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The market had just closed for the day when Nadir pushed his niece. She almost fell out of the carriage. Bruce, the horse driver, brought everything to a stop, slid a piece of hay between his teeth and leaned back.
"You bastard," Lola hissed at Nadir. She fixed her skirts and hair. Beside her, Nadir's other niece, Tina, glared in his direction.
Nadir said nothing. He kept his arms crossed over his chest and thought about how dismal his life truly was—stuck chaperoning his two nieces instead of working alongside his brother maintaining the estate. Was he a wet nurse? No.
"Look, he's not even deigning to speak," Tina said. "He knows what an ass he is."
"Hardly," Nadir exclaimed.
He was met with identical smug looks of satisfaction.
"I can't believe you shoved me like some ill-bred child," Lola said. "Honestly. That's the last straw." She paused. And then spoke again with determination. "I want you out."
Tina's eyes widened, but then she smirked. "I agree! And that's two against one."
What the hell? "Out where?" Nadir said, waving around. "We're already outside."
"Out of the carriage," the twins said in unison. The horse nickered, as if thirding that proclamation.
Nadir sputtered. These brats! Instead of responding, he turned and said—with a sniff—to Bruce, "Carry on, driver."
"Bruce, no," Tina said. "Nadir is departing. At once."
The carriage didn't move. "Driver—" Nadir began.
Bruce cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I work for the Accambray family."
Unbelievable! "Excuse me?" Nadir said, his voice rising in pitch. "I am an Accambray! You work for me!"
"I work for your brother," Bruce muttered.
Nadir was gob-smacked. To think his so-called darling nieces would have him thrown from the carriage like a sack of potatoes for absolutely no reason!
Perhaps Tina saw the error of her ways. Her expression softened. "Uncle…" she intoned. "It's not that far of a walk."
"You should be back by tomorrow morning!" Lola added.
Then they politely waited.
"If you think that I'm going to voluntarily leave—" Nadir scoffed, but then two pairs of lace-gloved hands grabbed him and summarily dumped him from the carriage. He landed ass-first in the dirt, looking up to see his two nieces staring down at him. "See you at breakfast, Uncle," Lola called as the carriage took off again.
Nadir blinked. They really left me. Well! Standing up, he brushed the road grime from the seat of his pants and then turned right back around towards town. Walk all the way to the estate? He thought not.
۞
His choice of establishments were a shoddy-looking eatery or the local watering hole. Neither would meet his standards, however, in his current predicament… it may do to 'slum' a bit.
He chose the saloon. Inside was the usual assortment of riff-raff: gamblers, drunks, and lovers of the night. There were even a few of those odd creatures—the Schiel—rarely seen in these parts, whom he identified from the pointy shape of their ears, their bulky build, and ashen skin. Better to avoid those. They were known as barbarians.
Chin held high, he strolled to the bar and flagged down the barkeep, a grizzled old imp standing on some form of running board. The imp threw a rag over his shoulder and pinned Nadir with a hard look.
"Barkeep," Nadir began.
The imp's bushy eyebrows rose.
"I must engage a man-for-hire to carry me home. Preferably by carriage, but a cart with clean seating would do, I suppose."
"Would it?" the barkeep replied. Then he went back to wiping the counter—and for a moment Nadir thought he had simply chosen to ignore Nadir's request. But the barkeep sighed and pointed across the room. "He's got a cart."
Nadir turned and saw a Schiel. A large one, with red eyes and the look of something that could knock down a brick wall. He was wearing some sort of leather ensemble, his bulging arms and shoulders bare.
"Uh. Thank you," Nadir said. "And what would be the… gentleman's name?"
"Hell if I know."
Nadir grimaced at the salty language. "Fine, then." He tapped the bar. "One Cherry Ice for me, and another of whatever the gentleman over there is having."
The Imp paused his cleaning. "You sure about that?"
"Would I have said it otherwise?" Honestly.
An unreadable expression passed over the Imp's face, but then he was all solicitous smiles. "Of course not. One Cherry Ice and one Scloog coming on up."
"I'll be at the table," Nadir replied. As he approached the Schiel, he noted the long stares from those he passed. Yes, this place was low-rent, but surely they must have seen a well-dressed gentleman at some point in their lives? Well, nevermind. At the Schiel's table, he waited politely for an invitation. Then he subtly cleared his throat. Still, the Schiel remained focused on his plate of… various meats. Finally, Nadir asked, "May I sit?"
Red eyes appraised him. The Schiel's face was rather chiseled, and if it weren't for the large scar vertically crossing one side of his mouth, he'd look—perhaps—heroic. His mouth was full of food. Thankfully, he only grunted his assent.
