The Prince's Boy
Volume Two
by Cecilia Tan
Circlet Press, Inc.
Cambridge, MA
The Prince’s Boy: Volume Two
Copyright © 2011 by Cecilia Tan
Cover illustration by Scarlet B.
Circlet Press
39 Hurlbut Street
Cambridge, MA 02138
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 978-1-61390-014-7
First Ebook Edition July 2011
Originally published as a web serial beginning on July 29, 2009 at www.circlet.com.
Ebook Edition conversion and formatting by JimandZetta.com.
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Contents
Other titles from Circlet Press
57: Kenet
I woke in darkness, with Roichal spooned around me as usual, but I spent a moment in confusion wondering what was different. Then I shifted and heard the rustle of the straw ticking wrapped in the general's cloak under us, followed by the whicker of a horse close by. Now I remembered. Our flight from the wildfire, Roichal not slowing until the horse needed to, dismounting and walking while I continued to ride. He only looked back when there was a river and a line of hills between us and the former mustering grounds.
The sunset had been blood red that evening with the smoke lingering in the sky at the horizon, and we had set up camp exhaustedly in what looked to be an abandoned barn.
The grain harvest here had failed from the blight, and the people and their animals had moved on. The small barn was plenty for our horse and us to shelter in, and the well still gave fresh water.
The first grey of dawn showed me the edges of the stall in which we slept. Roichal grunted and cleared his throat.
"Good morning, my prince," he said, his voice hoarse.
"You had best keep calling me Page," I said, "and treating me as one. Who knows what form of spies our enemies might employ?"
"Ah yes, you are right," he said. "That is the voice of wishfulness speaking, wishing that we might be safer than we are. Let us take stock of Kinsall's legs before we do else."
He got stiffly to his feet and then held out a hand to help me up. I took it, not because I needed the help, but just to feel his warm, callused hand in mine. We had slept in what little clothing we'd had on our backs when we'd fled.
He knew more of horses than I did, so while he checked Kinsall over, I filled the trough with water from the well, the wooden bucket beginning to rot from disuse but sturdy enough to bring up what we needed. Then I shook out the cloak and realized with a start that it wasn't Roichal's at all, but that one of Jorin's I'd grabbed upon my flight from the castle.
I must have made some noise of dismay on realizing, as Roichal was by my side quickly. "Something wrong?"
"Oh, just the sting of irony, I suppose," I said. "Or Fate. For here I am once again, shirtless and with my feet unshod, fleeing from danger, and yet this cloak still shields me."
Roichal rubbed the hem with his fingers. "In the rush to run from the tent, I jammed boots onto my feet and grabbed this without looking," he said. He had a shirt but no jacket, and trousers, while I had only trousers. "It is yours?"
"In a manner, yes. It belonged to someone I knew at... at the castle, and I too, grabbed it in haste."
"Someone?" he asked, the word ponderous with meaning in his voice.
"My guard," I said, my voice quavering with emotion. "My... my best guard."
Roichal's hands took the cloak gently from me and swung it over my shoulders. "And he guards you still," he said, in a voice as soft as a kiss.
He resumed rubbing down Kinsall then. I stood still, blinded by sudden tears, until they had passed like a rainstorm. Then I set about exploring the edges of our stopping place, never getting out of sight of the general or his horse. Up a small rise, in the light of the risen sun, I could see what had been the family house. When Roichal was ready, we ventured there, searching for anything useful. The house was just a single room with a hearth and a root cellar. Roichal made a triumphant noise at having found a few wizened but not completely inedible roots there, as well as a few sealed jars that must have been too heavy to be carried when the inhabitants had fled. One of the jars contained preserved vegetable of some kind, pungent and odd-smelling to me, but Roichal recognized it well enough and ate some with his fingers.
It wasn't until I heard my own stomach growl that I realized I was actually hungry, too. Roichal made a growl of his own then, of frustration.
"Do you think it safe to go back?" I asked, before he could begin to dwell on me.
He shook his head. "Marksin will have mobilized most of the units--those that did not flee in disarray, that is--to other places. Staying there to be battered by what evil forces could be mustered would have been foolhardy."
I considered this. "Would you say we stayed there too long?"
"Oh, without doubt. But I thought that before the rain, wind, and fire attacked." He shook his head as he licked his fingers clean and then examined a piece of broken crockery on the shelf in the humble cottage. The clay jar was sound enough but the lid was shattered and the handle chipped. He took it back to the trough to drink from, handing it first to me, and then filling it again for himself.
We sat on the edge of the trough and I asked, "Where shall we go next?"
He took up a stick and smoothed the dirt in front of me. "Draw me a map of Trest," he said.
I began tracing with the stick, the mountains to the north and east, Parvain, and the border of Frangit, and south of that, Pellon along the sea. Maldevar like the central jewel in the tiara made by the mountains, and the necklace sketched by the twin branches of the Serde and the Getten. Tiger's Mouth where the two rivers met. From Maldevar I then traced the route I had taken, guessing as best I could where I had ended up, where the military encampment had been, and then guessing again where we might now be.
Roichal watched closely as I named off each feature of my sketch as I could. "A fair estimate," he said. "I could not take us toward Maldevar and your enemy, and I could not take us toward Frangi, so I fled as much southward as I could." He sighed and shook his head. "The coast is unlikely to be ravaged by blight, but it is another two days ride, and our welcome there could be uncertain as well. The horse at least can have a few hours of good grazing here, but the question of how to procure food for ourselves looms. As you know, I cannot see to your needs, Page."
