Chapter 5
Idon’t ask about the dinner. I know Bayaden well enough to know that if he’s keeping anything from me it’s because he either can’t talk about it or because he can’t talk about it.
The former is to do with the fact he is still the enemy Warlord even if he’s no personal enemy of mine, which I understand because I would do the same.
I am doing the same. I won’t betray Markaytia or Mortouge by revealing their secrets and out of respect, Bayaden doesn’t ask.
The latter is Bayaden’s issue with expressing his emotions.
I get this too. I’m only slightly better because I had Papa who was a feeling, emotional being.
Even Mother was a bit emotionally dysfunctional.
But Papa, he was raised to talk things out and he did most of the time, which meant I was forced to even when I would rather exercise Father’s taciturn ways.
So I leave it. He’ll tell me when he wants to or not at all, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying.
I sit by the window to polish his boots and stop to admire the marks along my arms. Baya got carried away last night and I can’t be seen like this.
Markings mean too much in Elven culture and so it’s a conundrum.
If anyone were to see these, they would know how much Baya adores me and he would lose the respect of his warriors.
Technically, Baya could heal them away, but that’s the equivalent of telling me I’m meaningless; something he couldn’t even do the first time it happened.
The best we’ve got is a magical Elven healing salve that will heal them faster than if they were left to heal on their own and to be honest, I don’t want them gone either.
After our first time together, I was covered in marks.
Not a patch of skin was left unmarred. I ached all over, the bite marks made it hard to move without pain, and my arse was sore in two ways.
That time, he had chained me to a wall by a metal collar, the chain only long enough to reach a pot to relive myself in since I couldn’t leave his chambers. I was livid, ready to kill him.
But he refused to speak to me in Markaytian and wouldn’t tell me what was going on.
He did show me his art via a hand-held mirror; he was so proud. Baya had never been drawn to mark someone as he had marked me and while he was angry that the person to get the best of his affections was a human, I immediately became special to him and he got protective.
But all I knew at that moment was that my fucking body felt like tenderized meat because it was and I set about plotting as to how I would go about cutting his balls off but not his cock, I loved the many wonderful things he could do with his cock and wanted him to do them again.
This time, he doesn’t have to lock me in.
I know better than to leave looking like this.
There’s bratting, and then there’s courting the kind of trouble neither Baya nor I can contend with.
It does mean I can’t attend practice today, so I get antsy.
I’ve already cleaned Bayaden’s quarters, but I go over them again, giving them a deeper clean.
When I’m in the closet, moving things around, something falls out.
Even without a lot of light, the handle glints, and I know it’s my dagger.
I pick it up. Wow, was Corrik mad when he saw I took this.
I laugh. It all felt so serious to me at the time, but now, I could see it going differently.
Part of being a brat is embracing it; the more I embrace that side of me, the more others will, including my husband, that is, if he can love me unconditionally.
You called him your husband, Tristan.
Fuck. The box that was never supposed to open again is not only open but has begun to grow things from it, spilling everywhere like dandelion and as we all know, that stuff spreads like fire.
I sit on the floor with it, remembering him—fair as snow, unrelenting, fierce, but also sweet when he wanted to be.
Okay, I admit it, I miss Corrik. But does he miss me? Would he understand the choices I made?
I stow the dagger. I totally plan on doing something fun with that one, but I want to think about it, bide my time and get Bayaden good.
I’m just stuffing it back when arms encase me.
I would jump, but I know who they belong to.
“Not very vigilant, Tristan. I could have had you gutted and flayed several times over.” He spins me to face him.
“I knew you were there the whole time,” I boast. I didn’t. Bloody Elves. I’ll never get used to how quietly they can sneak up on you.
He drags me from the closet to check my arms. “These are nearly gone.”
“I know.” I twist my lips.
He smiles. “Not to worry. I’ll give you more. Somewhere hidden by your pants and perhaps your tunic.” He starts nibbling down my neck. “I’m sorry. I know how much you hate being confined to one space. You can’t cage a dragon.”
“You can’t and perhaps I’ll even forgive you if you make it up to me.”
“As you wish, my Tristan. I think I know how to do that.” His eyes glint and I know he’s thinking of sucking my cock.
