In Chains

by K. L. Thorne

  When he could all but feel her soft breath against his flesh, he shivered and a frustrated growl escaped him.

  “Sivelle, what are you trying to fucking do to me? I’m losing my mind here,” he grated.

  “You are?” she asked curiously.

  Haros nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a soft, chaste kiss press against the underside of his cock.

  “That’s a good start,” he groaned and let his head fall back against the bed.

  “Should I put it in my mouth?”

  “If you’re feeling brave enough.”

  “How much of it?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that before. My answer to that question will always be the more the fucking better, sweetheart.” Haros laughed breathlessly.

  “And then what?”

  Sivelle licked him tentatively and he hissed a breath through his teeth. Haros sank a fang into his tongue to keep from saying anything unnecessarily filthy that might frighten her off.

  “And then just… Do what feels natural. Suck it, kiss it, lick it – all good options. Just please put me out of my misery.”

  “Suck it? Like a toffee?” Sivelle asked brightly.

  “That’s cute, fuck. Yeah, just like that.”

  An embarrassingly needy grunt escaped him as Sivelle’s hot little mouth enveloped his head. She was hesitant, he could sense the tension within her, so he fought with all he had to keep still.

  “You, uh, don’t crunch your toffees, do you?” He grinned and swallowed thickly.

  Sivelle hummed a response around his member.

  “Good girl, keep your teeth away from it if you can. Don’t worry about it too much – I’m quite forgiving – but I definitely don’t want a bite taken out of me.”

  Sivelle released him from her mouth momentarily to clamber over his legs. Haros spread himself, allowing her to sit between his thighs, and his eyes rolled back as the princess eagerly wrapped her lips around him once more.

  It was far from the first time he had been fellated, but Sivelle’s cautious, timid licks and sucks were driving him crazy. Maybe it was just the slow build-up of flirtatious energy, or that Haros hadn’t had release for over a week, but Sivelle’s first blow job was quickly becoming the best he’d ever had.

  It was no good. He wasn’t going to be able to stay bound like this. He had to see her, had to run his hands through that gorgeous hair… Haros allowed his majicka to creep from him in tendrils, probing curiously at Mivian’s manacle enchantment. There had to be a way out of these things.

  The handmaiden’s spell was skilful, but he was better. Whilst Sivelle was absorbed in exploring him, gently running her tongue across every inch of his cock, Haros focussed his mind on unravelling the binding spell that held him in place.

  The princess pulled her mouth free briefly as she struggled to tame her long hair out of her way. Haros itched to hold it back for her.

  “Shit, that feels good,” he sighed as Sivelle grew steadily more confident and began to bob her head, sucking him with earnest.

  Just a little more…

  Haros wormed his majicka between the threads of the enchantment. The spell’s hold began to wane and he pushed his strength against it, pleased when he was able bring his arms forward a fraction.

  Almost there…

  The enchantment’s strands began to snap, one by one, until he was finally free. The demon hastily tugged his blindfold off and barely held back a moan at the sight that greeted him.

  Sivelle had her pretty lips wrapped around his shaft, with her eyes closed as she concentrated. Blissfully unaware that she was now being observed, she swirled her tongue around him inside her mouth with a sureness that surprised him.

  Before he had a chance to consider his actions, Haros reached forwards and smoothed his hands through the princess’s long, silky hair. He bundled the locks together, holding them away from her face.

  Sivelle froze and her beautiful pale eyes shot open. With her mouth still on him, she glanced up. There was a long pause before the princess burst into life and hastily scuttled away, curling in a self-conscious ball at the foot of the bed. She wrapped an arm around her breasts to shield herself.

  “How did you get free?!” she screeched.

  “Probably not the best time to tell you I know a fair few majicka enchantments. Mivian’s binding spell wasn’t the best I’ve ever come across. I bet she only ever uses it for hair-styling or some shit. It was nowhere near complex enough to hold a prisoner.”

