Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
“ O nce upon a time, in the beautiful kingdom of Markaytia, there lived a young Warlord. He would get up every morning at sunrise to practice, not stopping until the last ray of sunlight would disappear from the sky. There were times he would travel with his father and his father’s men. Together they would protect Markaytia and the provinces surrounding Markaytia. Now, the young Warlord does nothing but sit on his arse while others do the fighting— like a maiden in distress. ”
Using two rocks, I make like one rock is telling a story to another rock. “Why isn’t he a Warlord anymore?” I make the purple rock say to the green rock. “Because his husband is an overprotective, unreasonable, lout,” I respond to the purple rock, with the green.
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew of the dangers we face,” the stone-faced warrior left to “protect” me says.
“We’re not yet outside the province of Dhrystone, I know the dangers of these lands.”
“And do you also know the dangers that follow us, young Warlord ?”
I glare at him in return but say no more. He shouldn’t be calling me that. No. I didn’t realize dangers followed them or us I suppose. What sorts of dangers follow Elves? Silence passes between him, and I until I can’t stand it. “What’s your name?”
His face breaks into a wry smile. “Diekin.”
“At least that one’s easy to say—Diekin,” I repeat to test it out.
“Very good. Now be a good little boy and go back to playing with your rocks.”
I deepen my glare. He may look at me as a faux prince, but I was Markaytian royalty once and I still think it brazen for him to speak to me like that. Besides, even if I am a concubine, I’m a royal concubine.
“Just who do you think—” It dawns on me mid-sentence, he’s been speaking fluent Markaytian all this time and that becomes more important. “How did you come by my home tongue?”
“Elves are proficient in many languages.”
“I know that, but why are you so fluent?”
His eyes smile thinking of something he’s not going to tell me. “I have known Markaytian a long time, but Corrik made all in the royal court master it when he knew he was to marry you.”
“Royal court? Who are you?”
“I thought you would never ask—I’m Corrik’s brother-in-law. I am married to his twin sister.”
“Brother-in-law? Corrik has a twin?”
“Yes, only she’s prettier.”
I doubt there’s anything prettier than Corrik. “How many siblings does Corrik have?”
“Five hundred and seventy-four.”
“Five hundred seventy-four!”
“The king and queen have lived a long time—the king comes upon his five thousandth birthday this year. Didn’t Corrik tell you?”
“We haven’t had much time for talking,” I mumble feeling foolish. I don’t know anything about my husband or his insanely large family. We’ve spent most of our time fucking or fighting.
Diekin waggles his eyes like Lucca used to. “I understand, young Warlord. Ditira wouldn’t let me leave our bedchamber for a full moon cycle after our wedding.”
I ignore his inappropriate comments in favor of learning more. I wish I’d thought to ask Corrik some of these things. “How old are Corrik and his twin?” I’m not going to attempt her name yet.
“Two hundred—that’s when Elven women reach child-bearing age—but men don’t reach manhood until three hundred so you and Corrik must wait a bit longer to have a child.”
His words make my heart race. “Can Elven men have babies?”
He laughs hysterically—I don’t know what’s so funny. They’re the ones living till they’re older than rocks, my question isn’t that crazy. “Not to worry, young Warlord. No. Elven men cannot have babies—the only race I know of who can are the Dyela, and those men are half sea creature. No wait, there are also the Dominithia.”
That both relieves and intrigues me.Men who are half sea creature and can bear children
“If Corrik lets me, I’ll take you to meet them sometime. They’re a pleasant people, but no promises—I doubt Corrik will let you out of his sight for a long time. I wouldn’t either if you were mine, you are very attractive.”
I blush. Isn’t he married?
“You are easy to tease, Kathir.”
“I’m just not comfortable with sex.”
“You will be.”
“Why does everybody keep saying that?”
“We are all sexual beings, Kathir. Elves just choose to explore their sexuality openly.”
“My uncle said you are creatures,” I say, and swallow a little nervous, but not nervous like I am with Corrik. I already feel comfortable with Diekin. “Is this true?”
He thinks for a moment before answering. “In a way, I suppose. I guess that is how others would see us—like we have a creature that lives within us and is responsible for our urges.”
He looks up like he can hear something coming through the opening in the trees. Nothing is there for a moment then Corrik appears, sword still in hand. He sheathes it as he approaches—I don’t miss that it’s coated in blood.
“We were followed.”
“How could they follow us this far without our knowledge?”
“I don’t know,” Corrik says. “But they won’t be following us back.”
“We need to go. Tristan, you’re riding with me.”
I think about complaining, but when I see how dark my great Elf’s eyes are, I follow behind him without a word.