“And then I want Meren’s pies for dinner.”
“And Meren’s pies for dinner,” he says pressing his lips to mine.
“Can I also plant frogs in Andothair’s bed?”
“No.” Worth a shot. He lifts me bridal style. “But I will take you for a ride and we can see the frogs.”
He knows how much I like watching them jump against the moonlight. I nod and let him carry me to the bed.
The Aldrien king is a large, broad Elf like Bayaden, but he has fine features like Andothair and a long, fearsome scar, also like Bayaden, running under his eye, but instead of running across his cheekbone, it runs to his chin.
Rather than making him look ugly, it gives him a grand look.
All I can think every time I look upon him is what it would be like to fight a man like him. He’s magnificent.
Tom has told me all about the ways he submits to the king.
I’ve even seen the beautiful way he kneels for him with his torso tall, that graceful sway at this lower back, his chest puffed, and each toe of his bare feet pressed into the soft stone.
I’ve seen the way his eyes look up to the king, and it’s clear he’s been instructed to have his gaze follow him in that way; he doesn’t spare a glance for me or anyone else.
It’s convincing. Anyone would believe their charade, but as I’ve gotten to know them, it just doesn’t feel true.
I don’t know why; I have no proof that it’s any other way.
The king exudes a dominant energy at times, but at other times I pick up on a different aura.
Is there a chance it goes both ways? I have heard some couples switch, which is a foreign idea to me, someone who swings so much one way; it’s hard to fathom someone could be both dominant and submissive at the same time, but I think that’s what the king and Tom might be.
Even if just sometimes. It would explain a lot anyway.
But Andothair is submissive through and through and it’s easy to see now that I’ve embraced who I am. I understand why he and Corrik worked when they were together. I didn’t know at first because Andothair can give a bloody good spanking.
Angry, after the first time Baya and I slept together and after my confinement that I still didn’t understand at the time, I sought him out.
He was with the king who thought I was an odd gift for Bayaden, but since the king has a human servant of his own, he understood the attraction and thought I’d make a pretty pet even though that day I was hysterical.
I shouted at Andothair, saying things that didn’t make sense.
I even complained that I wasn’t given jobs like a proper manservant.
“Calm down, Tristan.” His voice was gentle, not hard and demanding like Bayaden’s.
I was breathing too fast, trying and failing to calm myself down, begging him without words to do something to make me better.
He watched me a long time, and then said, “I know what you are, Tristan. We’ll meet in my chambers tonight after dinner. I’ll have Tom fetch you.”
I was furious. I didn’t get the help I needed, but I was without another option and so I had to wait; I was ready to set the whole place on fire. I went back to Baya’s chambers and slept on my bed. To add insult to injury, I was awoken by boots dumped on my head. “The Gods’ sake!”
Bayaden stood over me, looking like he wanted to set my head on a pike. “You went to my brother,” he accused, his teeth grinding metal. “He says you want jobs to do, so here. Polish all my boots and when you’re finished, polish them again.”
"Perfect. Better than having to suck your cock." I got another boot thrown at me, which I caught seamlessly.
"I thought you didn't like being caged up—dragon blood you said? Keep this up, and I'll put you in a real cage."
I was saved from anymore of Bayaden's wrath when Tom arrived to fetch me. He stared between the two of us, probably wondering if he should call someone to stop the murder that was about to happen. "Um, sire, may I take Tristan?"
"For what?" he said baring his teeth at Tom.
Tom cowed down. "He has an appointment with your brother."
"Why were you sent to fetch him? You're Father's manservant. If Andothair is in need of a servant, I know just the one for him."
Me, he meant.
"I apologize, Master Bayaden, I don't know why I was the one sent. I'm simply obeying orders."
"Very well, but then I want him back here straight after. You'll return him?"
"Yes, sir."
Taking my cue, I slid past Bayaden—who was shooting eye-daggers at me—cautiously, but I didn't escape unscathed. His hand connected with my still sore backside. I saved myself some embarrassment by not complaining.
“I see you have pants,” Tom said without looking at me. He was smiling.
“Told you I could have pants.”
"Indeed. I am surprised he let you keep them. He must like you."