He pulled himself out of bed carefully, using just a touch of magic to deepen his companion's sleep. He refused to give in to the temptation to stroke the disheveled bronze-gold hair that lay across the pillow, although he knew that its silky texture would be both pleasant and rewarding. He had other things on his mind.

How long has it been since I last had a lover? he wondered as he dressed himself. A thousand years? No, more like twelve hundred. That had been another human boy, a dark-haired, golden-skinned youth from the far reaches of the Orient. That one had died young, unable to survive life in the Dark Kingdom. He had hopes that the blonde youth now lying in his bed would be different. This one had spirit, pride, and energy. It was fortunate that he hadn't been in Nephrite's possession long enough for the other King to break him.

Kunzite paused, looking down at the sleeping boy, whose skin was still slightly bronzed where it had been exposed to the summer sun. His back was crisscrossed with old scars, and he was thinner than the demon would have preferred. Surely two weeks as Nephrite's slave couldn't have been responsible for that! No, this one had been on short rations for quite a while. Well, that was easy enough to remedy. He'd see that the boy had as much as he needed to eat from now on.

He had plans for this one. He admitted it to himself, but only in the privacy of his own mind. That was why he'd never asked the boy's name, not even now, three days into their relationship. He'd already chosen the name that the youth would eventually bear. He'd chosen it the moment he'd first looked into those brilliantly green eyes and seen the unquenchable spirit there.

Zoisite. According to Dark Kingdom tradition, demons showing the potential for high rank were always named after semi-precious stones, and this particular name seemed to fit the boy incredibly well. Green zoisites, the color that matched his eyes, were always small stones, very rare--and precious because of it.

The youth wouldn't be ready for that name for quite some time, of course. He was still far too human. Kunzite hadn't missed the revulsion in the youth's eyes as he'd watched him feeding. The young one had a great deal to learn, and a great deal to accept, before he'd be capable of becoming a demon. He would have to be trained and shaped, but carefully. Very carefully. The demon king wanted to mould his spirit, not shatter it.

And there was another thing that would have to be accomplished before the youth's transformation would be possible.

The demon king straightened his cape and smoothed his jacket before initiating the teleport. He never permitted himself to be seen in anything less than a perfectly groomed condition--not by the lesser demons, and certainly not by the youma.

He emerged in a small, darkened room underneath Beryl's citadel. He could have teleported directly to the larger room beyond, but etiquette called for the use of these antechambers, except in emergencies. Which this was not. No, what he began today would have plenty of time to reach fruition.

He opened the door and strode through. The youma which should have been guarding the room were sitting in a huddle on the floor, around a pile of tokens that represented favours here in the currencyless society of the Dark Kingdom, dicing. They didn't even look up as he entered.

He chose the one whose winnings were largest, and brushed the knuckles of one gloved hand lightly against her shoulder. She gave a startled, agonized cry as the pale, frostbitten skin at the point of contact was touched by the relatively warm air of the room.

Kunzite wondered if the youth he had left in the bedroom knew the real reason for his nickname of "Ice King". He almost never chose to negate the spell that made his body seem to radiate such intense cold. At the moment, Beryl and Zoisite were the only people who could touch him without experiencing instant and agonizing pain.

It wasn't real cold, of course, merely a subjective impression of cold, and inanimate objects weren't affected by it. But demons, youma, humans, and most animals . . . Well, it was odd how their bodies could be convinced of the existence of things that weren't real.

"King Kunzite-sama. What can we do for your Lordship?" Not the youma he had touched, but one of the others, the one who appeared to have been losing the worst.

"Graphite. Where is he?"

"Down at the far end, milord, starting a new batch of youma. Would like me to take you to him?"

"That will not be necessary." Kunzite deliberately took two steps away from the group, waiting until he heard their combined sigh of relief before spinning around and firing a blast of raw magical energy at the tokens and dice stacked in the middle of the group.

"Back to your duties, and don't let me ever catch you like this again!" he snarled.

The youma scattered back to their proper posts, almost tripping over each other in an effort to get out of range before they too became carbonized smears on the floor. Kunzite nodded in satisfaction, then proceeded on his way.

He found the demon called Graphite near an empty tank, testing it to see what percentage of Metallia's blood was mixed with the growth medium inside. Too little, and the youma grown within would have no magic to speak of. Too much, and they would be too powerful and dangerous. That particular mistake had been made only once in the entire history of the Dark Kingdom, producing the Seven Shadows, a group of youma as powerful as any true demon. Even Kunzite was wary of them. And the demon who had been presiding over the growth tanks that month had been executed.

Graphite looked up instantly when he heard the click of boots against stone. "King Kunzite-sama. If this is about the request you made yesterday, I've had the third room at the back set up to your specifications, including the teleport wards and the lock on the door. You may take possession at any time."

Kunzite inclined his head. "Your cooperation is appreciated." It was as close as he could come to thanking the lesser demon. Graphite had never been a candidate for high rank--his name alone made that obvious--but he was formidably organized and a hard worker, qualities that made him an outstanding subordinate.

The demon king strode quickly across the huge, open room, occasionally detouring around growth tanks, until he reached the room that Graphite had specified. The door opened the moment that his hand brushed against the lock. It would do so for no other, and the powerful teleport wards woven into the walls would block that method of entry. And that was as it should be. He didn't want Nephrite's spies to find out what he was proposing to do here.

Inside, he contemplated the furnishings, which were limited to a single growth tank, smaller than those in the main room, and a stone platform that could serve as a table, a seat . . . or a bier.

Kunzite tested the mixture in the growth tank. It wasn't nearly rich enough for what he had in mind. A touch of magic opened the valves all the way, and more blood began to ooze in, darkening the reddish liquid even more. It would take a few hours to reach an acceptable level.

Then he would begin his work.