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Scroll I - Connor
“Your Grace! Your Grace!”
Connor is awakened by the frantic shouts of his handmaiden.
He yawns, rubbing his eyes. She’s probably overreacting again. Maybe a new boy in Court has made a move against Connor to gain King Arnaud’s affection, but Connor has been the King’s Favorite since he arrived at the capital at the tender age of fifteen.
Outside of the canopy, his handmaiden says with a trembling voice, “Your Grace, it’s Princess Ksenia! She — she’s on the eastern tower!”
“What…” He tries to make sense of her words.
She thrills, “The Princess is threatening to jump, Your Grace!”
Connor is wide awake.
He throws open the canopy, grabs the closest robe, and a second later, he is running through the hallways. His handmaiden can’t catch up with him, but he can’t wait for her.
Princess Ksenia is the King’s youngest and favorite daughter. She is also Connor’s best friend at Court.
At this hour, most occupants in the King’s palace are asleep. There are a handful of servants on night duty. They bow to him as he runs past them. The candlelight illuminating the hallways ripples in his wake.
When Connor bursts into the cold night air on top of the tower, Ksenia is curled up on the ground, quietly weeping.
“Princess!” He breathes a sigh of relief.
She looks up, her eyes swollen and red. He hurries over and kneels so they’re eye to eye. The coldness of the stone seeps into his legs.
“What’s the matter?” Connor brushes her arms. “How long have you been sitting here? Let me help you up. It’s freezing.”
She shakes her head. Tears keep sliding down her cheeks.
His voice softens. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s —“ She hiccups. “I, I sneaked into my father’s library this evening. Some Lords were there with him. I overheard their meeting.” She wipes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath. “They were discussing the peace treaty. With the House of Williams.”
Her voice breaks on the last word as she tears up again.
“Okay…?”
She continues with another hiccup, “Their new ruler will come here. To the capital. Prince Williams.”
Connor hasn’t heard much about this Prince Williams. The House of Williams has won the war. The battlefield was far from the capital. In the palace, nothing felt different when the war was waging. King Arnaud never talked about the war with Connor. Although Connor is the King’s Favorite, he is forbidden from meddling in state affairs. But he picks up tidbits from Court and servants in the palace — the House of Williams’ fiercest warrior is Prince Williams. The only prince with the family name in his title, which signifies a superior royal status and the highest likelihood for succession.
Ksenia closes her eyes as though she doesn’t want to face what she’s going to say next. “They’re considering a marriage alliance!”
“What?!”
She covers her face, shaking her head again. Her suppressed cries wrench his heart. He pulls her in his arms, gently stroking her back.
“Please, Connor…Only you can change my father’s mind! He can’t send me to Prince Williams for a marriage alliance! I heard…I heard that man killed his own brothers for the throne. He’s a monster!” She sobs into his chest.
“You’re his favorite daughter. He won’t do that to you!” Connor tries to comfort her, though deep down, he suspects King Arnaud will sacrifice his daughter if it brings peace between the kingdom and the House of Williams.
“I’m not his favorite. You are! He’ll make you the Consort one day! The whole Court knows it.”
Connor isn’t too sure about that. The war has reshuffled the Court. Newcomers have won the King’s favor, while some names have faded into obscurity. With this peace treaty and the visit of Prince Williams, Connor can sense that new winds will be blowing in the Court.
Scroll II - Connor
The next evening, Connor asks the servants to prepare a floral bath. After washing thoroughly, he wraps himself in a sheer robe that King Arnaud will like.
This is what Connor has been doing for the past ten years. Dutifully be the King’s Favorite.
He examines his body in the mirror.
Compared to his younger self, now he has the muscles and strength to resist. But why would he make his life difficult? The King treats him better than the Princesses. No one holds more sway over the King than Connor. All he has to do is whisper in the King’s ear under the sheets when pleasure is the only thing on the King’s mind. Connor cannot directly interfere with politics, but lines are blurred when the King’s dick is in your ass. One day, Connor’s beauty will wither away. The King will grow tired of him and cast him aside. People think being the Favorite is a blessing. But in the end, a Favorite is still a plaything. Just a fancy moniker for a whore.
Connor’s mind drifts to that fateful night ten years ago.
Connor doesn’t know what these men want with him. They seem to work for a wealthy Lord.
When his shift at the tavern ended tonight, the owner said he must go with these men, who came into the town with giant horses and finery. Probably some nobles from the capital. Connor is just a commoner boy living in a remote town in the kingdom. He has only heard stories of the capital and other kingdoms on the continent.
The men brought him to an old castle on the edge of the town. He’s been ordered to wait outside a room.
