Chapter 8

Standing on the centre stage with his knees buckled inwards, Sorrel felt overly bare and awkward under the light. He held the pole with both hands and gripped it for courage. The light blinded him from seeing the patrons, but he could feel their leering stares.

Music had already started playing, and they were expecting him to dance.

Some of the other workers had fawned over him before twisting his long hair into two braids.

In one of the back rooms, both male and female animal sprites had cooed about how pretty he was, how soft his skin was, and how strong his muscles were as they dressed him. Apparently, his eyes were a stunning kind of frosty blue, and his hair was silky and such a nice colour.

He didn't know if they were being so nice to him because they could tell he was anxious, or they were actually being truthful.

They weren't here by force like he was. They knew he didn't want to be here, yet they said nothing and did nothing to help.

They explained that Mr Toad probably wanted him because he was so pretty and looked like a flowery fairy but wasn't one. There were hushed whispers about how their employer had once been in love with a flower fairy but had been cruelly rejected. He'd been hateful of them ever since.

They said he was jealous of their beauty.

Sorrel didn't give a shit.

He wanted to go home. He'd been trapped in this damn toy boat for two nights and this was his second morning here.

He clutched the pole tighter. Mother must be so worried.

"Dance, pretty boy!" A patron whistled, since he hadn't started moving yet. "I wanna see that ass shake."

Sorrel turned his head to where Mr Toad was watching from the shadows, most likely with a sour, annoyed expression.

"Don't lose me money," he'd threatened.

He'd tried everything to get out of this yesterday, but after two nights and Cypress still hadn't come to rescue him, he didn't know what else to do. If he didn't start dancing, Mr Toad had already threatened unimaginable punishments.

Sorrel wasn't particularly interested in pain, or being starved, or whatever unnamed torture he had planned.

He could handle the embarrassment, at least with this many patrons.

He'd been told he could attempt his first time on stage in the morning when there were fewer people. He figured it was Mr Toad's attempt at being kind and considerate – not that it really was.

He was nice only when it suited him. The rest of the time, he was mean and frightful.

Looking down at his attire, Sorrel cringed.

Dressed in dark-blue genie pants and a brown vest, both were expected to be removed if he had courage. He shuddered, not wanting to picture the glittering underwear he'd been forced to wear, made to highlight the bulge of his flaccid cock and sac.

He wouldn't be stripping today, or perhaps ever, but he could at least dance. This was usually something he loved doing, to buck and sway with the tempo of a beat.

Sorrel closed his eyes and moved, pretending nothing existed.

He wasn't in front of people. He wasn't on some rocking boat with a bar. I'm just dancing like I do for Greta. He wasn't trying to be sexual; he was just pretending the pole was his partner, who was dipping or twirling him. It's okay. No one else is there.

Well, maybe if Cypress was there, it would be okay – but only if it was him alone watching.

He ignored those thoughts, not wanting to conjure him in his mind. Especially when the idea of being caught doing something like this was more embarrassing than his heart could really handle.

Sorrel had no problem with this act, with other dancer sprites doing this for their own enjoyment or payments. Some of the dancers even did private shows and did things he'd never even thought of. Overhearing a few of their conversations had opened his mind to the strange world he realised he was in.

He just didn't want this for himself.

The song went on forever.

When it ended, he peeked open his eyes only so he could find the way off the stage. He didn't care to collect the coins; he didn't want a single one.

He was just doing what he needed to survive until he could figure out a way to escape. He couldn't do that by sleeping at the bottom of the pond, as Mr Toad so crudely put it. Then again, that might be better than some other alternatives.

He opened the door behind the stage and was instantly greeted by multiple sprites. The males wore similar outfits to what he was forced to wear, while the women wore a more feminine version of it – a skirt and bra.

There were little battery operated mirror vanity tables so they could check their outfits, while a lounge was off to the side if they wanted to rest.

On a long table that had a white cloth over it, he eyed the food freely available. An array of fruits, nuts, and bugs were presented in bowls, and they could eat at their discretion.

Apparently, Mr Toad took very good care of all of them.

"Oh wow, you did such a wonderful job," the butterfly sprite he saw the very first night here said to him. His voice was kind, and he seemed to understand the apprehension Sorrel felt about being complimented. He'd faced similar things because of what he was and the beauty he held. "You looked like you belonged on the stage!"

