The Mist and the Lightning. Part 11 - стр. 20

Kors saw the ring:

“What the hell is that?!” He immediately reacted, tried to grab hold of him, but Arel managed to dodge.

“Kors, Nik will learn about this!” He cried in despair with anguish. “What should I do, Nik?! What should I do?”

And Kors stopped.

“Again you behave like a madman! Gods! You are completely sick, how could I forget! Get out!”

He opened the door, pushing Arel out, who didn’t even have time to get up. He slammed the door behind him. Throwing out the prince, Kors squeezed his temples in his hands and collapsed into a chair. He was shaking.

On stiff legs, Arel limped to his room. He entered like a somnambulist, without looking at Verniy, sat down on the bed. The shield from his mask remained at Kors. And Ver saw that Arel came without it, and his hair was tousled, and the buckle on his jacket was torn out with the roots and dangled on a piece of leather rag. The prince glanced at the unclean guiltily, looked away.

“Brush your hair,” Ver said to him in unclean language and pointed to the comb. Arel understood him, he obediently went to the mirror and sat down in front of it. He grabbed a hairbrush to smooth the tousled strands.

“Take off your jacket, it has to be sewn up,” Ver pointed to the jacket.

Arel uncomplainingly took off his jacket.

“Do you hear the owner? In your head? Do you hear him?” Ver knocked on his dog's head, trying to convey to the prince the meaning of the question.

“No, I don’t hear him,” Arel barely whispered, “I don’t hear you, Nik, forgive me.”

Ver went up to him to take the jacket, and Arel handed it to him. And Ver put the key on the table in front of Arel. It was the key to the part of the mask that covered his perforated cheek. Having opened the lock at the temple with the key, it was necessary to unfasten the buckle and remove the flap that covered the lacing.

By unlacing the slit in the mask, the hole could be opened. Arel raised his head in horror:

“No! No,” he whispered, “Nik, no.”

Ver, without another word, stepped away from the table. Sitting down in his place in the corner, he began to mend Arel’s jacket. With trembling fingers, Prince Arel took the key, there were tears in his eyes.

“Yes?” Kors distracted himself from the map, which he took out of the cylinder, using the seal. “Who's there? Valentine, is it you?”

And since there was silence outside the door, he swore and, coming up, sharply opened it.

Arel stood on the threshold, without a jacket, undressed to the waist, and Kors froze, a little dumbfounded, but quickly pulled himself together.

“Oh,” a pause followed, “do you want more, prince? Well, come in.”

Kors didn’t take his eyes off the thick ring protruding into the slit of the mask cut specially for it.

“Come in, come in.”

Arel took a step into the room, as if with an effort, his eyes were empty.

“Can't you forget our time with you?” Kors grinned, slapped Arel on the cheek so that his head dangled to the side.

“Well?” Kors looked expectantly. “Why are you only half undressed? Take everything off. As it should be.”

Arel clumsily began to pull down his pants with fingers clumsy like wooden, revealing a metal chastity belt.

Kors saw it. He saw his body covered in tattoos:

“Beautiful,” he said, “nothing can be said, it suits you. And what's that? A hole through which you can only pee? Oh, poor thing! So your lover chained you, was he afraid that you would cheat on him? Yes, you can. You are a slut of noble blood. You can't be left alone for a minute, right, Arel?”