Slave to the Crown

This book was published by Shadowfire Press 2121 Canyon Blvd, #103 Boulder, CO 80302

Slave to the Crown Copyright © 2009 Katica Locke Cover art by Coyote Shadow Studio Edited by Helen Ravell Book layout and Design by Coyote All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews, the reproduction of this book by any means known or devised in the future, are prohibited. Scanning, uploading, posting to the internet on any download or sharing site, making available via peer-to-peer sharing, creating print, audio or electronic versions of the book, or offering this book for distribution by any other means is illegal and will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. If you obtained this book from a source other than a book seller he author did not receive payment for the book. Our authors deserve to be paid for their work. You wouldn’t work for free and our authors should not be expected to work for free either. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and all characters are the creation of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events, or persons living or dead are purely coincidental. The mention of, or reference to any product or service within this book is not intended to be a challenge to the trademarks or copyrights of those products or services.

Sl ave to the

Crown By Katica Locke

Slave to the Crown

Flickering firelight danced across the finely wrought sidhe dagger as Mair lifted it from the pile of weapons scavenged from the corpses left in the wake of that morning’s battle. He turned it back and forth in his hands, feeling the weight and balance. The hilt was silver and gold, studded with emeralds, the blade silver and bearing several nicks and scratches. That was one drawback to being unable to wield iron; sidhe blades were prone to damage. Turning to the anvil, he braced the hilt against the block and picked up his hammer. One swift blow snapped the blade clean off, the room ringing with a clear, sweet note. Mair picked up the silver blade and tossed it into a bin with several others, and then sat down at his worktable and began to pry the gems loose from their settings. The stones would be crated up and shipped to Debringmas, sold to a dealer who would most likely sell them back to the same sidhe tribe that made these elaborate, but ultimately useless, weapons. Dropping the emeralds into an open barrel of vinegar to soak the blood off, Mair moved back to the pile, kicking aside a broken poleax and Page 1

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picking up another ornamental silver dagger, this one etched with the delicate wings of a butterfly. Mair rolled his shoulders, feeling his knobby wing ridges rub against the inside of his shirt. Scowling, he cleaved the blade from its hilt. Faeries had wings; goblins did not. As he sat down at his table, a sound in the corridor drew his attention and he turned in his chair as Shuruk, the king’s steward, strode into the room. Mair’s eyes were drawn to the heavy, curled horns growing out of Shuruk’s head and curving behind his large, pendulous ears, the tips sweeping up alongside his heavy jaw, ending at the corners of his mottled green and black lips. The horns had ancient goblin writing burned into them, denoting Shuruk’s position of power. Mair had no horns, a fact that Shuruk never let him forget. The goblin steward’s large, moss green eyes roved over Mair’s bare head before dropping to meet his gaze. “The king is dead,” Shuruk said, his greenishgray skin pale and damp with sweat, making him look remarkably like a gaunt toad. “He succumbed to injuries sustained in battle today and died screaming almost an hour ago.” Page 2

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“I’m glad,” Mair said. “May his soul raise hell on the Eternal Battlefield.” He turned away and picked up his shiny steel pick, careful to keep his fingers on the worn wooden handle. Cold iron didn’t burn him like it would a true sidhe, but it stung and left welts. He pried at a large opal, waiting for Shuruk to leave, but the steward stepped farther into the room instead. “What?” Mair asked, his tone clipped. “If my mother thinks that pig deserves more honor from me, she can come down here and drag me to his corpse herself.” He shifted his feet under the table, feeling a pulling through the ugly scar upon his thigh where his uncle, the king, had tried to eat him when he was three. Only the fact that Mair’s mother was also the king’s sister had saved him. That and a heavy iron candlestick upside the king’s head. “I also bring news of your cousin, King-to-be Roult--” “Oh, right,” Mair said and he sighed. “Convey my delight at his good fortune and tell him I’ll be up to personally beg for my life later. I’m in the middle of something.” “Roult is also dead,” Shuruk said, and Mair’s Page 3

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hand slipped, the opal flying free of its setting and shattering against the stone wall. “How?” Mair asked, turning to look at the steward once again. “His brother, King-to-be Drung, slit his throat--” “Naturally,” Mair muttered, but Shuruk wasn’t finished. “Drung received a dagger between the ribs, but not before he stabbed King-to-be Loragg in the gut. Loragg died moments ago.” Mair groaned and rubbed a grimy hand over his face. “Stupid, greedy assholes,” he said. “I don’t have that many more cousins.” “Huk, and he’s only eleven.” Now it was Shuruk’s turn to sigh. “Which makes you the next King-to-be. Congratulations, King Culmair. Your mother--” “Wait,” Mair said, rising to his feet. “What did you say? I’m king?” “Yes,” Shuruk said, looking like he’d swallowed a bad piece of meat. “As the eldest living male Page 4

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descendant of the Gartuk bloodline, you are the new king of the Ang Mountain goblin horde... assuming you live long enough to be crowned, of course.” Mair shot him a dirty look. “What were you going to say about my mother?” he asked. His skin felt cold and his stomach churned. he wanted to crawl away somewhere and vomit, but he supposed that would have to wait. He tried to focus on what Shuruk was saying. “You mother is overseeing the removal of your personal effects to the royal chambers. As it is my sworn duty to advise my king, I would suggest you get your ass behind those doors before the horde hears what has happened. I doubt they will accept sidhe spawn as their king.” Mair straightened up, his gut clenching into a queasy knot as he stepped toward Shuruk. He stood nearly a head taller than the bony goblin-freakishly tall--his arms and legs too long, too thin, his hands tiny, his skin an abnormal mottled slate, steel, and cream, just like his wings, his damned faerie wings-Page 5

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“I am not a sidhe,” he hissed through his teeth. “I am a goblin, and I will gladly cut your heart out if you ever need to be reminded of that fact.” Before Shuruk could respond, Mair stormed out of the workshop, rage boiling inside him. His wing ridges tingled, his anger making the accursed faerie glamour impossible to control. Light danced over the shadowed walls of the underground passages, shining through the loose weave of his shirt, flecks of blue, silver, green, and cream flitting about him like excited gnats, betraying the truth. *

*

*

Mair had calmed himself by the time he reached the inner recesses of the hive-like caverns, the heavy oak doors to the royal chambers standing open as a half-dozen of his mother’s own servants bustled in and out, thick, muscular arms loaded with boxes and crates filled haphazardly with his things. He stepped inside and grimaced, watching as a squat goblin maid dumped a box of books on the floor next to the wide, dark fireplace. “Those don’t go there,” he snapped. “Put them Page 6

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back on the shelves.” He glanced around the huge, bare room, the black stone walls glistening in the light of a few smoky torches, patches of star moss glowing softly on the ceiling. The floor was covered with musty-smelling animal skins and a single large, rough-hewn stone table sat at the far end, a single wooden chair sitting beside it. He turned to the goblin maid. “I want all of my things treated with care. Have the shelves put against that wall.” He pointed just to the left of the fireplace. The heat would keep his books from molding... he hoped. At the far end of the first chamber stood another open door, the doorway filled with flickering golden light. Mair stopped in the doorway, surveying the vast bedchamber. It was cold and airy, even with a large fire roaring in the grate. The massive bed was being fitted with new drapes--sheer cream beneath heavy, slate blue velvet--and the wardrobe was being emptied, the late King Warumek’s clothes being wadded up and tossed in the fire. “Hello, my son.” Mair hadn’t noticed his mother standing inside the doorway, her thick, curved horns blackened by soot to honor the Page 7

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death of her brother. She stepped toward him and took his soft, delicate hand in her own gnarled one. Mair stared down at their clasped hands for a moment, a familiar pain in his chest. She was the only one who didn’t draw away from his touch, his disgusting sidhe hands. “I can’t do this, mother,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “They’ll never let a sidhe rule them.” “You are not a sidhe,” she said, the firelight playing over the long, curved canines in her lower jaw. “You are my son, and as fine a goblin as has ever sat upon that throne. They will see that, or they will die.” “Mother, I’ll never even get to look upon the throne,” Mair insisted. “They will kill me.” “You’ve already lived longer than any of your cousins did once they became King-to-be,” she with a faint smile. “Actually, I’m surprised Huk hasn’t made an attempt, even if he is only a child.” “I had him taken care of,” Mair’s mother said. “You are now the sole heir to Gartuk’s throne.” Mair drew his hand out of hers and turned away. Page 8

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“Don’t go soft on me, Culmair,” she said, her voice sharp. “He would not have hesitated to slit your throat.” “I know,” Mair said, but it didn’t change the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t care about Huk. I should have killed him myself. I just...I’m the goblin king, mother. Me! I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around that fact.” “Well, get over it,” she said. “Your coronation is in seven days and you had better start acting like a king long before that. In fact, you can start right now.” He turned to find her looking through the doorway out into the other chamber. “Shuruk has brought you something. Don’t embarrass me.” Mair didn’t know why he would, until he followed her through the doorway and found Shuruk holding the end of a long silver chain. “A gift for His Majesty,” Shuruk said, his voice laced with contempt. He jerked on the chain and the “gift” stumbled forward, feet hobbled by a short rope, hands bound behind his back, a silver collar around his throat. The sidhe captive was easily a head taller than Mair, his shoulders Page 9

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broad, body lean and muscular. He was naked, wearing only bruises and mud, and Mair’s gaze lingered on the faerie’s manhood, the short, white curls surrounding the limp, fleshy organ, loose skin lying in soft folds...just like his own. Mair clenched his fists and raised his eyes to the faerie’s face, anger rising inside him as he recognized faerie features from his own reflection--the small nose, the shell-like ears, the smooth skin, the narrow mouth--The faerie stared at him, dark, dark eyes shadowed by ragged, dirty white hair. He had easily seen forty winters, though Mair could tell that his hair was not white from age. “What manner of gift is this?” Mair asked, his lips barely moving. “Young, virile male goblins have needs,” Shuruk said. “Until you take a wife, it is customary for the king to let a slave see to those needs. Unless, of course, you don’t feel those particular...urges.” “Could you have found a larger faerie?” Mair asked, ignoring Shuruk’s insinuation. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hoping he’d murder me.” Page 10

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“Certainly not, Your Majesty,” Shuruk said with a slight bow of his head. “Your predecessor was fond of breaking the strong ones; I didn’t consider that your tastes might differ. I will find a weak, mewly sidhe for you. I seem to recall a boy...though he might have starved to death by now--” “I don’t need a boy,” Mair said. “I’m not afraid of this filth.” He stepped up to the captive and grabbed him by the hair, twisting his head and pulling him down until their faces were even. “What is your name, slave?” “He doesn’t speak,” Shuruk said, but Mair reached up, running a hand along the faerie’s cheek. “He’ll speak to me,” Mair said, his voice low. “He’ll speak, he’ll beg, he’ll scream, or I’ll send him to a slow, lingering death.” Shuruk stepped over, pushing down on the silver collar, the metal digging into the faerie’s flesh and making him draw a sharp breath. “I meant, Your Majesty, that he can’t speak.” A thick, jagged scar ran across the front of the Page 11

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sidhe’s throat. Mair stepped back, regarding the mute faerie. “Put him in the bedchamber,” Mair said finally. “I like the idea of a slave who can’t say no.” Shuruk bowed his head again. “As you command, Your Majesty,” he said, and started to move toward the other room, but paused and turned to Mair. “Perhaps there is more goblin in you than I first thought.” Mair nodded, his jaw set but his stomach churning, and watched his steward lead the captive away. *

*

*

Mair pushed the heavy oak doors shut and slammed the stout beam down into its cradle, the sound echoing through the huge room. For hours, he had put up with rough, grubby hands mistreating his things, putting them in the wrong places, breaking them. Finally, he was alone. Well, almost alone. Slowly, Mair made his way down the long room, to the doorway of his bedchamber, where he stood and watched the captive sidhe. The Page 12

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faerie didn’t move, lying on his side in one dark, empty corner, facing the wall, his hands and feet bound, his lead secured to an iron ring sunk into the rock wall. After a moment, Mair walked closer, a cold, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach as he stared down at his “gift”, his slave. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about this. He hated the sidhe, hated them for what they did to his mother, hated them for slaughtering his people, hated them for having the same faces, the same hands, as he did. He squatted down behind his captive and the faerie jumped, as if only just aware of Mair’s presence. He struggled, but the ropes around his wrists and ankles were too tight. So tight, in fact, that his hands and feet had turned purple, those delicate sidhe fingers starting to swell up like sausages over a fire. Mair frowned and reached down, pressing his fingertips to the faerie’s. They were cold. The sidhe jerked away from him, his breath coming in great rasping gasps, and Mair drew a long, slender ornamental dagger out of his boot. It was a sidhe weapon from a battle years Page 13

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ago, a frail and useless thing, the hilt studded with peridot and pale sapphires. He had saved it from being melted down because it reminded him of himself--stones the color of his eyes and skin, offensive to behold, but sharp enough to kill. And hopefully sharp enough to cut through a rope. He grabbed the sidhe by the hair again, jerking his head backward. “There’re plenty more where you came from,” Mair said, pressing the blade to the faerie’s throat. “I will kill you in a heartbeat unless you do exactly as I say. Now blink twice if you understand me.” The sidhe drew a ragged breath, his eyes darting back and forth, and then he blinked, twice, slow and deliberate. “Good, now don’t move or I will drive this thing straight through your heart.” He let go of the faerie’s hair and pulled the blade away from his throat before grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him over onto his stomach. The captive tensed, making a painful choking sound and clenching his ass. Mair felt an unexpected stab of pity and quickly began sawing at the ropes. “In case you hadn’t noticed,” Mair said, Page 14

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watching the blade slice through the taut fibers, “I was fathered by one of your kind, a filthy bastard who raped my mother for three days before she was able to beat his head in with a table leg and escape. I am better than a filthy sidhe. I’m a goblin. I will not touch you, except to kill you if you get in my way. Understood?” He stopped cutting, the ropes nearly parted, and waited for the faerie to nod his head. “Good.” As the ropes fell away, the faerie’s arms dropped to his sides and he drew a hissing breath through his teeth as he clenched and unclenched his fists. As his fingers returned to their normal dark bronze, he began to writhe on the floor, taking short, panting breaths. After several moments, he started to draw his arms up underneath his chest. “Don’t move,” Mair said, pressing the point of the dagger into the middle of his back. “You can move when I tell you.” The faerie nodded his head again and lay still. Cautiously, Mair moved down the sidhe’s body and began cutting at the ropes binding his ankles. He kept glancing up the faerie’s body as he worked, his gaze lingering Page 15

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on his captive’s fluted wing ridges. At last, he rose and tossed away the pieces of rope. “Stay where you are,” Mair said, a little surprised by this sidhe’s obedience. He expected a large, strong faerie like to this to put up more of a fight. “It’s too bad you can’t tell me what sort of faerie you are,” Mair said, stepping over to the wall and taking down one of the smoky torches. “Goblins are immune to sidhe glamour, but I, unfortunately for you, am only half goblin, which leaves me vulnerable to your magic. So I’m going to have to burn your wings off.” The faerie scrambled to his feet and Mair stepped back, expecting to be attacked, but the sidhe pressed himself into the corner instead, his back protected by the stone walls. He was so tall, his shoulders and arms so powerful--why wasn’t he fighting back? Mair stepped toward him, torch in one hand and dagger in the other, and the faerie paled, raising his arms as though to protect himself. Mair stopped and regarded the faerie through the dancing flames. “I suppose if you could use your glamour against me, you would have just now,” he said, and the faerie hesitantly lowered one of his arms. Page 16

