by Aja James
The thought of potential murder also didn’t help to harden my member. I was getting to be rather fond of the princess. She didn’t deserve to die so young. But then, this was true of many of Anunit’s victims. Most of them were simply collateral damage, pawns to trample on her way to the real goal.
Whatever that was.
I heard the shifting of silk as the princess moved around. I hoped she was taking off her clothes so I didn’t have to. I wasn’t looking forward to fumbling around to find her entrance. I planned to get the job done as quickly as possible, provided I could masturbate myself to hardness. Stick my disgusting cock inside, break through her barrier so there’s proof of her deflowering, and get the fuck out.
I took myself in hand as I knelt over her prone body. I jerked and squeezed and twisted roughly, hurting myself as I always did in order to get hard. I shut my eyes and imagined that I was alone, that there wasn’t a warm, living body between my legs. That I was going to shove my disgusting cock into my own fists. So simple. No mess.
Thankfully, she remained silent and still, not interrupting the fantasy I was weaving for myself. I jerked and jerked and jerked, getting increasingly desperate, because my tool wouldn’t work. I reached below with my other hand and squeezed my balls viciously, sending a blinding bolt of pain through my entire body, including my cock.
Finally! It swelled to semi-erectness. This would have to do. And hopefully, this was the only time I’d have to do it.
“Sorry,” I grunted when I clumsily shuffled to get into position, my hand connecting with a silk-clad breast.
“Don’t apologize, Cam. This is your bed. I am your wife,” she said softly. Silken arms came around my shoulders, making me shudder at the unexpected touch.
“Do it, husband. I am ready.”
Well. More romantic words I’d never heard. She sounded like she was bracing for a beheading.
The rest of the blessedly short encounter I’d rather not share. Suffice it to say, I managed to get the deed done, though it was a near thing. The moment I pushed past her barrier, my cock deflated. My stupid, magical cock that brought every fucker it’d ever entered obscene, undiluted pleasure, fucking withered on my wedding night. The one person I wouldn’t mind pleasuring only felt pain from my body.
I tried to run away afterwards, ashamed and defeated. I wasn’t a male. I couldn’t please a female I actually liked. I was a freak who deserved only ugliness and pain. I was—
“Come here, Cam,” the princess cut through my self-flagellation with her sleepy words. “Don’t go. It’s been a long day. Let us rest now. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.”
She tugged me down beside her and curled her warm femininity around me.
“Sleep, husband,” she said soothingly, stroking a hand across my chest, over my shriveled black heart, the way a mother comforted a sick child.
Blinking the ridiculous tears from my eyes before they could slip out, I slept.
*** *** *** ***
Dalair left me.
Without a word or reason, he abandoned me.
I sought him out the day after my spectacular failure of a wedding night (well, at least I got the job of deflowering done) to seek the reassurance that only his solid, empathetic, silent, muscular bulk could provide. Just being next to him reassured me. Whenever Dalair was near, I always knew that everything would be all right.
It wasn’t that he was my designated protector. I was very hard to kill, after all. I was stronger than him, even if he was more martially skilled. It was his innate strength and goodness that comforted me. In much the same way as my new bride. Except, I didn’t feel like I could commiserate with her about my epic failure as a man. Only another male would understand my shame and humiliation.
Pretty certain Dalair never had these issues. He never told (and he wasn’t the sort who ever would tell), but I’d wager he pleased women without even trying. He was the epitome of masculinity. He was a leader, a protector. He looked magnificent, and he smelled divine.
Hmm. Was I attracted to men, after all?
No. I simply loved Dalair. Rather worshipped him. I wished I was him.
Turned out, he went off to the front lines of King Cyprus’ army that was marching on a new conquering campaign. My fake father even approved it. Said Dalair could pretend to be me where it made sense to show that the Crown Prince was more than just a pretty face with a lot of useless erudition. He could lead men into battle and fight with the best of them.
King Cyrus didn’t think it’d be odd to have me in two different places—in the battlefield and catering to my new Egyptian wife in the palace. But I suppose that didn’t matter, as long as Dalair made me look good in front of the Persian battalions.
I wrote Dalair a letter every day that he was gone in the beginning. I told him the things I’d tell him if he were here. And I told him even more. Because letters were almost like diaries. Sometimes you felt like you were talking to yourself. And since he was really more my heart than my own, I supposed that made sense too.
Dear brother,
Kira and I have become the best of friends, you’ll be pleased to note. She’s more like a man than a woman (well, not in terms of looks. She’s quite lovely in that aspect, as you have seen). She beats me at horse racing, wrestling, and all kinds of martial arts. She’s my secret partner in training now that you’re not here. She also has a wondrously intelligent mind. We debate on any number of topics, much to my delight.
You never argue with me, you big, silent brute. You just grunt periodically, letting me blather on.
But Kira makes my mind sharper. She likes to take the other side of every argument just for the hell of it. I love debating with her!
If only you can be here to play referee. Our philosophical skirmishes will make your head spin.
I miss you every day. Try not to get killed.
C.
