The Slave Palace: Wulf and Locke (Kingdom of Slaves Book 1)

by Wendy Rathbone

  After he’d dried himself, and Locke had dressed, Locke led Wulf to a pair of doors with bright, paned windows. The sun came in through them in white sheets, almost glaring. The doors opened onto a veranda with a brick path edged by plants and trees.

  The air was cool but not too cold. Everything smelled of newly turned earth, sweet blooms, and crumbling clay from old pots that held ivy, orchids, and ferns.

  As they walked beneath the large trees, the shadows of leaves and branches dappled the pathway. The pool and then this. Wulf allowed himself to remain relaxed.

  Beside him, Locke’s presence was like a firm, steady force. It promised safety, even fairness. He did not feel in danger. Nor had he felt any danger from the pool where the master had stripped naked and shown himself off to Wulf for the first time.

  Wulf had had some trouble thinking, breathing, even swallowing at first. His master was a handsome man with the dark coloring he preferred in his fantasies. His body, trim and toned, had less musculature than Wulf’s, and was more angular, more chiseled. To think of it made Wulf feel a tremble inside as if a cool breeze had blown against the short hairs of his arms and legs.

  The bricks beneath Wulf’s feet scraped lightly. Locke led him beyond the trees to a park-like area, much like the front of the Palace, with lots of grass, oaks, and small bushes.

  Scattered throughout the grassy hillocks and dips, marble pedestals dotted the landscape. Upon them were beautiful statues of shapes and sizes and colorings. For a moment, as he had upon his arrival at the Palace, Wulf did think they really were statues.

  As they came closer to the first, Wulf saw it was a live human being under all that paint. The man held a pose with one arm raised, the other curved behind him, and one foot forward. He looked like an ancient god straight from Olympus, painted in gold and silver brushstrokes all over his naked body.

  Wulf could see the man’s chest rise and fall with each breath. He shimmered like metal or polished stone, but quivered like a living being, warm and vital with blood running through his veins. Even his hair was dyed a stiff gold color, but wisps of it quivered in the breeze.

  For a moment, the beauty encapsulated Wulf. And he forgot where he was. He had denied these statues at first. Had hated the thought of them. Now he wondered what it might be like to be standing there, covered in paint, proudly posing for the trees, the sky and all who might walk by.

  Wulf’s head spun.

  “You like him?” Locke asked, breaking the reverie.

  He could not admit it, and shook his head, glancing away from the sight.

  “Come along, there are so many more, each one more beautiful than the last. This art is a beautiful design toward physical and mental discipline. It is both calming and freeing, to know such control.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No?”

  “You contradict yourself when you say it’s freeing and controlling when you talk of discipline and freedom in the same sentence.”

  Locke simply tilted his head and smiled.

  “Well,” Wulf said, moving toward another pedestal, “it makes no sense.”

  This time when he looked up he saw two humans intertwined, a male and a female embraced, all in silver with black, straight hair flowing behind both their bodies, braided together.

  Wulf swallowed hard. He had no words. They were lovely. He could only blink and stare, then force himself to look away.

  The next statues were even more erotic. He may have stared longer at the two men together than he meant to. One knelt before the other. The standing man had a full erection. How he kept his organ hard while remaining so still, while doing nothing but looking straight ahead at the hill beyond the Palace, Wulf could not know. The kneeling man had his head poised and lips pursed right in front of that hard cock, as if he were about to kiss it but had been frozen in time before reaching his destination.

  That was discipline! But freeing? Body and mind could betray each other at a moment’s notice. But this man held his pose, and there was a fierceness in his dark eyes that rivaled that of even the strongest warriors Wulf had served with.

  Locke began to move on down the line of sculptures, but Wulf lingered.

  Locke stopped and turned back to him. “We can come here every day to see the new ones,” he said. “If you’d like.”

  Wulf turned his head to the side. How could he admit he would like that very much without showing weakness? He took a deep breath, held it. One more glance at the two men. It couldn’t hurt.