  Sivelle let out a frustrated growl and pinned him with a cold glare.

  “Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t look at me like that. You were doing a stellar job. Why does me being unbound change anything? Don’t you trust me?”

  “No! I don’t!” Sivelle cried and clambered off the bed.

  Momentarily surprised by her outburst, Haros hesitated before darting forwards to grab her. He was too slow. The princess’s long, shapely leg slipped from his grasp.

  His eyes widened as he saw her snatch a small metal tin from the bedside table. The demon swiped for her again, but she jumped back out of his reach. Sivelle tipped a large pile of sleeping dust into her palm.

  “Don’t you dare—”

  But it was too late. Sivelle pursed her lips and blew the powder into his face. A dark, inky cloud enveloped his senses, and Haros felt his body slump down on the bed. His head hit the pillow, and just before the sleep enchantment took hold completely, he heard Sivelle sigh.

  “Would it kill you to just do as you’re told for once?”

  ∞∞∞

  A soft, warm breeze fluttered across his face and Haros returned to full consciousness with a start. He blinked, wincing against the blinding sun that speared through the large bedroom window.

  “You prick.”

  Haros rolled over and glanced up at Mivian. The handmaiden was stood over him with her arms folded and a frown on her face.

  As the prior day’s events came flooding back, the demon sat up hastily. He was still naked in Sivelle’s bed, but he was alone. Not at all how he had hoped to wake up.

  “Did you have to?” Mivian pinned him with a disapproving stare.

  “Where’s Sivelle?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but one of her father’s guards has taken her down to the dance chamber.”

  Haros grabbed the bedsheets and wrapped them around his hips to cover his nakedness before quickly getting to his feet. Mivian placed a hand against his chest.

  “You’re not invited.”

  “Fuck, she’s that angry?” Haros sat down dejectedly on the edge of the bed. A strange hollow sensation, that felt alarmingly like guilt, bubbled up in his chest.

  “Why wouldn’t she be? You betrayed her trust last night, dickhead,” Mivian grumbled and began fluffing the bed pillows with far more force than was strictly necessary.

  Haros leapt out of the handmaiden’s way as she launched a particularly brutal punch at the down-filled pillow beside him.

  “I don’t get what the big deal is. I wasn’t going to do anything she didn’t want me to do – I just wanted to touch her.”

  “You understand that by going against her wishes and freeing yourself, you did do something she didn’t want you to do?”

  There was a long pause as Haros allowed that thought to sink in.

  “Fuck. Yeah, I suppose so,” he mumbled and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Look, I know it’s hard to get your head around – Sivelle’s behaviour boggles even my mind on occasion – but she and her sisters have never spent time with anyone other than the pre-screened nobility King Lazuli allows them to meet. You’ve lived your entire life out in the real world whilst Sivelle has been trapped here, in a stone box.”

  “I understand that, bu—”

  Mivian held up a hand. “Let me finish. You have come into her life and expected her to change overnight to suit what we both know is ‘normal’ to any other adult woman. The princess is not normal, H
aros. She’s got no idea how romance and sex should be. Last night was your opportunity to show her how great it is, but instead—”

  “I got impatient.” Haros grimaced, embarrassment flaring as he realised what a monumental mistake he had made.

  “I’m sure most men would have reacted the same way, but if you want to pursue Sivelle, you’re going to need to avoid being ‘most men’,” Mivian said, her ire finally dissolving into a sympathetic smile. She walked across the bedroom into Sivelle’s wardrobe, returning shortly after with a folded pile of Haros’s clothes.

  The demon obediently took the offering, still holding the bedsheets in place with one hand. His stomach churned with guilt and shame.

  “Get dressed and then get out of my way. I’ve got cleaning to do.” Mivian shooed him away with her hands.

  “Should I go and find her? Will she even want me to?”

  “Probably not, but I would advise you try. I hope you’re as good at grovelling as you apparently are at cunnilingus.”

