“Father had three sons,” Kors whispered softly and grinned.
“Vil will take care of you, he is very kind, and I will go with Nik and Vitor to the Demon World.”
“No, please, Master, don’t leave me! Take me to the Demon World too! I will serve you there, sir, when you become a Demon! Please!”
“No, Valentine, you will be fine in my Castle. You have nothing to do in the Demon World.”
Valentine continued to cry, smearing tears on his dirty, scarred cheeks. Kors looked condescendingly at what was happening, he was clearly bored; both this situation and crying Valentine at least a little entertained him and distracted him from the endless worries about his son, who went for a walk. Kors now could not control him and therefore was very worried.
“No, he’s pretty cute,” Kors remarked, finally returning to discussing Valentine. “Chester was far from ugly, and that little slave must have been pretty too. Pleasant appearance. Only you, Arel, don’t know how to handle your slaves. Valentine is dressed too expensively, you allow him to have long hair, you don’t really limit anything, you don’t follow him. He walks where he wants, does what he wants…”
“He never leaves our cart,” Arel objected.
“Are you sure about that? Have you seen how well-bred slaves behave in my house? The cook is in the kitchen, the groom is in the stable. And the slave in the entertainment room. Everyone is in his place and does not hang around anywhere.”
“Yes. All are distributed as in the cells in a prison.”
“Arel!”
And Kors already out of habit, not at all restraining himself, just as he spanked Nik, gave Arel a box on the ear; and he, like Nik, only shrank slightly and swallowed it without answering.
“You need to put a chastity belt on him. Otherwise, he will make children and continue the spoiled family.”
“Who needs him!”
“Are you kidding? His expensive clothes, long hair and tall stature will perfectly attract peasants and slaves, this is quite enough for them. Valentine, can you hear thoughts?” Suddenly asked Kors, abruptly changing the subject from an unexpected guess.
And Valentine trembled again and timidly answered:
“Yes, sir. Quite a bit, only sir Arel’s, sir Nik’s and sir Verniy’s.”
Kors shook his head.
“Yeah… Arel, and all your fault is your carelessness and stupidity! Gods, what am I to do with you all? How to fix this mess?”
“Put it back on,” Arel ordered Valentin, nodding at the helmet, and the boy immediately began to pull it over his disheveled head, slipping a hard leather collar under the collar. He couldn’t himself tighten the lacing on the back of his head, and Arel helped him and closed the back with a lock again.
Kors watched as Valentine himself put on a slavish attribute, as it seemed to Kors, he did it even with some kind of joy or relief he humbly bowed his head when Arel laced him up.
“But his character is not at all the same as that of Chester,” remarked Kors, “or is it you, Arel, who knocked all the crap out of him?”
“Valentine, get out, get out!” Arel ordered, and Valentine rushed to the exit.
“We should have sent him to Verniy to at least wash his face, he’s grimy as a pig,” said Kors.
Arel didn’t answer, he was clearly tired of being busy with a slave. He held out his hand to Kors.
“Go here.”
Kors responded, and Arel threw him onto his skins, holding him to himself.
“Arel, do you love me?”
