Cast Thyself Onwards - ProfessorPlum (2024)

Chapter 1: Harken Unto Me

Chapter Text

It was now nearly two winters past, when a great number of minor Lords and Bannermen were assembled in junction to observe the coronation of James II as acting ruler, distinct from an entitlement as King, but with much the same conviction and fealty devoted to his new title. One season earlier, the ruler King James, first of his name, had been divinely injured. When he went to mount his horse, the animal reared and threw the King to the ground where he struck his head. It has since been said that a single pebble can topple a kingdom. He remained breathing for three days but was fated to die by the Endless Sleep. In the following days, the procession of the King's body was carried in currus by black mounted riders through the city before being laid to rest at the Abbey where his tomb had been etched since birth. Since the only Heir to the throne was not yet sixteen, it fell to the court to manage the kingdom's policies and reside over matters of diplomatic constitution until the boy would come of age.

It was the first time I had ever glimpsed the Prince in person, James II, with my own set of eyes. He was keen featured but rather scrawny in much the make of his father. Dark of hair, and of pale complexion, he nevertheless commanded presence with the intensity of his gaze as he overtook his father’s throne with little words, seemingly unconcerned with the immensity of his new position.

I had scarcely been so close to the throne as to notice the golden threaded embroidery or faded backrest of kings who sat much taller than the dark haired “Boy King”, but the occasion presented the opportunity for additional security. My experience in the Legion’s infantry was suitable for a green guardsman, barely more than a doorstop. I had little training with a sword at the time, but had lasted three summers in armed campaigns and one in siege as a bowman. These were not specifics that I cared to mention to the Coronation's recruitment, but provided me an untattered cloak to wear and a position thirty paces shy from the event with a view to rival any nobleman.

His dark eyes swept the room as he was crossed under God by the Holymen and I stiffened as, but for a moment, I seemed to have met his careful gaze. When he then stood to say a few brief words whispered in his ear by his eager advisors, I was stuck by his soft tone and gentle manner when addressing the attendance. It was only after many men swore their allegiance and bent the knee, that I began to think it was a trick of the light to catch the lads eye. But again, as he surveyed the near silent spectators, I was certain his eyes and lingered on mine for the fraction of a second it takes to imbue a man with a sense of importance, coming from someone so senior in authority.

It was then I decided I would make a place for myself amongst the castles bounds, in service to a future King whose temperament knew nothing of, but whose presence was both regal and strangely enchanting.

***

The second time I encountered the Prince was the late spring after his Coronation as Regent. I had secured a position as Castle guard, and though I was primarily sequestered to the grounds and perimeter of the Castle proper, it was better pay from that of a city guard with twice the prestige. It was rather dull work, lacking the intricacies of a craftsman, the adventure of a journeyman, or the excitement of a calvary Bowman. The unseasonably warm sun simmered within my ill fitted armor, baking me like a two pence meat pie, but I held my resolve, using all the steady breath work and patience I had mastered while wielding a bow.

On a quarterly hour patrol through the lush gardens surrounding the outer courtyard of the entrance tower, I glimpsed from under my helm, the raven haired youth I knew to be the Prince. It was farther afield than I had been during the ceremony that Named him, yet his slim build and graceful stride was unmistakable. He was alone but for two guardsmen that tailed him from several yards in wake.

Having been the most interesting occurrence in my daily patrol in some time, I carefully adjusted my orbit of the gardens to account for the Prince’s leisurely gait. It took but several long strides while the sweat pooled at my temples and dripped down my back before I was in throwing distance of the Prince himself. I raised my visor and squinted in the bright light, the better to see him.

As a commoner, you come of age idolizing men likened to Gods without ever witnessing the achievements proclaimed in the songs you sing while drinking. And though I was rather disillusioned by the Church after hearing them speak of holy wars from the comfort of their wooden pews, the flesh and blood of royalty still held a childish reverence that I had yet to shake.

He appeared to be pruning a garden rose bush, cutting just above the base of two sprouting leaves, sacrificing the blooming bud but encouraging the new growth to propagate twofold. I walked nearer, ignoring for the first time all season, the oppressive heat and lack of airflow through my armored oven. I forgot myself, and forgot the noise I made, not in a bowman's slight garb, but the brutal metal of a knight, the clammer one makes as he clunks and clangs, no matter how well oiled. I only stopped when the Prince turned his head to me, a thin gold band resting on his brow, his hand still clutching the severed flower. We looked fixedly at each other for a moment, and as I could not read his expression, whether that of indignation or intrigue, I held my ground and my gaze.

And then, as swiftly as I had met his eye, he turned and continued his examination of the flower beds as if I were less consequential than the seasonal foliage

I dared not proceed this encounter, and began resuming my duty, before I noticed it. The flower the Prince had cut, a budding red rose, sat resolutely on the raised stone edge of the garden bed. As the two tailing guards had now followed their liege, and I beyond the scope of their helms, I strode several paces and knelt with a creak of my armored hinges to pick it up.

Were I a more foolish man, I might have thought he left it for me.

***

The third time I saw the prince, it was on the day I requisitioned to join the King’s guard, a name for which still served the same function despite not currently being applicable in absence of a true King.

It was from far off, atop a tower balcony a flight from the ground. He watched for some time before disappearing inside. I tried to catch his eye, wondering, though sheepishly, if he remembered me from our previous encounters, but there was no sign that he had even looked my way.

In the practice yard, surrounded by the lime-washed inner walls of the castle on three sides, we queued up to await a chance to prove our skill.

Each man would, on his turn, kneel and speak his embellished accomplishments and previous positions of valor before tasked with hand to hand combat against a Knight of high standing within the King’s guard. Many older men had proudly led successful skirmishes, boasting of their experience and devotion, while the younger amongst us touted numerous tourney wins and the value of their agility and youth.

The man in front of me wore thick plated armor and a smirk on his freckled face. He managed to knock the sword from the Knight's hand with four masterful strokes, earning him a clap on the back and a grimace from the others who awaited their turn. He wiped the sweat from his ginger brow and returned to wait with the rest who had preceded him.

When it came to me, I had little to my name but a sorted history as infantry cog and Bowmen amongst various men-at-arms campaigns and my current position as castle guard. I wore naught but a rusting breastplate and bracers and when I finished my own statement, the Knight laughed and told me I should return to my position spotting castle rats for the dogs to catch.

“I can read.“ I countered. “And write.” It didn’t particularly add to my prowess, but it was something I thought could set me apart from the commoner he thought me to be.

“What use have we for a literate sword?” He jested. I started to speak but he interrupted. ”Go now, before I dirty my blade with you.”

That was it. I had lost my chance to even audition with a sword and would never step closer to the Prince or the castle but for the outer perimeter. And then, I saw him. Emerging from the tower doors in front of the training yard and flanked by two other members of the King’s guard, strode the Pince. He wore a dark green tunic of a crumpled texture I thought to be velvet, though I had never seen the material close to.

He walked down the steps until he stood against the supervising Knight, who bowed his head upon seeing the lad.

“Choosing my guardsmen for me, are you Sir Braxon?” He said, addressing the senior Knight.

“My Prince, you were invited to observe and-”

“Well, I can hardly count the spots on your balding head from up there,” he laughed jovially. “And what of this one?” he asked, and to my astonishment, he was looking directly at me, his dark eyes meeting my light ones in a gaze that I dared not break.

“We’ve had some promising recruits, my Prince, but this one is an ill experienced city guard.”

“Castle,” corrected the Prince.

“My Lord?”

“He is a castle guard, is he not? I’ve seen him about.” His eyes were still on me but I held my tongue between my teeth so as not to speak out of turn. So it was true, he remembered my likeness and had acknowledged our exchange of glances, brief though they were. Before Sir Braxton could reply the Prince spoke again, this time to me. “What is your name?”