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“Show me what you are and I may let you keep your wings.” The sidhe glanced around, a pained look on his face, and then took a slow step away from the wall, the silver chain scraping over the bare stone floor as it trailed along behind him. The sidhe kept his eyes on Mair’s torch as his wings slowly materialized, formed from light produced by his fluted wing ridges. Mair pressed his lips into a thin line as the large, full butterfly wings of midnight blue, aquamarine, and white unfurled behind the faerie. The faerie closed his eyes and the air filled with soft, mournful music. Mair listened for a moment, waiting for something else to happen. “Is that it?” he asked, and the sidhe nodded, the music falling silent and his wings vanishing. “You’re a music faerie?” He nodded again. A music faerie without a voice. No wonder the music was mournful. “Fine,” Mair said, and he returned the torch to its holder. “You can keep your wings.” He heard the faerie’s sigh of relief. Mair turned back, pointing at him with the tip of the dagger. “I want you to listen carefully. I am the last person my horde wants as their king, and they will try Page 17

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to kill me, I guarantee it. You are only alive and unharmed so long as I am alive and unharmed. No one else will spare you. Remember that if you happen to notice someone sneaking in here to kill me.” He walked away, stopping beside his wardrobe and returning the dagger to his boot. Piled beside the wardrobe were most of his clothes, those deemed not fit to be worn by a king, and he began to dig through them, turning up a ragged pair of baggy pants. “None of my shirts will fit you,” he said, throwing the pants to his slave. “I’ll see about getting you clothes of your own tomorrow. Are you hungry?” The faerie looked up from the pants and nodded, licking dry, cracked lips. “I don’t know what faeries eat,” Mair said. “We have bread, meat, mushrooms, roots, cheese...” The faerie nodded again as he pulled on the pants. They were too short and he couldn’t button them, but he didn’t seem to mind. He nudged the silver chain to one side with his foot and sat down on the hard floor, his knees drawn up to his chest. Mair left him, striding across the main chamber Page 18

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to the brass horn set into the wall, the flared bell reflecting torchlight as Mair removed the cover. The horn was connected to a long passage drilled through the rock and into the servant’s quarters located down the hall. He hesitated, running his tongue along his lower lip as he decided how to do this. “I’m hungry,” he announced finally. “Very hungry. I want bread and meat, and whatever else you can find. I want a pitcher of ale and another of water. Quickly.” He covered the horn back up and sighed, not sure if he liked giving orders. He supposed he had better get used to it. About a quarter of an hour later, someone banged on the heavy oak doors. Mair glanced up from the book in his hand, closed it with a snap, and placed it back on the shelf. Grunting under his breath, he lifted the huge oak beam out of the way and pulled one side of the double doors open, allowing a lean, yellow-eyed goblin carrying a large, steaming tray into the room. “On the table,” Mair said, pointing to the far end of the room. The goblin bowed his head and hurried to obey. Mair followed, lured by the mouth-watering aromas of roasted meat and fresh Page 19

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bread, and the heady, bitter tang of cold ale. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten for most of the day, and he reached around the servant, plucking a slice of juicy, succulent meat off the tray before he’d even set it down. It was so rich and tender Mair almost didn’t need to chew it. “Thank you,” Mair said, dismissing the goblin with a wave of his hand before picking up one of the fresh rolls and tearing it open. Absorbed in his meal, Mair almost didn’t hear the quiet gurgle behind him, like a spring bubbling out of the ground. He frowned and swallowed, turning slowly to look over his shoulder. The servant lay slumped against the closed door, his throat slit, blood still pouring from the wound. Striding across the room, a large, heavy goblin dagger dripping blood down his hand, came a goblin Mair didn’t even recognize, a wide, cruel grin on his dark, jowly face. Mair ran. Contemptuous laughter followed him into the bedchamber, echoing in the large, empty room. His heart pounding, he ducked out of sight, dropping to one knee beside the open doorway and jerking the dagger out of his boot. At the other end of the room he heard the Page 20

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silver chain snake across the stone floor and he glanced toward his slave as the sidhe rose to his feet, a frown on his face. The faerie made a slight motion toward the door and Mair turned back, swallowing hard as his stupid, would-be assassin stepped into the doorway and stopped, glancing around the room. Mair lunged forward, driving the slender dagger upward into the goblin’s guts. With an agonized scream, the goblin slashed at him, blood splattering the side of Mair’s face as he jerked back, pulling his dagger free. Scrambling to his feet, he moved to the center of the room, holding his frail weapon out before him. The goblin staggered forward, holding one hand to his wound as blood flowed down his leg. Mair stepped away, watching the blood puddle on the floor. He hit something vital. If he could just keep out of his attacker’s reach, the goblin would bleed to death. Unfortunately, the goblin seemed to realize that just moments after Mair did. Raising his bloody dagger, the goblin charged at Mair, curved teeth flashing as he roared. Mair staggered backward, grabbing the goblin’s wrist as the dagger flashed Page 21

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toward Mair’s chest. His arms were longer than the goblin’s but he was hopelessly outweighed and overpowered by the goblin’s brute strength. His arm shook as the dagger moved inexorably toward his heart. “Die, sidhe maggot,” the goblin snarled, shoving Mair backward. Mair stumbled, a panicked cry escaping him as his feet tangled in something. He glanced down at the silver chain and then slammed against the chamber wall, his head bouncing off the rough stone. White and red lights flashed in his eyes and his knees buckled, spilling him onto the cold, hard floor. His feet jerked, the chain jingling against the stone, as darkness swallowed his vision, dumping him into silent oblivion. *

*

*

Mair jerked awake, his head throbbing. He blinked hard, trying to get his eyes to focus, and a large, dark figure leaned over him. He shouted in alarm, his arms and legs flailing as he struggled to get away. The figure drew back as Mair scrambled up against the wall, pushing himself into a sitting position with his back to the stone. He reached Page 22

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up, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes, and gave his head a sharp shake, a splitting pain racing from the base of his skull up into his brain. He heard movement and his eyes snapped open. “Stay back,” Mair said, holding out his hand. His vision cleared and he stared at his sidhe slave, the faerie kneeling only a few short feet away, sitting back on his heels with one arm wrapped in bloody cloth and clutched to his chest. His bronze face was pale and damp with sweat. Mair glanced around. “Where is he?” The faerie looked behind himself and Mair followed his gaze, to the dead goblin lying in a pool of blood, Mair’s slender faerie dagger sticking out of his chest. “Did you...” The sidhe turned back and nodded. “Are you all right?” The sidhe hesitated, then nodded again, but still cradled his arm to his chest. “You don’t look all right,” Mair said, and he groaned as he shoved himself to his feet. The room spun for a nauseating moment and Mair grabbed for the wall, fighting to keep from throwing up. Beside him, the faerie stood and Mair moved back, his shoulders tense as he watched the tall sidhe. Page 23

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“I suppose you expect to be rewarded for not killing me,” Mair said. The faerie regarded him for a moment, his dark eyes lost in shadow, unreadable, and then he turned away, walking to the end of his chain and standing with his back to Mair. Staggering slightly, Mair moved out of the sidhe’s reach, his boots squelching in the goblin’s blood as he walked to the fire. The room was cold. Poking at the charred logs with a brasshandled fire iron, he tried to keep his hands from shaking. Trembling was very un-king-like. But so was getting knocked out and being saved by a slave. He gripped the brass handle of the iron, feeling the weight of it, and wondered how many blows it would take to kill a faerie. He’d never killed one before, never been welcome on the battlefield. He could say that the goblin killed the sidhe, and then he killed the goblin. No one would ever know different. He dropped the iron beside the stack of firewood and strode over to his captive. “I know you were only concerned with saving your own skin,” he said, “but it would be discourteous of me not to thank you for also Page 24

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saving mine. Let me see your arm.” The sidhe started to shake his head. “That is not a request,” Mair said, his voice low. After a moment, the faerie frowned and unwrapped his arm, thrusting it out toward Mair. “He cut you.” The wound was barely more than a scratch; already it had stopped bleeding, but the edges were seared white from the touch of the steel blade, the skin all around it swollen and inflamed. Mair didn’t burn that bad, but the welts he got from touching iron hurt bad enough. “I have something for that,” Mair said, not entirely sure why he was being nice to a filthy sidhe prisoner. Then again, rewarding good behavior encouraged the continuation of such behavior. Perhaps he could train this sidhe to protect him. The brute was certainly big enough. Mair found a small jar of aloe and clover salve in his medicine bag and wetted a clean cloth in the basin in the bath alcove. One of the perks of being king was running water and hot baths. Not that goblins bathed much. The sidhe stood motionless, dark eyes watching Mair, as Mair washed and dressed the wound, and rewrapped it in fresh bandages. Finished, Page 25

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Mair stepped back and twisted the lid back onto the salve. After a moment, the sidhe bowed his head, and then straightened up, his eyes meeting Mair’s as his lips moved silently. Mair arched an eyebrow. “Did you just say thank you?” The sidhe nodded and started to turn away, his chain rattling over the floor. “Hey--Hang on a second,” Mair said and the faerie glanced back. “What do you want me to call you?” The sidhe moved his lips and Mair frowned. He mouthed the word slower. “Sikachi?” The faerie grimaced and shook his head. Suddenly, he raised his hands and pantomimed writing. “Of course,” Mair said, feeling foolish for not thinking of that sooner. He headed for the fireplace, setting the jar of salve on the bedside table, and plucked a blackened fragment of wood out of the ashes near the edge of the grate. He tossed the charcoal to the faerie and looked around for something for him to write on, but the sidhe dropped straight to his hands and knees and began to draw letters on the floor, the rough stone grinding the charcoal into shaky lines of black dust. Mair stepped closer, tilting his Page 26

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head to one side as he tried to read the awkward writing. “Zakatri,” he read, and the sidhe looked up at him, a hesitant smile on his face as he nodded. He reached down, using the last of the crumbling charcoal to underline the first three letters. “Zak?” Zak nodded. “I’m Culmair--King Culmair, hopefully. I prefer just Mair, though. Not that it matters, I guess.” It wasn’t like the faerie could ever call him by name. The faerie wiped his sooty fingers off on the leg of his pants and stood, holding his hand out to Mair. Mair drew back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not so fast, Zak,” Mair said. “You have been... shockingly good natured about this whole slave situation, and despite your gallant actions--saving my life and all--I’m afraid you’re still a sneaky, manipulative faerie who would slit my throat the second it suited your purpose.” For an instant, a flicker of alarm crossed the sidhe’s face and Mair felt a disappointed sense of satisfaction--he was right--but then it was gone. The faerie just shrugged and let his arm drop back to his side. “If I’m wrong about you, then I’ll apologize,” Page 27

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Mair added, not wanting the faerie to think that Mair wouldn’t allow him the opportunity to change his strategy, “but until then, I’d prefer it if you kept your hands to--” The sidhe lunged forward, grabbing Mair by the front of the shirt. Mair gasped as he was jerked nearly off his feet and spun around, one arm twisted up behind his back and the faerie’s hand at his throat. “I knew it,” Mair snarled through his teeth, trying to look over his shoulder at the faerie. “You’re just a conniving sidhe bastard--” The hand at his throat tightened, cutting him off, but it was the deep, resounding laugh echoing through the room that stopped the breath in his chest. Mair’s head whipped around and his blood ran cold at the sight of the lean, green-eyed goblin standing in the bedchamber doorway, his long, wide-bladed steel dagger glowing gold in the light of the fire. Mair recognized this one. Shakul was head of the Mukrel line, one of the eight bloodlines that made up the goblin horde, and more than qualified to be king should Mair not live to take Page 28

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the throne. Which was looking more and more likely. “Not real bright, leaving the door wide open,” Shakul said, sauntering into the room. He glanced down at the dead goblin on the floor. “Not surprised,” he said. “Hourak always was impatient and clumsy. I think you’ll find that I’m neither.” Mair struggled against the sidhe, but he was every bit as strong as he looked. “You filthy son-of-a-bitch,” Mair ground out through his teeth, and, not caring if he got strangled or his arm broken, he raised his free arm and grabbed the sidhe’s forearm, digging his fingers into the faerie’s wound. The hand gripping his wrist tightened and the faerie drew a sharp breath, but he didn’t let go. “Damn it, Zak, I’ll kill you for this!” Mair shouted, causing Shakul to laugh again. “You’re hardly in a position to make threats, Culmair,” the goblin said, stepping closer and raising his dagger. “Hold him tight, sidhe, and I’ll see that you’re well rewarded.” The faerie tensed, the hand at Mair’s throat shifting upward, grabbing his jaw and forcing his head back, exposing his throat. Mair thrashed and the Page 29

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faerie stumbled backward, but Shakul rushed forward, grabbing Mair by the front of his shirt and touching the cold steel dagger to his throat. Mair cried out as the metal burned his flesh, sucking in a sharp breath as he waited for the blade to bite into skin, ripping through his arteries and spilling his blood, hot and thick, down the front of his chest. His head snapped forward as the sidhe let go of his jaw and jerked him backward, strong arms flinging him to the floor. He landed hard on his shoulder, knocking the breath out of him, one knee slamming against the stone. Above him, he heard a cry of pain and something hot and wet splattered across the back of his forearm. He raised his head, staring at the blood on his skin, and then scrambled to his feet, his left knee screaming in agony. The sidhe’s chain jingled, Shakul making a raspy, gurgling sound as Mair watched Zak pull the silver chain tighter around the goblin’s throat. The goblin dagger protruded from between Shakul’s ribs, bloody froth gathering on the goblin’s lips as his eyes bugged out of his head, vessels bursting and staining his green Page 30

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eyes brown. Mair felt something cold and heavy settle in the pit of his stomach as his eyes shifted to Zak’s face, the sidhe’s dark eyes alight, his teeth bared, the muscles in his arms bulging as he strangled his enemy, lifting Shakul’s feet right off the floor. It took several minutes for the goblin to stop kicking. Finally, Zak unwrapped the chain and let him fall him to floor with a meaty thud. Mair looked from Shakul’s body to the first goblin, Hourak, and then up at the sidhe. Zak took a step toward him and Mair moved away, drawing a sharp breath as his knee gave a twinge. “So, was that your plan all along, to lure him close enough for you kill him?” Mair asked. The sidhe nodded. “And did you enjoy yourself ? You sure looked like it.” The faerie frowned and shrugged. “You like killing goblins, do you? Well don’t forget, I’m a goblin, too.” Zak shook his head. He pointed at Mair, then at himself. “No, I’m not,” Mair snapped. “I don’t care what I look like, there is goblin blood in my veins and a goblin heart beating in my chest, and I will cut your eyes out if you ever look at me like I’m some Page 31

