would win it. His priority was to make sure that Jules did not leave Albedo; if the former prince managed to escape the city, then he could build support, gather allies, and possibly even drag Rennaire into a full-blown civil war. Leon needed to keep the country united now more than ever.

“You look like a man who needs a drink." Leon looked back and saw Joachim, the blue crane passing him a snifter of whisky as he joined the jaguar by the window.

“Merci," said Leon, knocking back half the liquor in one go. It burned sharply in his throat, and the heat felt good, cathartic.

“Still waiting on our third, again," Joachim muttered, swirling his drink.

“The Speaker is not from the palace, he isn't used to our ways."

Joachim scoffed. “Yes, well, surely even peasants understand the concept of timeliness?"

“Avoid such words, Director!" The Speaker declared as he entered the room. Two clerks buzzed around him like flies, and the fox looked uncomfortable with their constant hovering, rushing in as if hoping to leave them behind. Leon dismissed them as the Speaker sat at the large triangular desk in the middle of the room. “Authoritarian language must not be tolerated – we strive to change the thinking of all men."

“Silly me," Joachim muttered, as he and Leon joined the fox.

The Speaker tutted, still not content with his lecture. “There are no more peasants or commoners, Director Joachim, just as there are no more kings or lords. A nation of free citizens, all proud to stand together as equals."

Leon watched quietly, but Joachim could not help himself. “These are merely semantics, Director Speaker, no matter what language you choose to apply, the world will always have people of different stations, it is the nature of society."

“I refuse that."

“I'm sorry?" Joachim shook his head, groaning. “You cannot refuse it, it is a fact! Some men are born to more privilege than others. They have differing experiences, regardless of what title you give them."

“We are building a society where all people will be treated equally. There is no use for this separation."

“Perhaps in a perfect world," Joachim replied tartly. “Dismayed though I am to find our own instead."

“We can always strive for better though, can't we?" The Speaker smiled as if he'd won, leaning back in his seat.

“We have the best of all the old worlds here," Leon interrupted, rapping his knuckles on the table. He pointed to Joachim, then to the Speaker. “A former Royal Minister, who understands the intricacies of financing such a nation as we wish to build. And a man of the people, who has grown up shoulder-to-shoulder with the common man. Better the both of you focus on your respective strengths, rather than nipping at one another's heels?"

Joachim ducked his head. “Of course, First Director Valoisier."

The Speaker merely shrugged.

“Finance is a good place to start today," Leon continued, loosely scanning some of the reports scattered before him. “We need to secure the treasury. Rennaire needs money; to pay soldiers, to buy supplies, and to negotiate with our neighbours. My men… The military has gone without pay for over a month now, the rank and file need salaries if we want to keep them."

“Money, yes," Joachim began, fingers tapping against his temple as he slouched lower in his chair. “Well. We have no money."

“That fat cunt spent it all, or perhaps he ate it," the Speaker snarled, with sudden venom.

“The military gave us this revolution, Joachim," said Leon. “Let's not forget the compensation they are due." He let it go unsaid that prior to his ascension as First Director of Rennaire, that had been his military. I gave you this revolution.

“I would never forget your favourite children, Leon… but this is no pithy exaggeration. There is no money – for anything – and certainly not enough to pay the salary of nigh three-hundred thousand men. Less, considering the mass desertion we're facing."

Leon considered that, brows pulling together. “Danegard stands with near to those numbers, Losaile half as much, then half again as many if they convince Cielwen or Thorn to ally. That makes no mention of Koringrad, or our friends to the east."

“I cannot pull gold out of thin air," Joachim snorted.

“We can seize it," said the Speaker. “We have an entire class of people eliminated, it is only right that their ill-gotten gains go to the good of the state. The upper nobility's coffers will be more than enough for the moment, and if we want to truly bolster ourselves, then we seize the Church's assets as well."

