The Prince of Almond Manor

by Gregory Jonathan Scott

  It wasn’t until he was deeply alone in silence of the gloom when he spotted the illuminated windows in the Manor ahead. He had become hesitant about taking another step toward the lights, and instead settled under another tree and let the rain take over his surroundings. He was soaked, but hadn’t cared. Somehow, saturated seemed better than being flooded by proposals of marriage at home. He wanted to stay where he was—wet, miserable, and senselessly troubled by activities other than those of his own. He stayed put and shivered, slumping to the ground beneath another tree, sitting with his back against rough bark. He closed his eyes and let the scalding anger take claim to him. Rain had mixed with burning tears of a strong man breaking down.

  For a long time he remained motionless. Then he rose to his feet. He looked continuously around him as if expecting a fire to start, listening intently before looking out into the downpour. It was cold and hazy, much like a winter’s day.

  A moment had passed, and to Deklan’s disbelief, the clouds moved out of the sky and the sun quickly vanquished the rain, making him somehow feel as if he’d just been rescued. When the first rays of light struggled through the low hanging deck of clouds, he looked to the right and then the left, uncertain in which direction he should have gone. Home or further away? He left the tree and had taken the shortest route to the barn to meet with Chadwick, hopped on and rode bareback into the open fields someplace far, far, away. The late evening sun was warming its way through the cloud cover, giving him some relief from the chilling wetness.

  Time flew quickly for Deklan and he hadn’t noticed nightfall arrived until he found himself under a sunless sky. His eyes had already adjusted to the dusky eve and before he knew it, he was running Chadwick into the peaceful night.

  Chapter 7

  It was noticeably late, and Oakland had nowhere to be or anybody to clean up after, leaving the rest of the evening open to himself. A swim up river seemed like a grand idea.

  Swimming bare, the chill of the water stimulated him. His feet paddling lightly as he crawled on his hands along the rivers rocky bed, stopping at a place shallow enough to roll over and lay back, letting fresh air caress his exposed body from head to toe and every part in between. He was a free spirit at that moment and it certainly felt good, no doubt. He wasn’t sure if it was the cool breeze racing across his body that made him tremble or because certain areas normally covered had gotten blown by the whispering cool night air.

  Even though Oakland was alone in the dark, he was compelled to cover up with the largest water lily he could find. He floundered—his arms and legs outstretched over the surface of the water. He listened to creatures of the night communicating with one another. It was peaceful. Relaxation had come to him easily, even with the noises recognized as birds, crickets and creeping bugs.

  While trudging through the undergrowth along the river’s edge, ignoring the snapping twigs and spongy mush beneath his and Chadwick’s feet, Deklan had come across a pair of trousers slung over the branch of a tree as well as freshly set barefoot prints on the ground that pivoted into the river.

  Deklan’s original plan was to escape the Manor to find refuge in his thoughts of silence. That specific jaunt was meant to avoid the constant reminder he was soon to marry a powder puffed female and her… Oh Gawd, wet vagina.

  Enough of that already.

  Even though Deklan wanted to be alone with his thoughts, his curiosity pricked his desire to find out whose britches had been flung in that tree. Searching for a naked gentleman was a certain and enticing distraction and would help keep his mind off home and an assigned maiden that would be waiting for him.

  He hopped back onto Chadwick and strolled along the mushy bank while scanning the river the entire trip. The darkness had taken possession of the woods, increasing the difficulty of seeing much of anything, but the slim reflection of the moon across the water’s surface had been helpful with locating any possible movement out there.

  The soft ground under Chadwick’s hooves left his footsteps quiet, and if there had been anybody swimming or lodging nearby, they’d have been surprised by the horse’s subtle appearance.

  While Oakland lay in the river, he couldn’t get his mind off Deklan. To him, the man was striking on all aspects of a human being, and the fact he was a gentleman, had made for a more appealing man.