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filthy faerie. I’m nothing like you.” He turned, limping slightly as he stalked away from his slave. Behind him, the sidhe clapped his hands, trying to get Mair’s attention, but Mair ignored him. He was almost to the doorway when something hit the open door with a resounding thunk and stuck there. The goblin dagger, dripping blood, quivered, the blade sunk almost halfway into the wood. Mair whipped around and glared at the faerie standing over Shakul’s corpse. “You missed,” Mair hissed through his teeth. Zak shook his head and made a rude gesture before slumping down against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, his face turned away from Mair. Mair reached up and grabbed the dagger, careful to only touch the leatherwrapped grip, but he couldn’t free it from the door. Pissed, he left it and limped out of the room, pulling the chamber door closed behind him. Across the main room, the heavy oak door stood open, the dead servant slumped pale and lifeless beside it, his blood dark and sticky looking. Gritting his teeth, Mair hurried across Page 32

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the room and shoved the heavy door shut, barring it against any more uninvited guests. His knee aching, he made his way back to the far end of the room and sank down into the hard wooden chair waiting beside the stone table. The food had gone cold, but he didn’t really feel like eating. Hunger gnawed at his belly, sharp and painful, but he could smell blood and death in the air. He hadn’t been King-to-be for an entire day and already two attempts had been made on his life. He wasn’t sure if there was a point to eating. He wasn’t going to last the week. *

*

*

It was late when Mair finally decided that he couldn’t avoid the sidhe forever. He had sat, picking at the tray of food, for almost two hours, wondering what to do about Zak. He wanted to kill him, he wanted to rip that dagger out of the door and drive it through the sidhe’s thick skull, he wanted to unzip that scar on his throat and watch his blood pour out, he wanted to prove that he was a goblin, not a faerie...but killing Zak wouldn’t prove anything, except that he couldn’t handle a simple slave. Page 33

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His knee only ached a little as he stood and carried the tray into the bedchamber. The fire had burned down, casting a dull, red glow across the room, the heat barely touching Mair as he walked past. In the far corner, the faerie lay shivering, wrapped in the shirt he had stripped off Shakul’s corpse. Mair stopped beside the dead goblin and set the tray down on the floor. “Get up,” Mair commanded, his voice echoing in the bare room. Zak raised his head and stared at Mair, and then his eyes dropped to the food and he slowly climbed to his feet. “I have clearly been too lenient with you if you think you can get away with insulting me. I am King Culmair of the goblin horde. I am your master and you will kneel before me or I will end your pathetic life right here.” The sidhe raised his chin defiantly and shrugged off the shirt, squaring his shoulders and raising his fists. He made a gesture with one hand, beckoning to Mair. Mair turned and walked to the fireplace, picking up the fire iron before returning. The faerie eyed the iron and let his arms drop to his sides. After a moment’s hesitation, he sank to his knees. Page 34

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“It doesn’t take much to get you to back down,” Mair said, stepping forward and holding the tip of the iron in the faerie’s face. “Now, who is your master?” Mair waited, watching the muscles in Zak’s jaw twitch, and after a moment the sidhe raised one hand and pointed at Mair. Mair smirked. “Good slave. And am I a dirty sidhe?” Zak scowled, but shook his head. “That’s right, I’m a goblin.” He pulled back the fire iron and watched Zak breathe a sigh of relief. “Don’t ever forget it again.” He glanced down at the tray and tapped it with his boot. “You want this?” Zak hesitated and then nodded slowly. “Help yourself,” Mair said, pushing the tray backward, just out of the sidhe’s reach. Zak surged to his feet, his fists clenched as he stepped to the end of his chain, his teeth bared as he glared at Mair. “That’s more like it,” Mair said. “I am a goblin; I am your enemy, even if I’m the only thing keeping you alive. Think about that while I go call someone to clean up this mess.” He leaned over Shakul’s corpse and spat in the dead goblin’s face. Page 35

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Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the faerie lunge, but before he could step back, Zak had grabbed him by the hair and jerked him forward. Mair tripped over the goblin’s corpse, stumbling as he fought to keep his feet, but the faerie shoved down on his head and he went to his knees, crying out as pain exploded behind his kneecap. He started to raise the fire iron, but the faerie kicked it out of his hand, sending it clattering across the floor. Mair tried to get up, but Zak leaned over him, driving him to his hands and knees, and Mair’s gut twisted into a cold knot. The sidhe was going to rape him. He screamed, the ragged, desperate cry echoing through the royal bedchamber, fingernails scraping over the rough stone floor as he struggled to pull away. Suddenly, the sidhe let go of Mair’s hair and Mair fell forward, almost smashing his face into the floor. A strong hand grabbed the back of his waistband, pulling his rear farther up into the air. Mair kicked out, the toes of his boots skidding across the floor. This couldn’t be happening. He was the king-Whack! Mair cried out as the faerie gave him a hard, stinging swat on the ass. He was so surprised Page 36

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he stopped struggling, but Zak had apparently made his point. He let go of Mair and stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. Mair stared up at him, opening and closing his mouth several times before he managed to speak. “Did you--Did you just...spank me?” Mair asked, and the sidhe nodded, a single decisive jerk of his head. “How dare you!” Mair snarled, surging to his feet and lunging at the faerie. No one insulted him like that and lived, especially not a filthy sidhe slave. He swung his fists and the faerie blocked his punches, or stepped out of the way, moving with the grace of a skilled fighter while Mair staggered after him like a drunken bear. The fact that Zak didn’t take a single swing at him only pissed him off more. “Fight me, coward!” Mair yelled, and the faerie lashed out, slapping him across the face. Enraged, Mair threw himself at his slave, and found himself slammed to the floor, the breath knocked out of him. Gasping, he stared up as Zak leaned over him, placing a single large hand in the middle of Mair’s chest. Grow up, the sidhe mouthed. “How dare you,” Mair said again, struggling to Page 37

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sit up, but Zak pressed down on his chest and gave him a warning look. “I’ll kill you for this,” Mair said. Zak shrugged, and then pointed to the two goblin corpses still leaking blood on the floor. He turned back to Mair and pretended like he had a knife or dagger and stabbed it into Mair’s chest. “You’re going to kill me like you killed them?” Mair asked through his teeth. The faerie shook his head, frowning, and made the gestures again, this time pointing at himself and shaking his head. “I don’t understand,” Mair said. “Let me up; I’ll find something for you to write with.” Right after he bashed the faerie’s skull in with the fire iron. Zak must have had the same thought because he shook his head. He leaned down, closer to Mair, and began to move his lips, forming slow, exaggerated words. “They...will...kill...you...” Mair said, his brow furrowed as he struggled to read the sidhe’s lips. “A...deal...I keep you alive to become king and you let me go.” Mair snorted. “Great idea. Why don’t I just appoint you my chief advisor? They already don’t trust me; you’re proof of that. If I Page 38

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suddenly make you my bodyguard, they’ll burn me for treason for sure.” Zak shook his head and grabbed the silver chain hooked to his collar. “What? You mean you’ll stay my slave? You’ll put up with being treated like shit--” The faerie nodded. Better than dead, he mouthed. Deal? He stood up, holding his hand down to Mair. Mair hesitated. Could he trust this sidhe, or was this just part of his plan to get what he really wanted, whatever the hell that was? Slowly, he reached up and clasped the faerie’s hand, feeling like a traitor as he let Zak pull him to his feet. But why should he? He wasn’t a faerie, he wasn’t bound by faerie rules. He could make all the promises that Zak wanted--he was a goblin and goblins lied. He stood a far better chance of surviving the week with Zak protecting him, and when the time came for Mair to uphold his end of the “deal”, he’d just shove a dagger between the sidhe’s ribs and laugh at the surprised look on his face. “It’s a deal,” Mair said, and they shook on it. Page 39

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*

*

*

Mair stood beside the fireplace in the main chamber, arms crossed over his chest, watching Shuruk oversee the removal of the bodies. The steward kept glancing at him, and then back at the corpses, as if he couldn’t believe that they were dead and Mair was still alive. Mair could hardly blame him. “I underestimated their hatred of you,” Shuruk said stepping over beside Mair as the servants began removing the blood-soaked skins in front of the main door. “I will assign a guard outside your chambers. This will not happen again.” “And you know someone willing to guard my faerie ass, who won’t look the other way for a handful of skurs, or decide just to kill me himself ?” Mair asked. “I do, actually,” Shuruk said. “Traur was one of your predecessor’s personal guards.” “Yeah, and didn’t he do a fine job,” Mair muttered. “It’s not his fault Warumek attacked six sidhe warriors with little more than a dagger,” Shuruk Page 40

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said. “Traur was wounded in the battle, but still managed to drag his dying king back to the mountain. He swore a blood oath to protect the Gartuk bloodline, and there is no doubt that you are your mother’s son. He will not let you be murdered on his watch.” “I suppose that will have to be good enough,” Mair said, although “good enough” was not a phrase he liked to use when speaking about protecting his life. He glanced across the room, through the bedchamber doorway, but the sidhe was not in sight. “How are you enjoying your slave, Your Majesty?” Shuruk asked, a hint of that condescension creeping back into his voice. “I haven’t really had a chance to enjoy him, Shuruk,” Mair said, his lips tight. “My loyal subjects keep trying to kill me.” “Well, Traur will put a stop to that,” Shuruk said. “Shall I have the sidhe moved to your bed? Would you like him completely restrained, or would you prefer him to squirm a bit?” Inwardly, Mair cringed, but he made sure to keep his expression neutral. Page 41

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“Not tonight,” he said, rubbing a hand across his face. “He’s dirty and I’m exhausted. Tomorrow, perhaps, after he’s had a bath.” “I noticed you gave him clothes,” Shuruk commented. “It’s cold in there,” Mair replied. “I didn’t feel like listening to his teeth chatter all night long. Besides, contrary to what you might think, the sight of sidhe flesh disgusts me.” “Your Majesty, I never--” Shuruk said, his tone low and even, but Mair cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Tomorrow I want him fitted properly--pants, shirt, suede slippers lined with rabbit fur--in pale blue. And I want wide silver bracelets made, the insides lined with fur, with links for chains to be attached when I want to restrain him. I don’t want any more rope burns.” “You are a very...considerate master,” Shuruk said, though Mair had a feeling that was not what he was thinking. “Not particularly,” Mair said, turning to the fire and picking up the iron, watching the sparks fly up the chimney as he poked at the smoldering Page 42

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logs. “If he grows accustomed to pain, then it won’t hurt as much when I punish him, and while anyone can have a mangy, cowering slave, I want something nicer. Any heathen can break a sidhe’s body; I intend to break his spirit. I want him to trot along at my heels like a prancing show dog with a ribbon in his hair. Or is that not goblinly enough for you?” “Forgive me, Your Majesty, for ever doubting your intentions,” Shuruk said with a slight bow of his head. “Clearly, your enemies are not the only ones who have underestimated you.” “Let’s hope everyone learns their lesson before I have to lay another body on my floor,” Mair said, straightening up and giving Shuruk a pointed look, the fire iron held casually in one hand. The elder goblin said nothing, but Mair was satisfied that he’d made his point. He put the iron down and rubbed at his temples. All this posturing was giving him a headache. “Everyone get out,” Mair said suddenly, the servants scrubbing the blood off the stone floor raising their heads and casting questioning glances at Shuruk. Mair frowned. “Don’t look at him--I’m the king, and I’m ready for bed. You Page 43

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can spread new skins in the morning. Now get out!” They grabbed their buckets of soapy water and scrub brushes and hustled out. “I’ll inform Traur of his new position,” Shuruk said as they walked to the door. “I will have him posted before you wake up. When you’re ready, send word to me and I’ll bring the horde’s best tailors and smiths to carry out your wishes. You might also want to start thinking about what you’ll wear to your coronation, Your Majesty.” Shuruk bowed and disappeared into the hall. Barring the door, Mair allowed himself a small, relieved smile. Maybe he would live to be crowned. *

*

*

“--and then you’ll take the oath and place the crown upon your head,” Shuruk said, reaching out to place his hand on the rough-worked gold and onyx crown sitting on Mair’s table. “It was crafted to rest on horns...” Shuruk’s eyes rose to Mair’s head, but only for a moment. “I took the liberty of having an insert made that will keep it from slipping down.” Page 44

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“Good thinking,” Mair said, stifling a yawn. He wasn’t bored, just exhausted. In the last three days, he’d been measured and fitted for his coronation garb--slate suede and cream silk, mostly--overseen Zak’s make-over, learned several dozen obscure goblin laws, replied to letters of congratulations for the other goblin hordes in the vicinity, and now just finished going over the coronation ceremony with Shuruk. And most surprising, only one attempt had been made on his life, which had been neatly averted by Traur’s swift sword. “We can go over the details of the coronation party tomorrow,” Shuruk said, picking up the crown and tucking it under his arm. “Rest, Your Majesty. The hard part is almost over.” Mair allowed himself a small smile as Shuruk bowed and turned to go, but it vanished as the steward paused and turned back. “If you are dissatisfied-for any reason--with your slave, I can have another brought to you instead.” “What makes you think I’m dissatisfied?” Mair said, a slight frown creasing his brow. “The sidhe has been yours for four days and you have yet to make use of it,” Shuruk said, his Page 45

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eyes narrowing as he regarded Mair. “You feed it and bathe it and dress it, but you won’t fuck it.” “I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Mair said. “Besides, I don’t see what business it is of yours what I do with my slave--” “I’m your steward,” Shuruk said. “It’s my job to see that your needs are taken care of. If you’re afraid of it--” “I’m not afraid,” Mair said through his teeth. “I wouldn’t think less of you if you were, Culmair,” Shuruk said quietly. “I could get you another--smaller, less intimidating--and no one would ever know.” “I’m not afraid,” Mair said again. “I get up early, I stay up late--by the time I’m ready for bed, I’m too tired to fight with it--” “That’s what servants are for,” Shuruk said crossing to the door. “After all, no one expects a king to saddle his own horse, or cook his own food, do they?” He pulled the door open and snapped his fingers. In a moment, two strong goblins dressed in gray and red servant uniforms hurried in. “Strip the sidhe and secure him to the bed,” Shuruk said, pointing to the bedchamber. Page 46

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“Face down, arms over the head, legs spread-unless His Majesty would prefer a different position?” Mair opened his mouth to tell them to leave Zak where he was, but he couldn’t think of an excuse that Shuruk hadn’t already dismissed. “That sounds fine,” he said finally. Maybe Shuruk would get off his back if he just went along with it. “Don’t pull the chains too tight,” he called after the servants. “I want him to squirm a bit. And be careful with those clothes; they’re new.” He hesitated, staring through the open doorway into his bedchamber, listening to Zak’s chain scrape across the floor. Part of him wanted to be in there in case something unforeseen happened, but the rest of him was reluctant, mainly because of how a certain part of him was reacting to just the thought of having Zak bound to his bed. Virile young half-goblins had needs, too, and Mair had been neglecting his. “Perhaps we should supervise,” Shuruk suggested after a moment and Mair groaned to himself, but he followed his steward into the bedchamber. Zak was toying with the servants and clearly Page 47

