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The expression of surprise on Perl’s face is quite enjoyable. Sweeter, even, than the feeling of Perl’s fingers on his back absorbing his pain.

“Me?” Perl says eventually, voice a little shaky, but a smile is blooming on his face. “Your cruel captor? You were trying to defend me?”

Kerik nods. “Actually yes. Although I am quite certain that what Vane said about you wasn't even untrue. Was it?”

Perl’s smile flashes wider, as if this has genuinely touched him. But only for a moment. His expression turns grave, as he says, “What did he say,” — Perl pauses to swallow — “about me?”

Kerik nods. Quite bluntly he says, “He told me you were caught kneeling for Seridil.”

“Oh,” Perl says. “I see.”

“It’s true isn’t it? Vane has been hinting about it since I arrived. And today, perhaps he grew tired of hinting, because he told me outright. But even if he had not done so, I can tell what you desire.”

Perl looks quite pained at that statement. “You can?”

Kerik reaches for Perl’s hand and pulls it into his lap. “Oh yes. The way you look at me, the things that make your breath catch. There are signs I have become quite adept at spotting.”

“It’s hardly a secret,” Perl says, voice hard. “Every fae in Vylenor knows what happened. I was dragged before the fae court when we were discovered and lowered with iron before all. Seridil told them everything. He told them I forced him to do it. Although that was not the case. He is mortal and can lie, of course. They could have given him a tincture of levelling, but that often gets forgotten in favour of a grand spectacle. Like a high fae caught behaving as I had been. In truth, he suggested it. I would never have asked that of a thrall. But you should not have spat at Vane for saying the simple truth of what I am.”

“He was shaming you for it,” Kerik says.

Perl has been speaking, staring down at his lap. But when Kerik says that he looks up, eyes glassy and cheeks pink. “It is shameful.”

“No it isn’t,” Kerik strokes his thumb over the back of Perl's hand as he speaks. “You cannot help what you desire.”

“Truly,” Perl says, “if I could change my desires I would do so. But I am not able to. I have done all that I can think of to change this about myself.”

Kerik wants to laugh. “You know the rules in Azuria about being sly. But my desires were what they were. I never thought about the rules of the Rose Court. So why should you concern yourself with the demands of the Ice Court? You should do what you will. As I do.”

“That is what you give as your example of ignoring decorum and indulging desire? You? Look where your behaviour got you in Attar? Being refused the title Duke of Fanost because you were a rumoured luxorite.”

Kerik pouts. “So you do enjoy hurting me.”

Perl sighs. Not amused by this at all. “Please, never mind all of this, just behave so that I do not have to do that again. Whatever Vane says. Even about me.”

“I suppose I could try,” says Kerik. But he has an idea now. One that makes his heart beat a little harder. “But it’s difficult to be an obedient thrall. It’s not my nature. Maybe I don’t know how.”

“You don’t know how?” Perl says. His voice no longer solemn and sad, now he sounds indignant. “It is simple. I explained it before we even left Ismagaar. You walk behind me, you keep your eyes down, you don’t speak unless asked a question.” He exhales loudly. “You don’t spit in people's faces.”

Kerik slides closer on the bed. He lets his voice drop, using a tone he has used to seduce many a man in filthy taverns and fine state rooms. “It still sounds quite complex. I am just an ignorant mortal. Why don’t you show me?”

Perl gives a small, stuttering gasp. It could be frustration but it could be something else. “No. I do not do that. I swore. After Seridil. I swore. Never again.”

“What does it matter what you swore to the Ice Court?”

“I did not swear it to the Ice Court. I swore it to myself. I am chaste. My desires are an aberration. And a distraction. I will not touch another until I have completed the mission I was charged with. I must retrieve Iceheart.”

“Kneeling for me won’t stop you from completing your mission. The opposite. If you teach me exactly how to be obedient for you, surely that is part of your mission.” He lifts a hand and strokes it over the side of Perl’s face. “Please?”

“It is not so simple.”

“Of course it is,” Kerik bends his fingers, stroking along Perl’s chin with his knuckles.

Perl shivers. His voice hitches as he says, “No. Stop this. You are not serious.”

“I am,” Kerik whispers, leaning forward so his mouth dances, close to Perl’s, breathing his breath. He can taste Perl’s fear, laced with desire. As if, in him, the two are somewhat the same. “Teach me how to behave as a thrall. You’d be much better at it than me.”

“Oh, I would.”