W e ride at a pace I’d never have been able to keep on my own. My poor, tender arse aches and I hold steadfast to Corrik, afraid I’ll fall off. We’ve been riding at least six hours, like the wind’s chasing us and might swallow us whole if we slow. We’ve veered up to the North in relation to Markaytia and are headed into a region I’ve learned of in my studies but have never been to. Father never took me North. I’m excited to see what lies beyond this point.
Diekin’s been one of the men in our guard all this time, and he follows us closer now. The mood of our entourage is subdued, a stark contrast to the joy that beamed from them earlier. I still don’t know the details of what happened, Corrik threw me on his horse without a word.
One of the guards ahead of us signals for us to stop and it’s decided we’re to set up camp for the night. Corrik drags me to where his mother sits with his uncle, Diekin two steps behind.
“Stay with him, Diekin, while we check the area and then we can make fires for cooking.”
“I have a babysitter now? This is insulting, Corrik.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to look menacing.
Corrik turns his body toward me, heated energy pours off him. He’s in no mood to have this argument, but I can’t take the secrecy any longer. I’m used to being one of the first told when anything suspect happens.
Corrik grabs my arm. “Excuse us,” he says, and drags me a short distance away.
“Why are you being difficult?”
“Because no one will tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s not your concern—you’re well taken care of.”
“I don’t want to be taken care of; I can take care of myself—I can help Corrik. Please. ”
“You can’t help us with this. Now, I suggest you behave unless you need help?”
Help means spanking, doesn’t it? “No. I don’t need help,” I snap.
The great Elf pulls me in by my waist and kisses my lips. “Good, I want to get this done so I can take you to our tent and ravish you. Behave yourself.”
I roll my eyes. The man must badly want to finish securing the area if he’s ignoring the attitude I’m giving him. When he pulls out of the kiss, he searches my face for something. I give a pleading look. “Corrik, I want to help. If I can’t be warlord, maybe I could work alongside these men and women. I would be—
“No.”
“But Corrik—"
“ —no .”
“Why?”
“This is not going to be a conversation. I have said no, this matter is closed.”
I fume silently as he lays down his orders with no explanation and yeah, I’m pouting— actually pouting—but Corrik tends to bring it out in me. I think about what Lucca would want to do to the Elven prince for being domineering. He’d retaliate by going anyway. I should, but this is just a scouting mission. I’ll save a grand rebellion like that for something important .
“Go wait with my mother and not another word about this, Kathir.”
I turn to go.
“I believe, yes Corrik, are the words you are looking for.”
“Yes, Corrik,” I say with no generosity and storm away.
I feel childish.
And not because Corrik’s mother and brother-in-law are babysitting me. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. Papa told me many times that if I wanted something, pouting wouldn’t get me there.
I throw a rock at the fire we’ve been given permission to build. Word came an hour ago that our location was secured, but that message came without Corrik.
“He’ll be back soon. Corrik has a temper to rival the Gods—he’s angry that anyone would dare follow us, he’ll want to blow the anger off before he comes back to you,” Diekin tells me as I watch the light from the flames jump on his face, with the warm crackle popping in the background.
“Tell me about his other brothers and sisters, how does that work? Do they all live at the palace?”
He laughs. “Oh, dear brother, you are curious, but that is good. First, Mortouge is large—far larger than Markaytia. There are seven smaller kingdoms, one for each realm; the members of the royal family are spread out between the kingdoms. It would take me eons to explain it all to you—you’d never remember it anyway, but you’ll have plenty of time to learn once we’re there.” He pauses. “Corrik and Ditira are the youngest born to the family Cyredanthem so they remain in King’s Keep with a few of their other siblings, but most notable is Alrik—he is first born, and you will get to meet him.”
He leans down making to whisper in my ear but speaking loud enough for the queen to hear. “Corrik and Alrik do not get along. He thinks Corrik is spoiled.”
“Diekin,” she chides. “He’s not even here to defend himself.”
“I’m here and I heard that—you would not misbehave like this for my sister,” Corrik says. He looks less angry than he did before. I don’t think he’s truly upset with Diekin.
“Corrik you’re here,” I say and realize I’m relieved to see him.
“I believe I just said that,” he says, his lips twitch in each corner.
I look over at Diekin who is smiling wide, alongside the queen.
“Go you two. We’ll send dinner in—the tents should be ready,” the queen says.
“Tents?”
“Come,” Corrik says. “I will show you.”
T he tents are larger inside than they look on the outside, they are magnificent; but is all this really necessary for one night? Corrik leads me into a sectioned off “room,” where there’s a bed set on the ground—a cozy looking mattress drowning in blankets and pillows. There are tapestries strewn up on all four walls of the tent and a grand Pegasus Sigil for the house of Cyredanthem.
