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Updated: May 23, 2022

Hello! For ages and ages I wanted to write this blog about Tristan, his pals and some of the newcomers. I had also wanted to do a "If this character were 'real' what would they look like" sort of thing. I'm going to kind of mix the two a little. Throughout the day, I get various images sent to me of who readers picture when they think about the characters. I love that. Feel free to send them any time.

TRISTAN Arcade Kanes (Kathir Cyredanthem)

What more is there to say about this guy? Probably not much. He's talked a lot. I think the first photo is how I see him, with with a darker skin tone like like the last. I usually describe Markaytians in general with an olive skin tone.

Like, this picture. It's everything. It's EXACTLY Tristan to me. The softness but also hard. He's masculine ... but I could see him embracing his feminine side.

Maybe he gives this look when Corrik has said something he thinks is outlandish. "Really, Cyredathem?"

Hmmm. Here is a toss up. It could be lust. But it could also be that quiet calm he gets when he's dismembering someone alive in his mind (usually Corrik). I still most picture real life Tristan as a fashion designer even though I don't focus on much fashion-related stuff in the books. Either that or he'd be like a Scott Barnes, make up artist to J-Lo. I dunno why. Maybe I'm crazy! It's a far cry from Warlord, Hahaha! Either that or he would be a teacher. Tristan loves to teach and he loves books.

CORRIK Cyredanthem

The response to Corrik is so intriguing. This is what I think people think (though I could be wrong).

"Mock, you're not really going to write an arrogant guy who just ... stays arrogant, are you?"

Corrik is Corrik and I can't change him. I said to many, I HOPE he grows some by the last book, but I doubt he's going to do a 180. But did he grow or didn't he? That will be up to the reader to decide. I do think he became what Tristan needed from him. Plus, I love an arrogant Corrik. I found it totally hilarious. I had so much fun writing from his POV this time.

I was first introduced to this man (Xilmordas on IG) by @emmaloureads. Emma said the first was Corrik in the biker AU I wrote for the AU contest. I can totally see that. Also, the look on his face reminds me of the cool young adults I remember seeing in the 80's. I can see him falling in love with Tris thinking, "That mine is as beautiful as I am. He must be mine."

This persona is what I imagine when I write him. We know Corrik is arrogant and largely self-centred. But he loves Tristan to death and while it took him some time to get there, he's at a place where he tries to parse out the pieces that make up his fiery Markaytian. So I see this look for many reasons:

  • Trying to puzzle Tristan out.

  • Does he need a spanking now?

  • How much rope am I supposed to give him before I go over there?

  • Gods, his arse is the best thing Ylor has given me.

He's less likely to cross his arms AT Tristan. (Only less likely, not ZERO) So yeah, this is a pretty good visual of him. YOURS might be different and I am always open to seeing what yours is! I love seeing how people see these characters.

In this picture, Corrik is late for a business meeting, but of course he stops to take a selfie for his millions of instagram followers. The meeting can wait for him.

@rainbowromanticreader sent this to me one day. She has sussed out her perfect Corrik muse.

Then she said, "I love that he's beautiful but very masculine, that's how I picture Corrik. Like, he's absolutely stunning, but he will kill you."

@sparkleartz coined the term Pretty Boy Prince for him a the blog on him found HERE (with her art) has the most views ever on my site. Almost 1000 views!

ALRIK Cyredanthem

It was hard to find Alrik. In fact I didn't really find him. The first is the inspo image I've used of him since forever. We're talking YEARS. And yes, that second picture is the Witcher. "Mock, you can't think we're going to count him as 'real people'. You said real people versions!"

Look, the Witcher is real to me, okay?

I struggled to find anyone that was even close. In my mind, Alrik a massive entity. I hope I've made him come across that way. He's so big in my head. In the upcoming book. we get to see some range from him, but his largeness remains.

Alrik is always hard to me, but he softens for Tristan. It's both difficult and easy for him to do because softness goes against his nature, but he has to for Tristan because he can't bear otherwise.

In his hardness, he's unearthly-level beautiful. It's a raw and gritty sort of beauty down to his marrow. In real life, Alrik would probably be a marine or something. Or a mercenary for hire. He buys all his clothes at the army surplus. He wears shirts more often. He's quiet and in the background a lot but sees everything. He'd still give his life for Tristan (and their children) as his ultimate protector. But he's willing to spend extra for the good scotch. He has a training course in their backyard so he can keep in fighting form! Like, we're talking the big tires and trenches and crawling under barbed wire and stuff. He'd build tree forts for the kids.


When I saw these images, immediately Bayaden came to mind. Like, just look at those shoulder flexing out of the tank. Baya would definitely ride a bike. But he also likes a good scarf. Of everyone, he crosses his arms at Tristan the most. Paired with that look, he's definitely staring at Tristan who is up to something.

Bayaden is a casual guy even though he's a Warlord. He's as strict as he needs to be on the field of course, but when he's off field, he likes to kick back for a couple of pints of mead with the guys and gals. He's especially close with his sister Deglan, which I know is only briefly brought up in the series, but it would be nice to write some sort of outtake with her there. He's totally a mechanic of some kind and is always found in "the shop" working on something. Teaching his son Denny. Refurbishing old cars.

