4
Willow
The human still didn’t grasp the reality of the situation he was in. I could excuse that to a certain extent. After all, until I revealed myself, he had lived in blissful ignorance of the Realms and their inhabitants. From his oddly calm manner, I knew he was in shock, but that didn’t seem to dull his keen sense of self-preservation. The questions he asked and his stubborn refusals all pointed to a man in survival mode. Not surprising, really, given his chosen profession.
Still, I didn’t have the luxury of allowing him too much leeway. The rules were quite clear. A faerie contract was soul-binding, so he was stuck. I was willing to give him some wiggle room- extra rewards to be given as he completed his duties. I’d left myself an out as well. The human hit that he thought was the sole purpose of the contract was actually optional, when you read the hidden text, the option being mine. It also did not give a specific date for the man’s demise. The arrangements made for tomorrow were all made through later messages we sent between us, and I’d carefully dangled the time as a suggested opportunity, not an order.
There was another rule that he was about to discover, though. Humans brought to the Realm were property. They can’t do magic, so are at the mercy of those of us who can. That’s literally everyone else. Humans are the only sentient beings in the realms without any magic. Quite puzzling as to how that happened, but there you have it. They don’t have any and have no defenses against it. This means when one crosses the Veil and enters one of the other realms thanks to one of us magical Folk, the one bringing him is responsible for him. Or her, as the case may be. Like it or not, the rule, which is now enshrined within the Inter-Realm treaty, says we are entirely responsible for our human though that responsibility may be sold or bargained away to another of the Folk. My bringing him here and him coming along basically forms the basis of a second bargain, one where he gave himself to me in exchange for the trip.
That brings about the third rule. It’s a rule of nature, not one we made up, and it is imbued into the fabric of the Realms by magic. Humans cannot remain for more than a few hours outside of their own mundane Realm unless they do certain things. Valhalla, for example, requires the human to be at death’s door with the purity of unselfish heroism burning bright within their soul. Faerie is a much simpler proposition. The human must eat food or drink liquid native to the Realm, thereby taking part of the Realm inside and making it part of them. Once done, it can’t be undone, and while short jaunts can be made back to the human world, they have to be mere hours long. Food from their own world will no longer sustain them, either.
It could be worse. Atlantis requires drowning and being placed just before death inside a giant clam. It takes in grit, and after several years, it spits out the human who comes out as some kind of merfolk, usually either a selkie, water horse, or a merperson. They don’t get to choose either. It’s apparently entirely random.
In a nutshell, I own him, and if I want to keep him, I have to get him to where he can eat. Eat first, then explain how this will work. He’ll need to be taught his place. I’ve already decided what that will be. He’ll not only take out my enemies but serve me in all the best possible ways. Sucking my cock, eating my ass, getting fucked, gifting me his tears, I’ll take it all. He’ll learn to serve me and be rewarded. After all, for a High Fae, especially one of the Unsidhe Court, I’m a reasonably nice fae. Not like Lord Pine. He has a human that is a living footstool. That’s it. The poor guy does nothing but kneel and be used as a footrest, a status symbol for the fae he serves. A complete waste of resources.
We make it to Beetle Street to find our Flyt is waiting. The Pixie operating it looks us over. “I didn’t know there’d be a human.”
“He’ll be fine,” I reassure her. “He’s mesmerized.” I understood her trepidation. Humans are known t react badly to things in our world that we take for granted until they become used to them. Things like giant dragonflies pulling a carriage, for example. It’s why we call it catching a Flyt.
“Fine. He takes a dive, it’s on you,” she said.
I ignored her to help Ghost in. I really needed to learn his name. Names have power, and it would help solidify my hold over him.
That stubborn pride of his needs to be dealt with, too. It was essential for him to learn when to bend his knee and bow his head here. Until he did, I had no chance of presenting him at either Court and getting the Queen to recognize him as a professional, thereby earning him his sigil to operate as one. That was non-negotiable. My entire plan hinged on that happening.
The carriage took off with a lurch as the Pixie showed her disdain for my bringing such a lowly being into her vehicle. That would change once he had his sigil and was properly attired. First, though, I’d have to get him to accept his place here. That meant breaking him.
