Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
“ A wedding gift for you, D’orhai.”
The wind blows through my hair as I eye the ship moored on the docks of Port Tyreadin from where I stand on the shore and investigate the architecture. I notice the ship’s hull has been carved from a type of wood I don’t recognize. The wood is a deep aqua green making the ship look like it has been carved from marble. A majestic neck swoops up from the bow of the ship; a dragon’s head arches high above the water with the sides made to look like the dragon’s folded wings. It looks like a great warrior and stares down at us.
“Wedding gift?”
“Yes. Commissioned the moment I returned home after the second-best day of my life—the day of our betrothal.”
It has been several weeks of travel since our little ‘date’ and because it went well, the prince has been forthcoming with his feelings to the point I’ve become uncomfortable in a new way; mostly because I don’t feel the same. I’ve grown fond of my Elven prince, a bit territorial even (which I still claim is some kind of Elven voodoo ignited via sex magic on our wedding night), but I don’t feel as strongly about him as he claims he does for me. I know it hurts him every time I don’t respond in kind, but I won’t lie to him. In the many weeks of travel away from Markaytia, I’ve gotten to know him, and I dare say, life might not turn out so badly for Tristan Kanes—now to convince him that Tristan Kanes is always better with a sword. I’ve attempted many ways to discover the reason for his “Tristan Weapons Ban,” but he refuses to discuss it with me. I’ve concluded it’s either something important, or stupid.
Markaytia has lakes, rivers, streams, and a gorgeous bay, but no direct access to open ocean. You would have to travel for days down the river of Rainayta to meet with the sea. Father never liked boats much, so he seldom made such a journey. He’s never taken me. “I’ve never been on a boat, Corrik,” I remind him. “But I do thank you. It’s magnificent.”
We board the ship with all our gear, horses, and the other Elves. The women of the guard are fierce and look intimidating. I haven’t talked to one yet, but I want to.
Once we’ve made it aboard, we are greeted by more male and female Elves and to my surprise, people who are not Elves. They look human, quite like Markaytians, only just on this side of more than human, like they are beginning to slowly evolve into Elves. They’re the most beautiful humans I’ve ever seen, enough to make me self-conscious. I’m considered attractive in Markaytia, but compared to these sublime humans, I’m an ogre. If Corrik has some kind of human fetish, I can’t fathom why he’d choose me over one of these fine creatures.
Some of the people—both Elf and human—are dressed in attire that would suggest they are here to take care of the ship and us. There are, of course, more members of the Elven military.
I’m fascinated to see these humans. Corrik explained to me that many races of humans and other creatures were once permitted to make their home in Mortouge, until a great war that happened even before he was born, and his father would not allow anyone else to join his kingdom or the realm. The humans residing in Mortouge now, are the descendants of the humans from the time before the restriction.
“Come. I will show you around.”
I enjoy Corrik’s excitement as he teaches me. “The right side is starboard; the left is called portside. The front is referred to as the bow, and the back the stern. Those there,” he says as he points to the largest of the sails, “are the main sails. They gather wind to pull us through the water.”
The wood is carved with beautiful detail, pictures, and Elven inscriptions, which feel marvelous as I run my hand along the designs. Corrik watches my wonderment amused as he continues to explain everything and all things “boat.”
The wind blows through my long dark hair and from what Corrik tells me, we’ll have a good day sailing due to the lovely gale. He seems to love this ship; a lot more than I imagine I will.
“Do you sail often, Corrik?”
“Often as I can. I have many duties, but I would like to take you on a voyage and show you places you’ve never seen—it could be our honeymoon since we won’t get one now.”
Corrik leaves things unsaid, like why we won’t get a honeymoon immediately following our wedding as is the usual tradition. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of a honeymoon because I hadn’t realized the Prince’s feelings for me and presumed he’d merely come to retrieve his betrothed; that I was nothing more than a chess piece in a treaty-forged alliance. The prince has since made his feelings clear to me—I believe he does care for me a great deal. I’ve learned some of how to read Corrik’s taciturn demeanor. I suppose a honeymoon would be expected now, but why wait?
I don’t bother asking. I know it’s something Corrik doesn’t want to tell me, and I don’t fancy arguing at the moment, not with him looking as he does now. I could watch Corrik forever. He’s become the most fascinating thing in my world .
He stops in front of large double doors. “This will be our chambers.”
He opens the doors to a set of rooms that are far too exquisite to be on a ship even of this magnitude. The anteroom is large, and beyond it, I can spy a four-poster bed in a room all its own. A fire is already burning and there is white wine chilling on a small table beside a plate of cheese and fruit.
“We head North, D’orhai. It will be cold, but the fire will keep you warm,” he tells me, directing me to sit in front of the fire. He pours the wine. “I know you’re not used to the cold.”
