by Jade Astor
“Your attempt to ply him with wine has miscarried, Talek. He is nearly senseless with drink and will be of no use to you for some time.”
Lyrion opened his eyes just enough to see the prince peer down at him. “You know as little of my motivations as you claim I know of yours,” Talek told Kevris. He reached out and smoothed a hand over Lyrion’s forehead. “Let him sleep.”
Lyrion heard Kevris sigh. “He is easy to love, isn’t he? I am beginning to think that his innocence is genuine after all.” He barked out a bitter laugh. “He must make a welcome change from me.”
“That he is,” Talek said with a touch of humor in his own voice. “But I have come to realize that there is a place in life for wickedness, especially in one’s private chamber.”
“So that is why you keep me.” The bed shifted as Kevris stood. Lyrion watched discreetly as he fitted himself against the prince’s body and slid both arms around his waist. “I can still please you, you know. Whether he is here or not. Besides, he may learn by watching.”
“He is new to our ways,” Talek agreed. Lyrion continued to watch, fascinated, as the two men bent their heads together and kissed—at first slowly, and then feverishly. Soon Kevris had shed his flimsy garment and stood naked before the prince, who reached down to loosen his codpiece. Lyrion had to stifle a gasp as Kevris knelt and applied his mouth to Talek’s cock, sucking with great enthusiasm. Without dislodging himself even for a moment, the prince tossed off his tunic while Kevris stripped away his leggings.
Before long the two were beside him on the bed, which fortunately was large enough to hold all of them. Though Lyrion had planned to do nothing more than watch as Kevris continued to service the prince, he had not anticipated the way in which his cock would give him away. Their obvious pleasure aroused him thoroughly, making his erection rise between his legs and his bollocks pound with an almost painful need for release. The effects of the shadowberry wine seemed to melt from his body as he drew in deep breaths of longing.
Slowly, he rolled onto his side and inched toward the entwined bodies beside him. They noticed him, and he heard Kevris murmur while the prince extended a welcoming hand. His cock was still engulfed in Kevris’s mouth, so Lyrion chose the next best thing and fastened his lips around Kevris’s erect member.
A cloud of heat seemed to settle over the three of them as they stretched out across the softness of the bed and enjoyed one another without shame or hesitation. Kevris was the first to spill his seed, though to judge by Talek’s expression, he was not far behind. While Kevris shuddered with bliss, Lyrion opened his lips and released him.
Suddenly he felt Talek’s hand on his shoulder, and Kevris drew back from the prince as well. This puzzled Lyrion, since he could plainly see that Talek’s cock was still hard and red, as though ripe enough for bursting. Yet he had pushed Kevris away.
“I am close,” Talek said, addressing both of them. “Let us not waste this opportunity. Kevris, you must help prepare him.”
Wearing the most serious expression Lyrion had ever seen on his face, Kevris nodded and shifted away for a moment. When he turned back, he held out a small vessel of the sort generally used for healing poultices and other unguents.
“You must lie down, facing forward,” he instructed Lyrion in a soothing voice. “Open your legs. We will not harm you, but we must make you ready.”
“Very well.” Foolish though his trust in them might have been, Lyrion felt no fear or shame as he stretched out in the position Kevris indicated. He sucked in a breath as long fingers dipped between his legs, smearing him with whatever the small jar contained.
“You will feel discomfort but for a moment,” Talek said, moving his hand to stroke Lyrion’s hair away from his ear. “Afterward, you will experience the greatest pleasure you have ever known.”
Since he had been in the palace, Lyrion had already experienced many pleasures, so he marveled at the notion of anything surpassing them. Yet soon enough he understood the meaning of the prince’s words, as Kevris pronounced him ready and Talek began to push his cock into the well-oiled spot between his legs.
Lyrion moaned aloud as the prince’s flesh melted into his, the oil making him tingle deep inside. The sensations grew only more intense as Talek began a slow but steady in-and-out motion. Now and then he felt the prince’s full bollocks brush against his own.
