Chapter 12 #2
I’m also reminded of what this feels like and how it’s lacking with me and Corrik at the moment.
Yes, he won’t hesitate to spank me, but it’s not the same as this.
The thing I have in me is more than just spanking, it’s a whole system.
A circle. I need the soothing hugs and cuddles as much as I need to be turned over Corrik’s knee.
I need his solid form and to know that he’s got me.
I feel all of this from Father in one embrace.
When we part, he sets a hand on my shoulder. “Now that I am calm, I see that you are more than all right, you look healthy, bigger. You don’t look like you’ve been a prisoner for a year.”
“I wasn’t, not really. I was treated well. I was given to the Warlord.”
He’s angry. “Markaytia has already declared war with Aldrien alongside Mortouge as per the marriage contract.”
So, Andothair has his war then.
“Father, please. Call it off. It was all a huge batch of idiocy that was truly Andothair’s fault. If anything, blame him and only him.” I’m fine throwing him under the cart. Andothair deserves it.
“It’s not that simple Tristan. They have committed a grave crime by abducting a member of royalty, punishable by Markaytian and Mortougian law. The perpetrators must be found and executed. If we do not, we will appear weak.”
By the Gods, this is a mess. “Father, please. I don’t want them dying on my account.”
“I’m sorry, my son. In time, you will see why we must do these things.”
Good Gods, between him and Corrik with that line. “And the Elven king agrees?”
“Yes.”
Ugh.
That is a problem for another day. “What about my confinement?”
“Corrik has given me a more detailed picture of what they face and why he made the decisions he has.” This is not looking good for me.
“I’m sorry, but he is right, and I would feel better about it too, with you under full protection.
However, he has sworn that when you are Elf, you will be free again.
There is no such thing as completely safe, but you are human in a land of Elves, you don’t have equal footing.
Once you do, I will feel better considering all factors at play. ”
I don’t mean to cross my arms at Father, but I do. I had been hoping something could be done about this situation, and my hopes had ratcheted up a few notches. I can’t help my glowering.
“Don’t look like that. This is for your own good. People care about you.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying. Why doesn’t it feel like it?”
“It will. You have grown so much in a short time; this will be part of your growth. This year you will work on your inner self.”
“You think it’s only going to take me a year too, don’t you?”
“Why wouldn’t it? You did well in school.”
“Because I had no other choice.”
“What makes you think you have one now?”
Right. That is my everlasting problem, thinking I have a choice. I never have. I was born into royalty. Not that anyone will feel sorry for me, we get a lot, others don’t get, but we are loaded with responsibility. I change the subject. “How’s Lucca?”
“He is well. He’ll be married next Spring. We hope the Prince will bring you home.”
Home. Where is my home now? I sigh. “I doubt it, sir. Until this thing is resolved with Aldrien, which could take years, him traveling with me is unlikely.”
Father nods. “I know the Gods did not give you an easy life, but it will be a full life. Even if you had become Warlord, your life would have been filled with travesty and pain. I raised you for that. You can do this.”
I almost question if this is my father; he’s so supportive and full of words. Arcade Kanes has never been one for many words, not with me. “I will continue to make you proud, Father.”
“Good. Now trousers down and over that desk.”
There’s the Father I know. “What? But why?”
“You know why, and you know how much I like asking twice.”
The answer to that is—not at all. I walk over to the desk and pull my trousers down, but I don’t know why.
Even when I lay over the table and hear the jangle of his belt, I still don’t know.
It’s not till he starts, the first two stripes from his belt and the sting of it connects to my nervous system, that something comes to me.
Tears prick my eyes and I do, I know what this is for. “I gave up.”
“Who did you give up on?”
“Myself.”
He continues, and the strapping starts to get intense.
Father’s spankings are like that. A short warm-up, then straight to an intensity that makes you feel like you want to die, but then it’s over.
Very business-like. I can’t keep quiet; I have to cry out.
I grip the desk for dear life and plead with him.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I can do better, sir. ”
He pauses. “A Warlord cannot give up on himself no matter what. Or it’s over.”
I nod. “Yes, sir. But it’s lonely up here.”
“That is the wrong thing to focus on. You have a task. Focus on your task. Get the work done, achieve the goal. Find peace in your own company.”
