The prince must come to me on his own, must ask–no,beg–for his appetite to be sated. If I seduced him, he might accuse me later of manipulation or some vampyric sorcery. No, the key to undoing the prince was to let the tension between us build to a breaking point. Only then, would I entertain his advances.
In the meantime, I had my florid imagination. Striding over to my wash basin, I gave myself a cursory cleaning. The smell of the prince still clung to me, sea salt and his sharp, masculine tang that reminded me of the pine forests surrounding Emrallt Valley. The way he’d trembled when I massaged my bite on his neck, his demand that I feed only from him. I craved another taste of him. Salty and mineral-rich with a touch of honeyed fae sweetness, I imagined his viscous blood gliding over my tongue and slipping down my throat, quenching the fire within. Perhaps it was I who was bewitched?
I spilled some oil onto my hands and rubbed them together, then massaged both my cock and balls at once, getting the blood flowing as I pictured the prince kneeling before me on the plush carpets of my bedchamber. The metal bands around his wrists would be linked by a chain, clamps would adorn both of his pert nipples (were they pink or were they brown?) and his cock…
Why, his cock would be caged in a device of my own making, his engorged flesh rebelling against the metal, just as his spirit would rebel against my will. He would be a pleasure to train–his mouth, his hole–and a pleasure to deny. I’d channel all of that unspent anger and aggression toward pleasing me, his lord and master, and in doing so, I’d compel the prince to confront his deepest desires.
The friction against my cock was now a liquid heat as I imagined Cedrych chained and bound by my bedside. Teasing open his impertinent mouth, forcing his wet lips to part before sinking deep into that silken chamber to test the limits of his devotion, coaxing tears from his pretty blue eyes as he gagged around my girth. And after I’d deposited my seed in his belly, and left the taste of me on his lips, only then would I uncage him. Make him lie in my pillows with his wrists bound and his ankles anchored to my bedposts. Defenseless and with the glow of humiliation, spread for the feast, I’d stroke him and suck him until he was thrashing on my mattress and begging the Goddess above for deliverance.
My cock erupted then, sending a splash of seed into the wash basin, the milky deposit evidence of my own craven desires for the prince’s submission. Would he consent to it? I hoped he might… eventually. But he’d surely make me work for it.
I would bring the prince to heel and show him what true devotion was. And by the time I sent him off to his next lover and eventual consort, I hoped he might regard me, if not fondly, thanwith a measure of respect, as the man who helped him discover his most naked, unvarnished self.
Chapter 6
Prince Cedrych
Maybe it was the weather, overcast and gray, or the few hours of fitful sleep I’d managed in a strange bed, alone in a foreign land with unfamiliar customs. Maybe it was that my breeches were laced too tight, something my governess always said when I’d arrive at breakfast in a foul mood. But as I entered into Lord Vasil’s large, dimly lit dining hall with the man already seated at the head of the table, my nerves were on edge, and I couldn’t fall back on my old routine of disinterest, for the lord had already seen through me, had gotten well under my skin.
What would I say to him? How should I act? He’d perplexed and intimidated me at every turn. I wanted him as much as I feared him. If I showed any weakness, he’d surely exploit it, and yet part of me wanted to bare my throat. To…obey?Rather than make a fool of myself yet again, I sat down at the table without speaking, not even glancing his way. It was rude, but it was necessary.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” he greeted me after a beat of silence. “How did you sleep?”
“Poorly,” I announced with a surly edge to my voice. There was nothingwrongwith the question, except that it sounded tooformal and too forced. I’d obviously slept terribly. Wilting under the lord’s steely gaze, I surveyed the array of fancy fae dishes he’d probably had prepared just for me. The elvish were known for their animal trapping in addition to harvesting the many nuts and berries that grew wild in the mountains. They needed protein and fats to survive the harsher winters, whereas the fae ate the fruits and nectars that grew plentiful in the valley, even better if they were glazed with honey.
Our kind had a sacred relationship with honey. As our main source of food, our busiest time of the year was during honey collection in late summer, and our festivals celebrated the honey harvest. One of the catalysts for the War of the Realms was that humans were destroying natural habitats in their never-ending quest to expand their population, to the extent that the bees nearly went extinct as did our starving, dwindling population. So we drove the humans out of the Arcane Isles, except for a few who were loyal to our cause. Sorcerers then cast wards to prevent humankind from returning.
Since the war had ended and once honey became plentiful again, the fae returned to their culture of indulgence. We were decadent when it came to food, fashion, and revelry, whereas the elvish had been forced to survive amidst scarcity. Perhaps that quality was what made Lord Vasil so severe.
“Is your stomach still upset?” Vasil asked, perhaps noticing I’d made no attempt at eating.
“No.”
“Are there other foods you’d prefer?”
“No, thank you.”
I aimed my ire at the window. The curtains were not drawn this time, but there was a light muslin dressing to dim the sunlight, a concession he’d probably made on my behalf. All of this–the food, the lighting, my opulent chambers, even the servants who seemed to have been briefed already on faecustoms–all of it was for me. Why? Because I was a spoiled, selfish prince who needed minding, who couldn’t get my act together on the best of days, whose only value was as currency to be bought and traded.
Goddess almighty, I felt like crying.
“Are you feeling a touch homesick, Your Highness?” Vasil said, probably seeing the parade of emotions marching across my face.
“Stop calling me that,” I snapped. Before I could gauge his reaction, the lord was up and rounding the table, his imposing figure towering over where I sat. Ever present was that vanadium rod, the physical manifestation of his power. He stared down at me so coldly, I felt a chill at the back of my neck.
Gripping his rod as if he intended to strike me with it, he said slowly, “Then what shall I call you?”
“Cedyrch is fine,” I mumbled.
“Speak up,” he said sharply and my gaze snapped to attention.
“Cedrych,” I repeated, cowed by his dominance.
His hand swept across the array of garnished dishes set before me. “And what of these offerings pleases you, Cedrych?”
I glanced briefly at the food, too much for one man or even two.
“The sugar dates,” I replied tersely.
