by Kim Dare
“Different occasions require different forms and protocol,” Raynard expanded, as the dinner progressed. “If the gathering is specifically for hawks, only hawks will attend.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But there will be other times when a greater variety of avian species are present. Then you’ll be expected to take your place at my side and eat the same meal you serve to our guests.”
“Yes, sir.”
Raynard studied him out of the corner of his eye, wondering just how much complex thought went on in Ori’s head while such simple answers left his mouth. The more time Raynard spent with him, the more determined he was to find out.
Happily, Raynard was confident that he’d have time to learn everything there was to know about the boy, principally, because he had no intention of allowing Ori to wander away from his protection at any point in the future.
Raynard might have been aware that he needed to wait until Ori was a fully-fledged shifter before he could make his intentions toward him a matter of record, but he saw no reason why that should dictate when he actually made his decisions.
He glanced across at Ori again. For once, he didn’t find Ori sneaking a return peek at him.
Ori’s attention was all on the cabinet at the other end of the table. The glass had been replaced just the previous day. The rest of the monstrous piece of furniture had been cleaned via a sturdy stepladder while Raynard was present to supervise. Earlier that day, Ori had carefully refilled it with all the delicate antique porcelain that had, luckily enough, been removed before his tumble.
The cabinet looked as good as it ever had. But there was still a frown on Ori’s forehead when he glared at it.
Raynard reached out and picked up his wine glass. It was filled with water that evening. When he placed it back on the table, Ori glanced at it. Picking up the water jug, he refilled Raynard’s glass.
“Thank you.”
Ori smiled at him, almost absentmindedly, before turning his gaze back to the cabinet.
Raynard felt his hackles rise. “Ori?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Who do you believe is the master in this relationship?”
Suddenly, Raynard knew he had his fledgling’s full attention.
“You, sir,” Ori said, very seriously.
“And, that being the case, who do you believe should be the judge when deciding the standard of behaviour you’re expected to attain?”
“You, sir,” Ori repeated.
Raynard could practically sense Ori’s pulse race faster and faster as he tried to work out where the conversation was heading and what the hell he’d done wrong.
“When I punish you for a failure, that’s the end of the matter. Acting as if you believe otherwise could easily be interpreted as an insult.”
Ori held his gaze, apparently still none the wiser.
“You took your punishment,” Raynard told him. “You were forgiven. Unless you have some reason to believe the cabinet is about to launch itself across the room at us, stop staring at it.”
Ori looked down for a second, then back up, careful not to even glance toward the cabinet in the process.
Raynard tucked a knuckle under Ori’s chin, encouraging him to lift it up a little and not look quite so heartbroken over the rather gentle criticism.
“Do you have any reason to cling to your guilt?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
Raynard smiled his approval. As the meal progressed, for the first time since that disastrous day some six weeks earlier, he felt Ori start to relax while in the dining room. By the end of the meal, Ori almost seemed to have reached a point where the cabinet was just another piece of furniture. Almost.
Finally, the companionable dinner had to come to an end. Ori had just brought the tray across to clear the table, when he hesitated. “Shall I light the fire in the library first, sir?”
Raynard shook his head. “Not tonight.”
Ori didn’t question his decision. He simply went back to clearing the table.
Raynard stood up. “When you’ve finished here, come up to the bedroom.”
“Yes, sir!”
Ori’s enthusiasm at the possibility they’d go to bed early had Raynard smiling to himself as he left the room. The marks he’d left on Ori’s skin might have faded, but the impression he’d left on Ori’s mind when he brought out the cuffs obviously hadn’t dimmed in the least. If he was unable to face the china cabinet without feeling guilty, he was equally incapable of walking past the toy chest without blushing.
Raynard made his way up the stairs and into their bedroom. As he automatically set about his self-assigned tasks, he turned that thought over inside his head. Their bedroom.
He supposed it was, in a way. Technically, Ori might still have his own room in the servants’ quarters, but it had been weeks since Raynard wanted him to sleep anywhere but at his side. It was hard to believe that would change as more time passed. Raynard shook his head at himself, wondering how the hell a supposedly ugly little ducking had managed to burrow his way so deeply into his affections in such a short space of time.
A click from the door caught Raynard’s attention. He turned just in time to see Ori’s expression drop when he realised that Raynard was getting dressed to go out.
The protocols Raynard had taught Ori came to his rescue. He settled into his at rest position, hands folded behind his back.
“Come here.”
He stepped forward. Raynard nudged him in the direction of the shower with a tap on the backside.
“Get dressed when you’re done,” he ordered.
When Ori came back into the bedroom a few minutes later, he’d already dried himself. His hair stuck up at all different angles after being towelled off.
Raynard ruffled Ori’s hair even further as Ori walked past him, making him smile. There was no longer any hint of the flinch Raynard had noticed the first few times he’d raised his hand to offer that kind of affection.
There weren’t many choices for Ori to make as he stood in front of the wardrobe Raynard had set aside for his use. All the clothing Raynard had bought for him was very simple. Black trousers. White shirts. Black boots and belts. Ori was ready in minutes.
