Page 9 of A Brat's Tale
Marking culture is rampant among Elves. Like bloody wolves they are. Of course, Bayaden has to be careful how much he marks me and where he marks me. I am a lowly slave, and he is Aldrien royalty. It’s complicated.
He doesn’t answer me. “Dress me, Human.”
I’m Human when he’s pissed and little human when he’s pleased. And damn him, my cock still aches, disappointed.Heloves it all: the dominance, the orders, and the obedience, even the violence.
If Baya wants to be an arse, I can give it right back to him. “How shall I dress you this morning, Sire?” I’m icy cold and sarcastic.
“We will practice today,” he grunts.
I refuse to speak to him as I dress him for the fields. Aldrienians don’t wear a lot when they fight, but at least their important bits are protected. A wide belt, with the emblem of his family crest as big as his abdomen, goes around his waist, and I help him with a baldric strap that runs diagonally across his chest so his sword can rest on his back. He’ll wear shoulder armor on his right, that I will help him put on once we arrive at the training fields, and wide bands of armor around his wrists. Bayaden has a large scar that runs from his forehead and carries down under his eye to the top of his cheekbone. He likes to boast about the time he almost lost his eye, but with magic and good healing, it was saved. The rest of it was bad enough he was able to keep the scarring should he choose to.
And of course, he did. He says it makes him look fiercer with it than without it for “striking fear into the heart of his enemies.” Good Lord. Above his eye is a tattoo in Elven Script that saysTar Jian. It’s quiet now, but sometimes he allows it to glow with magic, which helps him look like a vengeful spirit. I’ll never tell him, but I think it makes him look fierce too and I often find myself running fingers over it. He’s a stunning creature and when I’m not cursing his name, I’m staring at him in awe.
I like to think I know something of the Warlord after all the time we’ve spent living in close quarters and behind his anger is pain of a kind he isn’t used to feeling. I dare to reach and move his hair behind a tall, Elven ear. He starts but lets me, moving his ear in a pleased fashion. He won’t look at me. “I loved you before the oath, Baya. Do you doubt me?”
His eyes glisten when he looks at me; my palm rests on his cheek. “I do not doubt you.”
“Then stop this nonsense. Or your breakfast will get cold and I’m not taking the blame for that.”
He smirks. “You’ll take the blame all right. You are to blame, kicking all other thought but you out of my head and monopolizing the space.”
I lean in to kiss him. “Apologize.”
“For what?”
“You were mean to my cock, Baya, and for no good reason.”
He smiles. “Don’t need one.”
“At least finish the job.”
He has a wry expression on his face and pulls me toward the table seating me on his lap. “Can’t. You said so yourself, the breakfast will get cold.”
Arse.
“Besides, I have something for you.”
I nuzzle into his neck and feel him sink into the closeness. I love our banter, but I don’t like fighting with him that way. It reminds me too much of the beginning and while our beginning has some comical highlights, I’d rather what we have now. “If it’s another hairbrush, I decline. My arse is spanked enough thank you.”
He laughs. “It’s not a hairbrush, but thanks for reminding me. I haven’t taken that to your backside in too long.”
I groan. “What’s my present?”
“After breakfast,” he says, forking a sausage, taking a bite and then feeding me the other half. “But I shall give you a hint.”
He lifts my hand the one the ring on it that was given to me by Papa at my coming-of-age ceremony. “It was in a bag with this.”
I think about that bag.A bag with three contents, stolen from my room the day after my wedding.Ring. Dagger. Tunic.
Sharp pain slices through my heart. It’s quick though, so quick I’m able to carry on as nothing happened.
I doubt he’ll return my dagger to me. “Is it my tunic?”
He smiles wide. “Don’t worry little human, it is safe. Eat your breakfast and then you shall find out.”
I breathe in relief, but at the same time, a thousand sensations make their way to the surface, feelings, and thoughts stir, ones that haven’t stirred in a long time. I don’t allow myself to think abouthim. I won’t say his name.
But the thought creeps in about whathewould have done ifhe’dfound that tunic. I bethe’dhave done to it what I did to Bayaden’s shirt earlier. I resentedhimfor taking me from my family. It washisfault I had my title stripped,henever heard me,hedid whathewanted whenhewanted.Hewas selfish. Arrogant. Pig-headed.
