Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
M y nerves are shot.
Lucca’s attempt to distract me doesn’t work and agitates me further. “Come little Elven Concubine, let’s get you dressed,” he says, entering my room unannounced—like he owns the damn place—and rips my bed sheets away. I throw a pillow at him. He dodges it.
“I’m not going to be a concubine,” I say, rolling over and stuffing my head underneath another pillow. Maybe he’ll go away if I ignore him long enough.
“Don’t be sour Tristan, this is already the worst day of my life.”
The worst day of his life? Leave it to Lucca to think of himself.
“Don’t call me concubine again, and I promise I’ll do my best not to be sour at you Luccalthizan. ”
He twists his mouth in distaste at the sound of his full name. I’m of the mind to tell him to leave, since I’m in no mood for his usual theatrics, but Lucca insisted that he be the one to prepare me for the ceremony today. I know his zeal for the task is only because I will be leaving forever, otherwise, he’d be content to let an attendant perform the mundane duty. The prince arrives from Mortouge this afternoon; we will marry at sunset and depart for Mortouge after breakfast tomorrow.
I make myself leave the warm blankets—they smell like home—I don’t look back as I stand, my eye catches something new on the other side of my room.
“Is that what he expects me to wear?” I point to the ridiculous white pile of cloth hanging over my armoire, which looks like a giant rabbit costume you’d wear to the Spring Festival. Utterly hideous.
Lucca laughs. “It’s not half-bad, Tristan.”
“You don’t have to dress like a great white ball of fur!”
“No. But I also—"
“—don’t say it—"
“—don’t look half as lovely as you.”
We both know that wasn’t what he intended on saying. Lucca never uses words like lovely. My mood takes a further plunge. Now I’m cheerless and vexed.
“Come on dear cousin. I see you shan’t be teased this morning. Let’s wash some of the sleep from your eyes and hope you improve your disposition before the sexy Elf prince sees how grouchy you are before breakfast,” he says, dragging me by the hand.
“That’s still teasing,” I mutter to myself, but follow him anyway.
The bathing hall is a chaotic mess, as usual, but more so on this morning. The royalty that resides in the palace scramble to get ready for the ceremony, not paying any mind to Lucca and I—thank the Gods. We make our way over to one of the free baths.
Sam and Ni?a, our two female attendants, greet us and begin to disrobe me and my cousin. Prince Corrik wouldn’t allow for another man to touch me so he arranged to have a female attendant assigned to me. Controlling Bastard.
Once, he let me go for an entire fortnight without allowing me release. It’s a wonder I didn’t murder anyone, though I do recall everyone steering clear of me for three days before the missive appeared that time. I thought of little more than tearing out the prince’s violet eyes—the anger still a poor distraction against my aching cock.
I’ve learned that he—my cock, whom I’ve begun referring to in the third person—is a savage beast with a mind of his own, and once disturbed, is relentless until sated. Unfortunately for the two of us, I never know when relief will come.
The Elves are creatures of magic and he left an empty journal. He has a journal in Mortouge that is its twin, and when he writes a message in his copy, that’s when a message appears in mine— magic . With it, a pen, also of magic which has given us the ability to write messages all this time. You'd think we’d jump at the opportunity to get to know each other, but we haven’t—at least not me. I suppose he has written to me every evening. He’d make a sorry attempt to ask me questions and spark conversation in between all his commands for me. There were plenty, by the way. His biggest concern was over whether I’d ‘deflowered’ myself or not. No, of course not. I made an oath didn’t I? I don’t know what Elves do, but Markaytians keep their oaths.
“Tristan,” he said in one of his dictatorial messages, and I knew I was being scolded. “What have you been doing?” A simple enough question, with all sorts of implications; I read right through them.
“Nothing I shouldn’t be,” I responded, and hoped he could feel my anger through the damn book. He would sign off by writing the same thing in return every night: “Thank you, my Tristan. Sleep well.”
It infuriated me. How dare he call me his Tristan ? I cared little how true it was.
Lucca and I slip into the large bathing pool together. Either Corrik doesn’t know I still bathe with my cousin or he doesn’t care. We’ve bathed together since we were small boys—there is nothing sexual about it. Markaytians may be private over sex, but not over being nude. Ni?a takes extra care to wash and exfoliate my skin today; she applies softening ointments, and some oil to smooth out my long hair. While she turns to fetch a scrub brush, I notice a spot she’s missed on her first pass over me—the head of my cock is leaking pre-come, enough to slick the head and send a jolt of pleasure through my groin.