Unable to withstand the pressure still mounting in his own cock, Lyrion reached down and began to stroke himself with his fingers. This was far better than anything he had ever known in the tree. In no time, he had flooded his fist with a rush of hot seed. The prince followed him almost immediately, replacing the warmth of the oil with his own liquid heat.
“You were right,” Lyrion said, panting, as the three lay together afterward. “’Twas amazing. The pain you spoke of was almost naught.”
“I am glad of that,” Talek said. “We must thank Kevris, too, for assisting our joining.”
Then Kevris gasped.
“Look,” he said quietly, pointing. Lyrion followed his wide-eyed stare down to the middle of his own body.
The mark on his abdomen was glowing.
Chapter 6
The next morning, Talek summoned his scribe to the throne room. The man who had examined the scroll confirmed that the ancient document did indeed speak of a glowing mark as a sign that the Bearer had conceived a son. According to the lore, six full moons would pass before the infant kicked his way through the fleshy pouch that would form on the Bearer’s front. The mark, it was written, would grow throughout the waiting period to signal the growth of the small body within.
The assembled ministers murmured and gasped at these revelations. Only Lord Qath dared to stand and address the question Talek knew they had all formed in their minds.
“Have you a specific reason for asking such questions, prince? Have you seen such a mark on the captive?”
“He is our guest, not a captive, and everyone who was in this room when he arrived saw the mark.” Talek barely caught his temper before he blurted out too much. Reining himself in, he sank back into his tall-backed chair and drummed his fingers on the carved wooden armrests. “However, you may set your mind at ease. My interest is purely academic.”
“I still think you should prepare yourself for disappointment, my prince,” Qath said with a slight bow. “We must remember that the scrolls tell stories in ways that may not reflect literal truth. We cannot be certain what the original writers intended.”
“I shall keep that in mind,” Talek said.
Later that day, after he had quickly taken care of the council’s business, he returned to his private chambers in search of Lyrion. Talek found it surprising how little he cared about taxes, legal disputes, and the improvement of fields and dwellings in his kingdom since Lyrion had arrived. Even now, as he walked through the stone corridors, he began wondering what Lyrion was doing at that very moment, and how he had occupied himself while Talek met with his ministers. He spared a thought for Kevris, too, who had stayed away since the incident in the bedchamber the previous night. Talek regretted causing his first lover so much pain, but for now, he saw no way to avoid it.
He entered his chamber to find an appetizing sight before him. Lyrion lay on the bed, obviously fresh from a bath, his dressing gown lying open so that his skin could finish drying in the air. He was fingering his Bearer’s Mark, which had grown larger and a shade redder than it had been the night before. Or was that Talek’s hopeful imagination?
Lyrion was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not notice Talek slip into the room. He looked up, startled, when the prince dropped onto the bed beside him. His face immediately relaxed into a genuine smile. Talek breathed in the sweet scent of the bath oils that clung to his skin.
“Are you experiencing any discomfort?” he asked, laying his hand over the one Lyrion rested on the mark.
“No, though I am a bit nervous. Bringing a new life into the world is somewhat overwhelming.”
“Th
at it is. Even I never imagined quite how it would feel. But ’tis exciting, too, is it not?”
“Yes.” Lyrion’s cheeks flushed. “My Fa used to say that being a father was the most difficult, but also the most rewarding, labor in the world. He would probably tell me I am not ready for so daunting a task. Yet I feel prepared to accept the challenge, even if I make mistakes.”
“You will be an excellent father,” Talek said, resting his chin atop Lyrion’s head. “I hope I can follow your example and do likewise.” He lapsed into a troubled silence. “On the subject of fathers—I have a request to make of you. You are free to refuse, but you would aid me greatly by agreeing.”
“A request? Of me?” Lyrion blinked in surprise. “I fail to see how I could assist you, prince.”
“It concerns my own father. As I mentioned, he is…well, not all he once was. I must make my daily visit to him soon, and I wondered if you might accompany me. He will, after all, be our son’s grandfather.”