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enjoying himself as Mair walked in. They had managed to remove his shirt and one suede slipper, but both of them were sweaty and out of breath. His skin gleamed, glowing from his exertion, his white hair brushing his shoulders in a smooth, shimmering wave as he turned his head to look at Mair. One of the servants took advantage of his distraction and dove at his leg, wrapping one arm around his calf while he stripped off the remaining slipper. Zak kicked him away, the room echoing with a hollow thunk as one of the goblin’s short, curved horns hit the floor. The servant climbed to his feet, throwing down the slipper and feeling his horn, checking for cracks or chips, a scowl on his dark face. The sidhe just smiled and made a “come and get me” gesture with his hands. Before anyone could move, Mair stepped forward. “That’s one,” he said to the faerie. “You don’t want me to count to three. Now hold out your hands.” For a moment, Zak looked unsure if he should obey or not, but then he stretched out his arms, his wide silver bracelets chiming melodiously as he put his wrists together. He Page 48

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stared at Mair, his dark eyes cold and unsettling, as the servants chained his wrists together and removed his pants, unclipping his lead from the wall and dragging him over to the bed. He balked against being forced down on his face, and Mair had a feeling that it wasn’t completely an act. He could feel his erection pressing against the crotch of his pants, and he had no doubt that Zak had noticed. It took both goblin servants to shove Zak down, one sitting on his back while the other secured his wrists to the headboard. Mair found his gaze lingering on Zak’s tight, muscular ass, those long, lean legs-He turned away, suddenly out of breath. “You should bring your faerie to the coronation party,” Shuruk said, making Mair jump. “I think it might help convince some of the more stubborn bloodlines of where your loyalties lie.” “Are you thinking pain or humiliation?” Mair asked, trying to ignore the slight scuffling going on behind him. He didn’t want any part of it. He wasn’t that kind of goblin. “I’ll leave that up to you,” Shuruk said. “Just make sure it’s a good show.” Page 49

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“Any suggest--” A resounding crack filled the room, followed by a cry of pain and anger. Mair turned as one of the servants staggered back from the bed--the same one from earlier, if he had to make a guess--one hand on his horn, the tip now pointing up at the ceiling as a deep crack split it nearly in two. Mair glanced at Zak, lying on the bed, watching him with angry, fearful eyes. “That’s two,” Mair said. “Unless you want that fire iron up your ass, knock it off.” He turned to Shuruk. “I can handle it from here,” he said, glancing over at the injured servant as the goblin picked up Zak’s silver lead chain. “I think if he gets that horn taped right away, it shouldn’t--” Mair stiffened, the breath stuck in his throat as the chain whistled through the air and landed across Zak’s back with a meaty thud, the sound of metal striking flesh enough to turn Mair’s stomach. For the longest time, that sound hung in the still room, echoing in the silence, and then Zak took a great rattling gasp that made Mair’s chest hurt, but that was all. He couldn’t scream. Hands shaking, Mair lunged at the goblin, Page 50

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ripping the chain out of his grasp and seizing his broken horn. “No one takes liberties with my property,” he snarled, “for any reason.” On the bed beside them, Zak writhed as he drew another ragged breath, choked, sobbed. Fury boiled up inside Mair and the goblin screamed as Mair finished breaking off his horn. “Get out of my sight!” he shouted, flinging the piece of horn into the fireplace. Both servants fled, and even Shuruk headed for the door. With Zak’s silent scream echoing in his head, Mair stalked after them, already shoving the heavy door closed when Shuruk paused in the doorway. “Was that really necessary, Culmair?” he asked, his voice low. “It’s just a sidhe.” “It’s my sidhe,” Mair replied, and he slammed the door, the bar dropping down into its cradle as he walked away. Stomach churning, he returned to the bedchamber, stopping dead at the sight of the red welt on Zak’s back, the chain links clearly visible beneath the swelling. Zak had stopped writhing, his breathing quieter but still ragged as he stared at Mair, his dark eyes filled with pain and fear. Page 51

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Mair turned away, walking to the bath alcove and running a basin of cold water. His hands were still shaking as he soaked a thin towel in the water, his anger not yet spent. He could still hear that sickening thud, the echoing silence afterward that should have been filled with a scream. Wringing out the towel, he imagined it was that little one-horned maggot’s neck. Mair should have killed him. How dare he touch the king’s property? No one had the right to touch Zak but him. Carrying the wet towel, Mair walked around the bed and leaned over his faerie, gently laying the cold cloth along the welt. Zak drew a sharp breath through his teeth, his body trembling as Mair sat down on the edge of the bed. “That should help with the stinging and swelling,” Mair said. “Ice would be better, but it’s the wrong time of year.” He absently adjusted the towel, fighting the urge to apologize. Goblins didn’t apologize. Besides, this wasn’t Mair’s fault. He told Zak to quit struggling. If the damn faerie had just trusted him to keep his word, this never would have happened. But why the hell should Zak trust him? They Page 52

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were enemies, at war since time began, like dracs and gryphs. Zak had every right to fight back. If he was smart, he would have killed Mair and made a run for it when he had the chance. Except...he was smart. Smart enough to be fed and clean and untouched by his master. He wanted something, something else that was worth being humiliated, being treated like a pet, like an object, something he couldn’t just take. Mair raised his eyes and the flash of silver at the faerie’s throat drew his attention. Of course, the collar. He needed Mair to remove it. It was enchanted to be indestructible, unlocking only in the hands of a goblin. Mair glanced down at his hands, thin and frail, and wondered if there was enough goblin in him to remove it. Considering that he was starting to lean toward letting Zak go rather than sticking a knife in his heart, it was something he probably needed to know. Shifting closer to the head of the bed, Mair reached out, one hand brushing aside Zak’s silky white hair while the other slid beneath the collar, pressing against warm skin. Zak tensed and tried to pull away. “Stop it,” Mair said, grabbing the collar and Page 53

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holding him still while he felt along the inside for the spells etched into the silver. As he rubbed his fingertips across the rough marks carved into the smooth metal, the collar suddenly flashed pale blue in his hands and sprang open. “I guess that answers that question,” he muttered and snapped the collar shut once again. As he stood up, Zak raised his head and gave Mair a dirty look. “What?” Mair asked. “You expect me to feel guilty and let you go early? You got hurt because you didn’t listen to me. I told you to quit fighting.” Zak shook his arms, making the chains and the bracelets jingle. “You agreed to act like my slave. This is what a slave is for.” Zak made a disgusted sound in his throat. “I agree,” Mair said, “which is why I said I wouldn’t touch you. Next time, don’t be so quick to doubt my integrity.” The sidhe snorted and shot a pointed look at Mair’s crotch. Mair felt the color rise into his face. If he had been a normal goblin, instead of a halfbreed freak, it wouldn’t have been noticeable, but he knew that every fingerprint sized cream spot in his face was turning pink, which only added to his embarrassment. He turned away, hoping Zak hadn’t noticed. Page 54

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“I can’t help what my body does,” he said. “I’m twenty-three. I want to have sex and no one in my horde is willing to touch me--not in a way that I’d enjoy, anyway. I had thoughts, but I told you, I’m not a rapist. I would never act on them.” He was saying it as much for his own benefit as Zak’s. Knowing that the sidhe was lying naked and helpless on his bed was arousing, to say the least. He cleared his throat and walked to the bedchamber door, closing and barring it for the night. “Here’s how this is going to work,” he said, moving to the fireplace and loading it with wood while he spoke. “My steward will be disappointed if you’re not in my bed when I let him in in the morning. I was going to let you sleep on the floor as usual, and then chain you back up before I let him in, but considering your mishap--” Zak made an indignant sound, but Mair ignored it. “I thought you might be more comfortable in the bed. It’s up to you, though.” Mair dusted off his hands and turned, keeping his eyes on Zak’s face as he regarded his sidhe. After a moment, Zak rattled the chains again and arched an eyebrow. Mair shook his head. Page 55

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“The restraints stay on. I don’t know if all faeries are rapists, and I don’t feel like finding out.” Zak just stared at him, making the hair on the back of Mair’s neck stand on end. Shuruk was right; he was afraid of his slave. He was large and strong, agile and skilled. Even chained up he was dangerous. The only reason Mair wasn’t dead already was that Zak needed him to remove the collar. As long as Zak wore that, Mair was safe. “So is that a no?” Mair asked. “Do you want to sleep on the floor?” Zak hesitated, looking from his bound wrists to Mair, and then back along his naked body. Finally, he shook his head, sighing as he rested his chin on one bicep. “Fine,” Mair said, stepping over to the bedside, his gaze fixed on the blankets as he began to work them down to the foot of the bed. After a moment, Zak pushed himself up off the bed, braced on his knees and elbows, his bare ass sticking ever so slightly up into the air, and Mair felt his mouth go dry. Fumbling with the heavy furs and silken sheets, he quickly drew the covers up to his sidhe’s waist and walked away. Perhaps sharing a bed with the faerie wasn’t such a good idea. On the pretense of washing his Page 56

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face and hands, Mair lingered in the bath alcove, letting the cold water pour across his skin. He needed to dump it down the front of his pants. He briefly wondered which would bother Zak more--sleeping next to a goblin with an erection, or listening to him masturbate in the next room. He finally decided that neither was a viable option. Sighing, he closed the spigot and dried his hands on a towel. He was the king; how was he supposed to control his horde if he couldn’t even control what was happening in his pants? From the alcove doorway, he stood and watched Zak for a moment, lying with his head pillowed on one arm, facing away from Mair, the wet towel still draped across his back. Unexpected guilt welled up inside him, but he brushed it aside. It wasn’t his fault. “I just remembered,” he said suddenly, and Zak raised his head, looking across the bed at him as Mair stepped over to a shelf and pulled his medicine bag down. “I have a salve for bruises. It’s more like a paste, actually.” He dug into the bag and pulled out a jar filled with a gooey, rustcolored substance. “Tansy, wild yam, and ivory Page 57

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king snake venom,” he said and tossed it onto the bed. Zak gave it a dubious look. “I wouldn’t recommend eating it, but it’s safe for topical use. The venom relieves pain and reduces swelling.” He put the bag away before moving to the bed, slipping out of his shirt as he took a seat on the edge, his back to the faerie. Paying more attention than was strictly necessary, he took off his boots, arranging them in front of the little bedside table. Little things, simple things, mundane things--anything was better than letting his mind wander. Leaving his pants on, he lifted the covers and slipped beneath them before his feet had a chance to get cold. Grabbing the jar of paste, he slid across the bed toward Zak. “Shuruk thinks you should come to my coronation party with me,” Mair said as he lifted the wet towel from the sidhe’s back and set it aside. The deep, earthy scent of the yam filled the air as he twisted the lid off the jar, overpowering compared to the slightly sweet odor of the snake venom and the soft perfume of the tansy. “Do you think you can do that--sit at my feet and play the broken and obedient slave?” Zak hesitated, a frown darkening his eyes, but then he nodded. Page 58

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“It’s the last thing you’ll have to do,” Mair said, dipping his fingertips into the yam paste. “While the horde lies passed out in a drunken stupor, I’ll take you to the surface. Can you ride a horse?” Zak nodded. “Good.” He reached out, the sidhe wincing as he began to spread the orange paste along the raised skin. “You can ‘steal’ a horse and be far from here before anyone wakes up. Just don’t do something stupid like get caught because I would have to kill you. The horde would demand it.” He fell silent, concentrating on applying the medicine. Without words to occupy his mind, he found his thoughts lingering on Zak’s body. Not a good place to be. He finished quickly and cleaned his hands on the wet towel before putting the jar on the bedside table and dropping the towel on the floor. With his blood pounding in his temples, he turned his back on Zak and stretched out on his side, pulling the covers up to his chin. The faerie moved, the mattress shifting under his weight, his restraints clinking softly, and then he lay still, their breathing loud in the silence. Mair opened his mouth, could think of nothing to Page 59

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say, and closed it again. It was going to be a long night. *

*

*

Mair woke slowly, rising through the fog of sleep to discover his cheek against a warm shoulder, his arm around a lean waist, the scent of sweat and yam filling his nostrils. For a moment, he had no idea where he was or what was happening, and then he remembered the faerie in his bed. During the night, Zak had rolled onto his side, facing away from Mair, and Mair had moved across the bed and curled up behind him. Mair’s mouth went dry and his heart began to pound as he realized that he was aroused. He had his pants on, but still...his erection was pressed against Zak’s bare ass. And worse, his hand was wrapped around the sidhe’s shaft, Zak’s manhood hard and hot against his palm. Mair didn’t move, not sure what to do. He didn’t want to wake his slave and have to deal with the accusing looks. This wasn’t his fault; it was an accident. Before he could decide upon a plan of action, Zak let out a breath, almost as if he’d been holding it, and began to move his hips, Page 60

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his ass rubbing against the bulge in the front of Mair’s trousers as he humped Mair’s hand. Mair jerked back. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, his voice echoing in the stillness of the room. For a long moment, Zak just lay there, his whole body stiff and tense. Finally, he rolled onto his back and stared up at Mair. Even in the guttering torchlight and the glow of the fireplace, Mair could see the dark blush upon his skin. The faerie licked his lips, his eyes darting to Mair’s face and away again before he took a deep, shuddering breath. Please, he mouthed, and pulled at the restraints, the chains clinking together. Mair glanced down at Zak’s arousal, evident beneath the covers, and he could just imagine what would happen if he let the sidhe go. “Forget it,” Mair said. “I don’t feel like getting raped tonight.” Zak let his breath out in an angry hiss, his restraints chiming as he jerked at them. Mair watched him, lying there helpless, unable to do a damn thing about his arousal, and he felt himself grow harder. He also felt a stirring of pity, though he wasn’t sure which compelled Page 61

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him to reach beneath the covers and take Zak in hand once more. “Just this once,” Mair whispered, and Zak gasped, tensing as Mair began to stroke him. The faerie stared at him, his expression flitting between lust, fear, and shame, but his wide, dark eyes held only desperation. His lips were parted, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Almost without realizing it, Mair moved closer, hesitantly rolling back the furs to expose Zak’s long, lean body. He writhed, legs shifting restlessly, his body taut as a drum as Mair’s eyes swept over him. He wasn’t nearly as ugly as Mair had first thought. Bronze skin glistened with sweat, glowing in the firelight, his muscles hard and well defined. Breathless, Mair licked his dry lips, his heart hammering as he leaned down and kissed Zak’s navel, drawing a strangled gasp from the faerie’s lips. His tongue flicked out, tasting salt on Zak’s skin, but it wasn’t the sidhe’s stomach he wanted under his tongue. Turning his head, he stared at the dark, plumcolored head of Zak’s erection, the loose folds of skin that had been covering it drawn back and Page 62

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tightened into stiff ridges. He swallowed hard, hesitated, trying to resist. He wasn’t a rapist. But this was okay; this was for Zak. What was he getting out of it? Nothing. Nothing but a wet spot on the front of his trousers from his weeping arousal, an aching in his pants that made it hard to think. This wasn’t hurting anyone. He leaned closer, his lips parting, and took Zak into his mouth. The mute sidhe arched his back, his hips lifting off the bed, pushing his arousal farther into Mair’s mouth, but Mair didn’t mind. Letting his tongue explore those velvet ridges, he moaned around Zak’s flesh, drawing a gasp and a shudder from the speechless faerie. Mair bobbed his head, sucking and licking as the faerie’s erection filled his mouth, his hands straying to the front of his own pants, unbuttoning his trousers and slipping his hand inside to touch himself. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but neither could he stop. The sound of Zak’s hissing breaths, fast and loud in the silence, filled Mair with a deep, aching pleasure. He liked that sound. He liked having the sidhe at his mercy in a way that didn’t involve pain or fear or cruelty. He liked it, and he Page 63

