Page 3 of The Elves and the Shoemaker (The GriMM Tales #4)

Two

Henrik

I

n theory, Henrik was aware that he should be relieved to no longer be held captive and forced to tolerate working endless hours until his fingers bled in exchange for scraps of food.

However, with both his and Elias’ magic still bound by suppressing copper cuffs that required a sorcerer to remove them, they were now homeless and forced to resort to begging for coin or food.

Both of which Henrik firmly believed were beneath what any living being should be expected to endure as a means of survival.

Henrik woke that morning to Elias shivering in his arms. They had nothing to wear except the hessian sacks they’d been dressed in at the silk mill and a small cotton sheet to cover them at night that must have dropped to the ground from one of the high washing lines in the housing district.

Due to having to remain hypervigilant lest anyone opportunistic attempt to capture them again while they were weak and vulnerable, Henrik and Elias were spending their nights inside the Dark Forest. When they’d escaped their captors only a few weeks prior, Henrik had built a den out of sticks and moss for them to sleep within, and they’d cleaned an entire blacksmith’s forge from top to bottom in exchange for having their iron shackles removed.

Henrik wrapped his arms more tightly around Elias like he could gift him some warmth that he didn’t even possess himself. Elias turned in his arms and smiled at him like he wasn’t, in fact, on the brink of dying from exposure.

“Good morning,” Henrik whispered to his best friend and sometimes lover. They had never really had need to discuss exactly what they were to each other.

“Morning, Rik,” Elias replied, pecking a quick kiss to Henrik’s frigidly cold lips.

Elias had been free with his affection for Henrik ever since they’d first lain together.

A few months into their time at the silk mill, Elias had—through no fault of his own but sheer exhaustion—made a mistake that had cost the mill a yard of expensive silk.

Elias had panicked, almost unable to breathe as he’d held the ruined fabric in his blistered hands, and Henrik had been overwhelmed with the need to protect him.

Protect the elf who had been nothing but kind to him since he’d found himself dragged into the depths of hell, the elf who had taught him what he’d needed to know in order to survive.

So when the overseer had returned, Henrik had snatched the silk from Elias’ hands and confessed to the error himself, receiving twenty lashings across his back as punishment.

The pain had been excruciating, yet Henrik had been sure that witnessing Elias endure that same fate would have hurt one hundred times more.

When he’d returned, Elias had been incensed but had procured a salve from somewhere and tended to Henrik’s wounds with a degree of care Henrik had never experienced before.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Elias had whispered furiously.

“I have more meat on my bones, Eli. I will survive this, but you might not have,” Henrik had explained matter-of-factly.

Elias hadn’t replied with words. He’d pressed his lips to Henrik’s with a fierceness that Henrik had returned, and being careful of his wounded back, they had lain together, taking each other in hand until release had burned through some of the passion that had been building between them.

They had lain together like that infrequently.

Pain, exhaustion, and starvation had made them unable to yearn for more than food and sleep.

But they had slept in each other’s arms ever since, and both had gone to sleep and awoken with a kiss that had reassured Henrik that he had, in fact, had a reason to stay alive.

Because, despite having had no real desire to endure that life anymore, Henrik would never have left Elias to fend for himself in this cold, unforgiving world.

“What are you thinking of?” Elias asked, stroking a finger down Henrik’s nose and bringing him back to the present.

Henrik blushed a little and a mischievous grin lit up Elias’ face in response.

“I… um… was recalling the first time you kissed me. And also after … you kissed me.” Henrik stumbled through his reply.

At first, Elias pouted because he did not enjoy the reminder of the lashings Henrik had taken on his behalf, but never one to let negative thoughts bring him down for long, Elias found his smile again.

“I was so mad at you, I thought I might strike you. But then my hands gripped your shoulders, and I found my lips pressed against yours, and it was all I could think about.” Elias spoke calmly, never embarrassed by discussing such matters.

They’d been raised quite differently in that regard.

“May I touch you now?” Elias asked, as if to prove Henrik’s point.

Henrik nodded his head to give permission, and then Elias pushed up the fabric that covered him, reaching underneath to stroke the soft flesh to hardness.

An “mmm” sound escaped Henrik’s lips unbidden, and then Elias suddenly had the two of them pressed together in the vise of his fist. Elias kept his hair tied up with a string of leather atop his head, but several strands had come loose during sleep and framed his face now.

Elias stroked both their lengths slowly while he gazed into Henrik’s eyes, lips slightly parted. It had been some time since Henrik had found release, and his balls ached for relief.

Speeding up his rhythm, and tightening his grip, it wasn’t long before Henrik was panting, pure arousal flooding his senses as he fell over the precipice and spilled over Elias’ hand and cock, shuddering all the while.

Elias joined him moments later, his eyes widening as he let out a small gasp of pleasure when he came.