“That seems like dangerous ground," Joachim added. “The Church has only been exiled, if we ever wanted to welcome them back… taking all their shiny things would not be a slight they forget."

“Yet the people chose to reject the Church, and I for one stand by my choices, Joachim," said the Speaker.

“There are still many former nobles in this country, Director," Leon said to the Speaker. “Lower and middle gentry, plus highborn men like Joachim who have supported the cause, and we can't risk isolating them. Equality goes both ways."

Back and forth they went for what felt like hours. Leon drank four more whiskys as they did, the wound in his leg throbbing from the lack of movement. Continually Joachim and the Speaker butted heads, one wanting to remain cautious and ape the previous status-quo, the other pushing for more radical changes, more violence.

It was by design. After he beheaded King Phillipe, Leon had been forced to choose his new Triumvirate. He knew a delay would open them up to cracks, and the decisions had to be made quickly. Deuxmoise had suggested he take the whole country for himself, but that was exactly what led them to revolution in the first place, and Leon knew the people would never accept another absolutist leader. Joachim, as he'd hoped, wanted to pull the country back towards the old ways. If the crane was given full control, Leon had no doubt he would practically restore society as it was, albeit with himself wielding far more power. The Speaker wanted to burn everything down and start anew. He'd talked of changing the calendar, the national language, and rebuilding every palace that had ever stood, hell, the man didn't even have a proper name.

Leon decided he would balance them against one another, never letting either man carry more weight so that he himself was able to straddle that middle ground, throwing his opinion in either direction when it best suited.

It was by all design, but he'd still hoped for less bickering.

“Well if the entire world was perfect, and we didn't have a rogue Angel in the city flash-frying our men into steaks perhaps I would agree," Joachim said, knocking back another drink.

“Nobility can never change, can they?" The Speaker snapped. “You can only see the world in terms of the haves and the have-nots."

Leon pinched the bridge of his muzzle. He was about to call an end to the day's planning when a commotion started up outside the office. Leon frowned as he heard muffled shouts coming from behind the door, his new guards pushing back as someone continued to protest.

“I must see the First Director!" Cried the guest, and Leon sighed, pushing up to his feet.

“Oh, we have a guest," Joachim muttered, raising his eyebrows. “Already I begin to understand why it was so difficult to see the King."

“We are not kings, Director," the Speaker added.

Joachim tutted. “Then let them in, let us hear what this guest has to say."

“Monsieurs," Leon said to them both. “I bid farewell for today. My hard soldier-mind can only take so much policy."

Grateful for the sudden distraction, he stood with a grunt, trying not to let show how much he was relying on the cane for support. Waving the doors open he was dismayed to see Bartolomé Moulin waiting outside. The young, flamboyant goat stood there out of breath, pointedly straightening the collar on his salmon-coloured jacket as he glared at Leon's guards.

“First Director," he finally said, struggling to get his breath under control. “Pleasure to see you. Congratulations on the cause."

“Citizen Bartolomé," Leon said tersely. He was less than pleased to see the foppish goat. Certain that revolution was coming, Bartolomé had made learning to ride his horse a priority, in case the people needed to see a 'man on a horse'. Leon preferred to focus on things that actually mattered. He stifled a low growl. “You found your way here."

“Of course, I heeded the glorious cry of revolution and so I came!" Bartolomé bowed, inching further into the large room the Triumvirate used for their meetings. He gasped, spinning around in place. “Unbelievable, I never thought I might be in such a space until now. I dreamed this day would come."

“Reverence to this room is of the old Rennaire," Leon growled, scowling. The office was the former King's bedchambers. Choosing it had been a practical choice; it was large, close to the palace main hall, and the windows gave an excellent view out over the city of Albedo. It had nothing to do with the fact it was the same room that Leon had executed King Phillipe in.

Bartolomé stared at the polished floor, gesturing to an empty space. “Is that where it happened? I swear, you could still see the blood…"

“Over there, actually." Leon corrected, pointing deeper into the room.

