Page 4 of A Brat's Tale
“No. I mean exactly what I say—we balance each other—if you are dysfunctional then I am dysfunctional, and I can’t care two ways past Sunday.”
I laugh. I love his confidence. “But our son, he can’t know. Maybe there’s still hope for him—we can change him, make him be more like you.”
His eyes frown sadly, not for our son but because he wishes I would understand what he’s trying to explain. “It’s his nature, Eagar. We can’t change him anymore than you could stop a crow flying. Besides, you want our son to be a smarmy, possessive arse?”
“I want him to be strong and in charge of his own life.”
“You are both of those things.”
That’s true. But, “What grown man needs to be spanked?”
His eyes fill with mirth. “You. There’s not much more to it than that.”
“People would judge me if they knew.” Except for maybe Olivia, Tristan’s mother. She knows, but she reserves judgement and is accepting. Other Markaytians are not as accepting of kinds of relationships they do not understand.
“If they judge us, they judge us. People judge people for all sorts of things. There’s no way around that.”
I nod. “And what of our son? If he’s like me, will you go easier on him?”
“I will do no such thing. Aside from the fact that I am a harsh person, if Tristan wants to be Warlord he might as well get used to it. I’m bound to get a whole lot harsher.”
I nod. I know to expect that by now. I look down at my tunic and play with its edges, wondering if I’m forgiven, but too embarrassed to ask. “Come here, Eagar,” Arcade says, standing and opening his arms for me.
My heart lifts and I have to say, this is probably the best part about spanking—the after spanking cuddle. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Arcade.”
Arcade moves my hair from my face and wipes the tears with his thumb. He’s smiling. “Sorry? You know how much I love spanking your naughty bottom. I do want your obedience, but maintaining you is no chore.”
I squeeze him tightly, grinning into his shoulder. He makes no apology for who he is and if Tristan has to be submissive like I am, then I shall endeavor to make sure his self-confidence is like his father’s.
TRISTAN’S MUSINGS
To be fair, I have always been a brat.
Growing up, Lucca and I were usually in some kind of trouble. I remember the blond-haired hellion running down the hall like fire was chasing him, nearly barreling into me. It turned out “fire” was the pastry chef. “Tristan, run!”
Note, I had nothing to do with this venture, and yet I was a willing accomplice. If he was in trouble, so was I.
As he approached, I could see the two small pies he carried; I matched Lucca’s pace and ran with him.
“Wait till I get my hands on the pair of you! Royalty or no, you won’t steal my pies!”
But we were younger and faster than the old pastry chef; it didn’t take much to outrun him. A few sharp turns and we lost him in the maze of halls, but we did need a secluded place to eat the stolen pies without someoneelsecatching us. “Tristan, this way,” Lucca said.
We continued to run, veering left and right, until we reached the back of the palace where there was a secret door, unguarded, we could slip out of, undetected. We carried onto the stables, knowing where to go like we had one mind and soon, we were lying against a large hog, buried in thick mud, bellies full of fresh blueberry pie. “How did you manage that, Lucca?” I asked him.
“How do I manage anything? I’m clever as sin.”
Of course. I rolled my eyes at my arrogant cousin.Lucca’s father had made many attempts to temper Lucca’s conceited demeanor over the years, but the task proved hopeless.“Whatever. I’m glad you did. The pies were delicious,” I said.
“My pleasure—what you want to do now?”
“We should probably go clean ourselves up before—"
“Tristan. Arcade. Kanes!” Papa’s deep voice was followed by an equally angry, but more feminine, “Luccalthizan Amarail Kanes!” from Lucca’s mother, my aunt.
“—before we’re caught.” Only we were already caught.
Upon reflection, I sometimes wonder if we wanted to be caught; as I’m learning, it’s in a brat’s nature to brat. We can’t ask for spankings, won’t, we need to be chased and we need to be made to go over a knee. I didn’t understand this about myself at the time, but I do now.
