Chapter 24 #2
The fair is just like I expected. Noisy and crowded with drunken, foolish people.
Different songs played by different street musicians fight with each other.
They don’t even have enough sense to space themselves apart.
The clink of swords comes from the combat demonstrations, one aspect of the fair I might be interested in.
But Florian is making his way confidently through the crowd, aiming for the main stage where a loud and raucous comedy performance is underway.
I follow him, making sure he doesn’t get lost. I don’t think he would run from me now, not after he gave me his word and especially not after the way he gazed at me with adoration this morning, but I don’t want him to wander into rough company or piss off the wrong person.
He’s much too pretty and innocent to be left alone among this mob.
Hustlers grab our arms, trying to make us buy various pieces of cheap tat.
I chase them with scowls. Florian laughs at my fierceness as they bustle away in fear.
“Do you have to be so hard on them?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply shortly.
Jealousy is kicking in with a vengeance now that Florian and I have fucked. Even though I haven’t forgiven him, I still resent anyone else laying eyes on my prize.
“I know you’ll keep me safe,” he says, smiling up at me.
He links arms with me. Not knowing what else to do, I let him.
We reach the main stage. A couple of performers are telling bawdy jokes, and the crowd howls its appreciation.
Florian cranes his neck, unable to see. I stride forward, carving out a path until we’re right at the front.
He looks impressed, though it’s not that impressive.
It’s easy to cut through a crowd when you’re taller than most of them.
“And now it’s time for the Amazing Archer Andro!” the man onstage yells.
Florian practically jumps up and down in excitement. “I’ve seen him at a dozen fairs. He’s amazing.”
“Hence the name,” I say dryly.
Florian pouts. Not an annoyed pout. A please keep making fun of me pout.
He’s flirting with me. Why not? First there was last night, and now I’m taking him out on what he probably sees as a date.
Once again I get that sinking into quicksand feeling, like I’m being dragged down into something I can’t fight.
Though unlike quicksand, I’m not sure how hard I even want to fight it anymore.
“Have you ever seen his act before?” Florian says.
“Who?”
“Andro the Archer.”
I drag my mind back to our conversation. “Oh. No. Never.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat then.”
Florian turns his attention to the stage, unhooking his arm from mine so that he can clap his hands wildly.
He whoops along with the rest of the crowd and even lets out a shrill, distinctly non-aristocratic whistle as a thin man dressed in green strides onstage.
I watch Florian more than the stage, unable to prevent a smile creeping across my face.
His innocent pleasure in almost everything used to annoy me.
It reminded me of his charmed life compared to mine.
It bothered me that he hadn’t had the joy beaten out of him like I have. It doesn’t bother me as much now.
The archer walks across the stage, sending arrow after arrow into a range of targets with tiny bullseyes.
And I mean tiny, as in the size of a penny.
It’s impressive. I’ve never had any skill with a bow.
Fists are more my style. I clap quietly for the man’s talent, while the rest of the crowd whoops and hollers.
The comedian comes forward, throwing up a series of small, straw-filled bags into the air.
The archer shoots them down in turn, looking almost bored.
“Can’t this fair provide me with a real challenge?” he yells to the crowd.
There’s another huge roar as everyone declares that Galbrava is up to the task. Florian looks up at me with bright eyes. I smile back, creaky and out of practice, realizing that I’ve barely smiled at him before. At least, I assume I mustn’t have, given the look of surprise on his face.
“Are there any brave enough in Galbrava to join my act?” Andro the Archer yells. “Or is this a city of cowards?”
The crowd jeers. A few dozen hands fly up. Including Florian’s, before I can stop him.
“You, young sir.” The archer points right at Florian. Of course. His beauty stands out in any crowd.
“Florian, no,” I growl, grabbing for him. But the crowd is already parting for him and he’s tripping lightly up the steps to the stage.
The archer greets him with a handshake. “So young man, you are brave enough?”
“I hope so,” Florian says.
He gives a shy, winning smile. The crowd goes wild for him.
But he’s mine now. I won’t allow him to risk himself in this silly game, no matter how skilled the archer.
I push forward to put a stop to this nonsense, and trip over someone’s foot.
I land flat on my face. For a few moments I can’t get up again in the press of the crowd.
The show moves fast. By the time I regain my feet, Florian is kneeling at one end of the stage with a traditional Galbravan hat on his head.
The archer is at the other side of the stage, aiming.
My chest turns to ice. Then the arrow flies like a bullet and rockets straight for Florian.
It flies through the center of the hat. Florian leaps to his feet, untouched, holding the hat aloft, showing off the hole caused by the arrow with a big smile on his face.
I can breathe again. My prize is safe. My knees almost collapse with relief as the crowd roars and thunders for Andro the Archer and Florian.
“Well done, young man,” the archer yells. “You are brave indeed. But are you ready for the next challenge? Are you ready for the crossbow?”
A crossbow? Oh, fuck, no.
“I’m ready!” Florian yells.
I recognize that wild, reckless look on his face from the casino. He’s dangerous in this mood. Well, not anymore. Not now that he’s mine to protect. I run up onstage to boos from the crowd and grab Florian’s arm, staying between him and that damn archer.
“Boss? What the hell?” he says. His annoyed pout isn’t flirty this time. He’s pissed off. I’m ruining his moment in the limelight.
