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For the first time in his relatively short life, Steven was terrified. When he was young and small, he hadn’t known what fear tasted like. Growing up in a relatively peaceful tribe didn’t breed much cause for fear. Even when Pierce had rode in with the Hydra clan and taken over, declaring himself leader, Steven had truly been afraid. Angry, for sure, that his people had put up no fight. But not afraid.
Not like this.
Ten days ago, scouts from the Iron clan had appeared at the borders of their lands. Pierce had rallied his small army, barely enhanced by the farmers he had enslaved from the original legion that had conquered Steven’s people. There had been a brief but ultimately unsuccessful skirmish between the two clans. For all of Pierce’s boasting about the strength of the Hydra, they were no match for the ruthless warriors led by the Iron Man and his Soldier.
After the defeat, the Iron Man had sent an emissary who demanded unconditional surrender, as well as tributes for their new lord. Pierce, seeing an opportunity to capitalize on the potential for more power through the favor of the fearsome warlord, had not stopped at gathering what would have seemed a worthy enough tribute of gold and cloth and food.
He had declared his intentions to send Steven to the Iron Man as well.
Sarah, his mother, had begged Pierce not to take her son. The older woman had humbled herself on her knees at the feet of their cold, cruel master, imploring him to choose someone else. But Pierce would not be swayed. Steven was strong and capable and, by many accounts, pleasing to look at. And they had all heard the tales and rumors of the warlord’s appetites.
So Pierce had ordered Steven dressed in clothing dyed in the colors of the Hydra, garments specifically designed to highlight his body and display as much skin as possible. Their people had loaded horses and wagons with the weight of their tributes, and then they set off with a small band of warriors to make the long trek to the stronghold of the Iron clan.
When they finally stood in the great hall of the clan’s keep, Steven’s first glimpse of the Iron Man had him gripping what little material made up his clothing to keep his hands from shaking. The warlord was clad in thick fur and leather, sprawled in a throne made of what Steven suspected was the metal that gave the clan its name. Many of the stories said the warlord had crafted it from the armor and weapons of the endless armies he had defeated.
The man was of a smaller stature than Steven would have suspected, given his fearsome reputation, but his very presence was so commanding that Steven had glimpsed even Pierce paling as they entered the room. But that might have been caused not by the warlord himself, but from the fearsome warrior who loomed behind him. A man so cold, Steven was somewhat surprised the entire room wasn’t covered in icicles. Perhaps his demeanor was where he had earned the name Winter Soldier.
Pierce shook himself off, plastering on a sickly sweet smile as he started toward the throne, waving his men to drag their tribute forward, Steven included.
“My lord! I bring you a great tribute, more than worthy of the Iron clan. Gold to increase your vast wealth, food to overfill your stores, and…”
One of Pierce’s men dragged Steven forward, shoving him to his knees beside their leader. The older man twisted vicious fingers into Steven’s hair, cruelly tugging his head back to bare the blonde’s neck. Pierce’s grin grew sharper.
“A golden treasure to add to my lord’s collection.”
A fierce growl rolled through the room, and out of the corner of his eye, Steven saw the Soldier lunge forward. But the warlord held up a hand, and the warrior halted without hesitation. The Iron Man seemed to assess first Pierce, and then Steven, before standing from his chair in a lazy roll. The sound of his heavy boots echoed as he descended the dais, the thick wooden staff he held in his hand thumping on the stone.
The man stopped on the second to last stair and let out a short, sharp whistle. Two women dressed similarly to the rest of the Iron clan, with opposing shades of flaming hair, appeared out of nowhere, and the warlord spoke to them in a language Steven had never heard before. The taller of the two women disappeared, and the smaller made her way over to where Steven still kneeled with Pierce’s hand in his hair. She stopped within striking distance, her lip curled in an image of clear disgust, and produced a dagger seemingly from thin air. A dagger that she pointed directly at Pierce. When she spoke, it was the language of Steven’s people from a heavily accented voice.
“You will remove your hand, or I will remove it for you.”
Pierce spluttered, face tinting red with rage. “How dare you—”
The woman moved so fast, Steven barely blinked and she had the dagger pressed under Pierce’s chin. A second had somehow appeared and was pointed at his belly. “You will remove your hand, or I will remove it for you. I will not repeat myself again.”
Pierce reacted immediately, fingers sliding from Steven’s hair and both hands rising in surrender. Without removing the daggers, the woman shifted her attention to where Steven still knelt. “Rise. No one should kneel before this filth.”
Steven stared at her for a moment, but could not stop his eyes from sliding over to Pierce. The older man glared down at him, face twisting into a snarl. “Move and I will—”
The woman shifted, her dagger splitting the skin of Pierce’s neck with ease. Steven watched, hypnotized, as a small stream of blood spilled down his neck and soaked into his collar.
“Silence. Speak again and I will separate your head from your shoulders.”
Satisfaction at seeing Pierce brought low pooled in Steven’s belly, and he unsteadily climbed to his feet. A second later, the taller woman reappeared, a man with dark skin and a pile of furs and leather in his arms at her side. She smiled warmly at Steven, and gestured to a door set in the wall behind the massive throne.
“Please, this way. We have clothing that will be more suitable for you here, and a comfortable chamber for you to rest in.”