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realized--with no small amount of dismay--that he couldn’t imagine not doing it again. Suddenly, Zak gasped, his body jerking, and Mair felt the warmth of Zak’s seed spill into his mouth. It was horribly bitter, but he swallowed anyway, one hand sliding up to rest on Zak’s trembling stomach as the other fervently stroked his aching arousal, his own climax gathering like a storm low in his belly. He turned away from the sidhe and closed his eyes, licking his lips and swallowing hard as he tried to clear the taste from his mouth. In another moment he had erupted all over the back of his hand and the inside of one thigh, a single strangled cry escaping his lips. Trembling slightly, Mair opened his eyes and looked down at himself, the thick semen soaking into his pants and rolling down his inner thigh. Hastily, he scraped it off before it could reach the bed and leave a stain on the sheets. A few spots would probably help convince Shuruk, but he didn’t feel like rolling over into a wet spot in his sleep. Holding his sticky hands out away from himself, he scooted across the bed and reached down for the wet towel on the floor. The bitter Page 64

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taste continued to linger on his tongue and he glanced at the semen on his hand, suddenly curious. Did he taste as bad as a sidhe? Raising his fingers to his lips, he licked away one of the pearly drops and grimaced. He was saltier, but just as bitter. Behind him, Zak began to struggle, his chains jingling, and Mair quickly climbed out of bed, wiping his hands on the towel. His face burned, his hands shaking as he kicked off his soiled pants and stumbled into the bath alcove. The water tasted sour and metallic as he rinsed his mouth, and made him shiver as he splashed it over his face. What the hell was he thinking? Nothing, obviously. He dried himself off and slunk out into the bedchamber, keeping his face turned from the bed as he hurried over to the wardrobe and got himself a clean pair of pants. “That shouldn’t have happened,” Mair said, his voice barely louder than a whisper as he crossed over to the fireplace and began poking at the coals. “I’ve been under a lot of stress and I lost control, but...It won’t happen again.” On the bed, Zak rattled his chains, but Mair shook his Page 65

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head, not looking up from the fire. “I can’t. I’ll have the servants move you back to your corner in the morning, after Shuruk gets a look at you. Try to act...I don’t know--raped or something.” Mair walked around the bed and climbed back in under the covers, cold from the inside out. Never again. His memory echoed with Zak’s gasps and sighs, and he clenched his fists, turning his face into the pillow as he squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t a rapist, but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering what sort of sounds the sidhe would make with Mair inside him. He was hard again. Gritting his teeth, Mair threw back the covers and stormed around the bed, unbarring the door and slipping out into the main chamber. He couldn’t stand the thought of what he might do if he woke up wrapped around Zak again. Pulling several of the skins covering the floor into a pile before the fire, he lay down, drawing his knees up to his chest as he stared across the room and waited for morning. *

*

*

Standing before the floor-length mirror, Page 66

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dressed in his silk and suede coronation garb, Mair trembled, his heart racing. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t do this. He looked like a damn faerie. The horde was going to tear him apart. He jumped as someone rapped hard on the door. “What?” he called through the thick oak, his hands resting on the stout bar. It couldn’t possibly be time already. “Your Majesty,” Traur answered, his deep voice resonating through the door, “your steward and your mother would like to speak with you.” Mair sighed and lifted the beam, pulling the door open and allowing them inside. Shuruk looked tired and pinched, standing stiffly in his new uniform of cream and slate. Mair’s mother wore a matching dress--long slate skirts and a cream bodice with a tailored jacket of slate suede. She looked him over from head to toe and finally nodded. “You look very regal, my son,” she said, stepping over to straighten the steel chain links decorating the shoulders of his calf-length coat. He had tried, and had the stinging fingertips Page 67

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to prove it. More links studded the back of the coat, clinking softly when he moved and making the garment very heavy. It wasn’t exactly armor, but it might help. Under his shirt of cream silk he wore a heavy vest of silver chain, taken off a dead sidhe in some battle. Shuruk had brought it to him before it could be melted down. He hated wearing faerie mail, but he had to admit that it made him feel a little safer. “Shall I call the servants to prepare your slave, Your Majesty?” Shuruk asked, casting a glance toward the bedchamber. “That won’t be necessary,” Mair said, stepping back over to the mirror and running his hands down the front of his shirt. “Can you see the mail?” “No, son, you look fine,” his mother said, walking over to the chamber door. Mair watched her, his shoulders tense, as she stood and stared in at Zak. “Well,” she said at last, “the ribbon is a nice touch.” “What rib--” Mair started, but closed his mouth with a snap. “Oh, right. A nice touch, yeah.” Frowning slightly, he crossed over to stand beside her in the doorway. Zak sat on the end Page 68

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of the bed, his lead chain secured to one of the thick bedposts, dressed in the new clothes Mair had given him. Well, almost. He had ripped the sleeves off of his pale blue shirt. Scraps of the material littered the floor, but the majority of it was braided into his hair, thin strips of blue plaited into the white and secured with a large, fancy bow. “I said I wanted him to trot at my side with a ribbon in his hair,” Mair said quietly. He hadn’t realized that Zak had heard him. Zak stared down at the floor, ignoring them, his hands clasped in his lap. His shirt hung open, unbuttoned, exposing his broad chest and flat stomach, and Mair found his gaze sliding down the faerie’s long legs, wrapped in skintight midnight blue suede, to his sky blue rabbit skin slippers. “You’ve done well, Your Majesty,” Shuruk said, his voice directly behind Mair. Mair had been so wrapped up in admiring his sidhe, he hadn’t heard the goblin steward approach. “Are you certain that it will obey you?” “Absolutely,” Mair replied without hesitation. Zak had just as much, if not more, to lose if the day did not go well. “What’s left to do?” Page 69

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Suddenly, he just wanted to get this over with and get the faerie out of his sight. “The horde has been summoned to the Pit,” Shuruk said, turning and striding across the room to the main door. “The corridors have been cleared and guards stationed between here and the back entrance. When you’re ready, Your Majesty.” And he motioned toward the hall. Mair swallowed hard. “All right, then,” he said, and stepped into the bedchamber. His hands shook as he unfastened the chain and clipped the lead to one of his own belt loops. He grabbed a shorter length of chain, barely the length of his hand from heel to fingertip, and clipped it between Zak’s bracelets. It wasn’t necessary, but he needed to make the right impression. “C’mon,” he said, picking up the lead again and giving the chain a light tug. Zak rose obediently and followed, the chain hanging slack between them as they headed out into the hall for the first time in a week. Traur nodded his head respectfully as Mair stepped out and curled his lip in disgust at Zak. Mair felt a flash of anger, but he quickly quelled it. That would probably the least offensive response Page 70

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his slave got all day. And besides, it was what a filthy sidhe deserved. Mair shook his head and sighed. Clearly, he had spent too much time with the creature. It would be best for all if Zak just disappeared. So why did the thought of letting him go fill Mair’s chest with a cold, aching pressure? Traur let the way, followed by Mair’s mother, then Mair and his faerie, with Shuruk bringing up the rear. The only living souls they encountered were dressed in guardsmen’s uniforms and standing watch at the intersections, blocking access from the side passages. Mair’s goblin sense told him that they were spiraling downward, deeper into the heart of the mountain, toward the great cavern aptly named the Pit. Mair glanced back at Zak, the faerie’s unease evident upon his face and through his tight, stiff shoulders. “How much farther?” Mair asked, turning to face forward again. He could hear the rising hum of the horde resonating through the stone, could feel the hollowness of the Pit echoing in his goblin bones--His question was for Zak’s benefit. Page 71

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“Not far, Your Majesty,” Traur replied. “We’re nearing the entrance now.” They slowed and turned down a narrow corridor. It wasn’t wide enough to accommodate torches, so the softly glowing star moss was the only source of light, glimmering a milky bluish-green on the ceiling and down the upper walls. The noise of the gathered horde grew louder, their energy flooding down the passage like the wind before a thunderstorm, hot and prickling over Mair’s skin. Close behind him, he could hear Zak breathing, loud and fast, the chain scraping along the floor between them. Suddenly, Mair’s mother stopped. “What--” he started to ask, but Zak walked into him from behind, sending him stumbling forward. He caught himself on the cold, damp wall and turned as the small space echoed with a solid thud and an angry shout. Steel flashed in the dim light and Mair leaped forward as Shuruk slammed Zak back against the wall of the passage, a long goblin dagger clutched in his hand. Dark blood dripped from the steward’s chin, running from one wide nostril. “Stop it,” Mair said, grabbing Shuruk’s arm Page 72

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and shoving him away from Zak. “What the hell are you doing?” “Your pet attacked me,” Shuruk snarled, curved teeth gleaming in the dim light. Mair frowned and glanced up at Zak, but the faerie shook his head, raising his arms in a defensive gesture. He was defending himself ? “Are you sure you didn’t provoke him?” Mair asked, still watching Zak. The faerie shook his head again as Shuruk sputtered indignantly. “No, of course not,” Mair said quickly. But then what? Zak hesitated, and then reached out his bound hands toward Mair. Shuruk raised the dagger again as Zak grabbed the edge of Mair’s coat and gave it a tug, the chain links on Mair’s shoulders and back clinking. “Oh, shit,” Mair whispered as Zak showed him the backs of his forearms again. One of them was flecked with raised red iron burns. “He bumped into me and the steel on my coat burned him,” Mair explained to Shuruk. “He jerked back and accidentally hit you. Now put that dagger away. And I don’t care if he clearly, viciously, maliciously attacks you--no one touches my slave but me.” “As you command,” Shuruk said, still glaring Page 73

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at Zak as he returned his dagger to its sheath and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood off his face. Mair grabbed the silver chain and gave it a jerk, snapping Zak’s head forward. “Next time, watch where you’re going,” he said, and then strode back to where his mother was waiting. Traur was standing before what appeared to be a solid wall, but as Mair returned, Traur reached out and parted the heavy curtain, letting a sliver of bright, blue-green light into the passage. It was time. Mair’s mother went first and he stood at the curtain, one hand gripping the thick cloth, listening as the horde raised their voices in a delighted roar. Because she was Warumek’s sister, not because she was Mair’s mother. Most of them probably had no idea that she had borne the child of her sidhe rapist. Mair watched her walk to the very edge of the raised dais and lift her hands. A hush dropped over the Pit. “Today,” she said, her voice echoing across the massive cavern, “we, the Great Horde of the Ang Mountains, will kneel before our new king, my Page 74

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son, the last of the Gartuk bloodline. Is there any who would challenge his right to rule?” It was no surprise when the heads of all seven of the other bloodlines climbed the steps to the dais and stood in a line behind her; it was part of the ceremony. Each one would approach the new king and either challenge him or kneel before him. Mair had a feeling that there wouldn’t be a lot of kneeling going on today. He rolled his shoulders, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he tried not to hyperventilate and pass out. He was a terrible fighter. He jumped when Traur turned to him. “All right, Your Majesty,” the big guard said with a solemn nod. That was Mair’s cue. Swallowing hard, he tightened his grip on Zak’s lead and strode out onto the dais. The hisses and jeers that greeted him were less than heartening. Standing on the flat stone dais, looking out over the hundreds of goblins that made up his horde, he suddenly felt very small and out of place. He’d probably be more welcome in Zak’s world than in his own. Zak. Mair glanced up at the sidhe, his face pale as he surveyed the horde. Perhaps it was him that Page 75

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they jeered at. Mair squared his shoulders and crossed the dais to stand before the challengers. Two of them looked barely older than himself-sons of the goblins he and Zak had killed. Only they looked apprehensive. The others just sneered with contempt. Mair cleared his throat. “Who dares to challenge me, the rightful king of the Ang Mountain horde?” he demanded in a firm, well-practiced voice. The first goblin, Drekut, stepped forward, his yellow eyes on Zak, not Mair. Drekut was the oldest head of any line-possibly the oldest goblin in the horde--his dark face thin and lined, his heavy horns bearing his head down, making him stoop. Mair stiffened as Drekut walked closer, his eyes searching the old goblin for signs of a weapon. “Your mother should have eaten you,” Drekut said, his voice quiet, for Mair’s ears only. “Now we must live with the shame of having a sidhe for our king. We can’t survive the bloodlines waging war over the throne. Rule well or die swiftly, King Culmair.” Mair tried to hide the surprise on his face as Drekut slowly lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head. Out on the floor of the Pit, the horde had gone silent. Page 76

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“Um...” He and Shuruk hadn’t really practiced what he was supposed to say if this happened. “Rise, Drekut, and take your place at my side as I lead our horde into the next battle.” It was something like that. Drekut didn’t argue, though it took it took some effort for him to get back to his feet. Mair glanced over at the other heads as he waited for the old goblin to move to the other side of the dais and stand next to Mair’s mother. “Anyone else?” A couple of them glanced at each other, but most of them stared at Zak. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to bring him. No, he needed to bring him to make a point, one that he was currently failing to make. Tightening his grip on the chain, he gave it a tug to get Zak’s attention. The faerie wasn’t going to like this. “Hands and knees,” he said through his teeth, trying to keep his lips from moving. “Face my mother. Now.” Zak only hesitated a moment before dropping to the floor, his chains clinking against the rough stone. Casually, as if he did it all the time, Mair stepped over and took a seat upon Zak’s back as if he were a bench, careful to swing his long coat around Zak’s rear so that it Page 77

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hung off his other side, rather than sit on it and press those hard chain links into his flesh. Mair wasn’t sure how well the thin shirt would protect him from the steel. “Take your time,” Mair said to the six remaining bloodline elders, leaning indolently back on his hands, one on Zak’s shoulder and the other braced against his hip. “I haven’t got anywhere else to be.” A smattering of laughter rose up out of the horde, followed by a few encouraging shouts. Mair allowed himself a slip of a smile. Maybe he wasn’t as dead as he had thought. One of the young goblins stepped forward next--Hourak’s son, by the look of him--and knelt without a word, his eyes fixed on the floor. There was a murmur from the heads and a few scattered cheers from the horde. After a moment, Mair commanded him to rise and join Drekut, but the young goblin still wouldn’t look at him. Mair supposed he couldn’t blame him--as far as anyone knew, Mair had killed the boy’s father. Turning to the elders, Mair sat up straight, waiting, one hand absently stroking Zak’s back, playing over the riffled wing ridges beneath his thin shirt. Zak turned his head, the end of Page 78

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his braid brushing across Mair’s hand as he looked out over the horde, and then again as he looked back down at the floor. Mair ran his fingertips down the inside edge of one ridge. It was cartilage, not bone. Being located between his shoulder blades, Mair could barely touch his own wings, but he doubted they felt anything like Zak’s. These were smooth and delicate; his were rough and gnarled. Suddenly, Zak shrugged one shoulder. He started to tremble, his breath quickening, and Mair leaned farther forward, trying to take a bit more of his weight off of the faerie. He wouldn’t have expected such a large, strong sidhe to tire so quickly. “Anyone else?” Mair asked, his voice ringing out. If one more of them broke and knelt, he had a feeling that all of them would. He fixed his gaze on the other new head, Shakul’s heir, trying to cow the boy, but he stared back at Mair with undisguised hatred. So much for that. Mair let his eyes wander over the other goblins, all fit and strong, hardened by battle with the scars to prove it. Mair wouldn’t stand a chance against one of them, but the boy was another matter. Page 79

