The Barbary pirates sailed out of sight, leaving the Falcon adrift. Everything. They’d
taken everything except a single cask of water and a crate of ship’s biscuit. It wasn’t
going to be enough to get them to a safe port, and even with strict rationing, they were
going to be very hungry and thirsty by the time they reached Jabba’s town.

Solo stood at the wheel, steadying his lady with one hand, the other fingering the hole
where they’d taken even the gold earring that would pay for his burial. The crew went
about their tasks with no enthusiasm. And indeed, why should they? This had been the
Falcon’s last chance to redeem herself. The xebec was fast, but unlucky. Some of the
crew mumbled that Jabba’s wizard-enforcer, Heater, had hexed them.

He shouted for the crew to assemble. All ten of them, with great Bacca, his first mate,
looming over the others, awaited his word.

“We sail by night. Sleep by day. It will save water in this heat. We’re going straight to
Jabba. Any man who wants off before we get there, you’re welcome to swim for it when
we get in sight of land. But I won’t live the rest of my life on the run.”

“You’re mad, Captain, and dead, too, when Jabba gets hold of you.”

“Maybe so, maybe no. We sail. One biscuit and a cup of water per man each day.
Anyone caught stealing gets the lash.”

A murmur went up as the seriousness of their predicament sank in. Captain Solo hated the
lash and had promised each when he came aboard that it would never be used. In ten
years of sailing with him, Bacca had seen him use it only once, on a man who’d bought a
slavegirl in port and tried to bring her aboard. Solo had a strong personal antipathy toward
slavery and slaveholders. He’d beaten the sailor bloody, tossed him overboard in the harbor
and sailed with the girl in his own cabin as an honored guest. She’d used the money he’d
given her to open a cookshop in Marseilles. The crew of the Falcon always ate there for free
when they were in port.

Solo turned the prow for Morocco and Jabba.

The Falcon limped into the hidden harbor halfway between Tangeirs and Kinitra, her crew
gaunt and slow with thirst. To a man, they had decided to stand behind their captain. Heater
stood on the dock, his red silk robes gleaming in the sun, watching as they dropped anchor
and tied up. Slowly, carefully, doing everything as if for the last time, the crew left the Falcon
in perfect shape, ready to sail.

They came aground, hands in the air, their weapons taken by the pirates. Jabba’s guards
surrounded them.

“Han, my boy, you’ve disappointed me for the last time.” Heater’s sigh rang with false
compassion. “You and your crew are the most unfortunate ship on the seas, and no
longer fit to sail for His Exaltedness. Your crew will be sold to pay your debts. Jabba
has personal plans for you and the Sicilian.”

Jabba’s guards, fierce desert nomads, herded the crew away. Four of them bound Han
and Bacca and nudged them to follow Heater into the gloom of the palace.

Jabba lounged on his dais, large and oily, with lovely women attending his every whim.
His hookah sent up curls of smoke, and he ran one plump hand through his oiled black
curls.

“Another pirate attack, dear boy? If I didn’t know the seas were untrackable, I’d say
they were lying in wait for you.”

Han clenched his fists in their bonds. He’d suspected the corsairs had not been pure
chance, but here was Jabba admitting it.

“Why? Jabba, I’m the best captain in your fleet.”

“You are the most unlucky son of sand-louse I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing,
and you’ve cost me more denarii than I care to think about!” Jabba snapped. “I’ll barely
break even from selling your crew, but I have something more entertaining planned for
you and your first mate. You’ll be sold as well. Later. I have a buyer for you, but it will
take him some days to get here.”

Han tensed and Bacca mumbled softly in Sicilian beside him. They would be together,
whatever happened. Han was grateful for that. He didn’t like to think of facing the future
without his large friend covering his back. But sold! That was what he’d dreaded ever
since he’d signed on with Jabba. The slave-trade had been booming for more than a
century, what with the Americas being cleared. And there were men who would pay more
for a man like him than for a silken girl.

“Your buyer has requested a eunuch bodyguard,” Heater said, running his long, soft
hands between Han’s legs. After a moment spent fondling and weighing the sac he
found, savoring Han’s fear, Heater took his hands away. “And an uncut male sex slave.
You’ll keep your stones for the moment.”

It took six guards to wrestle Bacca to the ground, even with him bound. He kicked
one so hard that the guard bounced off the far wall and lay bonelessly against the
stone floor.

Han couldn’t watch. He’d seen men die. He’d killed more than a few, some of them
friends. But watching this felt like an unforgivable trespass. He listened to Bacca
scream and curse, smelled blood and then burning meat. The screams fell silent, replaced
by a repulsive sizzle.

“Take them away.” Jabba ordered. “Heater, they are yours until his lordship arrives. That
means healthy and in good condition.”