Steven was less surprised to hear this woman speak a language he understood after hearing the first, but it was still a bit of a shock. Though not enough of a shock to keep him from following behind her and the other man. Garments that would allow him some measure of modesty and comfort were more than welcome.
Pierce, unsurprisingly, was not ready to give up so easily.
“You would take my tributes, and offer nothing to me in return? I have brought the best of what our lands have to offer, including a more than satisfactory toy for you to play with and this is how you treat me?”
Pierce, all of his men, and Steven flinched as the warlord brought his heavy staff down hard on the stone behind his feet, the sound booming through the room. Fury was written all over his face as he began shouting at Pierce in that strange, lilting language. The woman with the daggers crossed her arms, smirking up at Pierce until the shouting stopped.
“He says you should be grateful he is allowing you and your men to leave our lands with all of your limbs intact. The way you treat those you lord over is well known to us and those beyond our borders. The Iron clan have not conquered you to rule over the people of Brooklyne, but to free them from your grasp. The moment you step foot outside of these walls, you will have two choices. You can return to Brooklyne, gather your men, and pass beyond their borders within a fortnight. Or, you can choose to test the Iron Man’s patience, and the Soldier will return.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Steven, then turned back to Pierce. “Your… tribute, will remain here and become part of the Iron clan. And he will remain under our protection from this moment forward.”
The second woman laid her hand on Steven’s arm, giving him a gentle smile. “Come. That man is no longer your concern.”
Steven was led to an extravagantly decorated chamber, which he suspected belonged to the warlord himself. Despite the gentle demeanor of the two members of the clan that had led him here and then left him alone to dress in the warmer clothes, there was no doubt in his mind as to what would be expected of him.
It seemed like both an eternity and no time at all before there was a knock on the door. There was a pause, and then the door creaked open to reveal the face of the very man Steven had hoped not to see.
The warlord slipped inside, and when Steven saw that he wasn’t alone, his stomach twisted in terror.
It was the Winter Soldier that closed the door behind them, and leaned back against the wood with his arms crossed over his impressive chest.
The two men shared a look, and whispered back and forth in their foreign tongue for a few moments. When they turned back to Steven, it was as if some sorcery had been performed and two completely different men now stood before him. Gone were the cold and ruthless demeanors. Now, their faces held clear concern. Surely it couldn’t be for him?
The warlord took a step forward, one hand held out as if to soothe a frightened animal.
“My name is Antoni. This is James. I know what you may think of us. I’ve heard all of the rumors, even started a few myself. But the stories of my reputation have been greatly exaggerated. Every member of the Iron clan is here by choice. There are no prisoners or slaves here.”
“You speak our language.”
The Soldier— James —snorted from where he still stood against the door. When he spoke, his voice was rich and deep, heavily accented like the fierce woman with the daggers. It sent a not unpleasant shiver down Steven’s spine. “He speaks more languages than you could possibly imagine.”
Steven was more confused than ever before. Nothing had been like he expected. The feared Iron clan had so far treated him with kindness and care. Given him warmer clothes, a quiet chamber to collect himself, and none of the demands he had anticipated had been made of him.
The terrifying Iron Man was just a man who spoke a multitude of languages and had marched into Brooklyne with the sole purpose of freeing Steven’s people.
Both men were more handsome than Steven had anticipated as well.
Antoni cleared his throat and gestured to the open space next to Steven on the massive bed. “Do you mind if I sit? I despise looming over people I’m not attempting to intimidate.”
Steven nodded and slid a little more to one side to create more space. When the other man sat down, the surprising difference in their height became obvious. He had so many questions, but his brain couldn’t process any of them. So he just sat in silence, waiting.
“Will you give us your name?”
“Steven, my lord.”
Antoni chuckled, shaking his head. “Please, none of that. Just Antoni here. No one ever calls me lord.”
“I mostly call him ‘idiot.’”
Antoni glared at James over his shoulder, and the big man blew the warlord a kiss. Steven’s eyes widened in shock. Were the two men… lovers? The thought made his blood heat.
“Steven.”
His eyes snapped back to Antoni, desperately hoping the blush he could feel coloring his cheeks wasn’t noticeable in the darkened chamber. The other man smiled again, but there was no way to tell what he was thinking.
“Steven, I want to make it clear that you are not a prisoner here. Once we have assurance that Pierce is no longer hiding in Brooklyne, you are free to return to your people.”
Steven was not just strong and physically capable. He was smart as well. So he knew there was more to what the other man was saying. So he asked, “Or?”
James smirked, seemingly pleased with Steven’s response, and pushed off the door. “Or, you can stay and become a cherished member of the Iron clan, as we all have.”
Steven raised an eyebrow, heat spreading through his body as he desperately hoped he wasn’t misinterpreting what was being said. “Cherished?”
Antoni responded this time, not-so-subtly shifting closer on the bed. “I know you saw James’s reaction to Pierce’s manhandling. He felt drawn to you the moment you walked through the doors. Truthfully, we both did. And though they call me the warlord, we are true equals. Everything is shared between us.”
While Antoni spoke, James had crossed the room until he was close enough to hook a finger under Steven’s chin and lift his chin until their eyes met.
“I can see it in your eyes. You can feel it too. The pull. Do you wish to be ours, Steven?” James leaned closer, so close that Steven could feel the other man’s breath on his face. “Say yes.”
What else could he possibly say?
“Yes.”