Thankfully, she turns back before I succumb to my cock’s ability to hypnotize me like a python and use me as an instrument to get the sex he wants. She scrubs me with more force than usual, and my skin feels like it’s burning. “I’ll look better with my skin the color I came with, thank you very much.”
“I’m so sorry, your Highness,” she replies, but doesn’t look sorry at all.
“We’re not married yet. There’s no need for such formalities,” I say.
“Don’t mind him,” Lucca says from beside us. “He’s just sore about having to lose his virginity tonight.”
The three of them burst into laughter. If only they really knew what a deviant I’ve become; losing my virginity is the least of my worries. It’s the only perk. Sex is a private thing amongst Markaytians, as Lucca is well aware, even if that little cultural aspect has skipped his moral character. He knows better than to tease me about that in particular. If he’s not careful, he’ll be wearing a black eye to my wedding.
“How long’s it been?” he pushes, his indecency without bounds. “I’ll bet he wanted you good and randy for tonight, ‘uh?”
I won’t punch my cousin on my wedding day. “I’m not a broodmare.”
“That’s not an answer. Come on, it’s just us. We won’t tell anyone.”
“Right. I’m going to be forthcoming with my private information so you can continue to make fun of me?”
“My guess is at least a week,” he mock-whispers, as if his words are only for Sam.
“Lucca!”
“Maybe two. The last time the Prince made him go two weeks without mas— "
“Five. It’s been five Gods’ damned days,” I say when he won’t shut up.
He gives a self-satisfied smirk as he waits for Sam to finish rinsing his hair.
“That’s not why I’m grouchy,” I say.
“Sure, it’s not.”
“Okay, it’s not the only reason I’m grouchy.”
“I know why you’re upset—you’ve every right to be—but it’s all the more reason I should take your mind off things.”
“By reminding me I have no control over my own penis?”
The two women giggle at that. I don’t normally say such things, but Lucca’s revealed enough that it doesn’t matter at this point.
“All right. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, but it’s kind of funny.”
“Funny? How about I lock up your penis, and tell you not to use it except when I say? In fact, I know just what to leave you as a parting gift.”
The look of horror on his face is worth having to endure this conversation.
“Okay. Point made.”
“Good.” Now I’m the one smirking.
Lucca behaves himself, for Lucca, the rest of the bath. Though I’ve gone longer without ejaculating, I’m especially on edge today. What better way is there to relieve tension than with a long, intense orgasm?
I say my goodbyes to Sam and Ni?a once I’m dressed, and Lucca and I head to breakfast.
Father is the only one in attendance. Not unusual, but I did expect more of the family to breakfast with us on this day. Arcade Kanes is a taciturn man, so I don’t expect a farewell speech, but I do hope—as foolish though it may be—for some kind words of approval. Perhaps an ‘I’m proud of you, Tristan.’
“Where have you lot been? And Tristan—why in the Gods’ names are you dressed like that? The Prince will be here any minute. What if he wishes to see you? You can’t see the Elven prince looking like you’re ready to shoe a horse.”
I sputter, not sure which question to answer first. I’m not that underdressed. I just didn’t bother putting much into my outfit for breakfast, seeing as I’m just going to take it off again. I don’t say this to Father, though. Wedding day or no, he’ll discipline me if he sees fit.
“Sit down. Eat— quickly . There’s no time for lollygagging. I would think you could act as an adult for one day. You’ll never be anything but a child. Irresponsible! ” He speaks only to me. He’s never cared what Lucca acts like for the most part.
Lucca and I sit and begin piling food on our plates. My face burns the whole time, embarrassed that I’ve disgraced myself in the eyes of my father. I think about apologizing, but don’t, knowing he prefers my silence. His eyes rake over me, and something makes him madder, but I can’t figure out what. When I think enough time has passed for him to cool over our late appearance to breakfast, I take a chance and ask, “It’s bad luck to see each other before the wedding, I thought…? He won’t want to see me when he gets here, will he, Father?”
“You’d better hope not looking like that.”
I put my head back to my breakfast, not looking up again, until a messenger comes in to speak with Lucca. I get the impression he wants to speak with me too, but Father’s tense demeanor has succeeded in wrapping tightly around me and the messenger keeps his distance. Lucca nods in my direction as the boy speaks into his ear.
I’m fast losing my appetite, but rather than draw attention to myself by pushing my plate away, I set to work finishing breakfast with a large glass of fresh milk. I think I’m home free. I’m about to ask to be excused, when Father stands with authority, his long chestnut hair sways with his movements, and he unsheathes his sword to point it at my face. He stands for what seems like a long time, his jaw tight, his upper lip curled. Cold eyes pierce me, and his fingers are wrapped tightly around the hilt as he either finds the words he’s looking for or slits me belly to throat. At the moment, I might choose the slitting. Silence closes in on me, and even Lucca knows not to utter a single joke. His eyes are glued to my father, as are mine. Just when I decide it’s going to be an execution, Father says the four words— the only four words —that could make this day worse.