I took the jar and drank some more water. "I shall not expire, I don't think, from just a few days' deprivation. Let Kinsall eat all the grass he can, while you eat what you can, and I shall hope that we find an improved situation soon enough."
He examined the map. "Let us move east, then, toward the Pellon border, where I have heard the blight is not as bad. After Kinsall has his fill."
The grass had grown thick and lush in the pasture, even while the crops had faltered, all the more reason to believe the blight was the doing of our enemies. We spoke of it later, while we rode toward our intended direction, as well as many other things.
"Are you sure Kinsall can carry us both?" I asked.
Roichal laughed. "You barely weigh as much as my armor and war saddle," he said. "See how light his step is? He hardly feels us. Indeed, as far as he is concerned, this is a pleasure trip."
"My father said, after my coming of age ceremony, he wished I could take a tour of the whole kingdom as he did, but that it would be too dangerous with the war looming." Unspoken, I thought it amusing that now I was seeing quite a lot of my future kingdom, even if barefoot and bareheaded all the way. "Instead, he thought to mint a coin in my likeness."
"Indeed? I remember your father's tour. Your father and mother both came. At the time I was already in the military, just a foot soldier in one of the western garrisons. It was a grand thing, to see their procession. Your grandfather remained in Maldevar, still in power, until they returned."
"Yes, so I heard. And Ser--" I stopped myself from saying his name. "And a certain mage who was advisor to my grandfather then became advisor to my father."
Roichal grunted in agreement. "He is trying to find you, Page, isn't he?" I nodded.
"Every man, your father included, will immediately assume that it is the Night Mages from Frangit who attacked us. None suspect that it could be the man who sits at his right hand who is responsible."
I nodded again, bowing my head in defeat.
Roichal clucked his tongue. "Now, now, he has not won this war yet. Not while you still roam free, your virtue intact."
"Sir--" I began, but as I tried to speak, the promise I had made closed my throat and I put a hand against it.
"Hush. It's clear you cannot speak of it. But it seems that I can. The picture is clear enough to me, Page. You arrived at the camp dressed as a whoreslave. I cannot imagine the circumstance under which your father could be so blind as to allow his closest advisor to turn his own son of royal blood into a night-bound slave, but it certainly looks as if that is exactly what happened."
I could only nod.
"Or, in my limited understanding of how these spells work, almost happened, since you remain yet pure in that manner. And even able to hold out hope that you might yet give yourself to the man you love. The promises between Marksin and you still hold, you know. If we have the opportunity to reunite you with your beloved guard, we will, but you must tell me if we happen upon him before you make any move."
"Yes, Sir."
We met no one in our travels that day, and as nightfall neared, we sought a place to hole up for the night once more. We chanced upon a shepherd's hut, where there was a ring for a fire and a battered tin stored alongside a dull knife. Roichal boiled the desiccated roots he had rescued from the first house into something edible when mashed, and Kinsall made do with what had once been prime sheep-grazing land, but there was no sign of the sheep now.
I was beginning to feel a bit faint, but I said nothing. However I could not hide the slight tremor of my hands as I tried to make the cloak and swaths of grass into a rough mattress for us.
Roichal rubbed my hands in his, as if I were chilled. Thankfully the summer night was not uncomfortably cold. "I wonder..."
"What, Sir?"
"Page, what would happen if you were to consume your own milk?"
I thought about it. "Do you think that could work?"
"I do not know. It is magic. Logic would say you could not live off another man's milk, yet you have. Is it so far-fetched to imagine that your own might not have the same effect?"
I swallowed. "It... It is certainly worth a try."
"Good," he said, and held me close with one arm while his other hand worked my trousers down to my knees. His large, rough hand closed around my prick which sprang to life under a few quick tugs.
Then he let me go. "Here," he said, retrieving the lidless jar and setting it on the hard-packed earth floor of the hut. "On your hands and knees, and you must try to spill into this, so we may catch every drop. In fact, touch yourself, please."
"Yes, Sir," I whispered, as I positioned myself with my cock pointed at the jar and began to stroke.
His hands ran down my back. "Beautiful beast," he praised. "Every inch of you so very fine." And then I felt his mouth on the soft globe of my arse, kissing and nibbling. "Tell me when you are close."
It wasn't long before I was. He allowed me to stroke for a while after that, but soon whispered to me, "Come then, Page. Spill now."
I cried out as I usually did when spilling, perhaps a bit louder since there was no one nearby to overhear, but I did not come. A ripple of a spasm went through me, but it was a false peak. I moaned then. "Sir, that was... I did not..."
"I can see that, Page."
"I don't mean to disobey, oh, Sir, please, tell me again."
"Now, Page, now! I order you to come."
And again a kind of spasm gripped me, but I could not let go all the way. I wailed again.
"Let go!" he urged.
"I cannot! I... I do not know why!"
"Lightning strike me... come now, Page!"
I jerked again, throwing back my head, but still nothing came forth except words. "Please, Sir! Punish me, Sir! I don't mean to disobey, but I need--!"