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“Get up,” Mair said under his breath as he stood, stepping forward without making sure that Zak was obeying. The chain pulled taut and Zak stumbled forward, caught off balance as he was climbing to his feet. Mair pretended not to notice. To the young goblin he said, “The Mukrel line should thank me for doing them a favor. Shakul was a coward who squalled like a sidhe babe and begged for his life before he died.” The boy’s face went white with rage. “Liar!” he shouted, and flung himself across the dais at Mair. Mair tensed, but stood his ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zak take a step forward, and Mair swung his arm, lashing out with the silver chain. It struck the young goblin in the face and he stumbled, momentarily blinded by pain. Mair leaped forward, grabbing him by one horn and slamming his fist into the boy’s face. “On your knees,” Mair hissed, shoving him to the ground. Mair pulled his dagger from his boot and held it against the side of the goblin’s throat. “Never let yourself be provoked into a fight, especially by such obvious lies. Everyone knows that Shakul was a brave and valiant goblin Page 80

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and I deeply regret his loss.” He lowered the dagger and stepped back, raising his voice as he addressed the horde. “If we spill our own blood tonight, then who will be left to fight the true enemy tomorrow? The sidhe are our enemy. And wouldn’t they be pleased if we destroyed ourselves? I may resemble those filthy creatures, but I am a goblin to the core. The blood of Gartuk flows through my veins, and so long as I draw breath, the Ang Mountain horde will stand proud in battle and we will slaughter all who dare to rise against us!” A great roar rose up from the floor of the Pit and Mair felt goosebumps prickle up his arms and down his back. He looked back down at the young goblin. “Get up,” Mair said. “If you still doubt me, I am perfectly willing to slit your throat, but if you will join me then I will allow you to live.” The boy hesitated, and then climbed to his feet, his eyes still hard and distrustful as he looked at Mair. Blood dripping down his chin, the young goblin turned and spat on Zak, bloody spit splattering the faerie’s bare chest. Mair tensed, his stomach turning over in disgust, but neither he nor Zak Page 81

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moved. Finally, the goblin walked away to join Drekut and Hourak’s son beside Mair’s mother. One by one, the other bloodline elders approached, knelt, and then spit on Zak before they walked away. Mair shook inside with barely controlled anger. Zak wasn’t like other faeries; he deserved better. But Mair was helpless to do anything about it. Zak stood, silent and unmoving, behind him, as Shuruk brought out the crown and placed it upon Mair’s head. It was heavy and the silver insert dug into his scalp, but it kept the crown from slipping down over his head. Stepping forward to the edge of the dais, Mair raised his arms in triumph and the horde roared in exultation. Mair was the Goblin King. *

*

*

King Culmair sat upon his throne of bones, trying not to squirm as the hard, knobby joints dug into his back and rear. Zak sat on the floor at his feet, spit upon by every goblin who climbed the dais to pay their respects to the new king. Some even dumped their half-drunk cups of wine Page 82

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and ale upon him, until his shimmering white hair was a dark red, strands that had slipped free of the braid plastered to his face. Mair was sick inside, unable to eat, and he waved away the servants that circled the throne like buzzing flies, trying to tempt him with trays of food. The celebration was in full swing, drinking and dancing quickly devolving into fucking and fighting. Just a little longer and no one would even notice that Mair had left. At his feet, Zak shifted restlessly. “Soon,” Mair murmured, looking out over his horde. “Just be patient.” He didn’t blame the sidhe one bit, though. It was all he could do to make himself sit still. Zak tugged at the silver chain and Mair frowned in irritation. “I told you-” he started, but broke off as he glanced down at the faerie, and found him staring across the dais at an approaching servant bearing a tray with a single cup of drink upon it. “Oh, thanks,” Mair muttered, waving the servant away before he got any closer. The servant didn’t seem to notice, his head bowed, eyes fixed on the ground. “I don’t want any,” Mair said, his voice raised to be heard over the noise of the celebration. The Page 83

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servant took several more steps, apparently hard of hearing. Mair didn’t see anything wrong with his ears. He was missing half a horn, but both his large ears were intact, though they might not remain that way if he didn’t start paying attention to his king. Mair raised his hand to get Traur’s attention, the big goblin standing just behind the throne, but before Mair could say a word, Zak lunged to his feet, dragging Mair clean off his throne as he hit the end of the chain. Traur leaped forward, drawing his sword as the sidhe knocked the servant onto his back, the cup of drink flying into the air and splashing across the servant’s face. The servant screamed, thick, yellow smoke rising up into the air as he clawed at his face, gouging out chunks of bubbling gray flesh. Mair stared in horror, his mouth dry and stomach churning. That could have been him. The servant--the one with the broken horn--had tried to kill him. If it wasn’t for Zak-Mair turned, glancing around for his sidhe, and found him writhing on the ground, ripping his shirt off as wisps of yellow smoke rose from his back. “Water!” Mair shouted. “Bring water, now!” Page 84

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He dropped to his knees beside the faerie, pulling off his shirt as the vile potion ate through the thin material and into Zak’s flesh. A handful of drops had landed upon Zak’s back, from just above the waistband of his pants to just below his delicate wing ridges, the small, fingerprint sized spots hissing and smoking. Mair glanced up, waving his hand impatiently as a servant rushed over with a bucket of water. Mair grabbed the bucket from him and poured it over Zak’s back, the faerie’s body jerking as he gasped and choked, but couldn’t scream. It didn’t seem to help, though. “Traur, help me roll him onto his side,” Mair commanded. He had to wipe the acid, or whatever it was, out of the wounds before it ate any deeper into the faerie’s body. Traur crouched down, but seemed reluctant to touch Zak. “It’s just a sidhe, Your Majesty,” he said, drawing a wide-bladed goblin dagger from his boot. “Let me end its pain.” “Put that away,” Mair snapped, shoving the blade away from Zak and wincing in pain as the steel burned his hand. “No, wait. Give it here.” Grasping the leather-wrapped handle, Mair Page 85

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clenched his teeth, pressing a knee against Zak’s shoulder to help hold him still as he dug the goblin blade into the faerie’s flesh, cutting out the damaged tissue. Zak bucked and writhed, but the blade burned the wound cleanly; it didn’t even bleed. “Hold him still,” Mair said, and this time, Traur didn’t argue. As quickly as he could, Mair cut out each of the five bubbling wounds. After the second, Zak passed out from the pain, which made the others much easier. Finished, Mair dropped the dagger onto the ground, his hands suddenly shaking. The wounds were ugly, some of them deep, but they would heal. Breathless, Mair glanced over at the servant, dead, his head just a puddle of bubbling gray slime. The pieces of flesh Mair had cut out of Zak continued to smoke and liquefy, and Mair had no doubt that the potion would have eaten right through the faerie in time. He looked up at Shuruk and his mother, standing silently over him, and then at Traur, still crouched beside Zak. “I’ve put too much effort into this one,” Mair said, though he doubted if any of the three Page 86

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believed him. Out in the Pit, the party continued, the horde oblivious, which was probably for the best. “Somebody help me get him back to my chambers,” he said, grabbing Zak’s arm and trying to lift the unconscious sidhe. A hand reached out, gripping his shoulder, and he looked up into his mother’s wide face. “That’s what servants are for, Your Majesty,” she said, pulling him away from Zak and turning to the goblin who had brought the water. “Get a stretcher. Take this faerie to the king’s chambers... and be careful with it.” While the servants loaded Zak onto the stretcher, Mair picked up his crown from where it had fallen and handed it to Shuruk as he followed the procession of stretcher-bearers down the long, winding passage. He stood to one side, watching as the servants, under the direction of his mother, moved Zak to the floor beside the hearth, laying him on his stomach. “Should I call for a healer?” Shuruk asked, setting the heavy crown in the seat of the chair sitting beside the fireplace. Mair shook his head. “Goblin medicine won’t help him,” he said, moving around the bed and taking his medicine Page 87

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bag down off the shelf. He set it on the end of the bed and motioned for the servants to get away from Zak as they started to chain his lead to the fireplace. “That’s not necessary. He isn’t going anywhere. Now leave, all of you.” The servants bowed. “Blood and battle, King Culmair,” they said before filing out of the room. Mair’s mother bid him good night before following them, and Shuruk followed after her, but slowed as he walked across the main chamber, allowing Mair to catch up to him. “I find it surprising that the sidhe would risk its own life to save yours,” he said, stopping at the large, heavy door and turning back to Mair. “Perhaps your unconventional training methods have some merit after all.” The steward bowed to him. “Good night, Your Majesty.” Mair shut and barred the door, leaning heavily against the thick wood, his whole body shaking as the silence descended upon him, echoing with the screams of the one-horned goblin. That could have been Mair. On unsteady legs, Mair made his way into the bedchamber, his stomach knotting up at the sight of Zak, his dark, beautiful bronze skin Page 88

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pocked with divots as big as Mair’s thumbnail, the wounds seared white by the iron blade, the surrounding flesh swollen and enflamed. Digging through the medicine bag, Mair pulled out the jar of aloe and clover salve, which would soothe the iron burns, and a paper envelope of slivered willow bark and dried chamomile leaves. Filling a small, copper kettle with water, he swung it into the fire to heat while he gathered a basin of cold water and clean cloths, and washed the wounds on Zak’s back. The faerie stirred, flinching and gasping, rising slowly back to consciousness, until he suddenly jerked awake. Mair had been expecting it, but it didn’t stop him from jumping and slopping cold water on himself. “It’s okay,” Mair said, setting the basin down and grabbing the sidhe’s arm as he tried to get up. “Stay still. I need to treat your wounds so they don’t get infected.” Zak glanced around the room, then at Mair, his sharp, dark gaze moving up and down Mair’s body. “I’m fine; you saved my life.” Only then did Zak relax, grimacing in pain as he lay back down on the skins. “Thank you, by the way,” Mair said, stripping off his wet Page 89

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shirt and the heavy silver mail, tossing them aside before continuing his ministrations. Zak just nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. By the time Mair had finished washing and dabbing the salve on each wound, the kettle had begun to whistle and he pulled it from the fire, preparing a strong tea from the bark and chamomile that would ease Zak’s pain and help him sleep. Once it had steeped and cooled, Mair nudged Zak’s shoulder with the cup. “Drink this,” he said. “It’ll help.” His back and forehead beaded with sweat, Zak pushed himself up on his elbows and took the cup without argument, drinking it down and spitting a mouthful of wet leaves back into the cup. “Now rest,” Mair said, reaching down and loosening the stiff, sticky strands of hair that were plastered to the side of the faerie’s face. He felt nauseous, looking at the wine and phlegm dried in the sidhe’s hair and on his skin, and he poured some of the hot water from the kettle onto a cloth and washed the filth from the side of Zak’s face and neck. Zak raised his head slightly. Thank you, he Page 90

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mouthed. Mair drew back, looking down at the cloth in his hands as he licked dry lips. “I- I’m...sorry,” he said, dropping the cloth and rising to his feet. He hurried away, his heart hammering. He couldn’t believe he had said that. Goblins did not apologize--to anyone-ever. But it had seemed like the only thing he could say. He slipped out of his pants and into bed, turning down the lamp and staring into the near darkness, watching the flickering glow from the fire cast dancing shadows across his walls. *

*

*

It felt like hours had passed when Mair woke, but the fire was still crackling, bathing the chamber walls in orange light, instead of being burned down to a bed of coals like it usually was in the morning. He groaned and rolled over, pulling the heavy furs up under his chin, but he didn’t fall back asleep. It didn’t feel right. His goblin sense told him that it was day outside of the mountain, in spite of other evidence. Sitting up, he raked a hand back through his hair and glanced toward the fire, the grate filled Page 91

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with logs and the floor beside the hearth empty. Mair froze, his heart beginning to pound as his eyes darted all around the room, his mouth going dry when he couldn’t find the faerie. The bedchamber door was still shut and barred, so Zak had to be in the room somewhere. Moving slowly, he reached over to the bedside table and turned up the lamp, filling the room with clear, amber light. “Zak?” he said, his voice tight. There was a pause, and then a low, slow whistle came from the bath alcove. Grabbing his trousers off the floor, Mair pulled them on, ignoring the dampness from where he’d spilled water on himself. He stepped over to the doorway, peering in at the faerie, seated in the round, wooden tub that served as a bath. “Are you okay?” Zak nodded, the chain rattling against the side of the tub, and then held up the white sponge, motioning over his shoulder. “Wash your back?” Mair shook his head. “I think you need to heal first.” The faerie looked at him for a moment, then tossed the sponge down and stood up, water cascading down his naked body. Mair swallowed hard and turned away. It Page 92

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wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, but he was having enough trouble keeping his imagination in check without providing it more fuel to feed upon. “I’ll get you some clothes,” he said crossing over to the wardrobe and pulling a clean pair of Zak’s trousers out of the bottom. He could hear the silver chain, still attached to the faerie’s collar, chiming musically as Zak moved, and he steeled himself as he turned back around, but Zak had had the decency to wrap a towel around his waist. With a small sigh of relief, Mair walked to the chair beside the hearth, picking up the jar of salve from the arm where he’d left it. “You’re going to need more of this,” he said, turning around as the jingling of Zak’s chain moved toward him. He held out the trousers to the sidhe, who grabbed him by the forearm and wrapped the silver chain around his wrist. Surprised, he tried to jerk back, the trousers slipping from his grasp and falling to the floor, but Zak just spun him around, grabbing his other arm and forcing it up beside the first, quickly binding his wrists together in front of him. “Zak, what--” He broke off as he was shoved Page 93

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forward, his chained hands reaching out to catch him as he stumbled up against the rough, carved surface of the wall. The faerie was right behind him, powerful arms grabbing his wrists and pulling his arms above his head, and he cried out in fear as the chain was wrapped around an empty torch bracket bolted to the wall. He pulled at the chain, the links digging into his flesh, as the sidhe’s arms wrapped around his torso, the length of chain between his wrists and Zak’s collar resting on his bare shoulder and slithering down his chest as Zak leaned close, his breath warm and fast on the shell of Mair’s ear. “Zak, don’t--please--don’t do this--” He felt the faerie’s lips press against the side of his throat, raising the hair on the back of his neck, and he screamed in panic, the sound echoing in the chamber as Zak reached up, his broad hand covering Mair’s mouth and silencing him. “Shhhh,” the sidhe breathed, and Mair stood, trembling in his arms, as silent tears slipped from his eyes. After a moment, Zak lifted his hand, allowing Mair to take a sharp, shuddering breath, and the goblin king had to bite his lip to keep from screaming again. Page 94

