Page 33

“He is new to this,” Perl says.

Diamanda holds out her hand and shakes it as if trying to rid herself of Kerik’s touch. “You should put it in the pit for a spell. Sort out those behaviours. You know how mortals can be if they don’t go to the pit.”

Through tight teeth, Perl says, “There will be no need of the pit. I will teach him myself.”

“Oh, really? By The Aeons." Diamanda says, still looking at Kerik, “But it’s very fine. Are you going to lend it out? I’ve heard there are quite a few fae who are keen to know when it will be made available for wilding.”

“Wilding?” says Kerik. “What is wilding?”

Perl gives Kerik a look that he hopes reminds him to keep quiet and says through his teeth, “Take a guess, thrall.”

But Diamanda is looking at Kerik in shock, her pretty pink lips parted in surprise. “Oh,” she says eventually, “it is completely unbroken. It just speaks at you like that? An untrained mortal and you leave it unbitted at a Silver Ball. Perl, you are the strangest creature. But you simply must wild it while it is still in this state. It would be such a spectacle. Imagine what it would say then?” She wrinkles her nose in delight. “Or it might snarl.” She looks at Kerik. “Would you snarl if you were taken roughly, thrall?” But she clearly does not expect an answer, still talking as she turns back to Perl. “Please do it as a display. There are many fae who would enjoy seeing it being mounted. By you or…” She glances around the room. “Perhaps by Krem.” Her voice drops and she leans in. “They do say Krem has quite a talent for such things. I know many who have used him on their thralls. Or offer him to all.”

She nods over to the stocks. The thrall who had been taking cuts of the whip is now being fucked, and not by the fae who wielded the lash, but by another while his Master looks on. A few more fae are close by, watching, perhaps waiting their turn.

Perl feels like his entire body is going taut at the thought of such a thing being done to Kerik at his command. But of course, it could be if he wished it. Kerik is his property. Such a thing would be only a matter of his will. Perl fixes Diamanda with a firm expression. “He will not be wilded. He is mine.” His voice comes out in a low possessive growl.

For a moment Diamanda looks quite shocked, before she laughs and bats Perl on the chest. “Oh, Perl, you must be infatuated.”

“I must be,” Perl says coldly as he puts an arm around Kerik’s bare shoulders and pulls him closer. His body is warm. The physicality of him is quite overwhelming. He is so much thicker and firmer than Perl. In response, Kerik presses close, perhaps aware that he ought to make a show of being equally devoted if he does not want to end up being publicly offered up in the stocks for the use of all.

Diamanda looks approving and claps her hands. “Oh, truly, you two are adorable together. Mother sent me over here. She asks that you take your thrall and pay her respects in her pavilion.”

“I suppose I should,” Perls says lightly, quite relieved this conversation seems to be over. “Come along, thrall." He takes a step forward and tugs at Kerik’s chain.

10

KERIK

After a while in the hall, Kerik grows used to what he is wearing and how much the strange faeries in their wings and finery stare at him.

He has been stared at before. Many at the Rose Court are intrigued by him. A bastard prince from two great noble lines.

Many of the faeries all around the hall hold sparkling goblets of a strange black liquid, glinting with colours, like liquid obsidian, but Perl has not seemed interested in drinking this liquor himself. As Perl had warned him, there is no food of any kind. Kerik does not feel hungry at all and he cannot remember the last time he ate anything.

“So,” Kerik says as soon as they are far enough away from Diamanda not to be overheard. “Now we will visit the Queen?”

“Correct.” Perl sounds as exasperated as ever. He is clearly not enjoying this night.

Kerik ignores this. “And you will get your boon? The magic sword?”

“Correct. That is the reason I am here at this ridiculous event,” Perl says, still marching Kerik across the hall on the end of the leash.

“Can I ask you something?”

Perl stops in front of Kerik and turns. “Now?”

“You said that fae can be thralls⁠—”

“Some fae can be thralls,” Perl snaps.

“Some fae. And there are reasons that can be to their advantage. But what of the mortals. How do they end up here?” Kerik glances at the mortal thralls he can see around the room, dressed as he is, kneeling and scraping, many with cold, dead eyes. “They can’t all be trying to find a magic sword?” He finishes lightly.

“There are many ways. Some are snatched by fae who visit the mortal realm seeking a toy for their bed. Others are given to the fae in ritual, offerings. There are many ways mortals can end up here.” He turns away and marches forward again, tugging at the leash.

A moment later, Perl stops before Kerik in a strange archway. It seems to be blocked by a curtain, not a curtain made of fabric, but glittering silver rain. Two fae guards stand on either side of the arch.

Perl nods to them. “Princess Diamanda was sent to request I pay my respects to Exeinil-que-zeren-ai, Perfection Beyond Comprehension,” he says. The guards step aside.