Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
L ike a guard dog, I jump up out of bed the moment I hear the latch from the bedroom door click open and just as quickly as I jump up, I’m pulled back down. I’m still handcuffed to a large Elf and somehow through the night I’ve ended up spooned against him. I blush hotly as I think of the night before. It wasn’t all petals and honey, but it was still bloody fantastic. I wince as the light of the early dawn shines through the window and into my eyes. Corrik jumps when I pull on him. The person assaulting our door enters; it’s Uncle Fera— what is he doing here?
“Well, well nephew. What a prize you’ve acquired. Will I get to borrow him? Sometime in the near future perhaps?”
Still sleepy, it takes me a moment to process his words and realize I’m indecent. Have these Elves never heard of privacy? I’m not skittish about being naked in front of people but being naked in this intimate a fashion with my partner is of a different nature. Corrik pulls me into him and growls at his uncle as he hastily covers me with a blanket.
“He’s not going to be shared. Remove the cuffs and be gone,” he says .
Fera smiles, unaffected by his nephew’s grunting. As Fera moves closer, I draw back into Corrik on instinct—an interesting contradiction—but his words are worrisome . Is that what Elves do? Pass their mates around? For once I’m glad of Corrik’s inherent possessiveness.
“Look Corrik, all of those worries for nothing. It seems he doesn’t want to be free of you just yet.”
As I scuttle back against Corrik, the irony is not lost upon me. I’m depending on Corrik—the man I’ve resented for a year—to protect me from dangers unknown: his uncle. This is ridiculous. I’m son of the Markaytian warlord, not some frightened little bunny. I stare at Uncle Fera with a dare in my eyes. Try to have a turn with me and your cock will find its way to the bottom of the ocean. He laughs at me. I know I’m no threat to him, and it’s clear he thinks I’m cute. Yuck. At least he finally pulls the chain holding the key over his neck and unlocks the cuffs.
“You have a lovely cock,” he compliments as casually as one would comment on the weather in Markaytia. I expect Corrik to come to my aid again, but instead he smiles as much as Corrik smiles, in agreement, like I’m a prize-winning hog. I’ll skewer the both of them—just wait till I get my hands on a sword because I will despite Corrik’s restrictions. Fera pauses, a mixture of shock and happiness blooms on his face.
“I see you’ve already marked him—very good.”
Is that a thing?
Corrik changes the subject. “When should we be ready, Uncle? I’m anxious to get home.” To get me home, he means—I can read between the lines. And I can also see he’s working hard to hide something from me. He’s terrible at it. I don’t think he’s let anyone else in on what he intends to keep from me. His parents and now his uncle almost give him away.
“We shall enjoy breakfast with our Kathir’s family and then we’ll depart. Is that soon enough for you, Nephew?”
Corrik nods and his uncle leaves. Alone and uncuffed from one another, I’m finally able to push myself away from the great war Elf .
“Where do you think you’re going?” He pushes up casually onto an elbow. I try to decipher his mood; it doesn’t look good. Is he still upset over the way things went last night? Why brood over it? It’s not like much can be done about it unless he’s a time travelling Elf? I doubt it.
“Going to get ready for breakfast.”
“Get back here. You’ll go nowhere until I say.”
Bossy Bastard.
I narrow my eyes and make my displeasure known but obey and return to sit on the bed. “Yes, my Liege?” I’m flippant.
In a heartbeat, he flips me on my back and pins me with his knees on either side of my body, my arms between my body and his knees.
I’ve provoked him again.
“You cannot do that with me,” he hisses. “My anger is something altogether different from anything you’ve ever known—you don’t know what you call to battle young dragon warrior.”
‘We know this much; they are creatures,’ my uncle told me once. Is that what Corrik is trying to get me to understand?
“Okay Corrik. I’m sorry,” I say as bravely as I can, but I’m shaking—he is over nine feet tall. He climbs off me and faces away.
“Please,” he says, barely able to maintain the wildness inside him. “At least attempt not to anger me.”
