Playing With Fire (4 page)

He pulled off his makeshift robe and stepped into the roasting water, moaning as he sank down into it. Patin grabbed a sweet-smelling soap and began washing him, Patin’s touch gentle, careful. Wintras nearly told Patin this wasn’t necessary, but the boy’s sweet touch made him feel less alone. So he said nothing, just sighed happily as the dirt was washed away.

His hair was cleaned and scrubbed, rinsed, the tangles gently worked out. He closed his eyes and moaned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so pampered. Patin began to sing, the sound happy and sweet, the mood becoming relaxed and easy. He hummed along, falling into a doze. He was allowed to luxuriate, to rest, his hair carefully brushed and braided.

He had to remind himself that Zujan was his captor. A user. His enemy.

Finally one little hand stroked his shoulder. “You need to dress. It’s almost time.”

“Thank you, Patin.” He got out of the water and let Patin dry him, the towel soft as if it were silk.

He wondered what exactly Zujan would consider proper attire for him. He was not going to be happy in one of those little tunics that exposed him. Indeed, he was offered a tunic, short and brief, embroidered around the edge.

“Where’s the rest of it?” he demanded. He was not going to attend Zujan with his privates hanging out.

“The rest? This is all.” Patin held it up, the edge would just cover his buttocks. “It’s the right size.”

“It needs to be longer. Or I need breeches to go with it.” He was not going to wear this and only this. He was not. Not.

“Longer?” Patin tilted his head. “Too small? Fine. Yes. I’ll find a bigger one. Maybe.”

“No maybe. I need a bigger one. Now. Right away. Before I have to go to this banquet with the master. Please, Patin.”

Patin nodded, rummaging, digging around until a deep blue tunic was produced, long enough to cover him to mid-thigh.

Wintras beamed at the boy. “Patin! You’re wonderful.” He put it on happily. “It’s perfect.”

Patin beamed, eyes shining. “Good. We should go. The food will be ready.”

He reached out to stroke Patin’s cheek. “Thank you.”

The boy bounced and hugged him. “Oh, I do like you. I hope you’re happy here.”

“I’ll be happy to spend time with you, Patin.” But that would be it.

“Well, the master’s favorite is always very busy, but I’ll bathe you every day.”

He was again led along one hallway after another. Master’s favorite. The words echoed in his head, making him dizzy. How could he be Zujan’s favorite? He hated the man, had made no effort to hide that fact.

A set of huge doors appeared, and Patin stopped. “In there. Eat a pastry for me!”

Wintras nodded, resisting hanging back, clinging to this wee lad. He lifted his head and pushed open the doors, walking in as if he were the Lord here.

“Oh, you did find us! Welcome, pet, and help us send our dear prince off in style.” Zujan was lounging, dressed in pure white, pearls in his hair. Rall was dressed in the greatest finery, looking small and unsure and scared.

“I’m not yours. And I would prefer you didn’t call me your pet.” He went and sat on the other side of Rall, refusing to look at Zujan.

“Now, now. You promised to submit, sweet pet. Play nicely.”

The table was loaded with food—roast and roots and pastries.

“I agreed to submit, not to become yours. And I am playing nice—although I should have said please.
Please
do not call me your pet.” He still didn’t look at Zujan, instead he focused on the food, his stomach growling. It had been so long since he’d had a good meal.

“Eat. Eat, my dear ones.” Zujan’s laugh grated, the sound merry and amused.

Wintras reached for one of the pastries, remembering Patin’s request. He wished there was a way for him to smuggle some out for the boy. Rall ate little, Zujan even less, the thin fingers picking. Wintras was starving, though, and ate hungrily.

He had a new tactic now. He would kill Zujan with kindness. He would be polite and do as he was told and get strong and when the moon was full he would take as many of the slaves as he could and run. Of course, to do that he would have to look at the man.

“Tell us a tale of your homeland, dear boy. Amuse my sweet Prince Rall.”

Wintras smiled at Rall. “Well, my favorite tale has always been the one where the good boy defeats the evil king. Would you like to hear that one, Rall?”

Rall’s eyes were wide, shocked. “I… Of course. Please.”

Zujan chuckled softly. “That sounds like a lovely story. Do tell.”

“Once upon a time there was a prin—a boy. Who was very good to his subj—neighbors.