What else I might have said was cut off by the sharp blow to my arsecheek, where so recently his lips had caressed. I screeched in pain and indignation, but the blow fell again, and again, and the timbre of my shouts turned quickly to another wail. And then the moment I burst into true tears, out came the flood of milk at the same time.
He was more aware than I was of all that was happening, which was fortunate, because on my own I would have surely knocked over the jar or broken it. As soon as my shuddering came to an end, he gathered me to him, tears still streaming down my cheeks. He held me to his chest, and kissed my forehead, until my sobs subsided. And then he dipped his own finger into the jar, and allowed me to suckle it clean, again and again, while he murmured words of praise. I do not know if my own milk actually satisfied the hunger of my body, but I do know that as he held me and praised me, I had rarely felt so content in my life.
58: Jorin
The King and Sergetten left me chained to the foot of the bed when the time for afternoon audiences arrived, and for the first time since Sergetten had explained his reason behind collaring me I felt once again like a lowly pet. I curled up and pretended to sleep, like a dog would. The hood covered my eyes in any case, so they could not tell if my eyes were open or closed. Through the door to the outer chamber, I could hear them speaking to each other as Sergetten helped him to dress.
Their voices were light and they spoke familiarly with one another, and I wondered how long they had known each other. Had Sergetten been apprenticed or fostered in the castle as a youth? At the keep where he was called lord there was no indication of a family, though, no parents or siblings, no paintings or tapestries depicting his line.
My heart ached a little to hear their jaunty camaraderie, both because I knew that was a side that neither man would ever show outside these private circumstances and how wearing that must be, and, in truth, because being here in the castle I was so very much reminded of myself and Kenet. Of how we had once been.
And then they were gone, to the audience chamber, and I was left alone. At least, I was spared having to kneel naked and collared in front of Seroi. I do not know if I would have been able to maintain the masquerade that I was just some Night Magic trainee, some second or third son that Sergetten had seduced away from his family with promises of power and riches or however it was he normally found the boys he practiced his art with. What if Seroi took it into his head to test me? Or use me?
Despite these frightening and disturbing thoughts, boredom and exhaustion took their toll and I did fall asleep. When I woke, Sergetten was helping the king back into bed. It was not the creak of the bed that woke me, but a pained-sounding hiss.
"Korl--" Sergetten began.
"Hush. It is nothing."
Sergetten chuckled. "It is far from nothing. In fact, if I recall correctly, it is impressively sizable."
There was silence and I wondered if they were staring at each other, unmoving, but I did not dare raise my head to look.
Sergetten's voice, when it came, was as soft the sound of silk sliding over silk. "There are ways to alleviate such a condition..."
A few heartbeats went by before the king answered. "Indeed."
"Korl, you know that I--"
"There is one of them at the foot of the bed, am I correct?"
Another two beats of silence. Then, "Yes, my king. If that is what you wish. He is entirely obedient."
"His mouth then. Boy!"
I did not move.
Sergetten then said, quietly. "Boy. Here."
I was on all fours crawling toward his voice like a dog, until I reached the limit of the chain. Understand, no magic had compelled me to do so, unless understanding what he wanted was a form of magic.
"Tcha. So he is trained only to his master's voice, like a good hunting dog," Korl said, as Sergetten unhooked the chain from my collar and then tugged at my collar so that I would climb upon the bed. "Does he speak?"
"Not while his mouth is otherwise occupied," Sergetten said dryly. I could feel a hand under my chin then, guiding me, and I parted my lips in anticipation. Korl's hand, pulling me. And then quite suddenly, the blunt end of a cock was thrust into my mouth. I could not help it, I made a noise of protest, and he rammed in harder, hitting the back of my throat and making me gag. The hood must have had places for him to hold onto, for his grip was savage and unyielding as he pushed and pushed.
My teeth must have been scraping him, he was too large and fucking my mouth and the back of my throat too roughly for them not to be, but he did not seem to mind. I gagged and gagged again, and tears and snot came up, along with bile.
Then suddenly he pulled me free. For a moment I thought it was Sergetten who pulled me off, but no, it was still the king's hand that held the hood fast. "Thunder's roll," he swore. "I thought your Frangi sluts had throats lined with silk."
"This one is... still new to training," Sergetten said. "My apologies if he is deficient, but I did not expect--"
"I should punish him, shouldn't I?"
I held my breath, trying to hear every nuance of Sergetten's voice, as he answered. "I am the one training him--"
"Does that mean I should punish you instead, Sergi?"
I expected a harsh denial, but heard only silence. Then, through clenched teeth, "It means if anyone is to punish him, it should be me."
"Your whoreslave would be honored to be punished by the royal hand, though, would he not?"
"He is not a whoreslave, and seeing as he is from Frangit, your royal blood means naught to him," Sergetten said, speaking slowly, as if to a child. "Please, Korl, there's no need for--"
"His arse then. I cannot very well appear at banquet in this state."
I found myself thrown roughly to the side, and then there was much rustling, which I took to be the king disrobing. I felt Sergetten's hand on my shoulder, though, and knew his touch. He was trying to calm me.
He eased me onto my back, but the king spoke again. "Don't be ridiculous. You think I'd take him that way, as if he were some travesty in my own bed, mocking my departed wife? I'll take him like a dog. On all fours."
I moved, rolling over and positioning myself with my arse toward his voice.
"You say he's new," Korl said, as he slapped his cock against my buttocks.
