Chapter 13 Rumple
thirteen
Rumple
‘Mine,’ Rumple thought fiercely.
The image of Boy laid out and spent beneath him satisfied Rumple in a way nothing else ever had.
When the tip of Boy’s tongue peeked out, searching and gratefully swallowing down whatever he found, Rumple realised he wasn’t ready for this to end.
It wasn’t just that Boy housed his Heart, it was more than that.
He brought his other knee down so that he straddled Boy’s hips, and rubbed his release into Boy’s skin like it was luxury oil imported from the neighbouring kingdom of Hallin.
In exchange for their lives, Rumple was used to people wanting to strike a deal, then always—always—reneging. It was why he’d long stopped entertaining such pleas. Humans, as profoundly unmagickal beings, were not bound by the same Laws of Magick as he was.
Rumple’s gloved hand slid up Boy’s cum-slicked chest until he reached over the top of his pounding heart.
But this human had made no such attempt.
Twice now, he would have died, and yet the thought of asking Rumple to use his magick to spin the golden thread likely hadn’t even crossed his mind.
Boy believed his death was serving a greater purpose, and wanted nothing more in return than that his siblings would be spared death by starvation.
That level of devotion, loyalty, and bravery appealed to Rumple—filled an emptiness inside him, and restored his hope.
Boy had followed Rumple’s every command, and even now, debauched as he was, Rumple suspected that he could demand even more from Boy, and he would give it.
Testing his theory, he knee-walked higher, his heavy and half-hard length trailing up Boy’s chest until he was positioned over his shoulders. His thighs pinned Boy’s arms to his sides. Rumple held his gaze, then commanded, “Clean me.”
Boy didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look away despite the fresh round of crimson that flooded his cheeks.
Didn’t try to speak, push Rumple off, or clamber out from his vice-like hold.
Instead, he opened his mouth as wide as he could and sucked on the sensitive tip as though he’d been waiting for the opportunity.
No, his human wasn’t like anyone else Rumple had ever met.
The appreciation he was being shown was tantamount to worship.
Other magick users, he knew, drew their power from the strength of human devotion, and Rumple had always thought that to be their greatest weakness.
Now that he had experienced it for himself, it was as if a key had opened a lock somewhere deep inside him.
This simple action, done at his own behest, would have consequences the likes of which Rumple knew he would never fully recover from.
He forcefully dragged his gaze from the desirous view of Boy’s puffy lips as they placed soft kisses to the underside of his cock and sucked at his foreskin, and looked out of the window above them.
The moon, high and bright in the sky, announced with unsettling finality just how much time had passed while he had indulged in his Boy.
Only a few hours remained until sunrise.
This time last night, he had used his shadow magick to lull Boy to sleep and then slipped out under the cell door. But not tonight.
He lowered his mostly soft cock fully into Boy’s mouth, and used his thumb to wipe away his spend that still strung over those stunningly long lashes.
Reluctantly, he rose to his feet and tucked himself away.
Holding his gloved hand out, he helped Boy up and steadied him on his feet, making a mental note to remember to let him breathe next time.
When he was sure Boy was fine, he commanded that his shadows saturate Boy’s stained and tattered shirt to lift away all the dirt from the fibres and repair any tears. Satisfied, he had them float the clothes over him.
“Arms up.” Rumple’s voice was low and quiet, and still, his Boy obeyed without hesitation or word of complaint.
Once they were settled in place, Boy pulled at the hem and sleeves in turn, analysing the material of his tunic and rubbing over the fibres with the pad of his thumb. Those rich brown eyes, full of wonderment, looked up—and Rumple knew what he was asking without him needing to even open his mouth.
“Would you like to see the magick of my shadows?”
Boy’s eyes grew impossibly wider, and his head nodded so animatedly that Rumple was surprised he didn’t strain his neck, but it was the way Boy then threaded their fingers together that gave him pause.
Such a small and simple gesture. It required no magick, no conjuring or creation, no wealth or status, and no words.
An act of kindness, performed in silence, with no expectation of anything in return.
His little human humbled him, and the space where Rumple’s Heart should have been thrummed in response.
At a loss for words, he tugged Boy along with him as they stepped out of the chamber bay and into the main room.
