Chapter 11 Rumple
eleven
Rumple
Boy. His Heart’s name was Boy.
Boy was an exceptionally old Falchovarian name, hailing back to an all but forgotten time when only those with wealth and status were awarded individual names at birth.
Back when people believed in the mythical creatures who roamed the forest, everyone was either a Haus Boy or a M?dchen, but those days were long gone. Or so Rumple had thought.
Deep brown eyes, open wide, watched him closely.
Before he could analyse it, Rumple reached out and tucked a damp lock of hair behind Boy’s ear.
His family’s flour mill was in the far east of Falchovari, where many old traditions still guided everyday interactions.
Yet Boy showed no great awareness of why it was that his family still followed this archaic practice, and the ease with which he gave his name belied his naivete.
Rumple stared at Boy’s sinewy and naked form in the fading afternoon light.
While he was thinner than he ought to be, each notch on his spine far too prominent, it was clear that his family managed better than many others, despite the famine.
Likely the children would be of little use in running a flour mill if they were too weak or sick to work, and so feeding them would have been a priority.
But the biggest gift his parents had bestowed was in not giving any of their children a true name.
Rumple stroked the back of his gloved knuckles over Boy’s flushed cheeks as his thoughts rampaged within him.
His family’s choice not to provide individual names for their offspring meant that there were pockets within the kingdom that still believed in the old ways—in the Law of Names—and this gave Rumple hope.
Maybe a visit to Boy’s homestead was in order. After all, what were the chances that the same family who protected their children from the Law of Names would also be the family that had produced his Heart? The coincidence was too strong to ignore.
Boy shuffled awkwardly in his small basin and leaned into Rumple’s touch.
He nuzzled the buttery soft leather of the glove and Rumple sighed in contentment.
His Heart was protected. No one would ever be able to hold total power over him, like Queen Schon did with Rumple.
Gently, he guided Boy’s head to rest on his thigh so that he could work the tangles from his matted, honeyed hair.
Rumple was in uncharted territory. Had he ever found himself genuinely interested in learning about anyone before?
He couldn’t recall that he had. Humans were something to terrorise, not care for—as had been his intention when he’d first entered Boy’s cell last night.
He had wanted to strike fear into the hearts of the new prisoners, yet here he was, a day later, washing the dirt from his skin over a sense of guilt at having sullied him.
It wasn’t until the damp from Boy’s pink tongue seeped through the damask of his breeches that Rumple realised their intimate position.
At some point, he’d positioned his legs wide to flank Boy, who had taken it as an invitation to nuzzle at the undeniable outline of his cock through the thick fabric.
Given Rumple’s encouragement last night, he couldn’t blame Boy for mistaking this genuine oversight on his part.
He should have told him to stop, but the sight of Boy’s naked flesh and trusting expression rooted Rumple to the spot.
Boy was his Heart, and by rights his to claim.
Yet he couldn’t—not until he found a way to break Queen Schon’s hold on him.
Rumple also needed to discover how to claim the still beating heart of a human.
Reluctantly, he tore himself away and commanded his magick to fuel a fire that filled the nearby hearth.
Boy’s soft keening sound morphed into one of hurt confusion.
“What do you w-want from me?” he stuttered when the spell between them was broken.
Something he hadn’t done earlier when he spoke of his home.
Rumple was taken by the wholesome image of Boy one day being able to speak with him in that same, unguarded way.
But his question, the same one he had asked the night before, caused Rumple to hesitate. What did he want?
He couldn’t possess Boy—not how he needed to—not yet. But Boy had asked him what he wanted.
Rumple wanted Boy on his knees. He wanted his easy subjugation, but for the first time in his existence, he wanted to earn it, not take it.
Boy’s tongue darted out once more to lick his lips, and the flicker of it sparked heat deep within Rumple that was nothing to do with the fire that had taken beside him. He couldn’t shake the memory of Boy’s soft skin. He flexed his fingers and imagined Boy’s body yielding to him.
Rumple gestured for him to approach. “Come here.”
Slowly and carefully, Boy rose to his feet.
Only the smallest amount of water sloshed over the lip of the basin and onto the wooden floor.
His wet skin glistened in the firelight, and when he covered his soft cock with his hands, Rumple thought it endearing.
Their short time together had taught him that Boy preferred it when he had an instruction to follow, and if that’s what helped his Heart feel at ease in his presence, then that’s what Rumple would do. “Pour me a drink.”
A tray with a bottle of apple brandy and a cut glass tumbler appeared on a small table that hadn’t been there before.
Rumple could see Boy was nervous—it was in the way his knees knocked together ever so slightly when he took that first step—but he was also brave. His breaths were shallow, but he fought to keep his composure despite the bite of fear that evidently still ate away at him.
When he drew up alongside, his fingers trembled, but what caught Rumple unprepared was how Boy’s warm brown eyes flicked up to meet his for reassurance. A simple nod was all Rumple offered, yet the enormity of the gesture seared like a brand.
The space where Rumple’s Heart should have been swelled as he watched Boy do as he was told without spilling a drop.
“Kneel.” The authority in his voice sent a visible shudder through Boy’s body. He sank to his knees upon the wooden floor, and Rumple knotted a hand in his wet curls. “Are you hungry?”
Boy could only nod when Rumple’s shadows set a small platter of food before him.
Similar to the night before, it displayed some cracker bread, soft cheese, grapes, and this time hazelnuts were added.
He watched Boy’s eyes rove over the treats, and he knew what he was searching for, but he wouldn’t add the fruit until Boy asked.
