Ascending Hearts

by Leta Blake

  Yet some nights, his eyes refused to grow heavy, and his bed was all too empty.

  Without the candle’s glow, the library was plunged into darkness. Only a sliver of the moon hung in the sky, and here in the clouds the meager light struggled to find its way through the window cut into the wall. But Rion didn’t need light to find his way from his high-backed wooden chair to the doorway. The library had always been his favorite room in the castle. While his parents had never been much for reading, he’d spent countless hours lost in tales of faraway lands. The cushion on his chair was so thin from years of wear that it was of little use. He raised his arms overhead as he left the library, leaning left and then right to stretch out his back.

  The torch he’d left alight in one of the wall sconces in the passageway still guttered, casting shadows on the gray stone. He left it to burn out, preferring the darkness as he made his way to his chamber. The hall forked at the great staircase, going both left and right around the vast open space at the center of the castle before meeting again on the other side of the atrium. As he turned left, a faint sound caught his ear.

  Stopping in his tracks, Rion listened, breath frozen in his lungs. There was only the eternal silence, as usual. Exhaling, he went to the top of the wide stairs, which plunged down steeply to the main level of the castle. In the gloom, he squinted. He could make out the large square hole the cursed beanstalk would grow into by summer, eventually filling the atrium and curling to a stop below the ceiling.

  He’d inspected the stalk earlier in the day, wishing—not for the first time—that he could chop the thing into pieces before it reached the castle. Yet he knew no axe could so much as scratch it. This was how it had ever been, though Rion’s mother and father had never been able to tell him why. Just one of the many questions they’d answered with peaceful smiles, telling him it was a reality that didn’t bear questioning.

  Oh, he’d tried to destroy the stalk anyway, using all his might and every weapon he could find or fashion, but in the end he’d had to concede defeat. The stalk remained unblemished.

  Rion listened again for the odd noise. Currently, the stalk was many feet below the castle, and none of the Outsiders had ever attempted to climb before summer. To do so would be suicide, and the Outsiders’ wicked greed, which rendered them such selfish creatures, prevented such folly. Whatever he’d heard was likely a rodent scrounging for crumbs. That was a thieving that Rion was willing to endure, for at least the sound of their scurrying and the occasionally messy evidence of their existence meant that he was not the only living thing in the castle.

  Dismissing the idea of an early invader, Rion continued on his way down the dark hallway as it wound around to the other side of the castle. In the blackness, he passed closed doors silently. His footsteps faltered, as they did many nights, as he neared one particular door. From the outside, it appeared as many others in the castle—solid oak with a brass door handle. A twisted beanstalk and its leaves wound a faintly carved path across the wood.

  Although he told himself to keep going, Rion paused and traced the carving in the door with his fingertip. The handle was smooth under his palm, and the door swung inward without so much as a creak. The curtains on the huge four-poster bed had been drawn since the morning he’d discovered his mother’s body there.

  She’d weighed so little at the end that she’d already seemed like ashes ready to be scattered on the wind. But it had been peaceful, at least. The other memories assailed him, and he swallowed hard. Even as his father lay dying, the old man’s grip had been iron on Rion’s wrist. Rion never knew if it was the shock of all but one of his children abandoning the family’s duty that did it, but their father’s heart had sputtered to a stop the very day that Rion’s last sibling sent word that he would not be returning from across the sea.

  “My son.” His blunt nails dug into Rion’s skin. “You must carry on the legacy. Do not fail your mother or your forebearers as your brothers and sisters have. Such selfishness, it breaks my heart. In my day we honored our parents instead of following our own whims and desires.”

  Perched on the side of the great bed, Rion shifted, his gaze dropping away. His own desires were perverse by any rendering. How could he condemn his siblings? “But Father, you left home. When Mother sought a mate from across the sea, you were the one she chose, and you returned here with her. Surely your parents mourned your loss?”

  His father spat. “They cared not. I was nothing more than chattel to them. But we raised you all with love and honor. Yet one by one you abandoned us and your heritage. It falls to you now, Rion. My brave boy.”