“Everything was good until the evil king showed up. The boy’s family tried to mollify the evil king with presents, but in the end, the evil king took the boy and hid him away in his castle.

“The evil king wanted the boy to join him in his evil ways, but the boy wouldn’t succumb, no matter what the evil king did, and in the end, the boy escaped and the evil king died alone.”

Zujan’s chuckle filled the room. “Oh, what a gloomy story, my sweet pet. How about this one? Once upon a time there was a spoiled prince whose parents left him with a clever ally to gain an education. He learned his limitations and then, after offering himself willingly and easily, returned home to his father.”

Wintras glared at his plate, still refusing to look at Zujan. “I have asked you, quite politely, not to call me pet. As for your story? As arrogant as you are.”

“Ah, yes. Not my pet. My sweet beauty. My prince. My dear boy. Which do you like, Prince Rall?”

“I always preferred pet, my Lord.”

Wintras shook his head, wondering if he had bought the wrong man’s freedom with his subservience. He would have liked to have freed Patin. “I prefer prince.”

“My prince? It has a ring.” Zujan made a clucking noise. “Look at me, my prince.”

His hands turned to fists, but he had given his word to submit, to obey, and Wintras was true to his word. He turned to Zujan, letting his loathing show in his eyes.

Zujan’s eyes were black, shining. “You have sworn to do my will, my prince. I will have you, every bit of you.”

The man was beautiful. Cold and heartless, brutal, but beautiful. Wintras would not be swayed by beauty. “I will submit, Zujan, but you will never have my heart or my soul. My respect and my love are reserved for those who deserve them.”

“I have no use for your heart. Only your body and your obedience.”

Rall whimpered.

“Good because that is all you will ever have, and never given willingly, only to save another.” He pet poor Rall’s arm.

“Of course. Our dear martyr.” Zujan plucked a grape from the table, slowly eating it.

“If I am a martyr it is only because you make me one.” He was not noticing how red Zujan’s lips seemed against the perfect pale skin, how the man’s tongue played with the grape before it disappeared behind now-wet lips. No, not at all.

Little firefaeries sprang up, dancing upon the food, the colors bright and stunning. He watched them, transfixed. These were the little firefaeries that had wreaked havoc at the ball, and yet…they were so beautiful. They seemed to dance, to twirl and spin and bounce over the table.

As if possessed, he reached out toward one.

Rall jerked, grabbed his hand. “They burn!”

He blinked, looking at Rall and then at Zujan. “The tarts—they’re drugged, aren’t they?” he accused.

“Pardon me?” Zujan honestly looked confused.

“You didn’t eat any of them. You’re drugging me.” It was the only explanation for the way he was noticing Zujan, for his dangerous fascination with the firefaeries.

Zujan snorted, held out a long, thin hand. “Hand me one.”

He chose one and handed it over, glaring. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not poison. Of course, you wouldn’t mind eating one.”

Zujan nibbled at it. “Why would I drug you, my prince? I have your word you will submit.”

“Because…because you want me to want it.” It sounded stupid, even to his own ears. Zujan probably wanted him to suffer every moment.

“You will find pleasure, my prince. I have no doubt.”

“That’s all right—I have doubt enough of that for both of us.” Drugging him was the only way he would find pleasure in his submission.

A finger dipped into the crust of the pastry, Zujan licking the dark berries, obviously enjoying the treat. It was very…sexy. Wintras blinked rapidly as tears threatened. He was so confused, and his head was starting to hurt.

“You should have some wine, some roast.” Zujan pointed lazily at the food. “You spent many days in hunger.”

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t eat. It would be giving in. He couldn’t give in. He’d been tricked into eating the tart.

“Wintras. I order you to eat, sustain yourself.”

Rall’s eyes were huge, watching them.

Wintras reached out and picked up a grape, putting it carefully into his mouth and eating it. Zujan echoed his actions, licking and sucking the purple orb, pulling the juice from it. Wintras gasped, his cock throbbing at the sight. He nearly choked on his own grape, and he tore his gaze away from Zujan. Drugs or a spell. The man was a mage after all. It was obvious he had been enspelled.

Rall patted his back, leaning close. “There is no shame in this, Wintras. I swear to you.”

“Except that I don’t want it, Rall. I don’t want him. I don’t want to be here.”

“You swore to submit. He is a man of his word.”