I bowed my head, averting my eyes for the first time in the encounter and placed a closed hand over my heart. “Sebastian, my Lord.” I said succinctly.

“And what of your skill with a blade?” He asked, holding his hand out to Sir Braxton. “Give me your sword, Sir, I wish to test him myself since you refuse.”

Although the Knight appeared apprehensive, his obedience was swift as he unsheathed his own sword and presented it, one hand on the hilt, the other palm-up on the underside of the blade, to the expectant Prince. He then turned to me, pointing his newly fetched blade to my chest and tucked his right hand behind his back.

The sword I wielded was indebted to me by position in the Castle guard, to which I still paid deep in the purse against with every month's coin I earned. It was solid and heavy though fairly balanced. While I stood head and shoulders above the Boy King and outweighed him by several stones, I had little formal training with a blade and had never in memory dueled a left handed man.

I did not ask any questions nor excuse myself from the proposition as I knew this to be my only chance, a chance which God himself must have granted me for the luck it seemed to be. I knew to mark the Prince with a sword would be suicide, but to loose was no less an option.

He wielded the blade swiftly, taking my slight hesitation as a chance to strike first. His pose was purposeful and his footwork, as he danced around me on the dirt, had the rigid agility of a man who has trained for years yet never seen the brutality of real battle.

I contented myself to parry his attacks, not daring to strike for my own but managing to close the distance between us so that he could not perpetrate his attacks with full force. His slashes became quicker and cleaner, clearly owning the practice and confidence in his swordwork that I lacked. But as we continued, the rhythm we formed seemed to turn more towards volley.

The chorus of our blades sang as they collided and the pattern of his swings became more varied as he tried to jab at my breastplate to which I evaded. When I finally challenged his swing and countered with a strike of my own aimed near his right arm, he let out a short cry of exclamation and blocked it only by the hair of his blade. He then swung back with such force that it knocked me one step back, giving him just enough space for the edge of his sword to graze my breastplate with a dull ring of metal.

But whereas the other recruits were finished once they were licked by a blade, the Prince continued to advance on me, keeping his distance and circling my perimeter to calculate my defenses. I could feel myself lagging as I deflected his following blows, and with one misplaced sweep of my sword, the Prince's blade rose up and kissed my cheek so that I felt hot blood begin to spill.

“Ha!” I heard him cry, strangely far off and fogged as a ringing built in my ears

My mind went white. I saw before me only endless fields of clawing death and my heart raced as though it beat the drums of war. The threat I faced could have been a scrawny fourteen-year-old boy king, or a vast opposing army, but all I knew in that moment was the burning clarity a man feels before certain death.

My thoughts still blank, out of pure instinct, I raised up my worn leather boot and kicked my opponent squarely in the chest.

The Prince fell backwards on the ground, the sword falling from his hand.

Within the space of a second, Sir Braxton had picked his blade from the ground and held it to my neck, awaiting an order we were both sure would follow.

Clutching his chest where the clear mark of my boot had marred the dark green tunic with dirt, the Prince stared at me with astonishment and, if possible, intrigue, though I barely had time to register before my heart sank to my stomach.

“Say the word, your Grace.” Sir Braxton spoke with contempt.

It took several moments for the Prince to compose himself as he stood, brushing the earth from his doublet carelessly.

“Well,” he began. “Had I known cheating to be allowed, I might have struck you harder.” There was indignation in his tone, but also the faint sign of a smirk. He eyed me keenly as my stomach twisted. “Sir Braxton, see this man leaves unharmed.”

My breath hitched.

“But,” he continued and our eyes met once more. “Before you do so, be sure he is fitted with the Armor of the King’s guard.”

The statement went unchallenged, but for a moment, both Sir Braxton and I shared the same look of incredulity as though copied from manuscript. I did not speak, my heart still pounding near the region of my navel. Sir Braxton was lost to words just the same, but was quicker to master his composure from years of experience. The Prince turned without another word and sauntered back to the broad tower with as much grace and dignity as one can muster after being bested in combat in front of their inferiors.

I knew then, that this was not the likes of a King that had reigned in my lifetime. This was something different.

Chapter 2: A Moment Betwixt

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As the season wore on, I accustomed myself to my new position in the King’s guard. Junior though I was amongst the thirteen honored with the official title, the post was an undeniable upgrade and gifted this peasant born, vagabond marksman, the title of Knight to which my father, God rest his soul, would have scarcely believed.

My new armor was given outright in my Name, after proclaiming allegiance and life long fealty, Knighted under God and the realm. Unlike the armor I wore as a castle guardsman, it was near impossible to don without the assistance of a skilled servant. Instead of assembled metal plating to cover the fronts of limbs and attached to the gambeson with leather straps, my new cuirasse was worn over a lighter arming doublet. All segments were carefully fastened together with thick thread capped in silver, allowing for quick threading , and providing the wearer a superior range of movement. My torso was fitted with a standard form breast and back plate attached to a fauld, which hung from my waist down to my groin. Below that, a skirt of mail, and worn on each leg, my greaves fitted from ankle to knee. My vambraces and gauntlets clung to my forearms and covered my knuckles in steel, leaving the undersides sheathed in leather. Although it was rarely expected for a Knight of the King’s guard to face actual combat, the prestige afforded by a well shone suit of armor gave the Kingdom the appearance of both wealth and fortitude.

While I once patrolled the perimeter of the castle, accosted by all the elements of the natural world, I now rarely saw the sun but from the shafts of light that beamed through the iron worked windows. My heavy footfalls echoed through the empty stone halls and off the peaked ceilings of the corridors. I often stood for half a day outside closed chamber doors, shutting my visored helm (although not required to be worn whilst indoors) to hide the view of my shut eyes as I dozed.

I was now privy to much of the comings and goings of the Castle’s occupants and guests, and some days, as my post commanded, a rear wall station within the Council hall; a glimpse of the politics integral to the Kingdom’s governing force. The Prince and standing Reagent was often a member at these meetings, where he had garnered a reputation for being quite clever when it came to strategic insight, and was well versed in the lineage and territorial occupation of both enemies and allies.

His ideas were often well met, yet he possessed a temper and arrogance that somewhat marred his potential with unpredictability, an asset in a General but a liability in a King. When he spoke, it was with a conviction I admired, but often challenged his council and pushed back on advice.

However, as many words that were spoken pertaining to war and conquest, tenfold were those focused on the trivial matters of the Kingdom such as import taxes and the regulation of silk and linen. And so, there was rarely a time when I was fortunate enough to hear the Prince voice his insight.

Some, perhaps on the council itself, took this erraticism as a sign of inexperience and the folly of youth, but rather than stare blankly at the old men that surrounded him, the Prince’s eyes were always alert, always studying the speaker at the table, or else on the others, awaiting their turn to speak. His eagerness seemed to me, a sign of a precocious nature and if not fated to be a great king, at least, indeed, a good one. He rarely if ever glanced in my direction during these meetings, but with visor down and back stiff as a cot in a poor house, I would have scarcely recognized myself.

As I dazed wearily, keeping composure not to nod off at my station near the entry door of the Council hall, my ears perked up at the chirp of crisp voices, mainly that of the Prince.

The discussion centered on where coin was being insufficiently spent on items such as the care and maintenance of the gardens in the courtyard and surrounding landscape.

I saw his dark eyes perk up at the mention.

"And tell me, by what chance have we at inspiring fidelity when our hedgerows are crowded and overgrown?" He asked lazily. "Is it not presentation that matters the most as I begin my reign?"

There was general mumbling.

"Your Grace, perhaps we can pay the gardeners less to reduce expenses, or hereby require less men for the same task." Suggested one of the Prince’s advisors.