“Do not disappoint me.”
I don’t get opportunity enough to form a response before he’s walking away, his crisp boots echoing off the stone of the large dining hall, re-sheathing his sword as he goes. I sink low in my chair and run a hand through my hair.
“Don’t listen to him, Tristan. You know him well enough to know what he’s like. He’s nervous too. You are his only son, and he has to give you away.”
“Well, that’s a fine way to say it.”
I’m distraught as it is and now I have a pit in my stomach. It appears that I can’t live up to my father’s standards—he has no faith in me—and now I’m expected to live up to those of an Elven prince? I know how this fiasco will end. I’ll be sent home within two new moons.
“Your mother wants to see you,” Lucca says.
“I’d better go now then. I haven’t much time.” I mean that in a few ways, of course.
“Your mother will fix you up. When you return to your rooms, I’ll be ready to prepare you. I’ve practiced,” he says. His obvious pride elicits a weak smile out of me.
“Tristan, one more thing,” he says, a cheeky grin spreads onto his face. “Your Master has arrived.” He runs off before I can smack him for more teasing, but he needn’t have worried—I’m too flustered by the news.
The prince is in the palace .
Lucca’s risky little plan works—I’m no longer thinking about my father.
S he sits in front of her dressing mirror, her attendant behind her holding the clasp of a stunning pearl necklace draped around her neck. Mother admires it in the mirror, deciding if it’s the right one. Her raven hair, like mine, wraps around her body but whereas mine is bone straight, hers is arranged in bouncy curls that pop about as she tilts her head from side-to-side, trying to catch the pearls from all angles. Her shining grey eyes narrow as she shakes her head and purses her lips. “It’s beautiful, but it’s not right. Tristan will be accented with silver. I’ve got to have something silver to match,” she says to her attendant as her eyes lock onto the corner of the room, her lids suggest her focus is elsewhere. When Mother does that, I know she’s off having a conversation with herself. She’s nervous.
“You look beautiful no matter what Mother. Wear what you wish,” I say.
“Tristan, my dar ling!” Her eyes light up like diamonds when she sees me. I wander into her open arms and squeeze her tightly. She pulls back and cups my face with her smooth hands. She searches my blue eyes for a moment and reads the turmoil in them with practiced precision. “What has your father said now?”
I pull away from her and turn to sift through the open jewelry box on her dressing mirror. I do not wish to speak about him, but Mother won’t allow me to stew in peace. Never has. She nods to her attendant to leave us.
“Oh, Tristan. You know better than to invest in his behaviors. You know the sort of man he is—hard and rough to his core. I don’t know how Eagar stands him.”
My mother and father are not together. It’s common practice in Markaytia for the Warlord to choose a woman to bear him a son to carry on his legacy. Father is in love with Eagar, my papa.
He and Eagar have been lovers since before I was born. Eagar fights alongside my father as his second in command; they’ve been in love since their first day on the field together. Love was instant for them and there is no one else for my father, but Eagar.
“Papa can stand him because he wouldn’t dare treat Papa as he does me.”
The word gentle could almost be used about the way my father treats the large, pretty man. I say pretty because while Eagar could slice a man in two without thought, his looks suggest he might have been a porcelain doll in a past life. He has narrow cheeks and fine bone structure, with long hair that went white far before the time it should have. Instead of making him look old, his white hair makes him look years younger than his actual age. He’s got intense, emerald, green eyes that always seem to be glossed over with tears because his heart pours out of them. He’s used them to get me out of trouble with Father many times. I can’t blame Father for loving Papa so. He’s a hard man to not love with your whole soul. When I was born, he took time away from his regular duties and cared for me alongside Mother. He and Mother grew close. I went to Papa as often as I would Mother.
“Let’s sick Eagar on him,” she jokes.
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine Mother. Father didn’t help matters, but the truth is, I have bigger worries than him. I’m worried about everyone I’ll leave behind. What about you? What about Lucca?”
“You are a strong man, always wanting to take care of everyone,” she says. “But as for me, you know I can take care of myself. Lucca on the other hand is an impish boy, but he will be fine. Not having you here will give him the opportunity to grow into a man and clean up his own messes.”
Mother knows most of my secrets. She knows that half the time I was in trouble with Father, it was because of something Lucca had done. I could never stand to see him in trouble, and despite his protests, I always convinced Uncle and Father that I had been the irresponsible one, getting Lucca out of trouble as often as I could. Mother hated when I took the blame and allowed me to cry to her. Over time, she resented Lucca .
