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And Kerik has been ordered not to move.

Kerik shudders. So this is the final test. Such a simple thing. He must resist his Master’s lips. It shouldn’t be the worst thing he has been asked to do. And yet. This feels like more of a challenge than the fire, than the ache in his arms, than the ice, the silence, or kneeling and sucking Perl before all of them.

Because his need to kiss Perl is a stronger desire than he has ever felt for anything.

He burns to kiss Perl. His entire body aches with need like nothing he has ever felt.

It shouldn’t feel like this. He wants Perl, but resisting a single kiss shouldn’t be harder than fighting the urge to jump out of a fire.

He swallows. This is magic. More magic.

He realises Exeinil has walked over to the platform. He was so fixated on Perl’s lips, Perl’s tantalising kiss, that he hadn’t even noticed. “The fire that surrounded you for the second position, thrall,” Exeinil says with a note of sheer delight in her voice, “was no ordinary fire as I am sure you are now aware. It was the flame of desire. The fire that is created by burning the leaves and stems of the foribunda plant from the isle of Voluptue. You may have encountered the drug made from a tincture of this plant in the mortal realm.” Her skirts rustle as she turns away.

But Kerik barely hears it. All he can hear is his own blood rushing through his body. His cock, which is roused now, stiffly pressed to his belly, seems to be singing with need.

He’s going to fail this one. He can smell the strange scent of cold that seems to come from Perl’s body. Fresh and delicious. And he wants that mouth. He wants. He wants to take Perl right here. In front of them all.

And he doesn’t think he can stop himself. The desire is too strong. Nothing else matters. Not these tests, not Iceheart, not even his new resolve to win that magical sword and defeat the Bellator from his terrifying vision. It all recedes. All that exists is Perl. Perl’s mouth, shaking, a breath from his own.

He’s a heartbeat from leaning forward and kissing Perl when he hears Vane’s voice, from the dais, saying idly, “Oh, as if it is any sort of test for it to resist that corrupted thing.”

And Exeinil murmuring back, “Enough of that please Vanel-areti-ai.”

And Kerik remembers Vane speaking to him at the Silver Ball. Using the exact same phrase. He’d done that with magic. Made a magical bubble where he could speak to Kerik in private.

Perl’s magic might be frozen by the iron band he wears on his wrist, but Kerik’s magic isn’t. Kerik closes his eyes and focuses on what he wants to happen.

And it happens. Easily as willing it.

The same misty bubble appears around them. Perl’s eyes go wide. “Kerik Darekul,” he says softly, but before Perl can utter a word more, Kerik leans forward and kisses him. He takes Perl’s mouth softly, groaning with the great need inside him satisfied. He leans closer, sliding his tongue deep, moaning and hearing an answering moan. They are hidden by magic. Truly he is not sure if his spell will work. But he cannot resist. He presses hard to Perl, wrists still cuffed, but somehow managing to control the kiss, using his tongue and the soft nip of his teeth.

Perl seems to lose himself for a long moment. His brittleness shed, like a snake's skin, revealing the true Perl beneath, sweetly submissive. Perfect.

But after a few moments, he pulls back, face shocked. From his expression and the wild rolling of his eyes, Kerik is sure he did not know about the bubble until he pulled back from the kiss, that for those moments, Perl had allowed Kerik to kiss him like that, like a Master, before all of the Ice Hall.

The thought of that, the idea that Perl was truly so desperate for Kerik that he could not hold himself back from the kiss, makes Kerik’s belly roar with lust.

He leans close. “It’s safe,” he murmurs, “I have hidden us with magic.”

Perl nods, cheeks still flushed even as his expression tightens. Kerik can feel the relief. “Kerik Darekul,” Perl says, voice soft on Kerik’s lips. “The Magician.”

Kerik whispers, “Perl, I saw them, I saw the Bellator. I had a vision. Your father sent it to me.”

Perl’s eyes go wide. “My father?”

Kerik nods. “It was so real. I know it’s true. All you have told me is true. I’m so sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry I thought I ought to use my magic for my own power and wealth. Perl please, forgive me.” Kerik slides onto his knees, looking up at Perl.

“Kerik Darekul…” Perl says, softly. “Truly? You do not want to use magic for yourself? You do not want to grab at power and hoard it?”

“No. And I understand why you fear that a mortal would do that. But I am no ordinary mortal. I am your Magician. I see it all now. How brave you are. How much you have sacrificed for your mission. I will do only as you will me. Perl. I am your thrall. Yours, please say you are mine.”

“I am yours,” Perl says, sliding to his knees beside Kerik. “I am.” They kiss again, so soft and real.

Kerik feels Perl’s words land like a gentle weight. But there is more he wants. More than this confession, this truth. He is still roaring with need, the flames of desire still grip him. He gets to his feet, standing shakily over Perl, looking down at him on his knees, thighs a little spread, the leather of his breeches drawn tight, glossy and black.

Kerik swallows. His whole body is still pounding with desire. “Suck me, thrall.” He moans to say it, even the thought of Perl’s mouth sending bolts of ecstasy through him.

Perl looks up at Kerik. He looks alarmed. They are still in the Ice Hall. Kerik can see the whole of the court through the hazy bubble of magic.