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“A box came with that parchment. I know what that means. What’s in it?”

Without a word, Perl turns and walks over to the box on the table. He gathers up what is inside and brings it over to Kerik, setting down a diaphanous hip cloth in a pale golden colour, with wrist cuffs and a slender collar, also gold.

Kerik looks at all of it. “No more than that? No jewels to clamp to my nipples or a device to go in my hole?”

Perl raises an eyebrow. “Disappointed you don’t get to torment me with such things?”

“Oh, not at all. I will enjoy you so simply adorned. You will have to work to convey your submission with your body. Now put it on.”

Perl nods and, surprisingly, makes no further complaint. He pulls off his sleeping shirt with his back to Kerik.

Kerik has still not seen Perl fully naked. This is the most of Perl’s skin Kerik has ever seen displayed before him. Desire swells in him like the fast rushing tides of the Gleam in springtime when it is heavy with snow melt.

Perl is made of pale skin, entirely flawless but for the scar at his neck, mostly hidden from behind by the fall of his pale hair, unfastened from its strict braid. Those two dark lines running down his back, parallel to his spine. The elegant curve of his ass. Kerik's mouth dries to see it and the want he feels to fuck Perl, to bury his cock in that perfect ass, is a bolt of pleasure, shooting from his heart to his heels.

“Your modesty is so sweet, when you carried me fully naked back to this chamber,” Kerik says to Perl’s back, his voice so heavy, so thick with desire.

Perl finishes tying the gold cloth around his hips and back to Kerik as he adds the cuffs to his wrists. He places the collar around his neck, covering the scar, and says, “I am not being modest, simply practical. Unlike you, I am more concerned with the task in hand than base lust.”

It’s strange how easily Perl seems to be able to switch from his desperate, needy submission back to his usual cold practicality. Perhaps it is a skill he has had to learn.

However he cannot mask everything.

“I don’t think that is true,” says Kerik, looking at Perl’s heavy cock, undisguised by the tiny, semi-transparent hip cloth.

Perl narrows his eyes. But Kerik can see the submissive desire in him, clear as Spring.

Kerik says, “Hand me your sleeping shirt. I’m sure a Master would not attend this banquet naked.” He holds out a hand.

Perl passes the shirt to Kerik. Kerik pulls it over his head and smooths it down. “Begin, thrall. Show me the correct way a thrall should behave at such a banquet.:”

Perl nods, a small tight movement, and says, “This is the correct way to kneel,” as he slides onto the floor with straight-backed elegance. “Rather than the lumpen warrior-like displays you have been doing.”

Kerik nods. He swallows as he looks at Perl on his knees. “That is pleasing,” he says roughly. Suddenly, he can’t seem to think clearly. Perl’s movements were so beautifully designed to delight the watcher. Kerik stares at Perl on his knees in the clothing of a thrall.

“And then,” Perl says, his voice equally thick with desire. “This would be how you would respond if I said, ‘down, thrall’.” With another practiced display, Perl presses his forehead to the floor, bringing up his cuffed wrists and placing them together in the small of his back.

It’s so beautiful. Kerik is roused watching each movement. Clearly Perl has done this before. Despite the fact it is a great transgression for him to behave so, he has practised these movements and the thought of that makes Kerik feel another wave of pure desire. He looks down at Perl. His voice is a rough whisper. “This is not your first time kneeling so.”

Perl sits up, leaning back on his heels. His face is flushed with arousal and a needy desire that reflects Kerik’s own. “No. I have performed this way in private, for Seridil and for others. And alone, for my own pleasure.” He swallows. “It has always given me the deepest pleasure to behave so.”

Kerik reaches out. He strokes Perl’s lower lip, “Did you touch yourself, when you did this alone?”

Perl nods. His lip rubs against Kerik’s finger.

“In these chambers?” Kerik’s voice is rough.

“But not since you were lowered with iron?”

“No. When that happened I was made to renounce such behaviours. I was bid to promise before all the court that I would never kneel for a mortal thrall again.”

Kerik slides his thumb into Perl’s mouth as he had done the night before. Perl allows it, his mouth opening sweetly. He sucks on Kerik’s thumb in a way that makes Kerik squirm on the bed. “I have heard that for a fae, breaking a promise is hard.”

Perl pulls his mouth from Kerik’s thumb and says, “Not hard. Impossible. In simple terms. But there are usually ways around any promise that is sworn. The words are precise. For example, you are not entirely a mortal.”

“I have fae blood,” Kerik says. “That is why you can kneel for me?”

“Correct. The words I said are the words that bind me. And only those. But right now, can I remind you we have something to do, this is not only bed sport. Pay attention. You will need to do this.”