Chapter 20
KERIK
Kerik did not know it was possible for him to fall asleep without pursuing his own spend, but as he presses close to Perl’s body, he feels a great wave of exhaustion take him. After all that has happened this day and all he has learned, all he wants is sleep.
As he lies there letting it take him, he thinks of all Perl has told him.
He has no doubt that Perl believes his tale true.
He thinks it likely the truth that faeries cannot tell lies.
Perl really believes in this demon his father told him was coming and has shaped his life around it for a hundred years.
But Perl’s father was no faerie. Perhaps he lied to his son.
Kerik cannot fathom why, especially if his fate was to be sealed inside that burning cage.
But he had been part of the court of the vile Hevelikar.
And Perl had said magic had warped his mind.
The important thing however, is that Perl believes his mission true and he believes that Kerik’s magical powers are essential to its success.
Perl wants Kerik twice over. As this fated Magician and as Master.
And Kerik is happy to play both roles. He will enjoy the body of this beautiful creature who arouses him so much and he will learn magic.
And whether Perl’s demon is real or not, Kerik will be a great wizard when this is done. A great wizard perhaps with a beautiful faerie lover on its knees at the foot of his throne.
Kerik wakes feeling good and spends some time lying lazily in bed, kissing Perl’s hair, letting his lips slide over the white silken strands. His mouth drifts lower and kisses Perl's scar.
“Did it hurt for the whole year you wore it?” Kerik follows the kiss by tracing the mark on Perl’s throat with his fingers.
“No, not for the whole year. I told you, the iron burns at first but it subsides. And over time, my body formed this tissue, this mark, to protect me from it. By the end it was only the weight of it I felt. And the fact it prevented my magic while I wore it. In truth, it hurts more now than it ever did while I was made to wear the collar.” Perl’s voice is raw as he ends the statement.
Kerik can hear the deep pain of having this mark of his shame burned onto Perl’s skin.
He is about to say something else, when a knock comes at the door.
Perl calls out enter without bothering to disentwine himself from Kerik’s arms.
The page who steps through the door seems completely unperturbed to see Perl and Kerik so intimate in their bed. Kerik is struck for a moment, with how impossible it would be to lie in bed like this with a man, in Azuria, both entwined and simply bid a page enter the room.
But the page simply leaves a piece of parchment and a familiar looking wooden box on the table and leaves without a word.
When she is gone Perl climbs from the bed and crosses the room to pick up the parchment.
Kerik watches him. Perl had changed his leather outfit for a sleeping shirt the night before and he looks sweet in it, white linen against his delicate skin.
Kerik looks at Perl’s pale thighs. He’s delicate as a fawn.
“So soon?” Kerik says. “But I have only just completed the second test. What are they going to do to me next?” Kerik hopes that whatever it is there will be time for Perl to come back to bed.
“Flay off all my skin and roll me in salt?”
Perl laughs. A true laugh, breaking his face. “Don’t give them ideas.” He walks back to the bed. “Actually it seems Exeinil really was pleased with your performance at the last test. She is being generous. Moving swiftly to the third test and this one will be easier. It is simply service.”
Kerik sits up. The silk and furs of the bed fall down, pooling at his waist and he enjoys the way the sight of his upper body lights Perl’s eyes. “What does that involve?”
“I suppose there will be salt. But no flaying. You will simply have to serve me at a formal banquet. A rare occasion that will involve mortal food. There will be some protocols in place, but you can learn them.”
“So no torture?” Kerik slips an arm around Perl’s waist, pulling him close.
“No torture.”
“In that case, I have an idea. It seems wrong that I must suffer everything for these tests of devotion, especially when you are the one with such a talent for suffering.”
Perl’s pale cheeks blush a sweet pink as he says, “Kerik, please.”
“It is the truth, Shame of the Ice Fae. We both know that. But let me tell you my idea. I suggest a trade. Whatever the Ice Court ask of me, you will do. For me. In this chamber.”
Kerik feels Perl go tense in his arms, but it is not all aversion. His breathing hitches in a very particular way. Kerik pulls him closer, onto his lap, and nuzzles at his scarred neck.
But after a moment Perl pulls back. “Are you suggesting you would enjoy making me spend half the night freezing to death in an ice cell?”
“I would enjoy a little suffering from you at my command, I don’t deny it.
And so would you.” He grins. “But not that. That test is done.” Kerik pauses.