“I hope some time with my mother has you in a better mood. I could not find my patience while I rode and am likely worse than when I left. I won’t be able to hold my temper.”
“Corrik I—"
“Quiet.”
How am I supposed to apologize when he won’t let me speak?
My large Elf stares at me in silence, raking his eyes up and down, and a small shiver of terror runs through me—maybe I’ve been too hasty with my behavior, maybe I’ve angered him beyond his endurance? The air is thick with his restraint, his muscles are taut from preventing them from reaching out to touch me, all the lines in his face are gone except the one between his brow, which frowns down at me. I don’t know Corrik well, but I know him well enough to read that look: disappointment. I can’t hide my shame; I look down to my boots. Corrik sighs. “Don’t look like that—look at me, Tristan.”
I do, but I can feel stupid tears in my eyes. I don’t want to cry, but I can’t handle this feeling inside me, and I don’t know what to do with it. I wish he’d allow me to apologize.
“I know you are sorry. Is that a bit better?”
I nod, remembering not to speak.
“I need your obedience now more than I need your apology. You will understand someday, promise. Get ready for bed, our food will be here and then I will need you.”
T he night was spent with Corrik’s cock down my throat—and it was fucking glorious.
He was vicious as he rammed into my mouth, hot tears of shame and regret poured down my face. The whole time I wanted it. I wanted him to pound into me, to use me, to claim me. My cock was rock hard, and I was surprised at my own words after he came down my throat and I swallowed every drop like a man dying of thirst.
“Corrik, please—I think I need…”
“I know what you need D’orhai,” he said as he brushed the hair from my face and used his thumb to wipe away the last of his come on my lips. He put me over his lap again, like he had earlier that morning, and spanked me until I felt at peace. I didn’t enjoy being spanked, for several reasons, but then again, I also enjoyed it immensely. It’s complicated. Suffice to say I need it for reasons I don’t understand.
While he spanked me, many thoughts drifted through my mind. Mostly, I thought of Papa and how well he always behaved for Father. Did Father spank him? I’m not sure, but it would make a lot of things make a lot of sense. For example, the way Father would tell him, “I’ll take care of you later.”
I didn’t conclude anything about that, but I did resolve to behave myself—his hand bloody well hurts! Besides, his look of disappointment is getting to me. It’s almost as heavy as Father’s.
And I don’t hate the Prince. Not anymore. Something’s happened between us that oddly, I think has to do with spanking. I don’t know what, but something.
Afterward, I got the care I’d missed out on the first time he spanked me at the inn. He wrapped me in his arms and sang his soft Elvish lullaby and I drifted to sleep feeling wrought with emotional exhaustion, but also like I’d come out the other side more whole than before.
This morning, I get to ride on my own. A smile creeps onto my face as I gaze at Corrik when he turns to look at me. He does not smile in return, of course (honestly, the man needs to learn to smile more) but his eyes light up the smallest amount with delight. He faces front again and I watch the lines of his body, mesmerized as they move in rhythm with his horse.
“Stop making googly eyes at your husband and talk with me little brother,” Diekin says, coming from behind to ride beside me.
“I am not making googly eyes.”
“You are.” He smiles satisfied.
I scowl at him. “What do you want Diekin?”
We trot at a moderate pace today. I think the Elves are worried I can’t keep up; we travel much slower than I ever did with my father, but I don’t mention it. I know they are trying to pay me a kindness; I don’t want to belittle their gesture.
“I want to get to know you. Tell me something about you.”
“That’s quite vague. Where shall I start? With my birth perhaps?”
He laughs. He’s far more animated than Corrik and easier to like. “Tell me something fun. You look like the type to get into a lot of trouble. ”
Is that stamped on my forehead?
“And incriminate myself?” I glance to Corrik’s back. He may be a ways in front of me, but I know how well Elves can hear. My arse is sore enough thank you.
“Corrik’s not likely to be upset by something you did in the past. Come on. Let’s have it.”
“All right, but then stop pestering me. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” he says with a goofy grin on his angular face. Diekin is quite attractive.
“When I was six, my cousin and I stole pies from the chef, and ran off to eat them with the pigs in the palace farm. When my papa found us, we were covered head to toe in mud—we looked like mini-mud people,” I say and smile at the memory.
He lets out a loud chuckle. “See? I can always spy a brat. You and I will have great fun together.”
I don’t know what he means by that, but I don’t think I want to find out. I think his kind of “fun” is like Lucca’s kind of “fun” and I want to stay out of trouble with my husband.
“Any more stories like that?”
I want to remind him he promised to stop pestering me, but I can’t crush the hopeful look on his face. This man is charming like Lucca. Perhaps the resemblance to Lucca is what makes me continue or perhaps it’s the feeling of having a companion again. Either way, I regale him with several stories of my youth— there are too many times Lucca and I were up to no good.
