Page 39 of Tristan
I look over at Diekin who is smiling wide, alongside the queen.
“Go you two. We’ll send dinner in—the tents should be ready,” the queen says.
“Tents?”
“Come,” Corrik says. “I will show you.”
The tents are larger inside than they look on the outside, theyaremagnificent; but is all this really necessary for one night? Corrik leads me into a sectioned off “room,” where there’s a bed set on the ground—a cozy looking mattress drowning in blankets and pillows. There are tapestries strewn up on all four walls of the tent and a grand Pegasus Sigil for the house of Cyredanthem.
“I hope some time with my mother has you in a better mood. I could not find my patience while I rode and am likely worse than when I left. I won’t be able to hold my temper.”
“Corrik I—"
“Quiet.”
How am I supposed to apologize when he won’t let me speak?
My large Elf stares at me in silence, raking his eyes up and down, and a small shiver of terror runs through me—maybe I’ve been too hasty with my behavior, maybe I’ve angered him beyond his endurance? The air is thick with his restraint, his muscles are taut from preventing them from reaching out to touch me, all the lines in his face are gone except the one between his brow, which frownsdown at me. I don’t know Corrik well, but I know him well enough to read that look: disappointment. I can’t hide my shame; I look down to my boots. Corrik sighs. “Don’t look like that—look at me, Tristan.”
I do, but I can feel stupid tears in my eyes. I don’t want to cry, but I can’t handle this feeling inside me, and I don’t know what to do with it. I wish he’d allow me to apologize.
“I know you are sorry. Is that a bit better?”
I nod, remembering not to speak.
“I need your obedience now more than I need your apology. You will understand someday, promise. Get ready for bed, our food will be here and then I willneedyou.”
The night was spent with Corrik’s cock down my throat—and it was fucking glorious.
He was vicious as he rammed into my mouth, hot tears of shame and regret poured down my face. The whole time I wanted it. I wanted him to pound into me, to use me, to claim me. My cock was rock hard, and I was surprised at my own words after he came down my throat and I swallowed every drop like a man dying of thirst.
“Corrik, please—I think I need…”
“I know what you need D’orhai,” he said as he brushed the hair from my face and used his thumb to wipe away the last of his come on my lips. He put me over his lap again, like he had earlier that morning, and spanked me until I felt at peace. I didn’t enjoy being spanked, for several reasons, but then again, I also enjoyed it immensely. It’s complicated. Suffice to say I need it for reasons I don’t understand.
While he spanked me, many thoughts drifted through my mind. Mostly, I thought of Papa and how well he always behaved for Father. Did Father spank him? I’m not sure, but it would make a lotof things make a lot of sense. For example, the way Father would tell him, “I’ll take care of you later.”
I didn’t conclude anything about that, but I did resolve to behave myself—his hand bloody well hurts! Besides, his look of disappointment is getting to me. It’s almost as heavy as Father’s.
And I don’t hate the Prince. Not anymore. Something’s happened between us that oddly, I think has to do with spanking. I don’t know what, but something.
Afterward, I got the care I’d missed out on the first time he spanked me at the inn. He wrapped me in his arms and sang his soft Elvish lullaby and I drifted to sleep feeling wrought with emotional exhaustion, but also like I’d come out the other side more whole than before.
This morning, I get to ride on my own. A smile creeps onto my face as I gaze at Corrik when he turns to look at me. He does not smile in return, of course (honestly, the man needs to learn to smile more) but his eyes light up the smallest amount with delight. He faces front again and I watch the lines of his body, mesmerized as they move in rhythm with his horse.
“Stop making googly eyes at your husband and talk with me little brother,” Diekin says, coming from behind to ride beside me.
“I am not making googly eyes.”
“You are.” He smiles satisfied.
I scowl at him. “What do you want Diekin?”
We trot at a moderate pace today. I think the Elves are worried I can’t keep up; we travel much slower than I ever did with my father, but I don’t mention it. I know they are trying to pay me a kindness; I don’t want to belittle their gesture.
“I want to get to know you. Tell me something about you.”
“That’s quite vague. Where shall I start? With my birth perhaps?”
