Chapter 10 Kerik
KERIK
After a while in the hall, Kerik grows used to what he is wearing and how much the strange faeries in their wings and finery stare at him.
He has been stared at before. Many at the Rose Court are intrigued by him. A bastard prince from two great noble lines.
Many of the faeries all around the hall hold sparkling goblets of a strange black liquid, glinting with colours, like liquid obsidian, but Perl has not seemed interested in drinking this liquor himself.
As Perl had warned him, there is no food of any kind.
Kerik does not feel hungry at all and he cannot remember the last time he ate anything.
“So,” Kerik says as soon as they are far enough away from Diamanda not to be overheard. “Now we will visit the Queen?”
“Correct.” Perl sounds as exasperated as ever. He is clearly not enjoying this night.
Kerik ignores this. “And you will get your boon? The magic sword?”
“Correct. That is the reason I am here at this ridiculous event,” Perl says, still marching Kerik across the hall on the end of the leash.
“Can I ask you something?”
Perl stops in front of Kerik and turns. “Now?”
“You said that fae can be thralls—”
“Some fae can be thralls,” Perl snaps.
“Some fae. And there are reasons that can be to their advantage. But what of the mortals. How do they end up here?” Kerik glances at the mortal thralls he can see around the room, dressed as he is, kneeling and scraping, many with cold, dead eyes.
“They can’t all be trying to find a magic sword? ” He finishes lightly.
“There are many ways. Some are snatched by fae who visit the mortal realm seeking a toy for their bed. Others are given to the fae in ritual, offerings. There are many ways mortals can end up here.” He turns away and marches forward again, tugging at the leash.
A moment later, Perl stops before Kerik in a strange archway. It seems to be blocked by a curtain, not a curtain made of fabric, but glittering silver rain. Two fae guards stand on either side of the arch.
Perl nods to them. “Princess Diamanda was sent to request I pay my respects to Exeinil-que-zeren-ai, Perfection Beyond Comprehension,” he says. The guards step aside.
Perl steps through the curtain, pulling Kerik behind him with a hand tight on his upper arm.
Passing through the silver rain is a strange feeling. It does not feel wet, but it prickles. A sweet sensation.
Beyond the archway is a canopied pavilion. Chairs and settles in fine silk face a large bed festooned with pale lace that sparkles as if encrusted with jewels and yet drapes as lightly as air.
On the bed is The Queen, her dress a great froth of fine white silk.
Behind her, her wings are as wide as the bed itself, also shimmering white.
Her thrall is with her, the dark-haired fae, dressed as Kerik is with his dark blue wings folded elegantly down his back.
The Queen also has two female mortals, thralls dressed in tiny wisps of fabric around their hips and nothing on their upper bodies but jewels and glittering paint.
It looks like a scene from a pillow house entertainment.
As they enter, The Queen reaches out to Perl with her pale arms. “Ah, Perlash-zeren-ai. My sweet exile. You took your time to come to pay respects.”
Kerik wonders what paying respects means here. He knows what it means in Azuria, a formal swearing of fealty. But here it could mean anything and likely will be something strange and twisted.
Perl approaches the bed and leans over it, touching his forehead to The Queen’s. Her hands dance down his back, stroking the place his wings emerge from his skin. As she moves her thralls both shift to caress her.
When Perl leans back, he says, “I have been simply making my way to you, my Queen. Many people wish to speak with me after my long absence from court.”
“Do they?” The Queen pauses to kiss one of the thralls deeply on the lips before continuing. “No great matter. You are here now. And you have brought that pretty thing. I see you have left it unbitted.”
Kerik doesn’t know what that could mean, but he is certain Perl would not be happy if he asked.
“I like his mouth available,” Perl says.
Oh. Bitted. Like a bit that a horse would wear. He is after all, wearing something akin to a bridle. Kerik feels relieved he is not wearing a bit in his mouth, although he bristles at the idea that the reason is so his mouth is available to Perl.
“Oh, its mouth.” says The Queen, sounding delighted. “Is that your preferred pleasure? I suppose it does look sweet. And a bit would mar its handsome face.”
“Quite, my Queen, just look at it. I have never felt such lust for another creature.” As Perl speaks he steps aside and turns so he can gaze upon Kerik’s face.
He raises a hand and uses one crooked finger under the lip of the high collar to lift Kerik’s chin even further so they are staring into each other’s eyes.