Nadir sat. "Well," he began. "My charming nieces have thrown me out—as it were, you see, I am only but a fourth son, and therefore hold no power, nor will I inherit the estate. Those dreadful brats will. Together, mind you. Why couldn't I inherit something along with my brothers? Well, never mind. My point being—"
"Your drinks." The imp stood shoulder height to the table, a cherry ice in one hand, and a… something else in the other. He set them down, and then waited as if for payment, so Nadir pulled a few coins from his pocket and tossed them over. Catching them, and closing his claws around them, the imp still didn't seem satisfied. He was staring at the Schiel.
"That will be all," Nadir finally said, and when the imp—reluctantly, by the looks of it—left, he continued, "Honestly. But I suppose one can't expect exemplary service in every bar they patron." He took a sip of his cherry ice. "Now, where was I—"
The Schiel dropped his fist on the table. "What is the meaning of this?" The bar went silent.
Nadir gritted his teeth. The manner of this creature! But, ever the well-bred gentleman, he affected a pleasant tone in response. "Ah, yes, I was getting to that. I was hoping to engage you—"
Again he was interrupted, only this time the Schiel suddenly launched his entire bulk forward and gripped Nadir's collar in his hand, their faces inches apart. The Schiel's gaze was molten-hot. Finally, with a slow, dubious growl, he said, "I accept," as if Nadir were about to renege on his offer at any moment.
Then he shoved Nadir back in his seat, took the glass of scloog, and downed it in one gulp. He slammed the cup on the table, teeth bared, and waited.
"Oh, ah," Nadir chuckled nervously. "How rude of me." He brought his cherry ice to his lips and took a careful sip. Just as he was about to set it down, he noticed the Schiel was still pinning him with a vicious look, so he—for the sake of friendliness—finished his drink as well. "Delightful... " he muttered, wincing at the brain freeze.
Barely had the glass touched the table when a numbing grip circled his upper arm and he was dragged almost to his tip-toes. He found himself maneuvered until he was chest to chest with the Schiel (well, with some discrepancy because of height), both arms now entombed within the beast's hold.
"I bruise easily…" was all Nadir managed to say, dumbfounded.
The Schiel ignored him, instead whipping his face about while emitting little snarls (yet somehow, it appeared to Nadir that the man was grinning... albeit, toothily) as if triumphant over all the other bar patrons. To the imp, the Schiel said, "Witness! And you claimed none would ever have me!"
"I was wrong, clearly," the imp replied from his bar, where he was drying a glass. He seemed slightly guilty about that fact.
Perhaps, in retrospect, Nadir should have walked home. This entire exchange was putting him off the idea of hiring the Schiel, especially since the man had yet to release him, and was actually doing quite the opposite. He had started to drag Nadir towards the stairs lining the far wall.
"Excuse me!" Nadir said with alarm. "Release me! Sir, I do declare, I am an ace fencer—"
All at once, the world fell away from him as he went airborne. With a choked oomph, he landed over the Schiel's shoulder, a hand slapping on his ass. Nadir sucked in a breath, now more than only troubled by his current predicament. To make things worse, the hand stayed.
I am being abducted, Nadir realized with cold surety. His family would go bankrupt from the ransom, ruined because of the twins' impertinence! What irony.
After mounting the stairs and passing through a dank hallway, their progression ended. Nadir was about to protest yet again when he heard a door kicked opened and felt himself carried over the threshold. The Schiel kicked the door shut.
"Um," Nadir began, deciding tact may be the best route. "If we worked out some sort of deal—"
"I will be amenable," the Schiel rumbled as he suddenly, but gently, lowered Nadir to sit on the bed of what he realized was an inn bedroom. At full height, the Schiel towered over him. "I will be fair."
"Fantastic," Nadir replied, smiling enthusiastically.
The Schiel exhaled, his nostrils flaring a little. He reached forward, but then curled his fingers until he was pointing—a gesture that he swung around towards a table where some travelling gear sat in a pile. "That is for winter. This room will last us until then. Go through it and tell me what you will need."
Nadir was trying to smile pleasantly, but he was hopelessly lost. Matters were not improved when the Schiel awkwardly patted him on the head like a dog and then backed away a foot, looking ashamed.
Play along for now, Nadir thought to himself, bouncing up and heading over to the table. He sifted through heavy leather winter wear; furs, and many pairs of wool socks—not quite sure if he should mention the exemplary set of alpaca hat and gloves he had at home. These clothes were made for a more frigid clime than Nadir's land.
"You know," he began slowly, turning around—only to flinch when he realized the Schiel was standing barely a foot away, staring at him. Nadir chuckled, combing his hair back with his fingers, the movement watched avidly by the Schiel.
Instead of starting with something complicated, like why Nadir would need winter wear of this kind, he asked, "May I know your name?"
