A Royal Affair

by John Wiltshire

  His seduction was poised on a knife-edge between complete disaster and total success, and I hesitated, my thoughts so chaotic that I could not slow them down and calm them. I would have denied him and left, my sickness and self-disgust great enough to overcome my body’s desire, but his hand held something out of sight under the pillow.

  That insignificant object changed everything.

  He saw the direction of my look and colored, concealing it more. His voice faltered as he admitted, uncertainly, “I found some oil. I thought it would be… needed, but then… I think it is whale oil and—oh, God’s teeth.” He collapsed theatrically onto his face with a muffled, “You are such hard work to seduce, Niko.”

  And I began to laugh. It was all so ludicrous. Nothing was wrong with my body or his or the world. I had him in front of me, naked, willing, beautiful, and we were alone. The only thing preventing me from gaining what I had wanted for so very long was in my own head. So I just took it out and put it to one side—I would rail and fight and scream and cry another night. Tonight, I wanted this.

  He heard my laughter and turned to speak, but I pushed him farther into the bunk and climbed in alongside him, stretched out, naked, my flesh touching his all along his lean flanks. I took the little jar of oil from his hand. “It is almond oil, fool, and will do very well.” He kissed me then, and we were both very ready for the loving contact, having had something of a shock and an unpleasant few hours. I held his face and inspected where I’d inadvertently hit him. I kissed a rising bruise and whispered my apologies. He whispered back that I now had four death sentences against me, as hitting the king had added to my score. I murmured a few suggestions for how I would like to die at his hands, and he laughed, as most of them were anatomically impossible.

  We were delaying the moment; we both knew this. But it suddenly seemed of huge import, this thing that I had done so many times without thought but he never had. I knew he’d thought about it a great deal, though. He was more than ready. I took the oil and sat up, straddling his thighs, and to his surprise began to pour it over his back and shoulders, working it in with my hands, squeezing his flesh hard, pushing and pummeling. He groaned with pleasure, as all men do when so treated. Gradually I worked my hands down to his ribs, pressing deeply into his spine with my thumbs, then farther down, cupping the pale globes of his backside, which were hard from riding. By the time my thumb found him and pressed where all my thoughts were now turning, he was urging me on, begging. It was a delightful sound. I swelled as much from his words as from the sight of the tightness waiting for me. I poured the remainder of the oil from a great height onto the tiny indentation, so it teased him in falling, and he arched, dipping at the waist, pressing his own pleasure into the pallet.

  I slid one finger inside him.

  I TOOK Aleksey three times that night, which I should not have, perhaps—he being so new to this activity that one such intrusion would have left him sore and unable to sit comfortably to his royal duties the following day. But we were as one in our desires, he as eager to feel again and again the secret pleasure a man can feel at such completeness. He had to describe it for me, for I had never felt it. Penetrated by the crew onboard the whaler for their savage entertainment, my pleasure had never been considered, and it was my belief that only a man willingly participating in such things is blessed to enjoy it as Aleksey did. I had the proof, for the pallet was soaked the next morning with his spills. Mine, of course, were not spilled.

  I used him shamelessly, and he lay like a doll made of rags in my arms as dawn rose over the ocean to the east. We had blown out the lamp some time ago and were watching the glow strengthen, regretting the coming of the morning. My terror was completely gone. I believed that I must call him Doctor Aleksey. I felt so much a man that morning that all my appetites had returned. I was starving and full of repressed energy. If we had not been trapped on a ship, I would have taken Xavier for a long ride through a snowy forest and smelled the wintry pine in the air. Being on a ship was unpleasant, even without my more particular fears.

