by Shannon West
Janos turned his head to look at him and their lips were only a breath apart. “No,” he said, softly, almost whispering the word. “I never like to lose control.”
“Never?”
“No…well, almost never…” He lifted his lips the barest bit and Bastion met him more than halfway, Janos felt the soft lips brush over his, once, and then again, as if warning him what was about to happen and giving him a chance to stop it. When he made no effort to move away, Bastion put his hand on the back of Janos’s head and gently, slowly, deepened the kiss. Overcome by a sudden rush of passion, Janos threw his arms around Bastion’s neck and ground into Bastion’s lips. He surged closer to him, pushing him back against the tree. Then he held tightly to him, pulling back to look up into his eyes. Those lovely amber eyes stared back at him curiously, but with no sign of reluctance. Janos sighed and lifted his lips to kiss him again, this time slipping his tongue inside Bastion’s mouth when he responded, breathing him in and relishing the feel of his soft lips and warm tongue touching his.
But before he could fully register what was happening, Bastion neatly turned him around, pressing Janos’s back against the tree. He nudged one knee between Janos’s thighs and lifted it slightly, so that Janos was riding his thigh, his feet not touching the ground and he was alternately breathing hard and then gasping with pleasure. Things were moving so fast, but still not fast enough. Janos pressed himself against Bastion, trying to get even closer. The Tygerian dropped his hands to Janos’s ass and pulled him tightly to his groin to feel the huge bulge there. He brushed his lips across Janos’s again as he looked down into his eyes.
Normally, at this point when others in the past had tried to make love to him, Janos would have been frightened, even revolted by the attempt. His skin would begin to crawl and he’d want nothing more than escape. But not this time. Though Bastion was definitely in control of this, Janos somehow knew deep inside himself that he wasn’t in any danger at all. He had thought he’d never want anyone in such control of him again, but he’d been wrong. It helped that he instinctively knew that if he asked Bastion to put him down or stop kissing him, or expressed any kind of discomfort at all, that Bastion would stop. He knew that he would, and deep inside himself that soothed some of the panic he had started to feel when Bastion first took control of the kiss.
There seemed to be no hurry to his actions, as if he had all the time in the world to stand there and let Janos ride his thigh while he gave him so many sweet kisses that Janos felt drugged by them. He kissed him until his lips were swollen and thoroughly plundered and still he wanted more.
“I-I can’t breathe,” Janos said finally against Bastion’s lips, and he gazed down at him and smiled.
“I’m a little out of breath myself. But breathing is highly overrated at times like these, I think, isn’t it my liege?”
A laugh bubbled out of Janos. “I think it is, yes. Kiss me again.”
Bastion didn’t wait to be asked a second time, but bent his head and met Janos’s lips with assurance, kissing him until he sagged against his chest. Janos had never been kissed like this before. The only sex he’d ever had was at the prison and nothing about that was gentle or sweet. No one had ever kissed him before. Bastion’s lips were full and plump and so sweet against his mouth. He controlled things, but never forced him or tried to make him do anything he didn’t want to do. Yet there was nothing tentative or hesitant about the way he kissed. And as Bastion pushed his body even closer to him, Janos could feel Bastion’s huge erection pressing hard against his stomach.
Janos tried to slip his hand under the teruga, seeking that hardness, wanting to hold it in his hand, but Bastion caught his wrist and pushed his hand gently away. “Not like this, my liege. Not against a tree by the river.”
“I don’t care,” he whispered desperately against Bastion’s mouth. “I don’t care—I want you.”
“I want you too, but this will be my first time. I deserve something better. We both do.”
The words were like cold water dashed in his face. His first time? Gods, what was he doing? He was trying to corrupt this young boy—to force him like Janos had once been forced and like he’d sworn he would never do to anyone, not ever. He gasped and pushed on Bastion’s chest. “Oh gods, put me down. Please, Bastion. I’m so sorry!”
