The rest of the walk proceeds very differently. Valken holds Sellia tight, expressing his control and steadying her at the same time. His hand rests on her exposed hip, occasionally moving down to grope Sellia's ass or up to fondle her tits. He makes her thank him each time he deigns to do so.
Sellia fidgets in his grasp. Valken can tell she's acutely aware of the thick metal object inside of her. Her sheer pants and skimpy underwear do little to hide it. Anyone who cares to look knows exactly what's between her two red cheeks. Valken knows Sellia can feel every pair of eyes that flit her way, and he knows that the humiliation just makes her more aroused. It's easy to see that. Her underwear is soaked through.
Valken takes the lead, of course. He intentionally moves slowly, prolonging Sellia's torture, savoring it. He's forgotten how much fun it is to torment her, to do any of this really. He knows he doesn't need Sellia to indulge his desires. There have been others over the years, but it's never the same, never interesting, never lasts long. Every time he's with someone, he can't help but think about how much better it would be if they were Sellia. He hasn't done anything with anyone else since Balika. Ironic, since that's when people really started to throw themselves at him.
Eventually, Valken and Sellia reach the inn, although calling the White Glove an inn feels wrong. This is not some out-of-the-way carriage house, it's one of the finest establishments in Edrigad, housed in one of its oldest buildings, a magnificent spire that rises into the sky. Men in fine uniforms stand at an entrance that is a work of art all by itself, an elaborate abstract shape that catches the light of Edrigad's orbs to make it seem as if the entrance is a portal to another world. Their sign, unlike many, is in full color, a complete, hyperreal illusion of a lady's fine hand sensually removing a white glove. Many people stop to look. Very few enter. This is not a place that caters to crowds. They have a much more exclusive clientele.
As Valken and Sellia approach the entrance to the White Rose, one of the valets steps forward to intercept them, the picture of practiced deference. If he's surprised to see a couple like them, he doesn't show it.
"Good evening, messere," he says "Might I ask your name?"
"Stavro Canis," Valken says. He can see recognition spark on the valet's face
"Lord Canis, of course, it is a pleasure to have your presence grace our city at last." The valet says, motioning for the pair to follow him as he moves through the entrance.
The moment Valken steps through, the outside world is gone. The sounds of city life are replaced by gentle music, and when he looks behind him, Valken can only see a circular void where the entrance stands. A hallway stretches out in front of him, lined with ornate wooden doors lined with pearls and precious metals. If he focuses, Valken can feel the gentle buzz of privacy magics all around him.
The valet moves through the hall at a brisk pace, clearly knowing where he's going. Valken lets him go ahead. He can see the question in Sellia's eyes, even if she won't voice it while she's playing her role.
"I've always collected names," Valken says, "now some of them carry weight."
Sellia doesn't respond, but Valken can see the smile in her eyes. She's always found his many aliases amusing, but he's not sure if she's laughing at the old habit or at his choice of name. Probably both.
The valet leads them through the hallways of the White Rose. A few twists and turns and the pair is in front of their very own door. There's an engraving in the wood, a pair of wolves curled together as if resting by a fire. A nice touch. The valet opens the door and ushers the pair inside
The room is beautiful. Elegant without being gaudy. It's filled with fine wood furniture and tastefully chosen art, lit by strategically placed magelights. A table in the corner is already set for two. A fireplace sits right beside it, already lit, but it doesn't give off any heat. There's a set of stairs across from it.
The valet turns to Valken and hands him a small silver bell. "This room is designed to respond to your will, Messere, a simple expression of intent is enough to change the temperature, the lighting, and the music to your liking. For your other needs, you need only ring this bell and speak your desires into the aether. We will hear them. The bedroom is upstairs."
"Thank you," Valken says, "That will be all we need for now."
The valet bows, "Of course Messere, you need only ring."
With those parting words, the valet leaves them, and Valken and Sellia are alone again. Valken walks over to the table in the corner and slides onto the long couch beside. Sellia moves to sit across from him, but Valken tugs on her leash and sends her tumbling into his lap.
"I want to keep you close," he says.
"As you wish, Sir," Sellia says. She's the picture of the obedient servant.
"Let's pause all that for a while," Valken says, "It's been too long since we just had a meal and talked."
A switch flips, and an invisible change washes over Sellia, a drunken smile spreads across her face.
"Mmm... I was having fun," she says, "But that does sound delightful"
"Perfect. I've already ordered for us."
"Of course you have. You never change, Val."
"Do you want me to change?"
"No. Never."
Valken concentrates for a moment, and a bottle of wine appears on the table without any fanfare. He picks up off the table and turns the label towards Sellia. It's cold to the touch.
"An Embrian white," Valken says. "from Chalis. Bottled in 1545."
"The same year we met," Sellia.
Maxim pours them both a glass, takes a long sip. The wine tastes of pear and honey with just a hint of the sea. Rich, complex, but balanced. The taste lingers on his tongue.
"That," Sellia says, "Is really fucking good."
"I've been holding onto it." Valken says, "Picked it up a while ago when business took me back."
"I haven't heard of any business in Embria," Sellia says, "You need to come see me more often."
"I'd like to," Valken says. " But we're busy people. You're important now. It's not easy to get an audience with the Mistress of the Scholastica"
Sellia frowns. "For you it is. I've told my people you're a priority. You can visit me anytime you want."
Valken hadn't known that. "I had kind of just assumed that you had more important things to do than meet with me," Valken says. "I know how you get when you're deep in your research. I don't want to impose.
"Val you could never. By the gods, you're the best thing for my research. I used to make more progress with you in a day than I make in three weeks at the Scholastica. All the scholars are just so--"
"Boring?" Valken asks.
"Conventional," Sellia says. Valken laughs at that. Almost every member of the Scholastica that Valken has met has been either the most tedious "intellectual" imaginable or utterly insane. Competent, functional scholars spend most of their time in the field.
" I guess I just need to come around more." He says
"Please do, seriously. I'll always make time for an old friend."
Friend. The word hurts. Valken tries not to show it. "Other than that, how is life as mistress of the Scholastica treating you?" he asks.
"I'm enjoying it more than I thought," Sellia says, "I thought I'd be bored to death after the war but the Scholastica's politics make the Embrian court look like a picture of harmony. Teaching is also more rewarding than I expected. Most of my students are just spoiled
noble brats trying to party away their youths before they're forced into responsibility, but I've found a number of gems among them."
Sellia stops talking and looks at Valken. Her eyes narrow. "Have you ever thought of taking on an apprentice?" she asks.
"I've considered it." Valken says, "Taking someone from the gutter like Henrik did with me. Do you have a student who seems more suited to a sword?"
"No, but I want to make sure that when I decide to send my protege out into the world they'll have a proper companion."
"Well, I would hate it if a charge of yours had to go unaccompanied." Valken says, "I wonder what their travels will be like. Things are far more peaceful now. It isn't like the old days."
Sellia giggles. "The old days? Val, we're not even thirty yet, we don't have old days."
"You know what I mean."
"You sound like Ungar, and he's ancient." She says, "Neither of us is old enough or boring enough to talk like him just yet."
"He's retiring, you know."