  I was stroking Aleksey gently in a long run of finger from the base of his neck down his spine to the place of all our pleasure that night, swirling it around and then trailing it back up. I had seen men’s spines broken and torn loose on the battlefield, their bodies mutilated and mangled, and preferred a man’s body like this: whole and perfect. He was not asleep but not quite with me either. I was on my third day without sleep and was past the point of tiredness, now jittery almost with exhaustion. But we had both gone many nights without sleep in the war, and I would not trade one moment of my time that night with Aleksey for the most dreamless sleep a man could have. I bent down and let my lips take the place of my finger, putting my tongue where no man should, perhaps. He only blinked sleepily and turned to meet my gaze. He did not forbid it, so I continued, a fourth penetration but this one only my tongue and soft and easy for him to bear. We could hear voices at the outer dayroom doors. Our time was done.

  I withdrew in body and spirit and allowed him to leave the bunk, watching as he moved around the cabin naked. After a few minutes, I began to laugh, and he turned, quizzical. I shook my head in despair at my own mood swings, a trait I seemed to be catching from him, but commented dryly, “I thought you might have forgot how to do that unaided. I am very glad you have remembered how to hold it yourself.”

  CHAPTER 26

  THAT FIRST day after our greatly increased intimacy, I felt as if I owned the entire world. I stood on deck as the ship pitched and rolled and could hardly contain my spirits within my body. Most everyone else was sick. Out of sight now of any land and in the full force of the northern sea’s fury, I seemed to be the only one not hanging like death upon the rails. Perhaps Aleksey was right: I had become inured to the sensation. At breakfast, I had eaten like a condemned man (actually, upon reflection, it may have been the sight of me demolishing a hunk of pork and apple smothered in thick gravy that was now responsible for so many courtiers being indisposed), and now felt as full of life as the sails cracking and flapping above my head.

  Of course, I knew the real reason for my return to life and health: Aleksey. He was my doctor, my medicine, and my cure. I craved him again. Like any man who has possessed another in such a way, I felt a sense of total ownership of his body, and as he stood conferring with those counselors still standing, I knew that he was aware of this in me. How did it feel to be king and master of all he surveyed, save me, who mastered him and ruled him? How did those around us not feel this emotion, these thoughts shooting between us as real as the great power of the wind in the sails? I could see it, tangible, in front of my eyes as I stood close to his huddled group. Unable to bear not touching him and hearing his voice, I moved closer and bowed, inquiring whether he would like to check upon the horses, given it was rough with the ship swaying and rolling and swaying and…. I sent a few more courtiers to the rails and lifted my eyebrow. I repeated my suggestion, which, of course, actually meant us, below decks, no one else present.

  He nodded in a very majestic way, I thought, and accompanied me down the ladder to the lower deck. We had one or two courtiers with us for a while, until we entered the bowels of the ship where the horses were tethered. They had not had the benefit of fresh air for some time, and the smell was indescribable. So we lost our little flock of hangers-on and were alone, except for the stableboys. These we gave a thorough tongue-lashing, as the floor had horseshit that had not yet been cleared. The infraction was minor, really, as the place was as clean and tidy as any such place can be, given the circumstances, but it gave us the excuse to dismiss them. As they were scurrying away, Aleksey relented and said that they should avail themselves of the breakfast in the state rooms, as very little of it had been eaten, except by the savage colonel at his side. They grinned and ran for it, before their punishment became less attractive.

  We were alone. Less than auspicious accommodation, I knew, but we had known worse. I went first to Xavier and saw a slight pout on
Aleksey’s lips but told him that Xavier was my first love and he, the king, would always be second in my heart. He told me in that case I should take my pleasure with Xavier, for I was not going to get it from him. I had him around the waist by now and pinned against the bulkhead. I demonstrated then why I preferred his body to all others. He would not let me take him as I had the night before; I’d noticed he had not sat at breakfast. But he let me take him in my mouth, kneeling to him in the rough straw, and I was lost once more to the very great privilege of loving another man.

