Page 50 of A Brat's Tale
“You know Tristan, I am still your husband and I will still spank your naughty bottom when you need it. Talk to me like that again and I will.”
I can’t help it, I shiver. Corrik still gives methat feeling. The magical one. I am addicted to it. “Spank me or don’t, I do not care. This has become a marriage of duty for me, nothing more. I will continue to obey you and fulfill my duty to Markaytia by acting as a loyal servant to Mortouge, but that’s it.”
He slams his hand on the table, the glasses jump. “Part of your dutyis as my husband and all that entails. I could make you, you know. It would be my right.”
I do know. That reality gives out my bravado. “Will you?”
“No. Never. My point is that I do treat you with respect.”
“Gee, thanks for asking my consent, Corrik.”
He is losing his patience. “I know this is hurting you and I’m sorry for that. It’s meant to keep you safe.”
“No Corrik. This is for you. Don’t pretend it’s anything other than what it is. I am perfectly fine with taking my chances out there, it’s you that isn’t.”
“My family agrees, Tristan. I am not the only one concerned for your welfare. My parents were beside themselves. They agreed this was the safest route until you become Elf.”
“I grow weary of this conversation, Corrik. I will never agree with you, so long as I live. May I be excused? I’m very busy. Social calendar is booked.”
He stands and places his cloth napkin on the table. “You’re excused.” He walks out after that without another word, and once again the door is locked tight. I hear every bolt as it is secured into place.
I feel more alone.
Corrik doesn’t return for days and when he does, he’s politely cold. “I came to tell you that your parents arrive tomorrow.”
He looks terrible; I take a bit of pity on him and answer in Elvish, doing my best to display a Mortougian accent. “Thank you, husband,” I say. Having had a few days to think by myself, I realized I should be showing at least the minimum respect required. He is still my husband, even if I’m enraged.
He smiles. He still answers in Markaytian. “See? I knew my husband was smart. You’re learning quickly. We’ll be making the journey to Drakora in no time.” We stand, with only two feet betweenus, but so much keeping us apart. “I shall go now, Tristan. I know you do not want me here.”
I pull my robes around me. I haven’t stopped being angry at him, but the time alone has been good for my head. I nod. “Corrik?”
“Yes, Tristan?”
“Would you allow Diekin to visit?” I haven’t been allowed visitors yet, and I don’t know why. Though truthfully, I wasn’t ready to see anyone, anyway.
He beams. It’s something I want that he can give me. “Yes. I have figured out a system for that. I can allow one visitor per day, other than me. I don’t want the guards getting used to too many visitors.”
It’s hard not to roll my eyes, but I’m actively trying not to argue again, so I nod. Besides, my complaints get me nowhere and I’m far too excited to see Diekin. Corrik turns to leave. “Cor, wait.”
“Yes?”
“Come to bed tonight?”
He’s not as excited about it as much as I thought he would be. “I will do my best Tristan, but I’ve been working ‘round the clock. I may have to sleep in the barracks again.”
I know at that moment he won’t be here tonight. I try not to let my disappointment show and I feel stupid for asking. I spend time after he’s gone sitting at my window, a place I’ve taken to, a place I try not to let Corrik see me sitting at, or I’m sure he’ll flip out. I spend time looking out at Mortouge, studying the stones on the side of the building, which sticks out in odd increments, making a shape I cannot decipher from this angle. I am high up, but thankfully I wasn’t put in one of the taller towers and truly, I could find a way down from here. My mind can’t help thinking in that way. It was what Lucca and I used to do often.
Late in the afternoon, Diekin enters like the ray of sunshine he is. We rode home together, but it’s now the absence of his bouncy spirit, while I was gone, strikes me. His hair is shorter than mine, it stops at just past his shoulders, allowing the front to wave up and over to the right. He has a new tattoo over his shoulder I didn’t notice before with his shoulder armor in the way. He’s in nothing but a white, maleshift dress with no sleeves, that hangs between his inner thighs, the sides open showing off his tree-trunk legs. It’s cinched at the torso with the only bit of armor he’s got on—a wide band of Elven steel.
“Warlord, it is good to see you.” I haven’t bothered to change; I don’t bother to close my robe. Diekin appreciates my finer features. “Perhaps Corrik will allow you and I to play at some point. Ditira is a bit possessive, but she might make an exception for you.”
He waggles his ears with his eyebrows, and I blush hotly and it’s nice to know there are still some Markaytian sensibilities in me. I close up my robe and he smirks. “It is good to see you Diekin.”
I lose my false confidence and burst into tears. Diekin gathers me in his arms. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I am the weaker mate and therefore do not get a vote in this, but I don’t agree. I love Corrik and he’s usually level-headed, but with you, he loses all reason. Ditira was the only one who tried to talk Corrik out of this insane plan. Unfortunately, Alrik was not only in agreement, but he also talked Corrik further into it. He does not want to waste his time going after you again and as the crown prince, he views it as his duty to ensure you are kept safe to honor the treaty. Corrik remains in conflict.”
“Corrik is in conflict? No. He’s all for this plan. Meanwhile, he galivants and sleeps in the barracks.” I would love to sleep in the barracks.
Diekin’s brow squeezes together, his ears turn down. “Corrik in the barracks? Tristan, no. He has been outside your door, unless he absolutely needs to leave for a royal duty.”