“Yes, Corrik,” I say, but it doesn’t seem to be enough.
We sit in silence; he’s having a hard time. “Come kneel before me.” That’s not so hard. I do it quickly. He remains seated on the edge of the bed, and I kneel slowly between his knees; my face is level with his huge cock.
“If you continue to disobey me, this won’t work.”
I take a sharp inhale, is he breaking us off? I thought that couldn’t be done once we were bonded by flesh and magic? I can’t allow this marriage to end—I’ll be Markaytia’s disgrace.
“Corrik, please don’t get rid of me, I’m sorry. What do I need to do? I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll do anything.”
His eyes widen. “Get rid of you? I’ll never get rid of you—you’re mine now.” He grabs me roughly by the scruff of my still braided hair. “Do you understand the true meaning of that?”
I shake my head because I don’t, but I’m learning. I’m just glad he’s not returning me.
“I’m trying not to punish you on our first days as a married couple Tristan, but you are making it difficult.”
I come up with an idea. “I could have my father punish me.”
That angers him more, his hand twists hard into my long hair. “You are my responsibility now. I will punish you if I see fit to punish you, no one else.”
“Of course, Corrik. I only meant that if you didn’t want to—"
“Of course, I want to. I’ve wanted to since last night and the mess with your cousin. It got worse when you told me you touched yourself without my permission and when you continued to provoke me—by Ylor! You pulled my own sword on me, Tristan. I’m merely working to hold back for your sake. Do you wish to ride home with a sore arse?”
I shake my head. I don’t mention that it’s already sore—sore from his cock.
“Then this must stop."
“Don’t drive yourself mad over it. You’re going to have to punish me at some point, we might as well get it over with.”
Father had to punish me often. Lucca and I are trouble. Father promised me he would stop punishing me the minute I stopped acting like a child, but apparently, I never did. Even when I grew to be a man, I could only go so long before the chaos inside me took over. I can’t deny that punishment calms me—but don’t expect me to admit that out loud.
“I’ll decide if you’re to be punished or not,” he says, pinning me with his eyes. I look at my knees. Then he cards his hands through my hair. He nudges my chin up and then signals for me to stand. He pulls me in between his knees, nuzzling into the marks he left on me.
“These will be enough. ”
I bring my hand to ghost over the marks. “Does marking me mean something, Corrik?”
He nods. “Yes. It means everything. I need to see my marks on you; they soothe me.It’s part of my nature—Elves are different from humans. It’s best if you at least try to behave,” he says, his lips quirk into a quarter smile. “But I’m getting the impression that’s not so easy for you?”
I heat to the tips of my ears.My eyes fly to my bare feet, briefly, before they meet his again. He’ll figure you out and then he really won’t let you have a sword. “I was next in line for Warlord, Corrik.I can behave myself.”
He raises his brow.I don’t think he believes me. And okay, even I know I’m going to have to be punished into behaving but when you think about it, Warlords thrive on structure. It’s just that some of us need a very different kind of structure than others.
He sighs.“In any case, now you know what I did not wish to tell you. How did you get me to do that, hmmm?”
“I wasn’t trying to. Why wouldn’t you want me to know that, Corrik? If anything, it helps us.”
“That’s what Mother said.”
“You should listen to your mother,” I lecture.
His eyes smile even if his lips do not. He’s pleased.
“Corrik? Are you going to punish me now?” I hate having punishments hanging over my head.
“No. I should spank your naughty bottom, but I won’t this time
“Spank me?” I shrill outraged. “That’s a child’s punishment—I’m a man now.” I expect that from my father but not my husband.
“Nevertheless, that is what you can expect from me if you choose to disobey me again.” He’s serious. I remember something else he hasn’t mentioned. Now that it seems I’m in the clear, maybe I shouldn’t ask—he might change his mind about punishing me—but I want to understand him.
“Corrik, last night, after we consummated our marriage, I told you I hated you. ”
“I remember.” His voice is hard.