He's got the cool sort of confidence this guy exudes. He's willing to stand back and watch Tristan and unlike Corrik, he doesn't have to wonder how much rope Tristan needs to hang himself. He knows and enjoys standing back to watch. It would stress Corrik out too much to simply watch Tristan and not go back and forth over "the right time" to intervene. Corrik knows when it's a situation that lands somewhere on the map of his more submissive wiring. He has a harder time with the brat side. Sometimes he gets it right and other times it's like stumbling through the darkness.

But Bayden is the ultimate brat's top. He has a feel for the brat in Tristan unlike his other men. Their love is raw and powerful. It's guided by instinct. He needs Bayaden in a unique way and now that he understands his brat self, he's not the same without him.

This is TOTAL Baya with his arms crossed AT Tristan. It's a different kind of arms crossed than Corrik. We know what this means. Tristan is caught. He has two choices: Confess, or run away.

DENNY Tar Jian (Bayaden Jr.)

This is Bayaden's son. "But Mock, he would only be about a year or so old. How?" I will leave that to the story to tell you. And yes, I do envision him as smaller and younger looking that this, but this has Denny's essence. Also, he's green. It was difficult to find green elf children. He also has black hair like Baya.

I can't say too much or I'll spoil. But let's just say, I could write a whole book about this boy.

DIEKIN Cyredanthem

Our sunshine brat. He's married to the lovely War Elf, Princess Ditira Cyredanthem.

The first picture is the inspo I've used, though, I would give him more muscles.

There was something very "Diekin" about the second man's face. Some sparkle to him for me. The final has his long hair!

Diekin's that "brat with brat experience" kind of brat I like to write who shows the other brats the way to navigate their brattness ... or who shows brat the way toward trouble. He and Tristan were instant friends. They understand each other and with how much Tristan missed Lucca, Diekin was a lovely way to soften the loss of seeing him every day.

He is a more responsible brat. He has to be with a mate like Ditira who he's hopelessly in love with.

There is something in this man's eyes that SCREAMS Diekin to me. Sunshine with a hint of mischief. In the audiobook, Curtis nails his voice perfectly.

This man has a little more of the Diekin look, though, I pictured Diekin as clean-shaven most of the time. Diekin is another side character that bloomed his way into the lime light. He has a fan club of his own and so I will be writing some fiery outtakes staring Diekin and Tris! In real life, Diekin would probably be a stay at home husband/dad. He's very devoted to Ditira and would be there to support all of her endeavours. Perhaps even working for her. He just ... wants to be where she is. Serving her in whatever way he can in and out of the bedroom. He does a mean taco night every Tuesday when Ditira is most tired (it's her longest day!) and wants something healthy yet comforting.

DITIRA Cyredanthem

Sparkle did this Ditira for me. I don't focus on the women so much in my ... anything. If my muse would allow it, I would focus on her and Diekin. Most women in my stories have rippling muscles. But, like, massive muscles. I've always been into large muscles for women. I was devastated when Wonder Woman was so small. They could have totally CGI'd some muscles on Gal Gadot. That would have been so cool.

One of the outtakes I will write will feature Ditira.

By @sparkleartz

Do you recognize her art? Sparkle fell in love with this couple (Ditira + Diekin) and is single-handedly responsible for bringing them more life. I love what she captured here with Ditira. She's got feminine grace but is clearly a warrior and not just because she's holding her sword. She's got the inner peace a warrior needs to keep with her in battle.

Ditira is blond like Corrik---they are twins (though she is MUCH more mature)--so not white like this image, but that sure-hearted gaze in her eyes was what attracted me to this image.

I need more massively muscle-y women in fiction. I NEED them. So I write them. Ditira can't just have muscles. She needs to have arms the size of cannons. This was the closest "blond" woman I could find to what I envision. Real life Dee does Cross Fit and competes in the Cross Fit games every year. Diekin shows with signs to cheer her on and all the supplements/ergogentic aids she'll need to keep her going through the day. Tristan joins them. She gives stern warmings for them not to goof off or spend too much time at the mead garden.

This is more like it. A muscle-packed beauty except she would be like 8 ft tall in Elf world. In "real world" she's a personal trainer with her own line of natural supplements. She totally spoils Diekin and loves to take him on vacation with the kids and separately on romantic getaways.

RIVER (????????)

This is my favorite new character by far. I have to be a little vague when speaking about him or I will spoil something too big to spoil, but basically, it was important for him to look otherworldly. This model is Jordon Barret. He's one of the most beautiful men alive ISTFG and his husband is just as gorgeous.

The way his eyes angle was what struck me. Because of what this character is, he needed a creature-like kind of "exotic" to him (that's a hint).

I fell in love with this character so much, my neurotypical brain latched onto him in a BIG way. When that happens, it's off to the races with total obsession. He's important to the story and to Tristan. I loved being part of what evolved here. AND, it's going to lead to a lot more Tristan (if you're not sick of him by the end of this book).

I want to say a lot about him ... but I can't. The pictures capture him so well. He's strong. Fierce. A warrior. He's ... patient. Even when dealing with stubborn Warlords (also hint). He's the epitome of vulnerable on the inside, but he's one of the most powerful characters (physically) in the story. A new sort of character for me altogether, tbh. I want to keep writing him.

