I inhale pie. It lodges in my throat. A great big chunk of it. I can’t breathe. I’m wheezing and my eyes are watering.
The human hurries over to me and slaps me on the back. Forcefully. I cough and gag, but the pie goes down. I grab some more juice and gulp it down for good measure. The two fey are chatting away as if they don’t give a shit that I nearly just choked to death in front of them.
“Thanks,” I mutter to the human as I wipe my mouth with my sleeve.
The fey are talking about someone called Rhydian and what he is going to say about Tristan taking a pet.
“It’s going to be okay,” says the human, in English, and with a deeply worried look in his eyes.
My stomach squirms again. Is being a pet so bad that he is concerned for me? Surely it can’t be that terrible? He doesn’t look beaten or miserable. And Tristan just said he wanted to give me blow jobs.
I start coughing again and grab another juice before hulk here starts whacking me again.
“They fey aren’t that bad,” he whispers. “They just struggle with some concepts. Like consent.”
My heart pounds against my rib cage and my knees begin to tremble. But I shove my stupid feelings down and regain control of myself. I don’t scare that easily.
The pet looks over his shoulder to check that the fey still aren’t paying us any attention. Then he whispers, “Tristan is alright. His main vice is chasing anything that moves.”
I suck in a shaky breath. By chase, I presume he means fuck. He is warning me that my prince is a horny man-whore. It is not exactly a shocking revelation. I have no idea why I’m feeling… whatever the hell this emotion is.
It feels a lot like a dash of excitement that my chances of getting lucky are high, but with a giant dollop of soul-crushing disappointment and dismay on the side. What is wrong with me? Sadness is an absurd reaction. I’m not stupid enough to have ever thought for one moment that the way he looked at me was anything special. I know better than that. I know how the world works.
Prince Tristan doesn’t likeme, he likes the idea of a new notch on his bedpost. A conquest. The novelty of fucking the man who tried to kill him. I’m not special and I never will be.
Calling me pretty and kissing me means absolutely nothing. He didn’t claim me because he wanted me, Ollie Evans. He only wanted something new to play with.
I close my stinging eyes and suck in another breath.
“Are you okay?” asks the human.
“I’m fine!” I snap.
It’s the truth. I am fine. More than fine. I’m clean. Warm and fed. And my fey captor wants to give me blow jobs, which is a whole lot better than being tortured. So what if he doesn’t actually like me? I don’t care if I’m merely a notch on his bedpost, if I’m getting a blow job out of it. It’s fine, it’s all fine.
“Thank you very much for visiting, Brother dearest,” says Tristan, in English.
What? This purple dude is his brother? My gaze snaps to the human who is still standing next to me. Does that make us pet-cousins or something?
“But it is time for me to take my lovely new pet to bed.”
Oh. Oh fuck. Oh, double fuck.
Chapter five
The last word I hear the purple-haired prince say to his pet is, “Don’t fret, Tristan won’t hurt him.” Then the door shuts behind them.
By all that is holy, I hope that is true. But I suspect there are a lot of terrible things that can come before official, ‘hurt’ territory is reached. Especially when it comes to fey. They seem like inventive motherfuckers and my granny always said they were the race who invented cruelty.
A shudder wracks my body and before I can stop it, fear floods my senses. This is terrible. Most normal people are blessed with either a fight-or-flight response. But not me. My stupid nervous system jumps to freeze, which has never been helpful and is really not helping the situation right now.
Prince Tristan either doesn’t notice my predicament or takes full advantage of it. He strides up to me, grabs my arm, and drags me to his bedroom.
As soon as we are through the door, he releases me. Not that it does any good. I’m still frozen. All that has changed is the view. Now I’m frozen and staring at the world’s biggest bed. It is tall and wide. Big enough for an orgy of ten. It is a fourposter, complete with a canopy, but it hasbeen laid with an abundance of thick brown furs. Elegance and barbarity combined. Somehow it works.
I force a swallow down my throat and it actually goes down. I have regained control of some of my muscles. That’s something. With any luck, all my faculties will come back online. Hopefully soon, because there really is nothing to panic about. I’m overreacting. He said he wanted to give me blow jobs. And who the fuck is scared of blow jobs? I’m being ridiculous. Fellatio is a lovely thing. Everyone enjoys receiving it. Or so I have heard.
“Get on the bed, pet.”
