Page 26 of A Brat's Tale
“Bayaden, what are you doing? Whatever it is,stopit.” Because I’m going to start crying and it won’t be just any kind of crying, but the kind that will break me apart. I know he’s trying to do a good thing, but the fragile walls I’ve built can’t handle the truth.
He takes my hand. “I can’t keep you forever, but it’s not time for you to go yet. Until that time.”
He pounces on me and my new pants are quickly on the forest floor, his cock inside me. Bayaden thrusts into me over and over, the sounds of skin slapping together echo off the cliffside and toward Aldrien.
His tears drip softly to my chest.
Whatever happened on the clifftop, we’re back to our version of normal by the time we return to the palace. I complained on the way back that we couldn’t bring even one frog to which Baya replied, “If I find you’ve brought one, just one frog home, I will tan that pretty backside of yours good.”
The look he gave me said he wasn’t messing about, so I refrained from my usual bratting. I’ll have to find another way to antagonize Andothair.
“Tristan?”
“Uh?” We’re back in his chambers, he’s in his closet and I’m lazing about. Not the sophisticated way of a dedicated manservant, but then again, I’m not a dedicated manservant.
“Do you happen to know where my white blouse went? I need it for dinner tonight,” he says removing his cuffs by himself for once.
My skin prickles.This is the dinner, isn’t it?
I hop up and begin to remove my nice clothes—the only other set I have—and change into the clean but worn-out beige pants. I’ve had to use some of my mother’s sewing lessons to patch and repatch certain places.
Before I get a chance to answer, he looks me up and down. “Tristan, you know I am not in a position to give you clothes. It’s complicated, like with not being able to have you train my warriors. Why have you not stolen more in all this time?”
I squint at him. I don’t have an answer, at least not one that makes sense. “You said I could acquire these.”
“Do you mean to tell me that’s the directive you chose to obey all this time, while you’ve disregarded so many others?”
“I guess. I don’t know. I’m complicated.”
“You most certainly are. It’s just as well; I like seeing how clever you can be.”
“Wait, if you can’t give me clothes, how were you able to give me my tunic and the matching pants?”
“I have reason enough for that if I’m asked. You train on my field and it’s within my jurisdiction to grant you a uniform if I feel you’ve earned it. Your work with the younglings allowed for it.”
“Well, I do like being clever. I shall have more clothing by nightfall.”
He smiles. “Good. You should know I don’t plan on making it easy for you. Now, where is my shirt?”
Shite. I haven’t come up with an excuse that’s good enough. “It’s right there. Are you blind?” I strut over to the closet and pull any white blouse from a hanger. They all look the same to me. “Here.”
His brow raises. “That’s not the one.”
“This one?” I try handing him each white blouse successively and even a blue one I claim will look better on him. And then, “Maybe you don’t need one at all. You look handsome in your battle armor.”
“Come here little human,” he says figuring it out.
I briefly glance at the door before I try to make a run for it. It’s easy for him to catch me and toss me over his shoulder. I kick and bang on his back to no avail; it’s like beating on a mountainside. He swings out a chair and stands me before him in a ritual that has become formulaic for us. “Are you going to tell me now, or while you’re over my knee, hmmm?”
I contemplate which I’d prefer, because either way, I’m going over his knee. “I don’t even know how it happened. I suck at laundry, Bayaden!”
“Tristan.”
“Fine. It somehow ended up with a red splotch on it, and then it became fire kindling.”
“How did my fine shirt become fire kindling?” he says with a hard edge to his voice.
“Because I threw it in the fire in hopes you wouldn’t find out. You have so many, how can you tell the bloody difference?”