Real life River just IS Jordan Barrett. An exquisite model who doesn't look like he's from this world.


If someone out there can PLEASE write Tristan x Dragon Lord Fanfiction, I will die a happy woman. Otherwise I'm going to have to and I think that's a bad look. Maybe?

Again, if I say too much now, it will spoil. But I will say we don't his true motives. We remain unsure. He's done some questionable things. Will people agree with his reasons? Hard to say. He's a very grey character and hence I want him and Tristan to get it on, lol. (Grey characters are my jam).

"Well, Mock. You're the writer, just write them doing it or something."

I'm not sure that's going to happen in cannon. But well ... I'll explain another time! But you'll see. I had SUCH a fun time writing him.

I couldn't find a "real life" Dragon Lord. He needed to appear young but have ancient eyes that are always judging you. Kind of calculating. If anyone comes across anything send it my way! I'm not sure what the Dragon Lord does in real life. Mafia boss? Crime Lord? It's something sketchy that's for sure. Hahahah.


The redemption arc with Tristan and his father is brought to a nice place in this book. At least I think so. Others may feel differently. I loved writing all the scenes with his father in book 3 the most. I think (just my opinion but would love to hear others) Arcade finally accepts that his son is grown up. He's still devastated he doesn't have Tristan with him but he's learning to deal with these things called "feelings".

Arcade isn't a crowd favourite atm (I am well aware, lol) but he's one of my favourites. I love writing the "Strict Dad Trope" (that's an actual troupe, right?) and I got to really go for it here with him being a war-hardened Warlord. I came at it from the perspective that he was getting Tristan ready to go to war and that because he didn't want Tristan to die, he did whatever he could to get him ready for that kind of life--which was something Tristan wanted more than anything.

I was a VERY green writer 8 years ago when I wrote the first book (it was my first "real" novel period). I've learned a lot since then and I would have fleshed the stuff out with his dad more than I did so this would come across. I DID want it to be left on a note where Tristan was in turmoil about his father ... so they could have their big moment, but I did not plan on it traumatizing ... everyone! lol

We'll see what the reaction is after this book. I'd still love to write an Arcade X Eagar prequel some day.

Jason Momoa was the only real life person that even came close to Arcade. Can you imagine disobeying this face??? Why, Tristan? Just why?

This picture because it's giving very "Family Vacation to Hawaii" vibes. In the "real world" Arcade, Eagar and his brother take the family on vacation every year. Tristan and Lucca want to do things like surfing and Arcade wants to let them, but he knows they're gonna do all the dangerous shit so he has his two eyes on them from the shoreline in case he has to dive in after one of them and drag their ass out of the ocean.

Eagar Kanes

Eagar is described as a "pretty" man, but it was also important that he was super muscled and strong because he's Arcade's second. In Markaytia, they don't practice polyamory so much even though we're going to see what a huge contradiction that is in book 3 ;) so for Eagar and Arcade to have a child, they had to have a woman to do this for them.

Because Markaytian culture is a little different than Elven they maintain the relationship with who is essentially their surrogate and she is treated with upmost respect and love. Having the Warlord's child (or children as the case can be, it just wasn't with Tristan) is viewed as an honour. Plus, it's a good gig. The palace takes care of you for life and you get to be a mother to that child rather than giving them up when the surrogacy is over. But for 18 years, there are expectations of the mother in terms of care of the child.

The reason I'm going into all this is because Tristan is Aracade and Eagar's son "officially" as in there is a little more weight for Eagar legally. Of course, when it's decided by matters of the heart that's different (Tristan would just view his mother as his mother, the end). But in the writing, I tried to show this with the way Eagar nurtured Tristan. I hope I'm making sense.

These were my original inspirational images for Eagar.

This is a great "real life" Eagar. He would totally dress fancy. He'd shop at Crocodile Baby and West Coast Kids (those are our swanky kid's stores in Vancouver, CAN). While he would opt to be the stay at home dad making sure there was dinner on the table for Arcade and fresh apple pie for dessert, he'd have a side gig going too, selling his art (yeah, he does art now, lol) to high profile buyers. Tristan gets his fashion sense from him. He gives the best cuddles!

I know this image is wildly different, but it's the oval shape of his face, the long nose and femininity of this man ... plus his amazing hair that makes him a good image for Eagar. There is undeniable strength there too. That jacket! My God. Top of the line fashion. And the large kissable lips. Which do you like better? Or did you have something else in mind?

Lucca (Lucalthizan) Amarail Kanes

This character is intriguing to me with how much presence he's maintained despite living all the way over in Markaytia and hardly having any scenes in the books. I think Tristan does this with his love and adoration for his wily cousin. Some day (she says like she might have time), it would be fun to write their young adventures or even see what Lucca's been up to while Tristan's been having all the sex with all the Elves. Lucca is so proud!

I have always loved the duality of Lucca having a lenient upbringing while Tristan had a strict one even with their fathers being brothers.

Clearly, this photo isn't mine as shown by the watermark. None of these photos are "mine". Deposit photos, don't come for me! But I am using it anyway because it's a good representation of Lucca. He's still got that edge of masculine to him and even though the's a fucking brat, there is no better person to have by your side in a battle. I imagine his POV to be similar to Tristan's in some ways. They both love swords equally, but Lucca knew early on to get used to the fact he would be king someday and so that's on his mind when he considers the future.