Raynard watched as Ori turned to the mirror over the chest of drawers. He combed his fingers through his hair a few times, but it made very little difference. He caught Raynard’s eyes in the glass and looked quickly down, a slight blush rising to his cheeks at being caught trying to style himself up.
Stepping up behind him, Raynard stared over Ori’s shoulder and met his eyes in the reflection. He slipped his fingers into Ori’s hair, tugging his head back to rest against his shoulder for a few moments.
“It’s always kind of done whatever it wants, sir,” Ori admitted.
“That will probably change after you’ve completed your first full shift.”
Confusion flickered through Ori’s expression as Raynard ran his fingers through the unruly strands of hair again. The position probably wasn’t entirely comfortable, but Ori made no attempt to lift his head from his master’s shoulder.
“Your adult plumage should be easier to manage, a little less like a fluffy little duckling’s. The colour can change like that too.” Raynard snapped his fingers with the word “that”, keeping his tone light, but he couldn’t avoid wishing his fledgling would remain exactly as he was, forever.
“It won’t turn green, will it, sir?” Ori’s eyes opened wide in horror, but it didn’t seem to be about vanity, just a disinclination to draw attention to himself in that manner.
Raynard managed to keep a straight face as he pretended to consider the matter very carefully. He gave in then and chuckled. “Unlikely. I’ve yet to see a mallard’s colouring have that effect. Most ducks keep a brown plumage in their human form.”
Ori laughed at Raynard’s teasing and shook his head at his own gullibility. As they moved away from the mirror, Raynard adjusted
Ori’s shirt neck, to make sure his leather collar was clearly visible in a way he’d rarely encouraged Ori to display it when going out into the wider world.
Stepping away for a moment, Raynard picked up the leather jacket he’d laid out on the bed and held it up behind Ori. Ori’s coordination deserted him. It took him a few attempts to work out how to get his arms into the sleeves so Raynard could settle the jacket neatly around his shoulders.
It was a perfect finish to the outfit.
“But you’ve already bought me…” A coat. Raynard put his finger over Ori’s lips before he could finish the sentence.
He did have a very nice coat, a winter one.
“Spring’s on its way,” Raynard said. And promptly labelled himself a fool for feeling as if he had to make excuses for the purchase. Ori was his submissive, Raynard was free to dress him any way he chose, and he was perfectly free to fuss over him a little if he wanted to.
“Thank you, sir.”
Raynard turned away and picked up his own jacket, not sure he wanted to meet Ori’s eyes right then. Quickly leading the way down the stairs, he soon had them both in his car, retracing the route they’d taken when Raynard first drove Ori away from the nest.
The atmosphere in the car slowly changed. Ori grew more and more tense as he realised where they were going. The easiness that existed between them in their bedroom was a distant memory by the time they pulled up outside the nest.
Ori quickly exited the car. Raynard glared after him until he realised that Ori wasn’t rushing away, just hurrying around the car to open his door for him. Ori opened the main door into the nest for him too.
Raynard stepped inside, his eyes scanning the men in the large entry hall. On the far side of the room, he spotted another collared submissive opening a door for his master. Raynard relaxed as he realised where Ori had acquired the idea, and that it wasn’t directly from another dominant.
Ori looked up as Raynard stepped through one of the doors held open for him, obviously hopeful that his service pleased his master in some way. Clearly, there was no other man, dominant or otherwise, infringing on his thoughts.
In one of the large communal lounges on the main floor, Raynard dropped a cushion onto the floor at the base of a leather armchair before taking the chair himself. He nodded to the cushion, but Ori didn’t immediately accept his invitation to kneel there.
“A drink, sir?” he asked, softly.
Raynard nodded his approval.
Ori had waited on him for long enough to know what to fetch without it being spelled out to him. “For us both,” Raynard mentioned, just in case Ori still didn’t know him well enough to guess that, too.
Ori made his way to the bar on the far side of the room. Raynard was willing to bet every penny he had that he was the only man there who could see just how nervous Ori was about being back there. He didn’t relax at all until he was kneeling safely at Raynard’s feet, sipping his lemonade.
Raynard stroked his fingers through Ori’s hair, certain that he had made the right decision in bringing him back to the nest at least once before Ori found himself standing in front the elders for his first shifting ceremony. That would be a stressful enough occasion for him without anything else added to the mixture.
Ori leaned into Raynard’s touch, resting his head on his bent knee, just the way he did in the library at home. It was quite possible to believe that they were alone in the old gothic monstrosity until a shadow fell over Ori.
Raynard glanced up at the men who’d paused by the little group of chairs they occupied.
Two peregrine falcons stood there, waiting to be recognised. Harry and…Harry’s brother, whose blasted name Raynard never could remember. He had a vague recollection of them from before he’d moved away from the area. They didn’t appear to have changed much, even if their fledgling jeans had been exchanged for overly fashionable suits.
“We wish to pay our respects—we were both very sorry to hear about your uncle’s passing,” Harry said, sombrely.
Raynard nodded his acceptance and indicated to the sofa opposite him.
As the two men sat down, Raynard sensed Ori looking up at him. A question shone in his eyes. Raynard nodded permission for him to ask it.
“May I serve either of you a drink, sirs?”
