Page 34 of Palaces and other Prisons
His life plan had always been to make enough money that he wasn’t worried where his next meal was coming from. And he’d achieved that. He even had a savings account…not that it was going to do him any good on Felloi.
The boat would come, and he would need to decide—or it would be decided for him by Ul—it was only then he realized Katrina had never answered. Perhaps she was desperate to return to the platform and be surrounded by other humans who were all waiting to be rescued.
He wasn’t waiting to be rescued.
He stared at the ceiling. If the boat never came, he didn’t care. He wanted to keep living in this weird limbo where everything was possible and nothing was certain. Which was terrifying and liberating.
CHAPTER 23
By the time Samhain arrived, Dawson was starting to understand Fellish when it was spoken around him. When he was asked a question, he usually managed, or at least attempted, an answer of a word or two. He was not confident expressing thoughts or opinions in the new language yet, which meant he defaulted to English with Ul.
So far, they had found that the easiest way to steal time together was in the office, mostly because Ifer found excuses to leave. Dawson wasn’t sure if that was because he’d been told to find excuses or if he realized what was going on. Either way, it didn’t matter as he had come to enjoy those stolen moments far more than he should.
Ul had even let him slip his fingers inside the slit in his lower belly and coax his cock out. Playing with it, Dawson had realized it was very much like another tentacle. He’d also discovered that condoms weren’t a thing, and that if one had satyr pox or some other sex related infection, it was considered imperative to see an ogre and get that treated before indulging.
That was also when he had discovered that there were satyr-run dens where men and women could go for sex and alcohol, and nobody questioned it. Though that conversation had led Ulto question whether Dawson was seeking something else or had some need that wasn’t being met. It had been very awkward and a stark reminder that they had very different backgrounds when it came to sex.
When it came to many things. There were no razors, but he could get a shave at the palace barber. Which he’d done twice, and at no cost. Nothing in the palace cost him anything—unless he included the rumors that still eddied around the castle. He ran his fingers through his hair and made sure that he looked okay in the mirror. The tunic was fancier than the ones he’d been wearing every day, and after the discussion about pants, several pairs of varying lengths had been delivered to the room.
It seemed as though most of the human soldiers wore what he called shorts beneath their tunics because they liked to show off their calf muscles. Or at least that is what he’d understood from the conversation. Because of the cooler weather, Dawson had opted for the ankle-length pants, which could be worn loose around the calves and ankles or laced up tight. He wasn’t sure if it was personal preference or dictated by the tunic or the shoes.
He’d noticed that some people wore fancier clothing, but it had taken him a little longer to catch on to the fashion choices that were subtler. Things like color, choice of trim, even the length of the tunic, with some men and women choosing very short tunics and very tight pants, while others wore ankle-length tunics of delicate fabric with a shorter tunic over the top. And it wasn’t just the tunic and pants, because then there were the cloaks. And cloaks came in many styles and trims and fastenings, with some people choosing brooches and others jeweled buttons.
“You look fine. Why are you fussing?” Katrina crossed her arms. He’d been late back to their shared room several times, and each time, he’d offered the same excuse of writing letters for the king.
He was one hundred percent sure she didn’t believe him.
“We haven’t seen anyone from the platform in weeks, and I want to make sure that I don’t look as though I have been mistreated.” Another lie. He wanted to look good for Ul. He wanted to stop sneaking around and spend the night with him.
But with management there for the feast, tonight was not the night for those kinds of discussions. Not only that, Ul still wasn’t sure what he wanted—aside from him. As frustrating as it was, Dawson couldn’t begin to understand the pressure Ul was facing both to have an heir and to keep everyone else happy. Even though there were no trading partners anymore, there were still the councilors.
Her eyebrows lifted. “You want to make our captors look good?” She flung her arm out. “This is just a fancy prison so they can assess if we are a threat or not.”
“They aren’t our captors.” Maybe at the start, they had been watched more closely and not allowed to wear shoes, but now he had the freedom to walk around and visit the library when he wasn’t needed…though a soldier still followed him around. “We agreed to come here, and we can leave.”
Or at least he thought they could. He hadn’t asked because he didn’t want to. Now that it had been agreed that they were having a secret affair, it had become a lot of fun to pretend they were merely professional acquaintances in public while barely letting the door close before taking their clothes partially off.
“Or is it that you don’t want to leave?” Katrina pressed.
Dawson’s heartbeat quickened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve heard the rumors, Dawson. I didn’t want to believe them, but I’m starting to think that youarefucking the king.”
Dawson blinked a couple of times. Did everyone think he was trying to make Ul lay eggs? He still wasn’t sure how that worked, and even though Ul had said he’d read the text that went alongwith the pictures to him, they hadn’t found the time to do that yet. Preparing for Samhain, dealing with the councilors from the various districts, and governing his country took up a substantial amount of the day. Although it did seem to have eased off a little bit. Perhaps because people were recovering from the collapse and getting back to living.
Because he sat in on all the meetings, he was starting to get a feel for the island. It was much bigger than he had first thought. He had requested a tape measure in one of the letters to the platform, and it had been delivered with the return mail. One of the palace craftsmen who kept up with the repairs had shown him their system of measurement, along with the symbols. It meant that when he looked at a detailed map of Felloi, he had a much better understanding of what he was looking at. The island was the size of…well, Ireland. It had once traded with neighbors for silks and pottery while producing silver and the pink gemstone that so many of the wealthy wore. And while the farms on the lowlands had those large hairy cows, up in the hills, there were goats that produced the wool that much of the clothing was made of. This was a thriving, self-sufficient country that was now in the wrong world.
Not only that, but from the latest report management had sent, it was a whole lot safer here than it was in England, or anywhere else for that matter.
“I’m not fucking the king.” How much did he tell her? “Though there is a shared attraction.”
“His spots turned pink. Everyone says that means he can get pregnant.”
Dawson ran his fingers through his hair. “The krakke lay eggs, and they do need a human to do that. But it has not gotten that far.”
“He has tentacles.” She wrinkled her nose as if the idea was abhorrent.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Dawson said dryly. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and he’s single, and…” He shrugged, not wanting to explain himself.