Kerik can see something in Perl’s expression. A sense that he is doing all he can to communicate something. Something desperate. Likely, an insistence that Kerik behave.
The Queen sighs. “It really is quite a beast of a thing to have on its knees. But it is delightful how enamoured of your thrall you are. You must give me a demonstration. Take it. Take it before me. I want to see how it has bewitched you so.” She claps her hands “I want to see it fucked. A Queen must look out for her subjects, after all, and I need to ensure there is no dark magic at work in this delightful connection.”
Perl is still looking at Kerik and panic lights his eyes. “Mortals don’t like that sort of thing.”
“No. I’ve heard it said that they have different rules about public coupling.
Although these ones of mine do love to be used any way they can get it.
They crave it.” The Queen breaks off to slap the face of one of her thralls.
The same one she kissed a moment ago. The thrall gasps as if rocked with pleasure.
“But if your thrall has such concerns, it's a good thing we don’t care about what mortals want, isn’t it, Perlash-zeren-ai? ”
“Nevertheless,” Perl says. “I would prefer not to.”
The Queen looks thoughtful. “You know, Perlash. I thought when you’d turned up with this creature you were making a strong statement about your true heritage.
It would be a great shame to think that was all for show and that your father’s nature is strong in you, especially when your mother was such a perfect fae. ”
Kerik sees a strange look cross Perl’s face. He has made no reference to his parentage, although he does seem to be of a high status here in the faerie realm. So they must be of some importance. Kerik wonders if Perl would answer him if he asked about them the next time they are alone.
Perl is so full of secrets for a creature that claims it cannot lie.
The Queen continues. “But if you are so bound by the strange conventions of mortals. At least show me your professed desire by kissing it. As you are so enamoured of its pretty mouth that you leave it free of a bit. Kiss that thrall you are so devoted to. Or fuck it. One or the other. Now.”
Kerik sees the way Perl shivers before he says, “Of course, my Queen. I can barely resist kissing it every chance I get.”
Kerik takes a breath as Perl steps closer. He looks scared. Kerik looks at him.
Softly Perl murmurs, “Please? I fear we must do this. Would you mind?”
Kerik raises an eyebrow.
“Please,” Perl says again.
Kerik moves close too, as if coming in for the kiss, but pauses and says, speaking just as softly, “You wish me to permit this?”
Kerik can see Perl’s already pale skin turn paler. Kerik isn’t sure if fae get nauseous if they never eat, but if Perl was a man, Kerik would think he was deeply sickened.
“Please,” Perl says again. And that please sounds quite desperate.
Something about Perl pleading to kiss him goes straight to Kerik’s cock in a quite surprising way.
Perl looks different when he begs, even pretty under his mask of cold control.
It’s quite sweet how vulnerable he looks, so different to his usual haughtiness.
The Queen's strident voice cuts the air. “Stop murmuring bedchamber words, Perlash, and kiss it.”
Perl gives Kerik another look of desperation. He really does need Kerik’s permission to do this.
Kerik shrugs. “Very well.”
Perl leans closer.
Their lips touch.
It is not the way Kerik normally likes to kiss a man.
If Kerik were kissing Perl how he chose, he would grab hold of that beautiful silver hair, tug on that pretty braid, and pull — use it to control the kiss and make Perl moan for it.
He’d force Perl to lean back beneath him and offer his mouth submissively for Kerik’s tongue.
But he cannot do that. He is a thrall. And his wrists are bound behind his back.
Instead he lets Perl put a hand on his face as he takes the soft, sweet press of Perl’s cool lips against his warm ones.
It holds there for a moment, a simple thing.
And even when the tip of Perl’s tongue slides into Kerik’s mouth, the kiss remains quite chaste.
Perl’s tongue is quite distinctly there, caressing gently.
But it feels respectful, as if Perl is somehow communicating with the manner of his kiss that this is only for show, only pretence, like everything else.
Kerik thinks of those moments just before the kiss, when Perl had looked into his eyes, when he had said, “Please,” full of meaning, just a desperate whisper of breath.
It is suddenly quite clear to Kerik what Perl would actually enjoy. But would he ever admit to it? Does he even know how easy it is to read his desires?
Kerik feels the pinch of the cage holding his cock as he grows roused at the thought.
A moment later Perl pulls back, finishing the kiss with a soft peck on Kerik’s lips. Kerik looks up at him. Perl’s pale face is a little flushed, his lips are pinker. And Kerik finds himself wondering how long it has been since Perl last kissed anyone.