“All boys must grow up my Tristan,” she says. “And though my heart is aching at the mere thought of having you gone, I know I must let my little birdie fly. I know this path is best for you. What you are doing for the kingdom is noble, and you will always be remembered in Markaytia.” Tears stream down her cheeks. They’re the words I wish Father would've said to me. For the last time ever she wipes my tears. “I know you’ll make us proud, my son.”
“ O w! For the sake of the Gods Lucca. I thought you said you practiced?”
Lucca laughs as he continues braiding my hair. It’s pure torture. Why do people like this?
“I did. That’s why it hurts. I need to do it tight enough, you know, so it doesn’t come apart when you and Prince Corrik are—ooo ow !”
I pinch him hard in the stomach and smile as I watch him nurse the sore spot.
“You won’t be smiling long. I have to do that one over now,” he says. Lucca must braid my hair in the intricate pattern, unique to the Elves for the Elven-style ceremony that will be performed tonight. I know how much he practiced and studied for this task—it’s rare to see Lucca apply himself.
Finally, Lucca’s finished. He spins me around in my chair so I can view his work in the mirror. Some of my dark hair has been braided into a Mohawk that runs down my skull. There is still some hair left to hang, and other parts are braided and twined with colored leather bands and jewels. Two braids sit over my right temple. At the ceremony, Prince Corrik will move them to the left. My new Elven crown will be placed over my head, and over my braids, which is an Elven tradition that will signify the marriage is complete. When I see how complicated the braiding patterns are, I’m grateful I have a cousin so devoted to me. I swish my hair from side-to-side and watch as they move and sparkle .
“You’ve done well, Lucca. Thank you.”
“Of course, I have,” he says, arrogant as ever. “Would you expect any less from me?”
“I’d watch what you say. I know more about you than anyone. I can think of several reasons why I might think you would shirk off learning how to braid my hair for the ceremony.”
“Please,” he scoffs. “I have just as much on you.”
“You do. We’re even when it comes to that. You have my promise that I won’t share any of your naughty secrets with your future wife,” I say without thinking. I won’t be here. I’ll most likely never know the person Lucca will marry.
“Wife you say…? How do you know I’ll marry a woman?” I know he’ll have picked up on my slip in talking about a future that will never be, and he veers the topic, so we don’t have to return to discussing what we already have many times over. No need to dwell on it, Tristan. Keep moving forward.
“Maybe you don’t know as much about me as you think you do,” he suggests, and for the first time I wonder if there are things I have missed about my cousin. “But to clarify, I will marry a man. I do enjoy being with a woman, yes, but you’ll see, there’s nothing like having a hard man underneath you.” After saying a thing like that, he shoves something in my hand. I look down to see a strange looking mass of gleaming silver. It’s heavy, and it resembles—
“A chastity belt, Tristan, a formal one. You are to wear it under your robes. It locks with this,” he informs me holding up a key dangling from a chain looped around his fingers. I forgot about that. Wearing the chastity belt today will be a symbol of the chastity I have kept for him.
“I trust you can comport yourself if I leave you two alone?” His eyes flick to my crotch.
“Give me that,” I say snatching the key from him.
He laughs. “All right then. I’ll stand just outside the door. Call me back when you’re done, and we’ll proceed with the robes.”
He slips out the door, and I’m alone .
Alone. Completely, alone .
Even with Lucca standing outside the door, I know his loyalties are to me. If I were to do anything I’m not supposed to do, he’d pretend like nothing happened. I know he’s hoping I’ll relieve my tension . Maybe I should? Why not? All this time I’ve behaved myself. It’s my wedding day, shouldn’t I get to do as I please, once, before I’m never allowed to again?
That’s all it takes to convince me. Like a man gone mad with power, I pull my trousers and underthings down and my cock springs out hard and wanting. My dick relishes in his freedom as the cool air hits him. ‘Hello there Tristan,’ he says, ‘I’ve been waiting for you to decide to play with me yourself.’
Nasty, nasty, evil little blighter.
But he’s too damn tempting—I ghost my hand over the head. I take a sharp, delicious inhale, and stroke my hand down his length. ‘That’s it,’ he coaxes, ‘grab some of that cream over there while you’re at it. It will feel so good.’
Cream. That’s a good idea. I almost thank my cock out loud for such cunning ingenuity. I grab the cream, rub it over the head and down the shaft in the same manner as before, only this time it feels much better. I get lost in the sensations as I fuck my hand and climb closer to orgasm—not far away after a five-day abstinence. I’m a hair’s width from unraveling when Father’s words ring through my head.
