7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven

“ Y ou can’t take a naked pet to a breakfast.”

I don’t know who this red-haired fey is, but right now I could kiss his feet. I need all the backup I can get. I just spent another night with Mabon using me as a pillow and now, first thing in the morning, he is trying to drag me around Buckingham Palace butt naked.

Mabon puts his hands on his hips. “Why not?”

“Because sadly it is a breakfast, not a party.”

Something in the redhead’s tone is long suffering. This poor man has had years of having to deal with Mabon and he has my every sympathy.

We are standing in Mabon’s sitting room and this valiant man is literally blocking the door that Mabon was about to stride through while dragging me behind him on my leash and in all my naked glory.

“So?” whines Mabon. “I want everyone to see his lovely cock and be jealous.”

Redhead’s gaze flicks down to my cupped hands and then mercifully darts away. He is intrigued, but clearly not as perverted as Mabon.

“Humans are shy,” he says patiently.

And I find myself nodding along even though I’m behind Mabon so he can’t possibly see me. Not that he’d give a shit about my opinion, anyway.

Mabon shrugs. “He’ll get over it.”

He is such a little shit. I’m glaring so hard at the back of his head, he has to be feeling it.

Redhead sighs wearily, “He’ll get sad, and then Jamie will be angry at you.”

A tense silence falls. Mabon is bristling. Surely this Jamie who holds so much power cannot be the human that was taken by Prince Rhydian?

“It’s not fair!” says Mabon as he crosses his arms over his chest.

My eyebrows rise. Did he really just say that? Redhead flashes me an exasperated look, so I guess I’m not hearing things. Mabon really is this dramatic. And childish.

“I haven’t ridden him yet. All this tantalising flesh, and now I can’t show him off either. It’s not fair!”

My cheeks are heating now. I’ll just stare at my toes for a while. This new fey seems wonderfully understanding, but I can’t look at anyone right now.

“I know,” the red fey says gently. “But if you are nice to your pet, he might fall in love with you, and wouldn’t that be something?”

My head snaps up at that ridiculous statement, just as Mabon looks over his shoulder at me. Our gazes lock. His eyes are surprisingly wide, innocent, almost. Timidly hopeful. Like a puppy peeking through the bars of a shelter. A lost and lonely look.

My heart thumps. Mabon looks away. I blink. Then shake my head to clear it. A little bit of stress and I’m seeing things. I can’t afford to lose my mind. Mabon is many things, but a lost and lonely puppy is not one of them.

“Fine,” says Mabon softly.

His shoulders are slumped. Almost a defeated set to them. It’s setting my teeth on edge. Almost as if I want him to stride out of here with his head held high, dragging my naked ass behind him.

He turns around to face me with an appraising look.

“I can put a very tight cockbag on him. That way, everyone will still see Mister Dinky’s outline.”

A strangled noise of mortification and dismay catches in my throat. Redhead winces. He is so lovely. Why couldn’t I have been abducted by him? Being his pet probably isn’t that bad at all.

Though he doesn’t hold a candle to Mabon looks wise. Mabon has this whole femme fatale, slash dangerous murder twink thing going on. Whereas, redhead here just looks like an ordinary fey man. There is nothing confusing about him.

And why I should care or even be thinking these thoughts is beyond me. I seriously need my head examined.

“What about his ass?” asks Redhead. “You need to cover that as well.”

Mabon’s eyes narrow and he taps his pouty lips with one long, elegant finger.

“Oh,” says Redhead. “How about a pretty piece of silk?”

Mabon’s amethyst eyes light up. “Oh Tristan! You have the best ideas!”

The redhead, Tristan presumably, grins in delight. There is a look of avarice in his eyes that is making me uneasy. Perhaps he isn’t as harmless as he first appeared. He is a fey, after all. None of them can be trusted.

Mabon claps his hands sharply, making me flinch. Shadow man appears, literally out of nowhere, and I yelp in fright.

Mabon rattles off a long list of orders. Shadow man bows and melts away before my eyes. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin, and I blink furiously at the spot he was standing in.

Was he standing there this whole time? Is he standing there now? How the hell am I going to escape if there are invisible people everywhere?

Suddenly, a door at the far end of the room opens and four shadow people stride in, each of them holding a plump red velvet cushion. There are four shadow people? Well, that’s disconcerting.

As they stride up to us, I can see that each cushion holds a selection of lengths of silk, all in various garish colours.

Mabon walks behind me, I start to turn but he gestures at me to stay still. Great, just fucking great. I guess I’ll just stand here while a whole room of people stare at my naked ass.

