[FINISHED]One of the best known original m/m romances in Russia, loved by many. It won the Russian Wattys 2015 Award, now it's available in English too.
Alva Ahayrre is a Creedan nobleman and a courtier, a beautiful and frivolous redhead...
Later, much later, he wondered what had caught his attention. Was it the glowing white skin, with its shades of silver and mother-of-pearl that gleamed even through the dirt? This slave, curled up by the post, had his arms wrapped around him, as if cold, even though one of the big fires gave off enough heat to make the nomads glisten with sweat. His head drooped; his long hair obscured his face. The dust and mud hid their colour, but Alva guessed it to be blond. He did not see clearly, but assumed that the slave wore a collar and chain that attached him to the post.
Alva craved to see his face, hardly knowing why. Without further thinking, he pointed the slave out to Kintaro. "Valiant chief, who is this man, and why is he in chains?" asked Alva.
An illustration by Anna Valerius to this very moment
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"A prisoner," said Kintaro carelessly. He called over one of his men, and nodded to fetch the slave. "We caught him on the Teraisa Plain by the GreatForest. He is one of the Ancient Race."
"An elf? You have caught an elf?" cried Alva, shocked.
"There were five of them, and each killed five of ours before dying. This one we caught alive. He is brave and he fought well. Now my warriors can enjoy his lovely body."
Alva was appalled. "If he fought as bravely as you say, you could have spared him the degradation. You should have killed him right away, if only out of respect for his courage."
Kintaro looked surprised. "On the contrary, we had honoured him. To become a slave is nobler than tending cattle like women or dying prisoner after the battle. We believe that when you share a bed with a warrior, you share in his skill and prowess as well. This slave will not go ignored."
Alva could not stop looking, as the elf was dragged through the crowd towards him. Head bowed and swaying slightly, the elf followed the nomad listlessly, hands still wrapped around his chest, as if trying to hide from the leers. He was completely naked, and Alva felt a pang when he noticed how the elf was starved and gaunt, his body scratched and bruised. If the Essanti were so brutish even with those they wanted to seduce, they must have been unimaginably worse to a slave.
The prisoner was thrown down before him. Alva, without a second's hesitation, reached out and lifted the captive's chin to look into his face.
He often went back to this moment as well. He even tried to put his first impression into verse, but always finished by tearing up the sheet. It came out trite and bland, Alva's celebrated poetic gift failing him. He was looking upon beauty incarnate. The face of the captive elf, however gaunt and void of lively hues, was of stunning perfection. Alva hardly dared to think how the elf would look on a good day, joyful and happy (assuming the elves knew how to be joyful and happy). God Almighty, his face and his whole body seemed to give off a silvery light in the descending darkness!