“You are part of an extremely exclusive club now, my good man." The goat laughed. “Very few can name themselves regicides, a league containing those of every character! Scoundrels, assassins, traitors, and terrors!"

Leon narrowed his eyes, and the goat winced.

“And-and not to mention Kazmar the Great himself, oh yes. He would never have led his own society to its own golden age without first betraying his loyalties."

The similarities were not lost on Leon. “Why have you come, Citizen Bartolomé?"

“I heard that you were assembling a council of Directors, enlightened men to see the country forward." He glanced, not very subtly, over towards the table where the Speaker sat. Joachim had gotten himself another drink, and leaned up near the window, watching quietly. “If the flyers are to be believed, it would seem that… much of this new government's outlook is based upon my own manifesto, no?"

Leon shrugged. “Somewhat. You certainly inspired me, but the Speaker deserves his own credit too."

“The mysterious Speaker, of course, yes, yes, how could I forget?" Bartolomé bowed towards him. As he straightened up, he leaned in towards Leon, voice dropping. “When we first met, General… er, Director… I told you that I required a sword to take this country. We discussed yourself acting as that sword."

“I remember something like that."

“Well, er… perhaps it is time now to… sheath that weapon?"

“Why don't you ask more plainly, Bartolomé? You might actually get what you want."

The goat huffed, squaring his shoulders. Leon imagined he was trying to look strong and leaderly, but all the jaguar saw was a little boy playing dress-up. “I believe I should be on this council, Director."

“Triumvirate means three, citizen," Leon said, speaking low and taking care to enunciate his words. “Maybe you can secure a vote in the future elections."

“Well, well yes but, who is to say it could not be a quadrumvir, no?"

“I do." Leon braced his free paw on the hilt of his sword, leaning harder on his cane. His leg pulsed beneath him, damn it, he needed a hot bath, not this stupid man.

“Hold up, let us not be hasty!" Joachim interjected suddenly, striding over with his arms outstretched. “Bartolomé is an enlightened thinker, he has many positive qualities that may bring value to this council, Director." He pointed to them each. “We have a former General, a former Minister, a working man of the people… do we not need a thinker?"

The Speaker caught Leon's eyes, and the jaguar grunted. He left Joachim's question hanging in the air, his cane clicking on the tiles as he closed the distance until the two of them were face-to-face. The wound in his thigh buzzed angrily, but Leon forced the pain from his mind.

“Joachim, you are a friend, and supported me from the beginning."

“Never was it a question."

“I know you to be a clever man, one which I can't afford to turn away," Leon continued, speaking low enough that the others could not hear. “So you can imagine I expected your play to come with a bit more subtlety than that."

The bird feigned shock. “Director, I surely don't know what–"

Leon's paw jumped out, snatching hold of Joachim's collar and holding him firm. “Bartolomé is your man, don't bother denying it. This country, and this council that runs it is mine. I gave you this place. Don't forget that, or insult me by trying to take it over so clumsily. Yes?"

Joachim stared back at him, his long, needle-point beak the only thing separating their faces. Leon released his shirt, stepping back.

“Of course, First Director." The words came out begrudgingly.

Leon smiled, turning awkwardly with his cane and giving Bartolomé a small bow. Let his owner give him the bad news.

And with that he limped out of the room, trying not to let the growing pain in his leg show. It burned and twisted inside him, the muscles never quite sitting right. It was frustrating, he wanted – no, needed – to show confidence and strength but instead he was shuffling around half-crippled. The people need a leader they can have faith in. Someone decisive, and uncompromised. When they looked at Leon they should see a jaguar they believed could fight for them, he should be invincible the way Kazmar was! If they think otherwise…

The images from the last few weeks had not left his mind. Long as he lived Leon would never forget the sight of the commoners storming the palace. As he had chased after Alabaster and the King, he'd caught sight of an Impérial literally ripped to pieces by the mob's bare paws. Leon's control over the military had helped take control, but it would never have worked if the people had not been willing to support them.