Look at this sultry bad boy. That's Lucca. He's wild and sexy and a fucking adventure and a half. Most people love him. He's charming and has a tongue more silver than Tristan's (Tristan learned what he does have--in the art of charm---from him).

*Sigh* Lucca growing into a man and wearing leather if it were "real world" Lucca. He might have a bike, but I'm not sure. He definitely has bad ass muscle cars. He's less "feminine" than Tristan can be, though, he'd embrace that side of him too. He's the epitome of "cool". I doubt he would have "job" though. He'd probably live off his rich dad's money going on adrenaline-inducing adventures. Though, for some reason I could see him working with kids. He has that sort of duality to his bad boy spirit.

All right. I know I didn't cover everyone. But this blog has taken me 3 days to write, LOL and I want it out before the release so you can read this chapter.

I haven't been posting excerpts as I usually do because there is almost nothing I can post that won't have a spoiler in it. I DID want to post something though. In a turn of events I won't go into ... this is a good chapter to post.

It does contain a spoiler BUT, it was hinted at so heavily in the last book, I think it's safe to say we knew it was going this way.

It's sweet and spicy!

Just one more day until the big release. I got so emotional writing this book. I didn't want it to end. It is the end of the trilogy but it's not the end of Tristan.

This trilogy was only their beginning. Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end ;)