  When he looked back at them, their pose had change just a little. The standing man’s eyes had moved and were now looking at Wulf. The kneeling man had opened his pursed mouth and the tip of a pink tongue could be seen.

  These two were so utterly masculine, their bodies like waves and curving promises of held back power.

  Ripples of heat attacked Wulf’s skin. A flutter of warmth settled in his balls.

  He frowned.

  “It’s all right to be moved by their art. These two have worked hard to maintain this pose. They can go for at least an hour now. When they started, they could not hold position for more than five minutes.”

  “Maybe they are fierce and this art opens their strengths.”

  “Yes, maybe.” Locke smiled.

  When they finished their tour, Wulf returned to the inner Palace with a strange sort of fulfillment in his chest. He couldn’t explain it. His first full day here, and already he was succumbing?

  But there was such beauty surrounding him, if he allowed himself to see it. This was his life now. He had nothing else. He’d always been good at adapting and obeying in his former life. But only to those who had authority over him.

  He did not recognize this foreign country yet has having authority. Not in his heart. But Locke, well, Locke had bought him. Wulf belonged to him now. He could understand that, even if he didn’t like it, or agree with the law of legalized pleasure slavery.

  And he was coming to realize, Locke wasn’t so bad.

  So far.

  *

  Over the next few days, dinner was served every night in Wulf’s room, with the brightly lit skyline for their view.

  Locke ate with him now, instead of just watching him. They had fresh seafood, steak or grilled chicken on beds of rice. Green salads. Ice cream. Foods Wulf was not used to.

  He’d eaten so many bagged meals, so much stale bread and wilted greens. He was not used to such fantastic cooking. And such gleaming plates and glasses of wine and golden cutlery. No more paper plates and pre-cooked meals in plastic bags. No more military mess halls with plastic divided trays and liquid slop called stew—more like soup—for most meals.

  Every morning, Locke made good on his promise. They went to the pool and swam for half an hour, then soaked in the hot pools until their fingers were wrinkled.

  They took long walks in the sculpture gardens.

  It amazed Wulf that in all that time, Locke had never tried to touch him sexually. Yes, he had tried to show him sexual images, and help him open his mind to the idea that pleasure was not the sin he had been taught it was. But Locke the master—the training master—remained apart. Maybe even a bit aloof.

  It did not unnerve Wulf. It made him feel vindicated. At first.

  But the fourth day came the same as the rest, and Wulf began to wonder. If his master was trying to be friends with him, then demand the pleasures he was required to teach Wulf, that would be worse.

  Wulf could never be friends with him. Not with someone who called himself an Eminent Master. Not with someone who trained sex slaves day in and day out. A person like that had to have no soul. Even if he pretended to.

  No, friendship could never be allowed.

  The thought made Wulf anxious. At breakfast, he barely touched his food.

  Locke, always kind in tone, asked, “Not hungry?”

  Wulf shook his head. They were sitting at the booth where they had eaten their first breakfast. Wulf stared at the scar on the wall wher
e he’d made a hole, yanking his leash as he had lunged for Locke.

  The hole had been repaired, but a slight dent and discoloration remained. The scar. His mark. What he would leave behind here if he ever got away. Ever translated to never.

  Wulf had become imprisoned for life.

  Locke said, “Even though it is October, the day is very warm as tends to happen here in the south. I thought we’d use the outdoor pool for our swim.”

  Wulf lowered his head until his chin almost touched his bare chest.

  “We can relax in the sun for a while,” Locke added.

  “Why?” Now Wulf looked up, saw those dark eyes that should have been beady and cold—and maybe they were in his worst nightmares—but were really quite warm with lively golden flecks in the irises.

  “What?”

  “Why bother?” Wulf huffed.

  Locke’s gaze turned inward, then, and Wulf watched his face go placid as his mind began to work the puzzle, something it seemed Locke was very good at, like his name, unlocking the riddle, or locking it up so only he could see and admire it.

