Prince's Master (Calluvia's Royalty 4)

Eridan just nodded, not knowing what to say.

For a while, they stood at the bar without talking, nursing their drinks. Finally, Eridan’s curiosity got the better of him. “Did your Master really take advantage of you?”

Kyran’s jaw worked. “No, he didn’t. That’s bullshit. Have you met my Master? He’s the gentlest, kindest man in this whole fucked-up place. He wouldn’t have been able to take advantage of me even if he wanted to: he’s half my weight. And no, he didn’t fucking groom me, either. If anything, it was I who took advantage of him.”

Eridan looked at him with interest. “What do you mean?”

Kyran heaved a sigh. “I literally climbed naked into his bed and put his cock into my mouth while he was sleeping. If there was coercing, it was done by me. But the Chapter doesn’t give a shit about the truth when they have their own agenda. My Master annoyed too many of those assholes with his reforms.” There was fondness in his voice, and annoyance too, as Kyran launched into a tirade about his ridiculously idealistic Master, but Eridan could barely hear what he was talking about.

I climbed naked into his bed and put his cock into my mouth while he was sleeping.

The mere idea… was outrageous. Outrageous and wrong. Outrageous and wrong and arousing.

If he dared to do that to Castien, his Master might literally kill him.

“It’s more than just idle curiosity, isn’t it?” Kyran said, probably noticing the speculative look in his eyes.

Eridan hesitated. But Kyran was probably the last person who would report him to the Chapter, all things considered. “I want to sleep with my Master, too. But he’s being an ass.”

Kyran didn’t look surprised. “Who’s your Master?” he said, sipping his drink.

“Castien Idhron.”

Kyran choked on his drink and started coughing. “Seriously?” he said at last, still sounding strangled.

Eridan was a little amused by that reaction. “You know him?”

“I know of him,” Kyran corrected. “Who doesn’t?”

Eridan had to concede the point.

“Don’t even think about trying to do what I did with Master Idhron,” Kyran said, grimacing. “Are you crazy? My Master forgave me because he’s a nice man, a very kind man, too kind for his own good. Master Idhron is—definitely not one.”

Eridan nearly laughed. He definitely wouldn’t call his Master a kind man. Eridan wasn’t sure Castien even understood the concept of kindness.

“You’re right,” he mumbled, but the idea stuck in his head, refusing to go away.

He was still thinking about it as he left the club hours later, his virginity very much intact, to his annoyance. It wasn’t for lack of offers. He had flirted with five different guys, but not a single one of them had spiked his interest—or his libido.

The few older men that he found physically appealing had taken one look at his thaal and quickly distanced themselves from him, clearly recognizing Castien’s telepathic mark. It was beyond annoying.

So after swapping communicator numbers with Kyran, Eridan left, deciding to take a walk.

He wandered the streets of the town, his mind racing. Try as he might, he couldn’t quite let go of the idea Kyran had put into his head.

He was so busy arguing with himself about why he shouldn’t do it that it took him a while to notice that he was being followed.

Eridan tensed, but before he could decide what to do, a gruff voice said, “Halt.”

He stopped and slowly turned around.

Eridan’s stomach sank when he saw the helmeted face of a guard. The Order’s guards were a cross between security and law enforcement. More importantly, they were servants of the Grandmaster.

“His Grace is summoning you,” the guard said.

Glancing behind him, Eridan saw another guard.

“Now?” he said, stalling. “It’s the middle of the night. I will go to him in the morning—”

“Now,” the guard cut him off, grabbing his arm.

Eridan shot the hand on his arm a withering look. “Let go of me,” he said coldly. “I can walk.”

After a moment, the guard let go but pushed him toward the nearest t-chamber. The other guard took point. Reluctantly, Eridan followed him, dread gathering in the pit of his stomach.

What could Tethru possibly want from him in the middle of the night? Eridan had a few ideas, and none of them were particularly comforting.

By the time they arrived at the castle, he was a wreck of nerves, his palms sweating and his heart beating fast.

“Master,” he called out mentally, but the bond remained quiet. He was probably too far from Castien’s mansion for the bond to work as a means of communication.

He was marched through the Grandmaster’s personal wing of the castle. Finally, the guards pushed him into a room Eridan had never been in.

He had expected that he would be brought to Tethru’s personal office. But it was a bedroom.

Eridan’s stomach plummeted.

“Leave us,” Tethru said, his gaze on Eridan.