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He’d known,he’d knownthat the little Susconian was self-conscience about his own intelligence, perhaps wondering himself if he was lacking, and Jareth had judged him so blatantly, and now his beast stirred, disquieted by Salas’ discontent in the washroom.
Part of Jareth knew that Salas would have been upset no matter how he had phrased the rejection, but he still felt incompetent in his ability to help the fae boy. At the time, he had hoped that by showing the boy the root of the problem, it could so easily be fixed.
“You killed the only man who helped me to understand!”Salas, of course, had been referring to Emperor Eldron. There hadn’t been a single moment since the invasion that Jareth had questioned his military actions—what he had done in regards to the swift execution of the Emperor—and he still did not. But the reality was still plain: killing the man had caused Salas clear, great distress. Ultimately, and with agonizing contradiction, none of it sat right with him.
Not after all that had been done to Salas.
Jareth was now drawn to the boy, wanting to wrap him in a cocoon, permanently latch him to his side, and fend off any would-be adversaries with teeth and claws.
For the first time, Jareth wondered how deep the connection between Eldron and Salas had been. For Salas to believe with such devoted faith that certain behavior was appropriate, the brainwashing would have had to run deep. What state had Salas been in when he had been discovered by the late emperor?
The mystery hinted at something dark that Jareth didn’t like.
He thought of the Emperor’s old, decrepit body paired with Salas,’ andgrowled.
Finally, the noise from the other room had silenced long enough for Jareth to make his move. He crept into the washroom and sure enough, Salas was fast asleep in the tub.
He carefully scooped the sleeping figure up, tucking him close, and put him to bed. Breathing him in, or course, as he slept.
The morning was no better.
Handmaids had bustled into the room with an array of breakfast plates, laying them out on the table and then looking over to the bed, where Salas still slept in late like he normally did, the maids most likely wishing they could change the linens.
Jareth sighed and shook his head to them, signaling to them that it was a lost cause.
Exchanging sheepish looks, they left.
The sound of the door closing after them finally stirred Salas, sprawled out on the bed, every inch of him cushioned with a fat pillow, looking every bit the little prince rising from a gentle sleep.
But then his eyes cut over to Jareth and he glowered.
“Come, Salas, claim your breakfast. The food chills while you laze about,” Jareth said, claiming his own seat at the table and watching intently as the boy made a display of rolling over and pouting, perfectly aware of his audience of one.
“I stay here today. In bed,” he announced grandly, collapsing down once more. His Diagorian was improving, and Salas spoke it avidly now, his confidence growing with his ever-expanding range of vocabulary.
“Are you?” Jareth wondered, with a note of sternness that hinted that he was cross when truly he was simply amused. No need to let the brat know that he’d planned all-along for him to do just that.
Tarick had said that Salas had the entire kitchen staff wrapped around his little finger. Perhaps his friend hadn’t known how tightly Jareth was wrapped himself.
There was a silence that hung awkwardly in the air as both seemed to recall the events of last night.
And what an eventful night it had been. After Jareth had learned what the guard had done to Salas, he remembered storming the halls, rousing the staff, and bringing every single palace guard into a courtyard where they had lined up and received questioning until a name had been given for the perpetrator of the crime.
When the guard had not seemed remorseful for the actions, of raping Salas, Jareth had nearly lost it. The man had been stripped of his titles, whipped, and then sent to a border prison within the same hour, for Jareth did not want the man within the same building as Salas. The had-been guard would serve the remainder of his sentencing for long years in that prison.
After all that, then came the twist of events with Salas in his bed.
On top of him. Wet lips around him. Kissing him.
And after, it was only to find that the boy hadn’t been remotely aroused at all. He hadn’t wanted Jareth, not really. He’d simply tried to give Jareth what he thought Jareth wanted. Just like he had done for the guard.
The shameful part was that Salas hadn’t been wrong. More than anything, Jareth wanted Salas. Wanted the boy under him, taking him in, gasping his name, surrendering. Whimpering as he bore down on his cock and waited for Jareth to seat himself inside him.
But it was a dream that lived in another life. He couldn’t do that to Salas. Not with the boy so lost in the weeds the late emperor had planted in him.
Until Salas truly wanted him, in all the right ways, it was an issue that could not remain moot.
Finally, Salas got up from the bed and performed his morning ritual. First, he checked under the bed, where he had hidden a stash of things that he took out and looked over, seemingly unaware that he was being watched.