"Yes, my king."
"Have you fucked him much?"
"No, not much at all."
"He's going to be quite tight then."
"Yes, my king, I imagine he will be." Sergetten's voice was emotionless now, not even a hint of the sarcasm that was usually there.
The blunt end of him rubbed against my hole then. It felt a little wet from having been in my throat. "Take his voice. I don't want anyone to come running thinking a murder is underway."
"You'll find it more pleasurable, my king, if you grease the way."
"This isn't about pleasure, you perverse old thing," Korl replied. "If I wanted pleasure, I'd have a mistress or a whore or a chambermaid. Take his voice, and take his pleasure, too. I don't want him to feel this is pleasure, even accidentally. And besides, I don't want a mess in the bed linens."
Sergetten's assent was hoarse, barely audible. An executioner's apology.
And then the king tore me open with his cock, and I could not even scream.
59: Kenet
At dawn Roichal and I continued traveling south. We had passed out of the blighted farming area and into the rocky hills that were not good for farms nor orchards, and toward the end of the day after we had paused at a stream to drink our fill, Roichal took us higher into the hills, both of us walking and his horse, Kinsall, coming up behind us.
"Ah, here we are," Roichal said, as we rounded one bit of outcropping to a flat area wide enough for Kinsall to turn around. All I could see up the steep hillside on our left was bushes, while to the right the slope tapered sharply downward.
Roichal handed Kinsall's reins to me and then pulled back the branches of one of the bushes to reveal a stony crack in the hillside, large enough for a man to fit through if he stooped over. He shouted into the hole and stepped back, listening. When neither man nor beast emerged, he gave a satisfied grunt and then disappeared into the earth.
"Sir?" I asked, unsure whether I should follow. And what of our horse?
"Give me but a moment," he answered, and I stood back, patting Kinsall's neck. The horse seemed unperturbed.
A few moments later, the general emerged with something in his hand. "I was hoping there would be more here, but our sentries and messengers have not needed to travel this route regularly for a while. There is a bit of tallow, though, and hardtack, enough to get a man through a few nights if the way were blocked by snow." He looked at the sky, which was clear but for a skirting of grey clouds on the horizon. "We had best spend the night in shelter, though poor Kinsall will have to weather whatever comes. At least I have found this." I saw now that what he held in his hand was a brush of the type I had seen used in the stables many times.
He led me and the horse a bit further up, to a copse of stunted trees. Kinsall was content to nibble the bitter fruit from the branches while Roichal and I rubbed him over. I assisted as he had taught me to, though I did not murmur thanks to the horse as he did.
And then we went back to the cave. Inside, I was surprised to find the space clear of debris. The floor had been hardpacked and the walls smoothed somehow. Mud? A chest against one wall held a blanket and a few supplies, and a pair of worn out boots was visible in the fading twilight. "Animals do not nest here?" I asked.
"No. Once it was some predator's den, so the small animals stay away as the stone still carries the scent. And the predators stay away because now it carries our scent." He shook out the blanket. It was a thick pad, enough to keep a man warm through a winter night, I supposed. Roichal laid it down and gestured for me to sit.
I did, gratefully, unaware of how exhausted I was until I finally came to rest. I blinked as his hand on my shoulder showed me how I swayed. I had only meant to sit, not lie down, but I was too tired to hold myself up any longer.
"My prince--!" he said, alarmed.
I shook my head. "Merely tired," I said.
"And hungry?"
I could not lie. I nodded.
He lowered me the rest of the way to the blanket, then busied himself.
When I raised my head next, he had lit one tallow candle, and had soaked a bit of the hardtack in a tin cup. He was sitting cross-legged next to me, sucking on a square cake, then bit through it. He licked the crumbs from his lips, then spoke. "Do you feel it would do any good to try to eat a bit of this?"
I shook my head. "It hasn't before, so why would it now?"
He shrugged. "I am ever hopeful for a solution," he said. "Did what we did last night... help at all? Did it make a difference?"
For some reason I thought of Sergetten at those questions, and at my answer. "If what you mean is, was my body nourished by it, then no. But did it help? Yes, Sir, I believe it did."
He set the tin aside, and I caught the scent of alcohol. So it was not water he softened the biscuit with. Some previous soldier had left a bottle or two.
I closed my eyes as his hand stroked my hair. "What does it mean that I struck you so? And why was it necessary?"
I shifted, so that I could lie with my head in his lap. "Why is it against the law to strike the royal flesh?"
"That I cannot say, Page."
"I have been thinking about it myself, Sir," I said. "The whole institution of the ladra'an. Why would it persist when so many of the old customs have been left behind, but not that one? Is it merely that to strike the royal flesh is to insult the authority inherent in royal blood and therefore undermine it? Or is there some other reason?"
He was silent, but I knew he was thinking. When he spoke it was in a measured voice. "They say having a whipping boy is to teach young royals to commiserate with the common people, who must suffer whenever royalty lapses in judgment."
"All well and good, but that would not preclude the young royalty being punished, as well, would it? Why not spank or paddle us both?"
"Perhaps some of what you say is true, though, my pr-- Page. For what man would take orders from one he has seen bare-arsed and brought low in front of the assembly?"