  “Father, I…” Tears pricked Rion’s eyes. “I love you and Mother with all my heart. But…”

  His father’s gaze was unfocused. “You must go and find a wife while your mother still lives. Give her a bounty of grandchildren. And above all, protect the treasure at all costs. It is your sacred duty. Keep the Outsiders away. Be on guard always.”

  All his life he’d heard tales of the dreaded Outsiders who lived in the valley below. “But the boy who climbed the stalk last summer…he seemed to be merely an ordinary man.”

  He was the first Outsider Rion had ever laid eyes on, and to Rion’s surprise the boy wasn’t scarred or bearing horns. From where Rion had hid, watching as his brother frightened the man away, the Outsider had in fact appeared beautiful. Rion’s loins had stirred shamefully, and he’d been glad of the shadows hiding him.

  The Outsider had been so terrified by the sound and vision of the giant that he’d taken an incautious step back, and tumbled right back out of the castle. His scream as he plummeted haunted Rion’s dreams still.

  His father’s grip on him tightened, and Rion’s attention snapped back. “No! Do not be fooled, my son. The Outsiders are evil. They carry disease and want to steal what has been commended to our protection. It is the way it has always been, and ever shall be.”

  Rion could only nod. His parents of course knew best. They’d travelled beyond the castle, while Rion had never felt anything but its worn stone beneath his feet. What did he know of the world?

  “I shall do my duty to our family, Father. I pledge my word.”

  Closing the door to his parents’ room behind him with a thud that echoed dully, Rion continued down the passageway toward the simple chamber that had been his since birth.

  The curtains on his four-poster bed were permanently drawn back. Several wooden chests nearby held Rion’s clothing. Although he did possess some finery of velvet and silk tucked away in the bottom of one, most of his garments were simple trousers, tunics and woolen sweaters for the long winters. Even now in spring, he shivered as he pulled on his nightshirt and climbed beneath the icy sheets. Without a second thought, he reached down for his cock.

  As a young man—still a boy, really—he’d hidden away behind his bed curtains, fantasizing about the brave knights captured in the drawings in some of his books. The fair maidens had never sparked his imagination or his desire. While his older brothers had longed to leave the castle and find pretty girls in frilly dresses, Rion tucked himself away in the castle’s nooks and crannies so that he could listen to his sisters tell tales of the strong, brave men they hoped to marry.

  Jerking himself harshly, Rion stared at the arch of the ceiling high above. He’d long ago stopped such pointless fantasies. He knew his duty—next winter he would find a wife, bring her back to the castle and carry on the family line. In twenty-eight years he’d only ever known the touch of his own hand, so perhaps having a wife would not be so bad.

  Even if she was not a man with hard muscles and firm, hairy flesh, she would have a warm body and mouth. That was something. Perhaps fortune would smile on him a little and he would find a woman of good spirits and intelligence. A woman who would be a friend. He’d learned long ago to school his physical yearnings. There were more important things to consider.

  Desire played no part in his rough stroking of his cock. He brought his body to release to warm himself
and bring on slumber. He arched his hips up, grunting as the tension built, his body tightening like an archer’s bow drawn back. For a moment as he let go, coming over his hand, pleasure flickered through him, and he closed his eyes, lips parted.

  Then it passed. He wiped himself clean before pulling the blankets up to his chin for another night.

  Chapter Two

  As night fell, Jack finally hauled himself up from the ground. He took the long way back home, avoiding the village. The cottage was dark as he approached. Inside, every trace of his mother had vanished. But much more painful was the empty yard out back. Keeping his eyes down, Jack drew up some water from the well.

  Inside, he heated one bucket after the other on the stove. When the small metal tub was almost full, he sank into it, limbs tucked in. The lye soap was harsh on his pale, freckled skin, but he scrubbed mercilessly until he wasn’t sure if the blood in the water was Inga’s or his own.

  Naked, he dumped the water outside and hurried back in. Although his mother’s empty bed was now his, he retreated to his pallet in the corner. At least it was familiar and unchanged.