  Haros froze and raised his eyebrows.

  Mivian tittered. “She didn’t dislike everything that happened last night, Haros. You can still salvage this if you want to, but you’re going to have to work twice as hard.”

  “I have an idea that might do the trick.” Haros nodded and rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin thoughtfully.

  “Well go on then, get!” Mivian grinned and shoved him away. “Before she swears off sex forever.”

  Haros hurriedly stumbled into the bath chamber to get dressed, stepping into his leather breeches and buttoning his shirt up. He strode back into the bedroom to tug his boots on.

  At the door, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, nervous.

  “Good luck, Haros. I have a feeling you might need it,” Mivian crowed with a cheeky grin before turning her attention back to stripping the sheets from the bed.

  Haros barrelled out into the corridor and hurriedly trotted down the stairwell into the main reception area. He hesitated, loitering in the doorway of the dance hall.

  There was no music, but Haros could hear the tell-tale thuds of Sivelle’s weight against the wooden floorboards. He stood just inside the room and leant his shoulder against the doorframe.

  The princess didn’t notice him, her concentration locked on her dancing practice. Haros recognised the move she was feverishly repeating – a fouetté. It was one she had struggled with in Liza’s last dance lesson.

  Sivelle gasped as she lost her balance and stumbled forwards out of position. She was sweating and her cheeks were pink with exertion. Haros wondered just how long she had been practising.

  The princess corrected her posture, her wings propped open to balance herself, and attempted to start the move again. This time she performed only one successful turn before losing her footing. She was tiring – Haros had watched her dancing often enough to recognise the signs. Her strong thigh shook with effort as she dutifully placed her body back into a starting position.

  Haros shook himself and strode determinedly into the room. Sivelle faltered as she caught sight of him in the large mirror and her knee buckled beneath her. Though her wings opened to save her, it was too late. She fell down with a heavy thud onto the hard, wooden floor.

  Both Haros and the faerie guard that had accompanied her leapt forwards to help the princess to her feet, but Sivelle raised a hand.

  “Don’t!” she called out, hefting herself back up. “I’m fine.”

  Haros swallowed, silently willing the princess to look up and meet his eye, but she turned away and stared frostily at her own reflection.

  “Get out of here,” he hissed at the guard as he approached.

  Though the older faerie man bristled and shot Haros a filthy look, he gave a curt nod before taking his leave.

  The demon sat on the wooden chair in the corner of the room, as he usually did when Sivelle came down to practise. He leant forwards with his forearms on his knees, not taking his eyes off the girl for a second.

  Sivelle failed to perform a successful fouetté a further three times. When her fourth attempt grew almost aggressive and she slipped, narrowly avoiding falling again, Haros cleared his throat.

  “I think you should stop, before you hurt yourself.”

  “I don’t care what you think.” Sivelle finally looked at him, her eyes sharp and angry. She gritted her teeth and forced her body back into position.

  Haros got to his feet and marched towards her, his heavy footfalls echoing around the large dance hall. Sivelle didn’t see him approaching and startled when he reached out for her.

  “Don’t!” she warned and jerked away.

  “Just listen to me for a minute. I—” Haros grasped her arm gently, but the princess pulled herself free.

  She turned from him and stormed off across the room.

  “I’m sorry, Sivelle,” he said. Echoes of his apology rang back at him from the cold stone walls.

  The princess froze. She stood still for a long moment before wrapping her arms around herself. She still had her back to him, but Haros realised she meant to hear him out.

  “I’m sorry I pushed too far. It wasn’t my intention to upset you – quite the opposite, in fact. I didn’t realise how important last night was to you. I feel terrible about it,” he sighed.

  Sivelle shifted from foot to foot and twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger. Haros held his breath.

  “You should feel terrible,” she mumbled, sitting herself down and unlacing her ballet slippers. Her blue irises flickered to him from the corner of her eye.

  “I definitely deserve to.” Haros shot her an apologetic grin and slowly walked towards her.

