The Virgin King

by John Michael Curlovich

  “Brutus. John Wilkes Booth.” Raymond spoke the names in a whisper, as if the facts of his situation were beginning to sink in.

  “How many King Raymonds have died from a knife in the dark? The last king wasn’t the first to die that way.”

  Raymond wasn’t eating much. “I never asked for this. The Privy Council imposed it on me. I like to think I’ll be a good king, because I am—I hope—a good man. But… but I was happy in my monastery, copying books and watching the stars. Now… I don’t know.”

  “Happy? Were you really? When you talked about it before—”

  “Yes, I was happy, at least to the extent that I had the prospect of a long life ahead of me. How can they hate me so?”

  Logan shrugged. The answer seemed so obvious to him. “Some people lust after power the way other people lust after sex. And they seem to find it satisfying in pretty much the same way. The rest of us—the ones who aren’t power junkies—can never quite understand it. But it’s true nevertheless.”

  Raymond took a sip of wine. For a moment he seemed lost in thought. He seemed uncertain whether to say what he had on his mind. Then he resolved to come out with it. “I’ve never really lusted for either.” He lowered his eyes and added softly, “Till I met you.”

  There. It was finally out in the open, no more beating around that particular bush. Logan wasn’t sure how to react. “You’ve never been in love, then?”

  “Not until now, no.”

  “Your friend in the monastery… ?”

  “We were friends. Close, intimate, even passionate friends, but only friends.” He reached across the table and took Logan’s hand, “But you, Logan… ”

  How could he say it? How do you reject a king, for God’s sake? “Raymond, you’re a scientist. You have to know something about chemistry. If the right ingredients aren’t there, and if they don’t interact in just the right way—”

  The pain of rejection showed in Raymond’s eyes, but he kept silent.

  The ball was still in Logan’s court. He went on. “You’re either attracted to someone or you aren’t. There’s no way to bypass that basic fact of chemistry.”

  Softly: “Oh. Oh, I see.”

  “And, I mean… well, you’re a king. Your duty is to your country. You’re expected to marry and produce a royal heir. Your lover would have to remain in the background, if not actually in the shadows. That isn’t me. Chemistry completely to one side, that isn’t me.”

  A dozen emotions crossed Raymond’s face. Then he seemed to recover himself. “Did you know there’s a royal chapel in the palace? A small one, and it hasn’t been used for generations. Kings have always prayed in the cathedral. I’ve had it opened up and cleaned out, and I’m using it. The archbishop doesn’t like me using his cathedral. He’s not outright hostile, but he makes it clear he doesn’t want me there.”

  Realizing that the painful part of the evening was past, Logan relaxed. “I’ve never been a chapel kind of guy. I’d just tell the archbishop to screw himself. Politely, of course.” When Raymond didn’t respond he added, “You’re the king. And if it comes down to it, you’re probably safer avoiding his turf.”

  “Don’t I know it. I hear the people are already calling me ‘Raymond the Monk’ and “Raymond the Priest.’ I’m not sure I like that.”

  “There are worse things they could call you. People used to call President Rutherford B. Hayes ‘Ruther-fraud.’”

  Raymond chuckled. “We’ve had Raymond the Bad, Raymond the Mad, Raymond the Fat, Raymond the Two-faced… I guess Raymond the Monk isn’t too bad. But I’d still rather not be known that way.”

  “When they see your observatory on the palace roof, they’ll probably call you Raymond the Star-gazer or something. But give them time to get to know you.”

  Raymond was going to say that maybe Logan’s viewpoint would change in time, too; Logan could see it in his face. Fortunately, two servants came and served dessert, so nothing awkward developed. When they were gone Logan changed course. “So, you’re going to Paris.”

  He nodded. “Duke Rupert used to talk about it. He made it sound like such a magical place. When Alex suggested I should travel to broaden my experience it was the first place I thought of.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “A month, maybe six weeks, maybe more. We’re going to London too, and Rome and Berlin.”

  “We?”

  “Alex and Peter are coming along, and a few of their men. For security.”

  Logan grinned. “From what I know of Paris, and from what I know of the royal guards, they’ll be there for a lot more than that.”

  “I’ve been reading about Paris since I was a boy. Abelard and Eloise. St. Louis the Pious.”

  “You might find it’s changed a bit since their day.”

  Raymond reached across the table and touched Logan’s hand. “Really, I’m not as naïve as that. Give me a bit of credit.”

  Logan surprised himself by not pulling away. He didn’t take Raymond’s hand, but he let the contact linger. Raymond’s touch was warm and gentle, much more so than he’d expected. “I hope so. It would be nice to see your reign last more than a month or two.”

  Raymond pulled back. “Oh. That knife in the dark. I don’t want to think about that right now.”

  “You must always think about it, Raymond. Bulvania will do much better under you than it ever would under Theodora.”

  He looked shyly away. “Thank you, Logan. I hope so.”

  Their meal finished, Logan stood to leave.

  “I don’t suppose… ” Again, Raymond couldn’t look directly at him. “I don’t suppose you’d like to stay, would you? Spend the night in the palace?”