The Prince’s retort was swift. "And perhaps you can fulfill your duty more appropriately in the leather working boots of the gardeners. That arrangement serves both purposes, does it not?.”

I let out a barely audible laugh that I trusted my helmet to muffle, but it came out louder than intended. I could have sworn I saw the prince incline his head towards where I stood, though it seemed that with an unspoken air, the conversation had been resolved and resumed its previous sedative nature.

When the meeting had adjourned, I accompanied the Prince back to his quarters before the start of a new patrol shift. After slowing to walk near to me but keeping his gaze ahead, the Prince said lightly, “You naught not show such a jaunty disposition.”

I Kept silent at first, but I felt the tension of expectancy and replied, “It was but a cough, your Grace,” rather cheekily.

He smiled but then signed. “All the joy in this world could be sucked out by ten sober old men ‘round a table.”

“I simply appreciate your affinity for the gardens,” I replied. And forgetting myself added, “I used to help my mother in the garden when the garlic sprouted.”

“Is that so?” The Prince seemed amused.

“It is. But she has since passed.”

The Prince's sly smile never wavered. “Then we shall plant some in the garden on the morrow. I’m sure my advisors would approve of our generous supplement to the kitchens.”

We spoke no more until we were at the door to his chambers and he touched me lightly on my vambrace. “And do get some honey for that cough.” He chidded, dismissing me on my way.

***

Thereafter, I often accompanied the Prince as he performed his general duties throughout the day, sometime in addition to another Knight, sometimes alone. First to the barber surgeon to trim facial hair it did not seem the Prince possessed. Then the north wing of the castle where the cartographer had asked for clarification regarding a minor border line dispute. Then to the east hall where the Keeper of Coin awaited approval for a new minting, designed to commemorate the Princes Regent’s coronation as King held the following summer.

These activities amused me; not firstly because it provided a significant improvement from my menial work as a sentinel, but also afforded me many moments, often alone, with the Prince to which I had developed a peculiar admiration.

Perhaps it was the words of my fealty oath, finally finding a purpose to serve a superior who was not content to have me parish for some vague notion of God or conquest. Perhaps it was that the Prince somewhat reminded me of myself at his age, though I was now nearing a decade older. While I had never held matters of such importance as he, I had been certain, despite my father’s remarks to the contrary, that I would someday make a name for myself.

The most enjoyable aspect of my amelioration in the Prince's favor, was tailing him on his frequent constitutionals through the garden in the inner courtyard. Though not as impressive as the sprawling greenery located outside the castle proper, the inner bailey joined all four cardinal areas of the main castle but was only accessible from the hall leading to the west tower where the Nobility chamber rooms were located. As so, it was a very secluded area, and because the sun only shone down directly at high noon, it made for a temperate and shadowed vista for much of the summer months.

The Prince wore a fitted brown tunic and raw linen apron. His gloves appeared more weathered than any other garment he owned, and only the golden band on his brow eluded to his true wealth and status.

It seemed with a great fondness that he showed to me the pearls of his labor. Although the trees had been planted many years before his birth, the flowers that sprawled about their bases, dotted like blue and white jewels among their twisted roots, were of his effort, a testament to his late Queen mother. Though he had never known her but for the warmth of her womb, it was said she often wore gowns of blue or white, and was remembered so in her many portraits about the castle.

The Prince busied himself amongst the garden beds, using a fine blade to cut away at a lavender bush. “It is the only place I truly feel myself in spirit.” He confided.

“You can prune away any parts which are undesirable,” he paused. “Elements you wish to leave behind.” He held up the square, branching stems of the herb and inspected them. “And leave to flourish, only what is deemed palatable.” He did not look my way nor did I deem he wished me to respond.

I knew not if the Prince spoke so candidly to all who presided over his watch, but I felt profoundly elevated to be privy to his musings, though I could not help but to presume their connotation.

It pleased me when I received word one afternoon that I was to resume my patrol in the West tower. Normally, shift rotations were conducted on a weekly basis and thus I knew it was likely to be a summons from the Prince himself, though not directly stated as such. When I arrived, partially winded from my ascent up the many stairs, he was perched by a window overlooking the countryside.

“My Prince,” I acknowledged him with a bowing of the head.

With a motion of his hand, he called me neared so that we both stood in the light of the same window.

He stayed turned towards the outstreating view, but inclined his head up at me, his eyes fixed on my covered face. “Remove your helm, I wish to look upon you.” I did so, my yellow hair dirty and unkempt below it, bracing it under my arm. “Ah, see here. You have handsome features, Sir Sebastian, no need to hide them behind steel.”

“As you prefer it,” I acknowledged with a nod. “But Surely I have not climbed a hillside of steps so you could admire me.” The comment was in jest and was glad the Prince took it to be so when he smiled.

It felt unnatural to be so close to him. I could count the buttons on his fine silk doublet, and smell the sweet, fragrant soaps in which he was bathed. If my memory served, his eyes bore a likeness to that of the late Queen, though more likely, the portraits I had seen of her. His features were soft but his jaw was firmly set and his large eyes and long lashes imparted a delicate and refined appearance.

Feelings of an impure nature sturred inside me. I had not laid with a woman in many summers, and the Knights of King's guard were oathed from taking a wife. Though I did not miss that which I was not destined to have, this moment of subtle intimacy tickled my stomach and warmed my loins as any maiden had ever done.

The Prince continued, his eyes trained back through the window. “I only wanted to ask you, what is it like beyond these lands, beyond this castle and this realm? I have only once visited a Vassal's keep to the West once, with my father. I have hunted in the Kingswood. But for that, I have stared at these same hills, this same parched grass. Even these clouds seem to take the same shape from one day to the next.”

“I have seen a great deal of this county’s land, but it was much the same as this.” I gestured to the hills of glass outside the tall window. Sensing this brevity was dissatisfying, I continued. “I have seen bogs, with fog as thick and dense as porridge, where the waters rose to my knees and soaked my britches. The leaches there were not wielded by a physician but the devil himself for the places they hid.” I shivered at the memory. “I have looked across flat far fields with the tents of armies gathered like the scales of a fish, rippling as they billowed in the wind.
In the North, I’ve marched through ice cold enough to freeze a man's blood as he is cut and shatter on the ground before him. And to the south, fields of golden wheat that swayed like the ocean, and struck down men with sickness of the sea.”

I had been adrift in memory, looking out over the fields to the distant crop of trees that begat the forest beyond. When I regained myself, the Prince's eyes were dark, yet filled with a brightness, and watching me intently.

“I long to see such sights.” He lamented softly.

I lost myself in the vastness of his eyes. “If you desire it, I would show you all.”

Our heads turned to look at one another, but bodies remained facing the window, a hands width apart but separated by the immensity of our standing.

When I could not bear to swim in his gaze any longer lest I drown myself, and turned back to the view, not truly seeing any of it.

And then, as we stood in a bountiful silence, the Prince raised himself on the tips of his well dressed shoes and pressed his lips to my unshaven cheek as though I were a tourney knight who had won a fair Lady’s Favor.

He then left me for his chambers, taking all the breath in my lungs with him and leaving me frozen as a stone carved statue. My mind raced and my cheeks flushed as I raised my hand to touch the spot where, if I had not mistaken dream for reality, I had been kissed by the Prince.

Chapter 3: A Tangle Unbound

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After our sensual encounter in the secluded hallway of the west tower chambers, I did not see the Prince for some time. I found it difficult to wear my gauntlets in the following days for the sweat that slicked my palms. Despite my relative innocence in the ordeal, I nevertheless expected at any moment to be escorted to the gallows. I checked every man’s hands as he passed me, whether page boy or knight, lest he bore a sealed scroll calling for my arrest

My helm now remained in my quarters at the Prince's initial request, my eyes now darkened due to the sleep I lacked and on display for every man to see.