When the door finally opens, he comes face to face with a man in purple clothes — a royal. The man is much taller than him, muscular and healthy, like he’s never starved for a day of his life. He might be in his thirties, maybe older. There’s no sign of labor on this man’s smooth skin. His posture screams the kind of power that demands instant obedience.
Connor has no clue who this man is, so he bows his head and says, “My Lord.”
After a moment, he hears the man say, “Look at me, my boy.”
Something in that my boy makes Connor inwardly tremble. He shuffles his feet but obeys.
The man reaches out a hand, gripping Connor’s chin to lift his face. What is happening?
“My…my Lord?” Connor’s voice quavers.
The man rubs Connor’s bottom lip with a thumb. His eyes darken with something dangerous. Connor’s instinct tells him to run, but this man has soldiers and an entourage. Connor cannot outrun them. There’s no place for him to hide.
“You are…” The man draws in a heavy breath. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Connor starts.
No one has said that to him. In his little town, the desirable qualities of a man are his wealth and physical strength. A wealthy or physically fit man can provide a better life for his wife and children. Connor is too thin, and he’s always overworked. Although his family isn’t destitute, they’ve been struggling after his father ran away with their savings. This makes Connor the only man in the family. He does his best to support his mother and sister.
“You, you think I’m beautiful?” Connor asks in a disbelieving voice.
“Yes, I do.” The man strokes Connor’s cheek with his knuckles. The cold metal of his rings sends a chill through Connor. The man murmurs, “You’re stunning, my boy. Men will go to war for a gem like you. This provincial backwater has bedimmed you.”
Anger flares in him. Connor knows this town is just a barely visible name on the map that nobody in the capital gives a shit about, but it is where his mother and sister are. They have made a home here.
“I like it here!” He protests, though he keeps his voice neutral because he doesn’t want to enrage this man.
The man chuckles. “You have fire in your heart. I hope the Court won’t tame you.”
Then his smile drops. His hand falls away.
“I am your King,” the man says, his voice deep and emotionless all of a sudden.
What? Connor can’t be sure his ears aren’t deceiving him. Did this man just say he’s King Arnaud?
“You don’t have to believe me because you will see it for yourself.” The man says. He extends his hand to Connor. “Take my hand.”
Maybe this man is an imposter. Maybe he is the real King Arnaud. It doesn’t matter. Connor cannot refuse him. Commoners are at the mercy of a man like him.
Connor lays his hand over the man’s larger, callused palm. Before he can react, the man pulls him into the room.
It is a bedchamber.
“What —“
A maid is standing motionless by a doorway in the room, her head bowed.
“Clean him,” the man says to her.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she replies with a curtsy.
What are they doing to him?
The man — King Arnaud, looks at him. This is a different look. Unlike when he said You’re very beautiful, this look is full of hunger.
Then it hits him.
Oh no.
Nononono.
“Please!” Connor implores, his voice strangled. He is shaking. “You can’t, you can’t —“
“Shush,” the King presses a finger on Connor’s mouth. He says in a good-natured tone, “I will never hurt you.”
Connor just stares at King Arnaud, who is now caressing Connor in a way that says he will get what he wants from Connor. The King’s touch is affectionate but dominating.
A single tear rolls down Connor’s cheek. King Arnaud kisses it away, his mouth strange and foreign. Connor almost recoils from it. “You’re even more beautiful like this. Don’t cry, my sweet boy. I will be very gentle.”
“This way.” The maid gestures at the doorway, which probably leads to a bath chamber.
Connor is too shocked to move. King Arnaud nods at her, and the maid walks over to Connor and steers him forward.
He doesn’t remember how his clothes come off or how he ends up in a bathtub with lukewarm water, petals floating around him.
The maid methodically washes his hair. Every inch of his body.
“Uhm, do you know when I can go?” He asks her shakily. “Like, how long will he, I mean, the King, keep me here?”
She pauses and meets his eyes. There’s a faint sadness in her eyes, and knowledge, as though she knows something he doesn’t.
Connor grabs her hands beseechingly. “Please, if you know anything, tell me.”
She lowers her eyes and silently resumes her work. Connor thinks of his mother. His sister. They must be worried he’s not home yet. What will they think of him now?
Once she washes him three times, she says, “I will need to prepare you.”
Prepare him? Isn’t he already being prepared?
“I don’t understand,” he says. His mind has been spinning too fast. Perhaps he can’t comprehend anything right now.
She hesitates for a second and says, “It’s your private areas.”
Oh.
Connor lets out a small cry. His whole body starts to shake uncontrollably. This is real. It is going to happen.
“Can I do it myself?” He somehow finds his voice.