Tough shit.
“This man is my indentured servant,” I yell at the archer. “And I didn’t give permission for this game.”
To prove it, I grab our contract from my pocket and show it to them.
Florian presses his lips together, with a look of dismayed betrayal on his face.
Maybe he finds it odd that I carry the contract around.
But I need to prove that he’s mine. I won’t let anyone take him away from me.
The archer reads the contract, then looks at the comedian, uncertain.
The comedian shakes his head. They all know the rules here in Galbrava.
Arguing with me isn’t worth the risk. The comedian starts riling up the crowd again, asking for another volunteer.
I lead Florian down the steps and off the stage.
He puts up no resistance but his arm is tense in mine; he’s upset with me.
The crowds’ jeers get louder, and they’re all aimed at me.
Yells of tyrant and other much less complimentary things reach my ears.
This is what I get for bullying the crowd favorite.
A few bread rolls and other snacks are thrown.
I block Florian from any stray flying food, growling at the crowd and forcing my way through until we’re out of the melee.
Florian and I look at each other, catching our breath in the heat.
Sun bakes the road of ground-down red earth, and it’s as though even the inanimate objects are crying out for a drink.
I’m beginning to overheat. Florian looks hot too, his face red with too much sun and probably anger.
I lead him out of the noise and confusion toward a quiet backstreet to give him a chance to calm down.
Will he still be still speaking to me after that display?
I fully invoked all of my legal power over him, in public.
It must have been humiliating for him. The backstreet is cool and shady compared to the square, which is a relief.
Florian looks up at me, his eyes refocusing in the dim light.
“I just wanted to finish the show,” he says.
“You’re lucky you don’t have an arrow sticking out of your head.”
“I was in no danger. Andro the Archer never misses.”
“Well, that wasn’t your call to make, was it?” I step closer, scowling, forgetting my resolve to let him calm down. “It was mine. You’re my servant. In this city, to all intents and purpose you belong to me.”
“And you’ll never let me forget it,” he mutters.
His eyes are stormy, the blue reminding me of a restless sea, but his neck is flushed. He seems a little breathless. The heat? Or something else? I remember how he kept calling me Boss even after I told him to stop. How much he loved being spanked. How submissive he was last night.
Is he turned on?
“You can tell me what to do all day long in this town and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it,” he says. He runs a frustrated hand over his hair. “It’s… it’s so unfair.”
“If it’s so unfair, why are you all flushed?” I ask.
“The heat,” he says, flushing even more. “It’s-it’s hot out.”
I close the distance between us, backing him into the wall.
His lips part, ready. I kiss him hard, rough, holding him tight.
He melts into me, pressing his body into mine.
Both of us are getting hard, fast. Remembering where we are, I pull back.
He’s even more breathless now, hair all over his eyes, but my hold on his arms prevents him from brushing it away.
He looks messy, overwhelmed, overpowered. Mine.
“You will not volunteer for such dangerous games without asking my permission,” I say. “You hear me?”
“Yes, Boss,” he says.
“I’m serious, Florian. You will obey me whether you like it or not, or I’ll—”
“I know you’re serious.” He gazes up at me. “I like it.”
“You didn’t used to like it when I told you what to do.”
“That was when you were all nasty and sarcastic. This is different. This feels like it’s because you care.”
I look away. I don’t want to think too much about whether that might, in fact, be true.
Instead, I say, “You’re so submissive.” I smirk down at him, letting my eyes linger on his erection which is obvious in his little tight breeches.
“Guilty as charged,” he says. “You knew I was a slut when you won me.”
There’s an off note in his voice all of a sudden.
It veers from flirtatious into shaky. Is that shame?
Something I never expected to hear from my sunny, outgoing, confident little aristocrat.
Has someone called him a slut before? I’d like to get my hands on them, teach them to give him the respect he deserves.
He looks up at me, eyes questioning. I claim his mouth again, soft and gentle, taking him for my own but with reverence this time, swallowing his little moans.
Then I smooth back his hair and fix the little velvet bow at the back.
He looks up at me, biting his lip. That expression in his eyes looks like awe.
Stars. I’ve never met a submissive aristocrat before.
At least, not one who would admit it to me, a lowly coachman.
I give him a few moments to calm down and for the evidence of his arousal to fade, careful not to smirk this time.
“Come on,” I say, fluffing up his hair one last time until he looks just perfect. “I’ll buy us some lunch.”
“Bribing me with food to make up for being such a brutal tyrant?” he says.
“Brutal tyrant, sure. Forgive me for trying to save you from being incapacitated by a crossbow bolt.”
“I told you, that was never going to happen,” he says.
“And I told you it was my call.”
He pouts but takes my arm again, looking happy with that thought.
We stroll over to the food stalls. I head straight for the kinar pastries, which are a beguiling mix of sweet and savory.
They’re cooked in expensive har oil, with the fruit filling soaked in finest brandy, and the tops dusted with rare salt that costs the earth.
They’re delicacies. Florian looks unsure.
“Boss, you know my wages won’t cover those,” he says.
“Fuck your wages, I’ve got it.”
“But—”
“Florian,” I say sharply. “Enough.”
He subsides and lets me buy him a bag of pastries. I’d pay three times as much to watch him lick the mix of salt and sugar from his fingers, wondering what that dainty little tongue could do to certain parts of my anatomy.