The days passed in the haze of smoke that floated through the palace–tobacco from the
Virginia colonies mixed with opium from the East–which at least dulled the edge of the
night-time horrors that were Heater’s amusements. He laid no hand on Bacca, letting the big
man heal for his sale. But Han learned far too much about the wizard’s tastes. There were no
lasting marks, but the pain never stopped.

A week later, Han and Bacca were dragged back to Jabba’s throne room. Han hurt in places
he didn’t like to think about, a deep ripping ache from Heater’s pleasures. Bacca was still pale
from the pain of his impromptu gelding, but he walked with his head high and his back straight.
Han took a cue from him, and tried not to stagger. The guards forced them both to their knees.

The man who stood near Jabba was swathed in black, only his eyes peering out from between
turban and face veil. They were intense blue, like sea and sky, and they seemed to burn through
the two sailors. He was nearly as tall as Bacca and carried himself like a commander of men.

“They will do.” The voice was impossibly deep, the voice of an angry god.

“This one is not a stranger to the ways of men. He will suit your needs well, I think.” Heater
lifted Solo’s head by his hair, showing him off to the buyer.

“I hope so, for your sakes. Jabba, if you have cheated me in this matter, my men shall sweep
out of the mountains like a sandstorm and bury you.”

“Lord Vader, these men will serve you well. And I shall be rid of a pair of nuisances.”
Jabba’s voice quivered with barely disguised fear.

“Very well. Bring them to the courtyard.” The desert lord swept out of the palace, his black
abbaya billowing behind him like great wings.

“Solo, be gone. You failed me one time too many.”

“Even though you were the one who set us up, Jabba? What’s the deal? What are you
getting out of it?” Han yelled as the guards shoved him out the door.

“The fastest ship on the water, of course, the only one of her kind.” Jabba saw no
reason not to tell the former captain. It would be a long time before the man saw the
open sea again, if he ever did.

Han set his jaw as they dragged him into the courtyard. He swore to himself that he would
be free, and he would have his Falcon back

In the shade of the palms near the courtyard well, Vader took a better look at his acquisitions.
The tall one was obviously still suffering, and the smaller one was in little better condition. He
passed a hand over each them, a fingers-width from their bodies, reading their injuries.

“As I suspected. I would not have had it so.” The deep rumbled held no anger toward the
men before him, but disappointment. “You are in too much pain to ride and not nearly hale
enough to walk. We have far to go.” He passed his hand over Bacca again, this time letting
it rest briefly between the Sicilian’s thighs. Then, he did the same to Solo, touching at the
points where the worst of the pain resided.

Han realized he didn’t hurt anymore as their master beckoned them to where his guards
waited with kneeling camels. The lead of the group beckoned him to ride on the large
saddle before him, while Vader had Bacca climb aboard his own.

They rode through the trackless wastes, aiming for the Atlas mountains two hundred miles
away, a week’s travel at best. Bacca sat tall, not hurting for the first time since leaving
the ship. Behind him, the black-swathed lord pressed close to be heard over the wind of
their passage and outlined his duties as a bodyguard.

Finally Bacca spoke up. “Why should you trust me? How do you know I will not slit the
young master’s throat in his sleep and run?”

The laugh from behind him was anything but comforting. “There is nowhere to run. You
will understand when you see the castle. I have studied you long, Bacca. You are a good
man, and a loyal one, once your pledge is given. It was not by my request that you are
now a eunuch, no matter what they told you. I do not anger such a man as you for no
reason.”

Bacca remained quiet. His mutilation was not a pleasant thought, and knowing now that it
had been done on Jabba’s perverse whim made it nearly unbearable.

“You are not the type to kill a man in his sleep, Bacca. Nor would you harm a youth who
trusts you. Nor are you a man to throw your own life away.”

“Why a bodyguard, if your castle is so escape-proof?”

“Because my son will not live his whole life there. He is not completely safe within its
walls either. I have several wives, not all of whom want him to be my heir. You will
teach him all you know, but you will also protect him, or your life is forfeit.”

They camped at the first oasis outside of Jabba’s territory, waiting for dark, when they
could press on. Food and water were shared out, Vader making sure Han and Bacca
had enough. The week at Jabba’s had been on shorter rations than their last voyage,
and both were very weak.

After sleeping, they remounted and rode under the moon. The pattern continued, sleeping
by day, traveling by night. On the fourth night, Vader took Han up before him, sending
Bacca to ride with a guard. He knew not to allow them to ride together, or they would
attempt to escape. He allowed them to talk, but the guard he posted had orders to
watch them as well as for enemies.