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“Zak, please...” he whispered, but the faerie wasn’t listening. Reaching up, he took the jar of aloe and clover salve out of Mair’s clenched fist and set it on the bedside table just to their right. Mair glanced down, following Zak’s every move, his eyes widening at the sight of the dagger sitting on the table where he had carelessly left it. Suddenly, Mair gasped, a shiver running down his spine as Zak’s warm hand pressed against his back, right between his ugly, useless wing ridges. He stood, gasping, trying to figure out what Zak wanted as the faerie slowly ran his fingertips along one knobby ridge. Mair made a strangled sound as the sensation shivered through him, gathering in his groin with as much effect as a hand in his pants. “St- stop it,” Mair gasped, trying to pull away, but Zak pressed his other hand to Mair’s chest, holding him still as his fingers explored the curves and veins tracing across the ridges. To Mair’s great shock and shame, he felt himself getting hard, just from having the sidhe touch his wings. Mair had always hated the gristly protrusions, had ignored them as much as he could. He had Page 95

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no idea if what he was feeling was normal, or of Zak had done something to him. He was panting and shaking when Zak finally grew tired of toying with him, the faerie’s hands sliding down Mair’s sweaty torso and to the waistband of his trousers. He whimpered and squirmed, but couldn’t stop Zak from unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down, exposing Mair’s unwanted erection. Pressing his face into the crook of Mair’s neck, Zak kissed and sucked at the skin as his fingers wrapped around the hard organ and began to stroke it. Mair squeezed his eyes shut, finally realizing what the sadistic sidhe was up to. This was payback, revenge, for what Mair had done to him a few nights ago. It had to be. Mair had to choke back a sob as Zak straightened up, letting go of him, but his relief was shortlived as the sidhe grabbed the jar of salve off the nightstand and twisted the lid off. Zak dipped two fingers into the greasy mixture before setting the jar back down and wrapping an arm around Mair’s waist. “No! No, no, no!” Mair cried, trying to turn his body away as he felt Zak’s long, delicate Page 96

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faerie fingers try to slip between his cheeks. The sidhe pulled Mair tight against his large, firm body and no amount of struggling was able to stop the finger that pressed against his opening. He cried out, a broken, strangled sound as his muscles clenched around the intrusion, a dull, burning ache reaching up into his body, making his insides knot up and his skin crawl. His struggling did, however, loosen the towel wrapped around Zak’s waist, and Mair felt his heart climb up into the throat as he felt the thick cloth fall away and the faerie’s hot, hard arousal press against the flat of his hip. “I’m sorry!” Mair shouted, throwing his head back and hitting Zak’s shoulder with a solid thud. “I’m sorry--I never should have touched you, just please...don’t rape me...” For a long moment, Zak didn’t move, his breath sliding down the side of Mair’s neck, and then he slowly removed his finger from Mair’s body. Holding his breath, Mair squeezed his eyes shut, waiting. Finally, Zak reached up and unwrapped the chain from the bracket. Mair sobbed with relief, his knees buckling, and he fell to the floor, crumpling against the wall Page 97

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with his pants bunched around his ankles and his wrists still bound by the chain. He flinched back as Zak crouched down and released him, his gaze fixed on his red wrists as hot tears of shame and anger rolled down his cheeks. Something entered the field of his vision, moving toward his face, and he jerked back. “Don’t,” he gasped. “Just go away...just leave me alone...please...” He closed his eyes, turning his face away, and after a moment, he heard Zak stand, the silver chain jingling as he walked away. Shuddering, Mair wrapped his arms around himself and wept. How could he have been so stupid, so trusting? Faeries were the enemy, good for nothing except feeding the carrion crows. Zak would die for this. He would suffer the worst torment Mair could come up with, a silent scream ripping from the voiceless sidhe for days. No one could do this to him and get away-He heard the chiming of the chain and glanced up as Zak walked toward him, naked and halfhard. He tossed something down beside Mair’s curled legs--the short length of chain with the clips on either end that attached to the wide, furlined silver bracelets that Mair had had made. Page 98

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Dropping to his knees, Zak held out his arms, as if waiting for Mair to chain him up. Wary of a trick, Mair didn’t move, except to raise his gaze to the faerie’s face. He was surprised to see grief and repentance on the sidhe’s fine features, and Zak’s lips moved with exaggerated care, mouthing the words, I’m sorry. “You’re sorry,” Mair repeated. “You tried to rape me, and you’re sorry?” Zak shook his head. Not rape, he mouthed. Wanted to show you...Thought you would realize-“Realize what?” the king demanded, scowling. “Show me what?” Zak hesitated, and then lunged at him, grabbing his wrists and holding them down as Mair tried to reach up and shove him away. Mair opened his mouth to scream, but it died in his throat as Zak’s warm lips pressed against his own. The faerie kissed him, and he shuddered as he felt the slow caress of Zak’s tongue easing into his mouth. Mair’s head was spinning; he didn’t understand what was happening, why Zak was doing this. The faerie released his wrists, reaching up to cup his Page 99

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face, to draw him away from the wall, and Mair’s arm shot out, sweeping across the surface of the bedside table, his fingers closing around the hilt of the dagger. Breaking the kiss, he jerked back and held the point of the silver dagger to Zak’s chest, right above the faerie’s twisted heart. “Realize what?” Mair said again, leaning into the dagger slightly, trying to force the sidhe away from him. Zak didn’t move, even as a line of dark blood rolled slowly down his chest. I won’t hurt you. Mair laughed. “I don’t believe you.” A dark look passed over the faerie’s features, and before Mair could react, the dagger went flying and he found himself lying on the floor, his arms raised over his head and pinned down as the large sidhe straddled his legs. Mair swallowed hard. “N- now what are you going to do to me?” I will not hurt you. Zak leaned down, his hands tangling in Mair’s dark hair as he let go of the goblin king’s arms, and as the faerie kissed him, Mair grabbed at his shoulders, at first to shove him off, but as Zak’s tongue slipped into his mouth, tangling with his own, Mair found himself clinging to the faerie. He groaned into Page 100

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Zak’s mouth as Zak began to rock his hips, rubbing his hardened shaft against Mair’s, the taut ridges creating the most delicious, shuddering friction. Mair had never felt anything like it; he had never trusted anyone enough to let them touch him like this. Not that he trusted Zak. He couldn’t--the faerie was his enemy. Whimpering as he was kissed, Mair lifted his hips off the floor, pressing his body upward against Zak’s, consumed by the need for more contact, more pleasure, more of Zak. “All right,” he gasped finally, his head tilted back as Zak sucked on the skin at the corner of Mair’s jaw. “All right, you can fuck me. Just...just don’t hurt me, Zak.” Zak raised his head, looking down into Mair’s face. Never, he mouthed, and then he rose, helping Mair to his feet. Nervous, Mair stood, watching as Zak picked up the jar of salve and the short piece of chain from off the stone floor. “What do you need that for?” Mair asked. Zak glanced at him, and then climbed onto the bed, clipping the chain to one of his bracelets, feeding the other end through one of the thick, Page 101

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brass rings screwed into the wooden headboard, and then securing it to his other bracelet. He stretched out on top of the blankets, bracing himself on his knees and forearms, his bare, muscular ass raised slightly into the air. Licking dry lips, Mair shook his head. “Zak, you don’t have to--” Want to, the faerie replied. “Yeah, but you don’t have to be chained up,” Mair said. I want to, Zak repeated, his face coloring slightly. I like it. Mair stared at him. “You like being helpless while someone’s fucking you? That’s...that’s just...” He didn’t know what he was trying to say. When he thought about being in Zak’s position, when he remembered being chained to the torch bracket, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t imagine enjoying what Zak was asking for. When he couldn’t finish his sentence, Zak’s skin flushed crimson and he turned his face away, but not before Mair had seen. Taking a bracing Page 102

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breath, Mair stepped over to the bed and sank down upon the edge, picking up the jar of salve and dipping his fingertips into the cool aloe. “These wounds should be kept soft,” he said, dabbing the salve on the red-edged divots, the flesh seared white. “You don’t want them to crack and bleed.” As he gently spread the salve within the first of the small holes, he felt Zak sigh, and the faerie laid his head down upon his forearms, his body relaxing to lie upon the bed. Silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. Zak could not be trusted. He was the enemy. Dirty, deceitful sidhe. He could not be trusted... no matter how much Mair wanted to. Once he had finished tending the last of the wounds, he dipped his fingers into the salve one more time before setting the jar over on the nightstand. “You upheld your end of our agreement,” Mair said finally. “I’ll find a way to uphold mine, somehow. I’ll get you out of here, unless...unless you want me to fuck you. You can’t have it both ways.” Zak raised his head and glanced over his shoulder at Mair, his eyes shadowed by a slight frown. “Well, you can’t expect me to fuck you Page 103

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once and then never again. I’ll want to have you over and over.” The frown vanished, replaced by a hesitant grin. I’ll stay, Zak mouthed. Fuck me. Mair’s greasy fingers slipped between Zak’s cheeks and he pressed against the faerie’s opening. Zak shuddered, his large hands gripping the edge of the pillow as he spread his legs and drew his knees up, raising his rear into the air and making himself more accessible. Mair was surprised at how easily his finger slipped inside the sidhe’s hot body. He moved it in and out, working the salve a little deeper each time and listening to Zak’s breath catch in his throat as his fingertip passed over a small, internal lump. He paused, pressing against it slightly, and Zak’s whole body tensed. “Does that hurt?” he asked, withdrawing his finger. Zak shook his head adamantly, letting go of the pillow with one hand to hold out two fingers. He made a thrusting motion, the chain smacking against the headboard. “Two? Are you sure?” The faerie nodded. Not completely convinced, Mair eased two fingers inside, watching the muscles across Zak’s shoulders Page 104

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tighten. “You okay?” Zak nodded, repeating the motion, and Mair bit his lip as he pushed deep and pulled out in one quick thrust. Zak gasped, his hips bucking, pushing back toward Mair. The goblin king hesitated, and then plunged in again, his arousal beginning to weep fluid as Zak writhed, sucking sharp, ragged breaths with each stroke of Mair’s fingers. Suddenly, Zak pulled away and Mair jerked back. “What?” Panting, Zak looked over his shoulder, strands of white hair falling down in his face, his skin flushed a dark rose. Fuck me, please. Mair swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and then rose up on his knees, giving his shaft a couple of strokes to spread the thick fluid around. Zak pulled the chains tight, pressing back against Mair, urging him to enter. Mair guided himself to Zak’s opening, trembling inside as he eased into the hot, tight body. Zak clamped down around him, for a moment not allowing the first of the fleshy ridges to pass, but then he relaxed, opened up, and Mair rocked his hips, slowly working his entire length inside. Page 105

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His eyes sliding shut, Mair groaned as he felt himself completely surrounded. He had never imagined that anything could feel this good, so warm and snug, muscles twitching all around him...and then Zak began to rock on his knees and elbows, pulling away and pushing back, fucking himself on Mair’s erection and filling Mair’s gut with a hot, heavy fluttering, an aching that demanded attention. Mair grabbed Zak’s hips, thrusting into him and crying out as he felt himself turn inside out, spilling his seed inside the faerie. As the echoes of his orgasm faded, Mair drew a sharp breath, realizing what he had done. “I couldn’t help it,” he gasped as Zak glanced back at him and arched an eyebrow. Spent, Mair’s erection faded and he slipped out. Sitting back on his heels, his gaze dropped to Zak’s straining arousal. “I’ll suck on you again...if you want...” Zak shook his head, raising one hand as much as the chain allowed and crooking a finger at Mair. “Why?” Mair asked, suspicious. Zak pointed to the bed beneath him and rose up on his hands and knees, making room for Mair. “So you Page 106

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can fuck me...” Mair sighed. “All right, but just this once.” He moved up beside the faerie and slipped beneath him, lying on his stomach, his hands clenched into fists as he waited. After a moment, Zak leaned down and bit him lightly on the shoulder. Mair glanced up at him. Lie on your back, Zak instructed. Use the salve to stretch yourself. His hand shaking slightly, Mair obeyed, rolling onto his back and dipping his fingers into the jar beside the bed. The salve was cold on his skin, but he reached down between his legs, drawing his knees up and bracing them against Zak’s chest as he worked his fingers into his opening. “It hurts,” he whispered, wincing as he pushed in two at once. It will. Go slow. Zak stared down between their bodies, watching. The fire in the faerie’s eyes, the lust on his face, was enough to make Mair hard again, but he didn’t even think about asking Zak if he could finish what he started. Once the dull ache faded, he rather enjoyed the feeling of his fingers moving inside himself, especially when his fingertips brushed against a certain spot. He discovered a small lump, just like the one had Page 107

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had found inside Zak, the one that made him gasp and twitch. Curious, Mair pressed against it and the pleasure that shot up through his body made stars bust in front of his eyes. He gasped and pulled his fingers out. Above him, Zak smiled. Guide me in, he mouthed, lowering his hips and brushing the slippery head of his erection against Mair’s entrance. “Not yet,” Mair started to say, but Zak pressed harder, the tight ring of muscle beginning to spread. Mair grabbed the faerie’s shaft, tilting his head back as he moaned, that dark ache mingling with an inexplicable pleasure as Zak slid inside him. It hurt, his muscles burning, but it also felt good, in a way he had never experienced before. Mair gasped as Zak leaned down, the faerie’s lips pressing against his own, and the king responded, kissing him back and reaching up, wrapping his arms around his slave’s neck. Mair felt the cold silver collar press against the inside of his arm, and he drew back, grabbing the chain in one hand as he slipped his fingers underneath the silver band and felt along the inside, brushing across the runes. The metal flashed blue and the Page 108

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collar sprang open. Mair tossed it off the bed and raised his hands, tangling his fingers in Zak’s long, silky white hair and pulling him down for another deep kiss, the half-goblin’s tongue sliding into Zak’s mouth. If this was a trick, if this was just Zak’s scheme to get whatever it was that he wanted, now would be his chance. Mair knew that, but he found it hard to be concerned as Zak began to thrust into him, the ridges on his shaft rubbing across that spot that had made Mair see stars. He cried out into Zak’s mouth, again and again, his back arching as he was overwhelmed by the sensations. Zak’s breathing grew quick and erratic, and his rhythm faltered. After another moment, he tensed and Mair felt the warmth of his semen as he came, his hips jerking as he shuddered with pleasure. Mair was close to climaxing again, and he quickly wrapped his hand around his shaft and stroked himself to completion, crying out as he spilled himself upon his own stomach. Gasping, Mair sank into the embrace of the mattress, whimpering as Zak pulled out, sending one last shudder of pleasure splintering Page 109

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up through his body. He felt so heavy, so tired, unwilling, unable to move, he just closed his eyes, listening to the pounding of his heart as he dropped into sleep. *

*

*

Mair groaned and started to roll over, but his eyes snapped open at the burning ache in his ass. What the hell had he done? The fire had burned down and the room was dark, and he stared up at the blackness of the bed canopy overhead, his heart racing. Slowly, he slid a hand under the covers, touching his stomach, but the semen had been cleaned off. Zak had cleaned him up. Which meant the faerie had released himself from the chain binding his wrists. Which meant he was probably long gone. Without the collar around his neck, there was nothing keeping him there. Taking a deep breath, Mair sighed, feeling unexpectedly empty. He felt like a fool for allowing himself to get attached to his slave. Faeries were all the same and easy to come by. He’d just get another. And this time, he’d know better than to trust a lying, sneaky, devious-Page 110