Dear brother,
When will you come home for a visit? Surely two years away is too long to go without seeing your beloved mama? Never mind your favorite half-brother.
Don’t worry though. Kira and I visit Vashti almost every day. Someone has to look after her in your absence. Take her to the markets and keep her company. Bring her little trinkets and groceries. We do our best to cheer her up and make her smile. Kira and I have an ongoing wager to see who can make her smile first every time we visit.
But only her beautiful Dalair can make her laugh. She’s reserving that just for you, you big, insensitive, uncaring brute. At least come home for a brief stay. Just a day or two if needs must.
We miss you. I barely recall what you look like. Well, there’s something good about my reflection in the mirror, I suppose. I never liked to see myself before. But now when I look I pretend it’s you.
Hello, you.
Take care.
C.
Dear brother,
Why didn’t you tell me you were home for a night! I had to find out from Vashti two days later! How could you! Seven years! I haven’t seen you for seven years! And you come home without telling me!
You’re starting to make me think you’re avoiding me.
What did I do? Come back! I’m sorry! Whatever I did, I’m so fucking sorry! Am I too clingy? Do I talk too much? I’ll try harder at training. I’ll get better at weapons.
I’ll be better, Dalair, I promise!
Well, I suppose I should be understanding of more pressing business you have to see to—like winning wars for the Empire, etcetera. I hear you’ve made quite a name for yourself. The youngest Commander to ever lead the Persian legions.
I am proud of you. Don’t scoff. I really am.
You’re my hero, Dalair. You make me feel like I should always strive to be a better man, simply because you breathe. You live. There is actually pure goodness in this world, embodied in the physical being of you.
Whereas me… I’m pure darkness. If it weren’t for Kira’s light, I’d get darker every da
y.
I miss you.
I love you.
(I’m going to burn this letter as soon as I’m finished!)
C.
Countless letters I wrote that went unanswered. At most, Dalair sent a few terse words to indicate that he was still alive via courier.
You’d think I would have gotten over him, inured to his absence in my life, after all these years. But no. I thought of him every day. I said hello to him in the mirror every day, pretending that my reflection was my brother looking back at me.
Kira and I grew exceedingly close. Almost as close as Dalair and me. Thank the gods for her! Besides the debacle of my wedding night, I never attempted to exercise my husbandly duties again. She didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed relieved.
With an unspoken understanding, we developed a purely platonic relationship. Occasionally, I slipped into her chambers at night to sleep. This happened when my nostalgia for Dalair became particularly acute. It worked out for us, because it showed to the ever-present spies around the palace that I wasn’t completely ignoring my lovely wife. But all we did in that bed was sleep.
She’d hold me and stroke my hair, sometimes my chest, soothing an ache and a longing I couldn’t put into words.
I wanted Dalair back. But I was starting to accept that he wasn’t coming back. So imagine my surprise when, after the last letter I sent, ten years since he’d been gone, a courier delivered the following message:
Home in two days. D.
I was beside myself with joy! I might have run around the palace like an aimless, grinning lunatic, trying to find Kira to share my news.
Just as I dashed past a darkened corridor, I was suddenly yanked by the arm through a hidden doorway. In the confusing darkness that surrounded me after the door was shut, two glowing amber eyes stared into mine.
“Mistress Anunit,” I whispered.
It had been almost two decades since I’d seen her. She’d been silent all this while, plotting, orchestrating gods knew what. I still had nightmares about her, but she’d been absent from my life for so long, that I’d immersed myself thoroughly in my pretense. My fantasy.
“My gorgeous little Creature,” she hissed, her blood-red lips curling in a serpentine smile.
With those four words, my dream crashed down around my ears, disintegrated into filthy, black ashes. And the weeds of my burgeoning hope were razed to the ground.
Chapter Sixteen: Third Time’s the Charm
6th Century B.C., Persepolis, Capital City of the Persian Empire.
The plot was this: Get Dalair to be my stand-in to fuck my wife.
Didn’t matter if he impregnated her or not. That wasn’t the point. I’d apparently completely missed the point.
My purpose here was to make myself beloved by the Persian people, the royal family, and our massive, conquering armies.
Check. I did manage to get that done. And Dalair was practically worshipped as the Chief Commander of the Persian legions. Half the time he was mistaken for me.
But my purpose was also to make my Egyptian bride fall in love with me.
Didn’t see that one coming. Even if the Mistress had spelled this out clearly when we started this whole subterfuge, I wouldn’t have known how to accomplish the feat.
What did I know about love? Especially the sort between a man and a woman? Supposedly, because I was so beautiful, charming, witty, and equipped with an orgasm-inducing cock, the falling in love bit was automatically assumed. Imagine my Mistress’s utter disbelief when her spies reported back that I was barely fucking my wife (as accounted for by the occasional nighttime visits), and that while she was extremely fond of me, she wasn’t insanely, stupidly, head-over-heels in love with me.
And imagine my utter confusion and shock when my Mistress told me that my lady wife was in fact in love/ lust with my brother! Dalair! Ridiculous!