Because of my apparent banishment from the Prince’s perimeter, I spent more time around the other knights of the Kings guard. Sir Braxton, the Knight commander, had his own quarters, but the rest of us often slept and supped together, patrolling the corridors in pairs when the situation commanded.

I was accustomed to keeping to myself, but saw the benefit of holding such company. I heard remarks only trusted in private and could scarcely believe what was said between fellows regarding their sworn Regent the Prince.

It was often remarked that, as royalty, his arse had never been accosted by the cruel leather of a belt and his temperament suffered for it. They thought him prone to rash decisions and impulsive punishments, and told me he was regarded as unreliable by his contemporaries and tyrannical by his critics, who often found their words caught in their throats at the end of a noose.

Many of those, even some amongst the King’s own guard, referred to him disparagingly as “Boy king”, and myself as an ill bred lap dog. The ginger haired Knight with the clever swordwork I had met at recruitment, Sir Patrick, often snided the fact that I had never even held a position as squire, and thus was undeserving of Knighthood. Were I a man born of noble birth, these comments might have rattled my constitution, but as it was, I had been called much worse by far more imposing men.

What concerned me more pressingly however, was the way in which they described the Prince. As someone who felt a deeper connection had been established between us than any of my fellow guardsmen, I had seen only the qualities of a just and tolerant leader.

Aye, I had heard tell of the way men were dealt with when they treasoned or challenged the Prince in his doctrine. Though the ends they ment had always come through the lens of royal justice to my ears. Since I had begun my post in the Kings guard, I came to see the actions of a benevolent and insightful ruler.

It was with great surprise, when I was handed a summons, not to court, but to a hunting expedition in the days to come. The Prince desired to mount a brief hunt and win himself the game of the season, which tended to be smaller deer and woodco*ck as the summer months waned.

It was to be a two day excursion, returning on the third day and requiring only bowmen, experienced men of tracking, and several hounds to chase down pray. It was not to be par force, which required a great deal of planning and many more days of persistent tracking to bring down larger game, but simply for sport and the enjoyment of a swift hunt before the season’s changed and it became too cold for the comfort of the Prince.

As intimate as the affair could have been, had it been only the prince and I, it was unheard of for a single knight to accompany the prince so far afield from the Castle for any reason except necessity. And as it was, I joined the procession as we rode from the main road to the end bounds of the city, passing the farmlands and crossing the river until we came to the edge of the Kingswood.

During my last siege as Marksman under King James the Brasen (as he has since come to be known after his death), I had taken two arrows to the right breast and shoulder. Sparing a nipple was of no concern to me, but I could no longer draw back a bow to its capacity, rendering my skills as a bowman obsolete, and my purpose in life, at the time, under question.

I felt invigorated to be out of the castle in the open air, free from my heavy mail and plating, and dressed in slimmer leather chestplate reinforced with metal studs to provide additional protection, but much less cumbersome than my usual attire.

The Prince seemed too to share my sentiment, if not more so. He raced ahead on his stead much to the behest of the other guardsmen. He seemed to express a careless excitement I had not seen in him, a boyish disregard for the bounds of his regency.

In a trodden clearing, we made our camp as the darkening sky signaled dusk, the sparse clouds reflecting the last of the sun’s light on their wispy undersides, and competed with the budding twinkles of the first evening stars. We arranged our tents in a circle, a fire burning in the center that would smolder out as two squires took turns in watch.

As I lay in my tent, on a sleeping pad much stiffer than my castle bed, my thoughts drifted to Prince James. I could not deny that my inclusion on this trip had signaled to me more than could have been said in words. He desired me at a place by his side, selected me out of my fellows, and wanted in some small part, to share this experience with the man who he had kissed so tenderly.

My sleep was untroubled and filled with the desires I dared not promise myself. Until that was, when I was disturbed by a rustling of the forest floor and a subtle ripping of fabric near my head. I opened my eyes to darkness, considering the silence.

“Are you awake?” Came a soft whisper from behind my head.

I lifted myself, perched on my elbows and spun my head around. There in the dark, I could just make out the outline of the Pinces head, peeking through a newly cut opening in the back of my tent.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice low. I was sure someone still held guard by the fire, lest he had dozed off on his post.

I was not certain, but I thought the Prince to be smiling. “I bade my footman drink from my wineskin, the daft lad, he shall be asleep till morning.” He reached a hand through the cut tent canvas and tugged at my night shirt. “Come.”

In the dim light of the dying fire, we slipped through the rear of my shelter and I followed him softly though the back of the campsite where the horses were tied. I scarcely had time to grab my cloak, my heart racing with apprehension and excitement.

The Prince quieted our horses with sugar he produced from within his satchel and we walked them a good distance in the darkness, thinking each snap of the twigs beneath our feet would call down the company upon us.

When he deemed us far enough away, we mounted our steeds and rode blindly into the night, trusting the beasts below us not to lead us headlong into the shadowy trees that we darted past.

After a short time, we were called to stop by a small stream, the moon above casting a blue glow about us and dancing on the water’s surface. Tying the reigns of our mounts to a sturdy branch, I laid my cloak on the ground and we sat together in the stillness of the night. My heart hammered so wildly inside my chest, I wondered if the Prince could hear its rapid desperation.

The Prince produced from his bag, a wineskin, oil jar, and waxed paper wrapped about bread, cheese, and fruit. Though we had supped pottage at camp with the others, we filled our bellies with the rations and laughed as we swapped the wineskin between our mouths.

“This is from a fruit called Olive, I trust you have not tasted an oil so rich,” he told me, pulling the cork from the oil jar with his teeth and tipping it onto my bread. “You know, I have not been hunting since my father passed.”

“So you do wish to hunt?” I asked. “I thought perhaps..” but my words trailed away, letting the sharp savory flavor of the oiled bread coat my tongue. It was not that I did not trust the Prince with my candid words, but that I did not want to admit to myself what thoughts had crossed my mind. That this whole excursion was for the chance of our midnight adventure, for time alone with me.

“Truthfully yes,” he laughed, and though the light of the moon reflected in his eyes, I could tell he understood the words I had not said aloud. “The chase, the thrill, when you can taste the prize in your heart, but a breath away.” And I could not tell if he still spoke about the hunt. “It is a thing of beauty, is it not?” He asked.

I felt the caress of the wind and saw it flutter his dark hair, the soft shadows cast from the moon onto his striking features, and I was not speaking of the hunt when I answered. “It is.”

And then, I was leaning nearer to him, tugged by impulse and carried by a burning compulsion. I tasted the bitter olive on his lips and parted them to feel the tenderness of his tongue.

We lay on the hard-knit fabric of my traveling cloak, my mouth roaming the landscape of his neck, guided by my traveling fingertips and stripping him gently of his silken bedwear.

The heat from his body beneath mine radiated through me, stiffening my resolve and my aching extremity as I exposed myself between his naked legs. Cradling his head in my hand, I gripped his hair and tilted his head back as I sank my mouth upon his exposed throat, his pulse dancing on my lips. I felt for the bottle of expensive, imported oil, and covered my shaft with the slick fruit of the olive.

I slipped slowly between his yielding folds, the aching tunnel of his flesh surrendering resistance. My manhood urged my stride forward but I resisted, taking care to expand his channel before I pursued. Forwards and back I alternated, only sieging the entry though I was braced to take him fully. His fingers clawed like daggers on my back, pining for an end to the torment but begging for further assault. I delved inwards, longing to sink myself into his depths and holding steadfast to continue my rhythm, to draw out of him and then sink deeper with the following thrust.

I felt like a rope pulled taught, the knot at the base of my navel throbbing to be undone, yet gathering tighter with each exertion.

“Please,” the breath in my ear implored, its meaning balanced between plea and yearning.

