Love and the Stubborn

by Xenia Melzer

  Renaldo kissed him for a long, long time before finally dealing with Casto’s clothes. He opened Casto’s trousers and ripped his shirt.

  Judging from the violence Renaldo used, he had to be beyond furious. It reminded Casto of the time when the Barbarian thought Casto had betrayed him. The mere memory sent shivers down Casto’s spine. There was no way he would subject himself to the wrath of his lover again.

  Without warning, he kicked Renaldo in the place where it would hurt most. When Renaldo toppled over, Casto grabbed his hair and rammed his knee into Renaldo’s face. The ugly, crunching sound when Renaldo’s nose broke was like a balm to Casto’s confused mind.

  And that could have been that, had Renaldo not been a god. He recovered a lot faster than Casto had anticipated, and his retribution was swift. The Angel of Death closed his fists around Casto’s upper arms, forced him against the wall, and lifted him. “How dare you raise your hand against me, slave! How dare you!”

  “And what was it you were doing, Barbarian? It sure as hell was no loving welcome!”

  “How I welcome you is entirely up to me, you insolent little worm! You really need to be taught some manners!”

  “Ha! A barbarian teaching manners? Don’t make me laugh!”

  Renaldo was about to do something he would surely regret later, when a crackling sound made him spin around. Both lounges, the thick carpet, and one of his tapestries were on fire. Renaldo let go of Casto so quickly that Casto lost his balance, but the warrior didn’t care. He had his hands full with reining in the inferno that was threatening his home. Once the flames were doused, he turned back to his unpredictable, infuriating lover.

  Casto’s piercing gaze made clear he wouldn’t bend, wouldn’t give in. It drove the demigod crazy. The young man was oblivious to how much he was trying Renaldo’s patience; he didn’t understand how hard Renaldo had to hold back not to subjugate him. Knowing it wouldn’t be of any help no matter how much violence he used didn’t improve his mood.

  “What’s gotten into you, Barbarian? I thought we had left this kind of behavior behind?”

  As rational as the words sounded, the tone was vitriolic. Renaldo saw no reason to budge either. “I could ask you the same thing, Prince Castolus. You promised not to run from me anymore!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “As if you didn’t know! Where have you been this afternoon?”

  Casto’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me this is about my ride with Lys?”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “So it is about the ride.” Casto sighed. His anger had cooled considerably. “I didn’t try to run from you—you should know that. I just needed to calm down, nothing more.”

  “You left the Valley. Without telling me. After we had a fight. What was I supposed to think?”

  “We have fights all the time! Regarding that, I should already be gone for good, but I’m still here.”

  Renaldo closed his eyes. He knew Casto was right, but the beast inside him was still not placated. “This may be the case, but you still have no right to leave the Valley without my permission. I won’t allow you to go where I can’t protect you. You’re mine, I can’t lose you!”

  “I’m not your possession! I never was and never will be! If you want me to stay, you better not try to punish me with your body again. You know damn well how hard it is for me to yield to you. Forcing me doesn’t make it easier.”

  The last sentence had been said with a little less venom, and Renaldo finally realized how close he’d been to losing his heart for the second time. Determinedly he reined in the beast and took the peace offering. “I’m sorry, Casto. You’re right, it wasn’t fair of me to try and discipline you like that. But I didn’t know what you were about to do. I was blinded by rage and fear. The mere thought of having to be without you….”

  Casto smiled crookedly. Renaldo’s admission made him feel generous. “In this regard, you’re one lucky barbarian, because being without you is the one thing I’d never be able to stand.”

  “That’s a relief.” Renaldo sighed. “You know, I’d very much prefer it if we spent more time in harmony.” Gently he caressed Casto’s face with his thumb, anxious to keep the fragile peace. “I want to lie naked on the furs in front of the chimney with you, drinking wine, perhaps reading a good book. Bedding you whenever I feel the urge, loving you as you deserve.”