Tristan Three Dragon's Blood

Chapter 3


I don’t know why things have changed between Alrik and I overnight, but they have. There is a big feeling surrounding every potential interaction with him. Before, I pranced around him, happy to tease him to his wit’s end (which is a risky game) but now I’m careful. Husband or wife is a big title in Elven culture. Crown Prince ’s Consort an even bigger one.
I’ve behaved myself, aside from what will now be known as The Tea Garden Affair. We didn’t dance on any tables, but we did dance on the cobblestone walkway on our way out after being “asked to leave”. Which isn’t entirely accurate either. Apparently, I can’t be kicked out, but when Diekin and I got rowdy, the host quietly suggested that we might want to go outside for a minute or two so that we could “get some fresh air”. We were assured that our table would be waiting for us, but even in our states of inebriation, we knew they didn’t want us to return. He was giving off major Mishka energy even though he wouldn’t dare tell me off like Mishka used to.
We both would have gotten away with our “crime” but Diekin—rotten traitor Diekin—led me to Corrik. I’d sobered significantly by that point but was tipsy and not paying attention to where we were going. I assumed more fun, but when he shoved me at Corrik saying, “Tristan and I were kicked out of the Tea Garden,” and then ran off, I figured out what he was up to.
We weren’t going to get caught so he made sure I did to complete the brat circle—creating trouble needs to end with getting caught for said trouble to complete the circle.
I was left to explain what we did and clarify what “getting kicked out” meant since Corrik knows as well as I that it couldn’t happen.
He caught onto my, as he put it, “Cry for discipline” and said he was more than happy to give it to me. I ended up with a sore arse and some pleasantly ache-y bite marks, but it just didn’t scratch the itch I was looking for.
Nothing “wrong” was done. He was incredibly Corrik and for other itches what he did would have been perfect.
It would have to do, and he’d tired me out so I fell asleep wrapped in my mountain of hair, inhaling a scent—a faint one—I’m sure only I can smell.
After that, I was on the “best behaved boy” path. As much as what Corrik did was needed and enjoyable on the one hand, on the other, he was seriously pissed about it and lectured me thoroughly on what being a crown prince consort means. He knew that I already knew what it meant, but since I’d demonstrated that I might have forgotten, he forced me to sit through the lecture on a throbbing bottom.
Now, I had another reason to avoid Alrik so like a coward I keep clear of him for the next three days. He started it so I didn’t feel that badly continuing it.
But the piper must be paid and it’s time. I want to go on the upcoming hunt with Corrik. I need Zelphar’s permission, which means I need Alrik’s support. I already have Corrik’s. He wants me with him. I could have had Corrik ask Alrik but that was too cowardly for me—I have limits.
If I don’t ask him soon, I won’t be going so I resolve to head down to the armory where I know I’ll find him even though it’s after curfew. I bring sufficient guard this time, like I’m supposed to—everyone’s still wary about nighttime as if evil only works under the cover of darkness. I thank the two large female warriors who bring me and ask them to wait outside.
I know Alrik knows I’m here, but he doesn’t greet me. The heat coming off him is searing. His anger is catching, easily riling my dragon’s blood. I fume. It’s not like he hasn’t been avoiding me too. What right does he have to get angry with me when I do the same? I stand frozen though. Watching him.
His white hair is thick as cords of rope. It’s usually neatly brushed to silky fineness—Alrik is meticulous—but not tonight. He’s shirtless as usual, his thick muscles contracting and flexing as he polishes his armor. This is where he likes to process his long days serving as crown prince.
My heart aches with missing him even though he’s right here. There is something different about the bond I have with Alrik that I don’t have with Corrik, and I didn’t quite have with Baya. I chose Baya more than I chose Corrik, but with both, there were still elements of “force”, which … it’s kinda my thing. I’m not going to pretend to hate it anymore but it’s still nice to have what I have with Alrik.
We were pulled together by a force too, but it wasn’t circumstance turned love. It was love throwing us into a circumstance. We even tried to tamper our wild chemistry, but the universe wasn’t having it. I love how like magnets we are.
But as much as magnets attract the other, if there is a shift in the polarity of one, they repel the other just as fiercely.
“What do you want, Tristan?” his voice booms.
My nervous system cringes. He’s hurt. And yes, I want something, which is the only reason I’m here. I’m an arse. I glide into the room. It’s time to face him. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you but it’s not like you weren’t doing it first.” I lean against the table.
He finally looks up. His eyes are red. My heart breaks. “All right. Lesson learned—if that was your aim. I shan’t do it again. But you will promise not to do it either.”
I go to him and take the weapon out of his hands, replacing it with myself, sitting on the table in front of him. He encircles my waist. “Teaching you a lesson was not my aim, but I do promise not to do it again. You could have called for me.”
“And have you horribly put out with me? I don’t have Corrik’s finesse, but I do endeavor to at least try not to be a hammer.”
I smile. “Do you forgive me?”
He rests his head on my thigh, sighing long, letting go the tension that plagued him. He grips my hand and rubs the ring he gave me. “I forgive you. I thought you were going to rescind this.”
“No. I’m just, well I’ve gotten shy.” It pains me to admit that.
“You? Shy?” He laughs. “The sky must be falling.” I can tell he feels better though. It’s worth what it cost me to say it. “How much trouble am I in with your dragon’s blood for sending Jared without speaking to you about it first?”
“You were in a lot of trouble. I was going to race off to the pub in town rather than just the Tea Garden.”
His fingers dig painfully into my thighs. “Tristan. You can’t do that kind of stuff anymore. I would have to punish you publicly for that. I would enjoy it, but you wouldn’t.”
I sigh into his hair. “I know. I didn’t though, did I? I’m merely conveying how angry I was.”
“I’m sorry. I knew you’d be upset, and I did it anyway. I was being a coward too. What you’ll have to do for me will cut into your time. You just got your sword and your freedom back.”
I lift the hand with the ring, letting it glitter at him. “Yes, but I signed up for that.”
“I was thinking so long as you organize it all, it wouldn’t be against any rules of propriety for you to have a team you worked with so that you could make time to be on the field and have others taking care of the palace. You’d be my … Warlord of the House.”