Han kept his eyes open, knowing they were getting farther from the sea and the Falcon.
But Vader was good. There was no chance to escape. The one time he’d sat up during
the sleep time, the guard had been at him with a spear, nearly ready to raise the alarm.
He’d insisted on using the privy hole, then lain back down, his thwarted escape eating
at his mind.

The camel rocked beneath him and Vader was warm at his back in the cool night air as
he listened to the declaration that he was now a companion for the young lord, bought to
end his forays into his father’s harem.

“You are not a odalisque. You are a friend, a teacher and a companion. You will warm
his bed until he takes wives of his own.”

“I’ve never been much for the Bulgarian vices.” Han knew many, many terms for what Vader
was describing, but chose the least offensive he had.

“I see in your mind you would find great amusement in assisting his escapades, and that
you think of male pleasures as the indignities Jabba’s catamite heaped upon you. You will
learn better.” Vader’s large hand landed in his lap and grasped the stones he’d so narrowly
retained. “These can be removed without detracting from my son’s pleasures. It would
also render you fit to guard his harem when he changes to women. Are we quite
clear, slave?”  The last word was harsh, and Han subsided.  There would be no chance
of escape if he angered his new owner too early.

“Yes, my lord.”

“I want him to be fit to marry the princess to whom he is pledged. He is not to disport
himself with her sisters, or rivals, which I have taken for political reasons. She will be
his within two years.”

They rode through the night, Han staring at the stars, remembering navigating by them,
as his owner continued a litany of things expected of him. He hadn’t heard so many sexual
acts described with such florid detail since he’d paid a visit to a very upscale brothel in
Paris. He would wing it when the time came. Couldn’t be worse than Heater.

Early on the eight morning, the sun just peering up behind the mountains, they came to
their destination. The camels were stabled in a hidden cave in the foothills. Han and Bacca
gaped as they saw the next mount. Instead of pack horses, the handlers led an enormous
bird.

“My roc. Not so large as to carry off elephants in his claws, but quite large enough to carry
humans.” Vader ran a gloved hand through the creature’s feathers and swung himself into
the back seat of the three-seated saddle. “You two shall ride with me.”

Han climbed into the first seat, and Bacca into the second. None of the guards or outriders
were mounting. Before they were quite settled, the bird took off in a great flapping of wings.

Up they flew, rapidly, plunging into the clouds that wreathed the mountains. The air rushed
into their faces, and the ground dropped away dizzyingly. Han looked down, amazed at
how much he could see from the height, thrilling to the feeling of the great bird beneath him.
He had slipped sideways into a legend, and was no longer sure any of it was real. Since
none of it was real, he had nothing to fear.

When the castle appeared, sitting on a large rock, suspended in mid-air, he knew it was
all a dream. He’d wake tomorrow, in his hammock on the Falcon, and they’d bring that
shipment of Spanish gold to Jabba with no error. For now, he would take what came on
the course of the dream.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate,” Bacca whispered behind him in Italian, the
moment calling for something higher than his native Sicilian dialect.

“An educated man, who has read the poets.” Vader’s voice was pleased. “Quite rightly,
too, your advice: ‘All hope abandon, ye who enter in!’ All hope of escape, for the only
way in or out of the castle is by the rocs, and they respond only to my son and myself.”

The roc landed in a black marble courtyard where a rainbow fountain played and butterflies
flitted about drinking from the splashes. A groom dashed out to take the bird. Vader and
his purchases dismounted and he led them into the palace. Servants appeared, although
he had made no noise of summoning.

“Bacca, you will go with Pietr and be uniformed and outfitted. You, Solo, will go with
Fortunata here and she will prepare you to meet my son.” Vader turned and left them
in the care of the soldier and the woman in black.

Bacca looked at the narrow-faced, intense young man in the livery of Vader’s house.
Pietr looked up a bit warily and offered his hand.

“A pleasure to meet the young master’s new bodyguard. Our master must trust you
implicitly to grant you such a position. If you will follow, we’ll find you a bath, food and
some more suitable clothing.”

Bacca shook the offered hand, knowing he would gain nothing by alienating this man,
then followed. He looked back over his shoulder and told Han, in Sicilian, “Be alert. No
place is inescapable.”

“A lovely language,” Fortunata commented. She was albino, with sharp teeth and white
hair that flowed down her back in double braids. “I hope you speak it for the young
master will like it in bed, I’m sure. Come please, a bath, clothing and food. We will
present you to the young master after his meal. He will be calm and relaxed, much more
willing to accept you as a gift. He resents his father’s meddling.”

The bath was warm and scented. The food was plain but plentiful. The clothes were clean
and soft. Han, who had decided it might not be a dream, was even more afraid. He liked
the luxuries. It was wonderful to be clean, well-dressed and full of good food. But this
was exactly the trap they were trying to set, making his life so pleasant that the bed
duty would seem like a small price.