“Two beers.” Harry didn’t even look at him as he said it—ignorant little pillock.
Ori returned with their drinks just as all the bland pleasantries that the situation demanded were concluded.
Neither falcon said anything when Ori set their drinks before them, but Charles, as Raynard had discovered the younger brother was called, glanced at Ori as he once more knelt at Raynard’s feet. “Didn’t he used to serve here?”
“He did,” Raynard agreed.
“Not a bad fuck, if he’s the one I’m thinking of.”
Raynard felt himself tense at the statement. He looked down but Ori just kept staring at Raynard’s knee, his expression unreadable. Raynard stroked his fingers from where they rested in Ori’s hair, down to his collar, subtly reminding Ori of the leather’s presence around his throat.
“He’s belonged to me for several months. He’s no longer available to serve other members of the nest.”
Charles seemed to sense something in his tone of voice. He quickly dropped the subject, but Raynard wasn’t in the mood to lighten the frigid atmosphere. He wasn’t overly surprised when the brothers made their excuses and retreated within a few minutes.
Tugging gently at his messy strands of hair, Raynard pulled Ori’s attention up to his face.
“You don’t belong to the nest anymore, fledgling. You belong to me. No one has the right to lay a hand on you without my permission, and no one has my permission. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Raynard held his fledgling’s gaze, wanting to make sure that knowledge settled deep into Ori’s mind. There was no longer any reason for him to put up with any kind of mistreatment from anyone.
Ori was physically strong enough to defend himself; Raynard had no doubt about that. He just needed someone to give him permission to stand up for himself—to make sure he knew he was worth that.
Finally, Raynard let Ori look down. Ori sipped his drink. His expression was still unreadable, but Raynard found it hard to believe that Ori wasn’t remembering all those times when he’d needed someone’s protection before and hadn’t received it.
Understanding that he was safe now wasn’t the same as being able to forget a time when it had been very different. Ori would always have those memories. Raynard couldn’t fix that.
Raynard took a deep breath and pushed down his anger. Thinking about the way the fools at the nest had used Ori had been distasteful enough when Ori was a stranger to him. Now that Raynard knew Ori, and knew how deep his fledgling’s instinct for submission went, it was obvious that Ori could never have fought back against the demands they made on him unless he’d had someone there to care about him and prompt him to do so.
“Do you remember Charles?” Raynard asked, as calmly as he could.
Ori shook his head. Raynard guessed there would be more than a few men there that night who Ori wouldn’t remember half as well as they remembered him. It was hard to remember the faces of men who didn’t think a duckling was good enough to look them in the eye.
“He always was a forgettable little sod,” Raynard observed.
Ori smiled slightly, as if it really was that easy for his master to make all right with his world.
A few minutes later, Raynard glanced in the general direction of the kitchens, guessing there would be a few of the servants that Ori might appreciate the chance to visit. When Raynard spotted Hamilton making his way across the room, he decided there could be far worse times to have Ori out of earshot.
“Go and see if there’s anything you can do to help your former colleagues for a few minutes,” Raynard ordered, with a nod to the kitchens.
“Yes
, sir.”
Hamilton arrived just as Ori rose to leave. Ori hesitated, but only until he saw a drink already in the eagle’s hand. By the time Hamilton had taken his seat, Ori was already on his way down the corridor leading to the kitchens. There was a little more confidence in his stride now than when he’d approached the bar less than an hour before.
“The collar looks good on him,” Hamilton said.
Raynard nodded his agreement.
“A little premature though, wouldn’t you say?”
“I thought you were a better judge of men than that,” Raynard said, taking a sip of his drink.
“Oh?” Hamilton asked, as he leaned comfortably back in his chair.
“Do you really have any doubt that submission is in his nature?”
Hamilton shrugged. “I’ve no idea what he is. He’s not even a true shifter until he—”
“Bollocks.”
Hamilton’s lips twitched. His accent deepened as his amusement seeped through. “Succinct and to the point—just like your uncle. The boy really has made an impression on you, hasn’t he?”
Raynard studied his drink for a second. “He’s a good submissive.”
“And is that all it is?” Hamilton asked.
Raynard raised an eyebrow at his uncle’s old friend.
“You wouldn’t be the first man of rank to go giddy over a boy who is, as you’ve already said, so naturally inclined to want to please his betters.”
Raynard had his mouth open and a curt answer on the tip of his tongue, when a crash from the general direction of the kitchens caught his attention. If Ori had all the natural inclination to service that every duck seemed to possess, then he had all the coordination of a true duckling as well.
A face appeared around the corner. It wasn’t Ori. Raynard didn’t recognise the man but, whoever he was, he looked straight toward Raynard and caught his eye.
Rising from his chair, Raynard strode rapidly across the room, only half-aware of Hamilton trailing curiously along after him. Raynard’s heart rate doubled as the image of the dining room sprung back into his mind.
Swearing reached his ears as he turned the corner. Ori stood to one side of the narrow hallway, halfway between the main kitchen and the dining room. Raynard ran his eyes over the scene. Ori stood next to one of the nest’s servants. Pots and pans littered the floor around their feet, but they both appeared to be unhurt.