  He exhaled, reminiscing over Deklan’s aristocratic facial features during the time he’d been with him before—the square chin and sharp nose, the angular jaw line lightly shadowed with dark facial hair. His fair complexion had absorbed the glistening beams from the moon and reflected off his flesh like shimmering diamonds—a feature Oakland liked, that of which was much different from his own caramel skin. Deklan’s bright blue eyes fringed by long lashes dazzled like polished sapphires behind free dangling strands of long dark brown hair that had fallen loosely from the short ponytail tied at the back of his head.

  Going along with his desires, Oakland stiffened below the waist while he thought how strong and solid Deklan’s body felt during the brief encounter they had while rolling in an arm-lock down the hillside. Once landing, Oakland recalled getting a glimpse of Deklan’s chest through his open shirt, and how it was dusted with hair resembling wisps of fine feathers. His attraction to a man with a hairy chest almost outranked a beautiful face. He’d also noticed how Deklan carried himself with virile qualities, and the masculine strength had naturally appealed to Oakland.

  Suddenly pulling Oakland from his fantasy, he’d caught sight of Deklan towering above him on horseback.

  Whoa! Surprise! What? When? Where had Deklan come from? Was he dreaming or was reality really happening?

  Deklan’s sneaky arrival startled Oakland, causing him to shriek while manically trying to stand and cover his male defining body parts. Water splashed and waves rippled inland. He stood knee-knocked, like that of a stork who’d lost its balance. He attempted to cover up with clumsy hands, but his exaggerated male organ wouldn’t allow any sort of success at concealing what protruded so grandly between his legs. There was a lot there, he knew himself, and two hands were never enough to hold it all in place.

  As if astonished by what he’d seen, Deklan stared. Eyes bulging. His mouth dropped open as if he had just seen the sun come out at nighttime.

  Oakland thought he heard, “Holy mother of the black forest, that’s huge.”

  Deklan quickly blinked and mumbled, “H-hey.” He broke contact with Oakland’s oversized dick and transferred his gaze to his face. Becoming more composed, he added, “You’ll catch a chill if you run around in the night like that.”

  Oakland wasn’t able to identify if Deklan was cracking a joke or if the man was being serious with his comment. To reduce mortification, Oakland kept eye contact away from meeting Deklan’s, purposely only letting him see the topside of his scalp. Not only was Oakland embarrassed about standing naked in front of Deklan, he wasn’t thrilled about the horseman putting a face to a caramel colored stork with a significantly sized male organ that made him appear deformed. He held what he had in place as best he could—struggling to detain eleven inches of thick black dick behind a pair of hands that appeared dwarfed in front of it.

  Oakland remained hopeful Deklan hadn’t recognized him from the night before. He calmly turned and walked along the riverbank to the place he’d left his trousers.

  In equal steps, Deklan followed Oakland on horseback.

  Feeling somewhat awkward, Oakland wasn’t sure what to do with himself—walk without saying anything, or strike up a conversation—in the nude. With his bare butt facing Deklan, he sensed the man was watching it flex with every step he took. Mortified with being naked, Oakland wanted nothing more than to put his pants on.

  Breaking the silence, Deklan finally mentioned, “Aren’t you the one I ran into a couple nights ago in the clover field?”

  Oakland wanted to run away. For real. “Unh. Yes. I was there.”

  “Running into you again is a pleasant surprise.” Deklan was smiling.


  “Yes. It is. For me, too. I suppose. However…” If Oakland was correct, he could feel Deklan’s gaze burning a hole into his rear end and wondered if Deklan liked what he was looking at. Probably so since the horseman stayed a few steps behind, taking in a birds eye view from behind and above.

  “I have to admit, this was not the view I had expected this evening, but it bodes better than what I was up against earlier at the Manor,” Deklan said as if he’d heard Oakland’s thoughts about staring at his dimpled butt cheeks and liking what he saw.

  Grinning, Oakland wondered, “My ass? Does that mean he likes my ass?”

  Chapter 8

  The big day had arrived and there were only a few hours to finish what needed to be taken care of at the Manor before guests started arriving. It was clear Wattsworth was running on spurts of steam. Nightfall was closing in and soon there would be wagons pulling up to the house with potential brides for Prince Deklan.

