Page 87 of A Brat's Tale
This place was abandoned a while ago, but something heinous happened here. I use all the strength I have left to go into the cave, doing my best to hold my bow steady. I chose bow over sword today, knowing it’s the only way I can be nearly as fast as something that isn’t human and if it took Corrik down, I know it couldn’t have been human.
Aldagir squeezes my shoulder just before I step in.
The stench alone almost brings me to my knees. Something’s been dead in here a long time. Light pours in from overhead and I can see a body on the ground. It’s one I’d know anywhere, curled protectively around another, smaller one. Toward the back are more small bodies and the carcass of something hideous hanging from the ceiling of the cave. I’m not concerned with any of that for the moment. I race over to Corrik, tears flooding my eyes.Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be too late.
When I place my hand on his bare arm, it’s cold, but shaking him elicits a moan. Moaning is good. Moaning means alive. I shake harder. “Corrik! Corrik!”
“Tristan?” Corrik says, his voice is weak. Corrik is worse for wear in nothing but a ripped pair of pants, barefoot and his hair badly disheveled. From whatever it is his captors did to him, he’s not healing, his skin is marked with bruises, and broken open in places, dried with blood. His hands are bound together with blackcuffs that have strange writing on them and I see that his ankle is shackled and attached to the wall of the cave; his shackles have enough slack to allow him to move about. I notice the other forms in the cave, the small ones, also attached to the cave wall in balls, unmoving.
“It’s me,” I say, almost mouthing it afraid I’ll wake the carcass of whatever’s rotting close by.
“I thought I’d never set eyes on you again.” He speaks quietly. “You should not be here. Leave. Now.” His eyes look up to the thing above. It reminds me of a cocoon with its wide, cylindrical shape and its light brown covering, only unlike an insect cocoon, it looks to be made of something thicker than silk and it’s oozing a sickening green-yellow pus. It pulsates, wriggling and writhing with some kind of fluid rushing across vein-like vessels.
“You can’t be serious. Corrik,” I say and fix him with a glare.
“I’m very serious, Kathir. I have made every possible escape attempt. There’s no way out of this and I won’t allow you to get caught up in it too.” He’s still speaking in hushed tones.
That pisses me off. I attempt to push him and when I still can’t—he’s weakened, but not weak—I whack his shoulder. “This is so typical of you. Screw you, Corrik. You’re coming with me if I have to drag you out of here. Not only am Inotmarrying your brother, but I love you, you idiot.” I manage as much venom as possible while still keeping quiet.
He smiles. “I love you too, Tristan. Wait, marry my brother?”
“Everyone thinks you’re dead. Your parents, in their grief, wanted to keep me and honor the treaty. I am now Crown Prince Consort to be. People are treating me differently, it’s weird Corrik.”
He’s amused, but then his face hardens again. “Good. My brother will take good care of you.”
“Your brother wants to force me into theslavedesignation. I am notslave, Corrik. I’m a fucking brat and it’s only so long before he makes true on his promise to attempt to beat that out of me.”
“You keep telling me you’re a strong Warlord, you’ll be fine. And look at you, disobeying everyone. You should be in your room whereit’s safe.” He is truly angry about that, but there’s something else there and I think he might be jealous of his brother.
I’m fucking using it.
“You’re right, Corrik. Kiss me then and I’ll be on my way.”
“It’s for the best,” he says leaning in, pressing his rough lips to mine.
“You know, Strobavik said I have real talent for beingslave,” I tell him.
“Strobavik. You’ve been training with Strobavik, but he’s—”
“—a terrifying, Elven Dungeon Master? Yes. He’s trained me for months and like all things I undertake, I worked to master the skills.”
Corrik’s imagining it, maybe me on my knees for him, maybe me tied up with my legs spread, cock hard and begging for him, but having trouble, because of the gag he would have put in my mouth. I can tell he’s affected even in his state. “I will be kneeling for your brother now. I will become Elf just after the wedding and he will release me from my confinement, then he will want to show me off. I’m sure I’ll be kneeling at his feet, adoring him, waiting for instructions while he deals with pleas brought forth to the Great Hall. My cock will be so hard,” I say in his ear. “I’ll be whimpering as it leaks, but there’ll be no relief for me until I earn it.”
Corrik licks his lips and thankfully I can trust a male Elf to be ruled by his cock. “Gods dammit. Enough. You win. What’s the plan?”
Victory.“First, to get you out of these,” I say.
“Your sword should be able to cut through. They are enchanted, a spell is inscribed on the surface. It prevents me from using magic, which is why I’m so weak Tristan. You’ll die trying to get me back to Mortouge.”
“Don’t worry about that for now. Meanwhile, you’re about to find out how precisely I can stick a blade, First Husband,” I say. I’ve been wanting to call him that for some time now.
“You have been studying, First Husband,” he says in return.
Before I get all sword-sy, Aldagir rushes over. “Prince Corrik is … is he…?” he says, inquiring after the small body Corrik was wrapped around.
“He’s alive, but barely. You see that up there? That’s a witch wyrm. When it finally went into its cocoon a few days ago, I gave him as much warmth as I could. But unfortunately, that thing had been feeding us as well, neither of us could procure much food with it unavailable.”
The boy stirs, barely there, but still alive. “Salamir,” Aldagir says. The boy’s head lolls back and forth. “And the others?”
