Page 9 of My Princeling Brat (Tales from the Tarot #2)

Prince Cedrych

Maybe it was the weather, overcast and gray, or the few hours of fitful sleep I’d managed in a strange bed, alone in a foreign land with unfamiliar customs. Maybe it was that my breeches were laced too tight, something my governess always said when I’d arrive at breakfast in a foul mood.

But as I entered into Lord Vasil’s large, dimly lit dining hall with the man already seated at the head of the table, my nerves were on edge, and I couldn’t fall back on my old routine of disinterest, for the lord had already seen through me, had gotten well under my skin.

What would I say to him? How should I act?

He’d perplexed and intimidated me at every turn.

I wanted him as much as I feared him. If I showed any weakness, he’d surely exploit it, and yet part of me wanted to bare my throat.

To…obey? Rather than make a fool of myself yet again, I sat down at the table without speaking, not even glancing his way. It was rude, but it was necessary.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he greeted me after a beat of silence. “How did you sleep?”

“Poorly,” I announced with a surly edge to my voice.

There was nothing wrong with the question, except that it sounded too formal and too forced.

I’d obviously slept terribly. Wilting under the lord’s steely gaze, I surveyed the array of fancy fae dishes he’d probably had prepared just for me.

The elvish were known for their animal trapping in addition to harvesting the many nuts and berries that grew wild in the mountains.

They needed protein and fats to survive the harsher winters, whereas the fae ate the fruits and nectars that grew plentiful in the valley, even better if they were glazed with honey.

Our kind had a sacred relationship with honey.

As our main source of food, our busiest time of the year was during honey collection in late summer, and our festivals celebrated the honey harvest. One of the catalysts for the War of the Realms was that humans were destroying natural habitats in their never-ending quest to expand their population, to the extent that the bees nearly went extinct as did our starving, dwindling population.

So we drove the humans out of the Arcane Isles, except for a few who were loyal to our cause.

Sorcerers then cast wards to prevent humankind from returning.

Since the war had ended and once honey became plentiful again, the fae returned to their culture of indulgence. We were decadent when it came to food, fashion, and revelry, whereas the elvish had been forced to survive amidst scarcity. Perhaps that quality was what made Lord Vasil so severe.

“Is your stomach still upset?” Vasil asked, perhaps noticing I’d made no attempt at eating.

“No.”

“Are there other foods you’d prefer?”

“No, thank you.”

I aimed my ire at the window. The curtains were not drawn this time, but there was a light muslin dressing to dim the sunlight, a concession he’d probably made on my behalf.

All of this–the food, the lighting, my opulent chambers, even the servants who seemed to have been briefed already on fae customs–all of it was for me.

Why? Because I was a spoiled, selfish prince who needed minding, who couldn’t get my act together on the best of days, whose only value was as currency to be bought and traded.

Goddess almighty, I felt like crying.

“Are you feeling a touch homesick, Your Highness?” Vasil said, probably seeing the parade of emotions marching across my face.

“Stop calling me that,” I snapped. Before I could gauge his reaction, the lord was up and rounding the table, his imposing figure towering over where I sat.

Ever present was that vanadium rod, the physical manifestation of his power.

He stared down at me so coldly, I felt a chill at the back of my neck.

Gripping his rod as if he intended to strike me with it, he said slowly, “Then what shall I call you?”

“Cedyrch is fine,” I mumbled.

“Speak up,” he said sharply and my gaze snapped to attention.

“Cedrych,” I repeated, cowed by his dominance.

His hand swept across the array of garnished dishes set before me. “And what of these offerings pleases you, Cedrych?”

I glanced briefly at the food, too much for one man or even two.

“The sugar dates,” I replied tersely.

Vasil plucked up one of the waxy brown fruits in his finely shaped fingers, but rather than put it to his lips to taste, he held it out for me. I dared a glance at him. Did he mean for me to eat from his hand? My eyes caught on the servants and guards posted on either side of the room.

“Leave us,” Vasil commanded, his voice reverberating off the stone walls like distant thunder.

His attendants departed immediately, shutting the doors silently behind them.

“Your date,” the lord said, refocusing my attention.

