Chapter 21
PERL
Perl walks into the banquet hall. It is not a room that is used often as the fae do not need to eat and rarely bother with such a practice.
In his time in the mortal realm, Perl had never ceased being surprised at how much mortals needed to stop what they were doing to eat and how much pleasure they took in the act alone with no additional entertainment or ritual.
Despite its infrequent use, the banquet hall is staggeringly opulent.
The walls are gilded marble, the floor polished black wood.
Long tables line the hall set with shining white dinner plates, crystal glasses and golden candlesticks.
All of it glittering in the ice light. At the far end of the hall another table is raised on a platform, perpendicular to the ones that run the length of the hall.
The hall is filled with fae sitting on golden chairs, with their thralls kneeling on small velvet cushions beside them.
Exeinil sits at the centre of the high table, perched on a high throne.
Her thrall kneels beside her. Vane and Diamanda occupy the other seats at the table, along with other favoured courtiers, beside each of them is a thrall, Seridil kneeling beside Vane.
And beside Exeinil is an empty chair and an empty cushion, meant for Perl and Kerik. Perl struts through the hall, with Kerik following on the leash. He mounts the steps to the high table and sits down. Kerik takes his place kneeling on the cushion without a word of defiance or complaint.
As he looks out at the hall, Perl cannot stop the sudden rush of feeling, arousal and shame mixed, as if somehow, the fae before him will be able to tell what he and Kerik were doing in his chamber before they arrived.
But he pushes that feeling away. He is so used to pushing his feelings away.
They are served some simple food. Plates of delicate fruits and flowers, small pieces of light white cheese and tiny pieces of honeycomb.
Kerik is looking up at Perl with beautiful dark eyes.
Perl takes some small red berries and feeds them to Kerik.
Kerik takes them elegantly with his tongue.
His eyes seem to burn into Perl’s. And Perl can feel it again, but this time it feels good.
Not shame, a deep, rich burning of pleasure.
The secret they share. The things they do.
The idea that they are not what the fae here see, they play another darker game. A game full of raw desire.
And he remembers that once he had felt this feeling when Seridil knelt for him at court after they had been playing their own games in Perl’s chambers.
But Seridil was not playing the game the way Perl believed he was.
Seridil was simply waiting for his moment to reveal Perl’s secrets to the Ice Court, thinking he would gain favours.
All he had gained was a spell in the pit and a new position as Vane’s thrall.
After Seridil betrayed him, Perl had decided he could never trust another enough to kneel before them and offer submission, but Kerik has broken down that wall of fear, simply with his straightforward honesty and bravery.
How could Perl mistrust a mortal who had done the things for him that Kerik has done?
Who had taken every test the Ice Court gave him with cocky bravado and a will of steel.
Kerik is a mortal. And all fae know that mortals can lie at will.
But somehow, Kerik seems less duplicitous than any fae Perl has ever met.
Could he really have this? He wonders and then wonders what it is he wants to have. Kerik in his chamber, Mastering him. More than that? After this he will take Kerik to Azuria. To join his brothers to slay Ur-Durik. Will this thing they have continue?
And after his mission is complete?
What then?
Will Kerik truly ever do as he breathlessly promised? Tie him down? Make him scream?
Perl has not thought about what his life might look like after his mission is complete for a long time.
He will not be able to return here. That is certain. When the fae discover he has been aiding mortals to defeat Ur-Durik there will be no place for him as a fae ever again. But could there be a place for him with Kerik?
Perhaps Kerik will become Duke of Fanost, after all. He should surely reap some reward when he has saved the mortal realm from the return of the Bellator. Would the Rose Court be able to deny his bloodright then?
Although if some of the more disturbing parts of his father’s writings come true, there may be no Rose Court when this is done.
Perl checks himself, now is not the time to daydream about the future. There are far more pressing concerns in the present moment.
He takes his gaze from Kerik and looks along the table.