Mabon and Tristan hold up different pieces of silk over my bare behind and make comments on how well they go with my complexion. This has to be one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. I need to think about something else. Anything else. Football maybe. I like football, it makes me happy.

Mabon makes me move my hands from my junk and robotically I comply. I’m just going to pretend that this isn’t happening. It is the only possible way to get through this.

“There!” says Mabon triumphantly.

I blink as reality comes crashing back down around me.

He is standing in front of me, hands clasped together in glee. I look down. A piece of baby pink silk is hanging from my pubic bone to my knees. It’s attached to a thin gold chain that is wrapped low around my hips. I twist my head and a matching piece of silk is covering my ass.

Oh god. Not only is the cloth baby pink, it’s sparkly. Thousands of silver threads catching the light.

“It’s perfect!” gushes Mabon.

I glare at him, but he merely giggles in return. He picks up my leash and strides out into the hallway. I can either follow him or be choked. So I follow him.

Tristan walks next to Mabon and doesn’t say a word to help me. Bastard. Does he really think this is acceptable? Is this really the best I can hope for?

I can feel the silk swishing around. A faint breeze and I’ll be exposed. I must look ridiculous. A big muscled bloke wearing nothing but dangling bits of pink sparkly silk between his legs. It’s like some Princess Leia outfit gone hideously wrong.

Though, just like Princess Leia in Star Wars, I have been abducted by an alien for nefarious purposes. So maybe it is fitting. And I should probably be thankful that Mabon is no Jabba the Hutt. He is quite the opposite, in fact. Mabon is utterly gorgeous.

I snort softly to myself. Apparently I’m fine with villains as long as they are hot? That’s awfully shallow of me. But not exactly surprising. I’ve always had a weakness for a pretty face. Just never a male one, until now.

Mabon has set a leisurely pace, and as we pass people, I realise why. The little shit is showing me off to as many people as possible.

I keep my head high and try not to look at anyone. But I can feel their eyes all over me. Drinking in the sight of me on a leash, more than half naked, being led around by a twink.

Something coils deep in my gut. I fight it. Resist it. Deny it. But it is stronger than I am, and the truth of it escapes and floods my veins.

I like this. I’m enjoying being paraded around like a belonging. I’m darkly thrilled that everyone can see I belong to this beautiful man.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Out of all the kinks in the world I could have been blessed with, I get this one? It’s not fair. And I don’t care if that’s something Mabon would say.

Oh lord. I need to pull myself together. Focus. The plan is to learn as much as I can, then escape. Then therapy, so much therapy. And then, and only then, will it be time to explore my new found kinky side. It’s been repressed, or oppressed, or whatever, my entire life. A little longer isn’t going to do me any harm.

Finally, we arrive at a large room dominated by an enormous, very low, round table. Mabon settles crossed legged on a large cushion, and pulls me down to sit next to him.

The table is groaning with overflowing bowls of all kinds of fruit. Some I recognise, some I don’t. It’s all definitely extravagant.

There have to be thirty fey at least sitting around this table. The cold terror of that is squeezing my heart. I feel them inspecting me. Some with curiosity, some with blatant appreciation. This is like being naked in a nest of vipers.

“When is Prince Rhydian returning from Tir-na-og?” someone says.

Mabon smiles brightly. “Soon. In the meantime, please do tell me your grievances. I shall be delighted to hear them.”

Wait a minute. I can understand what they are saying but they have no reason to be speaking English. They certainly wouldn’t be doing it for my benefit. And thinking about it, Mabon would be annoyed at having to, even when we were alone.

I’ve been an idiot. The silver earring he gave me is a translator. It has to be. My fingers run over it thoughtfully. We suspected they had them and didn’t always rely on the crystals they’ve been seen to use. Finally, I’ve learnt something useful.

Mabon’s nimble fingers distract me as they pick up a bunch of grapes and place them on a small gold saucer. He slides it in front of me and then takes a plate for himself. His attention seems fully focussed on the fey who has spoken, and the fact he is feeding me without thinking about it, is strangely warming. It’s not a calculated move, it’s an instinctual one.

Conversation starts to flow and despite the translator, I’m soon lost. They are talking about people and places I have never heard of. But I’m fairly certain it’s all idle court gossip and petty shit. Nothing useful, so I’m not going to feel too bad for not being able to keep up.

Watching Mabon, however, is a revelation. He has the room metaphorically eating out of his hand. He seems so invested and interested in what these people are saying. So full of empathy and sympathy.

The little fox. He is good at this. He is a competent prince. There is clearly a lot more to him than some flighty, pouty, pretty boy.

I nibble on my grapes and watch him at work.

I’ve been underestimating my enemy.