The Schiel seemed taken aback. Maybe they didn't have names? But then he said lowly, "Ragnar."
"Ragnar," Nadir replied, "I am Nadir." He held his hand out.
For a moment, Ragnar appeared confused by the offering. His eyes narrowed at Nadir's hand. But then he too reached forward—only he didn't initiate a gentlemanly shake. He wove his fingers with Nadir's and held fast. They stood there in silence.
What an odd custom… Nadir thought. He tried to pull his hand from Ragnar's only to face little give. They ended up tugging at each other for a moment before the Schiel finally let go. But Nadir had to direct this weird encounter to more important matters. "Actually, I doubt I'll require winter wear, it is only a brief journey."
At that, there was a different reaction than Nadir had seen thusly.
Ragnar snorted.
He then roughly brushed past Nadir and went to his pile of gear, from which he unearthed a tattered scroll. He laid it out on the table, and jabbed his finger on a point as he barked, "Come here," as if handing out marching orders.
Well, Nadir marched.
Beside Ragnar, he saw the map illustrated several lands. Faded and new spindly veins of routes and notes, holes and patches marred the brown parchment. Ragnar traced his finger along a more prominent line. "We'll have made this ground in two moon cycles," he said. "And in Shurdasa, you will need warm clothing." His voice was almost paternal in its condescension.
Nadir's lip curled with distaste. He experienced enough childish treatment from his brother. He backed away from the map and crossed his arms. "Actually, my home is a mere fifteen miles north of here. I'd say… 20 minutes by horse."
"That shows your inexperience with both horses and—" Ragnar began, but then he stopped, his jaw clenching. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and then looked at Nadir. "Of course, I'll allow you to return home. Perhaps for even three—two nights. But then we must come back here."
Admittedly, Nadir was at a loss. "But why?"
Ragnar's eyebrows rose. His expression turned troubled. "Are you a child?"
"What?"
"You speak like a child… but don't look like a human child…"
"I am thirty years old!" Nadir said, his voice shaking with insult.
Relief bloomed on the Schiel's face as he nodded. "Good, that's good."
Well! ... Although, that had been the first time someone seemed pleased by Nadir's age rather than slightly taken aback that he was so old and yet unmarried. For some reason, Nadir's anger was slightly assuaged. "I'm so glad you're pleased," he said sarcastically to cover his momentary appreciation of the Schiel.
Ragnar smiled slightly. But then his expression was all serious business again. "We must come back because I have contracts to fulfill here. Also, you must learn to break reliance on the comforts of your familial home. I am that comfort now."
A tiny, almost ignorable concern wiggled its way from the back of Nadir's mind.
Perhaps—perhaps—he and the Schiel had misunderstood each other earlier. But to what extent? "Yes, you are very comforting," Nadir said magnanimously. "But I really do prefer my own home, as opposed to wherever it is you think we're travelling to. I promise, you will be paid handsomely for the effort."
"Payment is not needed," Ragnar replied dismissively.
Nadir kept his smile plastered on his face. "That's generous."
"If your family raises objections, however, I will offer a monetary gift," Ragnar continued. "I've been saving."
What an odd thing to say. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your style of bargaining," Nadir chuckled. "...you would pay me?"
"Your guardian." Ragnar had turned back to the table to roll the map back up. He set it aside and then placed both hands on the table, his expression that of slight hesitance. "But my funds are elsewhere. I was not expecting this. Hoping, maybe. Well, no longer hoping."
For some reason, Nadir felt compelled to place a friendly hand on Ragnar's arm. Perhaps it was the dismal note of his voice. The muscles under Nadir's palm tensed and then relaxed. About to speak, he was struck mute by a sudden palm at his cheek, a thumb glancing along his bottom lip.
"I live a hard life," Ragnar said. "But not one without reward. And not forever. Eventually we will settle in the Skeindaar with my kin."
Nadir's heart punched against his chest as sudden visions of walking away from his uncaring family and his annoying nieces to follow this beast across unfamiliar lands crossed his mind. But what a silly notion. He walked away from Ragnar, surveying the room with a placid smile as he ruminated. Clearly, they were not thinking along the same lines. Perhaps Ragnar had misconstrued what Nadir was hiring him for—perhaps he was used to guiding longer engagements that traversed far longer routes.
He seemed to expect a response though, his face held in careful blankness even as he watched Nadir.
"The Skeindaar?" Nadir said weakly.
Without giving away his feelings on how Nadir replied, Ragnar turned away and once again busied himself with rubbing oils into his leathers. "A group of islands past Nihendron. My kin have lived there for generations."
"Why did you leave?"
That seemed to be a touchy subject. Suddenly Ragnar's shoulders squared and his movements stopped. For the first time, Nadir vaguely considered that there might be an element of physical danger in this situation. But then all Ragnar did was grunt.