Perl notices Vane flash him a look as he instructs Seridil to stand and then pulls him close so Seridil is sitting in Vane’s lap.
Vane feeds Seridil honeycomb teasingly, making a mess of it over his lips, before taking his glazed mouth in a slow kiss.
When the kiss breaks, Perl is still watching them and he sees Seridil flash a sour look over at him, as if he would happily rip Perl to pieces if he thought he could survive it.
Perl does not blame him. But he looks away.
He gazes out across the hall at the glittering splendour of Vylenor, a world he turned his back on once and must leave again.
As he is lost in these thoughts he feels Kerik press a kiss to one of his leather clad thighs. Then a second. He looks down to see Kerik gazing up at him with dark eyes as he drags his tongue over Perl’s breeches. Perl feels pleasure rush down his spine, his cock growing roused.
But he cannot take Kerik here, he could not stand it. What they have together is too fragile, sweet but raw-edged. Tender, but tender like bruised skin.
From along the table, Vane’s voice calls, “Perlash!” Vane always makes Perl’s name sound exactly like the insult it is.
Perl looks over at him. He can still feel Kerik’s mouth nibbling at his thigh. He reaches down to stroke Kerik’s hair.
“I was just asking my thrall here,” — Vane indicates Seridil by pulling him in close to his chest — “about its time with you as its Master. It was telling me how revolting it found it to be forced to Master a fae playing at being thrall. It’s so much happier now its role is clear.”
Perl says nothing. This kind of clumsy taunt, from Vane, is nothing new. Again he does not blame him. He does not blame any single fae in Vylenor for how they feel about him. But Vane, especially, Vane has every reason to loathe him.
“And of course yours is too, with that dumb brutish creature between your legs. I was just thinking how well everything has worked out. But,” Vane pauses and licks over his pale lips. “At a dinner like this it is traditional to offer up a new thrall for a little wilding below the table.”
“I have already informed you,” Perl says tightly, but with a sinking heart. “That I do not care to share my thrall. He is mine.”
“Yes," says Vane airily. “You did say that. But that was before our great Queen decided your claim to it should be tested. I propose it should be shared amongst the high table. There may be others who are interested in claiming it if you fail. They ought to be allowed to sample it.”
Exeinil claps her hands. “Oh, yes,” she says, excitedly. “Let the thrall pleasure the table. This is its service test after all.”
Perl glances down at Kerik. All Kerik does is raise a cocky eyebrow as if this suggestion bothers him not one bit. But Perl feels sickened.
He looks to Exeinil. “This is a test of his devotion to me, Grand Majesty.”
“And what better test than for it to service the table at your command?” Exeinil says plainly.
Perl takes a breath. He knows what Exeinil wants.
She is bored. She wants entertainment. All he must do is offer her something she will enjoy more than Kerik being passed along under the high table.
“But that is not truly what I want. I have explained I am quite besotted with him. Surely his obedience to me must be according to my desires, not Prince Vane’s? ”
“Your desires,” Vane says, with a note of idle cruelty in his voice. “What are your desires, Perlash?”
Perl pushes back from the table, letting his chair scrape over the black wood of the platform.
He leaves enough space so that there is a good view of his body to anyone who turns around to watch.
He can see both Exeinil and Vane looking on with interest. Although Diamanda is busy with her own thrall between her thighs and is paying him no attention at all.
“Come closer, thrall,” Perl says, beckoning Kerik out from under the table to kneel before him.
Kerik crawls. It’s only a couple of paces.
“Down.”
Kerik prostrates himself flawlessly, a perfect echo of how Perl demonstrated the move.
“Kiss my boot.”
Kerik obeys once again, elegant and perfect.
Perl looks at the faces watching him. Exeinil’s bright eyes on his.
This isn’t enough and he knows it. They have seen this before.
Kerik has knelt before Perl, lowered himself to the ground and kissed Perl’s boots.
He is going to have to give them something more or Exeinil is going to insist Kerik service them all.
