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His other half-brother, Prince Atticul, heir second, the hope of Azuria, had always viewed Kerik with contempt thanks to his mother’s scheming to make him part of the royal line. The only one of his brothers he had been close to was Endrew.

His mother had always said that when Kerik was made Duke of Fanost that would negate his bastardy. And it would then be a simple matter to claim he also ought to have a place in the Royal Line. He was older than Endrew by a handful of moons and so would be placed between him and Atticul.

Kerik had often wondered why Endrew had not misliked him for this, as Atticul clearly had. But he had never shown any sign of it.

Perhaps he simply understood Kerik’s claim was just.

But despite what it had said in Lady Ilyne’s betrothal arrangement promising her bloodline would retain the title, the Rose Court had rejected her claims that Kerik should be made the new Duke of Fanost. The official reason was that the terms of the arrangement were moot because the betrothal had never happened. But unofficially, the Rose Court had made it known that they would not consider bestowing such an honour on a rumoured luxorite. What was the good of giving Kerik the title if his deviancies meant he would never sire a son to continue the line?

Kerik’s mother had been angry about this, of course. All her plans crushed by Kerik’s taste in bed sports. She had fought with Kerik, furiously demanding he be more discreet. And Kerik had been just as furious claiming he would do as he wished. After all, Lady Ilyne was the one who had committed the sin that had made him a bastard.

After the attack on Selim, Ilyne had claimed to be very concerned that Kerik too could become a target of the Mortingales. Although Kerik had thought that he was far more likely to be killed by those who opposed his mother’s scheming. But she had used her fears as an excuse to appoint him a bodyman. A great muscular Fanosti. Kerik knew well the true purpose of this bodyman’s role was to ensure Kerik did not take men to his bed.

Kerik was furious. He was nineteen summers and had recently heard a rumour that if one spoke to the right person, male concubines were available in the Rose Palace itself. Kerik was still working on finding out who that right person was, but he intended to do so. He liked the idea of it. A perfectly trained male concubine, used to serving princes and dukes. A man who could slide to his knees with the beautiful skills female concubines displayed at Pleasure Nights. A man who could give suck or spread his legs with elegance and submission.

Until he found out how to make that happen, he’d also discovered a pillow house in Attar that had a secret attic room that offered men for bed pleasures.

But even that diversion was impossible when he was followed constantly by his huge Fanosti bodyman.

One night he had managed to slip away from the Fanosti and attempted to visit this pillow house, but the bodyman had been too clever for him. He had caught Kerik before he even reached Gleamview and marched him back to the Rose Palace and the safety of the Tower of the Heir.

So Kerik had taken the only route open to him. He had seduced the bodyman. It was not a complicated matter. A negotiation about what Kerik wanted to ensure he never tried such a thing again had become heated, half a tussle. The bodyman was older and stronger than Kerik, but somehow Kerik had persuaded him to get on his knees and suck to ensure Kerik did not wander.

The man was sloppy. His skills had lain elsewhere. But Kerik had got what he needed and over the passing moons, the man got better.

Kerik opens his eyes. He had not been sleeping on the platform, but gone. Lost in thoughts. He feels the ball in his mouth. It feels bigger, more of an invasion. He prods it again with his tongue. When it doesn't move he feels a cold wave of panic. His mouth is wet around it, spittle leaks onto his chin. The parlour is darker than it had been, emptier too. Many of the faeries must have retired or simply grown bored of watching Kerik do nothing at all and gone in search of other pleasures. The dais is empty. A figure stands before him.

Seridil.

Kerik looks up. Seridil looms over Kerik on his low stool. But when Kerik meets his eyes, Seridil drops into a low crouch, bringing their faces level.

Seridil is handsome and well-built. He wears a white hip cloth and the planes of his bare, smooth chest are pleasing. His hair is spun red-gold, curls that dance around his face and onto his shoulders. His face is long, cheekbones dotted with freckles. In a soft voice, he says, “Before you give that traitor your devotion, you should know how he treated his last thrall.”

Kerik looks into Seridil’s eyes. They are the colour of honeywine. He can say nothing in response. What is this? A warning. Or a provocation. Did Vane send him?

Seridil says, “Did he promise to protect you? He promised that to me. He asked me to do terrible things, but he swore I would be safe, under the protection of the Queen’s favoured. But they sent me to the pit when we were discovered. He could not protect me. He has no real power here. He cannot protect anyone. Even his own thralls. And you have seen what my life is now. A toy of the vile creature from the Timeless Court. Prince Vane might seem cruel, but Perl is worse. Because he’ll make you love him first before he hurts you.”

Kerik cannot stop himself. He doesn’t want to stop himself. He makes a noise behind the ball. A sound of protest. Not even a word. More like a snarl. But he has to convey somehow that there is no possible chance of Perl — or anyone — making him fall in love.

The bird-like chirrup sounds. The glowing number one in the air before him becomes a two. If he speaks one more time he fails the test. But it was worth it. He enjoyed snarling at Seridil. Seridil actually looks a little shocked, like he did not expect his taunting to work so easily.

Kerik meets his eyes with a sour expression and Seridil looks frozen, unable to say anything else.

Behind Seridil he hears the sound of idle hands clapping. He looks and sees Vane is walking up onto the platform.

Vane pulls Seridil away from Kerik with a tug on his shoulder. “Oh, leave it alone, thrall. It’s suffering enough.”

Seridil gives Kerik one more look and steps down from the platform. “Go warm my bed,” Vane calls after him. “I will be there soon enough and I will require your body.” Vane watches Seridil go before he turns his attention back to Kerik.

“You really want to pass this test, don’t you?” Vane says, looking at Kerik with his strange black eyes. “Would you not rather use it to escape him? Simply make one more sound and he loses you. There are many better fae Masters in the Ice Court. Perhaps it would even be me who ends up taking you on.” He stops and laughs.

Kerik swallows.

Vane continues, “You barely know him. You don’t know why he is the way he is. Why we all despise him?”

Kerik would dearly like to be able to tell Vane that actually he does know. That Vane’s continued hints at Perl’s transgressive desires have made it all very obvious.

But he can say nothing. So he simply stares at Vane as he goes on.