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“I come from Voluptue, where denying one’s true self is wrong,” Opeth says. “We are at sail on the Mortingale Sea and closer to Voluptue here than to Azuria. Lyr, why don’t you go over there and kneel for this beautiful soldier? Show him how easily he could take pleasure from your sweet mouth.”

Lyr glances at Damon. He says nothing. He seems frozen to the spot. Unable to respond. Opeth is like this, Lyr knows. Raised on Voluptue to know desires and to convince people to act on them. Those skills have taken her from life as a slave bought and sold at Pellex docks to the most favoured whore of King Ramel and now, onto this ship bound for Azuria and the great city of Attar, in the bed of a future emperor.

Lyr takes a breath. He sees no reason not to obey Opeth. He wants to. He stands and walks over to Damon. He slides onto his knees before him. He looks up. He bites his lip. He’s giddy on pearl tonic and he knows his desire is painted on his face. He can’t hide it.

In his leather breeches Damon’s cock stirs. Lyr can see the shape of it. It would be so easy to open those breeches right now, to take Damon in his mouth. He doesn’t think Damon would do a thing to stop him.

But he waits.

The moment stretches. Lyr can see Damon’s heavy breaths through parted lips, the sweat on his brow.

“Shall I leave you?” says Opeth, standing from the table with a smile on her face.

“It is a crime,” Damon says. His voice is thick with his growing arousal.

“Some crimes are justified, Sire,” Opeth says softly. “Farewell.”

She walks to the door, barely a distance in the tiny cabin, opens it and leaves, gliding away in an elegant swirl of pale fabric.

Damon looks down at Lyr on his knees.

Quietly Lyr says, “Do you want me to, Master?”

Again the moment seems to stretch forever.

It’s as if he can see a different answer, can see it almost be the one Damon gives, before Damon says, instead, “No. Get up.”

And it’s over. It’s all gone. Done. Lyr scrambles to his feet.

Damon swallows. “I’m going to sleep up on deck and that woman, that whore, she isn’t to come to this cabin again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes. Master, I’m sorry, Opeth likes to play games. She is good at getting people to do what she wants.”

“She is that,” Damon says. “Stay here while I’m gone. Don’t wander off. This ship is full of men who do not care for the likes of you.”

5

DAMON

It’s dark up on deck. Night has fallen and the ship is ploughing on through the inky waters. Damon can see the dark shape of Pluma-Ferris to the south, just visible in the moonlight.

He looks over the ship’s rail at the water slapping against the side of the ship. He thinks of Lyr on his knees in front of him. Lyr’s beautiful mouth, just a whisper from his straining cock.

It would have taken nothing at all to use that beautiful mouth for pleasure. A nod of his head or a twitch of his hips.

It’s quiet where he is, no one around. He slides his hand into his breeches and fists himself.

His mind is full of Lyr. Lyr on his knees. His sweet mouth, ready, wanting. Eager to suck. He strokes himself and imagines it, imagines his fist is Lyr’s throat. Imagines he can feel it, moving hot and wet over him. He grips the ship’s rail tight with his free hand and groans out loud at the thought, knees weak. Then stops, looking furtively around in case his lust had been overheard. But there’s nothing, no one, and a moment later he resumes, stroking himself in frantic, greedy movements, imagining himself taking Lyr roughly, using his strength to hold him down as he takes that filthy, teasing mouth, that pretty, greedy mouth, the mouth of his slave.

Lyr’s name is on his lips as he spends in his fist, gasping through the deep pleasure.

Zai, he has wanted.

What a curse it is to want men the way he does.

The shame follows the pleasure like a rush of freezing seawater.

He is a married man. His wife Inez is a truly exceptional beauty. Of fine stock too. Willing and eager to share his bed and give him sons.