She purses her lips. “No. I am sorry.”
He closes his eyes, accepting his fate. She’s not the one you should be afraid of. She’s just doing her job. “Fine. Do it.”
She begins with his mouth. He doesn’t think he’s ever cleaned his teeth this meticulously. She shaves some parts of him and leaves other parts unshaven. Then his ass. She smears a slippery substance all over his crack. A hard, cold instrument slips into him.
“Ah.” He clenches his jaw to stop more shameful noises from coming out.
“It’s made of jade. Doesn’t hurt,” she says. Her motions feel punctilious, like she’s done it many times.
For a delirious moment, Connor wants to laugh because a thing worth more than his family’s savings is in his ass.
The jade instrument makes a wet sound as it exits his hole. She pats him dry and massages him with oil. He looks down at his body and almost doesn’t recognize it — he is pristine. She also puts some stuff on his face and lips.
He smells like flowers and expensive fragrances. She studies him up and down. Seemingly satisfied, she drapes a diaphanous garment around his body, adding a pearl necklace.
In the mirror, the boy staring back at him is unrecognizable and frightened.
She says with a note of awe in her voice, “You might be the most beautiful man in this kingdom. I am proud to be the first one to dress you.”
Connor doesn’t say anything, numbly letting her usher him back to the bedchamber.
King Arnaud is reclining in a high-backed chair near the hearth. He looks up when Connor reenters the room. His eyes go wide, and he’s momentarily frozen before pushing himself up. In the blink of an eye, he’s holding Connor in his arms.
“You did a good job. Leave us,” King Arnaud says to the maid, his eyes not leaving Connor for a second.
The door closes, sealing off the outside world. Her footsteps recede. There’s no one who can help Connor now.
The delicate garment is torn into shreds in a heartbeat. The tear of the fabric is loud like a bolt of lightning through the silence of the room. Connor jerks violently. King Arnaud buries his face in Connor’s neck, sucking the pulse there, his large hands roaming over Connor’s smaller body. The King’s muscly arms are taut as ropes.
“Please!” Connor shrieks, “You promised! You said…you said you’d be gentle.”
King Arnaud slows down, breathing heavily, his grasp on Connor’s shoulders still too tight. “Sorry, my boy, I…” He shakes his head in disbelief and tucks a strain of Connor’s hair behind his ear. “You’re just so beautiful.”
You are beautiful. Again. When the King said it an hour ago, Connor appreciated it, but now, it only saddens him. That’s all he is to this man, who will very soon reap everything from him. A beautiful, pliant body.
“Let me get you to the bed.” King Arnaud says and, without waiting for Connor’s reaction, lifts him up. Connor’s legs dangle on either side of the King’s large body. Connor can feel the heat radiating from the man, but it doesn’t warm Connor. If anything, Connor’s hands and feet are clammy with cold sweat.
His back sinks into the mattress. A moment later, King Arnaud is on top of him, frantically kissing him everywhere, which leaves behind a trail of wetness. The King is fully clothed. Shame floods through Connor at his own nudity.
Connor lies there. He’s as rigid as a scarecrow. The King sighs against Connor’s wet cheek, dragging a hot tongue over the softness. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
For a moment, Connor thought the King had changed his mind. But then he realized the King said you don’t have to do anything, not we.
Connor stares at King Arnaud with blank eyes. He can’t just give in. There must be a way for him to resist. A vehement remark. Or maybe he shouldn’t cooperate. Fight the man, so when this man inevitably overpowers him, it will be tainted with his resistance. But resistance won’t do him any good. The King might punish him, or worse, his family. He just wants this to be over and go home.
Tentatively, Connor rests his hands on King Arnaud’s shoulders. He gives the King the tiniest nod. “Please, don’t hurt me.” He says in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own.
The King exhales, a genuine smile spreading across his face. He pulls away from Connor to grab a flask on the cabinet next to the bed.
“This is olive oil, so I don’t hurt you.”
Connor didn’t know olive oil could be used this way. He doesn’t respond — his soul might have left his body, drifting over the bed and watching, as King Arnaud inserts a finger into his hole.
The calluses on that finger are doing something to Connor. His insides flutter with an unfamiliar warmth. He squeezes his eyes shut, but it only amplifies the feeling. The King adds a second and third finger, stretching him out. It doesn’t hurt. Not exactly. It just feels…full.
“That’s it, my sweet boy. You’re doing well.” King Arnaud plants a kiss on his forehead.
Connor is arching off the bed. His cock has hardened, a bead of fluid shimmering on the tip. He can’t help but shake his head. This is wrong. His body has never done this before.
“What — what’s happening to me?” He says with a confused expression.