He was a fast learner, so Rumple didn’t think it would take long.
“Do you want to eat?”
Boy's cheeks burned when his stomach growled in desperation, and he nodded again.
“Will you let me feed you?” At his words, Boy pressed his face into Rumple’s thigh and nodded against the strong muscles beneath the soft fabric like a cat or dog might have done if they could have tolerated his presence.
Rumple’s gaze was drawn to the smattering of fine freckles across Boy’s shoulders, and he traced over them with gloved fingers before his warm hand spanned his back. He felt Boy’s heartbeat quicken.
“Use your words.” He let his hand slide further down.
“Please,” Boy croaked out.
Rumple smirked, and his fingers traced a slow and torturous path from Boy’s spine to the quivering muscles of his ribs.
Boy jerked, and a soft moan escaped. He was glad now, that he had lit the fire.
Not for his benefit, but for Boy’s. This late into autumn, the temperature dropped quickly once the sun had set, but with the crackling heat from the logs, Rumple could indulge in Boy without risking his health.
His hand roamed further still, with a firmer touch that he knew would spark Boy’s nerves.
Boy gasped, and his body tensed involuntarily.
Rumple’s hands stilled, and for the longest time, he did nothing.
Not until he felt the tension drain from his body did he slide his hand onto Boy’s chest. Boy tensed again.
With each movement, he was learning about the boy who held his Heart, and he suspected that Boy was learning about himself too.
“Please what?” Rumple’s voice was dark and smooth like whiskey.
“Please, f-feed me.” His words were soaked in surrender, and Rumple exhaled in satisfaction.
Boy needed Rumple like he needed food. They were inevitable.
As a reward, Rumple conjured a Royal Garden strawberry and brushed the tip teasingly over Boy’s parted lips.
Then he held it still. Again Boy looked to him for permission before biting the fruit off at the stem.
His eyes fluttered shut as he chewed slowly to savour the taste, but Rumple knew that Boy couldn’t exist on strawberries alone, that he needed other food too.
He set about providing small morsels of cheese, nuts, and even some salt-cured meats.
Each one he held between his leather-clad fingers, and each time Boy sought permission before eating.
Despite his obvious hunger and fear, he trusted Rumple to follow through on their unspoken arrangement, and that knowledge sent a skitter of excitement through his body.
However, it also brought up another arrangement that needed to be discussed.
Boy was the Queen’s prisoner, and had Rumple not interfered as he had last night, she would have discovered Boy’s truth and he would already be dead.
The numerous hessian sacks filled with straw in the outer bays of the Merchant’s Quarters were a testament to Rumple’s betrayal of them both.
Not that Queen Schon could do more to him than she already had, but to his Heart…
Rumple tore his eyes from the innocent human who lapped up soft curds from his gloved palm and stared out of the window, straight at the gallows.
It was dark outside now, and the silvery light of the moon seemed only to highlight the ominous wooden structure, as if it delighted in mocking Rumple.
In all his years, he’d never known time to pass so quickly as it did when he was in Boy’s company.
Yet another thought he didn’t want to consider too closely.
When all the food had been eaten, Boy leaned his head against Rumple’s leg and stared up at him with a sated expression. Without thought, Rumple combed his fingers through the flaxen waves that were rapidly drying in the heat from the fire, teasing apart any remaining tangles he found.
He relished Boy’s responsiveness, how easy he made it for Rumple to know whenever he was pushed into new and uncomfortable territory, and how he yielded despite that.
Unable to resist, Rumple bent at the waist, pressed his nose into the soft curls, and inhaled deeply. Boy smelled like summer. He cradled Boy’s head in his hands, kept his lips close, and his voice low when he spoke. “Last night, I spun the straw into golden thread for you.”
Boy stiffened at the implication.
Rumple rubbed small circles over the tense muscles of Boy’s jaw with his thumbs until he relaxed into the touch. “Am I to assume, given that you are very much alive and well today, that you didn’t confess this to the Queen?”
Boy paused, his breath caught in his lungs and the pulse in his neck throbbed beneath Rumple’s gloved fingers. On an exhale, he shook his head—no.
“Good boy.” Rumple pulled back enough to tilt Boy’s face upward. “It can be our secret.”
Boy’s eyes flicked back and forth between Rumple’s, and his tongue darted out to lick over his bottom lip.
“And now she’s given you more to spin. Is the task to be completed by sunrise?”
Boy nodded, with as much room as Rumple had left him to manoeuvre his own head, and tried to look away, but it was no use.
Another nervous lick over those perfectly pink lips. Another dart of his eyes over the contours of Rumple’s face. Another hesitant nod of submission. But his Boy could do better.
“And you need my help?” Rumple knew he was coaxing him, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.
Boy stuttered, his heart rabbit-fast in his bare chest. “I need you—”
At those first, tentatively whispered words, Rumple’s resolve crumbled.
He pressed his lips against Boy’s soft, warm ones, and kissed him.
Once. Twice. Then he licked over the seam of his mouth and was granted entry.
Boy’s tongue was shy, but his submission was exquisite.
The throaty growl it elicited in Rumple was genuine, as was the full-body shiver that ran through Boy.
Rumple held Boy close when their kiss finished.
He couldn’t tell Boy that he was his Heart, not without risking that his little human might expose his betrayal to the Queen, and he couldn’t risk her learning of Boy’s importance.
Instead, he would have to settle for showing him what he meant to Rumple the best way he knew how.