I opened my eyes. "Then why not mete out the punishment in private? In private there would be no loss of authority. I have also heard that it would not do to give those not of royal blood the idea that the royal flesh bleeds the same as theirs. But again, if done in private such an idea would not spread. And if administered by my f-- the king himself to his progeny? What could be unlawful or wrong about that?"
Roichal chuckled low. "And what if the king could not bring himself to strike his own flesh and blood, whether from soft-heartedness or other fatherly care?"
I frowned. "Hm. I had not considered that. But what I am asking is... what if there was a magical reason, Sir?"
"Magical?"
I raised my hand and looked at my palm in the yellowish glow from the candle. "In the castle there are secret passageways. Only someone of royal blood can open the doors to them. Except, there was one time when the... when our enemy was able follow me. No, twice. I've been thinking about it ever since. What magic allowed him to pass through?"
Roichal's mind was as quick as ever. "Did he strike you?"
I opened my mouth to speak, thinking of the time when Seroi slapped me while bidding me take his malformed cock into my mouth for the first time. I choked as if he were shoving it into me now, and I found I had to roll over and cough before I could breathe again.
"I'll take that as a yes," Roichal said, his hand on my back between my shoulderblades. He rubbed in a small circle. "But there must be more to it than striking you. Or fucking you, as we know he hadn't done that yet."
I nodded in agreement. I had to wonder if it were not the striking that mattered so much as the way he brought me low, the way I would crawl and denude myself and abase myself before him. Did I literally give him the power I held by doing so?
I looked up at Roichal. I had done so for him, as well, and yet it had never felt the way it did with Seroi. Seroi had kissed me as if he loved me, and yet... underneath it I had felt nothing but disdain. And lust.
Roichal did not lust in the same way, but was that because he could not, given what his body lacked? Or was it that from Roichal, lust did not predominate in what I felt from him? I felt respect, care, affection, at the same time I felt claimed by him. They were different, weren't they?
Or would I think well of whomever claimed me, and ill of whoever did not? Did I think well of Roichal now because it was he who stroked my cock every night and held the power of my pleasure in his voice?
"Sir, may I ask you for something?" I could hear the quaver in my voice.
"Yes, Page, of course. If it is something within my power to grant, I will consider it."
"Kiss me, Sir? Please?"
He pulled me to him gently, but firmly, and that is the way he took my mouth with his, as well. When he pulled back, it was only far enough to see into my eyes.
"May I... may I ask you a question as well, Sir?"
"You may."
"When?" It felt to me as if Roichal had respected me, even when he had only thought me an escaped whoreslave. But was I wrong? "When did you find out my true identity?"
He chuckled. "Worried that you will give yourself away to others if I figured it out?"
"No, Sir. Well, perhaps, but that is not why I asked."
He pulled me in for another kiss before continuing. "You had no idea you gave yourself away. I received word from your father about your disappearance from the castle. Very few details were given, which led me to believe there was a great more to the tale. Meanwhile, a mystery boy had arrived in a wagon from Maldevar. Could you be the missing princeling? To be honest, I had very little memory of what you had looked like as a young boy, that one time I had come to be feted at the castle. But there was a way to test your blood."
His thumb brushed over my lips as he looked at me, my face cradled in his hands. "A test, Sir?"
"I have a box that must use the same magic as the passageways of Maldevar. It is used sometimes to convey secret orders between me and the crown. One day I asked you to open it, and you did."
I did not remember at first, but then I thought a bit further and remembered thinking it odd that he had a trinket box at all. "But, Sir, if only someone of royal blood may open it, how do you open it?"
He laughed. "I have a key. But you opened it without the key."
"Could my enemy have a key to the passageways?" I blurted.
He shook his head. "I believe based on what you have said that you are the key, Page."
"I think that likely as well. I wonder, though, Sir, now that you have struck me, whether you, too, would be able to open the box without the key?"
"Unfortunately, we and the box are no longer together," he said. "Perhaps if we reunite with Marksin he will have it."
His eyes were very grave.
"I am sure the Field Marshal is well," I said, but the mere thought that something might have befallen Marksin made me somber, too.
He pulled me into a longer kiss now, a more searching one, as if we both were trying to make up for our missing third. When at last we broke apart, my milksacks were painfully tight with desire.
"Tell me, Page," he whispered into my ear, "do you think milking you a good idea or a weak one? If you cannot drink your own milk, do we deplete you further by spilling it? Or is there no harm in it?"
I swooned. "I do not know, Sir. I... I only know that the more... the more yours I feel, the better I feel."
"Is that so? Strip down for me then, Page. Hide nothing from your Master."
The order was like descending into a warm bath, soothing every part of my body and skin. When I was naked, I knelt before him, my cock jutting out from my body eagerly.
"Beautiful," he said, and leaned forward to kiss me on the forehead. "Now lie down."
I did as he bade me, turning onto my side. He was still clothed, but he wrapped himself around me, his heavy, callused hand coming to rest on my quivering cock. He stroked it idly as he shifted until he was comfortable, then just let his hand rest upon my flesh once again.
I found myself trembling slightly as I lay there.
His breath was heavy on the back of my neck. "Sleep now, my Page. I may give you release in the morning, or I may not. There is some chance you will be depleted further and I do not think I will take that chance. But I would not want you to think you were being punished by being banished from my arms or my touch, hm? I would not begrudge you my touch." Here he stroked again, scraping his thumb across the head of my cock in the way that would make my hips jump. "Besides, I know very well what it is like to lust without hope of release. It will not kill you, Page."