“It means you enjoy it, my boy. I can bring you joy.” King Arnaud nuzzles Connor’s hair as he withdraws his fingers. He croons, “Such a good boy. See? Your body wants it. Wider for me, as much as you can, sweet boy. You’ll take me so well. I know you will. Will you disappoint me?”
Connor doesn’t know how to answer. He has a vague idea of the next step, but his mind is clotted with confusion and overstimulation.
The rustling of clothes disturbs the brief silence.
Then, a hard, scalding rod penetrates him.
“AHH!!” Connor yelps, thrashing against the heavy man on top, the weight immobilizing him. Distantly, he knows the rod is King Arnaud’s cock, but it doesn’t feel like human flesh because nothing can be so intrusive and sharp like it’s gutting him from the inside. It hurts so much. He must be bleeding, his cock going soft in an instant. Pain explodes into a million shards in his body.
“Pleasepleaseplease…stop. Stop!”
The rod stops advancing deeper. But it stays inside him.
Rivulets of tears flow down his face, staining the pillowcase. “Please. I can’t.”
King Arnaud’s eyes are compassionate, but even in this haze, Connor doesn’t miss the flash of impatience.
“Tell me, my sweet boy, how do I make it better?” The King traces Connor’s jaw with featherlight kisses.
“I, I, I don’t know. It’s hurting me.” Tears blur his vision again. He says accusingly, without much force, “You lied! You said it wouldn’t hurt.”
“It’s my fault. I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so sorry.” King Arnaud’s voice has grown rougher, veins protruding from his neck as though he’s exerting a lot of effort. “But will you be brave for me? When I’m all the way in and start moving, you will like it. Believe me, my boy. You have been amazing so far.”
“Really?” Connor didn’t hate how the King moved his fingers when they were inside Connor. Maybe the pain will go away once the King’s cock moves like that.
“Really.”
“Alright,” Connor says in a tiny voice as he tightens his grip on the King’s shoulders, readying himself for the pain that, if the King told the truth, would become pleasurable. The King’s eyes darken with desire. He growls, “Yes, hang onto me, my boy. You are so good. So perfect for me.”
Then, he rams the entire length of his cock into Connor in one go.
“AAAAAh!”
A scream rips out of Connor and ends on a single, dry sob.
Connor might have passed out for a few seconds. When he regains consciousness, the King has started to move. Slow at first. The rhythm quickly gets faster and rougher. Connor’s cries of pain soon become something else. He’s never heard himself making these noises before. Loud moans that have both pain and pleasure.
“How are you feeling? Better?” King Arnaud says breathlessly as if he’d been sprinting.
Nodding, Connor instinctively lifts his hips to adjust his position. The King groans. “My boy, you’re made just for me. You fit me perfectly. You’re learning so fast. That pleases me very much.”
Connor didn’t know he needed the praise. It’s reassuring. King Arnaud is pleased, and the pain is fading. Once all this is over, the King will be happy with Connor, and Connor will return to his mother and sister, who will remain safe.
King Arnaud’s cock slams into a particular spot in Connor, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through him from head to toe. What was that? The King does it again.
Connor looks down; his cock is hard again. As the King makes long and deep thrusts inside him, hitting that spot multiple times, Connor knows he’s close.
“I want, I want —“
“Yes, my boy. Show me.”
A moment later, the strongest pleasure he’s ever felt gushes out of him. Hot cum spurts between them, dirtying the sheets.
“We didn’t even touch you there. You came on my cock.“ King Arnaud says incredulously, “You are perfect. Beautiful and perfect.”
With that, the King lets out a guttural moan as he pounds into Connor with an unyielding vigor that scares him. Although Connor just came, another crescendo is building in him.
King Arnaud pulls him up so he’s on the man’s lap. Connor is much lighter. The King effortlessly pumps Connor on his cock, thrusting up and down into the hole. The clapping of flesh is wet and raw. It’s too much. Connor’s body is near depletion as a second orgasm completely wipes out his last strength.
“Please…” Connor doesn’t have enough strength to speak louder. “I’m tired. I need…”
But King Arnaud doesn’t seem to hear him. Connor’s words dissolve into useless moans as the King single-mindedly penetrates Connor in greater depth. The King’s body spasms. He pulses inside Connor.
King Arnaud’s cum fills him up. It feels thick, heavy, and too deep inside. The King lightly brushes his lips against Connor’s, their only kiss for the whole night.
Connor extracts himself from the memory. It was Connor’s first time, and the King has been his only one ever since. Many ladies would kill for the Royal seeds that the King spills into Connor every night. In the past, Connor wished the King would find another Favorite — exhaustion was eating Connor alive. Although King Arnaud has lovers, those relationships never survive longer than a few months. The King always comes back to Connor. Connor has no idea why, and he has no interest in figuring out the reasons.