Okay, then. Time to bring the conversation back to the subject at hand. Nadir opened his mouth to speak, but Ragnar got there first. "You're sure your family won't require any gift? I may not have much coin with me, but I could go hunting."
"Uhh…" Nadir imagined Ragner dragging the dead carcass of a deer or buffalo onto the estate as the entire Accambray clan watched with absolute horror. "I wouldn't exactly call that a gift."
Ragnar shot him a questioning look.
With a sigh, Nadir said, "None of us eat meat."
If the Schiel were not so pale already, he would have been, with the way his blood drained from his face, his eyes going almost black as his jaw clenched. "You don't consume meat?"
Nadir shook his head.
For ten minutes, the Schiel paced the room, saying nothing, his hands clasped to his hips. Every few moments, he'd snarl. Just as Nadir was about to risk speaking, Ragnar turned on him. "How will I provide for you?" he roared.
Nadir flinched, stepping back and holding his hands up protectively. In the next second, the Schiel blanched, a mirror image of Nadir as he turned and retreated in the opposite direction. "Idiot!" he said to the wall, thumping it with a closed fist.
Oh dear. The poor blustery Schiel was getting all worked up about his social faux pas. Nadir went to him and patted his shoulder. "Don't fret, few are vegetarians nowadays. And I am quite adept at sniffing out the local edibles. My childhood nickname was truffle pig." Nadir chuckled good-naturedly. "In fact, I had written and illustrated an entire field guide on all the poisonous plants to avoid within this entire region."
The Schiel appraised him, now completely emotionless again. "That is a valuable skill."
Nadir smiled. "Thank you!" He stepped away from Ragnar and folded his hands behind his back. "But as I was saying before, none of that would be necessary. I only need to travel home."
"And you will." Whatever trauma occurred had passed and Ragnar, once again, was tinkering about while Nadir stood there. He found the visual of the Schiel's huge form bent over some sort of sewing project quite endearing, and so he went to sit beside Ragnar at the table to watch.
But after an hour, he grew restless. "We'll depart…"
"In the morning."
Nadir scratched the back of his ear. "Ah."
Not wanting to be rude, and perhaps still a little confused, Nadir fell silent. He was growing sleepy when Ragnar cleared his throat, paused, and then said, "Your offer surprised me."
"Because few do so?"
Ragnar snorted. "Of course."
"Well, I asked the imp if someone had a cart—"
"You are straightforward about needs. That's good."
Nadir laughed. "Not everyone thinks so. I'm often called selfish."
A subtle, pleased little smile passed over Ragnar's face but was gone before Nadir had time to really think about it. "I have a cart, and a horse," Ragnar said. "I travel often and must carry all my possessions with me." After a pause, he continued, "And now you as well."
"I promise not to be a burden," Nadir replied with a wave of his hand as he walked to the window. The sun had set, and so too did his hopes of reaching home that day. Would Ragnar allow him to take the bed? "Perhaps I should go book a room."
"Why?" Ragnar asked from behind him, closer than Nadir expected. A pair of heavy hands settled on his shoulders, grasping tentatively despite the obvious strength of them. And then he felt Ragnar's hot breath puff against the nape of his neck—just before the Schiel pushed Nadir's collar aside and kissed bare skin.
Ragnar's voice was husky and tightly restrained. "May we consummate our bond?"
Feeling very much like one caught in the maw of a lion, Nadir remained silent for a second. He wondered what the correct response would be to avoid danger. Finally, he spoke quite cautiously: "... Pardon?"
Those hands were massaging gently now, thumbs rubbing slow circles at the juncture between shoulder blades and spine. With what sounded like momentous effort, Ragnar said, "I can wait. For a few nights."
That wasn't quite the explanation Nadir was looking for. First, he put some room between him and the Schiel by feigning a sudden interest in a tacky painting strung on the wall, then he said, as lightly as possible, "So that's how we—er—'seal the deal', as they say?" He couldn't quite imagine a land where intercourse was part and parcel in negotiation for a service, but the Schiel seemed to expect it.
Of course, now, the Schiel wasn't saying anything.
Upon inspection, Nadir found that Ragnar was, for lack of a better word, glaring at him with one lip curled, exposing a sharp set of teeth. Tendon shifting in his neck, Ragnar exhaled before saying, "Do you object?"
"Well, on principle, it seems rather lurid—"
Ragnar huffed in apparent frustration, his pacing renewed. He was mumbling something quite growly, along the lines of, "Idiot, fooled. A sham. Minx, trickster."
Appalled, Nadir strode across his path and shoved him back a step. "Excuse me, I am no mountebank or charlatan. I fully intended to pay!"