I craved to plunder the richness of his bounty and to breach the yoke inside. To cause my seed to overflow and spill from him as I plowed the damp earth within, planting myself firmly in pursuit of a harvest.

His trembling grew as his body submitted, and finally I broke past the density of his confines and undid him from the inside. The animals we became were ruled by no man, no God, but by the earth and by pleasure itself.

I could feel his head thrashing back and forth, unbound from thought and comprehension, hips bucking wildly, first against me, then away, in a restless pattern. I took his member in my hand and stroked it as my own, the spasms beneath me rippling throughout my fingertips and pulling me further into his tightness.

When I felt his muscles tighten and shudder, spilling himself between us, I reared my head back and unleashed a torrent of ecstasy, the release of a clenched fist undone, the breaking of a wave.

Hands slipped about my body; he could not grab hold for I was slick with sweat, my breath heaving my body into him deeper till we both sank back, untethered.

We lay, panting and blind, overcome with resolve.

***

In the light of morning, naked and adored with dew, the Prince looked as common as any man without his dressings, but as radiant as an angel. I did not desire to wake him, but my duty to do so called upon me.

We dressed in relative silence, but there was no shame nor discomfort between us, if anything had changed, it had been to nourish the burgeoning flourish, the deeper embrace of our connection.

He packed his satchel and I bundled my cloak, resisting the urge to inhale the scent of our togetherness, and made on our way back to camp. The damp morning air .. our flushed faces, and I could not help but steal myself several glances; the ruffled dark hair, the satisfied expression he wore, his slender hands which had traveled so intimately about my body.

It had only been a short while of riding, our gazes distracted by each other, when I heard the high and frightful whinny of the Prince’s horse, and in an instance the atmosphere changed.

The beast reared and threw the Prince from his saddle. I thought for one terrible moment that the boy had met the same fate as his father, but the Prince quickly regained his footing and drew his sword while his horse galloped on into the brush.

I jumped from my stead and darted my eyes about, expecting to see the snake that had surly spooked the creature, but instead, my eyes fixed on a man, laying on his back in the dirt, still shielding his head from the rearing hooves of the Prince’s runaway mount.

Swooping down, I grabbed the man by his matted hair and pulled him to his feet, intent on telling him off for sneaking about like a treasonous spy, though his snapped bow and tattered clothes gave the looks of a common huntsman.

Before I could utter a word however, the Prince held the top of his blade to the man's thin neck. “You lurk about in my Father’s woods. It is illegal to hunt here, and so you wish to kill me and take my spoils!” he bellowed, his eyes wild.

“My Prince! I did not know, I swear it. My children are hungry and-” the man blubbered

“Silence!” the Prince shouted, the sound dampened by the surrounding trees. He looked quite mad; his crown lay on the ground where he had fallen and twigs poking up from his raven hair, eyes alight with anger.

“Sebastian, end this man’s life for the attempt on mine.” He ordered, gaze still fixed on the pleading man I held before him.

I could not say why I hesitated. I had killed many men before, but none perhaps as pitiful and senseless as this. It did not matter however, for in the moments it took me to hark the Prince’s command, he had taken the task upon himself, pushing the end of his fine blade through the man’s neck like scissors through parchment.

Dropping him out of surprise, the man fell to his knees, gurgling and choking as blood spilled from his wound and darkened his tunic. He grasped and clawed at his split throat as though trying in vain to staunch the flow. He then fell to his side, his lifeblood draining from him and heaving out with each pulse of his slowing heart.

The man's eyes stayed wide open, unblinking and unseeing, and his lips flapped like the mouth of a fish above water. I stared at him, feeling my breath slip away much the same as I watched the dying man before me.

The Prince, who I had almost forgotten was there for a moment, then swung his blade down on the man's neck in a chopping motion. It did not sever the head from its body, but ended the man’s life with a stern blow, severing his tendons and barring him open. I thought this out of mercy at first, but he swung his sword down again thrice more, splashing thick ropes of scarlet onto us both.

I looked at him, and him at me, his pale face splattered in red. He was breathing hard and I could not read his wide eyed expression. He threw down his sword, all traces of anger absolved.

“He- that man tried to kill me.” He said, and I was not certain if he was rationalizing this to me or himself.

Yes, it was outlawed to hunt for game in these woods, and men who violated this were often put to the sword or heavily fined, but that was after a trial and judgment passed by men under God. The law stood as enacted by King James the Brasen, and withstood through the regency of his son. All knew of this law, but often risked the many acres of woodland in order to hunt for themselves or their families. I had known men in the city butcheries who bartered for the white tailed rabbits that bred only in the King's Forrest, and had never known a coney to taste so fine.

“Come now,” I said, snapping out of my fugue and walking to pick up the Prince’s crown. Brushing it of dirt, I set it upon his unkempt pate. I retrieved his sword and wiped much of the blood off against my britches before sheathing it back at the Prince’s side, for he showed no care to do so himself. “We must return you to camp.”

I helped lift him to the back of my mount before climbing up to sit in front and take the reins. We rode quietly, though my mind roared between my ears. This could scarcely be the same Prince who had softly listened to my tales of travel, who nurtured flowers in his mother's name. The intimacy we shared now seemed distant, transparent and thin as a sheer curtain. The cruelty I had seen seemed to fracture the portrait I had painted of his genuine nature.

Perhaps I was nothing to him as well, as expendable as a careless hunter, recruited for my features that seemed to charm the Prince so. It was not the act of violence that bothered me, nor truthfully, the judgment and sentence passed so swiftly. Only that I had been foolhardy enough to consider that I knew him, that I could ever truly know a Prince born of his wealth and status. I felt shame for allowing a connection I was sure now was once sided, to allow my blind allegiance to foster compassion for this impulsive boy.

Had I sacrificed everything, my position, my affection, my life, for someone who’s whims were as fickle as the changing winds? I felt defeated, as drained of blood as the dead poacher, and decided I would be cast aside the moment the Prince found something new to catch his interest.

***

When we returned to camp, it was clear our excursion had not gone unnoticed. Two guards marched swiftly to my mount and lifted the Prince down gently. I was not shown the treatment, as I was unceremoniously dragged off my stead by Sir Braxton, backed against a sturdy tree trunk and reprimanded, his hand clutching my collar tightly.

“If you wish to endanger yourself, so be it.” He exclaimed sternly, his graying brows furrowed, eyes squinted with disdain. “I have served this Realm for thirty writers, and am Knight Commander to our future King. You serve only yourself. If you ever put him in danger, I will see my blade run you through. Clean yourself up for f*cks sake.”

I had naught to say in my defense. The blood that covered our clothes and faces did not tout an innocent stroll in the woods. Though any amongst the men would have followed the Prince at his behest as I had, any words I might have said espousing my regret could hardly compete with the deluge of them within my head.

Though Sir Braxton stood a head shorter, his presence loomed large, I thought might strike me, but instead he released me gruffly and turned to tend to the Prince he served. I stayed standing with my back against the bark, feeling as though he ought to have made good on his word and skewered me where I stood.

A fool I was indeed, for letting myself be blinded by lust and princely affection, to immolate my honor for a brief and fleeting passion.

Chapter 4: To Be is to suffer

Chapter Text

Word of the disastrous hunting expedition had spread like a plague amongst the ranks of the guard, to which it seemed I was both loathed and respected depending on the man you asked. It seemed I had either endangered the Prince's life for my own glory or valiantly saved him from the same fate as his father. I cared not to dissuade the rumors lest the true nature of our encounter be called into question. It was of no concern to any that a man had been slain, and though I still wrestled with my own emotions regarding all that came to be, none could know of the union that had transpired between us.

