Chapter 11
It takes weeks to reach Mortouge, but when we finally lay eyes on her, I am impressed.
The cool landscape isn’t as foreboding as I thought it would be.
If ice can be described as friendly then that’s what I’d call it—friendly.
It invites me in and even the snow crunching under my boots is a welcome sensation.
Unlike the thicker, wider buildings in other places within the Realm, the buildings here, in King’s Keep are thin and tall.
Almost everything sparkles ice-blue and is accented in white.
Even the Elves are dressed in warm, white accents despite their midriffs showing.
The Mortougian Elves seem to have built-in fireplaces for the cold.
I, on the other hand, do not and am grateful for the warm white fur coat and reinforced leather boots Corrik bought for me along the way. I pull the fur around me tighter.
“What do you think, my husband?” he says.
“I think that she is beautiful, but Corrik, is it always like this?”
“No. We have seasons, but it’s never as warm as Markaytia. Not to worry, when you are Elf, you’ll be much warmer. For now, we’ll make sure there’s plenty of wood on the fire for you.”
“Thank the Gods for fireplaces.”
We enter the gates to the palace and my breath hitches again.
Some levels of the palace stretch further than I can see into the sky, with others lower to the ground and decorated with intricate patterns indicative of Elvish style.
The entire structure spirals in a cochlear fashion upward, the towers spreading further apart and the backmost ones reaching furthest into the sky.
We’re brought straight to the king and queen, who are sat down to dinner. The queen is up, rushing to me, taking me in her arms, squeezing me. She speaks Markaytian. “Oh, Kathir. We were worried we’d never see you again.”
Even the king has to have his turn with me. “Son. I can’t believe we allowed this to happen. I hope someday you can forgive us. You’re all right?”
“There’s nothing to forgive sire and yes, I’m all right.”
“Then please, sit. Dine with us. Let’s get reacquainted.”
Alrik and Diekin ask to be excused. “I’ll see you around, young Warlord,” Diekin says before he leaves. Alrik says nothing. Corrik leads me to where I’ll be sitting for meals at his side and we have a nice dinner. My stomach is happy to have something aside from the road fair.
Corrik is still uneasy around me. He’s thinking about something, and of course, my mind runs wild with what.
There wasn’t a lot of time or privacy on the road for many intimate conversations and even when we had the time, Corrik was awkward and distant.
In part, Corrik maintained a constant state of vigilance, which meant he was immovable—it was a dangerous journey.
As much as Corrik wanted to get me home, we sometimes had to take a longer way so we could avoid being seen.
He didn’t trust that there weren’t Rogue Elves out looking for me (they aren’t supposed to be able to get into the seven realms, but they are). However, I knew they wouldn’t be.
My insistence that no one was looking for me, and the subsequent tantrum I threw because no one would listen to me, resulted in my first spanking from Corrik since returning to him.
Corrik didn’t need any prodding to administer the same, believe me, but Alrik didn’t care.
He said if Corrik didn’t spank me, he would.
I kept quiet for the rest of the trip and suffered Corrik’s anxiety.
I supposed he was entitled to them after looking for me a year.
But I thought once we were here, his anxieties would fade. No such luck.
When the meal is finished, Corrik asks for us to be excused, like we are one person and I should be used to it, it’s not like Bayaden ever asked my opinion on anything, but I was his slave. I’m supposed to be Corrik’s husband, not a wallflower.
It’s only the first night I’m back though.
It might take some time, me being here, uh, home I guess, for Corrik to feel comfortable.
I can give him that time. I let Corrik lead me up to the rooms that will be ours.
“I will have the palace tailor pay you a visit tomorrow. He’ll make you all new clothes.
We’ll also need to get you started in Elven policy, history, and politics. ”
I stare at him, trying to figure him out. Something’s off. “Corrik, I just got here. Don’t you think, maybe I could have some time to adjust?”
I don’t know what I expected, but anger wasn’t it. Corrik rounds on me, his teeth bared. “I thought you were a warrior? All you do is boast about that and your bravery and your experience and now you want time to adjust?”
He’s breathing hard and all my Warlord bravery’s left me. “I … I’m sorry, Corrik. Yeah, you’re right. It’s probably best I get started on all that right away.”
