Caspian had never seen a boy like him: he looked absolutely wild, and something about this made Caspian want him; it was not enough to defeat Miraz, but he must have something so wild and defiant, so free, to satisfy his thirst for vengeance. The rhythmic beating of his feet on the ground, the clapping of his hands and the bells on his wrists, the constant changing of pattern on his leopard-skin toga as he twirled around - and Caspian was mesmerized. It had taken him no time at all after he followed Edmund's gaze to find what it was that was so interesting; but then Caspian heard Lucy leading Edmund away, not noticing Caspian in the shadows and leaving him alone, prey to the wine-god.
Bacchus's lips are deep red, taste like wine, and leave purple-red stains wherever they taste Caspian's dark skin. The bells on his wrists sing lightly as he moves his hands across the planes of Caspian's body, the cold metal teasing his skin. Bacchus bites him, leaving red roses behind; Caspian reaches behind his head, grasping the tree roots to keep from going mad, making an arch of his body, the white lines of his arms against dark earth; with every thrust his head hits the base of the tree, Bacchus digs his nails a little farther into his skin, leaving curved lines, dots of blood on his hips. When he goes over the edge, induced by Bacchus's warm mouth, wine-stained lips around him, he sees white and red and leopard skin behind his eyes, repeating the god's name like it is a prayer, like it can save his life.
Once the water, the sea, has been mixed with the wine (meant to dilute it but only making it stronger), once they are resting atop Bacchus's toga on the soft earth, still breathing heavily, Bacchus plants kisses on his bare shoulder, the inside of his wrist, and tells him, as he brands Caspian's skin, "Now, dear Caspian, you are a king."