Playing With Fire by Sean Michael Read Free Book Online Page A

between two tall trees. He is not to be permanently marked, but my loyal ones can make whatever use they might find in him.” He stopped, sneering. “He has been found lacking.”
    “Monster!” shouted Wintras, anything further gagged by one big hand.
    Zujan waved his hand. “Bring it back when it learns manners.”
    Wintras was dragged off, fighting and kicking.
    Tyr frowned and stroked his leg. “Let me stay, Master?”
    He looked down, fingers sliding through the wild curls. “Yes, sweet one. You have pleased me well.”
    “What can I do for you, Master? To make up for that ungrateful beast?”
    “Warm me, Tyr. Show me your talents.”
    “Oh, yes, Master. Thank you.” Tyr’s fingers slid over his skin, soft and teasing, sensitizing his flesh. He pulled the heavy blankets around them, allowing Tyr to worship him.
    As was his due.
    * * * *
    Wintras’ arms ached. He was sunburned and bug-bitten. He’d been violated. His feet were bloodied from being dragged out to the orchard. But worst of all?
    He was bored.
    He’d been used at sun-up and again at the next sun-up, and otherwise left to hang between the trees, not even a guard to rail against. It was too uncomfortable to sleep, and the sun made his head fuzzy, burned the top of his shoulders, his backside.
    It was well past sunset, the world gone black but for the stars in the sky before they came for him again, torches slowly drawing nearer. It was the guards though, rather than the farmers, and the ropes were cut, leaving him to fall to the ground in an undignified heap.
    He was given a not-entirely gentle nudge by a booted toe. “Come now. We’ve orders to bathe you and present you to his Lordship.”
    “I thought he was done with me.” His voice was croaky and far more plaintive than he’d wanted.
    “If he is, then you’ll come down to the guards’ quarters and service us until someone remembers you’re alive.”
    “I am a prince!” Wintras managed a little more life in that one, though his refrain was growing old, even to his own ears.
    Another guard chuckled. “Nothing like a ride on a royal.”
    He gasped. Zujan had trained his men to be as perverted as he himself was!
    “Come on then. We don’t have all night, and if his Lordship has reason to punish us, you’ll pay.”
    He snorted, their threats meant little to him—he’d been forced to give his word to acquiesce to Zujan, after having been kept against his will, and even submitting had not been enough for the little dictator. He had been used by the farmers at Zujan’s command. Nonetheless, he stumbled along, his feet stinging, muscles cramping.
    He was pushed into a tub filled with cold water, the guards scrubbing him roughly then bent over, the tip of a wineskin pressed inside his body, the wine flooding him. “To freshen you up.”
    It made him gasp and writhe, the wine, the water, the soap, all burning cruelly against his sun-ravaged, cut and abused flesh. He would not cry out though, would not give them that satisfaction. The wine made his heart pound, made the world spin a bit, and he was lifted up, a rough blanket thrown around him. His teeth were chattering, and he was colder now than he’d been overnight in the orchard.
    He was brought to Zujan; the man sitting in his huge throne, furs piled about him. “Did you enjoy the orchards, pet?”
    His furs. The furs of his people, offered to Zujan for no more than the hope of lenience. It sickened him. “Not the worst nights I’ve suffered under your hospitality.”
    “Oh? Shall I make that your permanent post then?” One black eyebrow arched.
    Wintras’ pride warred with the absolute boredom he’d experienced in only two days of hanging there. The pains to his body he could withstand, whatever they might be. It occurred to him that hanging there was hardly submitting to Zujan’s will, which was what he had promised. And while he saw no need to enjoy his time as Zujan’s slave, he was dishonoring his name if he forced the