Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
I wake up alone.
The bed is cold beside me. Corrik never returned or at least I think that until I see the note. Sitting up, I notice the glass I peed in is gone and in its place, a note written in lovely Elvish script, but thankfully in Markaytian.
Tristan,
I did not mean to be so tyrannical. You may of course relieve yourself as needed. Please attend to your studies.
Corrik
It’s impersonal, but it’s not a letter of termination and this means he came to check on me. I take a long, hot bath, contemplating the situation I’ve woven myself into. When I enter the front room, I expect to find catastrophe, but the debris has been cleared away and there’s new furniture in place of the old. It’s not the same furniture, each piece has been replaced down to the oil lamp mounted on the wall above the desk. A fire is burning and there’s food left for me. I get to work.
I take this to mean he wants to keep me at least. No point in me continuing to learn Elvish if we are returning to Markaytia, right ?
For the first part of the morning, I do well and work through three chapters, until I read: hymwyn, or to fight in Elvish.
" Hymwyn,” I say out loud. Figures it’s easy for me to say.
Damn it! I close the book. This is hard. I want to obey Corrik, but it’s im-bloody-possible. Without a sword, without getting up to practice every day, I don’t know who I’ll be. The concubine part I can live with, enjoy it even. I’ll do whatever he asks of me—even if it’s to be his bed-chained-love-slave—but the other, being a pampered doll? It’s my worst nightmare.
It’s nightfall by the time my husband returns and I’m not quite as forgiving as I was last night. Now I feel abandoned, alone, and not so generous to the one Corrik Cyredanthem. The door creaks open and I turn from my desk to glare at him. “Where have you been?”
My voice drops off to nothing as I watch him swarm in, black and menacing. He’s dressed like I’ve never seen him. Corrik always wears white, but now he’s wearing a long black coat, black pants and leather boots that reach the underside of his knees and click on the hardwood floors.
“On the ship,” he says, like he’s not dressed any differently than usual.
I maintain my bravery, like the dragon warrior I am, and throw the book at him. He catches it without exerting any effort. “Do not patronize me,” I say.
“Or what?”
That deflates me. I can’t think of anything I’m willing to do at the moment.
“That’s what I thought,” Corrik says, and smirks circling around me and placing the book on the table. His look is predatory, like he’s come to eat me, but not in the way I would prefer. “I was hoping to find you in a better disposition after some time alone.”
“You would have done, if you’d returned last night instead of ordering me not to move off the bed and making it so I had to pee in a glass. A glass, Corrik.” I didn’t care last night, and I don’t care that much now but I know he feels somewhat bad about it and I’m using it against him.
“Which is why I’ve decided you’ve had enough punishment for this transgression, but I will not be so easy on you in the future. I’ll not be easy on you in general anymore.”
I stare at him for what feels like a long time.
“Fair,” I say, but am in no mood to speak with him further. I turn back to my work.
“You do not dismiss me, I dismiss you.”
My hands ball into fists. I want to punch his smug face.
“Up,” he commands. I obey him without grace, stand and cross my arms trying to recreate on my face the withering look he usually gives me. It doesn’t work.
“Kneel.”
I don’t expect the command and hesitate to look at him sharply.
“Now, Kathir.”
I do begrudgingly.
“Uncross your arms.”
“Corrik, what is the meaning of this?”
“Now.”
I let my arms hang stiffly by my sides, furious.
“Sit back on your heels, yes like that, good.” He looks over my posture hungrily and I swear I hear him purr. I have no idea what he plans on doing with me and I’m too stunned to ask questions.
“Remove your shirt.”
Is this a sex game, perhaps? Hoping it will be, I comply with a tiny glimmer of excitement. “Good,” he says when I’m half-naked. He takes my shirt from me and then his boots click across the room, muffling when they hit the carpet of our bedchamber. When he returns, he’s holding a riding crop.
A riding crop?
Corrik towers above me when we are standing, kneeling, he looks like he’s one of the Gods staring down at me. He studies me trying to read my thoughts and the build of his powerful energy brushes against me before he takes it with him to sit on the armchair by the fire. I’m left kneeling by my desk.
“Come here, Kathir.” I haven’t missed that he keeps calling me by my Elvish name. I don’t like it, but I’m grateful to rise from this kneeling position—it’s already become tiresome. I move to stand.
“Crawl.”
“You can’t be serious,” I sputter.
He turns his head to me in a deadly manner looking all the more fearsome, wielding that long black crop. “ Now. Do not make me come get you.”
I comply feeling ridiculous, and crawl to him, deciding it better to play into his little game—still with hopes of sex—than to anger him when he looks like that. His dominance is in full effect.
“Stop there. Face me,” he instructs. His long black, booted calve is crossed over his thigh with his elbows on the armrests, the crop is held in his left hand, the leather tongue flexing and bending against the fingers of his right hand.
My back is to the fire and since I assume I’m to kneel again as before, I do, still wishing for the strength and tools to gut him.
“Good, boy,” he says. I’ll kill him for that. I can’t help the growl that escapes. “Enough. You will be silent, or I will make you be silent.”
I wonder what that means, and I have lots of time to keep wondering. Now that he has me positioned how he wants me, he doesn’t say a word and continues to play with the leather tongue of the riding crop. I fix my eyes on him and fume silently.
“Eyes down; bow your head.”
I oblige him, hoping if I do, I’ll be released as soon as he’s had his fill of whatever this is. I wait. I keep waiting for what feels like decades until I can’t take it anymore. “ Corrik. ”
“Eyes down,” he snaps.