“Connor?”
King Arnaud has donned a dark purple robe, his feet bare and hair dripping.
The King has publicly said Connor doesn’t have to kneel before the crown, but Connor always follows the rules of etiquette to the letter, so he bows his head. “Your Majesty.”
“You smell good,” King Arnaud says. He locks Connor in a tight hug, his arms caging Connor’s chest. They both look at the mirror. The King says, “This color suits you. Good choice.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.”
Connor relaxes into the man behind him. Any negative reaction from ten years ago has long turned into dust. Now, there’s no discomfort, or shame, or fear. They know each other intimately. King Arnaud can name every sensitive spot on Connor’s body, what each spot likes, and the different kinds of noises Connor would make; there is no other man or woman in this kingdom who knows the King’s body better than Connor. Connor always knows when and how to please the King.
Today, King Arnaud appears weary. Probably because of the planning for the visit by Prince Williams.
Connor twists around to cup the King’s face. “You look tired. Let me?”
King Arnaud nods wordlessly. He sits on the edge of the bed with a sigh. Connor climbs on the bed, kneeling beside him.
Connor starts to massage the man’s head. Then neck, shoulders, and back.
“Was it a difficult day?” Connor says casually, kneading the hard muscles with dexterity.
“Takes them forever to fucking decide on one thing. We might not have enough time to debate all the possibilities for the peace treaty before Williams arrives.”
“Is it true he murdered his brothers?” Connor asks with genuine curiosity.
“Yes, based on reports from our eyes and ears. When the old king died, he slaughtered his brothers one by one in one day. Now he rules that pathetic harbor he calls a city-state.” The King scolds.
Connor doesn’t point out that the “pathetic harbor” controls a third of the continental trade.
“Will he demand a marriage alliance?” He says carefully.
King Arnaud shrugs. “Nothing is certain for now. Williams is known to act…unconventionally in diplomacy. A marriage alliance is one of the cheapest paths for us.”
“If it’s going to be a marriage alliance, who will you —“
“That’s enough, Connor. You’re not my advisor.”
No, I’m not. I’m your whore.
Connor halts the massage, his head bowed. “I am sorry, your Majesty. I overstepped.”
The King gathers Connor’s hands to his mouth, and his lips rake the knuckles in a soothing way, his eyes devoted but serious. “I just don’t want you to worry about any of that.”
Connor leans in so their foreheads touch. He whispers, “But hypothetically, which Princess would you send? You know Ksenia is my friend. I worry for her.”
King Arnaud doesn’t reply right away. He pulls Connor closer, sinking his fingers into Connor’s ass cheeks.
“Marriage is a Princess’s royal duty,” the King says simply.
Connor inwardly quakes at the implication. “But she’s your favorite daughter. She’s so young.”
“You were young when you began to share my bed.”
Connor forcefully sucks in a breath, looking away. “You would allow the same fate for your daughter?”
“I have many regrets, Connor. But you’re not one of them. You know that,” King Arnaud murmurs against Connor’s lips. “This Kingdom won’t always be mine. My subjects won’t always be mine. I don’t intend to die on the throne. When the time is right, I will abdicate, and we’ll go somewhere else, just us. You are the only thing that’s always mine.”
The King strips off Connor’s robe and pins him to the bed. Connor puts on a timid smile as he spreads his legs.
Scroll III - Ksenia
The Treaty Banquet has been dragging on for hours. Ksenia hasn’t eaten anything all night.
There’s enough food to feed an entire village, but no one is really interested in the food. Since Prince Williams entered the capital, riding the infamous black horse that accompanied him into battle, everyone in the Court has been holding a collective breath. They have lost the war, and Prince Williams has come here to dictate the terms of the peace treaty.
Her father, His Majesty King Arnaud, has spoken to his advisers about what Prince Williams might ask for. Gold. Slaves. Land. Goods. Access to trading routes. Of course, the cheapest option is a marriage alliance. Ksenia has other sisters, but to offer her would be the most effective because she is the King’s favorite daughter.
Connor said her father wouldn’t do that, but her friend knows what kind of man her father truly is. No one can remain at the King’s side for ten years without understanding this man. From what she can tell, her father is completely lost in his Favorite — her father would let Connor sit on the throne seat; he’d leave in the middle of a council meeting if Connor wanted to watch the sunset together; he once personally cut off the hand of someone who touched Connor in the wrong way. Connor has to wear a gilded mask or veil in public, a symbol of the rarity of his beauty and King Arnaud’s possession of him. The King likes to keep his Favorite cloistered, so Connor is not at the banquet tonight.
