Page 42 of Tristan
I’m fascinated to see these humans. Corrik explained to me that many races of humans and other creatures were once permitted to make their home in Mortouge, until a great war that happened evenbefore he was born, and his father would not allow anyone else to join his kingdom or the realm. The humans residing in Mortouge now, are the descendants of the humans from the time before the restriction.
“Come. I will show you around.”
I enjoy Corrik’s excitement as he teaches me. “The right side is starboard; the left is called portside. The front is referred to as the bow, and the back the stern. Those there,” he says as he points to the largest of the sails, “are the main sails. They gather wind to pull us through the water.”
The wood is carved with beautiful detail, pictures, and Elven inscriptions, which feel marvelous as I run my hand along the designs. Corrik watches my wonderment amused as he continues to explain everything and all things “boat.”
The wind blows through my long dark hair and from what Corrik tells me, we’ll have a good day sailing due to the lovely gale. He seems to love this ship; a lot more than I imagine I will.
“Do you sail often, Corrik?”
“Often as I can. I have many duties, but I would like to take you on a voyage and show you places you’ve never seen—it could be our honeymoon since we won’t get one now.”
Corrik leaves things unsaid, like why we won’t get a honeymoon immediately following our wedding as is the usual tradition. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of a honeymoon because I hadn’t realized the Prince’s feelings for me and presumed he’d merely come to retrieve his betrothed; that I was nothing more than a chess piece in a treaty-forged alliance. The prince has since made his feelings clear to me—I believe he does care for me a great deal. I’ve learned some of how to read Corrik’s taciturn demeanor. I suppose a honeymoon would be expected now,but why wait?
I don’t bother asking. I know it’s something Corrik doesn’t want to tell me, and I don’t fancy arguing at the moment, not with him looking as he does now. I could watch Corrik forever. He’s become the most fascinating thing in my world.
He stops in front of large double doors. “This will be our chambers.”
He opens the doors to a set of rooms that are far too exquisite to be on a ship even of this magnitude. The anteroom is large, and beyond it, I can spy a four-poster bed in a room all its own. A fire is already burning and there is white wine chilling on a small table beside a plate of cheese and fruit.
“We head North, D’orhai. It will be cold, but the fire will keep you warm,” he tells me, directing me to sit in front of the fire. He pours the wine. “I know you’re not used to the cold.”
Warmth rises in my chest when he calls me by that Elvish endearment and it’s not just the fire—he’s called me that since our first day together. I wonder what it means but don’t ask, worried he’ll make me try to pronounce it. Instead, I sip the wine, allowing the bouquet to hit my nose first before the dry liquid hits my tongue. It’s lovely wine.
“I think we should talk, Tristan.”
Hmmmm. I like the sound of that. Talking usually means fucking. I take another deep sip of my wine and put the glass down ready to be ravished.
“Not that kind of talk, though I do enjoy those ‘talks’ immensely,” he adds. “A real talk.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Should you be?” he asks. I can’t recall anything I might have done, but it’s hard to tell with Corrik; he hasn’t exactly gone over the rules insisting Ilearn by experience.
“No, Corrik.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. We will be in Mortouge in a few weeks. Our culture is quite different, and it’s going to be a shock to you. I couldn’t tell you before—the Elves find it better to remain somewhat elusive—but I can tell you now.
“I’ve told you some. We are open with our sexual urges—but there’s more. We display ourselves in ways that will offend yourMarkaytian sensibilities. Nevertheless, you will be expected to adapt to our culture since you will become Elf.”
“About that—how will I become Elf?” I’m more interested in that. I probably should be concerned about the Elves and their sexually deviant ways, but I’m not. I’ve enjoyed Corrik’s sexual deviance.
“Again, I must disappoint you, Tristan. It’s better we wait until you know more about us. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” His lips tug into his quarter smile and I admire his majestic beauty.
“Fine, Mr. Cryptic.” I take another sip of my wine. “Is that all you wanted to warn me about? Sex? I don’t think I’m quite so sensitive over that topic anymore.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve created a monster, but it goes beyond sex and it’s more about how we Elves believe everyone is constructed … Elf, Markaytian, or otherwise.”
“Constructed?”
“We all have urges. In Mortouge we honor them instead of hiding them. Though I will admit these tendencies are far more pronounced in Elves. We almost can’t control them.”
I take his last words for what they are: a warning. I’ve experienced firsthand when he’s in the grip of thesetendencies,and I’ve only scratched the surface of this side of Corrik. “And how do you think I’m constructed?”
“You are submissive, D’horai,” he says plain and simple. “Though I am beginning to wonder if you’re more of a brat.”
“I was a junior Warlord Corrik, how can you think me submissive in any way? And let’s not forget my dragon’s blood.”