“No,” he said, and caught Janos’s chin in his hand to make him look up at him. “No, I won’t let you go. Not like this. What happened? What are you thinking? You have nothing to be sorry over.”
Janos shook his head miserably. “You’re so young. I-I never meant—I would never force myself on you. Not ever!”
“Shh,” he said, soothing him and pressing his forehead to Janos’s. “Who said anything about forcing? I wanted this more than you did. In fact, I made the first move.” He kissed the top of Janos’s head. “Well, maybe that was you, but I was close behind you. And I don’t regret it. I hope you don’t either. Let’s have no more talk of forcing. Come, Sire. I’ll take you back to your tent. Some of the men got very drunk tonight, and I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out here alone. That’s why I followed you to the river in the first place. I wasn’t going to approach you unless you needed me.”
Janos pulled back to look into his eyes for a long moment, searching for any sign of flippancy or insolence, but he found nothing. Just that clear, lovely, open gaze shining back at him.
Bastion smiled down at him tenderly. “Then I’ll take you back to your tent.” He sounded so strong. So self-assured. Because he’s a prince, his mind screamed at him. And royal to his bones. A Tygerian prince…
He reached for him again, but Janos stepped quickly back, pulling away and shaking his head. “No. No, I can’t do this! I’m so sorry!”
Janos turned and ran back up the trail he’d followed down to the river. Ran like something was chasing him and maybe it was. He should have stayed and explained to Bastion that this kind of thing could never happen again. He should have told him to stay away, but he hadn’t been able to do it.
So, he told his heart instead, giving it a stern warning, and putting his thumb under his first finger like he’d done when he was a child. It was a ward against bad things, one that his mother had taught him long ago. She said it would keep him safe during the night, and he’d used it some nights at the prison, in the hopes he’d be left alone and in peace. He did it now and wished hard that the charm would work this time, thought it never had before, and that he’d wake up in the morning no longer so afraid.
The next morning at first meal, Larz heard the news that the Athelon forces had unexpectedly retreated. They had met strong and unexpected resistance from the local Herkon farmers who had organized near the border town of Arlet, and their leader had been killed. It was enough to rout them, at least for now, and the sergeants had come by each tent to inform the men they would be heading back to the capital city of Wirlo, with only a small force traveling on to Arlet and the border to reinforce the soldiers stationed nearby.
Larz was disappointed, not only because he’d missed an opportunity to fight, but because their leaving took away any chance he might have of seeing the king again, or at least for a while. During the whole of that long morning as they broke camp and marched back toward Wirlo, he hoped to catch a glimpse of him riding in this LV, like he had on that first day, but there had been no sign of him. At midday, when Larz bolstered up his courage and actually asked one of the lieutenants about him, the man had regarded him oddly, and then told him the king had left early for home, along with his entire entourage.
He was disappointed, and though he knew it was foolish, he’d hoped right up until that moment the king might come by to see him before he left. He didn’t know if it was wrong to feel that way about a man like King Janos, a man who had kept him enslaved and who had told him he hated Tygerians, but he couldn’t seem to help it. His brother Anarr had once told him that when he met his future husband, he got little flutters in his chest and his stomach hurt. That he fel
t like he wanted to be with him all the time and missed him when he was gone. And when he kissed him, Anarr said, he couldn’t even breathe. Larz had felt that way a little about the king, and that made him wonder if his captivity wasn’t driving him insane. But then he remembered how soft Janos’s lips had felt against his, and he was right back to thinking crazy thoughts again.
It took them another three days of hard marching to get back to Wirlo, and the sergeants had promised them some time off after they got their weapons and their gear cleaned and stowed away. For most of the men, that meant a furlough to town, but not for him and Luc and the other soldiers who were slaves. Still, the down time would be nice, and Larz thought he might spend the whole of one day sacked out in his uncomfortable cot, which was looking better to him all the time.