“I will submit, Rall. And you will be free. But I don’t want him.”

“You will.” Rall’s fingers brushed his cheeks. “You will.”

“I will not.” What scared him was that perhaps Rall was right. He straightened his spine and stared at the wall across the room. He would not go down without a fight.

“Strip him, Rall, and ready him for me. We will show him what it means to want.”

He gasped, eyes shooting to Zujan. He knew this was coming, had known from the start and knew that he must accept it when he agreed to submit, but here, in front of everyone? The man truly was a monster.

Rall stood, shaking his head, one hand held out. “You must learn to control your tongue.”

Wintras stood, not taking Rall’s hand. He would submit, but he had never said he would make it easy for anyone. “I can remove my own clothing,” he said tightly, pulling the tunic from his body.

It wasn’t that he minded nudity—in fact he quite enjoyed it, but here it was being used to shame him. And that he did not like in the least.

Zujan pulled a bottle of green oil from a box at the foot of his bench. “Here, Rall. This should slick the way.”

Wintras bit his lip. He would not cry. He was here of his own free will. That he had never performed this particular act and would do so as a…as a sideshow for entertainment value meant nothing. Really, the whole thing meant nothing, just another proof that Zujan was a heartless monster.

He stood still and naked, head held high as he waited for instruction. Rall took the oil, slicking the little fingers quickly and wrapping them around his shaft, pumping, patiently working him to a full hardness. He silently cursed his body for finding its pleasure in this. To submit he only needed to accept Zujan and what Zujan did, he did not need to get hard, to come. Curse Zujan and Rall for insisting he did.

Zujan stood up, moved behind him. The long thin fingers stroked over his back, caressed his hips. He shivered at the touch of the cool fingers. He would have thought a fire mage’s skin would burn. The touches continued, gentle, light, arousing. Not hurting, not painful.

He stood straight as a ramrod, breathing through his nose, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the tears from his eyes. The gentleness made it worse somehow, brought an intimacy to it that a quick coupling would not have had.

Rall stood before him, lips covering his own, bending him forward. He let Rall’s mouth have his sob, letting them position him as they would. He couldn’t fight, he couldn’t. He had promised to submit.

Cool, slick fingers circled the ring of muscles in his cleft, the oil tingling, warming, almost burning. His body clenched hard, denying that this was happening, that he was sharing his body like this out of duty rather than love.

“I will not take you unwilling, pet. You swore to submit.” The touches continued, soft and easy.

He was trying, damn the man! He bowed his head and closed his eyes, hands holding tight to Rall as he breathed deeply, forcing his body to loosen, to ease. To let Zujan breach his hole.

Rall kissed him, tongue sliding into his lips, hand slowly pumping his cock as Zujan’s finger pressed, stroked. He whimpered as Zujan’s finger pushed into his body, a shudder moving through him. His body clenched tight around it before he forced himself to ease again.

“Mmm…so tight. So fine, Wintras. Have you never shared this with a shield mate? With a lover? With a curious woman’s finger perhaps?”

He clenched his teeth, wishing more than anything that he could tell Zujan yes, that he did not have to let Zujan know that this was being stolen from him as well.

“No,” he muttered, hands holding so tightly to Rall’s shoulders that he was sure there would be bruises in the morning. He felt Zujan move, felt the brush of a hot, wet tongue against his entrance. He gasped in shock, lightning shooting up his spine. Oh, the touch was hot, sweet, the motion of Zujan’s tongue unbelievable.

He sobbed again, pleasure shaking him hard. He couldn’t find his breath, couldn’t see. The pleasure didn’t stop, didn’t ease, Rall pumping him, driving him harder and higher. He was shaking, caught between the hand on his prick and the tongue at his entrance, everything else fading away beneath the onslaught of pleasure. Cool hands spread him wider, that tongue pressing deep. Rall moaned, the sound pushing into his lips, wanton, low. He cried out as Zujan’s tongue fucked him, the pleasure more than he could withstand. Shaking hard, he submitted his pleasure to Zujan, seed spraying over Rall’s hand.

Zujan stood, hand sliding over his buttocks, patting. “Very fine.”

He shivered, trembled and tried very hard not to cry as their surroundings came flooding back to him, the sounds of the others at Zujan’s table, the fact of who it was who had made him come. He told himself that it was sweat on his cheeks.