“Although it would have been sweet to see you wearing that ball in your mouth, only able to make humiliating bird calls whenever you wanted to interrupt me.” He pauses, enjoying how that has made Perl shiver.
“But, no, let us blend pleasure with what we must do now. You say this event involves some elaborate protocol. You should demonstrate these protocols for me. For my delight.” Kerik’s voice is heavy as he finishes, feeling his arousal grow at the thought of what he is asking for.
This perfect creature, humbled before him.
“Oh,” Perl says, as if understanding is only now dawning. Kerik doubts it truly took Perl this long to realise what he was suggesting, unless his mind was deeply fogged with lust. But Perl shakes his head. “We can’t.”
“I’m not giving you a choice, Perlash-zeren-ai. If I am to kneel for you in public, I want you to kneel before me in private. Whatever I must take for them, pain, shame, you will take it for me.”
Perl looks at Kerik thoughtfully, “It might not be possible to replicate everything.”
Kerik smiles at Perl’s acquiescence. “I’m sure we can find a way, faerie.”
“So you wish me to do this now?”
“I wish you to do it with a more deferent attitude than that.”
“I apologise, Master,” Perl says in a tone that is no more deferent than before.
Clearly, Perl needs a firmer command, so Kerik grabs him hard by the jaw. Perl gasps and his hips jerk unmistakably, which sends an answering bolt of lust through Kerik’s body. “What,” Kerik says in a low growl, “does the next test involve, thrall?”
He doesn’t loosen his grip on Perl’s jaw, forcing him to answer through it. “Service is a test of obedience,” he manages. “You will need to be submissive and obedient to me. And there will be certain positions you will be required to adopt flawlessly on command.”
“Then hadn’t you better show them to me?" Kerik pulls his hand away and leans back.
“I suppose.” Perl stands from Kerik’s lap. He’s still acting as if this is the worst thing that has ever happened to him, but he has a cock so roused it is jutting out, displayed in the fall of the sleeping shirt.
He positions himself standing. “So, most simply and obviously there is kneeling. Which I am sure you think you do well, but your form could be better. Let me show you what I mean.”
Before he can lower himself to the floor, Kerik says, “A moment.”
Perl looks at him. “What else, Master?”
“I think you ought to wear the outfit.”
“The outfit?”
“A box came with that parchment. I know what that means. What’s in it?”
Without a word, Perl turns and walks over to the box on the table. He gathers up what is inside and brings it over to Kerik, setting down a diaphanous hip cloth in a pale golden colour, with wrist cuffs and a slender collar, also gold.
Kerik looks at all of it. “No more than that? No jewels to clamp to my nipples or a device to go in my hole?”
Perl raises an eyebrow. “Disappointed you don’t get to torment me with such things?”
“Oh, not at all. I will enjoy you so simply adorned. You will have to work to convey your submission with your body. Now put it on.”
Perl nods and, surprisingly, makes no further complaint. He pulls off his sleeping shirt with his back to Kerik.
Kerik has still not seen Perl fully naked. This is the most of Perl’s skin Kerik has ever seen displayed before him. Desire swells in him like the fast rushing tides of the Gleam in springtime when it is heavy with snow melt.
Perl is made of pale skin, entirely flawless but for the scar at his neck, mostly hidden from behind by the fall of his pale hair, unfastened from its strict braid.
Those two dark lines running down his back, parallel to his spine.
The elegant curve of his ass. Kerik's mouth dries to see it and the want he feels to fuck Perl, to bury his cock in that perfect ass, is a bolt of pleasure, shooting from his heart to his heels.
“Your modesty is so sweet, when you carried me fully naked back to this chamber,” Kerik says to Perl’s back, his voice so heavy, so thick with desire.
Perl finishes tying the gold cloth around his hips and back to Kerik as he adds the cuffs to his wrists. He places the collar around his neck, covering the scar, and says, “I am not being modest, simply practical. Unlike you, I am more concerned with the task in hand than base lust.”
It’s strange how easily Perl seems to be able to switch from his desperate, needy submission back to his usual cold practicality. Perhaps it is a skill he has had to learn.
However he cannot mask everything.
“I don’t think that is true,” says Kerik, looking at Perl’s heavy cock, undisguised by the tiny, semi-transparent hip cloth.
Perl narrows his eyes. But Kerik can see the submissive desire in him, clear as Spring.
Kerik says, “Hand me your sleeping shirt. I’m sure a Master would not attend this banquet naked.” He holds out a hand.