The multiple bays of the Fachhallenhaus were full to the rafters with hessian sacks of straw, and while this was by far the most rundown of the farmhouses in the Merchant’s Quarters, it still carried a lot of stock.
Rumple held Boy close as he fortified the shadows that spread outward from where they stood; they blanketed the draughty wooden floor, sealed over the doors and windows, and pushed into the nooks and crannies of the thatched roof above, sealing them safely inside.
No one would be able to see or hear what occurred inside the dark sanctuary he had created.
Boy’s fingers squeezed his, and he remembered that included his human.
With a flick of his wrist, the wicks in the two oil lamps the Queen had provided burst into flame, and Boy’s soft exhale was loud in the otherwise silent room.
Rumple led him over to the small stool set before the spinning wheel.
He could have had his shadows create a second seat, but he didn’t.
If he only had the short while until dawn with his Boy, then Rumple needed there to be no distance between them.
He kept hold of Boy’s hand when he sat and spread his legs in open invitation.
Rumple had meant for him to perch on his thigh, but Boy stepped between Rumple’s feet and knelt there, facing the wheel.
He wriggled a bit, until the freshly cleaned soles of his feet were positioned just right to cradle his pert bottom, and then let his hands fall lax in his lap.
The significance of Boy kneeling for him, without his express command to do so, made Rumple’s world grind to a halt.
For the longest moment, neither of them moved. Rumple was glad, and took the time to compose himself.
“Are you familiar with the main types of magick?” he asked, his phrasing deliberately vague.
Boy shook his head—no—and those flaxen curls caught the flickering glow of the lamplight. It gave the illusion that he was wearing a crown of gold. Rumple, as if hypnotised, leaned forward and inhaled deeply. Boy smelled like him, and he kissed the top of his head.
“Just through s-stories, I mean,” Boy corrected himself. “I think some small sp-spirits live in the ground around my homestead, but I’ve never seen magick. U-until you.”
Rumple brought his hand down in front of Boy’s face, palm side up, and commanded his shadows to coalesce into a small ball of smoky wisps.
Boy’s fingers twitched in his lap as if he wanted to reach up and touch them.
When he had touched Rumple’s shadows earlier, it had sent an unparalleled shiver of arousal through him.
Rumple would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t curious to know if the same thing would happen this time.
“You can touch.” Rumple was still leaning forward when he spoke, and he could hear the excited thump of Boy’s heart.
Gingerly, Boy’s hand crept closer, and when he was no less than a finger depth away, the shadows bridged the short distance to him. A soft gasp escaped Boy, but he didn’t withdraw his fingers, and Rumple felt the exact moment his magick broke free of his command.
They swelled and vibrated on the work-toughened skin of Boy’s palm, and their movements reminded Rumple of how they fed—cruelly and without concern for the life of their victim. Protectively, Rumple clamped his now-empty hand down over Boy’s heart.
There was a moment, between one of Boy’s heartbeats and the next, where Rumple was afraid.
He was afraid of the damage his magick could inflict on his Boy.
He had told Boy he was safe, and Boy had trusted him—had used Rumple’s word as the foundation for his bravery.
Rumple found that above all else, he didn’t want to betray that trust. Primed, he was all set to retract the magick back into his form, when Boy’s enchanting laugh stalled him once more.
Rumple could do nothing but watch in awe as his magick played with Boy’s fingers like a child might with a toy. Had he ever known a person so unburdened by rancour and ill will that it could find nothing to feast upon?
Yet despite this—or maybe because of it— it was drawn to Boy.
His magick interacted with this human in a way he had never known before.
Last night, his shadows had comforted Boy.
Earlier tonight they’d allowed his fingers to pass through them unharmed, and again just now, although Rumple had instructed them into a harmless ball, the magick buried within had developed an organic connection all its own.
Another delightful laugh filled their dark bubble and Rumple’s shadows grew lighter, as if buoyed by the sound. Could it be that his magick wasn’t feeding at all, but rather accepting nourishment—thriving—from Boy’s joyous emotions?
Rumple’s thoughts raced through everything he already knew and came up empty.