  Casto leaned into the touch like a content cat. He was far too exhausted to keep up the fight. “That sounds fantastic. But I don’t mind when you take me roughly either, when you let me feel that I’m a god’s lover. I just don’t want to be a toy or a lapdog. I couldn’t bear that.”

  Renaldo’s expression turned serious. “I swear to you, my own, you’re neither. Even though I don’t always act like it, I do respect you and mind your will.”

  Casto allowed his lover to embrace him. He returned Renaldo’s kiss with passion, willing to reconcile with his difficult mate despite his exhaustion, but wistful because the bed seemed to be the only place where they really got along.

  When Renaldo laid him down on the furs, his affection showing openly in his angelic features, Casto touched his cheek. “Who am I, Barbarian?”

  Renaldo smiled, full of love; his voice was firm, with only a hint of regret. “You are my life, my love, my heart.” He hesitated for a moment. “And my possession. Nothing will ever change that.”

  “Are you going to take good care of me?”

  “How can you even ask that? Of course I’ll always be there for you. Now shut up and kiss me. I’ve got to make up for a mistake.”

  WHEN CASTO finally fell asleep, Renaldo returned to the main room to assess the damage the fire had caused.

  Despite the losses, he was thrilled, for it hadn’t been his doing. In his anger, his heart had drawn the power from him without even noticing it. Under normal circumstances, Casto shouldn’t have been able to do that before being confirmed by Ana-Isara, but since everything about his lover was unusual, he wasn’t really surprised. They both had been highly agitated, and it was entirely plausible that Casto had managed to tap into Renaldo’s powers and unleash them—the last proof Renaldo needed, and he was more than relieved about the assurance.

  Casto was his heart, his destined mate.

  All that was left to do was marry him, and thus bind them for the rest of eternity.

  5. Presents

  “SIC, DO you have a moment? I need your help.”

  Sic put aside the leather strap he was repairing. He smiled happily. “Of course, Casto. It’s an honor to be of help to you.”

  “Good, then come. This is private business.”

  Casto led Sic along into one of the tack rooms and closed the door. Then he unfurled the two sheets of paper on which he’d sketched his present for Renaldo. “Please tell me honestly what you think about this.”

  Sic leaned curiously over the sketches. His eyes went wide when he realized what he was staring at. Drawn on the paper, with black coal, was a curved R flanked on both sides by a half-spread wing. There was only one explanation for the sketch, and Sic didn’t like it. He frowned. “What exactly is this, Casto? These are sketches for a branding iron. Why on earth would you need something so horrible?”

  “That’s going to be my present for the Barbarian. At the wedding. You know?”

  Sic looked confused. “What would the Angel of Death want with a branding iron?”

  Casto hesitated. When he started explaining, he sounded defiant. “At the wedding I don’t want to be a supplicant to the Barbarian. That’s completely out of the question. But in order to achieve that, I have to give him something valuable, and the only thing I own is myself.”

  It took a moment, but when Sic understood what Casto was implying, he staggered back. “That’s madness, Casto! Do you have the slightest idea what kind of pain you’re asking for? A burning iron on your skin, that’s… that’s… completely and utterly crazy! And as big as this one!”

  “The size
is perfect. And I really don’t mind the pain. Don’t you understand, Sic? I have to do this. I’ve lost control. I’m like a ball some kids randomly toss at each other. This is for me, for my confidence. I’m not going to be a supplicant to my groom-to-be. I simply can’t do that.”

  Sic looked aghast. “You don’t want to appear weak, and that’s why you’re letting yourself be branded like an ox at the market?”

  “Believe me, I’ve really thought this through. It’s the only possibility. Here in the Valley, I have neither power nor money. I may have been freed, but for all intents and purposes, I’m still at the Barbarian’s mercy. All that’s been left to me is myself. That’s why I’m giving away the only thing I have—myself. Luckily, I’m also my most precious possession. I simply have to do this.”

  Sic listened in surprise to the desperate undertone in his friend’s voice. He suddenly realized how little he knew about him.

