Dizziness struck. Wally squeezed his eyes shut to try to chase it away, but he found himself trapped by his own indecision. If a dragon asked him to do something, it was his duty to do it, but if he was candid with Grimbold, he was afraid he’d be punished.
The singular bite of éclair he’d indulged in had been the best thing he’d eaten in his life. Nothing could compare. The taste of it lingered on his tongue, making him salivate, but he was afraid to swallow, because it meant the flavor might leave his mouth forever. If he admitted as much to Grimbold, he could be punished for indulging in food that was too good for him, but if he didn’t…
“Walter?” Grimbold asked sternly, but not unkindly.
“It’s delicious, sir,” Wally conceded. “It’s one of the best things I’ve ever had.”
“Good.” Grimbold gestured at the tray of éclairs. “Select three more of them. Add them to your plate. The rest will be carefully stored and kept for you in the kitchen to preserve freshness. Tomorrow, if you feel like eating any more, you can choose from amongst what remains.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” Wally sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, resisting a frown. “What would you like me to do with the éclairs I put on my plate?”
“You will take them to the media room,” Grimbold said simply. “I’ve decided to watch something on the television, and I’d like for you to join me.”
5
Grimbold
Grimbold was an inveterate creator of lists, and while some might resort to paper and a writing instrument, Grimbold had no trouble making—and keeping—several lists in his head.
His first list regarding the boy had noted which éclairs Walter had chosen and which he'd hesitated over. In addition to the white chocolate blueberry and dark chocolate raspberry, Walter had chosen the banoffee éclair and one made with chocolate studded with bits of candied orange peel and custard flavored with Grand Marnier. He'd hesitated long moments over the coconut, hazelnut, and strawberry éclairs, while completely ignoring the ones flavored with cherry, pistachio, and almonds.
“Those are very good choices, Walter.”
The boy looked up, anxiety and fear plain on his face. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.
“There are no wrong answers, mind you.”
“Yes, sir,” Walter said again. He didn't sound convinced.
“Are you ready to follow me to the media room?”
Walter looked extremely apprehensive. “Yes, sir?” It came out like a question.
Grimbold liked to think he was polite, especially by draconic standards. Most especially by Topaz standards. Politeness, however, didn't seem to be achieving overmuch with the boy. Grimbold started another list, this one containing things Walter needed.
The first was rules and boundaries. He seemed to Grimbold to be utterly lost. Walter was like a bird kept in captivity, its wings clipped, unable to fly, and then set free by a careless owner. All he knew was his cage, and he was completely unprepared to live on his own.
Walter also needed Ingrid, and the insight into his psyche—and perhaps magic—she could provide. Grimbold would see her fetched to his estate, and hopefully that way he'd be spared the company of the rest of the Opal consulate's menagerie.
In the meantime, he decided that firmness with the omega was more important than courtesy, so he said, “Walter, I expect you to join me in the media room. I expect you to bring the four éclairs you've selected. I expect you to watch whatever I choose for as long as I wish to watch it.”
Grimbold watched Walter's features carefully, waiting to see if his words would provoke a reaction, and which reaction it would be. Walter did not disappoint.
“Yes, sir.” The words weren't a question this time. The boy both sat straighter and relaxed at the same time. It was quite curious, and also gratifying to see.
Grimbold did so enjoy being correct.
He stood. “Come,” Grimbold said, then turned and left the room, trusting the boy would follow. He wasn't disappointed. Walter's light footsteps and faint, sugary smell were detectable behind Grimbold. He'd have preferred it if the boy had walked beside him, but they'd work on that later. Tonight was about putting Walter at ease, not testing his boundaries. That was for later, after Grimbold had won his trust.
The media room was a small theater that could seat twenty in huge leather chairs. It had no windows and adjustable lighting.
“Take a seat, Walter,” Grimbold ordered.
The boy looked around the room with wide eyes. “Yes, sir,” he said, then sank to the floor gracefully in front of the first row of chairs. Walter sat tailor fashion and balanced the plate of éclairs on one knee.
Grimbold almost ordered the boy into a chair, then thought better of it. Instead, he sat in the chair closest to Walter—close enough that the boy had only to lean back a whisker to be touching Grimbold's leg. If Grimbold reached out a hand, he'd easily be able to feel the rough silk of Walter's hair under his fingertips.
He itched to reach out, but Grimbold controlled himself. It was neither the time nor the place for such things, and Walter certainly wasn't the right sort of omega. He wasn't there to be stroked by Grimbold. Not his hair, or any other part of him.
