Chapter 7

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Geoffrey looked around him. The room Wolfgan gave him, his own probably, was entirely made of wood and rock. Everything was simple but very elegant, and Geoffrey felt a little comforted by it. It was clean and wide and royal, and he felt at home. The bed was giant and stood again one of the walls, taking over the room. Beside it, some stands full of books, probably for his sake too since hullians didn't read much, and two giant chests made of metal, wood and leather, which he assumed belonged to Wolfgan too. There were two big windows which gave him a very beautiful view of the mountains, and the dark winter forest that was just on the horizon.

Geoffrey bit his lips and clutched at his clothes. He was so very tired but laying down in Wolfgan's bed was just everything he has ever been against. His eyes fell on the little table tucked in a corner full of trinkets and metal and gold, probably gifts from the man as usual with hullians, and a little wooden stool across the room in the other corner, carved with runes, with an harp that was bigger than his own beside it. Another present.

None of his own possessions were on the room, he realized. He wondered if that was one of Wolfgan's punishments or if if was something else, some other habit he wasn't aware of.

He took his travel boots off and untied the lace around his legs, taking the delicate trousers of from under his robes. He left them beside the huge chest and looked at the bed again. Thorn, he walked to the little table with the trinkets, eyes focusing on the gifts, noticing they weren't trinkets at all. They were very expensive jewels and rings, perfumes and hair brushes made of silver.

He sat on the hair in front of it and took one hairbrush, slowly untangling his hair, looking at his reflection. Once again he saw a tired man, so very different from who he used to be some years ago. His eyes got blurry and this time he couldn't help a tear from falling, and he scrunched up his face in shame. He threw the hairbrush back with the others, angry and scared, and got up again.

He walked from side to side before deciding to take off his robes and fold them, leaving them on top of Wolfgan's chest. He approached the bed a little uncertain, and got up on it, feeling immediately soothed and sleepy. He knew it was Wolfgan's scent, impregnated in the sheets of the bed and in the whole air of the room, that made him feel this way, but he was too far tired to question it this time, or to rage against it. He dropped down in the middle of the bed dressed only in his delicate underwear and took one of the pillows to hold. He brought it to his nose and took a deep breath, feeling his body respond, whimpering. This. Desperate, he dug his nails on his tight until it hurt as a punishment, until he couldn't feel pleasure anymore. It was this madness that made him disinherited and it was only fair that it was his punishment. If he couldn't bring himself to touch a woman, if he couldn't have an heir, it was only fair of destiny to force a man upon him. Maybe under Wolfgan he could do some good for society after all.

~.~

Wolfgan sat on his throne looking at the warriors dancing on the saloon. Geoffrey was sitting beside him, hair adorned with gold and silver, gown falling down his shoulders and thighs, eyes unfocused and lost. Wolfgan had checked on him while he was sleeping twice, worried about how obedient he would be, if he would try to burn anything down.

The sleeping, calm beauty he found in his bed made him smile, and he had to hold himself to not go inside and take Geoffrey right there. He made himself close the door, assign a soldier to stand in front of the door in case Geoffrey needed anything, and he slept in another room, letting Geoffrey have his alone time.

Now, Geoffrey had an empty cup in his hand, and he was swaying with the music from time to time, smiling silly at a joke someone every now and then said in the hall. Drunk, he was very drunk. Someone was really trying to kill him, he thought, holding the chair so forcefully his knuckles turned white.

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