Page 73 of Tristan
“You will heal him to full health and keep him that way.”
He doesn’t even have to think it over. “Bargain, struck, Warlord.”
CHAPTER 20
Nearly One Year Later
The Aldrien Warlord didn’t like me, but the only thing he ever forced me to do was his washing, well, and his boot polishing. Just put all things related to caring for his suite and clothing and weapons under that category. I don’t mind the last one so much, it brings me back to the days of being my father’s squire.
What became certain was that I was never leaving Aldrien. I was Andothair’s prisoner, and I would serve his brother by performing domestic duties, which I’m terrible at by the way. I’ve had servants my whole life. I can’t do laundry to save my life. And blood is a bitch to get out of clothing, did you know? Anyway. Soon, I would make a trade for Diekin.
Elves are polyamorous by nature. This doesn’t mean they can’t be possessive as Corrik was. But I didn’t understand that then. I didn’t understand myself.
I loved Corrik, but I have always been conflicted about us and it was destroying me. I was irrevocably drawn to him, but I didn’t choose him, not at first. We were bound by duty. Technically I was marrying Markaytia to Mortouge—not as easy as it might seem no matter how hunky the Elf. This sat heavily within me along with the knowledge that I would never escape Aldrien.
It’s complicated. I’ve always chosen Markaytia and my family first, but I desperately needed something that was for myself. I came to realize how much my father’s strict rules helped my peace of mind and without them, I was going mad.
Bayaden was harsh and we bickered, and he pulled my brat from me like nothing else. Yet, I was calmed by him. I needed him. He, of course, wouldn’t do a thing until I’d fully consented to it—other than make me press his shirts, which I definitely do under coercion—but once I had, he was exactly what I needed. He’s been holding me together.
It went something like this…
Months and Months Ago
“Tristan, come.”
Bayaden has only recently begun speaking to me as often as he does now in Markaytian, and I’ve only recently begun speaking to him in Elvish. The bastard knew what I was saying all along but forced me to learn Elvish claiming the Markaytian language beneath him. I knew he could speak Markaytian, most Elves can, but he’d speak to me in Elvish anyway and the language barrier made us want to rip each other’s hair out—what’s left of my hair that is. Now he speaks Markaytian whenever he wants something right away and doesn’t desire to go through the hassle of trying to get me to understand his complicated tongue. The Aldrien dialect is far easier to learn than the Mortougian, but it’s still difficult.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I say under my breath.Bloody, demanding Elves.In all my life, I’ve never met a more vainglorious, self-entitled race.
“Suck my cock, now.” He’s lying on the bed with his hands behind his head looking like the prince he is. His long dark hair mocks me, fanned around him—like mine used to.
“Whereareyour manners?” I say. Bayaden might bring out the brat in me, more than Corrik does.
“You’re a servant and a human servant at that. I don’t need manners—now get to work. I’ve had a long, exhausting day, I need to relax.”
And I’m responsible for his relaxation. Got it.
Removing my pants as I make my way over to the bed, I crawl from the end of it, up to his spread legs, and swallow his cock in one go—I’m quite practiced in the art of fellatio now. I make it good, running my tongue along the shaft, I run my lips down the length and suck hard as I pull back up his body. His hips push forward, his cock hits the back of my throat and instead of gagging, like I used to, I moan. I can’t help it. Sucking him like this makes me feel good. I like it, my cock likes it, my body is hot as he continues to push into my mouth with controlled thrusts. His black curls scratch my nose. He spreads his legs wider, and I grab the smooth skin of his balls and tug with just enough force as I suck and feel him climb closer to orgasm. His hand is in my hair, and he slams his cock into my mouth over and over. This time I do gag, I can’t breathe as he chokes me with his cock. I struggle to get away, but I can’t; the Elf is much stronger than I am. I can do nothing but be choked by his enormous cock, wondering if I’ll ever breathe again.
Maybe this is how I’ll die.
I feel the first twitches of his orgasm and then his come shoots down my throat. I’m only just barely able to swallow it all, before I need to take a breath so badly, I have to push at his hips in a desperate attempt to get away. He holds his grip on my head, welding it to his cock. I hear him cry above me as I begin to faint. He pulls out of me, and I gasp at the air, racking it into my lungs in large gulps. My cock is still rock hard.
I cough and thank the Gods for sweet, sweet air and feel some of the come that I missed, dribbling down my chin as I try to regain my breathing rhythm. His foot reaches out to kick me and I fall off the bed and to my place: at the side of his bed on the floor.
“Bayaden!” I scream, still coughing. He’s laughing.
“What? You’re supposed to pat someone on the back when they’re choking.”
“That wasn’t a pat on the back and that’s not what you’re supposed to do to someone who’s choking, you prat!” I say amidst my coughing fit.
“Oh, come here then.”
“Is that an order, my lord?” I never call him that unless I’m being a facetious asshole and I am now—he knows it.
“In fact, it is. Come.”
I pull myself up onto the black sheets and stay by his feet. I don’t care to be too close to him, the feeling is mutual—we have the same kind of a relationship a cat and a dog living in the same house would. We’ve chosen to tolerate each other because we are tied to the same master: Andothair. Me, because I’ve made a promise to Andothair so Diekin will be kept alive and Bayaden because he respects and honors his brother. Andothair is the eldest and will succeed their father as king someday in the distant future, if something ever happens to the Rogue Elf king. Bayaden is Aldrien’s warlord. He’s in charge of training all of the warriors in their kingdom. I’m certain it’s yet another way for Andothair to taunt me. Andothair knew of my wish to fight and now I am the “manservant” to his warlord and brother, I don’t think that’s a coincidence. I’ve not figured out what Andothair has against me, other than my race, but his every action tells me it’s something big. Bayaden is of no help on this matter. Either he knows nothing, has no interest, or will not betray his brother—it’s more likely all the above. Besides, I’m most certainly not one of Bayaden’s confidants.