  Logan’s heart sank a little bit. He had been letting himself hope they were past that. He was coming to like Raymond, even like him a lot. But when he looked at him… That beard, that hair, those clothes… There was no way. “I really have to get back to the embassy. Father’s expecting me.”

  “Oh. Maybe… maybe another time, then?”

  “We’ll see.” He put his arms around Raymond and very gently kissed his eyes, his enormous, expressive, loving eyes.

  They said their goodnights, and that was that.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  That night Logan had trouble sleeping. Why had he kissed Raymond’s eyes that way? He told himself, again and again, that he did not feel an attraction. “I don’t do attraction like that,” he told himself in the darkened room over and over again. “He’s a nerd. He’s a geek. A nice enough guy in his way but a geek. I could never… ” When, after hours of sleeplessness, he finally fell asleep, it was restless sleep. He didn’t know why, or even want to admit it if he figured it out.

  * * *

  No formal announcement was made about Raymond’s trip. Word filtered slowly through the population that the king had gone off to visit the capitals of Europe. Logan found it odd that is was done on the sly; apparently the Privy Council was running the country in his absence. Alex and Peter had gone with him, taking a half dozen of their men. Evgeny was left in charge of the guards in Bulvania.

  Logan didn’t have much contact with them. He had gotten an assignment from an American travel magazine to do a photo feature on Bulvania for them. His days were occupied taking pictures of various sites around the capital, including the palace complex, and writing short descriptive captions for them. Goat farms and nut plantations in the countryside were also included, so there was a good bit of light travel. People from the embassy acted as tour guides for him.

  Oddly, no one in the city seemed to notice that Raymond was off on a trip, or to care much. Life went on more or less as usual. No one ever said anything unkind or unsupportive about Raymond the Monk; the people simply hadn’t gotten to know him well enough to care. When Logan mentioned that the king was off on a trip, people tended to shrug. “New kings do that,” was a typical reaction.

  The only one who seemed to miss Raymond was Logan. He kept trying to tel
l himself it wasn’t because of a growing attachment. No, he kept trying to believe, it was because he knew of the queen’s plot and was concerned about him. He didn’t let the obvious fact that Raymond was safe in Western Europe interfere with his thoughts. In fact, when he found himself thinking tenderly of the king, conjuring up an image of him, scruffy and ragged, was usually enough to end it.

  But as he traveled around the country, he always made it a point to tell people good things about their new king. People listened politely but a bit skeptically—Logan was an American, after all. But no one expressed anything but good will toward the king. It appeared that if it was up to the people and not the nobles, Raymond would have a long, happy reign.

  * * *

  After a few days, Logan began to feel that familiar itch, that urge that takes hold of every man everywhere sooner or later. At first, he satisfied himself with jerking off to fantasies about Alex, Peter and their men screwing their way across Europe. Once, even Raymond made his way into the fantasy.

  But soon masturbation wasn’t enough. He decided to take an afternoon off from his photography project and drop by the Frederick the Great Barracks.

  It was a bright, sunny afternoon, a bit on the warm side. The guards would be out in their courtyard working out, possibly naked, and… The mere thought of them, of all those gorgeous Eastern European men and their smooth, lean bodies had him hard as a rock.

  Two guardsmen were on duty at the palace gate. They were young, and they looked… innocent? unspoiled? boyish? Tall, thin, looking hot in their uniforms; the sun was bringing a blush to their cheeks; their complexions were pure peaches-and-cream. He couldn’t remember seeing them before. They must be new recruits. But he couldn’t wait to, er, get to know them better.

  “Hello.” He approached them, smiling the warmest smile he could manage without making it obvious what he had on his mind. “I’m Logan Bockwein, from the American embassy. I’m a friend of the king and your commander, Captain Borodenko.”

  “Yes, sir.” The guards snapped to attention. “But I’m afraid his majesty is not in residence, sir.”

  “I know it. He’s off in Paris. But I want to visit some of my other friends in the Royal Guards.”

  “I’m afraid that is not possible, sir. The palace is closed to visitors during the king’s absence. Except for official business, of course.”

  Logan looked them up and down. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, have we? As I said, I am from the American embassy.” He hoped that was official-sounding enough for them.

  But it wasn’t. “And may I ask your business here today, sir?”

  “As I said, I simply want to visit a few friends.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. That cannot be permitted.”

  Logan hadn’t expected anything like this, and he wasn’t sure how to react. “If you’ll call Lieutenant Evgeny Petrovich, I’m sure he will—”

  “I’m very sorry, sir. But it is as I said.”

  Logan looked to the other guard, thinking he might make more progress with him. But he was standing stiffly at attention and looking straight forward, not at Logan. He turned back to the first one, and he put on his friendliest, most seductive tone. “I don’t think we’ve met before. Mind if I ask your name?”

  “Private Leland, at your service, sir.”

  “You’re a new member of the Guards?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He paused and tried to sound tentative. “Would you like to get together after you get off duty? For a drink or maybe a light meal somewhere?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t get off duty till after midnight.”