Whatever he'd said to Joachim, the truth was that it was the mob who had given him this nation, and likewise it was them that could take it away. This is the most dangerous moment in our new history. The Rennairan charter is the fickleness of the mob, and our approval the roar of the crowd.

“General!" Leon had just reached the bottom of the stairs when Jacques approached him, a bundle of papers in his arms.

“Jacques. It is Director now, remember that."

“Of course, General." The rat paused, frowning as he seemed to mull it over. “Or… Director… It certainly takes some getting used to. You've been inseparable from the military since first we met."

“That is Deuxmoise's mess now." As part of his official appointment as First Director of Rennaire, Leon had resigned from the military in accordance with the newly drafted laws. “Come, Jacques, come."

Leon pulled the rat into a side hall, stumbling forward as his leg sang out once more. Huffing through gritted teeth, Leon half-sat, half-collapsed on a nearby bench seat, panting as he tried to massage some proper feeling into his leg.

“This fucking wound," he snarled. “Gnawing at me every hour of the day. Every other part of my body has pulled itself back to bruises, why can't this?"

“The surgeon's report said the blade was twisted. You will heal Gen… Director, but you need to give it time."

“It's been two weeks!"

“Not long enough for a shredded muscle to repair, I am afraid."

“Jacques, you…" Leon breathed out. He was tired. Frustrated. Everyone in the country was looking to him for answers. Even the directors of his own Triumvirate had to be coddled. Leon had to be perfect, there was no room for mistake. Jules, Lazare, and every other monarch in Midland would be watching Rennaire closely, waiting to see what happened next.

And if Danegard, or Losaile, or Thorn and Cielwen, or any other number of those bastards get so much as a whiff of weakness… The dream would end as quickly as it began. Leon would not allow that. The people deserved to be free, and he was the only one who could help them stay that way.

“I need you," he finally whispered to Jacques. His paw found the rat's leg, sliding along his thigh, rubbing towards his crotch. “I have… nobody to confide in. None here understand my heart, and I am forced to wear a facade every minute of every hour. Only you really know me."

Jacques stared back at him, somewhat blankly. “I am always here for you, Director, whatever you require." Leon sagged. They were words he wanted to hear, but the rat intended them far more practically than he would have liked. “Perhaps you should take a wife?"

“I…" Leon shook his head. “No. Don't be foolish now. Women are…" He stopped, unsure what he wanted to say. Truthfully, women had always mystified him. Leon had been with his fair share, bedding them when people encouraged, and before Jacques even visiting whores to satiate his needs. But they never scratched that itch that he felt, and never once had he met a woman he could fully let his guard down around. There was nothing wrong with them, it just felt as if they… weren't suited for him.

“Would that I could make you my wife," he said to Jacques, laughing. “Keep you in my bed, as a chamber rat all to myself…" He leaned across, meaning to reach out for Jacques's chin.

“People would never permit it," Jacques replied. “Besides, you said it yourself, that was a military arrangement, no? You told me we were doing as Kazmar did, that is, men lying with men for relief on campaign."

Leon paused. The rat stared back at him, totally oblivious to how thoroughly he had just crushed the jaguar's hopes.

“Yes," he said shortly, pulling back. “That's all it was. Relief."

Leon closed his eyes. Ruler of the country, back in his home city, with his sister and nephew freed from persecution and fear. Yet never have I been more alone. Nobody saw the world the way he did, and so few people seemed to possess the same conviction and ambition that Leon always had. There was something about himself that he had been aware of since he was a child, something that was different to other men. An intensity, or a rawness, and since his boyhood days he had always been like a rough-hewn stone lost in a pond of smooth pebbles. The army was almost right, and the fraternity he'd found with the soldiers had been the closest thing he found to real understanding… but it still wasn't perfect.

