Page 29 of A Brat's Tale
Bayaden’s as gruff as he always is. “We’ll speak to you later, Uncle.” He ushers me away. “Don’t say a word, Human.”
His tone says cross him and get spanked right here, so I keep quiet, but I’m fuming. He’s got something planned formeand he did it in secret because he knew I wouldn’t agree to it. But surprises aren’tdone happening. The king is back, and he’s brought with him the king from Dominithia and his son. The Dominithia are a race of green people. They look Markaytian, but with pastel green skin. After formalities, the Elven king introduces the prince. “Bayaden, this is Prince Sancytha, I told you about him.”
Bayaden hardens. “You have, Father.” He grunts a hello to the prince who does not look like he wants to meet Bayaden at all.
The Elven king forces a conversation in what I assume is Dominithia, a language I know nothing of, in which Bayaden is his taciturn-self and the Dominithiaian prince looks like he wants to vomit things his skin color. He is a handsome prince, with gorgeous dark hair (I always notice hair) but he’s the kind who will break like the glass meant for these kinds of fancy parties. He’s not meant for war. I don’t know what they speak of, but I can tell Bayaden is not a fan of whatever’s being said. Bayaden’s Dominithia is as polished as the prince and the Dominithiaian king’s and I can’t help but admire how smart he is.
I pick up on the feel of the conversation, which is uneasy all around.
Eventually, it ends and Bayaden stalks off. I have to quicken my pace to catch up to him. “What was that all about?” I hiss at him.
“Be quiet,” he snaps looking around. Right, I’m not good at following the rules.
At long last, the night ends. Bayaden is furious and I’m annoyed. I know Bayaden has no obligation to me, but I’ve gotten used to him telling me things that have to do with me. When we get back to his chambers, I round on him as he’s shutting the door, ready to tell him all about what I think of him and whatever the hell tonight was, but when he faces me, his eyes are wet.Crying, but also hard, vulnerable, and filled with need. Crying has got to be the worst thing I’ll ever see Bayaden do. It’s at least ten times worse seeing the great Warlord cry than any other person I’ve met because it’s more heartbreaking for some unnamable reason. We come together in a kiss and he lifts me so I can grip around his wide torso with my strong legs.
We’re both wild with passion, quickly divesting ourselves of thefancy clothes we spent an eternity dolling ourselves up in and it’s not long before we’re dirty again, with blood and sweat and come. We fuck several times and we mark each other and when we’re ready to rest on his bed in the moonlight, we’re stained in each other’s fluids and scent. “Did you manage to find clothes today, little human?”
“Is my name Tristan Arcade Kanes?” I remember briefly that legally, I’m not Tristan. I’m Kathir Tahsen Cyredanthem, but I don’t feel like Prince Kathir. I’m not even sure I’m a Kanes anymore. I’m just Tristan and that’s fine with me.
“Of course, you did. All right, it is time for sleep, we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
I move to roll off his bed and go to mine, but he doesn’t let me leave, slinging his large arm over me, trapping me beside him. “I don’t think so, you stay here. I might need you again in the night.”
But he doesn’t and we both sleep soundly next to each other not talking about the things that happened at dinner.
Chapter 7
Iline up my warriors. Elves are permitted to train young, the equivalent of a pre-teen in Markaytia, but these Elves have been in the world at least thirty years. Some of them barely reach the middle of my torso, but they are Elven children and many of them can run circles around even me. I’m not really in charge, Deglan is, but she trusts me to take them through the standard training exercises without her instruction and some of my own she’s approved of.
Some of these Elves will be the future archers of the Aldrien army. Deglan decides who will be presented to Bayaden’s general and the general will work with that crew until she has a few Elves she can present to Bayaden for selection.
Bayaden is aware of my choices. I informed him as to who was going to make it and who wasn’t. I’m certain and when I’m right, I’ll tell Bayaden I told you so. I might be old and grey by that point, but I’ll make a scene about it no matter what age.
It’s weird to think that I’ll be so old-looking while Bayaden will remain young. Becoming Elf is off the table for me now and so I will grow old and die within a regular human lifetime. I never thought too much about becoming an Elf—it was what I had to do, as part of the marriage contract. There’s a bit of relief, the thought of living for solong was hard to contemplate. A human can’t comprehend time in that way.
“I want fifty rounds through the obstacle course,” I tell them once I’ve shown them what to do. I get some scowls, but they don’t dare argue. I can’t do anything about them if they do, but Deglan can; I reported them to her, and they eventually learned to behave for me. I’m still proud of every one of them as I watch them progress, even the ones who hate me. Not all of them think I’m human scum, though. A few appreciate and even seem to like me.
They return tired. I’ve gotten good at finding ways to exhaust them. “All right. You can head to the baths,” I tell them in Elvish.
“Thank you for today, sir,” Coldera says. “You’re a good teacher.”
The little guy smiles at me and I ruffle the dark hair on his head. He’s the smallest of the pile and I tend to worry he won’t make it. “Thank you. Happy to be of service.”
When we’re on, we’reonand I don’t allow for such softness. I’m more like Father on the field. But off, I’m all Papa. They know the difference. Bayaden joins me as Coldrea scampers off. He yanks me to him. “We’re done for the day,” he declares.
“Oh, we?” It’s early to be heading off the field.
“Yes.” He stares at me, his smile soft like his eyes. “I’m exhausted and my cock isn’t going to suck itself.”
I whack him. “Bayaden.”
“It is your job.”
“I’m telling your sister on you,” I say.
“What’s my brother doing now?” she says coming behind us.
“He’s being his usual arrogant self,” I tell her, still looking at him, trying to memorize him.
