Page 48 of A Brat's Tale
“A child?” That reminds me of Bayaden’s green babies for a moment and I almost smile. “We can’t possibly bring a child into this mess, because it is a fucking mess, Corrik.”
“On that we can agree, but a child would strengthen the treaty with Markaytia and demonstrate our loyalty. Your father was not impressed we lost you. As we scoured one side of where Aldrien was supposed to be, he and your papa scoured the other. We sent word that we found you, but that wasn’t enough. They will be here in a fortnight to see you with their own eyes. Talk of a child is good fortune, Tristan.” He speaks softly, and with the weight of a person struggling with a great many things with no relief in sight.
I almost feel sorry for him and I know he’s right about this. I sigh. I hate fucking politics. “Yes. A child will strengthen that pact.” And I know how my father thinks. He will want to see some formal show of alliance. It’s not uncommon for the spouse in an arranged marriage to “go missing,” leaving the treaty intact, but without the obligation to the missing spouse, and the other is free again to make another treaty over a second marriage. As much as Father and I don’t always see eye to eye, he cares about me and wouldn’t want to see me used like that.
Speaking of my father, fuck. He’s on his way here. Why do I feel like a little boy in trouble all over again? Knowing my father, he’s simply coming all this way to scold me for getting abducted.
“Then we agree on that much?”
“We do.”Ugh,though. Thinking about having a child to cart around with me, is overwhelming because we all know who will be expected to look after it. This is another thing we’ll have to discuss. Am I to look after the child in this room?One thing at a time, Tristan.“What are the rules other than don’t leave this room?”
“No other rules.”
“Does that mean I can choose not to associate with you?”
I’ve stabbed him with an invisible sword. He swallows hard like he’s also swallowing that information, but I think he expected it. “Youwill show me respect as your husband, Kathir, but after that, no. I will not force your company.”
“Then I respectfully ask that you stay away until you come to your senses. This is pure madness, Corrik, and I won’t endorse it. I will obey you, but I’m not going to act like it’s okay. Finding another room for your clothes and to sleep in would be best.”
“I cannot do that. You must realize that we need to show we have good favor with each other, even if we do not. Servants talk. I will respect your wish and come as little as possible, but I will have to come each night for bed, to get my clothes and yes, to visit.”
“Fine, but I have no wish to see you otherwise.”
“If that is what you wish.”
“It is.”
He takes a heavy breath. “Very well, I will return for dinner.”
He leaves. I hear several locks click shut sealing me in and I want to die. All I have to stop the tidal wave of anxiousness being locked in a room brings me is my anger. Even that upsets me, being angry at Corrik. I don’t want to be. I still love him. It’s all too much to bear.
So, I return to bed, and I don’t leave it other than to attend to my studies for three days.
After a week of confinement, I begin to lose my mind. I had vowed not to speak with Corrik unless spoken to, but I’ve begun to beg him, especially when Elf studies are not easy. I’m starting to worry I’ll be trapped here ten years or more. “Corrik,please. What if you took me out? Full guard. Not too far. Maybe just to the palace gardens or something?” That’s a shot in the dark, I wouldn’t know if this place had a garden or not.
“No. Do not ask again.”
But I do, over and over. I come up with new ideas and ways I could be kept safe—I have a lot of time for thinking—but he shoots down every single one, growing increasingly irritated. I’m surprised there hasn’t been a consequence, I know I’m getting close though.Suffering the consequences will be worth it to get my mind off being alone.
And Bayaden.
Missing Bayaden is different than missing Corrik. There was guilt attached to missing Corrik, guilt over what I’d done and what I didn’t do, regret over things I never told him. With Baya there’s just missing—missing waking up with him, missing eating in his lap, I even miss him yellingHumanat me. The more I miss Bayaden, the worse I am to Corrik, who finally does spank me, with a nasty, little wooden paddle. It’s a relief.
At the same time, I know I have to be careful how far I push him and decide there are better ways to annoy the living piss out of him, ways that are less dangerous for my backside.
I notice that although Corrik has refrained from making advances on me, he’d like to. The pajamas at night are as much for him as they are for me. I’m also tired of the Mortougian style of dress. It’s too confining in comparison to what I’d got used to in Aldrien. Since I’ve been given leave to ask the tailor to make me whatever I desire, I request an assortment of large, silk robes, with giant bell sleeves. My hair melds with the robes, cascading down them like it has always been part of them. They casually remain open and I keep bare underneath so that Corrik will have to stare at me this way if he wants to continue to visit.
As soon as he sets eyes on me, I know I’ve achieved a small victory. He’s annoyed, but he’s refraining from saying what he’d like to. I know the Elves of Mortouge are promiscuous and open about things like nakedness. The tailor went as far as to compliment me on my taste when I suggested such robes, telling me how much the prince was going to love them.
“What is the meaning of this, Tristan?” he says in my home tongue.
“Oh? You don’t like them? You said I could have whatever I wanted from the tailor.”
“The little Markaytian I know would have balked at such an outfit.”
He’s right. That Tristan would have. “I am not that personanymore. Are you about to tell me I’m not allowed this freedom either?”
He thinks about it. He’d like to. “No. It was just a shock. They do look nice on you, Kathir.”