Ksenia anxiously scans the hall. Despite being the guests, the Williams delegation seems more at home. Their tables hum with the clinks of utensils and mild conversations.
Prince Williams sits closest to the front. His armor is still on, black and glistening in the candlelight. The Captain of the Guards is a blonde woman named Lady Sophie, and she’s right next to him.
Many ladies from the Court have been stealing glances at Prince Williams — he has exotic features. A blend of this continent and the blood of the East. If her father offers her to him, at least the man who will fuck her and breed her will have a pleasant face.
Prince Williams suddenly meets her eyes, noticing her attention. He raises his chalice and gives her a polite smile.
A shiver slithers down her spine. She knows better. Handsome men are usually cruel. Handsome and powerful men possess no heart.
Ksenia detects another pair of eyes on her. On the periphery of her vision, King Arnaud is observing this spontaneous interaction between her and the Prince. Now he might seriously consider marrying her off to their enemy.
As though sensing her agitation, the Prince looks away from her.
King Arnaud clears his throat. The hall quiets down. “Prince Williams,” he says coldly, his voice reverberating between the high walls. “Have you and your advisors reviewed the draft of the treaty we sent this afternoon?”
“Not yet,” the Prince drawls. “It has more than a hundred pages, King Arnaud.“
“I’m sure someone can explain it to you if a treaty is too abstruse for a young ruler like yourself.”
Some courtiers laugh. Lady Sophie shoots a frosty glare at the ones who make fun of her leader.
Prince Williams doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He glances at the King with an amused expression, “I have read every page of it. You might want to discharge whoever wrote this draft — it shouldn’t be called a draft, more like scribbles from a banal daydream. Despite its poor quality, I can recite any article in it, though I doubt you can say the same. Didn’t you recently celebrate your fiftieth birthday, King? My old man, bless his soul, couldn’t remember my mother’s face when he reached advanced age. But I wouldn’t dread it now if I were you. You still have a long way to go.”
It’s actually the forty-eighth birthday, but the hall has gone utterly silent as two of the most powerful men on this continent stare down at each other. Ksenia grips her handkerchief tightly. It could catch on fire from the searing hostility palpable in the air.
The King chuckles humorlessly. “You are bold to mention your late father after…eliminating your brothers, Kinslayer.”
“We must do what’s best for our countries. Surely you can empathize with that. In any case.” The Prince waves a hand to dismiss the topic. “This has been a delectable meal. On behalf of my people, I thank you for your hospitality, King Arnaud. Your Court is charming.”
Prince Williams surveys the hall, absentmindedly twirling the chalice in his hand. “I heard many stories of the most beautiful man in your kingdom. The King’s Favorite.”
The words hang in midair. If it’s even possible, the hall has fallen quieter than before. Ksenia isn’t surprised that Prince Williams knows about Connor. Poems and songs have extolled Connor’s beauty. If the Prince has any real insight into the Court, he would know the King’s Favorite has more influence over the King than the top advisers.
“Why is your Favorite not in attendance? King Arnaud, you wouldn’t mind satisfying my curiosity, would you?”
The King barks out a harsh laugh. No one laughs this time.
“You are a reckless brat, Williams. I’ll give you that.”
The Prince says playfully, “So the answer is no?”
The King leans forward, seething. The table rattles as he smacks his fists on the surface. “A man like you isn’t worthy enough to kiss his feet. If you use that insolent tone to address him again, you and your people shall find your time here much more unpleasant than you expected.”
Scroll IV - Connor
His favorite place on the palace grounds is the maze.
The maze is massive. When Connor was much younger, he would come here before he was supposed to go to King Arnaud’s bedchamber at night. Every time he hid in the maze, he prayed that the soldiers wouldn’t find him, so he wouldn’t have to be a good boy for the King.
It never worked. The soldiers would always find him and escort him straight to the King’s bedchamber. If the King had a bad mood that day, he’d be rougher with Connor in bed as if to discipline Connor for his wayward behavior.
Nowadays, Connor comes here if he needs the peace.
The towering hedges block out any light or sound from the Treaty Banquet. Although Connor loves to learn about other cultures and peoples, the King never lets him set foot outside of the palace. When foreign dignitaries come to the capital, the King only allows Connor to attend the reception where Connor has to stay behind an oriental screen, so the attendees won’t even know he’s there, as if Connor were a prized commodity, too fragile and valuable that the owner didn’t trust people to lay eyes on him without being tempted to steal him.
Connor wanders through the maze for hours, going around in circles. When his time is up, he heads toward the exit. Tonight, King Arnaud will be needing his Favorite to relax after a stressful day.