I am not like them. I am something else. Destined for isolation perhaps, all for the good of Rennaire.

His train of thought was shattered as the door to the hall suddenly burst open, a breathless soldier shoving through. He was an otter, and clearly one of the men recruited from the common folk, as opposed to an experienced career soldier. He did not salute or show proper reverence, instead simply blurting out his message.

“Director! There's a fight fixing to break out in the streets! The First General is asking for you!"

Leon gave Jacques a wan smile, bracing himself for the stiff pain in his leg as he pushed to his feet. He trailed after the soldier as quickly as he could manage, shoving the agonies as far from mind as possible. The wound nested deep in the meaty muscle of his thigh, and every time he stretched out, the sizzling aches would crawl their way up the back of his leg. They pulled and twanged around his buttocks, sometimes daring to quest even as far as his lower back.

Bastard body, weak flesh, was all he could think, slapping the side of his thigh to spur some energy back in.

Outside the palace, the rain was still falling. Leon ignored it as he went down the steps, soldiers saluting as he passed between them. Marshal Deuxmoise, now General Deuxmoise, stood just behind the gate, watching the scene outside with displeasure.

To the left of the palace gates was a clamouring mob, shaking flags, weapons, and nooses. To the right was a counter-mob, also shaking flags, weapons, and nooses. The two groups screamed nonsensically at one another, hurling fruit, jeering, their lines constantly shoving forward, despite the best efforts of Deuxmoise's men to keep them separated.

“What is this?" Leon asked, looking between the two groups as he squeezed the grip of his cane.

General Deuxmoise pointed left, then right. “One God Church loyalists, and Triumvirate revolutionaries."

“They aren't revolutionary anymore," Leon corrected, to which the jackal nodded sharply. “We are now reformists."

“Be that as it may, the scripture-slappers are demanding they be permitted to pray to the One God of All Men." Deuxmoise's sneering tone made it clear how he felt about that idea.

“No one is stopping them."

“They also want the Church's position restored, and to have the Cardinals and Bishops brought back to the city."

“That is harder." Leon gritted his teeth, looking between the two mobs. He wished he wasn't leaning on his walking stick like a bloody grandfather – this moment was a crucible for the entire country's future. It would show his stance on the matter of the nation's official religion, and make potential enemies or allies of whichever group he sided with.

The One Godders are already isolated, what would it matter to push them further? At the same time, conceding some ground could potentially begin healing the rifts that had opened up during the last few weeks. The Triumvirate could not show weakness, but they must also hear the people.

“Surely you wouldn't consider actually allowing the Church to come back?" Deuxmoise asked, cocking his head.

“I…" Leon paused. He'd made the decree himself, with Joachim and the Speaker's consent. How would the people take it if he simply backed down now? The Church had held a vise-grip on Rennaire's throat through its Angels, but was there room for constitutional limitation? A separation of the Church and the state, as we have separated the military?

Deuxmoise cleared his throat. “I thought you might want to deal with this yourself, Director. But it is escalating, and the other directors will arrive with their own opinions shortly." Deuxmoise was clear on his stance. Act now.

He had to decide. Again, Leon was alone. Even if he consulted them, Joachim would surely argue in favour of the Church, and the Speaker against. He thought of his leg, of how it looked to the people to see their new leader injured and limping like a wounded pup. They needed decisiveness. They needed real leadership, not a paltry puppet that danced on the strings of committee. Phillipe had practically been a slave to his advisors and ministers, blind to the reality screaming him in the face. The Triumvirate was useful to gather expertise, but Leon would not allow his country to be hamstrung by bickering opinions. The revolution had rejected the Church.

And I am the revolution. That's what he told Phillipe before his death. Time to make it so.

He snapped his fingers, gesturing at different soldiers braced up behind the palace gates. “Open the gates. Deuxmoise, pull your men back inside and have the cannon rolled out, prime to fire on the Church loyalists."