He balked when Fortunata sat him down and brought out a tray of face-paints. He was
no aristocrat to paint his face pale with bright lips and a beauty mark. She talked him into
letting her line his eyes with kohl, but no more. Then there was nothing to do but wait.
Fortunata played a wicked game of chess, and the time got away from him.

Without warning, Fortunata stood up. “The master desires your presence.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” Han got up and followed her. He had no doubt that if he hesitated
or refused that razor-sharp mind would come up with some exquisitely nasty punishment.

“He summons me by the power of his mind alone. In time, it will be the same with you
and the young master.”

Han followed, looking around himself at the wealth on display. When he and Bacca made
their run for it, they’d take some of this loot and be set for life. No more insane
merchant-princes, no more danger. They’d have a quiet life in Normandy, and sail
pleasure cruises on the Channel.

The dining room was the same gold-veined black marble as the rest of the palace. Vader
sat at one end of a low table. At the end nearer the door, a smaller version of him sat: same
black robes, same veiled face, same intense blue eyes. Women, also dressed in black,
passed here and there, moving food trays and pouring wine.

Sharp words flew from the covered mouths, from both ends of the table. Vader made a
slashing motion with his hand and his son fell silent.

“Enough. You will await your bride and not defile yourself with her sister again!” The
anger in Vader’s voice went to Han’s knees, but he steadied them and kept
pace with Fortunata.

The young man stood up and whirled, ready to make a dramatic exit, only to find himself
face to face with Fortunata and her charge. He drew up short, and stared.

Fortunata had not dressed Han in the typical black of the rest of the servants, but green.
His changeable eyes glowed as green as the emerald she’d set in his ear. He’d spent a few
minutes looking when he was dressed: the pants were fine silk, clingy and thin, hinting at
what was under the green cloth. No shirt, only a short vest that left his chest mostly bare.
It was no wonder the young lord stared now.

“Father, what is this?” The young lord turned back to the table and slowly sat down.

“Something I purchased for you. A companion, a teacher. Someone to keep an eye
on you, now that you are too old for a nursemaid.”

The contempt in the blue eyes was clear. “In other words, you bought me a pleasure slave
to keep me busy until the Princess arrives.”

“I would not have said it so.”

“No, you never do. I don’t need your spy in my bedroom.”

“Be seated!” The cold fury was more frightening than the hot anger had been earlier. “He
is no spy. You will keep him with you until I say otherwise. Now, if you cannot even thank
me for a most expensive gift, be gone from my sight.”

Seeming to recover the dignity befitting his station, the young lord stood, bowed to his
father and spoke gravely and courteously. “My thanks, my lord father, for the gift. I am
sure I shall enjoy the companion which you have provided.”

He left and Fortunata nudged Han to follow him. The young lord was shorter than he’d
thought, and sudden worry came to him. The boy was old enough to be enjoying girls,
but how old was that?

Bacca stood guard at one of the doors the youth led him to.

“Who are you?” the young lord demanded. “Where is Pietr?”

“I am Bacca. I am your personal bodyguard. Your father worries for your safety, young
master.”

“Two spies.” The sigh was quite obvious even through the robes. With a pass of his hand,
the youth opened the doors on yet another black room, this one with blue accents. When
the door shut, he tore aside the veil and shrugged out of the heavy black robes. Beneath
he wore white, a simple wrapped shirt and loose trousers.

Fair haired and fair skinned, the young lord was no native to Morocco. He gestured
impatiently for Han to clear away his discarded clothing. Bacca leaned against the door,
blocking it with his body.

“Within this room, I am Luke. No ‘young master’ no ‘young lord.’ I hate those.” He sat
down on a big sand-colored cushion. “Father has proprieties and ceremonies he likes to
observe. He says we have to cover our faces because we’re from the far north, and
because it makes us more fearsome.”

Han was still standing in the middle of the room, staring. Pretty kid. Spoiled rotten, and
bad-tempered as could be. But pretty and graceful. Maybe the bed part of this job
wouldn’t be so bad.

“Are you going to pick that up, slave?” Luke gestured at the robes again.

“No. I’m not. You’re going to put your own clothes away. Your father told me I was to
teach you. Well, this is the first lesson: I’m not your slave and I’m not your valet.”

“Who do you think you are?”

“I think I’m Captain Han Solo of the xebec Falcon. And I think that we’re going to have
get a few things straight before we go any further.”

“Like what?” Luke was stunned, no one had ever dared speak to him so.

“Bacca and me, we don’t want to be here. We want to be free, take some revenge on a
thieving merchant and get our ship back. But, since we’re here with no way out, we’re
going to do our best for you.”

“You certainly haven’t shown it so far.”