****
Herkos on Laltana—a year later
Rasc Centarlo stood on a third-floor balcony of the palace, looking down and enjoying the view of a hundred young men wrestling together, all of whom were in prime physical condition and wearing practically nothing. Beside him was a Lycan delegation, three high-ranking Lycans who had come—again— to try and negotiate with King Janos for him to sign a peace treaty with Tygeria. Rasc had brought them here deliberately, hoping they might catch a glimpse of the missing Tygerian prince, and willing to make absolutely sure that they did.
The opportunity had fallen into his lap unexpectedly, when Janos had refused to see the delegation, claiming an unspecified illness. A clear fabrication, of course, and the Lycans knew it. Prince Tibiel had been away again at one of his estates in the north, so Rasc had seized the day and offered the beleaguered ambassadorial staff to allow him to show the Lycans their war preparations for the upcoming conflict with the Athelonians.
The slave master Kelan had been telling him he should observe the Tygerian prince in his training for some time now, because the young man was really something to see. So Rasc had come to do just that. And brought the Lycans with him to make sure they saw him too.
He had known that the kidnapped boy had gone to serve in the Army, but to tell the truth, he’d almost forgotten all about the “missing” prince of Tygeria until this opportunity arose, and then he remembered how close the Lycans had become to the Tygerians since the war’s end and one of their most famous and highly decorated generals had married one of Davos’s sons. A better opportunity to expose King Janos’s deception in not returning the boy might not fall into his lap.
The Athelonians were attacking Herkos again, and this time the fighting would be real. What if the Tygerian prince were to be killed by the Athelonians? How furious Davos and his son the Bloody Prince would be. How deliciously set on revenge.
Rasc, a human and a former soldier, had been on Laltana himself since just after the war ended. He had emigrated there after the surrender, because it was far from the influence of the hated Axis, which had already begun occupying Earth. He’d been a captain in the Alliance forces, and had planned on making the Army his career. All that had changed the day Prince Mikos of the Axis Forces married Ryan Donnelly, an Army colonel and the son of the Consul of the Earth Alliance. The arranged union was supposed to be a symbolic act of good faith that would seal the peace treaty between the two warring factions.
And it had. From all accounts, the marriage had been a huge success, but Rasc hadn’t been quite ready to play nice with the Tygerians. He’d been approached by ARes, the resistance force about joining them, but had decided theirs was a lost cause. Instead he’d decided to find a new home, and try to leave the war behind him as much as he could.
Rasc had become a citizen of Herkos on Laltana, which had no peace treaty with the Axis. He had been lured there by the rich gold mines on the planet, as well as his antipathy for the Axis. He’d hoped to make his fortune there and return to Earth one day, once the occupation had ended. Earth was a planet where gold was still considered highly valuable, though not as much as diamonds, of course. Instead of mining, however, he’d happened, quite by chance, to learn that the King Regent’s staff needed aides who had knowledge of the military, and he had quickly made himself available for the job.
It wasn’t long until he had also made himself invaluable to the Regent, as Rasc was one of the few people in court who proved himself willing to conspire with Tibiel to usurp the Herkon throne. Rasc had been taught from an early age that personal gain should be his only goal and concern. And he had learned his lessons well, never having been bothered overly much with things like a conscience or morals or a heightened sense of right and wrong.
Nearly four years before, when Kelan had first approached him about allowing the young Tygerian—Bastion, Kelan called him—to be trained and used by the Herkon army, he’d never thought Tibiel would agree. The young prince of Tygeria, whose real name was Larz, of course, was too valuable to them, and his death on the battlefield would be seen as a grave and grievous insult to the Tygerian king. In fact, it would be an egregious crime against the Tygerian king that wouldn’t be forgiven.
“Ah, but surely that’s the point,” Tibiel had replied then, looking down at the female slave who had been buffing his nails. “We need to move this thing along. When we first got word from our spies that the Farlians had the missing prince, I sent you after him right away so I could implicate my brother in his capture. I was so sure that Janos would have him killed the same night I gave the boy to him.”
