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“Please,” Perl says again. And that please sounds quite desperate. Something about Perl pleading to kiss him goes straight to Kerik’s cock in a quite surprising way. Perl looks different when he begs, even pretty under his mask of cold control. It’s quite sweet how vulnerable he looks, so different to his usual haughtiness.

The Queen's strident voice cuts the air. “Stop murmuring bedchamber words, Perlash, and kiss it.”

Perl gives Kerik another look of desperation. He really does need Kerik’s permission to do this.

Kerik shrugs. “Very well.”

Perl leans closer.

Their lips touch.

It is not the way Kerik normally likes to kiss a man. If Kerik were kissing Perl how he chose, he would grab hold of that beautiful silver hair, tug on that pretty braid, and pull — use it to control the kiss and make Perl moan for it. He’d force Perl to lean back beneath him and offer his mouth submissively for Kerik’s tongue. But he cannot do that. He is a thrall. And his wrists are bound behind his back.

Instead he lets Perl put a hand on his face as he takes the soft, sweet press of Perl’s cool lips against his warm ones. It holds there for a moment, a simple thing. And even when the tip of Perl’s tongue slides into Kerik’s mouth, the kiss remains quite chaste. Perl’s tongue is quite distinctly there, caressing gently. But it feels respectful, as if Perl is somehow communicating with the manner of his kiss that this is only for show, only pretence, like everything else.

Kerik thinks of those moments just before the kiss, when Perl had looked into his eyes, when he had said, “Please,” full of meaning, just a desperate whisper of breath.

It is suddenly quite clear to Kerik what Perl would actually enjoy. But would he ever admit to it? Does he even know how easy it is to read his desires?

Kerik feels the pinch of the cage holding his cock as he grows roused at the thought.

A moment later Perl pulls back, finishing the kiss with a soft peck on Kerik’s lips. Kerik looks up at him. Perl’s pale face is a little flushed, his lips are pinker. And Kerik finds himself wondering how long it has been since Perl last kissed anyone.

They stand still, staring at each other, before The Queen’s voice breaks the moment. “Oh yes,” she hoots, “very nice.” She applauds, urging her thralls to join in. “You can see it can't you? Perlash, my sweet son, you are clearly enamoured. But bit it now. It’s very clearly not trained and I find it quite unnerving thinking it is able to speak whenever it chooses.”

Kerik looks at Perl. Surely Perl isn’t going to put a bit on him?

But Perl is already holding a thin cylindrical object he seems to have produced from nowhere. A metal shaft wrapped in leather.

Perl gives Kerik a complicated look. It might have been an apology, but it is very slight, as if he doesn’t want to be suspected of not relishing this task.

He takes one of the straps that pass down the sides of Kerik’s face from the bridle, that until now, had been simply decorative, and clips one end of the bit to it. He pulls open Kerik’s mouth with a thumb. Kerik doesn’t stop him, letting his mouth open obediently, although he stares at Perl sourly. The bit is positioned between his teeth and attached to the clasp on the end of the other strap.

“Perhaps,” says Perl softly, “I ought to have done this in my chamber.”

Kerik narrows his eyes at Perl.

“Much better,” says the Queen. “Its face is attractive, but truly, it looks so much better like that. All that mortal strength, quite delightfully humbled. Now, Perlash-zeren-ai, run along, leave me to my pleasure bed. Take your thrall for a turn about the hall. Show everyone what a magnificent fae Master you have become.”

Perl bows, “Thank you, Grand Majesty. Before I leave I have a favour to ask. You said you would grant me a boon at this ball?”

The Queen beams back, “Ah, the reason you have returned to us. I would be delighted to grant you anything in my power, my sweet Perlash-zeren-ai. But such a thing must be done with the correct ceremony. At the midnight bell I will formally welcome you back to my court and you may request your boon there, before all.”

“You honour me, my Queen,” Perl says, bowing and leading Kerik back out through the archway full of prickling silver rain.

Kerik glances at Perl. He cannot speak because of the bit, but Perl looks at him with a tight lipped smile. He’s got what he wanted. Or he will have it at the midnight bell. Kerik has no idea how long it will be until that bell. Time is so strange here. When he tries to think about it he still feels odd and disconnected in his belly.

They haven’t gone more than a few steps back into the hall when Prince Vane appears. He has Seridil and his two other thralls on leashes, Vane’s name daubed on their chests. All of them distinctly docile with a hollow look in their eyes. Kerik is sure it is the look of thralls who have been sent to the pit.

Vane wears more silk, this time black and the chains that wrap around his body glitter with diamonds. The silks vanish into short leather breeches, also black, that do not reach his high gold boots, and he wears one of the largest codpieces Kerik has seen yet at the Silver Ball, it is also gold and glitters with tiny diamonds, cut sharp as teeth. Vane’s wings are huge and black, glossy like the stone of fae ruins and tipped with gold that matches his tumbling hair. They shine like his dark eyes. He looks incredibly striking, jewels glitter on his wrists, on every finger and in his golden hair. He is more like a fabled faerie of the old tales than any other Kerik has seen here.

“Ah, Perlash-zeren-ai,” Vane says as he strolls over, his wings moving and rolling as they glide out of the way of other fae revellers like sentient things. “It has been so long since we shared a drink. You know, there’s a very amusing rumour going around about you and your thrall.”

“Is there?” Perl says. Kerik can hear the tightness of his teeth.

“Yes, come let us sit and I will tell you about it.”

“I do not wish to converse with you, Vane,” Perl says.