"No, Sir," I whispered. I thought of Seroi, of how he would make me beg for my release. It was clear to me that Roichal expected better of me. "Thank you, Sir. It is an honor to suffer whatever you wish for me."
"Good boy," he said, giving my cock a last squeeze before letting his hand go limp again. "Sleep now. I know I shall."
He was quickly asleep, and I closed my own eyes. In such a state of arousal, sleep did not come easily, but eventually it did. I dreamt of his hand stroking me and returning me to hardness each time I flagged, and it was probably not a dream, but how could I tell? It was an exquisite torture and one I welcomed, for every moment I knew to whom I belonged and my hunger was forgotten.
60: Jorin
There is a span of time I do not remember. No, I am not speaking of the misty time after I was born and before I could speak. I speak of the hour after the king finished with me. Indeed, I have no memory of his actual finishing, for my mind had fled to some safe corner of my dreams before then.
When at last I surfaced, it was because there was a soft murmuring from somewhere, coaxing me back with a promise of gentle warmth. I gradually became aware that I was lying on my side in a bed somewhere, and that a warm body was wrapped around mine from behind. At the recognition of Sergetten's scent on the sheets I had the sudden hope that he had transported us back to the keep, far from Maldevar.
"Hold onto it," he said, quite clearly, into my ear, as if he were aware that I had returned to my body.
He did not say what "it" was, but I knew at the very least he was going to hold onto me until I felt ready to move. It was more of a comfort than I can adequately describe and I was grateful he was there. Had I woken hooded and chained somewhere, I do not know what I would have done nor how I would have borne it.
As my awareness returned, so did my memory. The king using me. Ordering Sergetten to control me magically so that I could neither experience release, nor scream with pain. I shook in his arms as I felt the distinct burn of white-hot anger down my throat and in my gut. "It." He must have meant hold onto my outrage.
I held it and stoked it, until I wanted little more than to burst from the bedchamber, find Korl, and do something dire. The moment I tried to actually move, though, Sergetten tightened his grip.
"You have a choice to make," he said.
"I do?"
"Yes. Listen carefully. What you feel inside you, you can bury deep until you have an opportunity to unleash that rage, perhaps on the target you so dearly would like to, or perhaps some other enemy. Or you can give it to me, and I can use it to work a spell."
"What spell?" I tried to turn in his arms to see his face, and he loosened his hold enough that I could do so. The sheets felt luxurious against my skin and in the dim light of the lantern by the bed I saw we were in what had to be Sergetten's private rooms in the castle.
"There are two spells we need most now," he said, shifting so that one of his legs lay across one of mine and he propped his head up on one bent arm. "But before I tell you what they are, understand this. If I burn away your outrage with magic, you will no longer feel toward our king as you do now. You will remember what happened, but you will not feel the same. I will understand if you choose to cling to your hatred and desire for revenge. I find it likely that I would."
"Am I injured?" I asked. "In... I mean..." I had to close my eyes, trying to escape his penetrating gaze, when I could not bring myself to say what I meant.
I felt a soft brush of his lips against my forehead and opened my eyes again. "You are intact, but fragile. You will heal fully," he whispered. "If I thought he would have truly ruined you, I would not have allowed it."
I could not quite bring myself to say thank you for that, but I pressed my cheek against him, drawing a few deep breaths. "All right, then. What are the two spells you might do?"
"One would protect our king's mind from intrusion by... others," he said, and I knew he meant from Seroi. "I have worked this spell on him from time to time, but it needs periodic renewal and I fear of late it has been particularly ineffective."
I said nothing, waiting to hear the other choice.
He laid his palm against my bare chest and I only then realized that he was still fully clothed. "It will be another day or so before I should ride you, Jorin Weltskin," he said. "However, I could use the energy you have bottled up inside you... to try to locate Kenet."
I clutched at him as a surge of emotions went through me, nearly as painful as any palsy or spasm. I desperately wanted to see Kenet, to touch him and reassure myself that he was alive. I also did not want him to see me like this. I did not want to kiss him with the taste of hatred on my lips. Oh, except that Sergetten said I would no longer feel toward Korl as I did, once the spell had used up my anger?
"What do you mean, try to find...?" I asked, trying to replace feelings with logic, but not doing very well at it.
"There is no guarantee the spell will work. Far-seeing is difficult and can be unreliable. But I will take what I have seen, and if we can, we will travel to him, as soon as you are able."
"I'm fine," I said, trying to sit up.
"You are not," he said vehemently, pressing me back into the bed. "I would ruin you for certain if I try riding you within a day or two. And that is because it is you, Jorin. Any other boy who withstood what you have I would say not for a week, and even then--" He broke off suddenly, and could not meet my eyes.
"And even then, what?"
I was surprised that his answer was a passionate, yet gentle kiss, one that left me breathless and trembling.
"And even then, some of them might have truly been ruint," he said. "never fit for Night Magic again. I need to know your mind won't retreat as it did under Korl, or you will leave us stranded in the wastelands between places, trapped forever."
"I won't."
"You stubborn thing. Just because you say you won't, does not make it so." He ran his fingers through my hair. "You know I will be cruel to you and hurt you terribly in order to ride you. So, decide. Keep your feelings bottled up, for they are truly your own and hard earned, or give them to me, and--"
"You cannot seriously believe I would choose to help our king over finding Kenet."