I lean down to rub noses with him. “Oh, I love that. See? We can figure things out when we’re not being children.” I kiss his head and run fingers through his hair. “I love you, Alrik.”
“Will you still when I tell you you’re not going on the hunt? I know that’s what you came to ask.”
Alrik. On what grounds? Because you feel like it? You know I’m ready.”
He pulls his head off my lap to look at me. He toys with the edge of my shirt. “Because I feel like it, is all the reason I need.” His voice gets hard, and I take heed. I remember he’s going to be one of my husbands. I’m meant to obey him for no other reason than obeying him.
“Yes. But I’ve worked hard so that you’d allow me to go. What does Zelphar say?”
He frowns, his silver eyes darkening. “That you have grown cocky and arrogant.”
“No more than any other Elf I wager.”
He mashes his teeth. His nostrils flare. “You are better than we are, Tristan. I will hear no more of it.”
I look at my hands. He’s right and I can hear the lecture I would have gotten from Papa by now. Frankly, I’ve been getting mild versions from him through the book. Father would not approve of my behavior either—that is certain—he would have long kicked me off his field. “Yes, Master.” I make myself look into his eyes. “But despite my behavior, you nor Zelphar can deny that I’m ready for a hunt.”
He pulls a long breath. “He has said that you are ready.”
I knew it, but I never thought Zelphar would say it. Pride fills me—it’s close to as good as when Father approved me as his successor. “Then may I go? Please? I’ll be your best-behaved boy.”
He huffs, knowing that’s an empty promise. “There’s a wedding to plan, Tristan. This is not just any wedding. That you unfortunately will have to plan. You’ll have a wedding planner to help, but you’re going to have to take care of it.”
“I know, but there will be plenty of time to plan it when we’re back. It’s a quick hunt. I’ve been studying the area—just in case. With my help it will be an in and out thing. Three weeks max.”
He’s close to breaking. Alrik normally doesn’t have a hard time saying no to me if he needs to. I also know he wishes he could come on my first hunt, but he can’t at the moment. Things are busy here. “All right. You have permission. But you’re missing the next one for sure. Even with help, there is a lot for you to learn concerning your new duties and I don’t want you to get overwhelmed.”
I beam. “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you, Alrik.”
“And if I’m to spend three weeks without you, you’re mine until you leave. Understood?”
“Yes, Master. All yours.”
He yanks me into his lap so he can continue polishing his armor and reworking his magic into the blade. Before he proceeds, he nuzzles my torso. “I missed you, Lala.”
Lala, short for Lalawyn, is hard to translate from Elven to Markaytian. It’s the feminine version of the endearment. It’s like saying “beloved limb”, which sounds weird directly translated, but it’s meant to say “you are the limb I cannot live without”.
“It’s only been five days.” I still fit into his lap. “I wished you’d come after me.”
I live for the chase.
“Next time I will. I’m good at a great many things, romantic relationships are not one of them. I ignored every instinct that told me to drag you by your hair and over my knee. I’m attempting to maneuver your brat nature, but that’s not what we have between us, not truly. I have to be authentic to who we are and stop fearing you’ll call off the engagement.”
I savor Alrik’s vulnerability. It doesn’t happen often. “I’m not going to call it off.” I think about telling him I don’t think I could if I wanted to, but he’s so sensitive about the whole thing, I’m worried he’ll doubt that I want it too. “I am still a Markaytian no matter how much Corrik says I’m pure Elf now. When we give our word it’s binding.”
“All right. I won’t think about it anymore.”
I sleep wrapped in Alrik for the next three nights. On the last night before we leave, he orders me to bare myself and kneel for him. We’re in his quarters. I suppose these will become shared quarters between us after the wedding. That will be weird.
I kneel at his feet and I like to think I’ve finally mastered the posture. Between him and Corrik, I spend almost as much time kneeling as I do playing with swords. My back sways in the right places and is rigid in others. My bare toe pads press into the ground and the fronts of my thighs stretch. Corrik likes mhands behind me. Alrik likes them on my thighs until he tells me what to do with them. I train my eyes to his feet.
“You’re beautiful, Tristan. When you return, expect to spend a lot of time just like this.”
“Yes, Master.”
I’ve come to love kneeling for him—willingly. Meanwhile, I love when Corrik makes me. I need him to make me. My men pull different energies from me as I do from them. The more time we spend together, the more these relationships evolve and change and settle.
The more settled I get, the more the itch I can’t scratch builds.
“All right. No more talking. I don’t want to hear a sound out of you—unless you’re unsafe for some reason.”
Very highly unlikely with us being Elves and me being me—ex-junior Warlord of Markaytia.
I respond by not responding, looking forward to whatever challenging tortures he has in store for me.
“Good slave. I want you leaking for me. Stroke yourself, Tristan. Use some slick.”
That means the stuff my arse makes now. Oh Gods, I get to touch my cock. Between the pair of them, I was beginning to think I’d never get to touch my own cock again. Gathering some slick, I grip my cock with one hand and stroke slowly allowing my palm to polish the head. There are so many things I want to do to my cock. But I’m here for his pleasure.
Strobavik taught me that well.
I think about what might please him, and in the thinking of pleasing him, I’m turned on all the more. Keeping one hand sweetly on my knee, I give long sensual strokes to my length, enjoying the build of my impending orgasm, backing off when I get too close.
I want to cry and moan, but I bite back all sounds. Only my breath is remotely audible, which I keep quiet too. My hand is still pumping and it’s not even much as far as kink-factor goes. I’m only kneeling. Only jacking myself.
But I have to be quiet despite wanting to make animalistic sounds.
And I can’t come whenever I want to.
And I’m here to please him.
My body shudders and tenses with desperation. All of it mixes, churning through me and turns me into a bag of writhing need.
“That’s so good, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Master.” I’m allowed to answer if it’s a direct question.
“Take your hand away.”
I’m already crying. The tears squeeze out unbidden. Not good. I may not make it all the way through this session. I force myself to take my hand away and rest it on my thigh, reorganizing my pretty posture. Wiggling as little as possible so that I can get comfortable.