  “Getting off is what I have in mind.” He made it sound like a little joke, though he meant it quite seriously.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Recruits are not permitted to fraternize with civilians.”

  “Oh.” He turned to the other guard.

  But before he could speak the guard told him, “I’m afraid I am a recruit, too, sir.”

  “Oh. Oh.” He looked from one of them to the other. “Well, maybe some other time, then. I’ll just go inside and say hello to Lt. Petrovich.”

  “I’m very sorry, sir.” They both said it at the same time. “That is not permitted.”

  Oh. Damn. Putting the best face on his disappointment he said, “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you both again.”

  They stared straight ahead.

  “Goodbye, now.” He turned and left, his mind turning furiously. The Promised Land was on the other side of that gate. There had to be a way for him to reach it. There simply had to be.

  * * *

  Logan complained about being kept out of the palace to everyone on sight. Marge made one of her usual wisecracks about it, which of course didn’t help. Constantine consulted a handbook on Bulvanian protocol and decided there was no way around it.

  Logan even talked to a few of the locals who worked at the embassy. The chauffeur told him, “I’ve never heard of anything like that. The palace is always open to everyone.”

  “They told me it’s because the king isn’t in residence.”

  “That’s never made any difference before, sir.”

  A chambermaid was even more puzzled. “My brother was there just this morning, sir.”

  “He was actually in the palace?”

  “Yes, sir. He works for one of the greengrocers who sell them provisions.”

  “Well, I guess they have to let deliveries like that inside.”

  “He wasn’t delivering any food. His fiancée works at the palace. She’s one of the maids, and it’s her birthday, so he was taking her some flowers.”

  He was astonished. “And they let him in?”

  She nodded. “It’s a long tradition, sir. The palace is the peoples. It’s always open to everyone.”

  So those two guards he’d encountered were simply too new to know the rules. He decided to go back and have another try. Visions of naked, sweating guardsmen fucking, sucking, playing every known sexual game drove him, and drove him forcefully. This time he would get inside to play with them. He had to. His hardon was practically bursting out of his pants.

  There were two different guards on duty this time. So Private Leland was lying when he said he couldn’t meet Logan because he was on duty till midnight. Oh well, what the hell, he was probably straight.

  But “different guards” did not lead to “different results.” Even though he knew one of these new ones, even though he had screwed the guy at their last orgy, he couldn’t get into the palace. “I’m very sorry, sir, but no visitors are permitted to enter the palace while his majesty is absent.”

  “Everyone I’ve talked to says the palace has always been open to everyone.”

  “Sorry, sir. This is a new policy.” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “Security.” That word was supposed to explain everything, it seemed.

  Logan kept imagining the man naked and erect. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind. “Security? But I’m the one who exposed the plot against the king.”

  “Plot? I don’t know anything about a plot, sir. All I know is that no visitors are permitted to enter the palace grounds.”

  Logan felt like he had to touch another man or he’d explode. “Look, Hans, you know me. We’ve played together. We can again. Let me in.”

  “Sorry, sir, no visitors are permitted.”

  Logan didn’t know whether to be angry, hurt or just incredibly horny. He turned to the second guard, but the man was standing rigidly at attention, eyes forward. Logan’s exchange with Hans might never have happened. The two of them snapped rigidly to attention and said in unison, “For the greater glory of Bulvania!”

  And so he left a second time.

  * * *

  The next morning there was a note for Logan at the embassy. It was from Count Schlutow; he wanted an answer to the proposal he had made at that lunch. So they were serious about their plan, and serious about involving him in it. This situation wasn’t going to go away. He decided he
had to tell the ambassador about it.

  “Dad, we’ve got problems.”

  P.T. sat behind his desk, drinking his morning coffee. A cuckoo clock, nearly as large as the one in his office back home, ticked loudly on the wall behind him. “What else is new?”

  “I’m serious. There are diplomatic ramifications to this.”

  “There are diplomatic ramifications to everything we do. Constantine just told me I’ve been buying my morning newspaper from a street vendor who belongs to the queen’s party. So I guess I’ll have to change.”

  “I’ve had an encounter with the queen, too, and at a lot closer range than that.” He told P.T. about his luncheon with the count, the queen and the bishop. “And it affects you, too. They told me if I go along with them they’ll approve the contract for Zinc, Inc.”

  “Isn’t that something the king would have to do?”

  “What if the king isn’t around?”

  “Oh. Oh. Yes. I see the problem. But—but what was your response to them?”

  “What could I say? I stalled. I can’t get involved in an assassination plot, and I wouldn’t even if I didn’t like Raymond. But I certainly don’t want to crab your tin deal.”

  P.T. was a bit surprised. “You’ve gotten that friendly with the king?”

  Logan nodded, not sure what his father might be suspecting. “He’s a nice guy. On the nerdy side, but underneath those monk’s robes there’s a certain sweetness.”

  “I’ve seen him, Logan. ‘Sweet’ isn’t the adjective that comes to mind. He looks like—”

  “No, really, dad, he’s a nice guy. I mean, he needs a good, thick coat of polish, but—”