I had cleaned the blood from my clothes with my own two hands, attempting to wash away as well, my complicity in its existence. While members of the King’s guard had all their garments taken and washed at the city bathhouse, I scrubbed my fingers raw and worked the blood from my doublet with fevered passion, watching the suds slowly assume a rust coloured hue.

My father had been a coalburner. There was not a scrap of linen in our home that did not bear the stain of soot, no matter how vigorously my mother scoured the fabric or how long she left it to bleach in the sun. I thought of her as I wrung the water from the cloth, of what she might have thought of me. Proud of my accomplishments and status, or disgusted by my naivety and acts of sodomy?

Hard though I had tried, I could not rid my conscious of the perversion of my acts, nor my linen of the dark stains that remained, now a testament to my hubris. I tossed the clothes in a pile to be burned, wishing to drown myself in the dark waters of the wash basin.

***

I supped alone each night, not wishing to endure the remarks that met my ears when I engaged in company. When the other knights returned to rest, I made sure they found me already turned in or else with my back to them, feigning sleep. But this night, I had lingered too long in my wasted attempt to purge the guilt from my day clothes.

“Settle us a bet, Green Knight.” Sir Patrick entered the chambers with two other men of the King’s guard, sipping wine from a silver goblet and standing before me. “Who made for the better mount, your horse, or The Boy King?” One of the knights laughed but the other did not, looking between me and Sir Patrick wearily.

“Had it been any other man to carry the Boy King back, unaccompanied and bloody, he would have lost his head,” snided Sir Patrick, pushing further to insinuate that my continued existence had required tossing of a certain Princely organ.

Before I could find the tenacity within myself to breathe through the gathering storm of my anger, my hand acted as if by its own accord, springing forth and connecting my tightened fist with the bridge of Sir Patricks bulbous nose.

The vile ichor sprang forth from his nostrils as he was knocked to the floor. And for the second time in a fortnight, I had sullied my wear with another man’s lifeblood. I would have had myself a row if the other Knights had not held Sir Patrick back.

“You’re just as mad as He is.” The words followed me as I left the chambers, wishing to cool my thoughts in the night air. I longed to cleanse myself of my concupiscence and the indignity of my nature.

I knew naught but that I had to right this, for I could no longer gestate in the wallowing of my unbridled thoughts. I had tortured myself enough with my piteous ruminations, and if not to dismiss myself of sin, perhaps find solace in my penance.

Without so much as my gauntlets, I stalked the length of the darkened halls. The breeze thought he apertures that lined the high walls, doing little to cool my heated temples. I marched until I faced the stone steps leading to the west tower and to the Prince's chambers. It was not common for any man to call upon the Prince after dusk fall, but he responded to my rapping on his door with permission of entry.

He had his back to the door, his hands clasped tightly behind him, facing the large widow as the curtains billowed beside him in the pale evening light. “Oh, Sebastian,” he said when he turned to see my likeness. “I have meant to send for you, I just thought it more appropriate to-” he stopped upon seeing the grave expression I wore.

“Would you accompany me? On a walk?” I asked gruffly, not wishing to allow myself the temptation of his secluded bed chamber.

“I- but of course, Sir Knight.” He smiled with a playful bow, donning a silken robe to cover his nightclothes and followed me thusly.

We did not speak as we descended the many steps from the tower to the silence of the west hall. We passed one Castle guard that could have been sleeping at his post for the attention he paid us. When we had reached the relative privacy of the darkened inner courtyard, I let spill my transgressions by the light of the watching moon.

“I hit a Kingsman,” I admitted

“You hit him?” he clarified, confused and drawing his robe tighter about him for the chill. I wished to draw him nearer, to warm him, but I resisted this.

“So be done with me. For I cannot bare it any longer. Be done with me and spare me myself.”

The Prince tilted his head to the side, his brow furrowed in confusion. Clearly he thought my calling held different intentions. “What are you-”

“If you had heard them- the things they say.” I thought if he would dismiss me, I might mercy us both before my tongue slipped further.

“People will speak,” he shrugged.

“About us, our- union.” I swallowed hard but the Prince seemed untroubled.

He plucked a pale flower from a raised garden bed and examined it passively. “Do you know what men said of my father?” I had heard many ill words about him, none that I wished to repeat to his son. “They said he was a lecherous drunk, a bedder of women, boys, goats.” He tossed the flower aside carelessly. “But of this, none was true. He preferred his goats skewered by roasting pikes alone.” He jested with a small laugh that I did not return. I knew his meaning; that words alone could do nothing against the ruler of the land.

I was not comforted though, and my face must have shown this, for he stepped closer to me, studying my resolve. He pulled at my heart like a loadstone to an iron ore. Taking my hands in his, he peered up at me, his eyes consuming my very being.

“I wish to say my peace, my Prince.” I mustered, more softly than I had intended.

“Please,” he started, and I was struck painfully by memory of the same word, whispered so intimately in my ear the night we had coalesced under a similar sliver of moonlight. “Call me by my name.” He finished.

“James,” I heeded, the effort to do so, sitting unnaturally in my throat. “What we are- what we had, it cannot be.” I held his gaze though I longed to tear myself away. I was saved from this however, as the Prince lowered his head.

“I see,” he nodded. “Now you have had me, you no longer want me. I must have misunderstood.”

“No-” I started. Despite myself, I was more enamored than ever, though this caused me great shame. I wanted him, to surrender the deepest reaches of my being, and yet to do so was to offer a single grain of sand to the vastness of the ocean.

“There is madness within you.” I said, surprising even myself with the boldness of my claim. “And I do not wish to be hurt- or perhaps, I deserve only to be so. For I cannot bear your absence, and yet to be with you would surely cause me great suffering.”

Prince James considered me for a moment, smoothing his thumbs across my palms. “It is not my intent to hurt you, Sebastian, but if both were to cause you pain, would you not choose the one in which we might be- something?” He blinked his dark eyes up at me, his lashes as fine and full as a painter’s brush.

And there he was once more, the Prince I had sworn to serve, the regal sovereign whose passion disarmed me and who looked upon me with such sweetness. Though my mind screamed its objection, my heart dictated my response, incapacitated by his tenderness. “I would,” I unfolded.

And as he leaned up to meet my lips to his, I knew I lacked the compulsion to stop it, knew I was powerless to my desire and to my Prince’s devotion. Though I could not shake the forbidding that inched its way into cracks of my conviction, I knew at least that I was more to him than a fleeting lust, bound by our nature and our unyielding intertwinement. The extent to which that entailed, I could not say.

I was momentarily undone, reveling in his sultry scent, the feeling of his fine, straight hair as I ran my fingers about the nape of his neck. The pressure of his tongue was swift and rapacious, pulling me into him and extinguishing all trepidation amidst the deluge of his heated embrace.

I loathed myself for my defeat, the breaking of my will against the rocky shore of his bay. But all I desired was this, this moment of stillness and connection, and my concerns faded from me into his firm grasp as he pulled me closer and kissed me under the delicate beauty of the heavens above.

Chapter 5: By Torch and Twilight

Chapter Text

I felt as if I had been pulled out to sea by a gallant wave, the shore disappearing from sight, powerless to stop it. Though rather than thrash about, prolonging the inevitable, I accepted my fate and let the turbulent waters carry me further, drifting under the surface peacefully as the waves rolled above.

Hardly it seemed, could I remember what my life had been like before being so swiftly taken in by the Prince and the enchantment of his waters. I still felt an uneasy swell when he would call me to his chambers or lean up and steal a kiss from my cheek, though I could not deny the other parts of my body that swelled when he did this.

I began to feel a sense of familiarity that did not damper my excitement, even amidst his unpredictable nature. Often I would act as his dissuader, rationing him against foolhardy compulsions, in jest though they may be.

‘No, we cannot set sail on the marrow and live together at sea.’
‘Yes, we must obey the laws of men and God and keep ourselves secret.’
’No, you can not name me Consort and proclaim our union.’