“Do not disappoint me.”
That’s one way to deflate an erection, even an erection well on its way to the promised land—think of your father. To my cock’s dismay, I drop him like he’s the wrong end of a branding iron and look myself over in the mirror. What have I almost done? Almost proved my father right is what I’ve almost done. I wipe the excess cream off my cock without problem. There’s no flagging erection when I slip on the cold, silver chastity belt with ease, and lock it into place. I don’t want to look at it but at the same time I must, morbidly fascinated with the thing and how it looks on me. The skin of my scrotum is pulled through a ring until my testicles are fully inserted. The shaft of my cock is pushed through a gap at the top of the ring. Then, my penis is inserted into the tube, which is so like the shape of my cock, if I didn’t know better, I’d think someone had cast my cock in soap. The tube locks to the base and voila: no more erections today for Tristan, but there’s a hole at the tip of the tube—I can still urinate. Thankfully, it’s comfortable even if it feels a bit weird.
Satisfied that’s done, I call Lucca in. He gives me a ‘what took so long’ look but says nothing. Instead, he takes the key to the silver chastity belt from me.
“I get to be the one who gives this to the prince,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “Any words for your betrothed I should pass on?”
“Just hurry up, and help me dress,” I say.
The first garment is a white, sleeveless, gown. It drapes over my body covering me from head-to-toe. The second piece is a long jacket. It’s made of fine, white silk and has a V-shaped neckline embroidered with silver designs. The long sleeves bell wide and flare at my wrists. The jacket joins the other robe in the middle, at the base of my navel, then spreads wide, revealing the first silky garment underneath. The shoulders have silver etchings in the shape of fire—the only part of this get up I like. A larger silver pattern encrusted with Elven diamonds adorns the jacket all the way down. The first layer of silk cloth flares out from the bottom of the jacket and covers my legs to the ankles. I’m basically wearing a dress with a long jacket over top. Ugh.
If that’s not enough, Lucca helps me secure a white cape made from rabbit’s fur around my neck.
“I’m going to die from the heat of this thing,” I complain.
“Oh Tristan,” Lucca cries. “You look stunning. More of a Prince than I.”
“I look like a woman in a white dress.”
“You’re not, Tristan, you’re the best man I know. You would’ve made a great warlord, and Prince Corrik is lucky to have you,” he says, his lips quiver as he says what we’ve skirted all morning .
“Lucca, please, don’t cry. If you do, I won’t be able to go through with this.” He’s breaking my heart. Despite my request, tears stream down his cheeks.
“But this will be the last time you will be just mine, Tristan. After now, you will be his.”
I can’t say anything. He’s right. Tears escape my eyes too as I realize that these are the last moments I’ll spend with my cousin, my best friend, my brother. We embrace in a long hug as our best times flash before my eyes. I’ll miss him the most out of anything of my old life. I smooth the top of Lucca’s golden hair and kiss his crown one last time.
He takes a breath.“Tristan, there’s something we need to talk about.”
He’s uncharacteristically serious. It’s worrisome. “Lucca?”
“You’re being married off .”
I scowl.“Yeah, I know.” That means I’ll assume the submissive role in the relationship.
“That’s not by accident or misplaced.You know that don’t you?”
“I…” Okay, confession? I like the way the prince commands me. I don’t even think it’s sexual—well maybe a bit sexual—but it’s mostly in the way he’s casually, non-sexually dominant. I know what the submissive role is, but I’ve never given it much thought because I’m a large, tough Warlord. I’m authoritative and dominant on the field, but I think that’s where it ends.
I also thought all this dominant and submissive stuff was ‘bedroom’ stuff. I know Elves are that way, but we haven’t been sexual—it’s been made clear that most of those activities will be saved for our wedding night—and yet I feel things.But am I ready to share said things? No. No fucking way. “I don’t want to talk about it. Everything’s gone, and it doesn’t matter.”
“It will work out, Tristan. You’re like I am. We’re the same.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly taken their side. I thought we hated the prince together?”
He worries his lip and then he breaks into a wide smile. “We hate him together—unless his cock is massive, then I’m switching teams.”
Normally I’d swat him for a comment like that, but this is the Lucca I know. The one I need to get me through today. “This is a tad ridiculous,” I say, laughing at my hair. I have the most gorgeous hair in all of Markaytia. I like it better free flowing, spinning around me.
“It’s a bit much,” Lucca agrees. “Not to worry, cousin. I’m sure it will fall apart when your dreamy, Elven prince tugs on it later.”
“Lucca!” But he’s already run off, and I’m left to contemplate post reception activities.