When we stop to eat, Corrik leaves again to scout the area, this time Diekin goes with him. Since we are beside a stream, and the stream is in view of the guards that are left with us, I take Waii to have a drink. It’s the first time in days I’m alone.
I brush my hand through my long locks of hair. I love my hair, but I’ve always associated it with being me, being Tristan. I find I don’t feel much like him anymore. Without my sword, I’ve been lost. But last night was remarkable—I don’t know who I am after last night. Being with this Elf has given me new awareness .
“There you are. Have you eaten?” Corrik says.
“That was a quick scout.”
“Diekin convinced me to come back.”
Silence passes between us for the magnitude of those words. Could Diekin know what I’ve been feeling since I woke this morning? It’s nice of him to send Corrik to me, but I’m not sure if Corrik’s the thing I need either.
“Have you eaten?” he repeats.
“Not yet.”
“Come.”
He leads me by the hand, and I tug Waii to follow. I pass her off to one of the guards and Corrik takes me away from the group—still within sight, but in an area more private.
There’s a pale blue blanket over the ground and a spread of food set up under a tree on a small hill. There may not be candles, but it’s not any less romantic. I blush.
Corrik clears his throat uncomfortably. “It has come to my attention that a ‘date’ might be in order.”
I try to decipher who would bring this to his attention and I narrow it down to Diekin and the queen. I hide my smile by looking down; he gently nudges my chin up and places a kiss on my lips. “Does that mean I’ve done well, Tristan?”
“Yes,” I say. “I didn’t know Elves did thing like date.” I can’t help getting a tease in.
“They don’t. Not in the way humans do, but we do know something of the practice.This is my attempt at learning the idiosyncrasies of your language or “lingo” as you would say.”
Markaytians might be conservative in some ways, but we are thought of as progressive in terms of language. Some of the phrases we use are considered modern. “I appreciate that, Corrik.”
His long ears wiggle with happiness.His eyes soften with shyness. “Shall we?”
He serves me, attempting to act like a gentleman on a first date I presume. He’s graceful yet severe. I swear, Corrik’s the only one I’ve ever known to pull both those off at once. I thank him when he gives me my plate.
“I heard you when you were talking with Diekin and I found I was jealous,” he says as he eats.
“Jealous?” I would laugh at him if I didn’t know he’s serious.
“I want to know those things about you, I want to know everything about you. I wish I’d thought to ask you questions, but I’ve never been particularly good at chatting.”
“I’ve gathered. You prefer to order people about and be done with it,” I say.
“Yes, but since being with you, I’ve come to see the error in doing only that.”
“You’ve only been with me a few days, Corrik.”
“Yes, and it took far less than that for me to know that I, Sassem ! Why is this so difficult?”
It’s my turn to soothe him. I rub his arm and take his free hand.
He tries again. “It took far less than that for me to know I would do anything to make you happy because that’s what makes me happy. If I don’t know you, how am I to do that?”
He seems exasperated by the prospect I might be unhappy, and I realize I haven’t felt unhappy since our wedding night. Not really. I may have been confused, upset and angry at times , but there has been an undercurrent of contentment existing alongside all of that. No person can be a ray of sunshine at every moment; I get the impression that Corrik has this unrealistic expectation for me.
“Corrik, I will be unhappy sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I’m not happy.”
“You hate me,” he says with all the bitterness in the world.
I shake my head. It’s time to tell him my little secret. “I did hate you, really hated you. I no longer feel that way.” I don’t expand—Corrik is arrogant enough without me giving him reason to make him more so.
My words do anyway. He smiles, a straight line of pure arrogance. “I knew you couldn’t hate me forever. No one does. ”
“That can hardly be true.”
“But it is. People always hate me quite passionately at first, but they never hate me long, though I’ve never had someone hate me quite as passionately as you,” he says. He has to be the best at everything, even being hated.
I whack him on the shoulder. “You conceited bastard.”
He laughs. “No more. No less.” He doesn’t apologize for it and can’t. He’s right; we are who we are, no sense in apologizing over and over for it. Corrik’s ability to remain true to who he is despite some of his character flaws gives him a mysterious attraction. I find I can say with truth that I like him.
In the spirit of being who I am, I pick up a handful of what looks to be trifle and smear it on his face. His eyes widen as he registers what I’ve done, but not long after he flips me on my back and towers over me. I submit easily. I know he’s stronger—I won’t win—so I lay still and look up to dark violet eyes full of mirth. “How dare you, little husband? I could eat you and no one would care.”
“I hope you will,” I tell him in a voice I hope is seductive.
He leans in to nip at my neck and delicious shivers find their way to my cock as trifle is smeared along my skin. “I shall. I think I shall.”