Afterwards, Henrik held Elias close, their messy, softening cocks pressed together in a reminder of the moment they’d just shared. Having Elias in his arms like this was the reassurance Henrik needed—that while he didn’t have much, he had him .

A

few days earlier, Henrik had overheard a few locals gossiping about some travelling merchants setting up in the market the coming Saturday and how everyone would be heading there to peruse their wares.

With this in mind, Henrik and Elias had decided their best bet for collecting some coin would be to spend the day near the entrance to the market.

They huddled under their cotton sheet, which did little to ward off the chill since the temperature had dropped suddenly again a few days ago.

Using some willow branches, Henrik had woven a small bowl to place in front of them in the hope that passersby might be feeling generous and drop some change.

The rumours had been true that the market would be busy that day; unfortunately, though, everyone seemed inclined to keep every coin they had for shopping, and they’d barely collected enough to buy some of the stale leftover bread from the bakers.

The market would close soon, and Elias’ teeth were already chattering from the bitterly cold winds that seemed to come at them from every direction.

Footsteps sounded nearby, but by this point, Henrik didn’t even look up, expecting them to continue on inside, not giving them a second glance. Only, the footsteps stopped, and he could feel eyes on him.

Elias looked up first, and when Henrik saw a tired but gentle smile on his face, he turned to face the same direction. Standing just a few metres away was a tall man; a beard and a flat cap hid most of his face, but the first thing Henrik noticed was that he had kind eyes.

Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out two silver coins before approaching them. Instead of dropping them into the bowl, he held out a coin to each of them and smiled.

“Thank you,” Elias said.

The man looked at them with a concerned frown on his face before scanning their surroundings.

He then pointed to himself with his thumb, then at the market entrance with his index finger and held up two fingers to them as if to suggest he’d be back in two minutes.

Henrik wasn’t sure what he was coming back for but found himself nodding anyway because this had been the first kind interaction they’d had since arriving in Falchovari.

Once he left them and entered the market, Elias turned to Henrik and asked, “Do you think he is unable to hear, like Frida?”

Frida was another slave they’d known back at the mill.

She’d been born unable to hear and relied on hand signals and writing things down to communicate, although that was difficult with how few people could read.

He shrugged at Elias, still staring at the doorway the mysterious, kind man had disappeared through.

A stab of guilt pierced through Henrik’s stomach when he realised he’d been admiring the man.

The first and only person he’d really admired since long before he’d met Elias.

Making his behaviour even more suspicious, Henrik overcompensated and pressed a brief kiss to Elias’ cheek—in public, at that.

Which he never did, and now Elias was looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

What was wrong with him?

Before Henrik could truly spiral, however, the man returned with a small bag in his hand and pulled out a sheet of parchment and some graphite. He scribbled something on the piece of paper, poking his tongue out between his lips slightly as he did it, which Henrik did not find kind of sweet.

The man passed the parchment to Elias, who sat closer, eyes widening in surprise before showing it to Henrik. He’d drawn a rough sketch of a house, then pointed to the two of them before miming going to sleep.

Henrik was fairly certain the man intended to offer them somewhere to sleep rather than inviting them into his bed, but he wasn’t certain enough to agree.

“Are you able to hear us?” Henrik asked, a little louder than was probably polite, if the man could, in fact, hear him.

The man nodded his head. Then, surprising them both, he croaked out, “Johan.” And pointed at his chest.

“Speaking is difficult?” Henrik asked, that time at a far less hostile volume.

The man nodded again, and Elias looked confused.

“Are you offering us somewhere to sleep tonight?” Henrik asked, earning another head nod. “In your bed?” he added tentatively.

This time, Johan shook his head vigorously enough to reassure Henrik that his intention wasn’t to offer them a place to sleep in exchange for sex.

Before Henrik could even reply, Elias said, “Yes, please. We’re so cold, and we won’t be any trouble.”

In response, Johan reached out a hand to each of them, helping them to stand, and they picked up their cotton sheet along with the few coins they’d collected.

Realising suddenly that Johan had already given them money, Henrik tried to return it, thrusting the silver coin in his direction.

Johan just closed Henrik’s hand with his own, trapping the coin inside and shaking his head, refusing to take it back.

Henrik struggled to believe anyone was really that generous without expecting something in return, and a seed of suspicion began to grow in the pit of his stomach.

“Are you sure?” he whispered to Elias.

“I don’t know how much longer I can last in the cold, Rik.” Elias’ words were a heavy weight on Henrik’s chest as he really looked at his friend. He was so thin; his face had grown more and more gaunt as each day passed, and he couldn’t ignore the truth of it.

They could either take a chance on the kindness of a stranger or risk dying of exposure as they neared winter with no regular sustenance or shelter.

Henrik made the only choice he could live with.