I Sealed the Demon Lord for a Hundred Years, Now He Wants His Jailer novel · Chapter 20 of 24

Chapter 20: Ice Shore

Chenjue opened a door of black fire at the edge of the shore, and the Black Palace sent its furs through it.

There were a dozen of them, white wolf and grey fox and one great black bear skin.

He spread them over the frozen shingle with a care that would have shamed a priest.

The sun went down behind the seventh peak.

The disciples had gone up to their halls.

Out on the lake the ice groaned and ran with meltwater.

Far out in the middle sat the keeper's chair, small and dark in the last light.

Wuhen did not look at it.

He sat on the furs and watched the man who was building him a bed.

"You've done that four times," he said.

"It was crooked."

"It's a fur," Wuhen said.

"It was crooked, Jailer."

Wuhen laughed, and the breath smoked in front of his face.

The cold bit at his bare feet, and at his hands, and through the white robe.

It felt good.

It felt like standing in water after a very long fever.

"Come here," he said.

Chenjue came.

He knelt on the furs in front of him in a black coat with the red lining open.

Wuhen pushed it from his shoulders and let it fall.

The skin underneath was hot.

It steamed a little in the cold air, and the black scale at the forearms shone.

"Lie down," Wuhen said.

"Wuhen..."

"On your back. Hands over your head."

A pause.

"Is this the chain again?"

"There's no chain. I want you to keep them there anyway."

The red eyes held his.

Then Chenjue lay back on the bear skin and put his hands above his head, flat on the fur.

He let his head turn to the side.

He looked like a king on a battlefield.

He looked, Wuhen thought, entirely his.

Wuhen undressed slowly.

The white robe went, and the air flayed his skin to gooseflesh, and he knelt over those broad thighs.

He ran his palms up the bare chest, slow, over every old scar.

He kissed each one.

"This one's from the Red Ford," he said, against a ridge below the ribs. "I gave you that."

"You did. It was ugly."

"It was a good cut," Wuhen replied.

"It was excellent. I've hated it for eight hundred years."

"And this one," Wuhen answered.

"A tiger."

"A very small tiger," Wuhen said.

"It was a large tiger!"

Wuhen smiled against his stomach.

He mouthed down the line of hair to the hip.

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