“You won’t hurt him,” Henrik reassured, always able to read Johan’s mind apparently, given the relief on his face. “If you go slow and he’s aroused enough, he could probably take us both,” Henrik joked.
“Now, that is the best idea you’ve had in a long time,” Elias said before yawning and nuzzling his face into Johan’s warm, furry chest.
That is a very good idea, indeed.
A
week later, their blissful bubble burst and the elves discovered that they’d become a little too comfortable.
Johan, who had been down the street collecting some food from the butcher's, burst in through the front door of the shop, gasping for breath.
“Queen’s. Carriage,” he blurted out.
“Where?” Henrik asked, his voice laced with panic.
Johan pointed down the street, and Elias rushed to the shop window to take a look.
Sure enough, a golden carriage was being pulled down the main street by four huge black horses. The pavement, which had been bustling with people just moments before, was a ghost town now. The only evidence of some children who’d been playing on the corner was an abandoned skipping rope on the ground.
Johan gripped Elias by his upper arm and pulled him into the back, shoving him and Henrik into the workshop.
They didn’t remain in there for long. Once Johan had gone back into the shop, the two of them snuck into the hallway that connected the two spaces and listened in at the doorway.
The front door jingled, alerting them to someone entering the shop. It could have been anyone, but when all the fine hairs on Elias’ skin stood on end, he knew that it was her.
“You are the owner of this establishment?” she asked. Her voice sent shivers down Elias’ spine.
Johan must have nodded.
“I see. And your… workers?”
There was a beat of silence before a man spoke, “I believe the owner is what they call, a ‘mute.’” He said it disdainfully, and Elias hated it. He wanted to go in there and tell them how much Johan says without his words. He wanted to hide Johan from anyone who’s ever treated him as less than, but Elias feared exposing Henrik even more.
“Well, if you are selling elf-made shoes, then you have elves working for you in some capacity. Do you not?”
Silence once again. Elias glanced behind him at Henrik, who had gone white as a sheet, sweat gleaming across his forehead as if he had a fever.
Elias realised there was no avoiding this entirely, but maybe he could spare his love.
“Wait here, do not come out, Rik. Do not follow me,” Elias whispered to him.
Taking a deep breath for courage, Elias squared his shoulders and peered around the door.
“I—” he coughed, and the Queen, plus her entourage of four men, turned to face him. “I am the one who assists in making the shoes.”
Her gaze raked over him curiously. “This man here, is your owner?” She pointed at Johan.
The question alone made Elias feel sick. He wasn’t sure whether lying would help or hinder him. If he declared Johan as his owner, she could easily force his hand into “selling” Elias. But if he admitted he was free, there was nobody but himself protecting him.
“No.” He gulped. “He is not my owner. I am free.” He showed his wrists, bare of the copper bangles which had suppressed his access to magic.
She narrowed her eyes in what Elias worried was suspicion.
“Interesting… What does he pay you?”
“One-third of each sale,” Elias answered honestly.
“I have never had an elf in my… employ. But I have witnessed your talents and would be prepared to pay you double if you came to work for the palace,” she offered.