  “There are environments here designed to ease your stress. This is one of them. That is why we bother.”

  Locke’s answer, patient as always, never failed to be correct and calm.

  “Those are tricks, then.”

  Locke’s brows came together, not quite frowning, but obviously not happy with the direction of the conversation, either. “If it is a trick to make you comfortable, then you may be wrong in thinking that.”

  Wulf tried not to pout. He forced his muscles to remain slack. But he felt hot quite suddenly. The towel beneath his naked ass felt slightly damp.

  “After our swim, I thought maybe you’d like to see the sculpture garden at the front of the grounds.”

  “Because you think I like them.”

  “I know you like them. Maybe you secretly want to be one of them.”

  For a moment, Wulf wanted to lunge forward, as he had on his first day. A purely aggressive response to the building anger inside him. Anger for no reason, really, except that he was frustrated and he didn’t know why.

  He suppressed it. Maybe the collar had worked in that regard, but either way, there was no use to fight Locke and always lose in addition to going through the pain of a shock collar set on “high.”

  It seemed he was succumbing. And it wasn’t just the collar controlling him. He was forgetting his position as a warrior too often. And his firm beliefs of what constituted good, and what was evil. It was Locke’s doing, he knew. Locke was getting under his skin. Controlling him. Wulf needed to gain back some control.

  “I don’t want any of it. Or any of this. The Palace. You. Don’t you understand that by now?” His chest felt constricted. Weak. He was so weak. It wasn’t right.

  Locke took a breath. He did not answer.

  “Take me to the training room.” Wulf’s own request surprised him, but he needed to do something to distance himself from Locke, to erase whatever friendly connection might be forming between them. It was the only way.

  One eyebrow rose in response.

  “Well,” Wulf said, “I’m going to end up there anyway. Why prolong it? Do you think you can coddle and tempt me to want to go there? It will be no different a week from now, a month, a year. I don’t want any of it. And placating me with swimming and hot tubs and grand tours and meals is insulting! So we might as well get the real training over with.”

  “I see. So. You are calling the shots.”

  “What?”

  “I am the master here. I give you orders. Correct?”

  Wulf glowered.

  “What you appear to like—enjoy, perhaps—is part of my process in deciding what comes next in our relationship, and your training.”

  “Relationship?”

  “Yes. The one between owner and slave. It is a relationship, whether you like that word or not.”

  Wulf did not like it. Not at all. His lungs shook a little, but he inhaled deeper to feel a sharpness there where he held back his rage, forcing himself to not give over to emotions, or show weakness of any sort.

  “We go back to the training room when I say we go back to the training room, understand?” Locke said quietly.

  “I want to go now!” His voice came out louder than he’d intended. A few people at nearby tables, slaves and masters alike, raised their heads and glanced at them.

  “I think we are done here,” Locke said. He folded his napkin, placed it at the center of the tables, and stood. He reached out and took the end of Wulf’s leash in his grip, something he hadn’t done in two days.

  Wulf stood. After his outburst, although everyone had gone back to their food, he still felt as if they were all staring. At him. Feeling more exposed and naked than ever, he pinched his lips, stuck his chin out, and followed Locke out of the dining hall.

  For the first few steps, he couldn’t see. Not tears, but rage made him blind, though he blinked back sudden dampness he would never admit to.

  The collar bound him tight against his throat. He hadn’t noticed it the last couple of days. And that was another sign of his weakness. Had he gotten used to it so quickly? He needed to feel that collar. And remain aware of everything else that was happening around him. And that rage inside him. How could he have forgotten that?

  The answer: Locke had plied him with everything Wulf showed an interest in. He loved to swim. Locke was also correct about the art; Wulf loved the gardens, the sculptures, the beautiful live art that was unlike anything so grand he had ever seen. That people could make that out of their own bodies amazed him. That art had never seemed pornographic to him. Not quite a sin as he at first tried to tell himself. They were too beautiful, too still and serene to be a sin. He thought of them as majestic. Noble. Even dignified.