“It bothers you.”
“It does.”
“Why didn’t you mention it in your list of my transgressions?”
“That’s how you feel—much as I don’t like it—I’ll never punish you for how you feel.”
“You don’t like that I hate you?”
“Are you always this obtuse? Or is it just around me? I understood you to be intelligent.”
“Corrik!”
His face softens. He’s just teasing. “Of course, I don’t want you to hate me.”
He doesn’t? I was certain I meant nothing to him and that he didn’t care what I felt. Don’t get carried away, Tristan, someone saying they don’t want you to hate them isn’t exactly a declaration of love.
“Come my husband.” When he moves, the morning sun hits his forehead in a spot that was covered by his crown yesterday. I didn’t notice in between all the sex. A translucent tattoo is beneath his feathered gold bangs, semblant to the pattern of the insignia on his crown and the ones on his ears. It’s stunning, and I can’t help but reach out and touch it. He wiggles his ears, delighted. That’s kind of adorable.
“What is this?” I ask.
“That is the royal Elven crest,” he states with pride. “I was born with it, but you will have one too someday.”
“I will? How is that possible?”
“So many questions. You will have the crest when you finish your transition to becoming an Elf, and you will get one because you are my husband.”
His pride over this radiates through him—he can’t wait for me to become an Elf. “Nawh. Go clean up. We must leave soon.”
He sends me through the doors to our private bathing chamber with a hard slap to my right ass cheek. When I’m out of his sight, I have to rub the sting out. I’m more than glad he chose not to punish me after that, his hand hurt. I’ll be working hard not to attract his ire in the future.
Now to see if I can remove all these ridiculous braids on my own.
T he outfit’s not terrible.
Elven design, handcrafted, and clearly made for travel. It’s beautiful and I like it. I don’t like that Corrik chose it for me. It makes me feel like a doll. Corrik should know how I feel about playing this dress-up game. He said I could share with him my feelings; he’s going to regret saying so.
There’s also a small pack and a sleek pair of knee-high travel boots. I dress and look for Corrik. His clothes are gone, including his grand sword. He didn’t mention I should wait for him, so I decide to take this opportunity to do something that came to mind as I bathed. Using a quiet, unused route, I transverse the hallways back to my old bedroom. I see no one on the way of course. Lucca and I became adept at using these old halls, ones no one uses anymore. There are newer, more efficient routes in use nowadays. We did lots of sneaking around in our youth.
Nothing in my bedroom has been moved; it looks as if I still live here and only spent the night in my other room down in Father and Papa’s barracks.
But I don’t live here now.
Nostalgia sweeps over me as I take in all of the items I’m not allowed to bring with me: the large, embroidered Kanes family crest on the wall, my medals and trophies I’ve won over the years for sword fighting and archery, and of course the trunk with my old battle tunics I had once used at practice. I open the trunk and pick one up, bring it close to my face and inhale the scent anchored within. It still reeks of blood and sweat, and I sigh— home. It’s not been a full hour since Corrik has practically begged me to behave, yet without guilt or remorse, I stuff the tunic into my small pack and look around for what else I should bring. I add my dagger, the one with the Markaytian crest embossed in gold over the hilt, and something Papa gave me when I became a man, the ring his father gave to him. A brilliant white gold band studded with emeralds like the eyes of all the men in his family. Inside is an inscription: ‘Submit to the Heart.’ I wish I could take the whole room, but it’s all I can fit in my pack without raising suspicion. For a moment, my conscience flickers, but would Corrik really be that angry over a few personal items?
If he is, do I care?
He said he’s never getting rid of me, and he seems to mean it. I should have no worries as to ruining any treaties Markaytia has made with Mortouge. Right? Fuck it. I’m bringing them.
I stroll over to the dining hall guessing I’m supposed to meet Corrik there since he left me no instructions.I freeze a few hallways short of the dining hall. There are voices ahead of me in the corridor.Father and Uncle are talking.