Han sat down, and opted to level with him. “Look, kid, your dad bought me for one
reason: to keep you out of his harem. Now, I don’t care if you’re tupping one girl
or twenty, but I’ve got two jewels that are forfeit if you get caught on my watch. I’d
really, really like to keep them.”

Luke shrugged and looked away. “I could have you killed for speaking so.”

“Do it tomorrow. Right now, I’m going to bed, and you’re coming with me. I’m a light
sleeper. And nobody gets past Bacca.” He headed for the large, curtain-draped bed in
the next room.

“Wait.” Luke caught his arm. “Come with me a minute?” He knew this man didn’t deserve
the brunt of the temper he’d built up for his father. This was the only thing he could think of
to make some sort of amends. “I want to show you something.”

Luke pulled Han out onto the balcony. The stars were big and looked close enough to
touch. Han stared at them with unabashed desire. Freedom was so close he could
almost taste it. But there was no way out.

“I come out here every night and look at the stars. It’s the only time I feel like my own
man,” Luke said softly beside him.

They looked at the stars for a while longer, Han tracing out familiar constellations, imagining
himself back on the deck of the Falcon. Luke left the balcony to go back in, only to find Han
immediately beside him.

“The sleeping robes are here.” Luke opened a large sandalwood chest and tossed a black
garment to Han. “They’re loose enough one should fit you.” Without seeming to care that
there were others in the room, Luke stripped and put on a black robe before sprawling
across the bed.

He watched as Han stepped out of the fragile green clothing, admiring the large body. The
haste with which Han put on the robe suggested he seldom was naked in the presence of
another. He laid down on the edge of the bed, trying to keep his distance.

And so it went. Life in the palace had routines, and soon Han and Bacca had adjusted to
them as easily as to the rhythms of life on the Falcon.

Breakfast appeared in Luke’s rooms every morning. No servants brought it, but there
was always fresh bread and fruit on the same lacquered tray on the small cinnabar table.
Bacca always woke to the small thunderclap that accompanied its appearance and took
the tray to the bedroom.

After breakfast, Luke spent hours in study with his father, learning the arts of a sorcerer
lord. Since the sailors were literate, they were allowed into the library to read and stay
close at hand. They waited outside the small windowless room where the wizards
worked.

Han had boggled at the sight of the library: books, scrolls, maps and even papyrus lined the
walls from floor to ceiling. Some were made recently, others were so old Han could almost
hear them crumbling as they sat. Some were cheaply made by booksellers, and some were
bound in leathers whose origins did not bear close examination.

But it was a magician’s library and held little to interest the men. Bacca found a copy of
Dante, and read it aloud to Han, translating the old-fashioned Italian poetry. Han was
taken with the star charts and maps. He studied them for hours, plotting his escape. He
would have to navigate by the stars when they escaped this place.

After lunch, Luke trained, either sparring with Bacca or learning to ride the great roc under
his father’s tutelage. The bird did not like him, and he found it difficult to control. But Han
envied him the freedom of flight nonetheless.

He and Bacca taught the youth all of the weapons they knew between them, from tiny
daggers to pistols and rapiers. Luke had a good eye, but did not like the clumsy firearms,
preferring good steel in his hand.

But with sunset, a change came over Luke. He swathed himself in black and went to eat
with his father. Both were quick of temper with the onset of the dark, and the evening
meal was always strained. Han still hadn’t figured it out.

When they returned to Luke’s rooms, he would be sullen and not speak until they went to
the balcony. Then, they would lean on the rail and talk, comparing names of constellations.
Luke knew the myths behind many of them, and shared these. Easier with each other,
they would go to bed.

Summer’s heat faded into the storms of autumn. Nights were colder, and Bacca was
issued a heavier cloak. Luke had taken to curling into Han’s body for warmth in the
night. Han found he didn’t mind. He was growing fond of his young charge.

One morning, Han awoke early, before the others. Luke was curled up at his side, soaking
up body heat. Bacca was snoring lightly at the door.

In his sleep, Luke pressed closer, and thrust against Han, hard as iron. He moaned in his
sleep, and shoved against Han again, as if making passionate love in his dreams. His face,
tipped up, was lovely in the dawn, and his lips were barely parted.

Han leaned down and kissed those soft full lips, almost on impulse. He wasn’t going to be
the toy Vader had bought him as, but there was no reason not to act on his own desires.
Luke kissed back, still asleep.

Han lowered one hand and stilled the pumping hips. He slid his hand under the sleeping
robe and wrapped his hand around Luke’s cock. Luke thrust into his hand willingly, and
he varied the pressure, squeezing and stroking.

Luke woke himself with his cry of orgasm. He opened his eyes in time to see Han wiping
his hands on a towel and then coming back for another kiss.