  When I was done, a second breakfast, we swapped places. This was novel, for he had not knelt to me like this before, and I held his head just so, teasing him with pressure, easing him on and off, showing him how I liked to be taken. It was very entertaining, and we laughed a great deal, given the movement of the ship, the sudden lurch that yanked him off, his recapturing of his prize—even the occasional time when he forgot and seized me with his teeth for grip. He was a very enthusiastic student, as ever, and when I shot, I did not pull him away. It was his first time for that as well. I covered myself and pulled him to his feet. I did not think I had ever seen his eyes so green. Perhaps it was the lack of that sweet color all around us. His eyes sparkled like emeralds. I kissed each in turn, and then we had to take our leave. We both needed the fresh air.

  WE PASSED the remainder of that week of sailing with the old king safely in his state coffin and the new king safely in my arms—whenever I could contrive an excuse to get him on his own. Now that I had recovered from my short, sudden delirium, I was returned to my own quarters, and the royal servant of the royal damn bedchamber returned to his. I suggested to Aleksey that he appoint me servant to the royal bedchamber, and then all our problems would be solved, but he pointed out that, in that case, I would have to spend all my days in the royal laundry washing the royal sheets and not be able to see him or speak to him at all in daylight. It almost seemed a good trade-off to me, but then I was a man in my prime and roused greatly by our new intimacy, which I wished to partake of as frequently as I could. Seeing him and wanting to take his body obsessed me, as he knew. It was a very interesting week, all told, more interesting than I had anticipated when I promised Aleksey that I would accompany him.

  We arrived back in Hesse-Davia a few days before the Christmas festivities were due to commence, which had been curtailed somewhat, given the sad events in Saxefalia. I got the impression that hastily erected decorations for this and for celebration of the war had been converted to those more suiting a funeral. It was acceptable. Aleksey didn’t mind. He knew that most poor people only wanted an excuse to forget the misery of their lives for a day, and whether funeral, war celebration, Christmas, or coronation, it mattered not to them.

  We were all in chaos for the first few days. Even the simplest things had to be decided. Where would the new king sleep? He utterly refused to sleep in his dead father’s bed—and I did not blame him—or reside in the overdecorated rooms, which, again, seemed a very normal reaction to me. But it threw the court into complete turmoil. He could not, apparently, sleep in his old rooms with his books and all his childhood things, as that would not be appropriate. I suspected Aleksey was so sick at hearing what was and was not appropriate that he would have liked to throw some of his counselors off the battlements. I’d have helped with the lifting.

  A few days after we returned to the castle, I was summoned to the throne room, the vast hall where the king of Hesse-Davia held open court and heard petitions. I had not been in this part of the castle before, having had no excuse when the old king had ruled, and was suitably impressed by the banners and armor and old weapons mounted on every available bit of wall space. The vast oaken doors were opened for me, and I went in. I had to walk the gauntlet of the court: up to two hundred people, all dressed richly and in little groups, conducting their “important” business. I ignored some of the stares and made my way toward the top of the room, near the raised dais where I could see King Christian. Before I could emerge into the open space around the throne, I felt a hand on my arm and turned to find Colonel Johan smiling at me. This was very odd. Whatever he thought about me, he never thought it with a smile unless it was one at my expense. But I was delighted to see him, and we actually hugged for a moment.

  I pulled him off to one side of the room. “What is happening? How did you get here?”

  “I flew.”

  I was slow on the uptake, so he added, rolling his eyes, “Saxefalia also had a navy, Doctor. The rest of us trailed in the royal wake.”

  “But why are you here? Do you know what this is about?”

  He shook his head. “How is Aleksey?”

  I shrugged, and that said it all. He knew Aleksey as well as I, if in different ways, and we both knew his volatility. He was staring at him over the heads of the mob. “I suppose I should thank you—”

  He did not get a chance to finish, for he was swept off his feet by a huge bear, hugging and shouting something in his ear. I turned the bear into Gregory in my mind, and all was well. Pia was standing behind him. She smiled shyly at me, and I took her hand. “It is good to see you both. Why are you here?”