He hadn’t yet claimed his Heart, so how could his shadows benefit from its amplifying effect?
It shouldn’t be possible. How powerful an artefact must his Heart be that his presence alone was enough to vivify him?
In the morning, Rumple would double down on his efforts to learn how to claim it.
He’d brought Boy to the spinning wheel selfishly: to demonstrate his magickal prowess, to keep him close by, and—he realised—to keep him interested in Rumple.
He wanted Boy to be as enamoured with Rumple as he was with him.
But in an unexpected turn of events, it seemed it was Boy who was sharing his own brand of magick with Rumple.
And when that laugh rang out again, loud and good and pure, Rumple imagined he could feel the echo of Boy’s heartbeat in his own chest. It hurt with want.
“Do all geists have magick?” Boy’s question helped Rumple re-focus.
He shook his head before he realised that from his position, kneeling between his legs, Boy couldn’t see him. “No, only those who have been around for a long time do.”
“I never thought about it like that before.” Boy’s quiet voice reflected his contemplation. “And this is shadow magick?”
“It is. Just as there has always been light, there has always been dark; one cannot exist without the other.” Rumple commanded his magick back into his palm and then absorbed it.
Boy took Rumple’s gloved hand and turned it this way and that as he sought it out. “I was always taught to fear black magick, but this—”
“As you should!” Rumple’s warning was stern, and Boy retracted his hand.
Not wanting to dampen the mood, Rumple commanded his shadows into a long tendril that trenched across the farmhouse floor and into one of the bays to retrieve a sack of straw. Boy’s head turned to follow as the black limb floated it closer and placed it on the floor beside the spinning wheel.
“An absence of light doesn’t mean an absence of density.
The shadows can be a solid…” He commanded the tip of the same tendril to flick at Boy’s hair.
“A liquid…” He changed their form into drips that slicked the honeyed strands until saturated.
“Or like air…” He transmuted their form again until the hair was dry once more. Boy’s smile was wide.
“But how can they change this…” Boy tugged a dry stem of barley loose from the hessian sack. “Into g-golden thread?”
“That’s the magick.” Rumple couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and kissed the top of Boy’s head.
He gently took hold of Boy’s wrist and moved his hand that held the stalk of barley closer to the oil lamp. “Do you see its shadow on the floor?”
Boy nodded.
“It exists because the light cannot pass through the stem. But do you know where else the light cannot go?”
Boy was silent for a long moment before he answered. “Inside the stem?”
“Inside the stem,” Rumple confirmed. “And in the darkness, the shadows reign supreme.”
Still holding Boy’s wrist, he sent his magick into the dried barley. “In their most slight form, the shadows can embed themselves within even the most delicate of fibres, and this is where they can change any object into anything else.”
Rumple’s shadows sank into each piece of dried straw within the sack and then queued them together, one after another, until they formed a long chain.
His hand guiding Boy’s, Rumple secured the single strand of barley to the bobbin, before his foot treadled the spinning wheel.
The shadow-infused straw was then drawn into the wheel at a rapid pace, and when strands of pure gold appeared before his eyes, Boy’s heart up-ticked in excitement.
With his shadowy tendrils doing most of the work, it didn’t take long for the bobbin to fill.
Rumple removed it from the spinning wheel and handed it to Boy, before he set up another.
His shadows got into a routine, and soon, all that could be heard was the steady ticking of the treadle as sack after sack floated in from the bays to be fed onto a bobbin.
Eventually, Boy’s hands—that still clutched the first batch of golden thread—fell lax in his lap, and his head felt heavy against Rumple’s thigh.
Once more, Rumple looked up and out of the small window on the opposite side of the Fachhallenhaus, noting the gentle hue of the predawn sky. It was almost time.
Careful not to wake him, Rumple manoeuvred Boy into his magickally cleaned breeches, and lowered him onto the floor. As the sky outside pinkened with the break of yet another day, the last of the golden thread wound onto the bobbin, and Rumple pressed a soft kiss to Boy’s lips.
He had bought them both another day, and he vowed that it would not be their last.
Silently, he slipped into the shadows as the crunch of gravel underfoot filtered through from outside. It was time to leave.
The Queen would know if he stayed.