Already the men leapt into action, hurrying to move what they could before the mob had a real chance to react.

“A bluff, Director?" Deuxmoise asked quietly, and Leon shook his head.

“No. They can see the folly of their ways and go home peacefully, or they can stay and see that our new government will not be intimidated. This nation has just been freed from the influence of that organisation, I will not see them given us back on a silver platter." He was sure Jules had helped incite this moment, for it only aided his cause if there was more chaos in the city. The executions of the nobility had begun to satiate the bloodthirsty crowds, but they had a long way to go until Albedo was truly settled. Jules could not be given an opportunity to try and seize control back for the monarchy.

You were the step-son, what right do you have?

The mob tried to push forward as the gates opened up, but as the cannons came out their nerve began to crack. The reformist protestors began to clap and cheer, while some of the more brazen loyalists attempted to begin some kind of charge. They were kept at bay by bayonets and warning shots, and eventually the cannon were locked into place.

Leon limped out into the open square, putting his back to the reformers and staring the loyalists down, meeting eyes where he could. The soldiers took up their places behind them, preparing to fire.

Let them see me. Let them see I am not afraid to fight, injured or not.

He raised a paw into the air, and slowly but surely, the shouting died down. Leon held like that, watching the pensive mob. He saw fear, uncertainty. Did someone put you all up to this? Is this authentic, or a fabrication?

Reality found them in that silence, and their eyes quickly moved from focusing on Leon, to looking at the cannon. Some of the previously brazen members disappeared back into the crowd, as the rest of the mob shifted in place, uncertain on the best next move.

“DIS-ARM!" Cried General Deuxmoise.

Leon snapped to look at him. “REVERSE ORDER!" He bellowed, not breaking eye contact with the jackal, whose face twisted in confusion, then understanding. “FIRE!"

Leon slapped his arm down and the row of cannons fired, the sudden boom deafening as the lead balls blew into the crowd, knocking men down and blowing them apart. A horse screamed somewhere as it died, the mobs suddenly bursting out in every direction, screaming, climbing over whatever they could, pushing into the nearby buildings to get away.

Turning back to the reformers, Leon showed them his clenched fist. “I will defend you against every enemy!" He cried, barely audible to himself over his ringing ears and the cries of the crowd. “This is our great country! And we will not allow the old ways to come crawling back! Equality! Fraternity! And liberty!"

The mob cheered the words back at him, rattling their makeshift weapons and stamping their feet. Leon left them, wincing in pain as he returned to the palace.

His heart thundered in his chest, his leg spasmed, but the people had needed to see strength in leadership.

And he had given it to them.

Hours later, Leon watched Alabaster work, brows furrowed as the ivory dragon attended to the Angel's corpse. At some point during the last few days, the necromancer had moved Hashan's body upstairs to his old tower. Leon was glad the body was secure, but he was annoyed at having to climb so many stairs with his leg so sore.

“What have you discovered?" He asked finally, tired of waiting for Alabaster to explain anything.

“So far, nothing."

“Nothing? It's been days."

The dragon straightened up, shaking his head at Leon the way one might towards a child. “Very good, Director. Now, if I rush things and destroy this sample, do you have another Angel corpse I can use in its place?"

The jaguar narrowed his eyes. “You should watch your tone. Remember, I am the leader of this country now."

“Or at least a third of it." Alabaster returned to the body with his forceps, busy slicing small chunks of skin out of the deer's side.

Since Leon named himself First Director, everyone had been polite, yet distant towards him, even Cosette. There was no protocol for how to treat him, and so while his own sister was intimidated by what he'd done, Alabaster was not. If the necromancer felt any differently about Leon now than he had a month ago, he did not show it.

It was undeniably refreshing.