Softly Kerik whispers, “May I pleasure you, Master?” as if he has been thinking the exact same thing. Kerik’s voice drops to a low hiss. “Do it. I’ll be good. Just as you showed me.”
Perl’s cock thuds at the thought of that, Kerik showing him how sweetly he performed himself in their chambers.
But it was not sweet. No, Kerik took him savagely. Could he do that? He does not think he has it in him to use Kerik the way that Kerik had used him, but he could do some of it, mimic the look of it. Just as he showed Kerik how to behave, Kerik showed him.
He takes hold of a handful of Kerik’s hair. It’s soft, ebony silk. He twists hard and growls out, "Keep still, thrall. Let your Master use you.”
Kerik’s eyes meet Perl’s, dark and rich, dancing with amusement although everything else about Kerik’s expression and posture conveys nothing but sweet submission.
Kerik’s mouth opens as Perl unfastens his breeches one-handed and slides his roused cock into Kerik's mouth. Perl gasps. The heat of Kerik’s mouth is blinding, quite extraordinary.
He tries to control his reaction. He can show pleasure, yes, but not shocked surprise.
No one else at the table can know he has never taken Kerik’s mouth before.
Kerik makes a strange sound. It confuses Perl a moment before he realises Kerik has made a soft chuckle of amusement around his cock, although not loud enough that anyone else could hear. Nevertheless, Perl twists his hand tight in Kerik’s hair.
He snarls as he shoves his cock in deep, caring nothing for Kerik’s discomfort, and thinking only of how it had been in his chamber.
Of how he had felt on his knees, taking Kerik this way, overwhelmed with the sweet good feeling of being used for the pleasure of another.
Feeling whole as Kerik had taken his throat so deep he choked.
Perl imagines himself Kerik, as he takes Kerik’s mouth, forgetting that he is being watched, that this is a display for an audience of high fae. He thinks of nothing but the searing heat of Kerik’s mouth and how soon he can once more be the one kneeling to be used this way.
As Kerik teases him, a skilled tongue working against the underside of his cock, tantalising Perl with sensation, even as Perl takes him so deep that spittle leaks from Kerik’s lips and down his chest.
Kerik is impressively skilled on his knees for one who prefers to be in control.
Perl thinks about how he ought not to have kept Kerik in enchanted sleep for those five years he had him at the Starlight Tower.
Five years of lonely toil and struggle while his prince slept upstairs. Perl had barely even allowed himself to enter that chamber and watch Kerik slumber.
When they could have spent all that time doing this.
No, not this, what they did earlier. With Perl on his knees as Kerik’s thrall. Perl could have knelt for him and begged, let Kerik control his pleasure or deny it completely, take the lash to him if he chose, ignore him or use him. Own him.
He could have been used like this nightly. Kneeling with his mouth open and Kerik’s fist in his hair.
Perl spends with a cry.
The pleasure is rich, although, he thinks, not as rich as the twisted delicious shame of spending on himself while Kerik’s cock was thrust down his throat.
Perl gasps, blinking. He sees the faces staring at him all around the table. He doesn’t want to think about that yet. He wants to stay where he is. Just himself and Kerik.
He takes a breath, composing himself by stroking Kerik’s face.
Kerik’s mouth is red and wet. He wipes his finger along Kerik’s lower lip, sticky with seed and pushes a little of it up, fingers going into Kerik’s mouth.
Kerik sucks on them as if Perl’s seed is delicious, as if he cannot get enough of it.
Distantly, Perl hears the scrape of Exeinil’s chair. He looks over and sees her standing, then gliding over. “Ah,” she says, stroking a hand over Perl’s face. “When you spend you look so much like my sweet Irmeena. I miss her so.”
She turns and announces to the hall, “Perlash-zeren-ai is truly returned to us, washed of his previous perversions. When his devoted thrall delights at the fourth test, I will grant his boon and raise him to his old position as my favoured at court.”