“Morning, Luke.”

“Is all well?” Bacca demanded from the door. “I heard a shout.”

“We’re fine, my friend.” Han spared him a small smile.

The big Sicilian took in the way the men were laying and the smell of sex in the air. He
nodded. “I shall bring breakfast when it arrives.”

“Noisy kid,” Han kissed him after Bacca left. “Told you nobody gets past him.”

“Good morning.” Luke was still a bit bewildered. “What happened?”

“You were going at my leg like it was Daddy’s favorite concubine. I gave you a helping hand.”

“I thought you didn’t want me. I thought you liked women.”

“I do. I like you too.”

Luke marveled at this novelty. No one really liked him. His father loved him. The women
desired him. The servants feared him. But this man, his servant and companion, liked him.
“I like you too.” One hand ran over Han’s morning erection. “Shall I help you out?”

“I’d like that.” Han held his breath as Luke opened his robe and stroked him. The kid
was gentle and careful. His fingers played along the underside, and over the top. Then
Luke stopped to stare.

“What’s that?” He tugged the foreskin back and forth over the head of Han’s cock.

“Huh?” Han was puzzled, then he remembered the smoothness of Luke’s cock. “That’s
a foreskin, it’s what a normal prick looks like. Yours was cut off when you were a baby.
Jews and Arabs do it. Most Christian countries don’t. Then again, we don’t have so
much sand up north either.”

Luke scooted down. “I’ve never seen another man naked, except Father at his bath. He
looks like I do. This is interesting.” He toyed for a while until Han groaned.

“Luke, you’re gonna get a face-full if you don’t move or stop.”

“I want to watch.” Luke resumed his ministrations with more urgency, until the first spurts
of milky fluid landed in his palm. He continued a slow steady stroke until Han stopped.

Luke pulled away, looking at the puddle in his hand. He swirled one finger through the liquid
and tasted a drop of it. “Interesting. Different than women. I like it.” He licked his palm clean.
A shy smile crossed his face and he slid back up Han’s body for another kiss.

This time Han made it long and good. Luke’s mouth was as soft as a girl’s, and he was
delightfully skilled at the art of the kiss. Han pulled back with an astonished oath, before
plunging straight back in to sample all the delights his prince had to offer.

Bacca walked in with breakfast, placed the tray beside the bed and left quietly. The men
never noticed.

“This might not be so bad,” Luke said at last. “I’d like you to teach me more.”

“Gladly.” Han set about removing the sleeping robe, but a gong sounded.

“Father!” Luke leaped out of bed and threw on his clothing. Han dressed a bit more slowly.
Luke grabbed a peach from the breakfast tray and headed out for his lessons.

Han and Bacca waited in the library. Han was a bit uneasy as the black-clad desert lord
swept in from the sorcerers’ workroom. Vader favored him with an inclined head.

“My son tells me you fulfilled your duties for the first time this morning. Earlier than I had
foreseen. Continue.” Vader left, and Luke came out with a smile.

“He gave me the rest of the day off.” He wrapped his arms around Han and pulled him
down for a hard kiss. “I want more. Lessons in my quarters instead of the sparring field today.”

Bacca guarded the door from the outside throughout the afternoon. He heard many sounds
of pleasure and a few of discomfort. Han had learned from the books in the library. Bacca
had noticed him reading manuals about Greek love over the last few days. He assumed his
captain was growing lustful, and knew the boy must be suffering under the imposed chastity
as well.

In the bedroom, Han stripped out of his clothing and let Luke look at him. It was safe to
assume the boy had no experience with pleasures between men. He’d done it once or
twice, but hadn’t made a habit of it as many sailors did. He preferred to remain continent
during voyages and enjoy ladies in the ports where he stopped.

Luke approached the sailor, intrigued by the body, so different than his own. His companion
had a light pelt of hair on his chest and the sort of muscle that only comes from hard work
every day. The deep tan of seafaring life was fading into a lighter shade. Luke felt small.
Han was half a head taller than he was, and had a man’s body. He stripped away his
clothing, feeling too young and pale and hairless. Han drew him into an embrace.

“You’re beautiful,” Han whispered, his hands stroking the smooth skin of Luke’s chest,
feeling the strong shape of it, and knowing the prince could hold his own in single combat
even without wizardry.

“Lay down.”

Han obliged, stretching himself out for Luke’s scrutiny. Luke lay beside him, stroking and
kissing various parts of his body, exploring and becoming familiar with it. Han let him,
knowing they had to be patient.

“I want to kiss you,” Luke said. “The books say it’s filthy, fit only for dogs and eunuchs.”

“I don’t know about books, but I know it feels great. Do whatever you want. I’m all
yours right now.”