  Sivelle got up, wincing as she flexed her sore, battered feet, and held out her slippers for him to carry. He took them without complaint.

  “Come on, I want to go back,” she instructed haughtily.

  They walked in silence to her chambers. As they entered the room, Sivelle went straight into her bath chamber without a backwards glance. Mivian trotted behind, but shot Haros a quizzical look over her shoulder.

  The demon gave a half shrug and a defeated smile before sighing deeply and placing the princess’s ballet slippers back into their drawer in her wardrobe.

  It was going to take more than an apology to amend this situation, clearly.

  Leaving the girls to the hushed discussion they were having behind the closed door of the washroom, Haros silently let himself back out into the corridor.

  He made a bee-line for the kitchens, relieved to see Dorian. The man was expertly plucking a large bird-like creature.

  “Haros? What can I do for you?” The chef looked up.

  “I’ve got two questions and I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me.” Haros rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Go on…” Dorian eyed him with interest.

  “One: is there anywhere in Awrelwood that I could buy a raven? And two: can I borrow some money?”

  ∞∞∞

  Haros tucked the hood of his cape up over his head as he strode beneath the large metal portcullis into the streets of Awrelwood. He feigned confidence, marching on as if he made this walk to and from the castle every day. He was being watched. King’s Guard sentries looked on from the ramparts above.

  He breathed a sigh of relief as he passed through undetected. The city streets were deserted, no doubt due to the weather.

  Haros turned into a narrow side alley and pulled free the map Dorian had sketched for him. There was a shop in the Majicka Quarter called Fur and Feathers; an emporium for unusual creatures from across Hestaesia.

  The chef hadn’t been sure if they had any ravens for sale, especially those who were trained to deliver messages to Banesteppe, but if there was a shop in Awrelwood that did, Fur and Feathers was it.

  Haros crunched through the snow, glancing between his map and the deserted cobbled streets to get his bearings. He held his breath as another cloaked figure turned onto the same street and approached. The faerie strode p
ast him, oblivious, and Haros tucked his hood self-consciously over his horns.

  He carefully climbed down a set of uneven, icy stone stairs and through a dark tunnel leading into the Majicka Quarter. He could smell the familiar scent of coal dust and molten iron – there was a blacksmith’s forge nearby. The faint hammering of metal rang out from inside a nearby hut, drawing fond memories to the fore of Haros’s mind.

  He had been a difficult lad growing up and would be the first to admit it. He had run his poor mother and father ragged.

  At thirteen, the height of disobedience, Haros had been sent away to learn some real discipline and grit with the Black Bones – a group of warriors who headed up one of Banesteppe’s most brutal and fearsome battle schools.

  To say Haros had learnt to behave himself the hard way was an understatement. His mentor, Ox, had been the toughest of all of the tutors. Haros had often found himself paying a very unpleasant form of penance for his smart-ass comments.

  Whenever they’d had a spare afternoon, he and the other young demon men that had been initiated with the Black Bones had loitered around the blacksmith’s forge, posturing and boasting about whose sword was the best.

  He made a mental note to call in to the blacksmith’s shop on his way back to the castle, if he had time.

  A signpost creaked in the blustering wind and he squinted up at it. ‘Fur & Feathers’ was carved into the wood, which was cracked and bleached with age. The picture of a small rodent was painted beneath. Haros shouldered the door open.

  Inside, the shop was incredibly humid and cramped, every surface piled high with cages and tanks containing all manner of weird and wonderful animals. The demon shut the door behind himself and a strange owl-like creature glared at him from inside a nearby enclosure, flapping its large wings menacingly.

  Haros pulled his gloves off, his attention caught by a particularly beautiful juvenile dragonette – small, female dragons that were often kept as pets or familiars in Banesteppe.

  Dragonettes came in a vast array of colours. This one was a deep, rich sapphire. Her glossy scales shimmered, almost purple in some lights.