Warning: this story contains male/male and they will eventually be doing just about everything that can be put in an R rated story. It also contains violence, death and pregnancy.

Ok, so this has actually turned out to be more of a part 2 to ‘The Faery Prince’ instead of a sequel. But that’s ok, cause I have a plan. This story starts only a couple of weeks after the other one ends but I will be writing a proper sequel after this one that will be set twenty years later, when the twins are all grown up.

If you haven’t read ‘The Faery Prince’ then it is recommend that you do or you may be very confused.

I have decided to include Kirash and his well-liked husband Garin because it seems to be what you all wanted. This story is mainly about Vilya (like you couldn’t tell by the title) and his growing confusion with life in general.

Comments: Are always appreciated.

The Demon Servant

            At his instruction, the horse stopped just inside the clearing. Looking at the well-maintained cottage the faery wondered if any of the flowers in the front garden had been planted by his son. Was the boy old enough? This was his tenth birthday but he had a feeling his child would age differently to other faeries. His conception had been somewhat unusual. And the birth…

            It had been the most painful thing he had ever experienced. By the end of it he had been screaming at them to just rip the damn child out and throw it in the fire. He hadn’t wanted the child, never wanted it but he hadn’t been able to get rid of it with any of the usual methods, the creature just didn’t want to die. It hadn’t really mattered to him too much at the time, he figured he’d just have it destroyed when it was born.

            Once it came out, the healer tried to give the cloth wrapped bundle to him but he hadn’t wanted to see it. He had just wanted it gone. Then the healer had changed his life forever, she forcefully thrust the child into his arms and he was startled into looking down and into the most beautiful amethyst eyes. Eyes just like his own; in colour at least. It was then his heart melted for this little thing… no, little being. Such a beautiful, infinitely delicate little creature. His beautiful little son, grown from inside of him; something he had given life to. It had been such a strange feeling, it confused him and he had thrust the child away.

            Now, so many years later he had finally thought to come and see the child he had sent away moments after its birth. He was just curious, he kept telling himself, the child meant nothing to him. He just wanted to see what it looked like, what colour was the boy’s hair? His skin? Was he tall and thin or short and fat? Would he be dirty and calloused living out in the wilderness like this, or would he be as beautiful and dangerous as a wild rose?

            He slipped from his horse and let go of the reins, just leaving it there as he walked towards the house. As he entered the front garden the door opened. Slowly and cautiously a pale child stepped onto the doorstep, his large amethyst eyes wary but not fearful. He stopped walking and looked the child… his son over. Shiny black and red-streaked hair framed a too-pretty face and loose clothes hung off his thin body making him appear mere bones. He was unprepared for the flash of pain that came with seeing his son so underfed. How badly had his son been cared for, while he had lived in a life of luxury?

            “Don’t you get fed?” The question was asked kindly, with concern but it seemed to anger the child. He stood straighter, crossing his little arms and glaring defiantly.

            “I had a growth spurt. And I’m not that skinny!”

            “Don’t be stupid child, you’re all skin and bones.” Advancing on the boy he was surprisingly unsatisfied when the child stumbled back in alarm, tripping on the step and falling back onto the hallway floor.  Frowning, he reached down, lifting the boy gently to his feet, ignoring his startled and fearful look. “I’m not going to hurt you. You are the only son I’ve got.”

            “You’re… my father?”

            “Yes.”

            “Really?” All fear vanished and a brilliant grin appeared on his pretty face. It was a touching sight and all he could do was nod in response, surprised further when the child hugged him fiercely, small arms encircling his thighs. Absently patting the soft, velvety hair he wondered at it. It was as if it couldn’t decide between the two colours and so chose to form chunky contrasting streaks. The resulting effect, if a little startling was quite beautiful, though there was a little too much hair for his liking.

            “Where’s Renick?”

            “He went to town.” The boy pulled back before gripping his hand and leading him to the couch to sit. “He always leaves me here by myself. Can’t you tell him to let me go to town? I’m ten now, I’m old enough to go.”

            “You are old enough.” The faery found himself smiling, as his son crawled onto the couch next to him, little fingers playing with his extensively embroidered sleeve. “But you’re not big enough, you could barely pass for a child of five.” The boy looked hurt at this comment and his cheeks flushed with shame as he looked down at his fingers.

            “I could.” Though he sounded very doubtful.

            A sigh left him and he gripped the little chin, lifting it until two sets of amethyst met. “Don’t be in such a hurry, little one. You are different… special. Don’t expect to grow as quickly as other children do, you’re not like them.”

            “Am I bad?” Tears spilt from the elven shaped eyes and he pulled out his handkerchief, wiping them away carefully; his son seeming infinitely fragile.

            “Of course you’re not.”

            “So why am I different?”

            “Because you’re better than the other children… Daemir. You’re better and you always will be, remember that, for one day I will need you by my side.”

            “In Ethriel?” Daemir instantly perked up. “In the mountain city?”

            “Yes, son. There is just one thing.” He frowned studying the pretty face before running a hand through the soft waist-length hair. “Your hair is too long, you don’t want to look like a conceiver do you?”

            The boy bit his lip, unsure. “No…?”

            “No, of course you don’t.” He clarified for his son before pulling his jewelled dagger and neatly slicing the hair off to his shoulders. “There, now you look like a warrior.”

            “I do?” Daemir grinned, not at all upset at the loss of hair. The faery couldn’t help giving his son a smile, ruffling his soft hair.

            “Yes. I’ll have to get one of my guards to come and teach you swordcraft.”

            “I love you daddy!” The boy exclaimed before climbing in his lap, small arms hugging his neck, a pretty face buried in his shirt. He once again stoked the soft hair; his little son was such a marvel and he didn’t have to lie at all.

            “I love you too, son. My little Daemir.”