Luke took the permission for encouragement. “I know that. My father bought you. Your
very life is mine. But I want to do what feels good to you.”

“Just touch me. Kiss me.”

Luke kissed him. Han’s mouth felt perfect under his. He wasn’t worried about hurting the
big man. His father’s women had been very delicate, and unwilling to kiss him so much.
They knew what they wanted and accepted him only on their terms. And when he hadn’t
satisfied, Safi had let it slip to his father.

He tasted the little scar that had intrigued him, and then lowered his mouth to suck at one
flat nipple. His hand had found its way around Han’s cock again, and was squeezing gently,
making his companion hard. He slipped down and licked away the silvery bead that had
gathered. Liking the feel of the velvety skin, he ran his tongue along the length of the cock,
then pulled the foreskin back to trace the shape of the head.

“Ah kid, that feels so good.”

“Show me?” Luke stretched out beside him and let his own hard cock rub against Han’s thigh.

“Sure. I’ve never done it, but I know what I like.” Han stroked Luke to get him hard. He
went down, not sure what he was doing but willing to try.

Luke didn’t fit in his mouth. He was too long and Han gagged the first time he tried. He
wrapped one hand around the base and found that fit better. He ran his tongue all over
the cock, sliding his hand to add friction. Luke did no more than lay still and gasp at the
sensations.

Long deprived of release, Luke came quickly. He was breathing hard and had his arm
thrown over his eyes when Han came back up for a kiss. “Not filthy at all,” Luke whispered.

Vader left them to their own devices for a month. The lessons were canceled and all the
meals were delivered. They left the bed only to make love in the great marble bath or on
the balcony under the stars.

Bacca was bored stiff and missed his daily time in the library and sparring. He supposed it
was good to be a bored body guard. Better than having an interesting and short life.

Han cared for nothing during those weeks save pleasing himself and Luke. And Luke, his
senses heightened from the mystic training, allowed himself to be ravished by that pleasure,
swept away on sensation.

One afternoon, they were sitting naked on the bed tossing raisins for the other to catch. The
gong sounded, and Han missed the raisin.

Luke stood and tipped his head in what Han had come to think of as the “listening “ position.
He dropped back to one knee, and kissed Han before announcing, “We have to dress. Father
needs us in the courtyard in an hour.”

Han tossed his last raisin up and caught it in his mouth. “Time enough if we’re quick, then a fast
bath.”

“Slow bath,” Luke corrected. “I can’t look as if I’ve just been ravished by a wild pirate.” He
kissed Han. “Even if I have.”

Han lengthened the kiss, and glanced down, to where Luke was half-hard and poking him in
the chest. He caught the cock and stroked it erect. “You sure?” he asked when Luke let him up.

“Positive,” Luke breathed, his own hand sliding down the side of Han’s face. “Kiss me anyway.”

“Knew you’d come around.” Han guided Luke’s hips closer and licked across the head of
his cock. Knowing time was short, he didn’t tease, but took it in with a long, strong suck,
pressing hard against the bottom with his tongue. Luke didn’t last. He came with a shout
bare minutes after Han had started.

“Bath now,” Luke said, pulling his companion off the bed.

An hour later, they stood in the courtyard. Han and Bacca were arrayed as bodyguards
of the palace, and Luke was dressed identically to his imposing father, his fair face hidden
behind the black, only his blue eyes burning like the sky above them.

Han expected to see the roc come in for a landing. Instead a golden palanquin on an ornate
carpet hove into view. He could see nothing of the interior because of the rich tapestries
shielding it. It settled gracefully on the marble of the courtyard.

A man in blue assisted a white-clad woman from the palanquin. Two men and a woman in
black followed them. Once the party was clear, the black-clad woman made folding motions
in the air and the palanquin reduced itself to the size of a small box. The men rolled up the carpet
then rolled it the other way until it was a ball small enough to fit in the box. They put it in the
palanquin and the woman folded it some more until it was no more than a golden box small as
an orange. She stashed it in her robes.

“I come at your invitation, Lord Vader.” The blue man made an elaborate bow.

Vader returned it. “You are welcome, Lord Baal. You and your lovely daughter are my
honored guests.”

Luke stepped forward and dropped to one knee before the white lady. He held up a box
carved out of jasper. “A small gift for my beautiful bride, that she may wear to remember me
when we are parted, and to please me when we are together.”

The woman took the box and opened it, drawing out a brooch shaped like a spray of jeweled
flowers. She pinned it to her veils and headpiece. A sweet perfume filled the air and she gasped.

“The scent will reflect your moods, Princess.” Luke closed the box in her hands, rose and
bowed. A slim hand presented itself and he brought it to his own veiled lips.