  Oakland hadn’t quite figured Deklan out yet, but he was almost certain a female bride wasn’t part of his future plans.

  Noticing dusk was breaking and the sun was melting into the horizon, Oakland saw the lighted torches alongside the walkway of the Manor’s entry had begun to glow a little brighter. Against the darkening sky, the lanterns burned beautifully and had become more vivid as time passed by.

  Oakland quietly hummed a song he had made up at that moment while glancing up at the candlelight’s flickering in the small windows scattered along the backside of the manor’s walls. He could see a few images moving behind the lights while flitting about at getting ready for the fancy evening.

  Instead of gazing at what he wasn’t part of, he’d taken to the river and floundered face up until his dream seemed real. Oakland found a joyful moment and thought if his fantasy had actually come to life, it would be best if he met his prince fresh and clean.

  The night was peaceful, even though the sound of crickets and frogs were voicing their opinions as to who could croak the loudest.

  Oakland floated on the surface of the water, listening, falling hostage to the tranquility of every tone. It was if he’d been transported to a magical place. One he might not have wanted to return from.

  He dried off with a cotton cloth he’d made from an old dress skirt of his mother’s before covering himself and creeping back to the carriage house.

  He aimed himself head on toward the candlelight he’d left burning in his bedside window, the idea of that had always simplified his return home during nightfall.

  Before going inside his cozy cabin, Oakland looked at all the horse drawn carriages lined at the Manor’s front entry. The vision was remarkable, and it astounded him to see how many people were actually going to be filling the Manor’s ballroom, all of them wanting a piece of the Prince inside.

  Oakland let out a sigh, wishing he could have been part of the gathering, however instead, had gone inside his barn-style house he shared with chickens and goats.

  The moment he put on a nightshirt, he heard rustling outside his front door, followed by a gentle rap against its frame—the sound resembling that of a wooden walking stick.

  “Who’d be at my door this time of evening?” he asked, sort of speaking to a chicken standing next to him. He pushed the bird out of his path with his foot and peeked through an open crack in the door, seeing a white man his size standing there.

  Puzzled by who the person could be, Oakland paused before opening his door to someone unfamiliar. The gentle rap of that wooden stick he’d heard a moment ago tapped again. Wood against wood echoed inside the carriage house. The chickens ran away and the goats backed into a corner at the rear.

  When Oakland opened the door, he found a man he’d never seen before standing there. Their gaze met eye to eye. He was super thin, or it was the pinstriped pants and jacket he was wearing that made him appear as though he was. By the clothing he had on, Oakland figured he’d come from someplace outside the village. The skinny man looked out of place, telling Oakland an invitation inside would have been a bad idea.

  Oakland asked if he’d lost his way, mentioning the birthday celebration for Deklan was across the yard at the Manor.

  The skinny man glanced over his shoulder and before turning back around said, “Oh no. I’m not here for any party. I’ve come to see you.”

  A little baffled by the man’s response, Oakland pursed his lips as if he was about to say, “What?”, then pinching his brows together in the middle and said, “Huh?” instead.

  The man repeated, “I’m here to see you, Oakland. I have a gift from your father.” The man’s tone was formal when he spoke.

  Oakland stood with a puzzled gaze, wondering who the man was and how he knew his name. Knowing his father had passed on years ago, had Oakland second guessing the person at his door being truthful.

  “May I come in before the chickens decide to run free?” the man asked.

  Rummaging for words and fumbling with the handle on the door, Oakland waved for him to come inside. “Yeah. Unh, sure. Come in. Guests are always welcome.”

  Oakland looked at him for several moments, finding quite a resemblance between the two of them. He blinked to clear his head.

  A chicken clucked, breaking the sketchy silence.

  “I don’t have much to offer sir, but you’re welcome to a cup of water and an apple I’d picked today,” Oakland nervously said. “Can I get either or both?”

  “No thank you, Oakland. My time here is limited,” he replied, fussing with the large tattered box he had tucked under his arm. He laid it on a rickety table at the right of the door. “This is for you. From your father.” He tapped its mushy lid.