Lyrion’s eyes widened. Talek gazed into them, captivated by the twin pools of liquid green he longed to bask in. In fact, he would have liked nothing so much as to toss off his own clothes and join Lyrion in bed for a while. However, as always, duty summoned him.
“Will you come?” he prompted.
“I would be honored to meet the king—your father,” Lyrion said. Talek couldn’t help but laugh at his awestruck expression. “I have never seen a king before. They are unknown in my part of the world.”
“You need do nothing out of the ordinary. I will present you as my guest and see how my father responds. We must introduce him to the idea of a grandson slowly, especially given the unusual circumstances surrounding his birth. Sadly, there is no way to predict his reaction to any situation.”
“I see,” Lyrion said. Talek doubted, however, that he really saw at all. How could he?
Not long afterward, they stood together at the entrance to his father’s private suite, waiting as a servant prepared the old man for visitors. Just before they started inside, Talek gave Lyrion’s hand a brief squeeze.
“Remember not to take anything he says too seriously. My father often makes little sense. If he confuses you or becomes confused himself, simply nod and agree with him. Soon enough he will move on to another topic.”
Lyrion nodded, but Talek noticed a flash of trepidation cross his face. He wished there were some way he could make this ordeal easier on him, but perhaps it was better to stride directly into the dragon’s den.
The servant motioned to them. Talek gave Lyrion’s fingers a final squeeze and tugged him forward. “Come,” he said.
As soon as they stepped inside the first of his father’s many rooms, Talek saw Lyrion’s mouth open in wonder. Every wall, from floor to ceiling, stood covered in mounted wooden swords. Each had been carved in a different style and painted in a different color, some quite startling. The blades were short, long, curved, straight, thick, and almost impossibly thin—and every one completely harmless.
“I had the royal artisans fashion these for him,” Talek explained. “My father still fancies himself a warrior, though he has not seen a battlefield for many years. This way, when he insists on his morning exercises, he is less likely to behead one of the servants or render the furniture useless.”
“How thoughtful of you to go to so much effort on his behalf,” Lyrion said. “These are quite beautiful in their own right. They must be a great comfort to the king.” He reached up to touch one that hung within arm’s reach.
A clatter at the doorway made both of them turn. An old man in armor advanced on them, dressed in full battle gear that included a gold breastplate and a white-plumed helmet. Long strands of equally white hair streamed from beneath the metal rim. The raised visor revealed two ice-blue eyes that gleamed with outrage.
“Before you wield that sword, young man, you must be trained and confirmed as a member of my army. Who are you? What is your rank and title?”
Shocked, Lyrion stepped away from the wall and started to mumble an apology, but Talek moved between him and his father.
“Lyrion is our guest, Father. He is not one of our soldiers, but has traveled from a distant land. You must treat him gently or he will think us deficient in manners.”
Grunting, the old man narrowed his eyes and looked suspiciously around the room. “Where has he hidden himself? Not a beggar, is he? Or a diplomat? Pretty much the same thing, so far as I can tell.”
“He is neither, I assure you. He is my…friend.” Standing aside once more, Talek held one hand toward Lyrion, who bowed, and the other toward his father. “Lyrion of…the Forest, may I present my father, King Polidamis of Mavra.”
“Your friend, is he?” The old man snorted. “Well, so far I like him better than the other friend you brought me. I’m glad you never brought him again. Talk about unfit to raise a sword. His choice of armor was most peculiar as well. None too sturdy, if I recall correctly.”
“We have no need of armor at the moment, Father. We are not at war. You should wear the soft robes I had sewn for you. You would be far more comfortable.”
“Robes…yes. I remember the robes you brought me.” Pausing, King Polidamis tilted his head as if to examine the ceiling. “Fine-threaded robes, embroidered with gold. Your mother brought such robes with her, you know, as part of her bride chest. Lord Behx, your grandfather, had them specially made for her before she left his castle in the north.”