Sergetten's eyes flashed with a bit of anger, whether at being interrupted or at my choice, I do not know. "If we hurry to the prince only to leave our enemies stronger, such that our enemies prevail in the end, have we helped the prince at all?"
"This is not your classroom, Sergetten, and you said the choice was mine."
To my surprise, he chuckled. "But you should make an informed choice. And who says this is not my classroom? There is much I could teach you in this bed, had we time."
"Very well. I acquiesce to thinking about it further. How likely is it that our enemies will prevail if we do not protect Korl? And is there not someone else you could work a spell like this with if not me?"
He gave another of those answering kisses before speaking. "Even were there to be someone willing easily available to us, I am as bound to you as you are to me, sura'an."
There was that word. He had used it once before, and I had taken it to mean "my very own slave." This time it sounded more like "my dearest."
I sighed. "I can make no other choice. We must find Kenet."
He sighed in return. "I knew you would say that, and yet I had to ask." Then there was silence for a long while, as he looked at me, and stroked my hair, his own eyes flickering with thoughts like the surface of a pond full of fish.
"What are you thinking?" I asked.
"I am thinking that blond hair does not suit you at all, and that I may regret keeping something from you."
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"There is one other choice I did not offer you. I could..." His voice faltered and I found his palm, warm and dry against my cheek. "I could heal you more quickly, both body and mind. I could... take away all the pain and hurt. I make you forget it had happened, if you wanted."
I shook my head slowly. "You knew I would never choose that over Kenet, so you did not even bring it up."
He shook his own head in return. "I kept it to myself because it would leave the entire burden of retribution, if there is ever to be any, on me alone. And I do not think I will ever be able to truly raise a hand against him."
I tried to sit up and this time he let me. "Are you saying I should hold onto my rage because I may need it in the future?"
His breath caught. "I had not been thinking of it in those terms. But... you may have a point."
I met his gaze. "What would you have to do to me yourself to do the far-seeing and then ride me to wherever Kenet is?"
His shoulders slumped. "You cannot withstand that so soon. And time is short."
"I can. I can take anything you can dish out, Sergetten."
His hand gripped me by the hair, pulling me close, his own anger surging up to meet mine. "And if I said what I would have to do would be worse than what Korl did to you? Or even the same? Take your voice, shrivel your sacks, and plough into the least willing hole I can find? Ah, but I do not have the royal flesh, which has a potent magic of its own. For me to achieve the same effect, I'd probably have to fuck you with a knife first. Perhaps you'd enjoy that more, since your blood would make your channel slick for my c--"
He broke off his tirade, and I saw as he closed his eyes how ill the very thought made him. A moment later he thrust me away from him, as if he could barely stand to touch me now.
No. That wasn't what I wanted at all, and wasn't what I was trying to do by provoking him. "Sergetten," I whispered, stricken.
He climbed slowly from the bed, as if he were in great pain.
I scrambled after him and threw myself at his feet, my forehead and palms on the carpeting where he was about to step. "Please. I'm sorry. I... that was wrong. I didn't mean to provoke you. No, wait, that's a lie. I'm sorry that I did try to provoke you. You're right. I'm stupid. I know Night Magic doesn't work if I... if you aren't the one in charge. Forgive me. Please."
The only sound for a few moments was my thundering heartbeat. Then cloth rustled against carpet as he genuflected beside me. A moment after that, I felt relief as his hand came to a gentle rest on my head. "Not so stupid after all," he said, and I could hear a note of amusement, or maybe even affection in his quiet voice.
"Please, sir," I tried again. "Please tell me what to do now."
"Do not make any decisions just now. You need to rest a bit more first, and to consider your options in a clearer frame of mind."
"Yes, sir." I shivered.
"You will pay for your transgression later." His thumb stroked me behind my ear and I hummed under the kindness I was not sure I deserved. "For now, I think you need to experience something that will bring you into better balance."
"Sir?"
"Like for example, the pleasure that you were denied earlier. Come back to bed."
His hand lifted, and when I looked up, he was standing by the side of the bed, with the covers drawn back.
I got to my feet. "Well, if there is to be balance," I said, "then surely my pleasure should not be singular?"
He raised an eyebrow as if to question, but said, "Not so stupid after all."
"Please, sir," I said, running my hands down his shirt, waiting for permission to help him remove it.
"Call me by my name," he said then, his eyes shining in the lantern light. "I am no less your Master for it."
"Sergetten," I said, helping him out of his shirt.
He pushed me onto the bed and shucked the rest of his clothes as he followed me, flattening me against the linens and rubbing his cock in the hollow of my hip. One of his hands knocked something from the table beside the bed, but my attention was on him, on the lips nibbling up a tendon in my neck, and the hot flesh sliding against my skin.
I sucked in a breath as a greasy hand wrapped around my cock, and then he shifted position so that our two cocks rubbed together in his grip.
"We'll come together," Sergetten rasped as he rubbed against me. "And not because of any spell."
"Then how?" I asked, breathless.
"Because I can hold back, and my cock is not going to stop this--" He squeezed the flesh in his grip as he thrust again. "--until I've wrung your milk from you."