  Sic had been a slave all his life. For him, it was only natural that everybody in the Pack was richer and more influential than him. Therefore, he was having problems understanding Casto’s dilemma. “But he’s your master. Even more, he’s your god. Of course you’re a supplicant to him. He’s Lord Renaldo, the Angel of Death, master of this world. It’s your destiny to be his possession.”

  Casto’s eyes flashed dangerously. “God or not, I’m not a mere slave, I’m a prince. There’s no way I’m going to be humiliated like that.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know? I thought that news had already gotten around in the Valley.”

  “No, it hasn’t. Like everybody else, I assumed you’re a rich merchant’s son.”

  Casto shook his head. “No. I’m Prince Castolus of Ummana, the rightful heir to the Twin Cities.” He smiled gently to calm Sic. “And future husband to a conceited, arrogant barbarian god who is suffocating me with his dominance.”

  “I’ll never understand how you can talk so irreverently about your lord. Don’t you fear his wrath?”

  Casto thought about that for a moment. “No, not really. I’ve never been truly afraid of Renaldo. Not even when he thought I was cheating on him. I was surprised because the beating was so savage, but I was never afraid.”

  Sic sighed. “I don’t know whether I admire your guts or mourn your stupidity. After all, we’re talking about a god here. Still you act as stubbornly as if he were no more than a nuisance you can brush off with a wave of your hand.”

  Casto ignored that. “No matter what he is to me, the question remains whether these sketches are any good?”

  “So, you’re determined to see this foolishness through?” Casto nodded. Sic rolled his eyes. “Well….” He examined the sketches. “The basic idea is not too bad, but if you want to use it as a reference, you have to change some details. Do you happen to have some coal?”

  “I had hoped you’d say something like that, my friend.” With a relieved grin, Casto handed him a piece of coal. “I have to get back to work, but I’ll see to it that you’re not disturbed. And Sic? Not a word to anybody.”

  Musingly, Sic stared after his friend when he left the tack room. It had barely surprised him to find out that Casto was a prince; somehow he had always suspected that behind the perfect façade was more than a mere merchant’s son. He could even understand why his friend was so eager to give Renaldo such a precious, though unbelievably stupid, present.

  He hoped Prince Castolus’s stubbornness wouldn’t get him into serious trouble one day.

  IN THE late afternoon, Casto escorted his friend back to the smithy, the improved sketches under his arm.

  Noran raised his brows in question but left it to Casto to address him first. He couldn’t deny himself that small triumph, not after everything that had happened.

  Casto didn’t waste time mincing words but cut right to the core, knowing full well that the master smith didn’t view him favorably and would surely try to refuse his request. “I have here sketches for a branding iron, Lord Noran. I want it to be a gift when the Barbarian takes me as his mate. Sic has already explained to me that this work is not very complicated but will be time-consuming. I want to ask you to take a look at the sketches and tell me if eight pieces of gold are enough to pay for it.”

  Noran stared at Casto with deep suspicion. He had expected something, but not this request for help—if it was one. Casto’s tone was as polite as always, but Noran had learned to listen to the undertones, and those were in an entirely different melody. Casto’s choice of words made clear that he wasn’t expecting to be refused.

  Casto wasn’t asking him as a member of the Pack, not even as a customer, but as the future mate of his god, and to top it off, it was also something that would please said god. Technically there was no way for Noran to refuse the request.

  He extended a hand. “Show me the sketches.”

  Wordlessly, Casto handed him two rolls of paper, and Noran opened them on one of his worktables. He took a quick glance and saw immediately that Sic had been right: it wasn’t complicated work, just time-consuming. Eight pieces of gold was a suitable price, but because Casto had outmaneuvered him before, Noran decided to make him wait. “The sketches are good, I can work with them, but I want to look at them closely before I make a decision. Is it okay if I give you my answer tomorrow?”

  Gracefully, Casto bowed to him. “Of course, Lord Noran. I can wait. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

  Noran nodded benignly. “I wish you the same, Casto.”