There is no getting comfortable. There’s just my weeping cock and tight balls and my knees digging into the marble floor. Knowing that I’m suffering for him doesn’t help my horniness. I’m trembling with the anticipation. If this is where he’s starting …
The soft round head of his cock taps my cheek as if knocking on a door and I open for him. He moves in and out slowly, grabbing the back of my head while I remain open for him unless he gives further instruction. My focus is his cock—the feel in my mouth, the responses from him, keeping my mouth wet with saliva, predicting his movements. I bat my doe eyes up at him how he likes.
“Mmm. Gods. Tristan.” He’s quick to come down my throat. I close my mouth, swallowing without a sound.
The room has long become a distant thing in the background. I’m floating on a cloud. He’s the God I’m gazing upon. Alrik smoothens a thumb over my lips. “It would please me to mark you prettily with my cane. What level can you take for me?”
Alrik loves to inflict pain. I imagine it does something inside him akin to what spanking does for me. It’s mixed for him though. Sometimes it’s sexual and sometimes it’s not. “Whatever pleases you, Master.”
Some days I just can’t. I need all my wits about me to do lots of pain. I do have some masochistic tendencies, but more pain means more concentration for me. I knew he’d want to mark the occasion of our engagement with something like this, so I’ve prepared mentally.
“Eighty?” he checks to be sure. We came up with a number system. I was curious as to how he would have maneuvered intense play with me as a human and he said he wouldn’t have gone above a ten, but as Elf and well, as me, I can take a lot. We’ve made it to one hundred and ten.
“No problem, Master.”
“I just want ten on the backs of your thighs to play with for later.”
That’s too easy. I’m suspicious, but I smile leaving him to his secret tortures. He hasn’t asked me a direct question, so my commentary isn’t permitted. Silently, I watch him pull out one of his heavier canes. It’s crafted from Elven redbark—special Elven construction for tough Elven skin. Son of a Markaytian. That is going to fucking hurt.
But the marks will be pretty.
“Up. Hands on the wall.”
There is a position for everything. Alrik is organized. Regimented. I take position with my palms flat, and legs spread. My balls hang heavy between my legs, normally a hazard, but Elves have superior vision and dexterity. The only way he’s clipping my nuts is if he wants to and he won’t hit them with that.
Hell, even if there was a freakish accident, it would be nothing Elven healing magic couldn’t take care of. We’re both fairly adept—him way more than I am of course.
I stick my arse out, ready for him. I’m not allowed to get sloppy with position and am only permitted minimal movements. I’m not allowed to rest my forehead on the wall.
“I want quiet, Tristan.”
I nod in answer. My silence as he strikes me will be like drops of orgasmic rain for him.
He runs a rough hand over my arse. They’re halfway between the roughness of Baya and Corrik. Baya’s were like tree bark. Corrik’s are manicured every week and even with his intensive battle schedule, he somehow manages to keep them smooth as butter.
“This is too unblemished, but we’ll have to take care of it another day. Ready?”
“Yes, Master.”
The cane whistles through the air. He doesn’t hold back landing a forceful thwhack to the middle of my left thigh as I exhale and absorb the pain. It’s a shock upward and through my nervous system, my eyes watering, but I know the real pain hasn’t bloomed yet.
Cane pain is always delayed. More accurately, there are two waves—the impact and about a second and half after impact when your brain catches up to your nervous system.
The second wave comes.
When the white-hot sensation blossoms, radiating from the site of impact and through me everywhere, it takes all the discipline of my training not to move and not to scream. It required a lot of practice and coaching for me to get here. I’m proud of how much I can take for him. I never thought I’d like this or that I could give myself to him in this way.
Strobavik said I performed admirably, but I didn’t have the heart and when he said that I didn’t. The heart came as I fell in love with Alrik. Alrik’s able to get me to the nice floaty space I love faster than anyone. It’s easier to take pain in this space.
He methodically lays down cane stripes and I take them. I want to make him proud. There’s a lot of air pushed past my lips and a waterfall of tears down my cheeks, but I don’t make a sound.
“That’s it, Lala. Breathe.”
I breathe. The pain. The airy sensations lifting me. Him.
My thighs are lightning bolts of pain by the end, but I’m also fucking flying from all the endorphins zipping through me. As I breath, riding the high, I hear a click and then there’s a tug. He’s attached a leash to my collar.
“Step,” he says.
I’m so far down the rabbit hole, and we’ve done this enough times we’re in sync; I simply “step” into the tiny black shorts he holds out for me. I catch myself before I groan. This is the true sadism—the tiny shorts I hate. He almost gets me, and he knows it. He’s smirking all smug-like.
Once they’re on, he pulls me in for a kiss. “I’m beyond pleased. You were divine. I’m going to have a hard time playing prince in the Great Hall after that. I should have waited, but I want to enjoy you kneeling on those.”
Ah. There it is. I knew it wouldn’t be something easy today. It’s harder to kneel with welts than it is to take more welts—at least for me.
Brat Me would love to respond with a snarky comment along the lines of, “I don’t feel sorry for you”.
Slave Me is happy to serve. I’m Slave Me right now, adoring him.
“Gods. Those tears, Tristan. You’re too much. No wonder everyone falls in love with you.”
I can’t deny that I do tend to pick up admirers. I don’t mean to. It just happens.
I follow two steps behind him and two steps to his right all the way to the Great Hall where I kneel on my pillow beside his throne near his booted feet. I take the position he likes to display me in: head bowed, palms rested on my thighs, knees spread, back gracefully arched.
The mere act of being displayed revives my cock quickly. The pain deflated my erection some, but the public near-nudity has it swelling again even with sitting on hot cane welts, which are just as painful as you’d think they’d be.
Everything about me is on full display—my nipples, my Warlord tattoo, my wide chest, and shoulders—everything the same Elf wants covered while I swing my sword around. I don’t see how this is different, but to him it is. Because he’s here he says.
I’m the beast he’s tamed on display.
“Remember, no talking,” he says before he gets to work. I let the room fall away and focus only on him. His voice. His breathing. Each movement of his limbs. His heady scent mixed with lavender. I can smell his arousal from where I kneel. It heightens the buzzing in my groin.