“The samples do not react in the way one would expect," Alabaster explained carefully, sighing. “The blood will not boil when put to heat. The flesh can be cut and incised, but it is not coloured the way I would expect, the bone seems firm." He sniffed, tutting. “My sorcery is like that of a surgeon's. I must theorise, and then I must experiment to prove or disprove my own theories. It is…" He glanced at Leon, and obviously noticed the jaguar was bored. “A process."

“What about time? Do you have an expectation on when you might have something to show?"

“No."

“Lazare is killing my men, Alabaster." Leon shrugged. “My scout parties are distracting them but not forever, wait long enough and he will come to this palace. How do you think Jules will treat you then? You were a family friend, and you killed his stepfather."

“You killed his stepfather," Alabaster corrected. “I merely aided you. Alas, my method takes time, I will contact you when I have something. But you know that, so why did you come here, Leon?"

“You are always so suspicious when I visit. I want progress on the matter. If there can't be anything done for it then I need to find another way to fight Lazare."

“Could have sent a page. You came yourself."

Leon swallowed dryly. Truthfully, he'd needed a moment away from the rest of the palace. He needed someone who he thought might understand him, for though Alabaster had never been anything less than hostile whenever they spoke… There was an undeniable intensity to the dragon that Leon found intrigued him.

“Is it about your leg?" The mystic asked, stepping forwards.

Leon blinked in surprise. “Oh. Could you do something for it?" As if the wound knew he was speaking about it, it flexed in his muscle, a deep shimmering ache.

A small vial appeared in Alabaster's claws filled with greenish-orange fluid, the hue seeming to shift and turn with the light. “Would you like me to, Director?"

Something caught Leon's chest, a flush upon him. He cleared his throat, ears heating up, tail curling around one leg. Alabaster was not trustworthy, it wasn't so long ago that Leon would have called him an outright enemy. Every one of the few times they'd spoken in the palace prior to the revolution, the dragon had done everything but outright attack him. Leon hated Alabaster. Or at least… he was supposed to.

You're a fool just like he says. This man does not understand you, he doesn't even like you.

“Is it safe?" Leon asked, and the dragon nodded. “Then… yes. I would."

“Say please."

Leon blanched. “I'm sorry?"

Alabaster only shrugged, lowering the vial. “You could try applying it yourself, but it can burn if over-indulged."

“I'm the First Director of this nation, Alabaster. Remember your place."

“What happened to us all being equal now?" The necromancer chuckled, apparently finding the whole thing amusing. “Would you have me beheaded on that new guillotine your engineers built? Do you have anyone else who can make use of this dead Angel? But fine… have it your way, be in pain for the sake of your stupid pride."

As Alabaster turned away to return to the corpse, a sudden pang of sharp agony lashed out from Leon's wound. He buckled slightly, hissing as a paw shot out and grabbed the dragon's shoulder. “Please, you bastard," he snarled through his gritted teeth.

“My pleasure, First Director."

It was plain that Alabaster was a man used to dealing with corpses. There was no bedside manner as he dropped to one knee, deftly undoing Leon's belt and tugging down his trousers, revealing a set of long white breeches. Before the jaguar could protest, Alabaster reached up and slid those too down, exposing Leon's crotch to the cool air of the dragon's workspace.

“Ah– Alabaster!" Leon snapped, but the dragon ignored both his protests, and his swinging pink cock, attending immediately to the wound.

The fluid moved like oil, thick and viscous as it slid from the vial onto Alabaster's fingers. He coated a claw in it, using one of his nails to slice apart the fabric gauze protecting Leon's leg wound. Warmth crowded Leon's face, boyish shyness urging him to shield his nudity, but he persevered, allowing Alabaster to work.

The dragon scowled. “Messy. What happened?"

“A Garde du Corps Impérial buried his bayonet in my leg, and then twisted it. Surgeon called me mince-meat when he saw it, said there was a slight potential it wouldn't heal well."

