Mabon rattles off a long list of orders. Shadow man bows and melts away before my eyes. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin, and I blink furiously at the spot he was standing in.
Was he standing there this whole time? Is he standing there now? How the hell am I going to escape if there are invisible people everywhere?
Suddenly, a door at the far end of the room opens and four shadow people stride in, each of them holding a plump red velvet cushion. There are four shadow people? Well, that’s disconcerting.
As they stride up to us, I can see that each cushion holds a selection of lengths of silk, all in various garish colours.
Mabon walks behind me, I start to turn but he gestures at me to stay still. Great, just fucking great. I guess I’ll just stand here while a whole room of people stare at my naked ass.
Mabon and Tristan hold up different pieces of silk over my bare behind and make comments on how well they go with my complexion. This has to be one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. I need to think about something else. Anything else. Football maybe. I like football, it makes me happy.
Mabon makes me move my hands from my junk and robotically I comply. I’m just going to pretend that this isn’t happening. It is the only possible way to get through this.
“There!” says Mabon triumphantly.
I blink as reality comes crashing back down around me.
He is standing in front of me, hands clasped together in glee. I look down. A piece of baby pink silk is hanging from my pubic bone to my knees. It’s attached to a thin gold chain that is wrapped low around my hips. I twist my head and a matching piece of silk is covering my ass.
Oh god. Not only is the cloth baby pink, it’s sparkly. Thousands of silver threads catching the light.
“It’s perfect!” gushes Mabon.
I glare at him, but he merely giggles in return. He picks up my leash and strides out into the hallway. I can either follow him or be choked. So I follow him.
Tristan walks next to Mabon and doesn’t say a word to help me. Bastard. Does he really think this is acceptable? Is this really the best I can hope for?
I can feel the silk swishing around. A faint breeze and I’ll be exposed. I must look ridiculous. A big muscled bloke wearing nothing but dangling bits of pink sparkly silk between his legs. It’s like some Princess Leia outfit gone hideously wrong.
Though, just like Princess Leia in Star Wars, I have been abducted by an alien for nefarious purposes. So maybe it is fitting. And I should probably be thankful that Mabon is no Jabba the Hutt. He is quite the opposite, in fact. Mabon is utterly gorgeous.
I snort softly to myself. Apparently I’m fine with villains as long as they are hot? That’s awfully shallow of me. But not exactly surprising. I’ve always had a weakness for a pretty face. Just never a male one, until now.
Mabon has set a leisurely pace, and as we pass people, I realise why. The little shit is showing me off to as many people as possible.
I keep my head high and try not to look at anyone. But I can feel their eyes all over me. Drinking in the sight of me on a leash, more than half naked, being led around by a twink.
Something coils deep in my gut. I fight it. Resist it. Deny it. But it is stronger than I am, and the truth of it escapes and floods my veins.
I like this. I’m enjoying being paraded around like a belonging. I’m darkly thrilled that everyone can see I belong to this beautiful man.
Oh for fuck’s sake. Out of all the kinks in the world I could have been blessed with, I get this one? It’s not fair. And I don’t care if that’s something Mabon would say.
Oh lord. I need to pull myself together. Focus. The plan is to learn as much as I can, then escape. Then therapy, so much therapy. And then, and only then, will it be time to explore my new found kinky side. It’s been repressed, or oppressed, or whatever, my entire life. A little longer isn’t going to do me any harm.
Finally, we arrive at a large room dominated by an enormous, very low, round table. Mabon settles crossed legged on a large cushion, and pulls me down to sit next to him.
The table is groaning with overflowing bowls of all kinds of fruit. Some I recognise, some I don’t. It’s all definitely extravagant.
There have to be thirty fey at least sitting around this table. The cold terror of that is squeezing my heart. I feel them inspecting me. Some with curiosity, some with blatant appreciation. This is like being naked in a nest of vipers.
“When is Prince Rhydian returning from Tir-na-og?” someone says.
Mabon smiles brightly. “Soon. In the meantime, please do tell me your grievances. I shall be delighted to hear them.”
Wait a minute. I can understand what they are saying but they have no reason to be speaking English. They certainly wouldn’t be doing it for my benefit. And thinking about it, Mabon would be annoyed at having to, even when we were alone.
I’ve been an idiot. The silver earring he gave me is a translator. It has to be. My fingers run over it thoughtfully. We suspectedthey had them and didn’t always rely on the crystals they’ve been seen to use. Finally, I’ve learnt something useful.
