Chapter 13 Command
Command
Perhaps it’s the dramatic way in which Brynn delivers this secret, the humorous way he built it up, but I cannot resist. A sardonic bark of a laugh escapes me.
Brynn scowls like he might snap me in half for it, but instead he asks, “Will you come back to my apartment? I would rather discuss this in complete privacy.”
“Sorry,” I wheeze, overcome by persistent giggles, “and sorry for saying sorry.” He blinks at me, both aghast and annoyed, and I press my lips together in an effort to contain myself.
“Just come with me,” he says, turning to leave and expecting me to follow. “Please,” he adds when I do not move.
“I mean… it is a good secret, I suppose,” I muse, “I know you’ve noticed that I am all mortal. Maybe if you’d led with that, I wouldn’t have risked cutting you for confirmation that you’re not my enemy.”
“Ha. Well, all good and well,” Brynn spits, blessing me with his most withering look yet. “But most of my fellow fae despise me for it—and they don’t even have confirmation that it’s true. My father’s done unspeakable things to make sure of that. I don’t need your ridicule, too.”
I think of the rude stares—the disdain of those like Madame Pux—and bite my lip.
Brynn glances down at me, squinting at some silent, internal debate.
He lets out a resolute sigh. I cannot say I’m surprised when his now familiar hand wraps around mine and he drags me along.
This time, I assume, to his nearby apartment.
I tug against him, but it’s futile. He’s got me in a vice grip. I wait for anxiety to seize my chest.
It doesn’t.
I know his true name, blood status, and the dagger’s inscription… Are his bargaining chips actually gaining my trust?
It’s not a far walk. He must have been on his way here when I accosted him. The second we reach his door, he releases me and I round on him.
“You must stop that,” I snap.
“Stop what?” he asks absently, rummaging in his coat pockets.
“Touching me,” I say, cheeks heating. He groans, making sure to roll his eyes before meeting my gaze.
“You cannot act like you don’t enjoy it. I hear your heart speed every time I touch you, you know,” he says. I refuse to squirm, despite this well-aimed accusation.
“That’s called fear. You’re a stranger,” I hiss.
“And you’re a liar, mortal.”
“I don’t like being touched,” I say.
He raises a brow. “Who doesn’t like being touched?”
“Me—you know, you could ask me to come with you instead of insisting on dragging me around. Maybe you enjoy it.”
His smirk is cruel. “I did ask. I even asked nicely. You took too long mocking me. And I didn’t much feel like discussing my business standing in the bloody street!”
At last, Brynn finds what he’s been digging around in his pockets for: a small green rock. He waves it aggressively near the lock, which gives a faint glow as the door cracks ajar. He kicks it open and raises his hands as if saying after you. I huff but obey.
I had no expectations, but the apartment is nice.
It’s ground level and opens to this quiet street, far enough from the bazaar to avoid stragglers.
The living area has a kitchen, a dining table, and a comfortable sitting area surrounding a small fireplace.
Beyond this main space, there is a separate bedroom with one giant bed, its sheets a tangled mess, as well as a sizable washroom.
I even spot the clawed feet of a porcelain tub.
Luxurious, compared to the inn’s single pewter wash basin.
But a thin layer of disuse coats every surface.
My finger grazes the table, and I examine the dust that comes away with it.
“I… I don’t spend too much time here,” Brynn says, watching me with puzzling intensity as I take the apartment in.
“Do you spend a lot of time in Aston?” I ask, unsure what to do now that I’m here. It’s hard to forget that I just threatened his life.
“No—that was actually my first visit to Aston and well… it didn’t quite go as planned.”
He doesn’t elaborate. I don’t push.
I remove my cloak and satchel and set them together on the nearest chair.
My hand hesitates over the dagger. I don’t trust Brynn completely, no, but I know how hard the blade dug into his throat.
The inscription is the only explanation—he cannot be my enemy.
The magicked dagger, though unique and useful, is a dead end in locating Mavick.
It yielded no further clues on that front.
I need help and he is willing. The riddle floats through my thoughts again:
Are you wise enough to request aid? Are you kind enough to offer a trade?
Kind enough. I hadn’t considered this word choice before.
It’s like whoever crafted this riddle knew everything about me—knew that I tended to be stubborn and unfeeling.
Guarded and distrustful. I was so used to being alone, the friendless princess, the sole heir, thinking of only myself, that I forgot others are ruled by their own motivations.