"He'll be stealing all our regulars at this point," a ladybug sprite said, her little spotted red wings fluttering. She was much smaller than Sorrel and her voice was difficult to hear. However, onstage she was lively and bright with her dancing. She gave a giggle. "You'll bring the hibernating animals back out of their nests if you perform any better than that."

Their compliments dismayed him. He hadn't even put any effort into his dancing for a reason. He didn't really want more attention and was hoping people would have found it terrible. Most of the current patrons were regulars, or those who were living in the toy cruise ship to hide from winter. He didn't want any of them to ask for a private show. He was terrified of what would happen behind closed doors, especially from long-term admirers.

Winter had come.

Already the world was dotted in snow and the breeze that came through the toy boat was colder than any Sorrel had ever felt. In just a few days, the world would turn icy and unforgiving.

"You will have to strip next time," a ferret sprite bit at him. "Master Toad won't tolerate this for much longer. I'm surprised he's being so patient with you, but it'll end soon enough if you don't give him what he wants."

She had once been Mr Toad's favourite, but she wasn't being rude in hateful spite. She was right, and in her own way, she was protecting Sorrel. She attempted to look out for all the dancers.

"I don't want to," he answered back. "The fact I even got on stage was enough. I don't want to show off my body – except to the one I love."

She scoffed at that, and he turned his chin up at her.

Then she folded her arms and turned away, not seeming to understand Sorrel's point of view. She enjoyed the fame this line of work gave her, especially since she brought in the most coin. It helped her ego and made her feel beautiful, despite being a furry, fanged ferret sprite.

"Suit yourself, then."

"Leave him alone, Elena," the butterfly sprite said with a sigh, placing his hand on Sorrel's shoulder. "Just one step at a time. You're a natural – there's no need to be shy."

Sorrel shuddered with repulsion just as Mr Toad entered and narrowed his eyes on him. "You, come."

"Told you," the ferret sprite whispered.

Sorrel's shoulders slumped at his captor's stern features and tight expression. I did what he wanted. He danced, so wasn't that enough for now?

Sorrel quickly raced after him, knowing it wouldn't be wise to disobey.

With the two guards as usual following closely behind, he was taken to Mr Toad's office. They were told to wait outside after Sorrel entered.

"I did what you told me to. I danced," Sorrel rushed out, keeping his side to him and refusing to look at the ugly toad. He fisted the sides of his genie pants, bunching the material in his hands. "Just give me time to get used to all this."

Give me time to figure out how to escape. That's all he needed: a plan. He'd been here two nights. He just needed to get his bearings and he could figure a way out.

Greta told him he was smart, and all the work he did on her farm made him strong and fast. He was tiny, but he wasn't useless.

"You did a great job out there," Mr Toad complimented. Sorrel's lips parted in surprise, and he turned to face him – only to find him swiftly approaching. "So good, in fact, that I don't think I can wait anymore to have you."

Sorrel's eyes widened just as Mr Toad grabbed him and slanted his large, bumpy mouth over his own. Then his cold, amphibious body pressed into Sorrel's as he was shoved against the wall.

Bile rose in his throat and his gut squirmed with anxiety. His tongue was strange – both wet and sticky – and it pushed at his lips like it was attempting to force its way inside.

Sorrel's mind howled in protest, and he managed to shove him away.

"No," he demanded, wiping the back of his wrist against his lips to get rid of the disgusting burning sensation on them.

Mr Toad smirked, stepping forward once more, like Sorrel's demand was meaningless.

Fuck this! I am done biding my damn time. Curling his right hand into a tight fist, he refused to think about the worst that could happen and instead focused on hope. He could do this.

When the malevolent sprite got close, Sorrel smashed his knuckles into his nose. Mr Toad let out a sharp yelp, right before Sorrel slammed his elbow into his cheek. Not expecting the attack nor the strength that was hidden in Sorrel's slim body, spittle sprayed from Mr Toad's mouth as he collapsed.

Without thinking twice about it, Sorrel opened the door to the office and bolted past the guards. I just need to get outside. He might be able to find someone out there who would be willing to help him.

"Get him!" Mr Toad yelled, but Sorrel was already running through the ballroom.

He could see the cold winter light through the doorway.

