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Slave to the Crown

Copyright © 2009 Katica Locke

Cover art by Coyote Shadow Studio

Edited by Helen Ravell

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S

l ave

to

the

C

rown

By Katica Locke

Slave to the Crown

Page 1

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

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Page 2

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 greenish-

gray 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.”

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Page 3

“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

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Page 4

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

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Page 5

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--

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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

Slave to the Crown

Page 7

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

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Page 8

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.

Slave to the Crown

Page 9

“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

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Page 10

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.”

Slave to the Crown

Page 11

“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

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Page 12

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 13

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

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Page 14

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,

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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

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Page 16

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.

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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

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Page 18

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

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Page 19

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

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Page 20

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

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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

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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

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Page 23

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.

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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 brass-

handled 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

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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,

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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

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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,”

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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 leather-

wrapped 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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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.”

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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.”

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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,

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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.

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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

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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

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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 half-

breed 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.

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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.

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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

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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, rust-

colored substance. “Tansy, wild yam, and ivory

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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.

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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

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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,

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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

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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, plum-

colored head of Zak’s erection, the loose folds of

skin that had been covering it drawn back and

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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

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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

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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

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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,

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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

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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

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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?”

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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!”

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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 short-

lived 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

Slave to the Crown

Page 97

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 98

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 half-

hard. 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, fur-

lined silver bracelets that Mair had had made.

Slave to the Crown

Page 99

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 100

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 101

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,

Slave to the Crown

Page 102

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 103

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 104

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 105

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.

Slave to the Crown

Page 106

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 107

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 108

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 109

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 110

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--

Slave to the Crown

Page 111

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 112

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

Slave to the Crown

Page 113

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.

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

Book Excerpts

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.

Book Excerpts

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.

Book Excerpts

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

Book Excerpts

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

Book Excerpts

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

Book Excerpts

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 honest-

looking 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

Book Excerpts

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.

Book Excerpts

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

Book Excerpts

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.

Book Excerpts

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.

Book Excerpts

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 disc-

jockey 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

Book Excerpts

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

Book Excerpts

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