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Mair jumped as something touched him in the dark, and he grabbed at it, surprised to find himself holding a large, strong hand. The mattress shifted and Mair could faintly make out the white curtain of Zak’s hair as the faerie raised his head. “You’re still here,” Mair whispered in disbelief. He could have left. The horde would still be hung over. He could have left, but he didn’t. Mair didn’t know what to think or how to feel about that. After a moment, he let go of Zak’s hand and sat up, combing his fingers back through his hair. It was late morning now, almost early afternoon, and his stomach growled petulantly at him, demanding food. He clenched his teeth as he climbed out of bed, thankful for the darkness. At least he didn’t have to worry about Zak seeing that he was in pain. Not a lot, but enough. Warm lamplight filled the room and Mair glanced over his shoulder as the faerie turned up the lamp. He watched Zak for a moment, but the sidhe just sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Mair and his head bowed. Slowly, Mair pulled on his trousers. He needed to say something--the silence was starting to get to him--but he didn’t Page 111

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know what. As he turned, his foot nudged the silver slave collar, making the chain clink, and Zak’s head came up, though he continued to sit with his back to Mair. Finally, Mair sighed. “I’m not going to make you stay,” he said, bending down and picking up the collar. He stared down at it as he slowly gathered up the chain, coiling it over one hand. “As much as I would like to keep you, it’s not... right. Or fair. And I don’t ever want to see you treated as you were last night. Watching them spit on you, I...I was ashamed to be a goblin.” He glanced across the bed toward Zak, but the faerie wasn’t there. Mair’s head snapped around and he jumped, startled to find Zak stepping around the end of the bed, making no sound as he walked now that he wasn’t dragging the chain behind him. “Anyway, if you want to get dressed, I’ll take you aboveground...” He trailed off, taking a hesitant backward step as Zak closed the distance between them, those large hands gripping Mair’s shoulders as Zak leaned down, capturing Mair’s lips in a deep, breathless kiss. The king’s eyes slid Page 112

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shut and he felt himself falling, as through the ground had dropped out from under him. He pulled away. “Zak, don’t,” he said, turning his head and staring past the sidhe. “You need to get dressed. My people won’t stay passed out forever.” Zak let go of him, and he thought that would be the end of it, but then Zak pulled the collar out of Mair’s hand and snapped it shut around his own neck. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, and then Zak reached out, taking Mair’s hand in his own and pressing the slender silver chain into the king’s palm. This time, when Zak leaned down to kiss him, Mair did not turn away.

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About the Author

I was born and raised in western Oregon’s Willamette Valley. After graduating high school, I skipped college and took a part-time job to help support my family. I am contentedly unattached, working for the school district, and spending all my free time writing, reading, or watching TV, movies and sporting events. I’m a huge football and NASCAR fan. I’ve been writing stories since I was ten, and in all these years, the one constant in my writing has always been the magic, the supernatural, the inexplicable. Nothing inspires me like fantasy. These days I’m working on numerous short stories and a dark homoerotic fantasy romance series, the first two volumes of which are Magebound available in spring of 2009 and Spellwrought available in Spring of 2010 though PD Publishing.

Book Excerpts

Following are some excerpts of other hot m/m erotic romance titles from Shadowfire Press. If you enjoyed Slave to the Crown by Katica Locke you might also enjoy Katica’s urban fantasy shapeshifter story, Unspoken. An impulsive werecat sparks a twisted game of cat and mouse he may not survive. Huntsmen kill Werefolk--it’s what they’re trained to do. Kae, a young and impetuous werecat, knows this, but it doesn’t stop him from following one surly Huntsman into the bathroom of a nightclub. One spontaneous, not completely unwanted sexual encounter later, he’s running for his life, pursued by a Huntsman bent on murder...or is it simply revenge? Or is it something else entirely? Here is a short excerpt from Unspoken by Katica Locke

Book Excerpts

Hands clenched into fists, he starts to rise, but I grab him by the back of the shirt and shove him off balance, his pants tangled around his ankles. He falls against the stall wall and I twist one arm up behind his back, pinning him there. For a moment, the only sounds are the throbbing music and our ragged breathing. “Well?” he says finally. “Go on then, kill me. Won’t your furry friends be impressed—the big bad wolf caught a retired Huntsman in the toilet with his pants down.” “Shut up,” I say, shoving him harder against the poorly painted wood. “I didn’t think Huntsmen retired,” I add, leaning against him as I dig into my pocket. “Shows what you know,” he says through his teeth. “Now what the fuck are you doing?” I smirk to myself as I open the little tube of lubricant, warmed by my body heat and slick on my fingers. “You,” I say, reaching down and pushing a single slippery finger into his ass. He jumps like he’s been shot, a surprised cry escaping between his clenched teeth, and tries to pull away from

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me. “Just relax, old man,” I say, adding a second finger.. “I don’t get off on hurting people.” “You fuck—I’m gonna—son-of-a-bitch, stop it—I’m gonna kill you,” he hisses, rattling the entire set of stalls as he twists and bucks, trying to throw me off. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t want it,” I say, taking my fingers out of him and reaching around to grasp his still hard cock. He gasps, his whole body going rigid, as I let my hand slide along his shaft. “If you weren’t such a bigot, this would be deep in my ass right now.” His cock twitches in my hand and I let go of it, freeing my own growing erection instead. I slick the remaining lube across the head and then position myself at his entrance. He makes a strangled sound as I slide inside, several short thrusts burying my cock up to the hilt. You might also like The Gathering: A Tale of Tairrana by Auburnimp. In Tairanna everyone must choose a side.

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Eisso is a warlock punished by his coven for accidentally killing a demon child. Danth is a wereleopard ostracised by his sister and her mate when he becomes something more. Together they must face up to their destiny or be swallowed up in a war between good and evil. Here is a short excerpt from The Gathering: A Tale of Tairrana by Auburnimp. “Stop that,” Danth said, “I’ve decided that I’m not going to kill you after all.” His voice turned husky. “I’ve had a better idea.” He wanted to ask what idea but Danth’s mouth was on his and he couldn’t think let alone speak. Soft lips pressed against his and he parted his own with a quiet sigh. A warm tongue darted in to trace the outline of his lips before delving into his mouth to duel with his own. Strong hands ran down his sides and back up again while his hands came off the bed and settled around Danth’s neck.

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Danth broke off the kiss to gaze down at him, golden eyes just visible in the dawn light. Outside screams still ripped through the early morning mist. “You hear that? That’s the sound of your coven dying when it should be you.” “So why am I still breathing?” “Why? Because something greater than either of us wants you alive. But there is a price to pay, little human. No witch can be allowed to leave here alive so I am going to have to change you.” “I’m to become a wereleopard?” “If you survive,” Danth said. “Many don’t. Close your eyes, Eisso, and keep them closed until its over.” Trembling like a flower in the wind, he closed his eyes. Danth pushed Eisso’s arms down so they were no longer around the wereleopard’s neck. He pushed Eisso’s hands close to the brass headboard and bound them there with something soft. Danth moved away and Eisso tried desperately to hear where he had gone. He could smell

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Danth’s musky scent and somehow he found it soothing. “Please…” he whispered although he wasn’t sure why. “Hush,” Danth said before his lips closed on a nipple. Eisso couldn’t help it. He arched into the caress, his eagerness for the touch overcoming his sense. A low rumble like a purr and Danth moved to the other nipple, blowing cool air across sensitised skin. Eisso arched even more wanting things that had no name known to him. He groaned feeling his cock spring to life as Danth’s clever mouth moved lower, leaving wet trails down his body. How much trouble can a trained barbarian hero and a celibacy-sworn Guild wizard get into? Turak is a barbarian by trade, breaking down doors, scaling walls and occasionally even rescuing a puppy. A sword-carrying professional hero, he is comfortable in his skin, easygoing

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and partial to men. But even heroes can hide darkness inside. Gazriel is a wizard trained by Thallia’s Guild, sworn to scholastic endeavors and celibacy, doomed to spend his life clawing for precedence within the cutthroat politics of the Guild. His dark secret is his street-urchin past, doing whatever he had to if it kept him alive. Set up to become enemies, they find themselves sharing a meal—and adventures. Their trail of broken rules soon puts them on the path to assassins, quests, and a tavern brawl or two. Spellslayer 1: Curse of the Wizard’s Guild by V. Green. Gazriel smirked to himself as the last alarm faded. Every few weeks a barbarian would come along and try to kill him, because that’s what barbarians did. It seemed to be part of their training. Barbarians assumed that every wizard was up to no good, and they had fair odds of being right on any particular one. For his own part, Gazriel spent little time considering the

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morality of his researches. He wanted to learn; he wanted to make a discovery fit to make the Wizard’s Guild let him keep his comfortable tower past his ten-year journeyman’s lease. Those desires might or might not take him to intellectual territory which would bother the average man. Come to think of it, this was the third intruder this month. Gazriel wondered if there was a shortage of wizards to harass. The average barbarian had a short attention span, and once the would-be assassin had failed a sufficient number of times, he tended to leave. The knock at the door, then, came as an utter surprise. Gazriel supposed he could ignore it, as he had the more traditional assaults, but he hadn’t been top of his class for being incurious. After the third polite tapping, barely hard enough to carry through the thick door and up two floors, he sighed and rose to his feet. Upright, he noticed he was hungry. One peril of living alone was the lack of anyone to remind him of mealtimes. He’d deal with that after he sent the intruder packing. His defenses in place, he threw open the door.

Book Excerpts

The barbarian at the threshold had an honestlooking face and far too much bare flesh, in Gazriel’s opinion, for the cool night. His clothing seemed to consist largely of strips of leather with weapons attached. His bare chest and legs had a light coat of fur in the same common brown as the hair of his head. In his great paw, he grasped the neck of a wine bottle. “Turak the barbarian, requesting the hospitality of your tower for the night,” he said by way of introduction. Gazriel bit back the first word that came to mind, as Shit was not a response to further his professional reputation. Who had taught this great lummox to ask for hospitality? It was the one request that could not be turned down, especially from someone who had brought wine. Stalling, Gazriel asked, “Weren’t you just pitching a grappling hook at my roof ?” Barbarians shouldn’t blush, but this one did. “Afraid so.” Gazriel narrowed his eyes and let his first word last three times as long as it should. “And why in the world should I let you in and make you comfortable after you’ve spent the past hour

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and a half disturbing my peace? I dislike letting in assassins.” “I’m no assassin!” The intruder looked genuinely offended. “So this determined assault was only an attempt to find the guest room?” Gazriel felt entitled to his skepticism. Or you might like to read Plague Dance by Michael Barnette. A plague ravaged the world. Cory and Deshawn survived. But can they survive Roderik, the man who would be King? After a mutated strain of Ebola ended the world as we know it, Staff Sergeant Deshawn Roberts finds himself alone and longing for companionship. Cory Wilson, one time office worker, finds himself a captive of Roderick, King of the Lone Star Empire. It’s a life of slavery worse than death, and Cory escapes to find himself on the run.

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Brought together by chance, can these two men survive in the harsh reality of post Collapse America, and will they find the love they both crave? Here is a short excerpt from Plague Dance by Michael Barnette A torrent poured forth from the darkened sky, the pounding drops intermingled with the chattering sounds of hail against the windows. Bursts of lightning shattered the night, bright as explosions in an embattled city. Deshawn Roberts stared out at the fury of nature, wondering who else might be out there witnessing the storm. Wondering if he might be the only one left after the outbreak of Ebola tore through the country leaving millions dead. Millions that included almost everyone else on the base where he’d been stationed. Other than himself he didn’t know who else might have survived the pandemic that had

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swept the US— the entire world— and left more people dead than living. The barracks where he’d lived with the rest of his platoon was empty, the rest of the men he’d liked, and those he’d tolerated were dead. Their mortal remains lay in the mass grave he’d managed to dig with a backhoe from a construction site, a subdivision that would never be finished. There was no one left to do the work, and no one alive to buy the half finished houses anyway. Of the hundreds of people who’d lived at the base, he was the only one left. Him alone with the echoing silence. He’d never understood that term, ‘echoing silence’ until he experienced the utter quiet of a place so devoid of life that seeing a bird made his heart fill with joy. He braced his forearms against the window sill, stared out at the raging storm. Lonely. He craved the sound of a human voice. The camaraderie of other soldiers, of men he knew, missed, wished he could talk to one last time.

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Share a beer and off color jokes, stare at the TV and hear laughter and angry words exchanged. To hear any voice break the plague of silence that ate at him day after day the way the plague of the body had eaten away at the people he knew until all that remained was the dust of the grave. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. The words mocked him. Taunted him with the promise of a release from loneliness he was unable to take. A few others had survived, a couple men from a different platoon, one of the officers from his own command group. But they’d gone to find their families and no one had tried to prevent it. Not after captain Ferrel had killed himself in the bedroom of his home, surrounded by his Ebola murdered family. There wasn’t much point in saying anything to them about duty or remaining to guard the base. Not after the government collapsed. That’s what the media had begun to call it in the last few struggling days of the United States. The Collapse. The end of civilization as everyone knew it. Even then the reports of warlords rising to power were coming in. Men— women too— carving out a niche in the plague shattered land.

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He wondered if any of the men he’d known reached their homes. Wondered if they’d found anyone alive if they had. Deshawn sighed, gaze riveted on the wild night, the storm torn riot beyond the glass and came to a decision. At first light he would load up a Humvee with supplies and head out. There wasn’t any reason to remain at the base, no one left to care what he did or whether he remained loyal to his oath as a soldier. With no government he had no one left to be loyal to, so his oath meant less than the rain hammering the base. Sooner or later other survivors would show up. Survivors he might not want to meet. People like the warlord types the last few newscasts he’d seen reported about. He’d heard a few radio broadcasts after that, the station running on a generator for a few days. The last discjockey left for hundreds of miles talking himself hoarse, passing on any information he received, broadcasting rumors about the self-proclaimed King of the Lone Star Empire. A king who the rumors said was some former military guy named

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Roderik who’d raised an army and sent them rampaging around the countryside capturing the few people alive. People he forced to work for him, women he turned into servants fit only to cook and clean, the prettiest ones forced into lives of slave prostitution. Then the station went silent. Either out of fuel for the generator or silenced by one of the warlords. Deshawn didn’t know and he’d probably never find out. In the long run it hardly mattered. The world had gone from a thriving global economy, from civilized high-tech and instant communication across the globe to a barbaric age of savagery in the span of less than a month. There were some really bad customers out there, prowling the post-Collapse landscape. People he had no desire to meet. Nor any desire to join in their egomaniacal quest for power. “Rain, rain go away,” he murmured to himself before turning from the hammering of hail and rain to try and get some sleep. Deshawn climbed out of his bunk the next morning, loaded up the Humvee and rolled out

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into the new world created by the Hand of Fate at a wink from Old Man Death. You can buy Unspoken by Katcia Locke, The Gathering: A Tale of Tairrana by Auburnimp, Spellslayer 1: Curse of the Wizard’s Guild by V. Green, and Plague Dance by Michael Barnette along with other fine m/m erotic romance and yaoi titles from: Shadowfire Press Enter the Shadows... Set your imagination on Fire http://www.shadowfirepress.com