Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“It’s possible your Light magic came from your grandmother,” she remarks. “The only other people I’ve ever heard of who have such extreme fire magic in their blood are…” She stops and shakes her head.
“What? Who?” I urge. I want to understand this part of me. All my life I’ve been told I was born to be in service to the GodKing and that’s the reason I have the fire inside me. But what if that’s wrong? What if there’s something else going on—some other reason I bear the Celestial Fire?
“The only other people with fire magic are Drake Shifters,” she says reluctantly. “But they all died out long ago. Tell me, what do you know about your father?”
“Almost nothing.” I shake my head. “He and my mother met for a single night and then he moved on.”
“Hmm…” She looks thoughtful, then shakes her head again. “No, but you would have Shifted by now—if you had a Drake inside you, it would have manifested.”
“A Drake inside me?” This sounds worse than the Celestial Fire! I’ve killed a dragon in the past—they’re fucking ferocious. To be honest, without my Holy Flame I wouldn’t have survived that encounter.
“Never mind, I’m certain you don’t,” she tells me. “Come now, it’s time to start your training so you can control your magic.”
And she takes me back inside the tower, though I still feel like I have more questions than answers.
15
Sylvanna
I take my Paladin to my Training Room, which I admit is a little dusty. It’s gone unused for almost five years now. I send a little magic ahead of me to clean it up and by the time we get there, everything is sparkling.
His eyes grow wide when he steps into the room and sees all my equipment. I have a spanking bench, a punishment cross, a holding cage, and a Queening chair, which I’m eager to use on him in the future, when he’s earned it.
There’s also a rack of whips, paddles, and floggers as well as another stand filled with phalluses made of various materials in various sizes. I have a wide selection of tails, some with real horsehair dyed in different colors. I decide that now is a good time to fit my Paladin for one of these.
“Come to the spanking bench,” I say, motioning him over to the black leather bench. I gesture at it and it rises to the right height, obedient to my magic.
“What? Why the fuck do you want to spank me?” he growls, glaring down at me. “I’m not some naughty little boy you can whip when you feel like it.”
I frown up at him.
“I’ll whip you if I feel you need it, Paladin. But for now, we’re going to place your very first tail.”
“My what?” he asks but just below the surface defensiveness and obstinacy, I can sense his desire to submit.
“You’ll have to wear a tail in my colors to pass as my Blood-servant when we go to the City,” I say patiently. “It’s best if you start getting used to having one in you now. Do you want to go bend over the bench and spread your legs for me? Or would you rather go back to Solaris without The Heart of the Eclipse?”
He scowls and I can feel him fighting with himself. He wants to submit but he hates to admit it.
I reach up and cup his cheek, which is already getting bristly with whiskers again, though I shaved him just last night.
“It’s all right, Alaric,” I tell him. “It’s all right to want to give yourself to me—to submit. I swear what happens here will stay between us.”
Something inside him seems to crumble then—some inner wall he’s been holding up through sheer strength of will.
“As you wish, Mistress,” he says at last. “How do you want me?”
“Take off your trousers. Then bend over and rest your elbows on the bench,” I tell him. “Spread your thighs for me, as you did in the bath last night.”
Wordlessly, he goes and does as I say. His shaggy golden-brown mane falls around his face like a curtain but I want to see his face—I need to gauge his reactions to be certain he’s all right. Of course, the Jewel of Knowing helps, but I want to see his reactions for myself, not just hear them through the Jewel.
I take a bit of twine and reach up on my tiptoes to tie his hair back in a rough tail at the back of his neck. Alaric says nothing about it but he nuzzles my hand when I stroke his cheek. I can feel his inner confusion—he’s still wondering why he wants to submit to me. Have I put some kind of spell on him?
“No, my Paladin,” I say, answering his unspoken questions. “There’s no spell. Think back on your early life at the Citadel—you were made to submit often. Is it really so surprising that you came to enjoy it—even to crave it?”