“Let Eagar tell him, Arcade,” Uncle says.
“Absolutely not.”
“It will help the boy.”
“Tristan is no longer a boy.He’s a man.”
I can’t help myself. My chest puffs up. Father thinks I’m a man.
“This is your last chance,” Uncle says.
“I know, Amarail. I…” Father’s voice breaks. “It wouldn’t be right. Tristan will learn that he is brat on his own. I’m sure of it. The Elven prince will help to that end. It is no one’s place to tell Tristan who he is. He must learn for himself.”
What in the Gods’ names is he talking about? And I am not a brat. I may partake in brat behavior from time to time but that’s not the same thing. I’m a terrifying Warlord.
At least I was.
I’m touched by the other things Father’s said. He’s strict and unrelenting. He drives me mad at times, but he loves me .
Uncle grunts. “Fine, Arcade. You know him best. Should I expect you at breakfast?”
“No.” And then he does that. Not bothering to show to my goodbye breakfast.“Unless you see fit to give me more advice?”
I don’t want to hear anymore and Corrik’s probably wondering what I’ve gotten up to.Lucca and I know this palace inside and out. I duck into a room, and slide behind one of the paintings into a secret passageway that leads me away from Father and Uncle’s Tristan conversation, and to the dining hall so that I can avoid them.
By the look of distress on Corrik’s face as I spot him searching for me in the hallway, I think maybe I was supposed to wait for him. I shake my head; we need to work on our communication despite his taciturn ways. He has the look I’m beginning to recognize—the one that says I’m in trouble.
“Where were you?” he says.
I don’t need to think about my answer, Lucca and I are the masters of evasion. “Lavatory.”
“For thirty minutes?”
“My stomach is upset,” I say knowing that could mean many things. Maybe I’m nervous about leaving my home, maybe I’m worried over the man I’ve married—the things he told me would frighten men less brave than I to their core—maybe I’m disappointed in our sexual escapades from the night before. Though for the record, I’m not. At all.
I’ll let him wonder.
I don’t expect his eyes to soften with concern. “Upset? How is it now?”
“I’ve had worse. I’ll be all right. I think I just need to eat something.”
The lie works better than I planned and serves as a distraction. I bask in my victory as he leads me into the dining hall and to my seat.
Everyone is present. Well almost everyone—not my father. It’s just as well; it looks like my little detour has made us late and everyone’s begun eating without us. I’d rather not have Father know I’m still arriving late to breakfast as a married man. But while it takes the sting out of his absence, I would almost prefer his disappointed glare to his not coming at all.
“Good morning little man,” Papa says.
“Papa,” I hiss.
“Sorry, Tristan. You are a married man now—I shouldn’t be calling you that.”
He’s hurt. I don’t like to see him hurt. “It’s all right, Papa.”
He smiles. “No matter how big you get, you will always be my little boy. Why don’t you plate up then? I can’t have my son starve his last morning in Markaytia.” He struggles to say the last bit; tears shine in his emerald eyes. He turns away and wipes at them. “I’m sorry, Tristan. Arcade told me I shouldn’t come, he almost forbid it, but I need to tell you something.”
He does? Is he going to disobey, Father? That’s nearly unheard of. Papa doesn’t do that. My curiosity’s piqued though.
“So, how was it ?” Lucca interrupts, waggling his brows.
I whack my cousin and I look over to Corrik to see what he thinks of Lucca asking such a personal question about our wedding night, but Corrik isn’t even there. He’s gone over to talk with his parents, and I notice his mother and father keep looking at me out of the corners of their eyes as they talk with their son in what appears to be a serious conversation. It’s like they fear I’m going to bolt or burn up the treaty at any moment.
“Has the prince got you that googly eyed you can’t stop looking at him? It must have been good—why I bet you wish you were still alone with him in your bedroom, so you could—"
“— Lucca .” I look to Papa beside us, Papa’s blushing like I expect him to be.
