Epilogue #3
“Don’t answer now,” he says when he sees I’m about to.
“This isn’t a proposal. This is just me putting it out to you for consideration.
There’s no rush at the moment, it can be a hundred years from now if you like, but I want you to know that is my intention.
Your fault. I told you if I kissed you, I would need you to be mine. ”
“You’d be my Third Husband,” I muse. Most Elves are four hundred before they have a second of course I’m an exception in that too. “I thought Crown Princes didn’t marry their first husband as a third husband.”
“They don’t,” he says pressing his thumbs into the spaces in between my toes on the tops of my feet. “But even Mother and Father agree, you’re something different and special. You were meant to come into our world and do something great. You’d have more power to do that with my title.”
I know he’s right. My heart clenches and I’m reminded of my intent when I asked the Mother to make me Elf.
I remember there was a price. Is this the price? Service to the first Elven realm for the rest of my days? I don’t know. “I’ll consider it, Alrik.”
He relaxes, crawling up the bed to lounge beside me. I pick up one of his large hands and smoothen a thumb over the crease between his wrist and hand, palm-side down. “I want a tattoo here.”
“Oh? What would you like me to get?”
“The Markaytian dragon, like on my chest.” In fact, I want one on each of them. I own them as much as they own me.
“Possessive are we?”
“And if I am?”
“You are in good company. I’ll have it done tomorrow.”
“Good and now I’m sleeping.”
“Because you make the rules now?”
“No, because you’ve exhausted the fuck out of me, and you know better than to run me into the ground or Corrik will be furious.”
He laughs. “I know better than that for more than because of Corrik, but it’s true. You’re staying here then?”
“Mmmmhhmmh,” I mumble closing my eyes.
He wraps me in his arms, nuzzling into my hair and my neck. “Sleep, Tristan.”
And I do.
Corrik will be home today, or he should if all went well. Alrik was annoyed with my buzzing around the palace, more specifically buzzing around him and he sent me out to the marketplace. “Go wait for him down there where you won’t bother me.”
I’m glad to be away from him when he’s grouchy like he is, even if I know it’s only because he’s worried too—he just expresses it differently than I do.
I pull on my cloak so I can hide my face, preferring not to take a guard into the marketplace, and wait in the shadows until I see the entourage pull in.
Corrik is one of the leads, just behind a few of Zelphar’s warriors.
Corrik’s eyes are stuck wide like he’s seen too much. There’s blood smeared across his face and soaking his clothes. A quick assessment tells me it’s not his blood and I sag, relieved, and able to rejoice in Corrik’s homecoming.
I love all my men, but there’s an unnamable thing between Corrik and I that pierces me unlike the others.
The other two keep me grounded, Corrik moves me.
Sometimes a plot has to force us into action, Corrik is my plot but also my story.
I would never have chosen this life as the person I was before; I had to be pushed into it and I had to have a guide.
I’m eternally grateful Corrik came to steal me away.
I am a new person and the same, oddly. I’ve become more of my own person than I ever would have at home in Markaytia and it’s because of Corrik.
No, I’m not officially Warlord (even though many still refuse to call me anything else), but I’m needed here, I feel it.
I don’t know what that looks like yet, I just know it’s big and it’s coming.
But it’s Corrik I’ll look to first before the others, and that is the way it will always be. I can’t have the rest without Corrik. Somehow, he makes the other two in my life make sense.
I race out to him and when the guard sees it’s me, they allow me to hop onto the back of Corrik’s horse. “Tristan,” he sighs. I squeeze and inhale him at the same time, feeling like I’m home now even though I’ve been ‘home’ the whole time. “I’m full of blood.”
“I don’t care. Never leave me again.”
“It is never my choice to leave you. I expect you to be ready to travel with me next time.”
“Is something wrong, Corrik?” He feels all wrong. Happy to see me but concerned.
“Ditira was badly injured.” My heart clenches. “She is still alive, but we need to get her to the Healing Center now.”
I nod. “I’m coming with you.” Diekin’s going to be beside himself. He was needed here and not permitted to join them either.
The rest of the Elven entourage rolls in and they are carting someone in on a stretcher.
Ditira. I can’t look. I look forward to where the Healing Center is, to where we’re headed.
When we arrive, we watch as they bring her in.
Corrik jumps off his horse pulling me into his arms for comfort.
Ditira is his twin. He must be going through a range of emotions.
“Corrik, what happened? From what I was told, it sounded as though all was well, and that the trip home would be easy.”
“Yes, we were,” he says, “and I’ll tell you all about it, but I have to do this first.” He tilts my chin up and our lips meet. He’s gentle when his tongue drifts into my mouth entwining with mine; he takes his time, savoring me and I go lax allowing his tenderness.
Because even though it’s an affectionate kiss, Corrik is in charge of it, putting the stamp of ownership into it, claiming me as his once again, always, and forever. “There. Better. I’ve missed you, my darling.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
He tucks my hair behind my tall ear, as he does.
“You were right Tristan. The Aldrien Elves did not create the witch wyrms. We should have listened to you. We were ambushed days ago by creatures none of us have ever seen before. Creatures that were undead. These could not have been created by an Elf.”
“Then who?”
He licks his lips not wanting to say. “The Sephkharis, Lyklor. Emperor of the underworld.”
“That sounds bad.”
“It’s very bad. And I’m still not sure King Caer Guy hasn’t played a part in this even if he did not create the witch wyrms. He opened the veil, so either they’re working together, or Lyklor is working on his own.
I suspect the latter though, not because I trust the Aldrien king, but not even he is foolish enough to allow Lyklor dominion here.
This is the problem opening veils. There is much about the powers of the underworld we do not understand.
His arrogance in doing such a thing could be the undoing of us all. ”
Corrik is wrecked inside and out. This is a lot.
More often it’s the Toppy-type taking care of their brat, but brats also have a responsibility to take care of their Top.
“Come my love. We will sort out what to do about the Emperor of the Underworld another day, together,” I say pulling him along, leaving his horse who someone will look after.
“Oh?”
“Yes. For now, I’m going to get you into a hot bath and we’ll wash this blood off you.” It’s probably Ditira’s blood.
“A bath sounds nice.”
“That’s not all. I’m going to take you to bed. You can use something whippy on my arse, you’ll like that. I’ve a list of naughty things I’ve been up to while you’ve been gone to be taken to task for.”
“I knew it,” he says lacing his hand into mine. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute.”
“You’ll do well to remember that. Then we’ll make love. First hard and rough, then slow and tender.”
He yanks me around by my hand, so I can stare into his violet eyes. “Tristan, I love you most.” It’s the most earnest thing he’s ever said.
I move a bloody strand of hair out of his face. “I love you most.” He beams. “Now, let me tell you about the tattoo I want you to have.” We start walking again.
“Another one?”
“Yes, a dragon this time. The Markaytian one like on my chest. Maybe yours will have Property of Tristan Kanes under it.”
“You aren’t a Kanes anymore, you’re a Cyredanthem,” he points out. “And I intend to keep you that way.”
“Makes no difference.”
“It makes all the difference,” he says.
“Anyway, point being, everyone will know you’re mine.”
“Don’t they already?”
“Probably, but one can’t be too sure,” I say.
“Possessive thing.”
“It’s been said.”
He laughs. “I will do whatever you wish, my darling. Now, I have some spanking to do.” He throws me over his shoulder, easily carrying me squealing toward the palace, complaining, and whacking him on the back.
This is my life as a brat, as husband to an Elven prince and lover of two more, as Elf in the first realm and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am Tristan Kanes. I can’t run away from my destiny, but when we meet, I will be ready.