He finishes strong with ten sharp ones, five to the back of each thigh—I’m going to feel those awhile—and then it’s done.
Even though my backside is on fire, I stand feeling better than I have in weeks.
Carefully I pull up my trousers as he looks me over.
“That’s better. We will stay the week and then we must return. ”
Father’s lessons are short and to the point, but they’re effective. As a boy, I just thought him cruel. I’m getting to know a different side of my father. “I’m glad you will stay to visit.”
We head back to the bedroom, where Corrik and Papa are sitting at the table, sipping fine Elven wine.
I have no doubt they heard what just happened.
I’m almost foolish enough to attempt sitting on the hard chair beside Corrik, instead, I stand behind him resting my hands on his shoulders, while my backside stings.
“Oh, thank the Heavens. You look a world better, Tristan,” Papa says.
I twist my lips. “Did everyone think I looked horrible?”
“Yes,” Corrik says. “I did spank him before you came, but there wasn’t time for the full strapping he needed.”
“You’re all terrible, talking about me like that,” I complain, but it feels good. I’m happy to have two of my parents here. “How’s Mother?”
“She wanted to come, but traveling with the army would have been too much for her. She’s not used to it. She is good and sends all her love. We sent word; she will know you’re safe.”
The visit with my parents is a new experience.
It seems now that I am married, Father is treating me more like an adult, keeping me in confinement aside.
He speaks to me like an adult and tells me what to do less (for him), leaving that for Corrik.
I get the sense, now that I have a husband, Father can relax and be more of a confidant.
He’s still Father, there’s a line we don’t cross, but he’s a relaxed version of himself.
I ask Papa about it when we’re alone. “Your father knows he has to let go. You’re not his little boy anymore, but it’s been hard for him. This is him trying.”
“But he was so cold before I left. After Corrik and I were betrothed, he wanted nothing to do with me.”
“That’s not true, Tristan. He was struggling and ended up steeling himself against you to avoid displaying his emotions.
Arcade didn’t want me to tell you, because he was disappointed in himself for having such feelings, but he didn’t want you to go.
He knew you had to, that you had a duty to Markaytia, and he didn’t want to make things harder for you by telling you. ”
“I wish he had. I thought he was angry with me. What changed?”
“You are here now, he had to accept it at some point. He has respect for the duties the Gods have placed before you.”
The week goes by quickly and my parents have to be on their way.
They come up to say goodbye and I want to go with them, but I don’t say it, trying to emulate Father.
If he could keep silent and perform his duty to me, I can do the same for them.
But my heart aches for so many reasons. “Your father has many duties, but we will attempt to return next year if you cannot come to the wedding,” Papa says.
“And Tristan, I know it didn’t happen under the best of circumstances, but since it is, I’m glad the babe will come sooner. ”
I knew he would be glad. Papa wouldn’t have been alive for my first child, which is hard to think about, had we to wait until Corrik reached his three hundredth birthday. This way we’ll have a child born in this lifetime. For that reason, I’m happy it worked out this way too.
“As for your father, mention the idea again and watch his eyes—they give him away.”
I decide to try it when I’m saying goodbye to him. I get another hug from Father. “You are still Warlord inside, and you make our people proud.”
“If we have a boy, I’ll make sure he gets your name somewhere.”
I see what Papa means; his eyes do betray him—he’s fucking delighted. “You know,” he says trying to maintain stone, but failing like I’ve never seen him. “Arcadia would be nice for a girl too.”
Oh, Gods. My father with a baby granddaughter. I might have to see that. I spend a good number of hours that night seeing if there’s a way to influence the sex of an Elven baby with magic.
Father’s words stay with me for months. I am not becoming an Elf for me or Corrik, but for Markaytia.
I delve into my studies and do little else.
Corrik spends time with me, but he finds me reading or writing essays for Cupper (one of my professors) in Elvish.
Finally pleased enough with my accent, Corrik no longer speaks to me in Markaytian.
It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough to pass exams; some words that come out in the Aldrien accent, my brain refuses to let go of.
“Come to bed, Tristan,” he says one night.
I purse my lips. “Yes. One more chapter and I’ll be there.”
“No. Now. Put the book down.”