“Yes, Father.” Talek felt his chest constrict. He knew what would come next. “So you have told me.”
“The most beautiful robes…for the most beautiful woman. That she was, as everyone knew. But she belonged only to me.”
Suddenly, the old man’s eyes clouded over and filled with tears. He staggered back a step as though he were about to fall. Talek moved closer, extending his hands to catch him if need be.
“Where is she, Talek? Where is your mother? I must speak to her at once. You must present your friend to her. I think she would like him. She always did enjoy the patter of diplomats, especially those who could teach her songs from foreign lands.” His mood shifting again, Polidamis fixed Lyrion with a piercing stare. “Do you sing, young one? Know you any interesting ballads—say, of monsters or evil sorcerers?”
“I expect I could recall a few,” Lyrion said carefully.
The king’s wrinkled cheeks relaxed in a smile. “You must teach them to my wife, then. She enjoys an evening of ballads best of any entertainment. The more fantastic and exciting, the better. At dinner tonight, you must sit near each other. Talek, tell your cooks to prepare a tray of sweetened toadstools. Those are also your mother’s favorites.”
“I shall, Father,” Talek promised sadly.
“Go, then! What are you waiting for? Toadstools must soak for many hours to be soft enough for your mother to eat. The servants must go and gather them immediately. Choose them from the east garden, where they grow thickest and the stems are juiciest.”
“Yes, Father, straightaway.”
A discreet wave of his hand brought back the servant, who placed an arm around the old man’s armored shoulder and guided him into the next room.
“He will ramble on for quite some time now,” Talek explained as he and Lyrion turned to go as well. “In a way, ’tis best for him not to see me. He cannot help thinking of my mother when he does. Yet it makes him happy to believe her alive, if only for a few moments—how could I deny him that?”
“You must not,” Lyrion said without hesitation. “He enjoys your visits, I am sure.”
“Do you think so?”
“Of course. For him, a few minutes of happiness, even based on a false premise, may dispel many hours of gloom.”
“Indeed. I never thought of that.” After leaving the king’s apartments, they strolled out on the castle battlements. Talek paced along the stone walkway in the same state of agitation and sorrow that possessed him whenever he had to spend time with his father. Lyrion walked alongside him, no doubt still thunderstru
ck by all he had witnessed.
“How did the king end up in such an unfortunate state?” he asked at length.
“As you can probably guess, I was born to him rather late in life. My mother—a female, as I told you—was much younger than he, though everyone old enough to remember tells me they loved each other most madly. When I was but an infant, a fever took her from him. Each year after that, he lost more and more of his wits until, I suppose, there were simply none left.”
“That is the truest sort of love, perhaps. I never imagined it would be possible with a female, but I suppose for some men, it is. We should not judge the way others choose to give their affections, I suppose. Everyone has his own reasons and tastes.”
“Quite so.” Talek smiled at the innocent comment. Even now, he knew there were many in the palace who did not approve of his preference for other men, but none were bold—or foolish—enough to challenge him about it. How different things must be in Lyrion’s native village. “You don’t have to go back,” he said. “I will understand if that is your choice. Kevris refused after the first time I took him. He has not seen my father since.”
Lyrion seemed to consider the possibility, but soon shook his head. “I will go again. ’Tis not the king’s fault his mind has betrayed him. He requires companionship, just as the rest of us do. Perhaps in time, he may recover at least some of his wits. If not, you will have given him as much happiness as you are able.”
“You are possessed of a truly kind heart,” Talek said, overcome by a rush of warm emotion. This man would raise his son, he reminded himself with pride. He stroked a hand across Lyrion’s face and followed it with a heartfelt kiss. Lyrion responded, tasting and licking at Talek’s lips. Talek loved the way he tasted, sweet and spicy all at once, the perfect mix of innocence and a passion he was just learning to express.
When they pulled apart, he saw that Lyrion’s pale lashes were brimming with tears.
“What has brought this on? Are these tears for my father?”