He balls his fists. “Get ready for bed.” He points to the wash-up room and I head in there trying to process what’s going on. He seems to want me to start my life here yesterday. Is that what this is about? Some kind of urgency to have me be part of Mortouge? Maybe he just needs some assurance.
I walk out, expecting him to have undressed or something. No, we haven’t been together as a couple in a long time, but we are a couple and Elves don’t care about naked. Even I don’t care about naked so much anymore, but he hasn’t moved. He’s outside the door, leaning against it.
Oh.
Oh, I see.
He’s standing vigil. Not letting me out of his sight. Uh-oh. This can only spell trouble for me. Corrik was already overprotective. He knows I’ve figured him out. “Before you say a word, don’t. I’m not in the mood. You’re just going to have to deal with how I am now.”
There is a lot I want to say, hearing him use the phrase, “you’re just going to have to deal with how I am now” is worrisome, but I remember what Papa always said about leaving Father alone till morning whenever we’d have an argument.
“A tired Arcade is an unreasonable Arcade, Tristan. You’ll have better luck in the morning. ”
Papa’s advice applies here too, especially when Corrik reminds me so much of Father right now. Somehow, even though he picked me and not the other way around, I managed to marry my father.
I start to undress so that I can get into bed, but Corrik stops me. “What are you doing?”
“Getting undressed for bed…?”
“There are nightclothes in the closet. Go in there and change. I will wait till you are done and then I will do the same.”
“Do you even own nightclothes, Corrik?” I say, trying to be coy, trying to be fun. He’s not having any of it.
“Now, Kathir.” He uses all Elvish, which means he’s not impressed with my teasing.
I want to cry. All of it makes me miss Bayaden more than I already do.
If not for the treaty, I’d leave in the morning.
I do as he asks, finding myself a set of pale blue nightclothes, which will be fucking weird for me.
I haven’t worn nightclothes since I was a little boy.
I’m quick about it, sensing he doesn’t want me out of his sight long; when it’s his turn, I wait on the bed.
At least the bed is divine. It’s very Corrik, with plush, ice blue satin and white accents.
The bed is large—it can fit at least ten grown elves in it.
Way overboard, but there has to be some kind of perks being an Elven prince, an incredible bed is one.
While I wait, I give myself a pep talk, again trying to channel Papa.
I know he had to deal with my father’s moods, he was good at it.
I try to think of what he might have done. Papa was very submissive.
Trouble is, I’ve learned that while, I am submissive, yes, I’m more a brat. True submissives are fairly well-behaved, I am not. Bayaden would pull me to him some nights and hold me still as I cursed him, letting me get everything out, and I’d get quiet. “Are you done now?” he would say.
“No.”
“No?”
“I don’t want you to spank me.”
“Too bad. That’s happening. You are a brat Tristan. You need a good spanking when you get like this.”
He’d put me over his knee and spank me until I cried and yeah, I would feel a world better.
Corrik climbs into bed. He looks funny in sleep clothes; I miss his large naked body.
Temporary, this is temporary, Tristan. But I’m not sure it is.
He does climb nearer to me, which surprises me since he’s being so formal, but if I’m to think like Corrik, I would say the closeness is to better protect me.
He doesn’t reach out to bring me into his arms.
I’m not sure I want him to anyway. I’m not feeling close to him, but I’m used to someone holding me to sleep.
I was supposed to sleep on my bed, but after the first couple of months, I would magically end up in Bayaden’s bed each night.
He would spank me like a bad pet and then refuse to let me go anywhere, telling me to close my eyes and go back to sleep.
I want to reach out to touch Corrik, but I can’t, too afraid of the rejection I’m bound to get. The morning Tristan. This will all be resolved in the morning. “I’m glad to be home, Corrik,” I try. Hearing me call this place home should lift his spirits.
“Home? How can this be your home? You’ve been here hours.”
“Corrik, have I done something to anger you? If I have, please tell me what I’ve done, so I can fix it.”
He’s quiet, and then he says, “No. It’s nothing you have done, and it’s also nothing you can fix.”
Since Corrik doesn’t want much to do with me, other than to make sure I’m not going to disappear, I wrap myself up in my hair, feeling Bayaden surround me like he promised, missing him as I promised.
From there, things get worse, much worse.
In the morning, the fresh sunlight of the eternal winter day comes in through the window and I wake up to a cold bed. Corrik’s gone.