“No. I’ve—”
Whack! He uses the dreaded riding crop to across my sensitive nipple.
“Ow! Corrik! By the Gods. ”
Whack again. I get the hint when the riding crop hits my other nipple and clamp my mouth shut. He’s standing over me again, this time daring me—hoping—I’ll say another word or make another move so he can hit me again. He likes it. A serene smile spreads cheek to cheek. He’s in his element. “Eyes. Down.”
I look down at the floor where his boots are, they are as fastidious as he is. I continue to stare at them until his boots click away and he resumes sitting on the armchair. I can’t see them, but I can feel his eyes on me. They watch me and savor. Me kneeling before him like this brings him peace.
“Yes, Corrik,” he says.
“Huh?” I look up and remember too late my eyes are to be on the floor. My nipples are each assaulted with the crop, and I have to rub them with my hands to get the sting out.
“Take your hands away. Did I say you could touch yourself?” He waits.
“No?”
“No, Corrik. Say it,” he demands.
“No, Corrik.”
“Better.” That’s all he offers, then the bastard sits down again, comfortable as you please, while my knees press against the wood floor and ache. I squirm, uncomfortable and Corrik lets me know he can make it a whole lot more uncomfortable for me by whacking my poor, stinging nipples again. I twist this time and contract my muscles, trying to pull the pain away from them and keep my hands off.
“Thank me for correcting you. ”
Fuck that, I say without words. He hears it loud and clear anyway and uses the crop on my chest this time. My eyes sting with tears. “Corrik that bloody well hurts .”
He hits me harder for speaking out of turn. I inhale sharply, but I say nothing more.
“Now, apologize and thank me for correcting you.”
I don’t want to apologize to him, and I don’t want to thank him for beating my nipples, but I do want him to hit me less.
“I’m sorry. Thank you for correcting me.”
That Gods damn leather tongue of the evil black rod is lashing my nipples again. What did I do?
“I’m sorry, Corrik. Thank you for correcting me, Corrik . Say it.”
“I’m sorry, Corrik. Thank you for correcting me, Corrik.” When I get out of this position, I will hurt him. I don’t know how, just that I will. If Diekin survived Corrik’s wrath, maybe he’ll help me.
“Good, boy. Now remain still and silent. Eyes down,” he says again as I eye the black rod with dread. Why does that thing hurt so much? It must be imbibed with Elven magic. I can still feel every place he’s marked and count each welt without looking.
Now that I know what’s in store for me, I’m silent as a mouse. I can guarantee Corrik’s not going to hear a peep out of me but remaining stationary is another story. My legs are aching all up my thighs, and my shoulders begin to strain after more time has passed.
The whole time, Corrik watches.
I move several more times and earn more chastisement. Each time I’m expected to thank Corrik for correcting me. Each time I do.
Finally, he’s decided I’ve had enough. He could never tire of whatever game this is, I’m sure. I accept his action for the mercy it is. I don’t think he minds my discomfort, I think he relishes in it.
I hear him rise from his seat and his boots click over to me. He grabs my chin and tilts it up toward him gently, while I gaze at him, too stunned to move. “You have done well, my Tristan,” he says. His eyes shine with pride, and I get warm all over. His praise melts me instantly and I forget about killing him. Corrik doesn’t look at me like this often, but when he does, I feel like the most important thing in the world. I can’t tear my eyes away and hope he’ll look at me forever.
He didn’t call me by my Elvish name, he called me Tristan. My brain searches to find a meaning to all of this.
He releases my chin. “Now press your forehead to the floor while maintaining that position with your arse on your heels.”
In a euphoric daze, I don’t question his instruction and put my forehead to the floor. Naturally, I stretch my arms above my head. It’s like I’m bowing to someone of great royalty and well, I suppose I am.
“Very good, Kathir. Remember all I have taught you tonight. Sleep well.”
I know he’s about to leave so I break my position. “Corrik, wait. Don’t leave me alone again tonight. Please .” I might have been a scary junior warlord, but that didn’t stop me sleeping in Lucca’s bed some nights. I don’t care for sleeping alone.
“I don’t recall telling you to rise,” he says.
"No, Corrik,” I say as I have all night. It feels like a meditation after kneeling for so long, with nothing to focus on but the floor and the sharp pain on my skin from Corrik’s riding crop. I’ve entered a new state. I like it. It’s calming and I’m crazy aroused.
"Apologize, return to your position, and I will let it go if I like your apology.”
If he likes it? What’s that supposed to mean? I'm not sure how to make him like it. I resign to feeling the sting of his evil little stick again. I bow as low as I can, forehead to the floor. "I'm sorry, Corrik. Please forgive me?" I don't look up and leave my back open for whatever he decides to give it. I'm still feeling that slight euphoria, just this side of awareness.
"Acceptable, but I want you to work on that or it will be five lashes next time, in a place of my choosing."
A shiver runs straight to my cock when he says that. I've gone from anger and resentment, to captivated by his every word and movement. My cock strains and I hope he will say more things like that. Whatever’s he’s done to me this evening, I like it .
"Yes Corrik," I say without thinking. I can feel pleasure leak off him.
He crouches over me and cards his fingers through my long, black hair like I’m a treasured pet. "Very, good. You were made for this, Tristan.” He presses a kiss to the back of my neck. "Go to bed, my love. I will see you in the morning."