Desires. Dreams. Needs. Brynn is desperate to find someone in the mortal world, as I am desperate to find Mavick here.
This is obviously someone he cares for—much like I care for Mavick.
If this is going to work, I must be more kind.
I place the dagger with the rest of my belongings.
After taking a short walk around the living area, half-feigning interest in his random trinkets while deliberating what to discuss first, I plop down on the couch. Brynn’s eyes widen.
“What would you like me to call you? Vir or Brynn?” I ask, glancing at him with the most pleasant expression I can muster. He stands between the couch and the table, having just removed his coat, but freezes with suspicion.
“What—is this a trick of some sort?”
I smile at his awkward stance. “No. If we do work together, I need to know what you prefer.”
He relaxes a bit and circles the couch, dropping down on the seat next to me. His eyes catch on my dimples again. “I gave you my true name,” he says with a shrug. “However idiotic.”
“How does that work anyway? Being half-fae and half-mortal? Does it still hold… power?” I ask, hoping my tone sounds neutral.
“I don’t know, frankly. No one has ever tried to command me.”
Brynn sees the question in my expression, despite my attempt to quell it.
“Try it, if you like,” he says. His voice is flat, but a hint of anxiety flickers over his features. “I must admit I’m curious. To see if it even works.”
“You trust me enough?” I ask before I can bite my tongue. I held a dagger to his throat not even half an hour ago. Had it not been magicked, I may have killed him. Perhaps his desperation is an even deeper pool than I thought.
“It surprises me too, but… Yes, I somehow trust you more than most,” he says bleakly. He leans back on the couch, his long arms extending in both directions over the back of it. He wants to appear comfortable, but that molten roiling in his irises is far from it.
I don’t know what to command. But I must admit, I too am curious. It feels wrong, but also… alluring. Knowing I can command him if necessary will reassure me that I possess a precious commodity in our deal: leverage. I stand once more and he stares up at me, which is dreadfully satisfying.
“Do we need a safe word?” I ask.
Brynn chuckles, but his eyes darken. His hands flex in and out of fists. “No point. If it works, you will be in complete control. I’m yours.”
My cheeks flush at his words, despite knowing full well that’s not what he means. I nod and bite my bottom lip, pondering. A clear wave of trepidation washes over his face before I speak the first thing that enters my mind:
“Brynn—kneel before me.”
Some fragmented part of me didn’t expect it to work—thought it would be a funny jest. Either I would be too mortal, or Brynn would be.
But the pain in his eyes is instantaneous.
His chest heaves once with a ragged gasp.
His mouth snaps shut, his lips forming a hard line—and his breathing ceases altogether.
The tendons in his neck strain as he struggles with all his might against my command.
Yet, he cannot fight it. His body yields to the ancient magic, and he slinks off the couch, onto the floor before me.
Kneeling. His face reddens as his pupils dilate, nearly snuffing out the gold entirely.
In my shock I realize… I don’t know how to make it stop.
“Fuck, sorry! Stop? Stop! Brynn—I release you!” I exclaim, grasping his shoulders and shaking him in case the words fail. But at least one does the trick because he relaxes under my panicked grip. He glares up at me, sucking in air.
“Not… fair,” he wheezes. Sure, I’ve noticed how he tenses whenever I speak his name—but I’ve never commanded him to do something before. The confirmation of power coursing through me would perhaps be exhilarating if it didn’t frighten me so much.
After a few minutes, Brynn regains his composure. I apologize no less than ten times, disregarding his obvious distaste for them. He shrugs, his face still flushed.
“It’s my fault—I should have known. I’ve felt it every time you’ve—but I just thought—never mind. It’s useful knowledge. I doubt I’ll be giving my name out freely ever again.”
Ah. I assume the subject he avoids is the so-called attraction he leaned on in his efforts to manipulate me. I shift my weight on the cushion as he runs a hand through his hair. This is clearly his nervous tell.
“Well, you didn’t give it freely, did you? You were earning my trust,” I say.
“Did it work?” he asks dully, unfocused eyes staring at the fireplace.
“Time will tell, I suppose.” I sigh. “Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be using it ever again. Not like that at least.”
“It’s probably best if you don’t use it publicly.” He pauses and a taut silence lingers as he decides something further. “I don’t mind if you use it in private.”