Under his palm, he could feel Ragnar's solid chest heaving. He was scowling down at Nadir, violent red eyes narrowed. "I did not ask for money."
"So flesh, then?" Nadir replied, inexplicably reluctant to remove his hand. In fact, he was quite compelled to stroke down the Schiel's front… curious what Ragnar felt like to touch. He then realized he did have an open invitation to do so. Slowly, he said, "Well, if we must."
It took some time for Ragnar to visibly calm, or at least shift from one agitated state to another. Neither he, nor Nadir, moved as the irritation bled from his expression, his breathing evened, and his shoulders loosened. He still looked unsure, as if Nadir were planning to pull the rug out at any moment. Or as if Nadir was some skittish thing that would dash off at the first sign of attack.
Perhaps Nadir taking the initiative would reassure him. With ease, Nadir rubbed an ever-increasing circumference, the sensations of touching Ragnar's chest muted by thick leather. He used both hands to stroke down, marveling at the Schiel's build as his fingers ran over toned abs, and then back around to a muscled back and toned buttocks. He knelt, feeling meaty thighs.
When he looked up, he saw a man near ruin. Ragnar's lips were parted, pupils dilated, and clearly he was going to grab Nadir by the hair soon with the way he was panting and lost, so Nadir jumped up just in time for Ragnar to clasp his cheeks with both hands and yank him in for a kiss.
Things progressed from there in a way where Nadir was in charge of very little, including undressing, location (the bed, thank god), and where Ragnar's tongue roamed. The Schiel was insatiable.
"Do you not, um, tire?" Nadir asked vaguely, resting on his forearms, rear end in the air as Ragnar touched between his legs. The Schiel was careful to place a flat palm at the base of Nadir's spine, keeping him in position.
Already, Nadir has learned that Schiels didn't suffer a notable refractory period. In between his own moments of arousal, Nadir would lie on his back, watching in amazement as Ragnar clutched his thighs and thrusted between them as he snarled, caught up in some fog of lust.
I'm going to have several rashes come morning, Nadir thought to himself, biting his lip and grunting when a sudden intrusion of his posterior sent a sharp ache through his body.
But this time, Ragnar's movements seemed sluggish and syrupy—indeed, after a few listless shoves, he collapsed on Nadir, his cock thick inside. They lay like that for a time, sweaty and almost uncomfortable, if not for the comprehensive relief Ragnar put Nadir through beforehand.
It took the measured snores for Nadir to realize Ragnar had fallen asleep.
"Well," Nadir mumbled, just conscious enough to be miffed. "I suppose that answers that question."
۞
Morning came.
Nadir knew this because a smack to his bottom rudely awoke him. He yelped, but was given no time to object when a mug of hot chocolate appeared in front of his nose. Ragnar towered over him, appearing both washed and fully clothed. His long, white-ish hair was still damp, with thin braids interspersed with free locks stretching down beyond his shoulders. He was wearing what struck Nadir as travelling clothes, which was promising.
With a sniff, Nadir took the mug, muttering about appalling manners. He tried to wrap his head around his current predicament (not yet home, somehow in a Schiel's bed) while watching Ragnar pack. He wasn't quite sure if he'd just traded a night of passion for a wagon ride back to the estate.
He tried to be delicate. "We're all squared away, then?"
"Yes." Ragnar slid a very, very long sword from its scabbard, inspecting the blade's edges. "The Schiel view an entire night spent together as proof of union. But a formal ceremony may be held, if you wish it so."
"You make it sound as if we were married," Nadir said, chuckling.
Before the last word had even left his mouth, and as Ragnar looked at him, Nadir suddenly realized with utter clarity that he was—in fact—married to a Schiel now.
He stood up rather abruptly, alarming himself more than Ragnar as he stumbled to his clothes and started pulling them on. He tried, failingly, to remember what about last night had resulted in matrimony rather than a dusty ride home. At what point in time could Ragnar have possibly mistaken Nadir's request? Well, there was no going back now. Perhaps he could just dash out, use his morning ablutions as an excuse, and depart before Ragnar figured out what happened? Or he could find someone from the local constabulary and ask for protection.
Yes, protection. From…
Ragnar was leaning against the table, blade lazily dropped across his shoulder.
Nadir swallowed. "Well, then. Haha. I must be going."
For a moment, he thought the Schiel might actually let him walk out. Nadir had his hand on the doorknob. He got so far as twisting it… he even pulled the door open before a flat palm slammed it shut. Behind him, with a low, threatening snarl, Ragnar said, "No."
Nadir scratched the back of his neck where his skin prickled. He laughed a little shakily.
"You regret your proposal?" Ragnar asked.
"Propo—" Nadir muttered with an indignant squeak. And when exactly had he proposed? Angry now, he elbowed Ragnar away and crossed the room. "My proposal was a tad less comprehensive than what you're claiming. I simply wanted a ride home."