“It’s all right son. Chat with your cousin, but come talk with me before you leave,” he says.
“Didn’t you enjoy your night?” Lucca says without remorse. I forgive him because he’s Lucca. His question has a complicated answer, but I know Lucca only cares about the sex part of the night, so I answer him about that even if I’d rather not.
“The Prince is an excellent lover.”
“The Prince is an excellent lover,” he mocks. “You sound like you’re reciting the alphabet. C’mon. Don’t I deserve more details than that? I’ve always been forthcoming with my sexual escapades.”
“Maybe more than you should have been.”
“Fine, so you won’t give me details, but you really did enjoy, yes Tristan? I need to know my cousin is well taken care of.”
I wonder what he thinks he could do if I wasn’t ‘ taken care of,’ but instead I think back to the moments the prince’s engorged cock slammed into my most private place and the sensations of ecstasy drumming through me. My cheeks heat. “It was everything I hoped it would be.”
He smiles wide. “Good. That man may be a prickly bastard, but at least he’s good in the sack.”
“Ah, our dear sweet Lucca,” Corrik says, returning to his seat. Damn it. Did he hear what Lucca just said about him? Probably. I remember my vow and don’t defend him—my cousin is on his own this time.
Lucca shudders before he turns around to force a fake smile at Corrik. “Good morning, Prince Corrik.”
“Thank you for living up to your end of our bargain.”
“My sincerest apologies, Prince Corrik. Thank you for not reporting me to your father. It was a foolish, childish action.”
Lucca is a talented actor. He’s not sorry at all. He’s never been sorry for anything in his life, but he’s managed to convince his father of his ‘remorse’ many times.
“Very foolish,” Corrik agrees.
Lucca takes that as his cue to return to his seat, but he lifts his glass from across the table at me, most certainly toasting to my lost virginity.
I decide to keep silent and eat as per my papa’s suggestion and I remember he came here to tell me something. I’m curious as to what so I decide to take my plate over to that side of the table and eat with him. I don’t get far.
“Where are you going, Kathir?”
“Nowhere,” I mutter as I take my seat again.
“Good. I’d rather you didn’t sit with your cousin—he gets you into trouble.”
I want to say that I get myself into trouble, but that doesn’t seem like the best defense, so I keep my mouth shut and eat. I don’t bother explaining that I intended on sitting with Papa and Mother. He most likely wouldn’t care.
Breakfast is often an informal affair, more like a party. The king prefers this way. He enjoys watching everyone move around and have a good time. Father disapproves of the king’s disorderly meals, but he usually attends.
Once I finish eating, I dare to ask Corrik permission to speak with my uncle. It doesn’t look like he wants to let me go. “How is your stomach feeling?”
“I’m all right now—the food helped.”
“Very, well. Don’t be long.”
Does he really care that much, how I feel? I approach my uncle at the head of the table.
“Ahhh, Tristan my boy! Your aunt was looking forward to this day. She would have been proud of you, as am I.”
My aunt, and Lucca’s mother, died shortly after I was betrothed to the Elven prince; she died in childbirth. Lucca’s baby sister was a surprise.
The pregnancy with Lucca was hard on the queen and they decided not to have any more children after him because the king was terrified of what might happen to his Georgina. When she became pregnant with Anna, the king begged her to terminate the pregnancy, but the queen refused. The pregnancy was worse than with Lucca and the queen could not handle the birth. Anna was not strong either. She died only days after the queen.
Many things happened this past year, that being just one of the terrible things.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Amarail. We miss her.”
“That we do, son. That we do. But today is a day of celebration! You are like my own Tristan, every bit a son to me as Lucca and I am so happy to have seen you wed into a good family. I hope you will have the joy of children one day—they bring such happiness to a heart, especially when you witness their success.”
Does the king consider my marriage to Corrik such a success for me? I know it is for the kingdom, but for me as well? I don’t want to ruin his good mood, especially when strong emotions could resurface. “Thank you, Uncle Amarail, for everything. You are a good Uncle. I will miss you.”
