Page 14 of Zel
“M-my lord?” Zel sputtered. Had he said that out loud?
The ethereal man stepped closer to Zel. His skin had a violet tint to it, as did his long, wavy black hair. Eating of his garden was clearly what had grown Zel's hair so long, for the sorcerer's also dusted the ground, only his was so like the void of the night sky that Zel could see stars moving in it.
His tapered elf ears were sharp, but his gaze was sharper, piercing with the swirling heavens in his eyes. Elves, by nature, were not immortal, though one aspect of their magic seemed to age them more gracefully than their human contemporaries. Zel couldn’t be sure if the sorcerer even was an elf or something else, but his outward appearance must have stopped aging from whenever he’d achieved immortality. He could have as easily been mistaken for thirty as his supposed centuries. He wore black and violet robes that covered most of his tall, broad body. He was imposing to be sure, and Zel wondered what the rest of him looked like beneath his clothes.
“You are more beautiful than I could have envisioned,” the sorcerer said. “Twenty winters ago, nearly twenty-one now, your parents made an attractive pair, but you outshine them for how you are a blend of their fairness.”
“And a bit of something else?” Zel asked. He stood frozen as the sorcerer circled him, smelling like moonflowers and sage.
“Yes. A part of my magic is also in you. Much magic in fact.” He was behind Zel then and drew back Zel’s hood. How different to have the sorcerer do that instead of Lothar. Then he unclasped the cloak at Zel’s neck to remove it and bid him, “Remove your surcoat as well. It is warm here.”
It was the perfect temperature, just like in the garden.
The sorcerer continued to circle Zel, taking both surcoat and cloak, though he didn’t appear to hold either any longer when hecame around Zel’s other side to stand before him. He looked Zel up and down in the wedding dress and flowered crown.
“Look at you. Ripe with my magic.”
“But why?” Zel asked when the sorcerer tried reaching for him. “To ensorcell me? Is that why you wanted me this way, to bewitch me into being the perfect obedient bride for you?” He had always feared that once here, the sorcerer would be able to control him without him having any agency at all.
The sorcerer lowered his hand, his left, while the right remained hidden in his robes. His expression looked almost amused. “Only weak minds can be bewitched without a magical device in play, and even then, never the heart nor soul. Do you feel bewitched by me, Rapunzel?”
“Please, my lord, call me Zel.” He felt immediate panic for having asked that. “Unless you prefer—”
“It is your name, and names are powerful. Your preference is what matters… Zel.”
Zel shuddered. The way that single syllable rolled off the sorcerer’s tongue was sinful. And though he had given Zel his name, he accepted the request so easily. “I wasn’t certain. You named me, after all.”
“As a reminder for your parents, but you made the name your own. I respect that.”
“May I know your name, Master Sorcerer?”
“You may.” He held his left hand out to Zel, but this time turned it palm up in offering for Zel to decide whether to touch it. The nails on that ashen colored hand were pristine, lovely even, but almost unnaturally sharp. “I am Ulrich. And yes, you may address me as such.”
“As you wish, Master Ulrich.” Zel placed his hand in the sorcerer’s grasp.
“If you insist on titling me, lord is fine, but I am no one’s master. Not anymore.” Ulrich lifted Zel’s hand to his lips andkissed it, gentle with his hold so that even where his nails pressed against Zel’s skin, they did not prick him. The aura about Ulrich was indeed terrifying but also alluring in a way Zel had never felt with Lothar. Nor with anyone.
“Perhaps I find you a bit bewitching,” Zel admitted.
“Good. A bride should not fear a future bridegroom. Nor look upon him without desire. But I assure you, there is no spell that could dictate how you feel or act toward me, and no item I would use to force such a thing. I abhor that kind of magic, for I prefer truth.” Ulrich lingered, the grip he had on Zel’s hand stroking down his fingers.
Zel’s loins stirred. This was better than the worst-case scenario, but still not ideal if Zel couldn’t temper him. At least in some things, Ulrich was superior to Lothar if he didn’t condone magic like what infused Lothar’s control collars. “My lord, would you grant your future bride a request?”
“Ask, and we shall see.”
“Would you promise to not bring me to your bed until we are wed?”
A smile softened the intensity of Ulrich’s gaze. “Do you expect me to be a brute?”
“I do not know what to expect, only what I have been told. You do not seem like a brute.”
“May I ask something of you, Zel?”
“You may.”
“Are you a virgin?”
A spike of fear pierced Zel’s heart. “Y-yes.”