Alabaster laughed. “They would. There's no potential, it's infected too… No, left alone this would have never healed right. Even once it closes up, whenever things got cold you'll find that dull ache waiting, and as you grow older the pain will get worse, as excruciating as it is untouchable."

“Oh." Leon felt his face pale, his exposed body all but forgotten. “But you can do… something for it?"

“I cured Prince Gabriel of leprosy, Leon, obviously I can do something." Alabaster pushed his fingers inside the wound without delay. Leon cried out, buckling against the sudden shock, but quickly as it came the pain vanished, replaced with an icy numbness. He could feel Alabaster's fingers pushing around inside the muscle, but there was no pain to it, or at least nothing that wasn't bearable.

“I did not think you had the ruthlessness to go through with it," Alabaster muttered eventually, never looking away from his work.

“You mean with the crowd outside?" Leon asked. As he'd returned to the palace, the doubt had crept in. Was firing the right choice? What would Joachim and the Speaker say? How would the rest of the city take it? He had been trying to be strong, decisive, but if they thought him as cruel as the old regime had been, the mob would not permit him to remain in power.

“I meant to murder Phillipe."

“Oh. That."

Alabaster sniffed, pushing around some loose flesh. His eyes darted to Leon's open crotch, then away again. “Yes. Much as it pains me… executing him on the spot was a good decision. No chance for him to build a resistance against you, no chance for the others to cool down and rethink what they'd done."

“A compliment, from you?"

“No." Alabaster stood, an unimpressed expression on his face. “Merely an observation. You'll need to apply another bandage. It will ache for a while, but the flesh will repair itself in due time. Properly."

“So you are done already? Can I return to the modesty of my trousers?" Leon gestured down at himself. A part of him felt pleased at being so exposed, but he knew that was a wrong thought and quickly quashed it. Alabaster seemed to consider the question, then met his eyes firmly.

“No, keep them down."

Leon scoffed, and paused. For a moment his body seemed to be acting on its own, refusing to bend and pick up the breeches. He felt frozen. Alabaster took a single step closer, openly studying his flaccid cock. It twitched just once, and Leon almost died from the humiliation.

“What did you do to me?" Leon asked, anger suddenly rising. Why wouldn't his arms move? Why would his hips not bend? The fucking necromancer had done something, poisoned him somehow. Could he still have loyalty to Jules? Am I being assassinated?

A single white claw reached out, cupping Leon's cock. It twitched again inside the slippery scales of Alabaster's palm. Something inside Leon's stomach jumped, and he gasped as Alabaster twisted his dick around.

“Not much to look at," he muttered.

Anger flared in Leon and he shoved off whatever lethargy had just attacked, shoving Alabaster into the bench before reaching for his trousers. Tugging them back up and affixing his belt, he shook his head.

“What the hell was that?" Leon demanded, one paw touching his sword hilt. He had half a mind to draw the bloody thing and cut the arrogant bastard down where he stood. “You got some fucking nerve, Alabaster!"

The dragon raised his palms up in surrender, face blank. “Just a little joke, Director. You did not stop me, I thought you saw the humour in it." Obvious mockery. Leon didn't need to stand there and take that, and he felt stupid for expecting anything better from the dragon.

“Perverted sense of humour you have," he spat, gesturing to the body. “Hurry up with your answers. You might be patient, but Lazare is not, and I am less. Don't think you're totally off my hook just because I let you out of prison."

Alabaster held his eyes for a moment longer, then nodded faintly, turning back to the body and resuming his work. Leon huffed, further infuriated by the lack of reaction. He wanted to yell at the man, to shove him, to get a paw around his throat and shove him back against the wall. His cheeks felt hot, and he scowled, shaking his head yet again.

“To hell with you Alabaster," he said. The dragon did not look back as Leon stormed from the room, slamming the door shut behind him. His cock stood hard in his own trousers, but Leon pointedly ignored the feeling.

Only when he was halfway down the stairs did he realise he'd left without his cane.

The pain in his leg was gone.