Chapter 3 #2
Some days the pain is too much, but then so is my internal struggle, which for me takes more pain and thus more mental strength to overcome. Bayaden spanks as hard as he feels I need in times like this. “Take it little human,” he coos as I writhe in agony.
Slaps ring out, each one lighting my arse afire; I struggle more, he spanks harder.
Fighting, especially when emotionally charged, is exhausting and I give up.
I accept that this is happening whether I want it to or not.
I take a deep breath, exhaling into the pain allowing it to sink into me, rather than trying to block it out.
My body relaxes and while the pain never lessens, instead of rejecting it, it becomes part of me.
My eyes still wince a bit, but I don’t struggle and take what he gives me.
His heavy spanks turn to rubbing and though I wasn’t crying during the spanking, it all comes out afterward. “Shhh, you needed that didn’t you?” I nod into him. “Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”
It’s not though. I think I know what he’s up to and I don’t want to say either, in case I’m wrong. I don’t want to give it life. “Bayaden tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“Say it again.”
Instead of using words, he hums to me, something soft and deep. His singing voice is as rough as the rest of him, which is why he prefers not to sing in words. He only sings to me. I calm down and eventually, I can sleep too.
The grey sandstone is warm under my feet, the perfect temperature for walking on without shoes. Most of the humans and Elves in Aldrien don’t wear shoes, which begs the question: why does Baya have so many pairs of boots for me to polish?
I head down to the marketplace, making sure to give a smug guffaw to the large, female warriors who stand guard and allow people from the palace into the marketplace.
They don’t like me much and I don’t blame them, I’m cocky which is opposite to the way Papa taught me to be, but I can’t help it.
They scratch at my ego, looking down on me as they do.
It’s not even because of the human versus Elf thing.
I merely think Elves moronic for that; my ego is irritated because they don’t think I’m good enough for their Warlord, not even as a manservant.
They scathe at the pendent around my throat.
Truth be told, they’ve got some points they could argue.
I’m a terrible manservant. I grew up as a royal with very little education in the art of servant jobs.
I was spoiled even with my parents spoiling me far less than Lucca’s parents did.
I thought I had it rough when I was a kid, but I didn’t.
If only I knew how incredibly lucky I was.
But I digress. I was a spoiled rich kid. I know nothing of being a manservant, nor do I like it, nor do I try all that hard.
I am another kind of servant though as a warrior.
That’s where I shine and where I feel I’m equal to Baya, even if he’s way stronger than I am.
I wished they’d compare me to him under those terms. Not that the result would be any different, but I’d rather be hated for what I am, than for what I’m not.
I do have to exercise some amount of respect for them though, or Baya will have my head, so I nod and smile. “Lovely day, ladies.”
“Be gone with you, human.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
The market is, in essence, like that of Markaytia’s markets—a busy chaotic mass of people, but the one rather large difference is the persistent presence of nakedness.
I would be naked too, if not for the pants I was able to acquire after making a bet with Bayaden on my first day here.
He underestimated me. He didn’t have to allow me to keep my prize of course, but he did, which demonstrated his proclivity toward honor—even to his slave.
But the odd thing about Aldrien, in general, is that as much as humans are slaves, they don’t seem to mind so much. Aldrien Elves treat humans like beloved pets.
Some Elves have leashes attached to the collars of their human, some humans crawl on all fours, some are naked, others wear scant amounts of clothing or strange harnesses, some are with their owners, but some without.
Each human-Elf pairing seems to have its way of things, but the commonality is, they are happy.
Never thought I’d be one of them, but here I am giddy at the prospect of acquiring Bayaden’s favorite mushrooms along with some special herbs and spices they don’t always keep on hand at the palace, to give to Meren for Baya’s dinner.
I wouldn’t have been doing this for Corrik. Not because I wouldn’t have wanted to, but I would never have been permitted. This kind of thing is beneath royals.