“Lord Baal, wedding preparations must be made,” Vader said. “Perhaps we should allow the
children time together. Luke’s body guards should be chaperones enough.”

“My daughter’s maid will stay as well.”

The fathers went in together and Luke continued holding the Princess’s hand. He led her
to sit on the side of the fountain.

Neither removed their face coverings, but her dark eyes met his light ones, and they talked
about inconsequential things. The jewels put out the scent of jasmine and Luke knew he was
boring her. She bored him. He could not speak of magic. She knew he was a sorcerer, but
would not understand the theory or practice. He could not speak of Han or fighting or
anything.

The Princess muffled a yawn, glad for the veil. The brooch was a dead giveaway that she was
bored, but she couldn’t help that. Luke spoke only of books and poetry. She yearned for
someone who knew of the land and how to govern it. She looked over at the bodyguards.
Both handsome and probably both eunuchs. She gave her attention to Luke’s love poetry.

Han fought down a wave of jealousy. He knew that Luke’s bed was a temporary stop for him,
had known from the start. But he still balked to see his lover sitting with his bride. Oh Mary, he
couldn’t do this for the rest of his life!

Dinner was less tense than usual. Not the casual meal in bed as they’d been sharing, but Luke and his father didn’t seem to be at each others’ throats either. There were many toasts to the Princess’s beauty and more
to Luke’s power, and still more to the union of the two powers. Fortunata kept the wine
flowing and the food forthcoming.

Han and Bacca led Luke back to his rooms after dinner. He was giggly and a little
light-headed. Han peeled him out of the swathing and put him to bed.

“So that’s the girl.” Han stretched out beside him. “Gonna marry her sight unseen, hunh?”

“I bore her, Han.” Luke curled up next to him. “I don’t bore you, do I?”

“Never.”

“Han? We didn’t look at the stars.”

“We’ll do it tomorrow, kid. You want to marry her or you want to get out?”

“Want you. Not her. She’s boring.”

Seeing he would get no more out of his prince, Han lay on his back, holding Luke and
thinking hard. Once Luke was sleeping, Han got up to talk to Bacca. They used a polyglot,
mostly Sicilian with a few others thrown in to confuse anyone listening. Han outlined his plan.

Bacca let him out the door, and he padded through the palace, his bare feet making no noise
on the marble floors. He found Fortunata awake and going over the ledgers.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” she demanded.

“The Lord Baal requested my presence to discuss the prince but I forgot where the visitors
are staying.”

“Fourth hall on the left, three doors on the right,” Fortunata directed him, returning her attentions
to the ledger.

Han continued on his way. He found the visitors’ rooms. The guards dozed, one on each side of
the two doorways. Han picked the lock on the door and slipped in without waking guard. He’d
guessed right and picked the Princess’s room. He’d be castrated sure if he got caught, and lucky
to escape with his life, but he didn’t care. He wanted out.

The servant woman was asleep in a tumble of red-brown hair and black robe. Her day
clothes were folded on a chair. He patted them, feeling for the box. It wasn’t there. Silently,
he continued the search, checking the trunks and other things, Finally, he found the small
gold box and tucked it into his sash before slipping out again.

This time he avoided Fortunata, and made his way back to Luke’s room. On the balcony,
he opened the box and took out the carpet. With a shake, he stretched it to full size and
set the box atop it to ponder.

Luke woke alone, cold and headachy. He saw Han moving on the balcony, and went out to
look. He saw the guests’ palanquin, still folded on the flying carpet and Han trying to figure it
out. With two passes and a few words, Luke had the palaquin unfolded and ready.

“Luke--”

“Han, are you leaving?”

“Yeah. Want to come along? Someplace far from fathers and sorceries and princesses? Get
Bacca and anything you want to bring. We’re leaving now.”

Bacca barred the door and seated himself in the palanquin. Luke returned quickly with a bag
of clothes and jewels, and the small tray and table from near the door. “It creates the food
every day. We’ll never starve with this.”

He closed the tapestries around the palanquin and spoke a few words. They rose and left the
confines of the palace. Han looked at the ceiling, noticing it showed the sky outside. The
tapestries were enchanted to show the lands around. He had Luke steer them north and west.
They flew all night and at dawn, the table spread itself with breakfast.

The Falcon still lay at anchor in Jabba’s harbor. Han had Luke land them on her deck. They
hastily bundled the palanquin and its carpet away. Bacca and Han checked the ship over and
made ready to sail. She was ready for a voyage, even to being loaded with cargo.

They cast off, and steered west and North. In Marseilles, were men who would pay good
money for pepper and spices the Falcon carried. The further they were from Morocco and
the sorcerer lord and jilted princess, the better things would be.

The Falcon caught the morning wind, and took to the waves like her namesake, pleased to
have her captain back