When he looked at the Schiel, he saw blind fury. In the next second, Ragnar roared mindlessly, dropping the sword and raising both clenched fists above the table, but as he swung down in a violent arc, he stopped. The table was spared.
After a rough breath, Ragnar straightened.
Nadir had never spent much time with brutish, short-tempered sorts. But he had the distinct impression that Ragnar was summoning every ounce of calm then, his entire body—so equipped to wreak havoc—rigid with restraint. A voice on the edge of a steep precipice came from his mouth: "We are bound. Married, as your people call it. You will follow me."
He was half-turned from Nadir, and in profile was all the more intimidating. But his expression was that of… well, it made Nadir think of deep and utter loneliness.
"You're mine," he heard the Schiel rasp.
In all his life, Nadir had never heard anyone claim association with him with such urgency. It gave him pause. His. Belonging to a Schiel... what did that mean, exactly? "Although I do not admit to proposing, I must wonder—why did you accept?" And before the Schiel could answer, Nadir held a hand up as he chuckled—as realization sunk in. Because I'd asked. He remembered Ragnar's exclamation about 'none wanting him'. He was defective in some way. And there was nothing particularly special about Nadir. It wasn't love at first sight—
Mid-thought, he wasn't expecting the pair of hands dropping heavily on his shoulders and Ragnar staring down at him with an unwavering gaze. "Why doesn't matter."
So simple that Nadir had to laugh. Not that he was expecting some romantic declaration like Ragnar had been secretly watching him for months, waiting for the day Nadir noticed him. "You're right," he said with a sniff. "It doesn't matter because we are not married. I'll take my leave now." Once again, he was stopped. This time, Ragnar walked him bodily to the bed and sat him down. No words were spoken—once Nadir's butt was on the mattress, the Schiel returned to packing.
"My family won't stand for this, you know," Nadir said.
Ragnar barely grunted.
"They have quite the guard under their employ, ten—no, twenty men strong!"
"You think I could not defeat twenty men?" Ragnar asked him, tossing Nadir a look of such wry amusement that if even forty men were to burst into the room at that moment, they may quail in the face of his confidence.
"Well," Nadir mumbled, loathe to lose an argument, "if I were a betting man, the odds…"
While slinging a pack over his shoulder, Ragnar let out one sharp ha! He turned to Nadir, his bulk obstructing the door entirely. "No odds would be in favor of any number who dared rescuing you." He spoke triumphantly, gloriously, his eyes blazing, but when he finished, his grin faded and his fiery gaze dimmed slightly, his thoughts seeming to turn inward.
"Maybe so," Nadir said. "But to save me, my family would even descend to the pits of hell. They adore me. They—well, they'll be here soon." Nadir fidgeted a little, glancing out the window as he frowned.
The bed dipped. Groaned, really, as Ragnar sat next to him. Even with slumped shoulders, the Schiel still cast quite the shadow over Nadir, who, recalling the night before, considered what he thought was vigorous lovemaking may actually have been quite tame. This Schiel was a beast.
A beast who was apparently trying to appear as non-intimidating as possible. After crossing his arms over his chest, he then tried clasping his knees, but each movement caused some new muscle to bunch and flex with enthusiasm. Finally, with white knuckles, he folded his hands together and left them in his lap. "Do you have a sweetheart?" he asked.
Oddly enough, Nadir faintly remembered hearing a similar opening salvo once in his life—only that time a poor uncle had been tasked with explaining the birds and the bees after Nadir wouldn't stop staring, completely agog, at the new footman.
And, similarly to then, he spat out quite defensively: "So what if I do?"
"You do?" Ragnar snarled. Then he cleared his throat. "You do?"
"Well… no." The last time Nadir took part in any kind of romance, he'd accidentally put a visiting duke's husband in a very awkward situation. Unknowingly, of course. Not that his family had given him the benefit of the doubt. He mentioned this to Ragnar.
"You slept with a bonded man?"
"I didn't know! He spent the whole evening sitting on a cushion beside the duke, I thought he was a shoe polisher or something to that effect. Why else would he be on the floor?"
Ragnar's lip quirked.
"What?" Nadir asked.
"In my youth, I would have paid good coin just to see how two such minxes coupled."
Nadir scoffed and Ragnar laughed, and suddenly there was a hand on Nadir's shoulder, heavy and warm. He didn't shuck it off. "I'll have you know, we were quite passionate right up until the duke walked in. After that…"
"You didn't stay to watch?"
"Excuse me?"
Ragnar snorted, his radiant gaze locked on Nadir. "You were kindling, my bounded. A spark to light the hunger of that duke."
