“I hope to show you soon enough, fair prince.” Vasil snapped his handkerchief, startling me from my thoughts. “Finish up here and come to my chambers directly. I’ll have the water heated to a suitable temperature by the time you arrive.”
“Yes, my lord,” I said, trying out the moniker for myself.
“Very good,” he purred, sounding pleased if not a little smug.
Even more alarming, I liked it.
True to his word,the shaving water was warm when I arrived, the liquid pooling in a cast iron pot over a small stove that was lit by the eternal flame. How convenient to have a power source at your fingertips, one that never expired, nor created any toxic byproducts. No wonder the elvish were at the forefront of new technologies.
“Will you have a seat, Cedrych?” Vasil asked, gesturing to the slightly reclined leather chair. I sat down in it and Vasil threw a cloth drape over my chest, artfully wrapping my upper body so that only my neck and face were exposed.
“How’s the temperature?” Vasil asked, smudging a bit of water over my betrothal bite–was it intentional? I shivered despite the warmth.
“Too cold?” Vasil asked.
“No, it’s fine.”
Vasil then flicked open his shaving knife with a flourish and swiped it a few times over a leather strop, sharpening the blade. His every movement was purposeful and done with grace, and I found myself falling into a sort of mindless trance just watching him.
“This isn’t like shaving yourself,” I warned him, for the blade looked very sharp indeed.
“No, it’s not, but I’ll be extra careful with you,” Vasil assured me with a hint of a smile. He set the razor aside to brush cream on my neck and face, careful to avoid my mouth and nostrils.
“So, you’ve no valet or personal attendant?” I asked.
“None,” he replied. “Do you think less of me for it?”
“Not at all,” I said. If anything I thought more of him, not needing attention to his every need, to be self-sufficient, at least when it came to his own dress and grooming. I had to give him credit for his style at least–I’d never manage to look so put-together on my own. But it did seem a tad lonely–dressing alone, eating alone, wandering this large, empty fortress alone…
“We can look into getting you a valet, if you desire one,” Vasil said, misinterpreting my silence.
“No, thank you,” I said too quickly. But what if he thought I expected this sort of treatment every day? “I’m fine with shaving and dressing myself,” I assured him.
Vasil nodded and studied my face like a sculptor would his medium, then angled my head backward and made his first scrape across my skin, right over the notch in my throat. I swallowed instinctively, encouraged to find everything still working properly.
“You do have a lovely neck,” Vasil said, almost absently.
“I… th… thank you, my lord,” I stuttered. The praise went straight to my cock, thankfully hidden underneath the cloth drape.
Vasil said nothing, simply continued his work skillfully and efficiently, two qualities I was coming to admire about the man. I relaxed into the chair at last, trusting Vasil not to slit my throat or even slice me accidentally. My mind drifted back to last night when the lord was pressed up against me, his arousal so blatant and unabashed. Was it a power move meant to intimidate me? And even more concerning, why had I enjoyed it so much?
“What are you thinking about?” Vasil asked.
I obviously couldn’t tell him the truth–that I was daydreaming about his cock–Goddess forbid he get an even bigger head. “Your fortress’s defenses,” I lied.
“Ah,” the lord said as if it were a topic he’d been wanting to discuss. After giving me a rundown of where the various guards were stationed and a timetable of their shift changes, he then outlined his security protocol, which was extensive, even for a member of the royal family. I was to have a guard with me at all times when traversing the fortress. I was not permitted to leave the grounds without Lord Vasil’s clearance. I was to follow my schedule with no deviations…
But even more alarming were the punishments he laid out for me, should I choose to disobey.
“Spanking, flogging, caning,” he listed. “The severity of the punishment will fit the crime. Do you have any objections to corporal punishment, Cedrych?”
I’d gotten into countless bar fights, but I’d never been physically disciplined before, though it was common enough amongst the guard for various infractions. The thought of it stirred mixed feelings within me.
“Cedrych?” he asked, pausing the shave to study me.
“No objections, sir.”
Vasil nodded, then set the razor aside, grabbed a warm towel and draped it over the lower half of my face before continuing, “You’ll have your word if it becomes too much, but I’d like you to lean into the idea of punishment. I fear you’ve gone too long without it.”
