Page 34 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

Baz’s eyes narrowed. He was certainly no doormat, and the energy in the room tilted dangerously toward an argument. He rose to his feet, tilted his chin…and then he bowed his head, hands going behind his back. He wasn’t kneeling, but the averted gaze and the posture did manage to ease the tension into something less volatile.

Bazyli knew him well. Emile drew in an unsteady breath, taking in Baz’s tattoo, hoping the sight would calm him, settle his dominance. Instead, it just drove home what he might have lost, and how much he didn’t want to go back to the person he’d been, the man who’d lost sight of himself so easily when grief fogged up his heart.

“I may be a vine that has flowered once more, my hawk, but I still have my thorns,” Emile said softly.

“I know,” Baz said, just as quietly. “I have mine, too.”

The only sound in the room was the waterfall, but that combined with the sweet scent of flowers did ease Emile’s ire somewhat. “It is not only that I am the king, Bazyli. I’m also your husband and more than that, I am your dominant. You wear my collar. It isn’t an act or a pretense, and I thought you understood what it meant.”

“I do,” Bazyli insisted, glancing up at him, holding his gaze and refusing to look away, which many dominant, wealthy, powerful nobles couldn’t even manage when Emile was in a dangerous mood. “It has nothing to do with not trusting you could have helped me. I panicked. I was used to protecting Hektor all on my own for years.” His mouth twisted. “Except twice, once in Mislia with the hunt, and once from Iason, perhaps the only two times it really mattered. I couldn’t fail again.”

“Those were not your fault or Hektor’s, Bazyli. I would imagine Hektor would agree with me were he here and not, one assumes, being turned over his own dominant’s knee.”

Bazyli lowered his gaze again. “I know.”

“You helped him as much as you could, given you had very little power in Mislia and were in hiding when you first came here. I understand you love your brother. I wanted to do the same thing, when Adrien took himself to Mislia on a thrice-damned cursed magical rowboat. But these kidnappers were not there for your brother, they were there for you, Bazyli.”

“Yes Hektor filled me in on that.” Baz sighed. “I didn’t think I would be a target for ransom. I’m an apothecary.”

“You are not an apothecary, you are the king’s collared submissive,” Emile bit out, anger flaring hot again. “I think it’s time you remember that. You’re going to bathe off the filth of that ship, and thenI’ll see to it that you apologize to me.”

Bazyli slipped into the bath, and Emile turned on his heel before the sight of his handsome, naked, wet submissive made him forget why he was so angry. Because he wouldn’t forget, he would just push it down, somewhere, and that was a habit he was actively trying to break. It had nearly cost him his relationship with his son, who still looked surprised when Emile hugged him. He could never fix that, but he could stop letting his own emotions hide away where they would eventually return to overwhelm him.

“I wasn’t trying to leave you,” Bazyli said, from the bath. “You must know that, at least.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the water splashing behind him as Bazyli washed up. Emile realized his hands were fisted, and he needed a moment before he could turn around to face Baz. “Did I say that I thought you were?”

“No, but I want to make it clear. It was fear for my brother, and I know it upset you. But I wouldn’t do that. Leave, of my own accord.” His voice was soft. “No ship could carry me anywhere I’d rather be, unless you were on it.”

Emile inclined his head. “I believe you, my hawk. I also know that won’t matter much, if someone tries to take you away from me, and if you make it so fucking easy for them to do it.” Emile closed his eyes, tried to pull his temper together. “Don’t bother dressing when you’re done. Braid your hair and come into the bedroom. We’ll take care of this there, and then we’ll be done with it.”

Emile went back into his bedroom, dragging his fingers through his messy hair. He felt wild and restless, still simmering with possessiveness and anger, and he knew the only thing that would help was having Baz submit to him, to being his.

As Bazyli finished up in the bath, Emile got to work looking for exactly what he needed, to make sure that when Bazyli apologized, he meant it.

* * *

It was an odd thing, being cherished.

Baz knew he was luckier than some. He had Ambrosia, who treated him like a mother cat would treat a hapless kitten, and Hektor, who very much was a hapless kitten. He genuinely couldn’t remember not being loved. But it was one thing for Hektor and Ambrosia to love him, and another to step into the heart of someone new, with their own long history. Loving took effort, for Baz and Emile. It wasn’t some flighty, delicate thing that poets like Emile’s mother’s submissive liked to drone about. It scared Baz sometimes, to know that Emile cared enough to actually put in the effort.

He was struggling now, Baz knew that. In another circumstance, Baz could simply serve him tea very poorly and pretend the flogger was a punishment, then wait until they were both quiet and sated to talk. But when he stepped into the bedroom, there was tension in Emile’s shoulders that made Baz’s hands itch to smooth it away, and his jaw was clenched too tight.

Baz knelt, and watched in silence as Emile slowly gathered himself. The tension didn’t entirely disappear, but he worked his jaw as he ran his fingers along the bed, where he’d laid out a number of instruments Baz could just see from his position.

When Emile lifted a pair of clamps, Baz almost smiled and asked, are you certain you’re displeased with me, after all? Then he caught a glimpse of Emile’s expression and straightened slightly, hands behind his back.

“Ah.” Emile let the clamps dangle from his fingers as he walked. They caught the light as they swayed, and while Emile’s voice had a familiar, mocking edge, he wasn’t smiling. “Now you begin to understand.”

Baz met his gaze once more before looking down—a challenge, perhaps, to another dominant, but he knew Emile took his meaning when Emile sighed and lifted Baz’s chin with a finger.

“Don’t attempt to comfort me, my hawk,” he said. He leaned over Baz, reddish hair falling in his face. It looked brighter in the firelight, and the lines of his face were harsher, caught in relief. “I certainly won’t be comforting you.” Baz opened his mouth to say, Oh no, how terrible, and Emile tapped him on the cheek. “None of that.”

He didn’t linger on Baz’s nipples as he normally would, fitting on the clamps with an almost perfunctory manner. Baz suppressed a hiss of pleasure anyway, and caught Emile glancing at him before he took out another clamp. This one was weighted with a silver chain and a jewel that matched Bazyli’s eyes—frivolous, Baz had called it, when Emile had given it to him, but he’d been secretly pleased all the same, so Emile had commissioned a set. Baz looked for the others, but Emile grabbed him by the jaw instead, holding his mouth open.

“There’s a time and place to be an eager slut,” Emile said, his voice dangerously low. “Open your mouth. Show me your tongue. If you can’t apologize properly yet, we’ll simply have to occupy you.”

Baz would have argued, but there was still pain in Emile’s eyes, under the dominance bleeding off him in waves. Baz opened his mouth, and made a soft sound of pain as Emile fixed the clamp to his tongue. The weight was a small thing, really, but it already felt on the verge of too much, and Baz’s cock was growing hard as he struggled to keep his breathing even. Saliva was already pooling in his mouth, but he couldn’t swallow properly, so he held his chin up despite the weight of the clamp on his tongue.

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