  Locke was tricking him with these things. Wulf needed to remember that.

  Wulf stumbled as Locke turned down a corridor different from all the ones they been down before.

  Panic made his chest send shooting pains into his stomach and shoulders. He saw the leash go taut. Saw Locke turn slowly, giving a slight yank as the collar tugged against the back of Wulf’s neck.

  Both Locke’s eyebrows shot up high on his forehead probably because he didn’t expect Wulf to fall.

  Wulf felt his mouth open. He put up his hands to brace against the air as if he could stop his fall, as if he could stop the impending pain. He heard his own inhale like a rush of wind foretelling a coming storm. Staccato-like, rattling.

  His knees slammed against the tile floor. Then—nothing. No collar pain. No shock.

  Wulf’s hair swung to the sides of his face, a golden curtain closing, opening, closing. His breath came out in a whoosh.

  He looked in front of him from where he now knelt to see a pair of black-clad legs. Tilting his head back, Wulf saw Locke standing calmly beside him, looking down with those so dark but so kind eyes, the muscles around them slightly bunched.

  “Hmm,” Locke said. “I must have forgotten to turn it on.”

  Wulf’s jaw went slack. He could kill Locke. Right now. No one would stop him. He wouldn’t get away with it, but he could accomplish that much.

  But Wulf did not make any move toward that despite the voices in his mind shouting in irate tones. He continued to kneel before Locke. Before that bleak, dark presence that never seemed fazed. Or hurried. Or worried.

  Locke’s plush pink lips parted. “Did you panic when the leash went taut?”

  Wulf’s gaze misted, but he did not look away.

  “Did you slip?”

  Finally Wulf answered. “I was not paying attention when you turned.”

  “Mind on the training room you so want to go to, eh?” Locke asked.

  Much to his humiliation, Wulf’s face heated. He knew Locke saw it, how his face must be so pink now, darkening with all his emotions exposed.

  All this, Locke and his calmness and his questions. A trick.

  Using all his strength to i
gnore his burning embarrassment, Wulf said, “Why would you turn my collar off?”

  Locke’s lips turned up, almost a smile but not. “It must have been one of the times we were in the pool. It’s not such a good combination in water. I turn it off every time we go swimming and into the hot pools. I simply forgot to turn it back on.”

  The last time they had gone swimming was yesterday morning. Wulf’s collar had been inert for twenty-four hours? He could not believe it.

  “It didn’t seem to matter. It doesn’t now. Or does it?” Locke asked. Always enigmatic, always so fucking calm.

  Wulf didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t help himself. He realized things had gotten very complicated in only a few days. He did not want to kill Locke, but he wanted to want to kill him. He wanted to hate this place and its sculpture gardens and placid people, but what he wanted, and how his mind and body reacted were in conflict.

  In so short a time, he had fallen so far. Had he always been so weak?

  Locke held out a hand, facing up.

  Wulf did not take it. He pushed down to the floor with one palm and stood up, perfectly balanced, all in order, body at least, if not quite his mind.

  “Well?” Locke asked.

  Wulf knew what he was asking. “You do not have to turn the collar back on. I won’t attack you.” It sounded inane. Of course Locke would not believe him, and he would not get that wish.

  “Well, maybe I’ll reduce it to low then,” Locke said.

  Wulf blinked at him. He couldn’t ask for worse. He wanted to. He wanted to be able to take it, take on any torture this place wanted to mete out to him. Instead, he nodded. “Low is fine.”

  “Good.” Locke smile and turned, leash in hand, slack.

  Outraged at himself, Wulf followed.

  Chapter Thirteen – Locke

  Locke watched Wulf try not to enjoy himself too much in the fresh water of the outdoor pool. But Wulf was liking it almost too much.

  White-striped sunlight patterned the patio in front of the pool. Locke had finished his laps and lay on a lounge chair soaking up the warmth of the day.