  He willed himself to sleep and wake to find this day had been only a terrible dream. Yet his eyes remained open. His body was rigid from head to toe, tension clenching his jaw. When most men his age had children and a wife at his side, Jack had no one.

  Granted, he had no want of a wife. A husband, yes, but men did not marry, and as far as the decent people of the kingdom knew, no man would ever think of another as anything but a friend or brother.

  But Jack was not decent. By his very nature, he was a wicked being. Yet he knew all too well that he was not the only one who lusted for the taut, hard flesh of another man. Memories ricocheted through Jack’s mind and he tensed with the familiar sensations of anger and hurt, but most of all the surge of shameful desire.

  Of all the memories of Adair, it was the first forbidden night that always roared back in vivid color.

  “Hey, you!”

  Jack hurried on through the forest, head down. Footsteps behind him grew louder, and a few moments later a strong hand on his arm jerked him around.

  “Are you deaf? I called you.” Adair of the House of Glynn glowered at him. Tall and golden-haired, at eighteen he was already handsome and manly in a way that made Jack’s stomach flip-flop.

  Jack’s heart pounded with fear and confused excitement. “M-me?” he stuttered.

  “Do you see anyone else?”

  They were alone among the trees. Jack shook his head and tugged down his cap.

  Adair released Jack’s arm and regarded him imperiously. “I’ve lost my dog. Help me find her.” He strode off the path between the trees. He didn’t look back.

  Jack scrambled to catch up. Although they were the same age, Jack was still skinny and felt awkward in his skin as his body changed and he sprouted up. He’d grown hair in his nether regions and his cock got hard at the drop of a hat. He wished his father was still there so Jack could ask him what was normal. But his father had abandoned them years before, and Jack knew that, like his hair, his desires could not be natural.

  He followed Adair deeper and deeper into the forest. Adair didn’t call for his dog, and when Jack would have asked for the creature’s name, Adair came to a stop in the shadows amid a stand of thick trees with heavy leaves making a canopy above. It was as if twilight had suddenly come upon them when it was yet hours away.

  Turning, Adair’s lips curled up into a smile that sent gooseflesh skimming up Jack’s arms. “I see the way you look at me.”

  Jack’s throat was bone dry. “I…pardon?”

  “You think you hide so well, but I see.” His hands moved to the ornate belt holding his breeches. It was the head of an eagle with a ruby eye, and he was never without it. With deliberate movements, he bared his cock, which seemed to grow before Jack’s wide eyes.

  Jack’s mind raced. Was it a prank? Were the other boys waiting in the dark recesses of the forest to expose and humiliate him? He heard not a sound but blood rushing in his ears and the thumping of his own heart. He took a tentative step.

  Stroking his cock, Adair’s smile grew. “Come on. Take what you want.”

  With a deep breath, Jack closed the distance between them, his eyes locked on Adair’s straining flesh. He felt Adair’s hand on his shoulder, and then he was shoved to his knees. Without another thought, Jack opened his mouth and took Adair inside.

  His own cock grew hard as a rock as he sucked and breathed in Adair’s musky scent. It was as if a thorn, which had dug into his flesh, had suddenly become part of him, finding its rightful place deep beneath his skin. He feasted on Adair’s thick cock, and swallowed every drop of salty seed that burst into his mouth as Adair grunted loudly.

  Jack licked Adair clean, nuzzling his bollocks and pressing kisses to his inner thighs. Already Adair’s cock lengthened. Without warning, he hauled Jack to his feet, fist gripping the front of Jack’s tunic. “Remove your clothes,” he growled.

  As fast as he could, Jack stripped. His cock was so hard he struggled with his breeches before kicking them free. Adair took Jack’s shoulders and spun him around before pushing him back down to the dirt and leaves. Jack thought he might spend even before being touched. His body buzzed and sweat dampened his brow. He reached for his cap as Adair mounted him.

  “No. Keep it on.”

