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Kerik takes a breath and lifts the glass to look at the collar at his throat. “And you? How sadistic are you? Should I fear being your thrall?” He lowers the glass to grin at Perl.

“You will have many things to fear in Vylenor, but I assure you, my sadism is not one of them.”

3

PERL

Perl turns away from Kerik, shirtless, with his hair and beard newly shorn and a collar around his neck. There is much to consider.

Perl is already sure he is about to make another terrible mistake.

No, not a mistake, just picking one of a handful of terrible options. He cannot be sure if taking Kerik to Vylenor is the best of them. But there is no defined path here. No prophetic writings to tell him what he must do. All he can do is have faith in the way he is being nudged. And hope that whatever is aligning things for him is the will of The Aeons.

It is strange to imagine that taking a mortal as valuable as Kerik to Vylenor could ever be the safest path, but he cannot see a better way. Despite the fact that Faerie is dangerous for mortals. And Vylenor is dangerous for both of them.

And, there will be distinct advantages to arriving in Vylenor with a handsome mortal thrall at his feet.

If he only had time to think on this more. But there is none. Perl needs to ignite the salt door before she returns. He turns to Kerik. “Please, before we do this, confirm that you understand what you must do, how you must behave. We must appear as if you are my thrall and devoted to me. You must be sure you want to do this”

Kerik stands and looks up at Perl. He is very close. Perl feels quite strange as Kerik says sweetly, “Yes, Master.”

Perl swallows. Kerik is really quite beautiful. And it’s been a long time since he allowed himself to be close to another person, even in a pretence such as this. And there may be a need to get closer still. He knows well what kind of entertainments Vylenor may demand of him when they see him with a mortal thrall. “Yes,” Perl says, horrified that his voice sounds breathy. He swallows. “That will do very well. I hope you can keep it up.”

Kerik’s stance changes. His submissive pose seems to melt away as his shoulders pull back and his chin lifts. He grins playfully at Perl. “You think I’m not up to this test? You think I can’t do what any pillow slave in Attar can do?”

“It will be difficult to sustain such an act when it is not your nature.”

Perl has seen much of the true nature of mortals. Although the fae think all mortals are natural thralls, Perl knows that this — like many of the fae’s views on such things — is not the case. Perl knows mortals like no other fae. It’s in his blood to know them. And while some mortals might actually enjoy the treatment they receive at the fae court, there are many mortals with other tastes.

“Not my nature? Really?” Kerik says with another smirk and suddenly he drops to his knees before Perl, thumping onto the floor.

He looks convincing, even if he made the move clumsily and not with the grace of a thrall who had been trained in positions and obedience in the pit.

Perl looks down at the kneeling Kerik, waiting with his cocky eyebrow raised for a response. “I’m sorry I doubted you,” Perl says mildly. ”I thought you might be too proud to kneel so.”

Kerik’s smirk blossoms into a grin that lights his handsome face. “Oh, I am proud. I have plenty to be proud of.” He pulls his shoulders back again, looking as unsubmissive as it is possible for a kneeling mortal to look, before saying, “Master, please kiss me.” He bites his lip playfully. Like this is all a game.

It’s a strange combination of sensations that runs through Perl at that. He gains no particular pleasure from seeing a mortal kneel and beg. But what he likes about the spectacle, aside from Kerik’s more blatant charms, is his cocky self assurance. Is the way he seems to make begging for a kiss sound like a command.

Does he actually want Perl to kiss him?

Perl swallows hard. He looks down into Kerik’s big brown eyes, dancing with silver speckles. He will have to fix that. Weakly he says, “Yes, that's along the right lines. If you can just do it a little more like an obedient thrall and less like a prince who is playing a game.”

“”Huh,” Kerik huffs, getting to his feet. “And what about you?” Does Perl imagine it or does Kerik’s voice sound equally breathy. “Do you have it in you to Master me?”

Perl pauses at that. Does he?

“I am sure I will be able to play the part if you are willing to perform like this.”

“Then show me,” Kerik says. His tongue flips out over his top lip. “Show me how you will Master me.”

Perl swallows. “There is no time for such games now.”

“Don’t you think we ought to practise before we step through that door? What is holding you back? Do you not find me pleasing?” Kerik puts his hands on his hips and bats his eyelashes, a mockery of the way a maid would seduce a man. “But no, you’ve already told me you find me pleasing. But if you’re not sure how to master a man on his knees, I can help you with that. Perhaps you should kneel so I can show you exactly how such a thing is done.”

Perl forces himself into composure, standing up straighter. “You will do no such thing,” he says sharply. “This is just a simple performance. I do not require lessons in telling mortals how to behave.”

Kerik looks quite amused. “Very well.”