  We were all mystified. We had all received summons. Our little group was then accosted by the annoying one, Stephen, whom I had not seen since he had been strutting around with a lance and tripping over his own feet. I swung him up and kissed him, which made him furious, as he was now a very serious young man of ten, far too old, he informed me, to be treated like a baby. I asked him why he then still looked like a baby, and we argued pleasantly about this just as Aleksey had with Gregory’s little boy all those months ago. Finally order was called for by the blowing of bugles, and the king proceeded to hold court. He heard many petitions and made many decisions, none of which we could hear, as the noise and babble in the room were still considerable. Then with another blast of the damn instrument, Colonel Johan was called to the dais. He went with a glance to me.

  He looked the very epitome of soldiery as he marched smartly through the throng. It’s not easy to march up steps with a sword and keep the pace, but he managed as if he’d rehearsed this moment his whole life. Perhaps he had. Perhaps that is what he’d meant when he told me that Aleksey was special. From the first moment of Aleksey’s life, they had enjoyed a delicate balance of care and love, obedience and respect, that had led to this moment. Johan knelt in front of a figure so regal and aloof that it barely resembled the young prince I knew—until there was a smile, a hand on a shoulder, and the awe-inspiring figure was Aleksey once more. He bade Johan rise and embraced him briefly before gesturing to an aide to hand him a box.

  I could hear nothing of what was being said, but Johan’s face told its own story—as far as he was concerned, the box held recognition of the loving bond between them that even the great power of majesty could not break.

  When he returned to his place in the crowd with us, Stephen, of course, had to know what was in the box. After a little teasing, pretending its occupant might bite him if the lid were opened, Johan showed us his prize.

  He had been presented with the Order of Saint George, the highest award for bravery in Hesse-Davia, as Gregory informed us in an undertone—only three recipients had won this medal since its institution four hundred years previous. Johan brushed off our congratulations and commented wryly that he ought to sell it—that it might pay for the new uniform he would have to purchase. Aleksey had promoted him to general and made him head of the army.

  I grinned as I saw the pride hidden behind the gruff pretense on the scarred face. Hesse-Davia’s army was in very good hands.

  Next, to our very great astonishment, the king called for Gregory. He had assumed that he, like I, was there to see Johan’s honoring, but not so. He was appointed as minister for works, something that sounded so vague I reckoned Gregory could pretty much decide for himself what he had command over, and suddenly understood that this was exactly as Aleksey intended. Gregory could take the care he gave his perfect village a
nd extend this over the whole of Hesse-Davia. I hoped Pia didn’t have any immediate plans for him. I had the feeling he was going to be busy.

  We were congratulating Johan and Gregory when Stephen’s name was called. I whispered to him that he was going to be made the royal page and that he’d better straighten his jacket. He did, no joking around now. I think he wished he were only nine still and not quite so grown up. He went to the dais and on slightly unsteady legs knelt before King Christian. Aleksey stood and waved to the bugler that he wanted complete silence in the room.

  When the only sound left was the scrape of shoes on the stone flags as the courtiers shifted to get better views, Aleksey announced, “I, Christian, King of Hesse-Davia and Saxefalia, do pronounce you, Stephen, to be a right and proper son of Peter of the Mountberg line. I bestow upon you all rights according to your bloodline, all properties and inheritances, according to the law.”

  Everyone, me included, had been holding breath to hear Aleksey’s words, and there was a universal exhale and then light laughter. Suddenly there was a ripple of applause, and Gregory murmured in my ear, “’Bout time too. Bastard, my arse.”

  I nodded and began to make a low reply when Aleksey once more began to speak.

  “In accordance, therefore, with the laws of God and man, I now pronounce you to be the legitimate and rightful heir to the throne of Hesse-Davia and Saxefalia and bestow upon you all rights appertaining to you, Prince Stephen Eric Peter Mountberg.”

  This caused a great deal more of a stir. I heard some uneasy whispering, but mostly there was solid approval for this startling move. Aleksey had not breathed one word of this to me, and I could see from Gregory and Johan’s faces that they had been as kept in the dark as I.