  It had been six years since he’d last felt the touch of another, and although he hated the man now, he couldn’t resist the urge to close his eyes and remember the feel of Adair’s perfect body under his fingers, the taste of him on his tongue. He reached for his cock to give himself the only kind of release he could.

  Now that he was alone in the cottage, he didn’t need to keep his lips sealed, and he moaned low. As he pumped his growing flesh, he teased and twisted his nipples with his other hand. Sparks of pleasure skittered across his skin, and he arched his hips up, his fist tight around his cock.

  Adair had never permitted Jack to kiss him on the mouth, but Jack had spent many nights on his knees with Adair’s hard cock down his throat. He remembered the hot flesh on his tongue, and moaned again. He slid two fingers into his mouth and sucked.

  When they were wet with saliva, he spread his legs wider and planted his feet on the pallet, knees dropping open. Reaching down, he pushed one finger inside himself. He gasped, stroking his cock faster, his thumb brushing over the leaking head. Another finger followed, and Jack rammed them into his hole.

  He remembered the throb of Adair’s big cock inside him, how he’d felt he was being split in two, but didn’t care if it was the death of him. He’d taken everything Adair gave him gratefully, climbing up the castle wall to Adair’s chamber and getting on his hands and knees for him every night he could.

  Bending his fingers, he searched for the nub that would send him over the edge. His limbs trembled as he rubbed against it and pumped his cock. His bollocks seized up and exploded, his seed spraying his chest as the pleasure overtook him. He rode it out, arse clenching around his fingers, while his other hand milked his cock of every last drop.

  After the tremors subsided, Jack wiped his hands and chest with a rag, scrubbing at his chest hair. He tossed the rag aside and closed his eyes, ready to escape to a few hours of nothingness. Although he only pleasured himself rarely due to his mother’s presence beyond the thin curtain, it still usually sent him adrift quickly.

  Yet tonight, no sleep would come.

  After an hour, Jack rose and dressed himself in clean undershorts and brown trousers. He pulled a clean blue tunic over his head and tied a cloth belt around it. He yanked his cap on.

  The walk to the beanstalk was peaceful. A cool breeze wafted over him, and he gazed at the stars. When he reached the stalk, he peered up. It disappeared into the blackness, seeming to reach right up to the heavens themselves. He took hold of the stalk and shook it. It didn’t so much as tremble. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

  Jack hoisted himself up off
the ground. Reaching up, he lifted himself to the next stem. Hand over hand, pushing with his feet, a laugh bubbled up from his chest. It was all so…easy. He was really doing it!

  Finally, after all these years of longing, Jack climbed.

  * * * * *

  Numb fingers gripping the stalk, Jack held his breath as he swayed. The gust of wind howled in his ears and he closed his eyes, heart thumping. He’d been climbing for hours, and sure enough the stalk had begun to narrow. He forced his lungs to expand and suck in the thin, frigid air.

  The stars were hidden by thick clouds, and the tiny slice of moon only appeared from time to time as the wind whipped up. Jack could barely see the stalk, relying on touch to find his handholds and footholds as he climbed. He hadn’t looked down once, and of course now it was pointless since there was only blackness around him.

  While at first he’d climbed quickly and with a sense of abandon, anger and grief fueling him, now he plodded, lungs heaving in the thin air, his limbs burning with exertion yet the cold making him shiver. Sweat dried on his skin and his throat was parched. As he trembled with another gust of wind, he considered retreating.

  Jack thought of what he would be returning to: nothing. An empty cottage without even Inga for company. A debt he couldn’t hope to pay if he still wanted to feed himself. Worst of all, more loneliness without end in sight. He exhaled deeply and reached up. No, even if he should die on this night, it would be preferable to going back to his hollow existence.

  Pushing with his foot, he lifted himself up, continuing onward slowly and steadily until the air turned to a strange fog that he was afraid of choking on. Jack realized after a few moments that he had reached the clouds. His limbs ached, his muscles cramped and pushed to their limit from the hours of climbing. He willed himself to continue, knowing he must be close.