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“And they’re spelled to me.”
“Your Queen thinks of everything.”
Perl runs a pale thumb across the width of one of the cuffs and it opens, simply glides into two semi circles of metal. He leans in a little closer to fix the cuff around one of Kerik’s wrists, then does the same with the other.
“Your fingers are so cold,” Kerik says with a small shudder as the pad of Perl’s first finger grazes his inner wrist.
Perl finds himself swallowing. “I am a fae.”
“And all fae are this cold? So I must feel very hot for you?”
“Yes, your skin feels distinctly warm. It is a noted factor of mortal’s physicality that many fae find rather pleasant. Although some consider it quite revolting.”
“Which are you?” Kerik says, looking at the skin on his arms.
“Why would I have opinions on your body temperature?” Perl says, stepping back.
Kerik lifts his arms and inspects the cuffs. “These are for binding me?”
Perl nods. “They will be fastened together behind your back for the ball, yes.”
“I see.” Kerik actually sounds a little concerned. Perhaps the heavy cuffs and the prospect of being displayed practically naked with his wrists bound is actually melting his bravado. But he seems to pull himself together, drawing strength from somewhere and lifting up the bridle. “You’ll have to help me with this too.”
Perl wasn’t sure if he’d remember how to affix a bridle. The bridles fae like to use for mortals are similar to those worn by horses, although different enough that applying one takes a little thought.
Unlike a horse’s bridal, these are designed to be purely decorative. Just ornamentation for thralls and a means to hold a bit in place in the mouth. Although Perl does not use the bit, removing and slipping it into his pocket, as he winds the straps around Kerik’s head. It sparkles a little with some light magic. It is not spelled to weave itself in place, as some are — and which would have been useful — only with the same bonding magic as the wrist cuffs, so that it can only be unfastened by Perl’s own hand.
He works as fast as he can to buckle each strap in place. Around Kerik’s forehead and across his cheeks, feeling the sweet warmth of his skin.
As Perl finishes fixing the straps of the bridle around Kerik’s head a gong sounds, its shimmering chime magically reverberates through the air. “That is the summoning gong,” Perl says. “The ball must be beginning.”
“Already? What happened to the rest of the day?”
Perl simply shrugs. “Faerie can be that way sometimes. I told you, time here is slippery and strange. If Exeinil wants the ball to begin, it does. But the ball will likely last for some time. We can make ready at our leisure.”
“What will it be like,” Kerik says, “this Silver Ball? What will happen? I ask because balls in Azuria do not involve costuming like this, so I assume it will be quite different.”
“If they have not changed the way they throw revels here in the last century, it will be a debauched scene of music, lewd dancing and public coupling.”
“Like an Azurian Pleasure Night?”
“Similar.”
“And what of you? Will you be wearing something formal?”
“Sadly, yes.”
8
KERIK
Perl disappears into his dressing chamber without a word about what he is to wear for the ball and leaves Kerik to finish his own outfit.
Although Kerik is not sure if the collection of items he is wearing and the last few on the table could truly be described so.
He looks down at the glittering cage that is meant to go around his cock. He knows such things as this exist. Devices to preserve virtue. Usually they are designed to cover the sex of maidens, but he has heard that some men who are devout in their worship of Zai use them also. There is even a rumour that Emperor Selim wears a binding around his own cock under his robes. But he has also heard that Selim cut his own cock off long ago as a mark of his devotion to Zai. And also that he had simply not touched it for so long that it had withered away and he had not noticed. Endrew had sworn this was true, claiming he had met a woman who knew the serving man who had found the remains of it lying on Selim’s bed chamber floor, little more than a scrap of grey skin.
Unlike the versions that exist in Azuria, this cage has no straps to hold it in place, just the piece shaped to cover Kerik’s cock. But when he fits himself into it, it shimmers in his hand and stays in place as if there is some kind of fixing that cannot be seen or felt. Magic. But this is not magic Kerik is doing. He does not feel that sensation, pure and distinct, just a faint warmth. This magic belongs to the object itself. Like Perl’s ring.
