Page 58 of Tristan
“Sassem, kiya!” Diekin shout-whispers. “We should go—I didn’t realize Corrik wouldbehere.”
But I can’t take my eyes off him.
No amount of Diekin’s gentle tugs can tear me away. I thought him devastatingly beautiful when he prowled on top of me, but that’s nothing in comparison to his raw beauty as he handles his sword. The muscles in his back flex and move like serpents beneath his skin as he retracts his arm and slams into his opponent. He circles back (I don’t think he’s seen me) and rounds on his combatant, the blade drives straight into the Elf’s stomach. The matchends there and Corrik wins; healers are called to tend to the fallen Elf.
“Who dares challenge me next?” There’s rage coursing through Corrik. I can sense the violence in the air, even this far away and I know his anger is my fault. He’s been trying to hide it from me; my disobedience brings this out in him with his only release to either fuck me or punish me, but he can’t do either the way he would like to at the moment. He still treats me delicately because of the attacks—he needs the violence of this.
Diekin is right to try to take us out of here before Corrik sees us. Corrik will be furious if he finds us here, but this is probably the only chance I’ll have. I was able to show him earlier today that I’m smarter than he thinks I am. I can prove I’m a good fighter too, by giving him the chance to test my skills for himself.
“Diekin. Go,” I whisper back. I’d rather suffer Corrik’s wrath on my own. I don’t want Diekin in any more trouble than he’s in. I step forward.
“I challenge you,” I say.
Corrik looks down the tunnel of people to see who belongs to the voice that challenged him. He spies me and his look turns from enraged to murderous.
“Hand me your sword,” I ask whoever’s standing next to me without bothering to see who I’m asking. I long to feel the weight of steel within my grasp again. There was once a time when a sword was an extension of my arm. I practiced every day from sunrise to sunset, but my new husband is going to make sure I never touch a sword again.
“If anyone dares place a sword in his hand, that person’s life will be forfeit,” he decrees.
The crowd backs away from me as if I’m Death’s cold hand, leaving Corrik room to head straight for me. With sword still drawn, he moves to stand in front of me like a guard warding all the others away as if he expects someone else will decide to fight me in his place. He doesn’t sheath his sword until the crowd disperses.
Corrik towers overbothDiekin and I—since Diekin decided not to leave, of course. Corrik is so beautiful, he’s celestial, and it hurts my paltry human eyes to look at him for too long. Now, he is beautiful in a different way, he is the angel fallen that I’ve seen before; dark, stone, livid and through the calm façade he keeps despite his building rage, I see the part of Corrik that is creature. His lips pull back just enough to reveal his sharp eyeteeth.
“Brother Diekin,” he snaps. “I believe you have studies to tend to in your chambers.”
“Yes, sir,” he says with a small shake in his voice and scampers off.
“And you will come with me.”
Ifollow behind Corrik with dread. I sense I’ve done something unforgivable. When we reach our chambers, he grabs my wrist, slams the doors behind us and then slams me into the door. His eyes have tinted to a deep violet, closer to black. His anger crackles around him and his breath is slow, predatory, expanding his ribcage full but deflating it only halfway. It seems to get bigger with every ragged breath. The restraint I’ve come to recognize is there, but it’s loosening. It won’t hold this time.
I can’t fix this or calm him. It’s too late.
Corrik yanks his body away from me with great force (though I think he’d rather slam it into me) and turns over the desk I’d worked at earlier, throwing it at the wall. The chair is demolished shortly after that, the oil lamp next and so on and so forth until one by one, the items in our room are destroyed by his temper. What he wants is to hurt me.
When he’s run out of things to destroy (save the bed, though the bed has not escaped without injury) he turns to me, still plastered against the wall. “You are disobedient and disrespectful. Not knowing our ways is no excuse for what you’ve done. I’ve made my authority on this matter plain.”
It hits me in that moment, the impact of seeing his rage, the disappointment; what I need in return is physical. “Hurt me, Corrik.Take it out of my flesh.”
“And give you one more reason within your Markaytian sense of morals to hate me? To misbehave? To disrespect me?”
I want to point out that I don’t hate him anymore and I’ve told him so, but I don’t think it matters much at this point. Silence seems the best course.
“I love you, Tristan, but I don’t want to right now. I’m leaving and you’re staying here. Get on the bed and do not move an inch off it.”
That’s all he says and then he’s gone. I think my heart just broke a little bit.
Well, it didn’t take long for me to fuck everything up. Father was right about me. I push for my way, and I don’t give in until I’ve sent everything crumbling to the underworld.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here, but I don’t eventhinkabout leaving the bed. I have to pee. If it comes to it, I’ll pee in the glass on the bedside table, I’m not moving. I’ve gone too far this time and I know it. Corrik might decide he’s done with me.
I don’t expect my chest to hurt this much. I didn’t think I would ever care what Corrik felt about me. I told myself I would be nothing more than his concubine. My imagination invented all kinds of tales. I would wait in his bed all day until he returned to fuck me, till he had his fill. Maybe some days, I would be chained to his bed like a pet and then made to beg him to fuck me until I was wild with need, only to be left for a few more hours, aching and unsatisfied.
“Down boy,” I say. My cock likes the images. I think I need help.
But I’m getting away from the point, which is, I thought I’d be meaningless to him, except I’m not. Helovesme.Loves me.Gotfucking blindsided by that one.“I love you Tristan, but I don’t want to right now.”Those words run across my mind over and over.
And he calls me Tristan.