  “My Father? He’s been gone for many years.” Oakland wasn’t sure what was going on, but it was truly an occurrence out of the ordinary.

  First an unknown stranger tapped on his door wearing clothing outside the current times. He looked a lot like Oakland, except the man was clearly Caucasian. Apart from their skin tone differences, they could have been twins if the man was more muscular. It was as if Oakland was looking at a mirrored image of himself. The gentleman’s face was so close to his own.

  The visitor looked at Oakland and said, “It’s time to dig deep and believe.”

  With that being said, Oakland’s curiosity of the supernatural spiked. The situation appeared somewhat mystical, leaving him to wonder if he’d drown in the river, and what was taking place was part of passing on. He pinched himself to be sure. It hurt. Then when the chicken pecked his bare toe? That hurt, too. He was very much alive.

  What was happening? It was all so strange.

  The man in the pinstripe suit asked Oakland to sit down at the table next to the box he delivered.

  Doing what had been asked, Oakland waited for the man to divulge with a reason for his unexpected visit.

  The thin man laid a hand on the box top and took a deep breath before speaking.

  Clutching the seat of his chair, Oakland first glanced at the box and then transfixed his gaze on the peculiar man touching it. His head was hurting, but wasn’t sure the pain was physical. None of what had taken place seemed real. With all the unexplained illusions, Oakland found it outlandish to ask the man’s name. Instead, he named him The Mirror Man. That suited him since he was quite like Oakland’s own reflection.

  Oakland noticed a faint glow around the mirror man’s face and wondered if it was coming from the candle light next to his bed upstairs or if the mystery man was actually shining.

  The Mirror man eloquently spoke, “This old box from your father was to be given to you on a night that was going to be significant—a night you would always remember.”

  A chill sped up Oakland’s back, and just like that, the joy he’d felt in the river earlier had disappeared. For some reason, he had a feeling the man was about to tell him what he was already aware of. The thing Oakland hadn’t known was what could be in the tattered box and how it related to what the mirror man was planning to say to him.

&n
bsp; Should he believe? It seemed farfetched and more like a fairytale.

  Oakland wasn’t too certain of when it started, but he noticed his neck muscles had tightened, practically strangling his brain.

  The mirror man softly rubbed his fingertips in a loose manner over the box top and proceeded with telling Oakland why he was at his home. “This might seem a bit extreme, so I would like you to stay seated, if you please. Think of me as… your godfather, like… a fairy, but without a set of pretty wings.”

  Oakland swallowed and tried to remain calm. What the mirror man had said seemed absurd, making no sense at all. There’s no such thing as fairies.

  Had death really come to Oakland in the river out back?

  “Tonight you are going to meet somebody amazingly special.” The mirror man moved his hand to the edge of the box top as if he was planning to open it, but hesitated. He carried on, speaking in such a ceremonial manner, Oakland could hardly understand what was being said. “I’m your sentinel for the evening, however, only for tonight. As you might know, I’m a clear resemblance of your father, an extension of his inner spirit, which is meant to ease your acceptance of me. Nobody other than you can see or hear me. I’m here to guide you to the calls of your inner heart. You have grown up to be the man your father expected, and his ultimate wish is for you to be yourself as well as be happy. I come to guide you during a time that won’t be easy for you or your heaven selected soul mate. In this box, I pass on to you some confidence that will help charm your harmonized soul. You’ll know who that person is the moment you set eyes on one another. Wear the contents of this box to this evening’s celebration, Oakland. But know it can only be with you this one time and only until the clock tower strikes midnight.”

  Oakland swallowed another time, his throat feeling dryer than before. The sensation of ingesting a pinecone had been evident, and it had gone down hard. He stuttered, “B-But wait. I’m… not the kind of person you might think. I’m different from other men. Very different. Exhibiting affection in a public place the way it feels natural to me isn’t that simple. I’d be ridiculed, or even stoned, possibly put to death. Whatever’s inside that box won’t make me what I am not. I can’t take anything inside it. This won’t work, and I’m not certain I want it to. Not even tonight until midnight.” Oakland stammered and his voice lowered, “This won’t work for someone like me. I’m…”