We embrace and he pats me on the back. When we part, Papa is there. “Tristan, could we have that conversation now?”
Papa pulls me aside; he looks nervous.
“Papa? Is everything all right?”
“Yes, fine. Everything is fine, but there’s something I should have talked with you about long ago. Tristan we are similar, you and I.”
He’s redundant, trying to say something big, but I haven’t the slightest clue where he’s going. “Papa, of course we are alike—you raised me.”
“Yes, and well that’s not what I mean, but well it is what I mean, but damn it, Arcade!”
“I’m not Arcade, I’m Tristan.”
“Yes, I know who you are. I’m cursing your father. I wanted him here to … well it doesn’t matter.” He huffs and brushes his long hair behind his ear.
“You’re not making much sense, Papa.”
“I know,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Tristan, do you remember much about your father and I growing up?”
“Of course, I do.”
“We have a special relationship,” he begins.
“I know that.”
“You do? ”
“Yes. Everyone knows. It’s clear how much you two love each other. Everyone always says how you’re meant to be together—it’s because you’re special.”
“No, I mean, yes, but that’s not what I’m referring to.” He can’t seem to find the words. “Look, Tristan. Your father has one role in our relationship, and I have another. It’s who we are. It’s how we’re wired inside.”
“Papa just come out and say it. It must be important if you begged Father to allow you to come up to breakfast just to speak to me.”
He pauses. “I never said that—how did you know I begged your father?”
“You said he almost forbade it. I know what that means.”
“So, you did notice,” he says half to himself. I’m confused. “Tristan, what husband has to ask his husband for permission? It isn’t—"
Papa goes silent as he looks with scared eyes behind me. I turn to look into the black eyes of Arcade Kanes. He ignores me and grabs Papa by the arm.
“You’re a mess, Eagar. This is why I didn’t want you to come.”
“Just because you have no wish to see me off, does not mean Papa would be so heartless.” All my anger at him, built since yesterday, comes out in one sentence.
He turns those angry depths on me and raises his hand to strike, but he stops. Instead of slapping me for talking back to him, he roughly grabs my chin and turns my cheek toward Papa. “You, see? The prince will sort him out. He’s fine. Let him figure out the rest for himself—that’s an order.”
Let me figure out what for myself?
I seethe. My breath becomes rapid. I don’t care about the scene it will cause, I’m going to let Father have it once and for all— I’ve lost all opportunity to win his praise anyway.
Before I can say one word, Lucca grabs me by the arm. “Not now, Tristan.”
It takes me off guard, cooling my rage, and I see Papa’s eyes pleading with me to listen to Lucca and let it go.
“But Papa—you wanted to tell me something. It seemed important. You can’t just let him tell you what to do.”
But Papa always let Father tell him what to do.
Father’s stone stare is unforgiving, my words offending him in a way I don’t expect—on behalf of Papa. Father pulls Papa to him as tears fall from his eyes. I have no idea what just happened. Lucca begins dragging me away. “Lucca, no.” I try to pull away from Lucca and toward Papa. “Papa!”
“It’s okay Tristan,” Papa says.
Father pulls him away and out the doors to the dining hall. Lucca drags me over to his side of the table. He sits me down and shoves juice in my hand. “Drink that. Everything is fine.”
I drink, but only because I can’t speak. What was that? I’m not sure, but I think I hurt Papa again. Only this time it’s worse. My heart is broken. Out of everyone, I love Papa most—even against Lucca. I didn’t even get to tell him that, instead I wounded him.
“Las, Kathir.” Corrik’s cold voice breaks into my brooding. It takes me a moment before I realize he’s talking to me.
“Nawh,” he growls before he storms out of the room.
Apparently, I’m to follow His Majesty. “All right, already,” I mutter glaring in his direction as he walks away. I look to Lucca apologetically.
“I think you should go Tristan,” he says with a smile. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“Well, you’ve certainly made an impression, as always.”