"No—" Nadir paused, remembering the night. Indeed, both the duke and his consort seemed quite eager for Nadir's exit, and yet neither seemed upset. Invigorated, yes. Angry? No.
"I was bait," Nadir echoed wondrously.
Ragnar chuckled beside him. But then he said, "You will not play such games with me."
"Of course not! I do not take part in non-monogamy, and neither would my husband. There would be hell to pay." He heard Ragnar huff in what he realised was pleased approval. With what was admittedly little tact, he added, "My future husband."
"But you have no sweetheart."
"... No."
"No one?"
Nadir clenched his jaw. "Yes, no one," he spat out. No sweetheart. No man. How could he when his entire existence wrapped around chaperoning his nieces from one gala to the next? The very nieces who dumped him at the roadside and caused this particular mess.
He realized, with all his brooding, that the room had been silent for several beats. He was just about to reiterate his point when Ragnar said, "Fine. We will wait for your family."
"What?"
"If they arrive by midnight, I will hand you over."
A dark something in the pit of Nadir's stomach roiled. Midnight. Would they come? Of course! Right? "Fine," he said airily, because there was no cause for concern. But then he thought of how easily Ragnar seemed to agree with giving him up. That didn't feel good.
"Until then," Ragnar replied, breaking Nadir of his thoughts, closer now—so close that his breath reached the skin of Nadir's throat.
"Until then…" Nadir said, trailing off with a sigh as Ragnar started rubbing between his legs with one hand and between his shoulders with the other.
Unlike at home, where people merely tolerated him, Nadir found himself wrapped up by someone who wanted to hold him close, closer than anyone else, and bring pleasure to him as he brought pleasure to Ragnar. How different from normal. How lovely.
He was wanted here, he realized.
۞
Silly. Lying belly down atop Ragnar, face tucked against the Schiel's neck, Nadir pondered how silly he'd become. Yes, he enjoyed conversation and sex with this Schiel, but marriage? Travelling to a far off land? No. For one thing, his family would be utterly devastated.
"They'll be here within the hour," Nadir mumbled.
A gentle pat on his ass was the only answer.
According to the moon now shining through the window, there was little time left on Ragnar's deadline. Perhaps Nadir's family had gotten waylaid or lost on the way to town? How unfortunate for them. Maybe they had run into a ditch or something, leaving Nadir to his fate with the Schiel. He'd have to write them from the road so they wouldn't fret.
Upon hearing ruckus snores, he slid off Ragnar and dressed himself in candlelight. While the Schiel seemed well-equipped with all the accoutrement of a traveller, he lacked any tools for writing, and so Nadir would have to forage downstairs.
Each step brought him closer to rowdy shouts and merry singing. Clearly the patrons of this establishment had yet to wane in energy—when Nadir descended the final stair, he found a bright room stuffed with revelry. Although, as he passed the tables, people quieted. He combed his hair with his fingers, clearing his throat as he approached the bar and the imp still tending it.
"Good evening," the imp said, one eye horn cocked, his tail swishing behind him. He was appraising Nadir; gaze slowly moving up and down as if searching for injury.
"And to you," Nadir replied. "I was hoping for some parchment, ink, and a pen?"
The imp snorted. He set the glass he was cleaning down and reached under the bar. "I may have a few scraps and some charcoal," he said.
"Eh… yes, alright. That will do," Nadir replied dubiously, watching as a knobby stick of charcoal and a scrap of parchment were slide towards him. He nodded in thanks and pulled a stool up so that he may sit and think. After a last breath to build fortitude, he began writing in earnest:
Dear beloved family,
I have been abducted.
Nieces, do not take guilt upon yourselves even though you left me by the road so callously, I do not hold such actions against you. Brothers, although you will rush to my aid, I beg caution. The Schiel is a formidable lout.
"Eh?"
Nadir blinked. He looked up to see the Imp leaning over and staring at his farewell letter. "What's lout mean?" he asked Nadir.
"Well, a ruffian, a thug—"
The imp quirked his lip. "You callin' your beau a thug right after the marriage night? He must have shown you a good time."
"That's beside the point," Nadir sniffed as he continued writing. "I was not referring to his sexual prowess."
For a moment, the imp didn't reply. Then he said, with amusement clear in his voice, "Well, well, I think Ragnar's finally got himself a bond-mate worth having."
Nadir's charcoal snapped. He scratched at his temple, and then said lightly, "Were there less worthy bond-mates before me?"
"Pf, no. That oaf is a shy one. I told him he'd have to wrangle up a darling himself—they wouldn't just come to him with that mean mug of his. Then of course you pranced in and proved me wrong. Not that you meant to, of course."
"Yes, and thank you for that. Not warning me and all," Nadir replied wryly, skipping over the imp's first admission. "What was it? How did I end up proposing to a Schiel?"