“How are you, Tristan?” he whispers in my ear after some time.
“I’m good, sir. Sore, but good.”
“You look sensational. Pull out your cock. Slick it up and stroke it.” Gods. Okay, folks. We’ve reached the real challenge. I’m horny. Between the high I’m flying from the endorphins due to all that pain, being on public display, and hell, all his ownership of me, not coming is going to be a challenge.
“Eyes open and look up,” he adds. “I want you to see them watching you play with yourself.”
Why is that hot? There’s no answer for me. The chances of me getting to come are low. Picture a tiny dot somewhere off in the horizon—that’s how big my chances are; can barely be seen by the naked eye.
And yet, I’m so fucking turned on.
I unlace the shorts with one hand and let my hard member bob out to the open. With a slicked-up hand, I pump and stroke like I was earlier. In addition to earlier, I’ve got the welts reminding me who my arse belongs to. I don’t mean to break form, but I do to look up and stare with total adoration and worship at Alrik.
There’s a voice in my ear. “Everything okay, Lala?”
“Very okay, Master. I love you.”
A smile presses against my ear and I wiggle it with delight. “You’ve stopped,” he says.
Had I? Fuck. “Sorry, Master.”
“Forgiven.” He smirks. “Keep going.”
Ooooh. The sweet torture.
Stroking some more while facing the crowd, I note how many pairs of eyes are on me. Half don’t know if they should be looking at me and it’s amusing. If it were anyone else but Alrik, this could have the potential to start a full-room orgy. It is Alrik though. “I don’t like to share, keep your hands and eyes away from my Tristan” Alrik.
But others are thinking, “He’s the one who put Tristan on display, shouldn’t we get to look?”
What’s certain is that Alrik’s enjoying their reactions whatever they are because the answer is, there is no answer. He likes to keep them in a state of worry and wonder for this kind of thing.
“Stop,” he says and thank the Gods. I was close to coming. “Leave your weeping dick out.”
It’s weeping all right. Slippery come leaks from the head. I rest my hand back to my thigh and resume “pretty posture” and worshipping Alrik.
Time passes, I don’t know how much. My return to this world seeps back to me when I’m being maneuvered by hands I’d know anywhere. “Master?”
“Shhh. I’ve got you. I’m going to fuck you now.”
He positions me on his throne so that my arse is out for him, and my hands lie flat against the back. The chances anyone’s left in here are low, but I realize I’m not sure. Wow. I was somewhere else. Swimming in a land of Alrik. Total meditation. I’m back now and the blunt head of his cock is all I feel before it’s sinking home, into me.
His pelvis against my tender flesh reawakens the welts and this time it’s good pain—sensual pain. My cock is so damn swollen it might burst. Still, I restrain for him. I’m quiet for him. I arch toward him, my body twisting with several sensations.
“I want you to come with me Tristan and I want to hear you. I want them to hear you in the next realm.”
Fuck. Okay. I mean, “Yes, Master.” That means I can speak again.
I let loose with a moan that’s probably illegal in some places. I let out all the pent-up cries I’ve held back. I let it all go. It’s the sweetest release. All the while I feel Alrik. His semi-rough hands scraping up and down my torso. His cock pounding the electric bundle of nerves deep within me. His all-consuming presence.
I spill onto his throne with an orgasm so good and so heart-stopping, I’m close to black out. My dick has never experienced such exhilarating relief and it transcends my mere Elven body. I catch my breath and turn to face him once he’s released inside me, smiling back at him. Adoring him.
He leans in for a kiss. My shorts are gone so I’m totally naked. These days he won’t show the rest of me off. My nether bits are for him and all that. With that knowledge, I’m not surprised to see that, yes, we’re alone. Well, as alone as we can be. I’m certain there’s a full guard outside the tall doors to the Great Hall.
Removing his shirt, he flips me around to dress me in it, all his movements achingly gentle. It hangs over my arse covering enough of my body so he can carry me out and preserve my non-existent virtue. Come leaks from me. I’m aptly marked by him.
And fucking exhausted.
I lay my head on his shoulder as we move back to his room. I’m still small enough for him to carry and I like that. Corrik can still carry me bridal style, but only Alrik can lift me like this so that my legs are wrapped around him, crossed at the ankle at the small of his back, with my torso pressed against his and my arms secured around his neck.
When we’re back in his room, he gives me plenty to drink, and we have dinner together. I still adore him, watching all his movements. Memorizing them. Enjoying the way such a hard man turns soft for me. He does it to me too though. Alrik inspires the softer sides of my character. He coaxes them to come out and sit with him.
It’s so opposite from Corrik who always seems to dredge up a challenge. I could never have predicted what these men would pull from me.
As he massages salve into my aching limbs, he hums to me, and I drift in and out of consciousness. When I wake up, he’s tucked around me, the moon shines through the window and over us. I know I’m full of markings. I’m glad I’ll have them to take with me. I’m full and satiated. “Thank you, Tasaska,” I tell him. I’d been wanting to try the endearment for a while now.
He smiles against my neck. “My rock,” he says, in Markaytian. A language we don’t use much of anymore.
“You are my jagged rock,” I tell him in Elvish. “You never leave me the same way you found me.”
“Neither do you, Tristan. You never leave me the same way you found me either. Please behave on this hunt. I mean it. Don’t be your usual, reckless self.”
“I’m at least half as reckless as I used to be.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise, Alrik.”
“I mean it. I will tan your pretty hide, Lala.”
From Alrik, that’s an “I love you”. “I don’t doubt it.”
“Zelphar will give me the full report, including the details that Corrik would hide from me to save your hide.”
I roll my eyes. “Corrik would never do any such thing. He’s more than happy to have me punished, especially for something like that.”
“Perhaps, but so you’re aware. I know you’re a brat, but I hope you’ll think of the ones who care about you—at least when you’re pondering risking your life.”
Everyone’s still internally scarred from last year when I raced off to find Corrik. “I’m going to have to risk my life sometimes, Alrik.”
“I know. I hate that it’s a thing I must accept. Just put more weight behind your decisions. That’s all I demand.” It’s a desperate voice.
“You have my word as a Markaytian. No more recklessness.”
He kisses the back of my head. “I shall hold you to it.”

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