The bedroom door flings open with a blast of dazzling sunlight. I wince and scrunch my eyes up.
A human is standing in the doorway. A very pretty human wearing fey clothes and with his chestnut hair up in fey style, but still very much a human. The first one I’ve seen in what feels like forever.
“Oh my god! Mabon! Why is he chained to your bed?”
He marches over and unclips the chain from my collar. His gaze lifts to my face, and he freezes.
“Mabon!” he yells. “Why does he have a bruise on his face? Please tell me you haven’t been beating him!”
Mabon appears in the doorway. He crosses his arms and leans on the frame.
“It was one little slap, and he deserved it.”
He sounds so very petulant and sulky that I very nearly laugh.
“I’m so sorry about this,” says the human. “Come next door and have some breakfast and we can sort this all out.”
His gaze drops down to my lap. “For flip’s sake, Mabs, get the poor man some clothes!”
Mabon strides into the room. “No, no, no! He is too pretty for clothes! It would be a crime to hide those lovely muscles!”
The human turns to face him and they both glare at each other with their hands on their hips. The silence stretches. I don’t think either of them are going to back down. But eventually, Mabon lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“Fine! But don’t call me Mabs, it makes me sound like my mother.”
He claps his hand, and a shadow servant appears.
“Find my pet some clothes.”
The shadow bows and disappears. Mabon strides out of the bedroom and the human follows after him. Sounds of their bickering drift through the open door.
I’m so confused right now. Am I even awake? What is happening?
The shadow servant appears again and lays some clothes out on the bed before vanishing.
Clothes? Wow. I hadn’t realised that I had given up on those. I had completely stopped thinking about them.
I reach out and pick up what I have been given. Okay, these are not fey robes, but they are not exactly human either. Not modernhuman, anyway. Leather trousers and a linen top that might be called a tunic, but I’m not exactly an expert.
Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers, as the saying goes.
It takes me a few minutes to struggle into the clothes. They are an extremely tight fit. And I’m pretty sure that is by Mabon’s design. He must have told the servant by telepathy or something. Or his staff simply know and understand him.
The leather is cupping my junk obscenely, and this top has an absurdly low V, with a lace that zig zags across but doesn’t have a chance in hell of pulling the material closed.
I feel more exposed than I did naked. This is ridiculous. But the human is nice and extremely helpful. I don’t want to disappoint him by striding out naked. So I’m just going to have to suck it up.
I take a deep breath and walk out into the sitting room. Mabon and the human are sitting at the table. Bowls of fruits and yoghurt are artfully arranged, but look untouched.
The human’s eyes widen when he sees me, but he says nothing. Mabon brings his hands together as if in prayer, then he lifts them to his lips while grinning and letting out a soft squeal. His eyes are practically glowing.
Pride and delight swirls through me, and that makes no sense at all. I don’t like it when Mabon objectifies me. I’m not like that. At least, I never used to be.
“Come join us,” says the human as he pushes out a chair.
Silently, I obey and take my seat. Obeying is far, far easier than thinking.
The human piles a bowl high with fruit and hands it to me. He serves himself some strawberries and nibbles delicately at them.