Warmth rises in my chest when he calls me by that Elvish endearment and it’s not just the fire—he’s called me that since our first day together. I wonder what it means but don’t ask, worried he’ll make me try to pronounce it. Instead, I sip the wine, allowing the bouquet to hit my nose first before the dry liquid hits my tongue. It’s lovely wine.
“I think we should talk, Tristan.”
Hmmmm. I like the sound of that. Talking usually means fucking. I take another deep sip of my wine and put the glass down ready to be ravished.
“Not that kind of talk, though I do enjoy those ‘talks’ immensely,” he adds. “A real talk.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Should you be?” he asks. I can’t recall anything I might have done, but it’s hard to tell with Corrik; he hasn’t exactly gone over the rules insisting I learn by experience .
“No, Corrik.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. We will be in Mortouge in a few weeks. Our culture is quite different, and it’s going to be a shock to you. I couldn’t tell you before—the Elves find it better to remain somewhat elusive—but I can tell you now.
“I’ve told you some. We are open with our sexual urges—but there’s more. We display ourselves in ways that will offend your Markaytian sensibilities. Nevertheless, you will be expected to adapt to our culture since you will become Elf.”
“About that—how will I become Elf?” I’m more interested in that. I probably should be concerned about the Elves and their sexually deviant ways, but I’m not. I’ve enjoyed Corrik’s sexual deviance.
“Again, I must disappoint you, Tristan. It’s better we wait until you know more about us. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” His lips tug into his quarter smile and I admire his majestic beauty.
“Fine, Mr. Cryptic.” I take another sip of my wine. “Is that all you wanted to warn me about? Sex? I don’t think I’m quite so sensitive over that topic anymore.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve created a monster, but it goes beyond sex and it’s more about how we Elves believe everyone is constructed … Elf, Markaytian, or otherwise.”
“Constructed?”
“We all have urges. In Mortouge we honor them instead of hiding them. Though I will admit these tendencies are far more pronounced in Elves. We almost can’t control them.”
I take his last words for what they are: a warning. I’ve experienced firsthand when he’s in the grip of these tendencies, and I’ve only scratched the surface of this side of Corrik. “And how do you think I’m constructed?”
“You are submissive, D’horai,” he says plain and simple. “Though I am beginning to wonder if you’re more of a brat.”
“I was a junior Warlord Corrik, how can you think me submissive in any way? And let’s not forget my dragon’s blood.”
“You’re mistaking the word submissive for weak. Believe me, there are no weak submissives.You can be a strong, terrifying Warlord and have a submissive streak a mountainside wide.”
“But I’m terrible at obeying your orders,” I say. He’s had to spank me more than the one time at the inn.
“That’s because you’re also brat,” he says, smiling in a fond way.“Submissive doesn’t always mean being good at obeying my orders—it’s the need for them at all. It’s about structure and the need for consequences.”
Okay, that last part might resonate.Is this … is this what my father was talking to the king about? “I’ve never desired to be punished,” I say, narrowing my eyes and crossing my arms.
“I didn’t say you desire it. I said you need it—there is a difference.”
Okay, yeah.I might get that too.
“It’s my job to keep this balance between you and me. As the Dominant or the Top , I provide the rules and the consequences—that’s what will keep us both grounded. This is how we Elves honor one another in our relationships.”
“What do you get out of this deal? What does a Dominant or top desire?”
“Control, possession, worship—we crave these things. You will need some training for some of this. Other aspects, the non-sexual, everyday ones, already come naturally to you.”
I shiver.That sounds dark and kinda delicious if I’m being honest. “What kind of training?”
His eyes sparkle.“You’ll see.You’ll like it, D’orhai.”
“Corrik, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be stubborn— that I get from my father. I wish I was more agreeable, like my papa.”
“You’re young D’orhai and have yet to grow into the man your papa is, you’re more like him than you realize. Your stubborn streak will get you in trouble, but I will like that as much as I will be irritated by it. Besides, I have no issues spanking your naughty bottom.”
The thrill I get when he says that.It inspires mischief in me. I want to pour my glass of wine on his head and see if I can race away in time.
“I know that look already.” He sighs.“You’re trouble, Tristan Cyredanthem.”
Weird.My name without the Kanes is just weird.I sip my wine instead, attempting to appear lofty.“You haven’t a clue, my thorny rose. ”
It’s far from an endearment but it still has him beaming and his ears dancing with joy.With shocking speed, he’s over top of me and I back into the chair. His teeth shine as his lips curl above them. He takes the glass from my hand and sets it down.“I will subdue you, dragon prince.”
He scoops me up as I whack him and complain but I also curl into him, ready to be subdued.