Not that it was inconceivable for any woman between the ages of ten and one hundred to fall in love with my heroic brother—I’d mate him myself if I could. But…
They hadn’t even been in each other’s presence but a handful of days when he pretended to be me, escorting Kira from her homeland to Persepolis to become my bride. How could you possibly fall in love in a handful of days?!
I’d been by her side, showering her with adoration, platonic love, making her laugh, keeping her company for ten years! Surely that counted for something. Granted, I didn’t fuck her into orgasmic bliss twice a day and thrice on a full moon. But we were happy. She loved me, and I loved her.
Or so I thought.
The Mistress didn’t explain why she wanted me to convince Dalair to fuck my wife; she simply glared at me when I asked for more information, silently commanding me to simply do her bidding. She wanted something from either or both of them. And perhaps from me as well. But I couldn’t imagine what that was.
I tried to gage whether an assassination was afoot. I wasn’t deaf to the rumors circling about the princess being cursed because she hadn’t yet produced Persian sons, after ten long years of marriage. I knew about the rebellions and intrigue stirred by enemies of the King. And there were many.
But Medusa held her secrets close to her chest. She wanted another man, my brother, to fuck my wife, and she wanted me to get him to do it.
She did say this much:
“It didn’t have to be this way. If only you were man enough to make Princess Kira fall in love with you. Why I’m surprised you haven’t succeeded in ten years is beyond me. You’re just a worthless whore, after all. Useless tool. Why would any intelligent, self-preserving female want you for more than a fuck or two. And even there I hear you’re nothing but a disappointment.”
Every word was like a spike hammered into my chest. I’d known it all along, how worthless I was. But hearing it explained so succinctly to me really nailed the point home.
“I’m tired of waiting,” she continued. “The time is now. I’d made a miscalculation when I sent you here. Kira is too smart, too strong, to be stirred by the likes of you. But that guard of yours…I’d seen them together briefly at the palace when he came to Egypt to retrieve her. I should have known he’s the one, not you. He’s the trigger I need.”
Trigger for what, the Mistress didn’t expound. I’d stopped listening by then anyway, my mind circling around the words “worthless whore” and “useless tool” on an endless repeat.
Surely the Mistress was wrong. Surely the brother of my heart wouldn’t betray me even if I asked him to. Surely my lady wife, my light, would know the difference between him and me. She’d stop him from going too far. I had no real claim to Kira, I knew that. We’d decided long ago that our relationship was built on platonic, not sexual, love.
But it was still love. She was still my wife!
What kind of husband could ever desire another man to fuck his wife? What kind of wife would ever fuck another man even if her body desired it? They were loyal to me. I knew they were. They wouldn’t do this to me.
I had it all figured out. I’d ask Dalair to do it, per the Mistress’s command. He’d refuse. I might talk to Kira next, just to show the Mistress that I tried my best. She’d also refuse. And then, I’d find out what the Mistress really wanted, and I’d contrive another way to give it to her.
But I saw the truth with my own eyes when I came upon Dalair and Kira on the northern hill, the hill that had been my brother’s and mine alone. Though they weren’t touching, I could see from the way their bodies practically vibrated with the need to be together that they desperately wanted to.
His jaw was clenched so tightly I thought he’d break it. His fists, too. So hard the veins stood out in stark relief from the backs of his hands up his wrists and forearms like angry tree roots. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she gazed upon his face. His eyes were cast away, so he couldn’t see.
But I could. I saw everything. The naked love and longing in her expression broke me.
Never,
never, had she looked upon me with one-thousandths of the intensity she looked upon Dalair.
No longer able to bear the sight, I charged forth to break up their happy reunion.
“Perfect! My two favorite people in the world together on my favorite hill! What are the chances?”
I crushed my brother in a tight embrace and pounded his back vigorously. Furiously. He was like a block of marble in my arms.
“You came!” I crowed, baring my teeth in a beatific grin. “This is the best surprise I’ve had in ten years!”
I then turned to Kira, taking hold of one of her hands and drawing her into my side. A feeble demonstration of whom she belonged to.
“Were you waiting for me, my love?” I pushed out through my toothy grin, “You must have been surprised to find Dalair here in my stead. What do you think? Can we still pass off as twins? Or have I grown so handsome he can never hope to match me?”
Her lips curved in a small smile, but she didn’t meet my eyes.
“I made the mistake of thinking he was you at first,” she admitted. “I was not expecting it. It was only for a moment.”
Liar. Nothing but lies!
“How could you tell, my dearest dear?” I prodded, “Was it his gray eyes versus my brown that gave him away?”
Her shoulders shifted in a slight shrug.
“I didn’t see his eyes,” was all she said.
Then, her lips curved a little higher, as if she forcibly pulled them up with hooks.
“I know my own husband, of course.”
“Of course,” I whispered in agreement and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
It was so cold, her skin. The flush upon her face when she’d looked upon Dalair was replaced by icy forbearance for me. How had I been so blind?
“I will see my mother now,” my long lost brother said, cutting into the angry, black swirls of my internal musings. Then, belatedly, he bowed.