“By Ylor! Kathir, come!” He pokes his head back in to yell at me.
I cringe. I’m not doing a good job of obeying him. I stand up and run after the prince as he stalks ahead of me until we are outside where the Elven guard is preparing us for departure. Ignoring me, Corrik adjusts the saddle on a white horse as he adjusts the hair on the top of her snout.
“This will be your horse, Waii. You will take care of her as we ride home,” he says then with his Elven strength, Corrik lifts me onto my horse like an adult would boost a child, and I can’t help but pout like one too. Nothing is going my way this morning.
“Stay here and away from your cousin,” he warns.
I guess I’ve been put in a time-out, but I don’t reply, and just obey. I’ve made enough of a scene for one day.
I watch from atop of Waii as the rest of the Elven royalty join us. I scan the crowd for Papa and relax when I see him with Mother—my mother looks at me forlorn then turns into Papa’s side where he shelters her. Papa waves at me, but I can see he’s keeping tears at bay. He’s trying to relay that everything is all right, but I don’t believe him. I look around for Father, but he’s gone. I don’t suppose he’ll want to stay to see me off after that catastrophe.
I consider getting off my horse to go apologize to Papa, but then I remember my new master, who most likely has eyes in the back of his head. I’ve angered him again somehow; I’d better not provoke the creature within him anymore. Uncle looks to me with a smile, his arm wraps around Lucca, who for once, isn’t smiling.
When the royal Elven entourage is settled, they thrust forward and tap their horses, waving goodbye to all the attending Markaytians. Corrik joins us, and signals with a grunt for me to follow. I give a last wave to everyone as I turn my back on home.
N one of it seems real until we pass through the gates of the palace and into the Markaytian village. I’ve passed through these gates many times, but never with the knowledge that this will be the last time. My heart clenches with regret at having to leave my family. I do not hold the title of warlord, but it makes me no less a warrior than I am. A warrior accepts his duty to his people, and my duty is to be a husband to the Elven prince. I don my battle face as I would my armor and bid my horse to put one foot in front of the other, steadfast into my new life.
Some distance from the palace walls, I hear shouting from behind me. I recognize the voice. It’s Papa. Regardless of the repercussions from the prince, I turn my horse. He’s shouting something at me. But I need to get closer to so I can hear it.
Corrik sees what I’m doing and turns his horse, following me.
From here, several things happen at once. Corrik grabs my horse’s lead and drags me away, Uncle latches onto Papa and holds him to prevent him stepping any further from the palace walls. Desperate, Papa shouts louder, and equally desperate, I tug harder against the strength of the Elf holding my horse back so I might be close enough to hear what Papa’s saying.
I still can’t hear. I need to get closer, so I jump off my horse. Corrik follows suit. I’m ahead of him; however, and I’m close enough to Papa I can finally make out the words he shouts over and over as the great war Elf engulfs me and drags me back to my horse.
“I’m sorry Tristan! It’s my fault!” He sobs. “I’m sorry, Tristan, it’s all my fault!”
“What? What’s your fault?” I yell back, but he can’t hear me. I’m too far away.
The last thing I see is Papa being dragged by Uncle and several guards inside the gates. Tears stream down my face as Corrik drags me kicking and screaming and the entire Elven entourage has stopped to stare at me. I expect Corrik to yell at me, and right now I hope he does. I hope he’s angry. I hope he hurts me.
But he does none of those things.
He’s gentle when he wipes my messy tears with his thumb.
“Come D’orhai.” His voice is soft and coaxes me into a numb calm. I don’t care who’s watching, I grab onto him—he’s all I have now, even if it’s just in the capacity of master.
He lifts me onto his horse so I’m facing him when he mounts the large black stallion, and I curl into his body, slip my arms into his robes and around his torso. My skin touches his skin and I cry.
I don’t want to look at her anymore, at Markaytia as I perform my last duty to her. Leaving. I’m happy to have Corrik’s scent surround me as we ride away.