But I did not grow weary of his daydreams, particularly when they concerned our relationship. For the nature of our coupling would surely be easier to bear if we had no one around to admonish us, and I could not stop myself from considering his proposals, impractical though they were.

“Sebastian,” he cooed from his large canopy bed, and I knew to follow would be another conjuring of his lofty propositions, though this one seemed less mad than usual. “I want to visit the city. Not as a Prince, but a commoner. You can show me about an alehouse, we can have a drink to which I know you are so fond.”

I had to admit, the chance to see and experience James in a setting I undoubtedly had more experience in, tempted me for a moment. The opportunity to relax in his company without the threat of the castle’s watchful eyes was intriguing to say the least. “And what would you wish to see in the city that you could not see here?”

“Everything. Anything. It becomes so dull to walk the same halls day in, day out. So tediously mundane.” He looked at me pleadingly.

“And what of your hunting trip?” I asked, half genuinely, and half to remind him of the undesirable outcome that had transpired.

“Oh but that was ages ago,” he waved his hand dismissively, though it had been but two months. “I have always wanted to see the inside of a tavern. To get drunk on cheap wine and observe the spectacles. I would bet men dress up in costume and dance with mares under the moonlight,” he laughed

“It is not like that,” I responded with a twinge of annoyance at the way in which the Prince spoke of his common man. “We drink and we sing and yes- if a fellow has too many spirits, he may dance with a mare. But there is no spectacle, it is all done in good fun.”

“Then show me,” he challenged, clasping his hands together. “Please, Sir Knight,” and disarmed me.

I bowed my head, biting my cheek, before I looked back up to meet his hopeful stare. “I assume you have a plan of some sort?” and his eyes lit up like the spark of struck flint.

He told me of the clothes he would wear, raw and unadorned fabric. Of his plan to slip out of a certain back castle entrance, how we would set out at night fall and return before the rooster crowed. He told me of the sturdy rope he had acquired, of the window in the stairwell of the west tower a flight below his chamber window, just small enough that he might slip through it without altering the Knight that guarded his door.

“And that is all well and good-” I started, passing over some obvious objections I could think of. “But what of your return? You will never be able to climb your way back up that rope.”

James held up his slender arms and flexed his biceps, considering his own strength. “You may have a point,” he agreed. “And what if we wait for the change of guardsmen, it should happen before the break of dawn- you can find out for certain- we shall wait until you have the morning shift at my chamber door...” He trailed on, thinking out loud to himself with a manic, frenzied look in his eye and I knew it was to be.

“Alright,” I stopped him eventually, his dizzying scheme turning my head in circles. He met my eyes expectantly. “If you wish it, I will take you.”

He beamed at me, and it was almost worth the foolishness of our plot to see him do so. “Oh thank God-”

“But if you drink yourself silly and end up dancing with a mare, I shall leave your Princely arse to be trampled.” And smiled despite myself.

And thus, less than a fortnight later, and much to my own bemusem*nt, the plan was enacted.

***

I helped James clamber through the slim window, pulling his thin frame inside the darkening stairwell. I knew I could not have fit through if I tried, and had the Prince not been lithe and slender as a willow branch, he would not have either. He appeared much smaller than normal in only a linen undershirt and his gardening breeches, his golden crown missing from his dark hair. I was struck by how young he looked, and prayed I was not falling victim to the deranged fantasy of this boy’s delusions.

Unrolling the garments I had brought to aid in our plot, I handed over a plain brown kirtle and helped him secure it at his middle with a belt. I draped my traveling cloak over his shoulders to warm him and hide his face should he need it. It was too long for him and dragged heavily on the ground as he walked, but was at least, partially concealed and looked no more noble born than I.

Were I perhaps five summers older or had grown out my beard to an sufficient length, I might have passed for his father. But as it was, he was to be my bastard younger brother should anyone inquire. For one, because we shared no likeness, and for two, I found the notion quite humorous.

We walked swiftly through the corridors, and kept close to the walls, harkening for any sound, but we only came about two easily distracted castle guardsmen. Leaving through the heavily watched front tower entrance was out of the question, but there were several secluded back entrances that the Prince was keenly aware of, in case a situation arose in which he would have to make a daring escape from the throne.

I thought it best we set out on foot, though it would take longer. Horses were valuable and costly to maintain, typically owned by the wealthy such as nobles, knights, and affluent merchants. Since we wished to appear as none of these, we brought with us a lantern and skin of weak wine lest our walking parch us.

It was a brisk evening, but the gentle breeze and smell of dry leaves and the coming autumn refreshed our spirits and strengthened our stride. We passed the time chatting fondly and even chanced a few moments hand in hand, feeling my worries compress and slip from my mind.

When at last we came upon the city proper, I guided us past the closed shops on the main road, continuing on to the beaconing hearth lights shining from the alehouse windows where a broom was struck out above the door as signage.

The tavern was filled with the tapping tumble of cast die and the clink of mugs being cheered. Men laughed and hollered, clapping their hands and calling out to one another over the dense chatter; at one side of the room, two men bellowed a ballad and at the other, a lute was plucked inexpertly. Light flickered off merry faces and twinkled at the rims of half-drunk glasses and wine glazed eyes. The smell of a well stocked pottage and the yeasty musk of malted barley beer filled our senses. I had known such scenes since I had been about the Prince's age, but had not visited any in the many months of my Knighthood.

I turned to James, he seemed overwhelmed but his curious eyes darted about, drinking in the sight of such revelry as I knew he had scarcely seen before. Though I wished to present a stately composure, I could not hide my grin. “You grab us a table and I will fetch us some ale,” I told him. Here I was not afraid the Prince would be recognized as such. Even if someone gathered his likeness, which many common men knew only from description, it would not register in their addled minds that he might call upon a place such as this.

It was hard to locate the raven hair of the Prince amongst the merriment, but I finally spotted him in the far corner of the bar and made my way with two large mugs. I placed them on the overturned barrel that was set as a table, spotted with wax from the candle between us.

I watched as James took a sip from his mug. “This tastes… gone-off,” he said, examining the ale with suspect and wrinkling his nose.

“Aye, it tastes like piss, so be a good lad and drink it swiftly,” I laughed, taking several large gulps of my own. It had been some time since I had drank so deeply of cheap ale, and it filled my belly and clouded my head pleasantly. Feeling unburdened by my title for the first in many moons, I contented myself and considered the Prince fondly.

“Is there some celebration?” he asked me, still puzzled it seemed, by the atmosphere.

In a far corner, a row was started in one moment and was settled in the next. A table of tanned farmers near us banged their fists on the table in unison as their fellow downed his whole cup in one go. A hurried alewife rushed about, dispelling rabble and topping off pints.

I nodded. “Oh indeed, every hour spent not shoveling sh*te is one to be celebrated.” I reached towards him and cheered myself against his mug before finishing off my drink.

I urged my drinking partner to finish his cup before a bar maiden made the rounds and filled our mugs. I slapped two pence upon the table. “And you used to come here often?” James asked me, rightly reading my familiarity.

“Of a sort, nearly every night since I was a lad, spent about half my pay each time as well,” I smiled fondly, though I had not exactly been rewarded each morning with empty pockets and a throbbing head. “There is an inn as well farther down the road I would frequent more often.”

“Much the same as this?”

“Yes, though I guessed us less noticed here. Why? Does this surprise you?”

He shrugged, tossing back his ale and wiping the foam from his upper lip. “Just that, you seem… more refined than these men. You can read, you are well spoken,” he added.

“As I have mentioned before, I thought myself a scribe before joining the infantry. Apprenticed three years as such. But here, you will find talented scribes and illiterate charcoal burners alike, so what of it?”

“It is very… well, common, is it not?” His tone was disparaging.