The slave pulled too hard on a nail cuticle and Tibiel slapped her to the floor. She whimpered, then wiped the blood from her mouth and carefully took his hand again. “Stupid bitch,” Tibiel muttered. He looked back at Rasc.
“Now, where was I? Oh yes, I thought that Janos would seize the chance for revenge against the Tygerians, but he’s weak and indecisive. Nothing like me. I wanted Janos to be held personally responsible for his rape and murder, but the damn fool wouldn’t cooperate. It’s about time I paid attention to this matter again. After the war with Athelon, his popularity with the people will be at an all-time high. I need to act right away. That pampered young boy prince on a battlefield full of seasoned warriors? He’ll be slaughtered in an actual attack. It will be almost as good as if Janos had killed the boy himself. Then when King Davos discovers what’s happened—and I’ll make sure he does—he’ll have no choice but to attack Janos and kill him. Or just arrest and execute him outright for not returning the boy sooner. Either way works for me. He’ll be gone and then I’ll be king. And I don’t have to lift a hand to do it myself.”
“A perfect plan, Your Highness.”
“Of course, it is. Now see to it.”
So Rasc had agreed for the young Tygerian to join the king’s own personal troops, the Red Guard, which consisted of a hundred—then a hundred and one—men. He’d had to approach the captains himself, use the prince’s name and liberally bribe the captain of the guard to get him in, but he’d gotten it done, and now it looked as if their long-range plan might actually work. Even if it had taken all this time to get around to it.
The time had flown by since the prince’s kidnapping and capture, and it was hard to believe they’d let so much time pass. Tibiel had been busy with his own extensive travels and negotiations with the Farlian king, Ewart, over his betrothal to Ewart’s daughter, Magana. Magana hated Tibiel almost as much as he despised her, but this was a political marriage, so love or tender feelings weren’t necessarily involved.
The Athelonians, who naturally opposed any kind of closer relationship Herkos might have with Farlia, had sent their own candidate for her affections to Farlia, and as a result, Prince Tibiel had to be in Farlia quite often over the past two years, as well as hosting a number of social events at his royal estate north of the capital city.
So, time had slipped quickly by, as it had a habit of doing, and while Rasc had thought of the Tygerian prince from time to time, Rasc believed it had seriously been a case of out of sight, out of mind for the petulant Prince Tibiel once his initial plan had fallen through.
Prince Tibie
l had been trying to decide for some time now how he could let the Tygerians know that their prince was on Laltana. If he directly reported it to them, it could backfire on him badly, as Janos had great popular support and the people loved him and celebrated him as a war hero. It came as something of a surprise then to Rasc to realize this had gone on so long and that it had been almost four years since he’d purchased the boy from that Farlian trader. That evil old bastard was dead now, killed in an uprising of slaves on his ship as he’d been transporting them to the far distan Poliaro Galaxy right after Rasc had purchased the prince from him. A good thing too, since Tibiel didn’t like to leave any loose ends lying around, and any evidence of the prince’s involvement in the young royal’s kidnapping would have eventually had to have been removed, one way or the other.
Kelan had spoken to Rasc before about how well the young Tygerian prince was doing and had urged him to see for himself, but this was the first time he’d thought to take the slave master up on the chance. It was early for Rasc, for one thing, though the sun was already high in the sky, and he hid from it behind aviator sunglasses he’d brought with him to Laltana. Sunglasses were not something Herkons normally used, but they were Rasc’s trademark, having long since learned that hiding his eyes behind dark glasses could sometimes be very useful.
Rasc leaned over the balcony and nudged one of the Lycans with his elbow. It was no secret that Lycans liked men about as well as they liked women. “A nice view from here, isn’t it? Sometimes I think the king chooses his soldiers for their beauty.”