Page 107 of Dragon Slayer

Mehmet’s smile was very small, and very determined. The night’s drunken lust had hardened in the past few hours; he now stared up at Val with sober surety – but no less hunger.You will obey, his gaze said, accompanied by an intangible shove of resolve.You will come to me, or I will do terrible things to you. His was the face of a prince who’d been crowned a king too early, who wielded all of the privilege, but carried none of the weight.

He tugged lightly at Val’s ankle. “Found you.”

Val couldn’t speak.

“How about,” the sultan continued, the words casual, his voice anything but. “You come down and we’ll go have a nice breakfast together. We can pretend that last night never happened.”

Do as I say, and I won’t punish you for refusing me.

Val closed his eyes and thought of his mother’s face, the way it had crumpled, the tears in her eyes.Oh, love…But what was he to do?

Being alive…that had to be better than being dead, didn’t it?

That was the conclusion he came to, anyway, in all his nine-year-old wisdom.

He swallowed, and nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

~*~

Oh, he thought, dazedly.There’s blood.

Mehmet had stripped off his clothes without ceremony; run his hands over his body, like he was judging a horse at market. Had pinched his nipples until Val had to bite the tip of his own tongue; tugged fruitlessly at his soft cock a few times, growling under his breath. Then he’d put Val on the bed and pressed his face into a silk pillow, hand cupped around the back of his skull, holding him there. He’d used a palmful of fragrant oil to ease the way; Val had jumped, surprised, when he felt it. But a firm smack stilled him.

And then–

He knew he’d cried, because the pillow was wet when he was finally allowed to sit up, but he was proud that he’d been silent, sobs muffled in the silk. And he’d felt something tear; pain like the blinding like of a sunset, overwhelming him; he’d been split open.

He twisted around now, as the sultan sat at his dressing table, ignoring him, and saw fresh red blood on the sheets – his own. Felt more dribbling out from inside him. He reached to touch himself with careful fingertips, trying to assess the damage, and recoiled with a bitten-off cry. It hurt so badly.

Fresh tears clouded his vision.

“If you go crying to your brother about this,” Mehmet said lightly, not bothering to turn around, “I’ll send his head back to your father in a box.”

Of course he couldn’t go crying to Vlad – he’d only call him a baby and say he’d invited this on himself for being so soft and pretty.

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