  Casto said a friendly good-bye to Sic, who’d been demurely kneeling next to an anvil during the entire conversation.

  When Casto was gone, Noran turned to his slave. “Did you know about this nonsense?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to talk him out of it?”

  “He showed me the sketches only today and asked me to correct them. I had to obey him.”

  Noran watched the traitor angrily. “But it didn’t really faze you, did it? Although you had to know what I’d think about it. But that’s immaterial, because I won’t do it. Eight pieces of gold aren’t enough to pay a master’s work.”

  Sic looked up in alarm. “But he wants it to be a wedding gift.”

  Noran smiled cruelly now that he’d managed to trap his slave. The evening would be more entertaining than he’d anticipated. Since he couldn’t attack Casto directly, he would use this worthless worm to get back at him.

  “You seem to be very eager to get Casto that iron. Of course, there’s always the possibility to delegate the task. Unfortunately all my apprentices are booked solid. The only one remaining is you.” Satisfied, Noran watched as hope and suspicion fought for dominance in Sic’s features. “For that, I’d have to reverse your punishment of not touching any smith tools for the time being. I’m asking myself whether that’s a good idea or not.”

  The hope vanished from Sic’s face, eliminated by despair. “What’s the price I have to pay, Master?”

  The complete hopelessness in his slave’s voice made Noran complacent. Deep inside, he knew that he’d lost his footing and was sliding endlessly downward. But another, grimmer part of him accepted the darkness, even welcomed it because it offered oblivion. His sins, no matter how obnoxious, couldn’t reach him there. He was free to do whatever he pleased.

  “Well, you’re going to make a branding iron. Back in the old days, I was a great friend of this noble tradition. It’s somewhat poetic to burn a slave’s degraded standing into his flesh, don’t you think?”

  Sic only stared at him silently, full of despair. Noran sighed theatrically, then went to one of the cabinets at the wall and selected the two irons he had used to mark his slaves when it had still been practiced in the Valley. He shoved them in Sic’s face.

  “I’m feeling merciful today. You can choose which one you want.” When Sic reached for the smaller one, Noran shook his head. “But you should keep in mind that this isn’t only about being allowed to do Casto a favor. You su
rely want to get a chance to take part in the ceremony. Or am I wrong?”

  Sic’s hand froze, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Trembling he chose the bigger iron, which showed an N inside a circle.

  Noran grinned triumphantly. “You’re obviously not as dumb as I always thought. Undress and lie down on the table, on your back. Bend your legs and spread them.”

  Noran shoved the iron into the glowing embers of the forge. He watched as Sic obeyed. Finally he pulled the red-hot iron out of the embers and approached Sic.

  “If I were you, I’d concentrate on not moving. I’m going to brand you on the inside of your right upper thigh, and we don’t want you to get hurt in other places, do we?”

  Sic nodded, his gaze glued to the gleaming steel. Noran stepped forward and brought the iron perilously close to Sic’s inner thigh, and Sic screwed his eyes shut. When the stench of singed body hair assaulted his nose, Noran yanked the iron back and tossed it to the ground. He watched as Sic slowly opened his eyes again, utter disbelief written across his features. “Master?”

  The smile Noran flashed Sic was devoid of feeling. “I may be a cruel and strict bastard, but I’m not that much of a sadist.”

  When he saw the guilt shining in Sic’s eyes, Noran knew he had not only assessed Sic’s feelings right but had also managed to twist the young man even more. Now Sic thought Noran still had some last shreds of humanity inside his soul when nothing could be further from the truth. Noran’s deception was perfect. And if he kept on telling himself so, he might even believe it.

  Sic got up from the table and reached for Noran’s belt. There was still a look of despair in his face, but also a glimpse of hope. Maybe his master would forgive him one day.

  After his first climax, Noran musingly traced his victim’s back. “Your wounds are almost healed,” he murmured happily. “You’re surely delighted to hear that I can start beating you with the strap in a day or two. I guess you can’t wait to accept your just punishment.”