Ugh. I have to stop thinking about Corrik though. I’ve kept him locked away in a box all this time. What a time for him to spring out, seemingly larger than when he was stuffed into the box, and I can’t seem to fit him back inside.
I bump into Tom and Mary. “Good day to you, Warlord. What mischief you up to?”
I smirk. Yeah, I’m a brat and I own it. To be fair, the first real adventure I’d got myself into when I was here, involved textbook bratting. I didn’t think so at the time, but I can see it now.
I blame Bayaden. He brings it out in me.
Mary and Tom are both fully clothed. Mary, because she works in the kitchens and her mistress feels that makes sense, plus she likes to doll Mary up.
Tom because the king tends to be a bit possessive.
Well, Tom calls it protective, I call it possessive.
The king is not as polyamorous as other Elves, which usually does not extend to slaves, but it does in this case.
Personally, I think the king’s sweet on him and can’t admit it due to all the rules, which apparently, not even the king can break in Aldrien.
But it’s easier for the king to find reason enough to bend the rules to clothe Tom than for Baya to clothe me.
It’s a symbol here—ridiculous as that is—and Baya has to consider what his warriors would think if he gave me too many Elven privileges.
Besides, me naked doesn’t bother Bayaden in the least. The most he allows me is some protection on the training fields.
Gods damn exhibitionist he is.
“Sorry to disappoint, but no mischief today. Just mushrooms.”
“Bayaden’s favorites?” Mary asks, knowing me.
Hotness flushes over my face. “Perhaps. Have you seen any?”
“Over there.” She points and winks.
“What about you two?”
“I was sent to help Mary, but I’ve got to return to the king,” Tom says.
“My usual. Kitchen errands for Meren.” She looks around and leans toward me. “You should know Tristan, there’s a big dinner coming up. Rumor has it, Bayaden’s attending.”
I raise my brows. “Bayaden never attends those.” At least not willingly.
Her face says she knows and that’s why she told me.
Baya also hasn’t said a word about it, which is probably why she’s being so timid about it. I’m probably not meant to know until Baya finally decides to tell me. “Thank you, Mary. I’ll see you two up there, then.”
I get that sensation in my gut again, like looking over a ledge.
My bare feet grip the hard dirt as I pad over to the place where Mary said I could get mushrooms, show my tag to the vendor so he’ll charge the palace accounts, and carry on to the spice stands.
Then I catch sight of long blond hair. Most Aldriens have dark hair, some have grey, there’s even white, but blond is rare.
I can’t see the face, they’re wearing a hooded cloak, I have to follow to find out.
As much as I didn’t want to be saved, with how ardently Corrik seemed to love me, I thought he would come.
Part of me considered this a short holiday from the real world, at first, because I was certain I wasn’t going to be here long.
But when he never came, especially after I was able to get Diekin out of here, I told myself he’d moved on too.
It made it easier to put him in a box I could store on the shelf in my mind, never open it, let it collect dust.
But maybe he has been looking all this time? Maybe he’s here.
I stash my mushrooms and spices somewhere I can collect them later and follow the lone rider. The Elf is big enough to be Corrik. The ears are the right height, the shoulders are broad enough, but I don’t see a sword.
Corrik wore a sword to head down to the kitchens when he thought there might be cause to, no way he’d head into enemy territory without one.
Unless there was some reason he couldn’t.
My heart lifts, which I did not expect. An aching begins from somewhere deep within me and my blood races.
I chase after the rider now, fuck his cover, I need to know if it’s him and I’m not letting him get beyond that gate without seeing.
There are limits to where I can go, my collar does not get me past the marketplace gates.
“Sir! Sir! I think you dropped something.”
The rider stops, turns to face me, frowning.
It’s not Corrik. A beautiful Elven man with blue eyes, but not Corrik. “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”
“Ah, no. I thought you were someone else. Sorry to trouble you.”
He nods and turns to head through the gate and in short order becomes another ghost passing through my life, just like my Corrik.