Page 32 of My Princeling Brat (Tales from the Tarot #2)

Prince Cedrych

We were back in the baths, me lying on the massage table while Vasil laid cool, damp towels across my back, leaving a gap for my wings to breathe.

My lord had whipped me, made me cry, then claimed me while I orgasmed on his thigh.

It was a lot to process. My muscles were stiff and sore, my skin sensitive wherever the cool cloth touched it.

Wrung out completely, I must have fallen asleep because when I came to consciousness again, it was to the sounds of Vasil and Anika speaking in low voices.

“He’s been uncooperative, my lord. Won’t say a word to us,” the commander said.

“Were you able to determine his clan?”

“It would appear that he’s fae, not elvish. His wings have been mangled, a botched job from the looks of it.”

I propped myself up on my elbows and twisted my torso to look at them. The pain in my back had me wincing. Anika nodded respectfully in my direction before turning her attention back to Vasil. The Lord only stared at me with a pensive expression.

“I can talk to him,” I said, which earned me a raised eyebrow from Anika and a cool glare from Vasil. “I’m fae, and not to be arrogant, but he likely knows my face, considering I’ve been on the pages of the daily scrolls since the time I was a babe.”

“I don’t think that’s–” Vasil began to say.

“It’s worth a try,” Anika interrupted. “This is the closest we’ve gotten to a lead since the attempts on your life began, my lord, and I’ve a feeling this is only the beginning.”

“Please, my lord?” I said.

His expression didn’t change, but I knew he was weighing the risk versus the benefits. Vasil was cunning, strategic, something I admired about him. At last he said, “After you’ve rested. And I’ll be accompanying him,” he said to Anika.

Anika gave a curt nod and dismissed herself. I lay back down with my cheek resting on my forearm. Thank the Goddess for small victories.

“How are you feeling?” Vasil asked while peeling away the now-warm towels to inspect the damage.

“Sore,” I said, and privately, a little embarrassed too. He’d made me cry twice. What must the stoic, ever-reserved lord think of me now?

“This salve should help with that.” He began smoothing the cool liquid across my shoulders, down my back, then my butt and upper thighs.

He grabbed my balls and massaged those too, causing me to arch my back reflexively because they were still so tender.

The salve must have had some numbing quality to it because when I finally rose to a sitting position, I wasn’t quite so uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” I said and grabbed the clothing he’d laid out for me. I was having some trouble meeting his eyes after the intimacy we’d shared during my punishment.

“What’s this?” he asked, tilting my chin upward, his signature move.

“Nothing, my lord.”

“Cedrych.”

I sighed, aggrieved by his perceptiveness. “I suppose I just feel a little foolish about it all.”

“Foolish? About what, exactly?”

“I cried. Like a baby.”

“Yes,” he said with a small, satisfied smile.

“You liked it?” I asked.

He nodded again. “Immensely. Did you also find it cathartic?”

I took a deep breath. If I was being honest with myself, I supposed that I had. My slate had been wiped clean and there were no bad feelings between us. No lingering resentment or passive aggression, as was always the case with my mother. Vasil meant what he said. “It was quite the release.”

“Are you worried what will happen next time you disobey me?” he asked with a look of concern.

“No, not exactly. More like I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“That’s good, but I don’t want you to fear me, Cedrych.”

“I don’t,” I was quick to assure him. If anything, I felt safer with him now, to know he could deliver such a punishment and then care for me so tenderly afterward.

He’d done it for my benefit, though the soldier in me assured me that I’d made the right decision in chasing after that assassin.

It wasn’t in my blood to be meek, which likely meant more punishments for me in the future.

“What are you thinking about now?” he asked, staring at me intently.

“I was thinking this will likely happen again, not because I’d want to disobey you, but because it’s in my nature to do so.”

He nodded sagely. “I don’t wish to break your spirit, Cedrych, only guide you toward a more constructive path and above all else, keep you safe.”

“Yes, my lord. I didn’t understand before, but I think I’m beginning to.”

“Good.” He smiled, melting me even more, then held out his hand and helped me climb gingerly off the massage table. I slipped my feet into a pair of padded slippers. Made of the softest buttery leather, they molded to my feet and blocked the chill from the stone floor.

Vasil led me out of the baths, back to the metal box that I now knew was called an elevator, down seemingly endless floors until we reached his subterranean dungeon–this one for prisoners not bedmates.