With a grin, the imp pulled a glass out, dropped some ice in the cup, and poured a healthy dose of cherry liqueur. He slid it towards Nadir. "You bought a drink for a Schiel and yourself, and the two of you drank down to the bottom. That's akin to a blood oath in their books."
Nadir sighed. Then he hunched back over his letter, gathering his thoughts, when he heard the most tremendous roar. The whole saloon threatened to collapse as Ragnar came storming down the stairs, tugging his pants up as he ran. His red eyes were wild, his teeth bared, and he ran for the door before he caught sight of Nadir.
Enormous chest heaving, he stared. Then he looked down at himself, and a slow, indiscernible rumbling escaped his lips that made him sound like he was deflating.
The imp chuckled.
"Enough of this," Ragnar rasped, regaining his stature as he approached Nadir and grabbed his arm. "Midnight has passed. You are mine to do with as I want."
Nadir crumpled the letter in his hand. "Excuse me?" he said with false delicacy.
Jaw clenching, Ragnar loosened his hold. "What I want, in that—to give you—"
Nadir jerked out of his grip and backed away. He must have lost his mind to write that letter, when clearly Ragnar was not above lying. Midnight? How could it be midnight? He'd been gone for almost two days—his family would arrive before a third came.
Shoving past Ragnar, he ran to the saloon's door, throwing it open and stepping out into the night. The clock tower, barely visible at the center of town, firmly gave the time as one-ten in the morning. Nadir swayed a little. A firm hand tightened around his upper arm and steadied him. "I've—not been home for almost two nights," he said faintly. It made no sense.
Then he heard a sigh of beleaguerment. "There he is, Louis. You were right, nary a scratch on him."
Nadir's three brothers were there on their horses. All three looked quite bored. And there was nary a sword between them. Was this how they mounted a rescue?
"Nadir," Adrien, the eldest, said. "Do you know how much time we've wasted? If you wanted to shack up with some forest troll, then you should have mentioned it to the girls before departing rather than making the family wait in utter suspense for Nora to walk all the way to the estate just to inform us."
"Nora? The milkmaid?" Nadir asked, finding himself leaning back against Ragnar's hold.
"Yes, she came last night to tell us you'd been ravished by a Schiel," Louis chuckled. "The poor creature was all beside herself."
Nadir pressed his palm against his forehead. They'd known? Since yesterday? And only Nora the milkmaid bothered to care?
"Anyway," Yanvel, the youngest beside Nadir, said, "Come along."
"Come along?" Nadir echoed. The grip on his shoulder tightened almost painfully and then released completely. He looked back to see Ragnar had already distanced himself.
"Well, we can't just let you—" Adrien waved his hand around vaguely. "There's something too shameful about one of ours travelling about with a Schiel like some sort of marauding circus performer."
Shameful. Shameful.
Nadir knelt down, clawed up a wad of dirt, and then flung it at his brothers, who all squealed, their horses dancing about. "Did you know this beast means to abduct me? Make me his bond-mate? He wanted me to end up in some wasteland called a Skeinland as, I suppose, his sex slave!"
Louis was the first to calm, brushing some dirt from his shoulder. "Don't be dramatic," he sighed.
A rage bloomed in Nadir. With clenched fists, he jumped back to rap his knuckles against Ragnar's chest. "He won't let me go."
A gentle palm rested at the small of Nadir's back and he looked up to see Ragnar frowning at him.
"He won't let me go!" Nadir shouted vehemently, pushing his entire body back against Ragnar.
All at once, his world was overturned as Ragnar threw Nadir over his shoulder, and held him in place with a possessive hand on his ass.
"I dare say," he heard Louis gasp.
But Ragnar roared then—louder and more bone-rattling than Nadir had heard yet. He could feel it vibrate through his body.
"Leave," Ragnar commanded. "He is mine now."
And the sound of horse hooves thundering away filled the street, Nadir's family abandoning him to a dark fate. He found himself curling all about Ragnar, grabbing his neck and clutching tightly as he was carried back into the saloon. People stared, some smirking, but Ragnar just continued silently up to their room.
"I've probably exhausted any chance of escape, haven't I?" Nadir asked as Ragnar dropped him on the bed.
"Yes," Ragnar replied.
With a nod, Nadir sighed. There was nothing to be done about it—he was a Schiel's bonded now, with all the travelling about and endless, gymnastic, brutal sex that seemed to go with such an arrangement. He held his hands up, and Ragnar looked at him with some apprehension before bending down, only to jerk back up after Nadir kissed him, his pale cheeks red.
"I will find you delicious shrubs," the Schiel blurted.
"Uh, all right," Nadir replied. "But first, let's talk about this new snow-worthy wardrobe I'll be needing."