Page 28 of A Brat's Tale
What I want is a foreign concept. “I think I might have liked four, but much later. I was going to be gifted immortality. I would have liked to wait a few hundred years.”
He nods. “Come here.” I go to him and he pulls me to him. “We could never have children, Father wouldn’t allow that, but if we did, what do you think they would have been like?”
I can’t help the immediate thoughts that come to mind. “The Gods help us, they would have double Warlord in them, dragon blood, and Elven. They’d be so stubborn, and you’d be so annoyed.”
He smiles. “They would obey me.”
“They would, you’d be a strict Father like mine was, but they would love you fiercely like I do mine.” I enjoy the thought for a moment. “What about me? Would I have made a good Papa?”
“You would have coddled our children, except for on the field; there you are a barbarous taskmaster.”
I can’t deny any of that. “They would have been magnificent warriors.”
“Las nah,” he says, an Elvish expression for “all is well” or “not to worry,” but my heart now aches for our stubborn children. “We agree on something.”
It will anger him, but I have to ask. “Baya, what’s going on?”
He plays with the tag at my throat. “Don’t ask questions. Just obey me for once. I mean it, Human. Best behavior or I shall spank your bare bottom right in front of everyone.” He turns heel sharply. “Come.”
Something is coming, something that’s going to shatter me. But I follow him because however much this is going to hurt me, Bayaden is hurting several times over.
Ikeep close as I’ve been instructed. There is protocol in situations like this. I am the servant and I’m to stick by my master. I may only refer to him as Master, which Bayaden enjoys far more than he should in my opinion. I get to sit beside him though, and not on the floor as some humans are made to. Apparently, being the Warlord’s manservant does afford me some status if Bayaden should decide I’ve earned it. But also, it’s not really Baya’s thing. He likes some bedroom play, but for every day, he enjoys our brat-Top dynamic over a more submissive one.
Tom kneels at King Caer Gai’s feet, his perfect kneeling posture a thing to behold and admire from afar—people can look, but they can’t touch. As usual, he’s to keep his focus on the king and he does it well. Tom adores the king, which is the only reason I hesitate regarding the king at all. I don’t know what the king’s up to, but it’s something nefarious. Tom’s faith in him has me wondering if the king’s not simply in over his head.
I’m in a new environment and I can’t help what’s been trained in me since birth by both my parents. I survey my surroundings and look for oddities, familiarities and odd familiarities. The first thing Inotice is an Elf in a hooded robe on the other side of the room. He stands out because he’s trying to blend in, and he does blend in for everyone, but not for someone like me. To me he’s a sore thumb, sticking out, throbbing red. People don’t notice him, because he’s older, and he’s attempting to come across as frail, but he isn’t frail. Under those robes, he’s quite large, you can tell by a person’s neck and jawline. Plus, he looks like someone I know well. “Which family member of yours is he, Master?” I whisper. I’m not supposed to speak unless spoken to, which is why Bayaden gives me a glare to defeat all glares and I have the wisdom to cow. I can’t help myself though, this is yet another reason I was not cut out to be a manservant. “You look like him.”
“You will meet him soon enough, little human.”
Little human.He can’t be that mad at me. I almost reach out to touch him, but I remember just in time. Bayaden and I have lived on top of each other this past year. We’re used to touching each other in some way, whether that be on the field, passing by, in the bedroom, or while eating, which he often does with me in his lap these days.
I am the spoiled pet who gets to lie about on the furniture.
It’s natural for us to be within close proximity, a hand resting on my thigh, him tugging me around by the waistband of my pants, one of us dropping a kiss to the lips or some place on the other’s body. I often grip onto his long hair for comfort, or just so he knows I’m there. I soothe the restless Warlord and he brings me contentment.
When dinner is over, people mingle except for Bayaden to his father’s dismay. Bayaden’s the kind who sits and waits for you to approach him. He really is the most anti-social person I’ve ever met.
Unless you’re talking war, weapons, or strategy, he has no interest in you.
“Get up and talk to someone,” King Caer Gai hisses at him in Elvish. “Else why did you bother to attend?”
“Was there an option not to attend?” Bayaden says, also in Elvish.
His father gives him the same look I’ve seen on Bayaden many times, and it usually means,“Tristan, you’re walking on thin ice,”which are of course my words, I doubt Bayaden’s ever seen ice, but eitherway it means that Bayaden had better get up and mingle. He stands and signals for me to come.
Aldrien has been banished from the Elven realm indefinitely. The king hosts these dinners to form alliances with other races. Even alone as it is from the seven Elven realms, Aldrien is still powerful and holds sway due to their connection to magic that comes from the ether. Of course, they still want what they can’t have which is to reunite with the Elven realm, and if they can’t have that, then it must be destroyed.
“Tristan, this is my uncle Taj,” he says in Elvish since he can’t be seen talking to his manservant in Markaytian. Baya and I move back and forth between Elvish and Markaytian. No real rhyme or reason as to why we speak which language when.
I think that may be the one thing I’m grateful to Andothair for, the Elvish lessons. After a year of lessons and immersing myself in Elven culture, I can speak Elvish fluently, even if it doesn’t sound as nice as when Baya speaks it. “Pleased to meet you, Tristan,” he says. I like his eyes; they remind me of Bayaden.
“Uncle Taj comes and goes,” Bayaden explains, his Elvish accent strong. “He lives alone and travels a lot.”
I feel it in the air: something’s going on, I don’t know what, but this meeting with his uncle is meaningful. I’m used to speaking Elvish to Bayaden, and others on the field, because Bayaden makes me, but I still get nervous breaking it out for others. I know my accent isn’t amazing; it’s embarrassing, but I give it a shot anyway. “Nice to meet you, sir.” I bow my head rather than extending my hand in greeting, I’m still a lowly servant, I’m not to be so familiar.
“I’m sure we’ll get to know each other well enough soon.”
My head snaps to Bayaden. Because what the fuck does that mean? My dragon blood rages.