Before he could make it, Sorrel was tackled from behind and his chest slammed against the ground. A different guard had grabbed him. He threw his elbow back, shoving the hard point of it into his nose, and he heard a satisfying crack.

The fuzzy white moth sprite wailed, reaching for his long, curly nose.

Sorrel got out from under him and sprinted towards freedom.

The harsh, cold air greeted him. It felt like needles in his lungs and razors against his skin. He ignored it as he scanned his surroundings, seeing he needed to bank left to go towards the town.

He was tackled once more, but before he even needed to fight, someone came to his rescue. A man, who looked like a swallow sprite, dragged one of the toad guards off Sorrel. The swallow tossed him to the side and then shoved him over the railing of the ship.

"Hey, are you okay?" the swallow asked, grabbing ahold of Sorrel's forearm to pull him to his feet.

"No!" he blurted out. "I've been kidnapped and I'm trying to get away."

"I thought you looked uncomfortable on stage," he whispered to him. "You're lucky I saw you running."

"Why were you in there?" Could Sorrel even trust him then?

Mr Toad burst through the doorway. "Get back inside."

The swallow stepped in front of Sorrel and spread a singular wing to cover him like a shield.Sorrel moved away slightly as he took in the back of his feathered head. Then his gaze drifted past Mr Toad and into the dim ballroom.

"I'm a migrating sprite." His feathery brows knitted together. "I was separated from my flock, and I needed a warm place to stay for the night. This was the only place available that wasn't a hollow tree. Not really my particular place of fancy, but when you're hiding from the cold, you'll take what you can get."

"This has nothing to do with you, stranger," Mr Toad said, seeming to wait for his guards, who slowly came to stand next to him. "Step aside."

The swallow lifted an arm to point at him, his wings flapping in irritation. "Justice alone is enough for me to step in. You shouldn't keep people against their will."

Sorrel eased into his feathery back. His rescuer was bigger than he was, and right now, he just needed someone on his side.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you so much."

"Get them," Mr Toad snapped to the guards flanking him before he directed his gaze to the swallow sprite. "You'll regret this."

A moth sprite, lizard sprite, and a toad sprite surged forward, while the other toad from the duo appeared at the top of the ship's outer stairs.

"Five against two?" the swallow scoffed, adding the boss of this crew in his count. "I think our chances of running are better than fighting."

Before Sorrel could say anything, his feathered saviour spun around and scooped him into his arms. With three flaps of his wings, he was in the air.

The moth took flight, and the swallow dipped to the ground to evade him when he shot forward to attack. It brought them so close to the pond's edge that Mr Toad himself was able to leap into the air and grab Sorrel by the long strands of his hair and tug.

Sorrel yelped when he was yanked from the swallow's arms and crashed against the hard ground. Pain lanced his scalp, and agony shot from his side where it took the worst of his fall. His shoulder and ribs on that side immediately felt bruised as the impact knocked the wind out of him.

He rolled against the dirt before he shakily attempted to get to his feet. Ouch.

"Sir!" The swallow dived for Sorrel, intending to grab him before anyone else.

One of the toads leapt and caught hold of him, trapping his wings to his sides. Sorrel's chest heaved as he climbed to his feet, backing up as Mr Toad sprinted for him.

"You'll pay for what you've done!" He could see the brute's nose was darker than before, as was one of his eyes – bruising from the hits Sorrel had landed earlier.

Before Mr Toad could reach him, someone else scooped Sorrel into their arms and lifted off. He nearly screamed when his feet unexpectedly found air.

"Get back here, beetle!" Mr Toad yelled, glaring at them from the ground.

The swallow grabbed ahold of the moth's wings before he could fly after them. He bravely kept him on the ground, allowing Sorrel to escape with this new stranger without him.

Sorrel was taken away, but he watched as the kind swallow sprite was overrun by guards. Oh no.

The rush of wind whipped his hair around his head. He spat it out of his mouth and pushed it away to examine the black form of the beetle sprite who had captured him. His face was fuzzy, while beady eyes looked forward and feelers whooshed back over his hard-shelled head.

A metallic-green tinge glistened across his smooth, armour-like flesh.

"Looks like you owe me," the beetle said with a lop-sided, unnerving grin. "And I know just how a pretty thing like you can repay me."