He quickens his pace, almost out of the maze.
That’s when the glint of metal whizzes past his ear.
Connor comes to an immediate halt.
Assassin?
Then he registers the cold pressure on the crook of his neck.
Behind him, leaves and twigs crack under the dull sound of boots. A fruity, male voice cuts through the quiet maze, “Name yourself.”
Connor swivels his head a bit. The metal — a sword, inches closer in response.
“Do not move.”
Connor swallows audibly. “My Lord, I’ve been here all night. I was just on my way out.”
“If you are innocent, why are you covering your face. The banquet is nearly over. Guests are retreating to their chambers. An opportune time for assassination.“
His veil. Shit.
The Court knows the King’s Favorite is usually masked or veiled. Maybe this man isn’t from the Court.
“I’m —“ Connor pauses.
For some reason, he doesn’t want to say he’s the King’s Favorite. He rarely has to say it. Now, saying it to this man feels…wrong.
The man doesn’t wait for Connor to finish. He says in a soldierly manner, “Hands up where I can see them. Is it okay if I search you for weapons?”
Connor obliges. “Yeah.”
“Alright, I’m going to search you now. No sudden movement. My blade will be faster,” he warns.
He doesn’t need to convince Connor. From the way this man articulates, he’s definitely a soldier with some level of authority.
The man slightly lifts his sword from Connor’s shoulder and proceeds to search Connor.
His touch is impersonal. It reminds Connor of a royal physician’s examination. The clinical touch of a professional.
The man pats Connor’s ankles, then up to his shins and thighs.
“Turn around, please. Slowly.”
Connor does what the man says.
He suppresses a gasp.
Before him is a gorgeous, young man, his hair and eyes black as the night sky above them. Although his armor conceals his body, Connor can tell this man is powerfully built. There’s a luscious dip on this man’s upper lip, tinged with a smidgen of peachy red that somehow glitters in the dark. It could just be a trick of the light. This man can’t just be a regular soldier, maybe a Lord’s son serving in the ranks.
The man swiftly checks Connor’s waist and arms. Before Connor realizes it, the man is already done. His sword slides into the scabbard with a shing.
“Thank you.” The man says haltingly. He takes in Connor’s fine clothes and jewelry. “Apologies for the inconvenience. How may I address you?”
Connor just stares at this man, who seems unaware of how his youth and beauty have rendered Connor speechless. He’s probably one or two years younger than Connor; he isn’t from the Court; he doesn’t recognize the King’s Favorite. And when he searched Connor, his hand was gentle. Almost chivalrous. They’re in the maze with no one around. It’s so dark that this man cannot see Connor’s face through the veil. Every condition is optimal. This could be a…chance. Connor hasn’t been touched by another man for so long. His servants are all women. At Court, only women dare to befriend him because King Arnaud is always suspicious of any male courtier who gets too friendly with Connor.
This is the perfect chance.
“Will you touch me?” Connor blurts out.
The man frowns. “What?”
“Touch me,” he whispers. “Please?”
Connor takes a step toward the man, their chests almost brushing. He’s the one asking, so he can’t be shy about it.
He tugs on the strings of his own cloak. It comes off with a swoosh. He lets it drop to the ground and pool around his feet. Under the cloak, he’s wearing a gauzy, turquoise robe that exposes his chest from the neck to his navel, the fabric on either side narrowing as it flows down to the waist, where it’s fastened. His nipples are tantalizingly close to the rim of the fabric. All it takes is a flick of a finger to completely reveal them. This is one of the more modest pieces Connor has. Most of the clothes King Arnaud gifts Connor are not meant for anyone else but the King’s eyes.
The man is visibly enthralled by what he’s seeing — no man wouldn’t be. His gaze rakes over Connor’s body, his black eyes dilating.
Before the man can react, Connor grabs the man’s hand and presses it against his bare skin.
This seems to shake the man out of his stupor. The man yanks his wrist out of Connor’s hand. Cold air stings Connor’s skin where the callused hand was a moment ago.
Connor lets out an involuntary, surprised gasp.
The man steps back from him and says in a voice that’s faintly unsteady, “That was — how may I address you?”
“They call me Your Grace,” Connor says, a bit dazed by the man’s rejection.
“Your Grace,” the man exhales, running a hand through his hair with a mixture of frustration and…is that concern? “With all due respect, Your Grace, you must not do that again. I’m armed and stronger than you. If I were an evil man, I might have taken advantage of you, and you wouldn’t be able to call for help.”
Oh.