“Maybe to your standards, but not every man can have his wine presented on a silver platter,” I shot back. Although my current position was vastly preferable, I was not ashamed to come from common birth. My Parents had been some of the hardest working people I had known, including any that settled within the castle.

“You must not think me prejudiced,” the Prince said, trying to justify himself. “After all, I am quite fond of you.”

“Oh?” I asked. “And am I so common?” I felt a bit stiffened by his show of privilege and attitude, but any anger I would have felt had been drowned with my last cup of ale and so I drank another, for I could not truly fault the Prince for his ignorance.

“Of birth perhaps, but I know you to have the heart of a Knight,” he said, and I laughed for I knew it to be a compliment despite its rather backhanded sentiment.

***

After several more ales and enjoying the round of a song eulogizing The Brazen King James and his love of mead sung by several drunken fellows, the Prince seemed to quite enjoy himself, despite the earlier disdain for the commonality of it all. It became harder to judge the time as we quaffed our drinks and delighted in each other's company, but I had indulged often and heavily enough to have at least half my wits about me, and was able to convince James to accompany me home, before it became obvious we had deserted our positions.

We walked in the worn cart tracks on the road leading back to the castle, teasing one another but intertwining our fingers between us. I was feeling fluid and unrestrained, my inhibitions fleeing from my center and dissipating out through my fingertips.

It started to rain, the first of the season, and I knew within the taverns and alehouses about the city, farmers rejoiced and drank to their crops. Though at first a gentle sprinkle, it soon grew to a torrential downpour, and I directed James to stow our lantern with my cloak he wore. It soon became an onslaught of wetness, soaking us through to the bone and roaring in our ears.

We trudged along, desperately so, in search of a place of respite, for we could no longer see the road that stretched in front of us and the Prince began to shiver, the rain soaking through my woolen cloak and weighing him down.

I spotted a fenced pasture and the darkened farm beyond it, rain flecking its outline. A snuggly built shed was set some distance away and to our luck, the chain that closed it was just long enough to allow the Prince to slip between the doors, and myself to squeeze in after him, the old wood catching my shirt and tearing a hole in the fabric as I struggled inside.

I hung our lantern on a sconce metal hook and cast the shed in a dim, warm light. It was built for storage, performing dutifully, keeping the stacks of hay, barrels of animal feed, and sacks of grains protected and dry. It was not large, but contained several piles of earth-smelling pasturage. On the floor was a bed for sleeping that looked like it had not been used in some time.

I laughed. “Seems a husband was cast to the doghouse,” I mused, gesturing to the bed.

“On this? This is not a bed, this is a…pile,” he gestured his hand aimlessly about the bed. “Do you mean to tell me you actually live like this? With dirty straw stuffed into a burlap sack to sleep on?” I thought he jested but his indignation was obvious from his expression.

I chuckled at the lapse in his knowledge, how he could be so informed of matters of reigning importance, but ignorant of simple facts of life. “I haven’t in some time, but in the infantry we had naught but a thin bed roll and cloak. So of this, I think you would prefer.” Feeling high-spirited, I grabbed some of the ‘dirty’ hay from the floor and threw it at him.

He looked playfully offended and gave me a jovial shove. My brain buzzing with the ale and a growing sense of boyish exuberance, I pushed him back, and our tussle soon found us embraced, pressing our dampened bodies together and letting our hands roam free and far.

I felt his palm grip me below my belt and then slide away, teasing, finding the hole in my shirt and slipping his fingers inside to stroke my skin. I was pressing him to the wall, grinding my body against his and fumbling with the tie of my britches while I feasted on his warm wet mouth, his heavy shuddering breath.

My manhood stiffened, the length starting to near the region of James’ navel and stretching almost to his breast, aching to fill that same area inside him. I knew he could feel it against him, for he simpered and arched his hips forward to press into me. For my girth, I did not wish to mount him dry, and instead held the hair atop his head and directed him downwards. His knees thudded against the straw strewn floor and I tilted his head back with the grip on his hair, wishing to look upon his fervent face.

He looked back up at me with an anxious excitement, his pupils wide and hungry.

“Open your mouth.” I spoke firmly, moving my hand to his chin where I stroked it with my thumb. He did as he was told, opening his jaw and exposing his soft, wet interior to me. “Wider,” I commanded, thumbing his bottom lip.

The Prince widened his mouth, his gaze still fixed up at me, doe eyed through his dark lashes. He looked but an innocent babe, though I knew him to be far from sinless. If he appeared to be an angel, it was indeed a fallen one.

When I had savored the sight of his beckoning orifice, I pressed down my stiffened prick so that it pointed level and guided it forward to stretch the Prince's lips around it.

He worked just the head, eager and senseless, pressing me to his pallet. It felt inexperienced but enthusiastic, licking the length of me before allowing more of it to enter inside of him as I urged forwards.

His hands moved to my hips, gently pushing back against my thrusts, stopping me from overwhelming his depth. After trying it vain to push past this resistance several times, I grabbed his wrists tightly and held them at my sides. I thrust into his open mouth, his head hitting the wood behind him and keeping him pinned in place as I drove myself past his conviction. I grunted and sank further, ridding his lungs of air and overtaking his restraint.

I could feel his throat tightening as he gagged and aimed to dislodge me from his gullet, but I held him firmly impaled until I thought he might turn blue. I drew back, allowing for a single gasp of air before pulling at his arms and forcing him to me as I buried his nose against my coarse crop of hair.

Though he choked to take me, James did not struggle against the assault, allowing me to use him as a hammer uses a nail, driving it into its place. And even as he struggled to free his wrist from my overpowering grasp upon them, his lips still urged forth, wishing to bare my width, excitement evident.

A fleeting urge to faint him crossed my mind like a red flash of heated steel; to render him unconscious, to feel his throat relax around me, expanding him completely, though my intentions were not so cruel. I wanted him to experience every second of this, to endure the fullness of this violation. I had already taken him between his legs, and now he would know me in every opening he possessed.

I pushed him further against the wooden wall, muffling the noises that seeped out from him and inundating the passage of his virgin throat, compressing his frantic tongue down along my length. I felt the tension building in my loins as the rapid pace of my hips knocked the back of his accommodating mouth, begging to sow my seed. And when I could hold back no longer, balancing on the precipice of pure desire and endless lust, I spilled into him, holding him firmly as I pulsed with oblivion.

When my eyes finally opened once more, I cast them down to the extent of my domination, to James’ furrowed brow and unadorned pate.

“Swallow,” I instructed, and I felt him trying to heed me, further constricting my sensitive organ. But by blocking his airway with my prick, much of it was forced out of him and ran down his chin. It was not until I pulled myself away that he obeyed, swallowing what remained and panting for breath.

I put myself away and kneeled on one knee in front of him, smearing my humor from his chin, pressing it back to his mouth to feed him his folly. He closed his parted lips and cleaned me of myself, his eyes heavily lidded and dark with passion.

My Prince seemed to be as spent as me, flushed and winded though apparently satisfied. He wrapped his arms about me and we lay on the summer smelling hay and listened to the heavy pounding rain slowly lighten to a dull tapping of the wet earth. Though necessity drove us from our daydreams, I could have lay there with him for an eternity

***

By the time we made it back to the castle, the dark curtain of stars was lifting from the esterning sky, and orange light began to crest the tops of the tallest trees. Our minds were still dizzy from drinks and it was a wonder our feet still carried us onward.

I could still taste myself on the Prince’s lips as we clung together, supporting our tired legs and pressing our spent bodies together for warmth. In the dark confines of his chamber room, James flung off his shirt and boots and I was quick to echo him.

Tired and sated, we collapsed as one on the Prince’s large bed, as though all that mattered in the world, was making sure neither let the other slip away to sleep without following close behind.