I raised my hand to grab it, but he pulled away. “Not your hands, Cedrych. Your mouth.”

I swallowed as a sudden flush of heat enveloped me. Fire and ice. Blood rushed to my face, as well as my cock, leaving me light-headed. “You’re serious?” I hedged.

“I am.”

Sighing as if burdened, I leaned forward, straining a little to reach his hand.

The way he held the fruit made it impossible for me to dislodge it without my tongue brushing against his thumb and forefinger.

He practically forced me to suck the date from his grip.

It was degrading and intimate and I didn’t know what to make of it. Or him.

“That’s it, very good,” he coaxed as I chewed the sticky fruit before swallowing it down.

I stared up at him, humiliated and aroused and desperately wanting more of his praise.

“Try one of these. They come from the trees in my mother’s orchard.

” He picked up a slice of golden pear at the peak of ripeness.

The fruit was too large to take in one bite so I bit off one piece and then the other.

“Well?” he asked, seeming to genuinely care.

“It’s delicious,” I answered, easily the sweetest pear I’d ever eaten.

“You missed some.” He held out his fingers for me to lick the sticky residue from his knuckles. I did so with diligence. By now my cock was stiff as heartwood, pressing uncomfortably against the lacing of my breeches. I tried to adjust it without him noticing.

“Hands where I can see them, Cedrych,” he said sharply.

“Why?” I asked, even as I laid my hands on the polished table.

“I’m assessing your ability to follow instructions.

” He perused the rest of my breakfast before selecting a cube of honey cake.

I was already salivating by the time he placed it on my tongue.

The sweet sponge melted in my mouth, and his dark eyes stayed trained on my lips as I chewed.

I blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening.

“Are there any foods you’re averse to?” he asked.

“No, sir,” I said, then frowned. Why had I called him that?

“While we’re on the subject of titles, ‘sir,’ ‘my lord,’ or ‘master’ are all pleasing to me.”

“Master,” I said with a derisive snort, then realized he was being serious. “Am I to please you?” I asked, dumbfounded by his arrogance.

“I would be immensely satisfied if you tried.”

I couldn’t believe the man’s gall or my own inability to dispute it. “Master is a bit much. Why not Mercier?” I asked, somewhat afraid to even utter his first name.

“Mercier only on very special occasions,” he purred with that same inscrutable smile, then plucked up a strawberry, the reddest and plumpest I’d ever seen. He dipped it in whipped cream, then offered it to me. “The cream first,” he instructed.

“Why?” I repeated. It seemed to be all I could say.

“Because I want to see what your clever tongue can do.”

Face aflame, I licked the cream from the berry, avoiding his gaze for fear that I might disintegrate from sheer mortification. He was enjoying this, that much was clear. Was it the demonstration of dominance or my own quiet suffering?

Some of the cream ended up on my chin and before I could remedy it, Vasil swiped it with his thumb and presented it to me.

We stared at one another, the heat steadily building in my loins at his silent challenge.

Finally, I acquiesced and licked his digit slowly, staring into his dark eyes as they flared with desire.

Who was the one in control, now? Meanwhile, his fingers skimmed my throat, over the ridge of my prominence before tracing my stubbled jaw.

“I think a shave is in order,” he said as if speaking to himself. “We’ll do it in my chambers, before we meet with my commander for my daily briefing.”

“You’re going to shave me?” I asked. Grooming was the job of an attendant, not a lord. The only person who’d ever done that for me was my valet.

“I am,” he answered, selecting a ripe fig this time.

“You may have noticed I don’t employ a lot of servants.

I have to be able to trust each and every person I let into my fortress with my life and now, yours too.

That said, I have a lot of practice, and I think it will set the right tone for the day. ”

“What tone is that?”

“Propriety,” he said, then waited as if expecting a rebuttal.

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“This is about control?” I ventured to say.

“Partway, yes. And I’d like to have my hands on you as a way to orient us to the day.”

My balls ached at the promise of his hands on me, but I reined it in. “And is hand-feeding me going to be part of our daily routine as well?”

“On days when you need it, yes.”

He was doing this for me? Because I needed it?

“I thought it was to prove to me that you’re in charge,” I said.