"Use my name, Sergetten," I whispered, my breath shortening as my arousal deepened, "I am no less yours for it."
And he did. He cried it aloud as we both came.
61: Kenet
What was that unfamiliar rushing sound? I could not name it, but it came and went, even as the familiar sensation of Roichal's hand stroking me told me all was well.
Or was it? I opened my eyes to find him leaning over me, swearing and then pulling me close, crushing me to him. Then he let me go, and I collapsed back onto the blanket.
We were no longer in the cave where we had sheltered. A damp wind touched my face and I could see in the sunset glow that I was lying in a shelter the looked for all the world like someone had built only half of a house, leaving one side completely open. I sat up partway and could see the beach sloping gently away from us, toward the water. The rushing sound was the waves, I realized, as I watched them roll, one after another, up the sand. No one had ever told me the sea would make a sound. A particularly large wave came then and it sounded like thunder.
"Where is Kinsall?" I asked.
"He is safe," Roichal said, as he knelt beside me. "Do you remember nothing of today?"
I tried to recall. "Nothing particular," I said.
"You slipped from his back a few hours ago," he said, reaching out to run his fingers through the hair at my forehead. "I feared you might not wake. I fear it still. I dared not try to revive you..." And here he gave a few short tugs on my cock that made me gasp. "...until we were somewhere safe."
"Where are we?"
"Close to a fishertown where Kinsall is stabled, but I could not very well carry you into their midst without rousing suspicion." He let out a determined breath. "We are no more than a few hour's sailing to the Pellonese shore, and we would be safer there, but I fear you will not last until we could reach there. I must find someone who can feed you. I will. You must stay here." He let go my cock, unbuckled his sword, and laid it next to me. "I will bring you someone."
"And what of you? Will you be able to find food for yourself in the town?"
"I will keep my strength up," he said, "for if I weaken, you are surely lost." He moved to stand, but I seized his hand in mine.
"Kiss me before you go," I said. "Please?"
"For luck?" he asked with a smile.
"Something like that," I answered. "In case... in case anything happens. To either of us."
He nodded, grave now. In case this was a goodbye kiss. His hand found my cock again as his tongue plundered my mouth hungrily. When he pulled back, it was only far enough so he could speak, his breath still mingling with mine and his lips brushing mine as he said, "It would seem for now that rousing your passion is enough to wake you, but I fear even that may lose its effect as you go hungry. But I worry if you are discovered here touching yourself by any man with a hunger of his own, that you will be too delectable a fruit to resist plucking."
"I will keep one hand on the sword," I promised.
"Good." He kissed me on the forehead then, a proprietary mark of his lips, and then pulled away quickly as if resisting the temptation to do more. His boots crunched over the beach as he hurried away.
I sat up, but felt dizzy and lay back down. I crawled to the edge of the shelter, which was raised about the height of my knee above the beach. I reached down to touch the sand only to find it was not sand at all, but many tiny stones and shells.
The light was fading fast, and I went back to the blanket, which was all the way in one corner of the shelter, and settled myself under Jorin's cloak.
I did not sleep, afraid that if I did, I might not wake if an intruder came. So I was awake when the sound of someone walking across the shells toward me sent gooseflesh over my arms and back. I propped myself against the corner, the sword at my side. The step was softer than Roichal's, so either the general had taken off his boots, or it was someone else. I could see the light of a torch flickering on the damp beach as they approached, though I dared not peek out of the shelter to see the person carrying it.
He appeared soon enough, whistling as he stuck the torch into the shells a few feet from the open side of the shelter, and set about arranging some sticks and wood he had been carrying. He did not appear to have noticed me. I kept silent, watching him build the fire and then light it from the torch.
When he did step up onto the platform of the shelter, though, he caught sight of me in the growing glow and said, "Oh, hello, mind if I share the shelter for the night?"
When he spoke I realized that I knew him. Jort, the soldier who had skimmed from the delivery to Roichal. He had no uniform on now at all, but there was no mistaking him, sharp cheekbones and crooked smile.
"Stay on your side," I said, gripping the sword. I was not sure I had the strength to lift the blade. "Don't come near me."
"Why, are you poxed?" He stepped closer, his face now in the shadow from the fire, but I could read his insouciant posture well enough.
"Just stay back, I said!" I tried to lift the sword enough for him to see what it was, but that was a mistake. I was too weak to do anything more than pick it up an inch or two and dropped it.
He laughed and pulled the torch from the sand again, bringing it close. He laughed again and kicked the sword to the side, out of my reach. "So it's you, little whoreslave! Did some soldier make off with you when he deserted?" He laughed once more, stuck the torch into the sand again, and then grabbed me as I tried to crawl to the sword. "Uh-uh, none of that. Or did you run off on your own, taking that pigsticker with you? I don't blame you. There's deserters and draft dodgers everywhere now."
He was half atop me already, and I could smell alcohol on his breath. What could I say? Could I delay him long enough for Roichal to return? Or even do as I did once before, and sate him with my mouth? The mere thought was making me salivate now.
"Why, you're as weak as water. Are you starving without a master to look after you? I've some food I could share with you in exchange for a little pleasure. Oh, you're a sweet piece," he said, and I could feel the hardness of him pressing against my leg. "Funny I should run into you again. Never did have a full taste of you."
"You're confusing me with someone else!" I said, as I tried to struggle.