It was as tidy and well-kept as every other room in the castle.

No mold or mildew or standing water. Clean, if not a little impersonal.

The rows of cells were well-maintained too, the metal bars practically gleaming.

Each unit had a bed, a latrine and wash basin, a built-in desk and chair, and a floor rug to ward off the chill.

There were guest rooms at my mother’s castle that weren’t this nice, which made me wonder why a prisoner would want to leave at all.

Currently there was only one occupant in Vasil’s dungeon, the skilled archer and assassin.

Pity the lad was a criminal, because he was really quite talented with a bow and arrow.

My ass was tender, but I dragged a chair from one of the unoccupied cells and set it in front of the steel bars that separated me from the prisoner.

I motioned to his chair and the lad obeyed, dragging it over so we sat facing each other.

Vasil and his guards stood off to the side, watching and listening.

The young man appeared even thinner than my initial assessment with long, unwashed hair and large, moss green eyes that seemed to take up his entire face. “How’s the food?” I asked in elvish, pointing to the empty metal tray. It was good the lad was eating. A strong wind would blow him away.

He blinked and stared straight at me without answering. I asked the question again in fae, which elicited a huffy response. “I don’t speak fae,” he said in elvish.

“But you are fae?” I asked and he only stared back at me with a mulish expression. “So, you wanted to kill me?” I said and he immediately shook his head.

“Not you, Your Highness. Him.” The boy pointed with one bony finger towards Vasil. Vasil, to his credit, seemed completely indifferent.

“You recognize me then?” I asked.

The boy nodded. “You’re the wild one.”

I nearly smiled because that was certainly my reputation.

“Prince Cedrych Avondale of Bivenbriar,” I said and held my hand through the bar for the boy to shake.

He glanced skittishly at Vasil before offering up his own hand.

His fingers were so thin and knobby it was a wonder he could pull back the bowstring at all.

“And you are?” I asked.

“Galen,” he said.

“Family name?”

He shrugged. “If I ever had one, I don’t know it.”

An orphan, one could only assume. “How did a lad like yourself end up here in the elvish realm?”

He swallowed and his slender throat bobbed, a tender thing. “Sold as a sprig. So I was told.”

Sold as a sprig? What would be the purpose in that?

“Sold to whom?” I asked. The boy said nothing, so I continued. “What happened to your wings?”

He shrugged and drew his threadbare robe tighter around him as if ashamed.

He stared at his riding boots. The worn leather had been sewn back together in several places and the sole looked nearly worn through.

This boy had been a captive from a very young age, had been tortured as well, but he knew who I was.

Whoever was behind this assassination plot was also trafficking in fae children, which made me all the more angry.

I wanted to catch the lowlife who’d put this poor boy up to such a dastardly deed.

But the only way to do that would be to get more information from him.

“So, what did Lord Vasil do to you to make you want to turn your bow on him?” I asked.

The boy dragged his arm across his nose. “Nuthin’,” he said, blinking his eyes rapidly as if trying not to cry.

“Nothing? Must have been something,” I coaxed.

“T’was nothing at all, Your Highness,” he insisted. “Nothing personal.”

“Then someone put you up to it?” I wagered. His ensuing silence spoke volumes. “Well then, who’s mad enough at Lord Vasil to want him dead?”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” Galen said with a wail.

Was he sorry for the attempt on Vasil’s life or because he couldn’t tell me the truth? “I know this wasn’t your idea, Galen. It’s clear to me you were forced into it. Will you tell me who did this so we can catch them and bring them to justice?”

He shook his head slowly, tears falling freely now. “I can’t, sir. They have her.”

“Have who?”

“I can’t say. They’ll kill her if I do.”

“If you tell us, maybe we can help you get her back.”

He shook his head miserably and covered his face with both hands.

“It’ll be too late,” he said with utter defeat.

I felt the lad’s anguish with every pained word he uttered.

He was an unwilling accomplice in this plot, that much was certain.

I waited patiently for Galen to say more, but he wouldn’t.

“We’re not going to hurt you, Galen. In fact, we want to help you, but until you tell us who did this, we can’t let you go either,” I told him.

The boy sniffled and nodded slightly, resigned to his fate.

“If you change your mind about telling me, have a guard come fetch me, okay?”

Galen nodded, lips pressed tightly together, and didn’t say another word.