“No. That’s not — I want to. I wanted you to touch me.“
Connor can’t put it into coherent words. When this man touched him, Connor felt respected. This man could have let his hand linger in places that it shouldn’t, but he didn’t. Soldiers have never made Connor feel safe because they all answer to the King, but with this man, Connor believes he won’t hurt him. At least for tonight.
The man continues, “Your Grace, I’ve only known you for a short period of time, but my intuition tells me you are a kind person. Please, protect yourself and do not do that to yourself again, especially since a great number of men will have a lapse in judgment when they see you like this.”
Connor freezes. Please, protect yourself and do not do that to yourself again. No one has ever said that to him. After all, Connor is the King’s Favorite. It’s the King’s job to protect him. Connor thinks that strange sentence means something else here, but he’s not sure he wants to dwell on it.
The man kneels down and collects Connor’s cloak. He drapes it over Connor’s body, his hands carefully avoiding Connor. Yet those eyes are a little too dark, the movements a little too stiff — this man liked what he saw but is holding back.
Connor murmurs, “Can you close your eyes?”
“Your Grace —“
“Do it for me, please. I beg you.”
The man sighs deeply, as though deciding whether to listen to Connor is a thousand battles. At last, he relents.
Connor quietly unwinds his veil. He makes a blindfold of it and covers the man’s eyes.
The man instantly stiffens, “Your Grace, what are you —“
Connor seals those lips with his own. The lips from which respectful utterances come out as naturally as breathing. Connor doesn’t need respectful or Your Grace right now.
He needs this. Contact and friction.
Not because he has to, but because he wants to.
Connor sips on that plump mouth that has opened up to receive Connor. The man lets out a muffled groan. Connor finds the man’s hands and places them on his hip. He grunts in exasperation as the man still doesn’t move.
Then Connor will have to do it himself.
He interlaces their fingers and brings the man’s hand to his nipple. The man’s whole body lurches as he gasps loudly into Connor’s mouth.
“Do you want to taste my nipple?” Connor coos. “Tell me the truth.”
The man gives him a firm nod. As if it wasn’t enough, he says, “I want. I — I want.” But Connor also hears the unspoken part — I want to do anything you desire.
“Taste it, please. I want your mouth on me.”
For a moment, the man seems to waver again. Connor decides the man needs an incentive, so he pinches his nipple, making a small moan.
With a shuddering breath, the man is on him right away. Connor throws his head back in a long sigh as the man worships Connor’s nipple with his tongue. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there. He sucks on it like he were a thirsty traveler in the desert and Connor’s nipple contained the last drop of water.
“Are you good?” The man looks up at Connor, though his eyes are behind the blindfold.
“Yeah.” Connor says with an almost wistful tone, “That feels good.”
The man straightens up, his dark eyebrows in a slight frown. “You sound…I don’t know. I can’t see you, but you sounded sad.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah.” The man tilts his head. “Are you…good?”
This feels like a different question. Not about what they did.
The man’s hands hover over Connor’s arms like he’s still hesitant to be intimate with Connor.
Connor’s stomach grumbles.
Grateful for the diversion, Connor glances away and says, “I’d better go.” He explains needlessly, “The kitchen will have leftovers from the banquet.”
“You haven’t eaten?” The man’s frown deepens.
“No, I…I came here and lost track of time.”
This is madness. Now his mind has calmed down from whatever that was. An opportunity arose, and he took it. But he can’t be greedy. He should let it go now. If this continues, the consequences could be deadly.
Connor takes one step away.
The man shoots out his hand, catching Connor’s wrist.
“Wait,” the man says, his hand unyielding like a metal cuff. “Let me walk you back. I won’t do anything.”
Connor believes him. If he really wanted to do something, Connor’s clothes would already be gone.
“I know, but I must go back alone. Please, release me,” Connor says sincerely.
He strokes the man’s face in the gentlest way he knows, and he hates it a tiny bit because everything he knows about intimacy is from King Arnaud, and he suspects there’s a kind of gentleness that will remain inaccessible to him, also because this will be goodbye. I wish I could hold you again and again. In another world, perhaps.
After a second that could have been forever, the man loosens his grip, retracting his hand inch by inch as if he’d never be ready to let Connor go.
“Can I see you again? Here, tomorrow night,” the man asks, his voice full of hope, almost a plea.
Connor is glad the blindfold is there, so the man won’t see the guilt on his face as he says, “Yes.”
This man will keep their promise — Connor has no doubt. As Connor turns his head for one last look, the man hasn’t left. It reminds Connor of a figure from a mythical tale who willingly became a statue to wait forever for someone to return.
Regret begins to crawl under his skin because tomorrow at this hour, the man will come and wait for him while he writhes and moans in the King’s bed.