"No way!" I said, my voice filled with excitement as Alocan and I ambled back towards the castle, our horses' hooves echoing softly on the cobblestone path.
"I swear on my life," he replied, his cheeks flushing a bit.
I was once again amazed by how Alocan's physical presence could so starkly contrast with his demeanor.
He was a towering figure, with muscles that rippled beneath his clothes and and an aura of power that seemed to make him a natural leader. Yet, as soon as he spoke, his soft-spoken nature and lack of confidence were glaringly obvious, like a wilted flower on a mighty oak. It was something that had caught my attention when we were both children playing in the castle gardens. Back then, he was already bigger than the rest of us, but his shyness had made him interesting to me.
My father, King Aldric, had always placed a high value on physical strength. In the kingdom where our castle loomed, it was the currency of power. From the time my brother Landon and I were young, he had us both trained rigorously in combat and strategy, pushing us to be the epitome of masculine might.
He had looked at me with a mix of disappointment and confusion as I remained small and slender despite the training, while Landon grew into his role as the heir apparent with ease. It was as if my very being was a rejection of his ideals.
Landon, had taken after father in every way. He was a hulking giant, with muscles that seemed to have been chiseled by the gods themselves. His laugh boomed through the castle halls, and his presence was always felt, commanding attention wherever he went. And yet, for all his brawn, he had the kindest soul. He was my protector, my confidant, and the one person who never questioned my sexuality, even when it was as clear as the sun in the sky that I was different from the other boys.
Father's words, though, had left an indelible mark on my young psyche. Every time he spoke of the importance of strength, every time he praised Landon's burgeoning biceps and scoffed at my slender frame, a part of me shrank further into myself. But it also sparked a yearning, a fascination with the very thing he revered. I found myself drawn to the men who embodied the ideal he had set forth, those who were strong and powerful, like the knights in the books I read in secret.
It hadto be the reason why, as my tastes grew and my sexuality bloomed, I found myself particularly attracted to muscular, hulking figures.
In the years since, I had become quite adept at blending in. Being the second son of the king meant I had certain privileges, but it also meant I was subject to the same expectations and pressures as any other member of the royal family.
Since father had lost interest in my skills that didn't involve brute strength, he allowed me to spend my days with my nose buried in books or riding my horse, Whisper, across the vast fields surrounding the castle. I never questioned why he had let me escape the rigorous routine that Landon endured, but now, as the castle bustled with the preparations for the week-long festivities, I had a suspicion.
"Remember? I have sweet talked to her for at least a month now," Alocan went on, his eyes lighting up with the memory. "And you told me I only wasted my time whenever I did," He added, trying to prove a point, and recalling the numerous times I had teased him for beeing smitten.
"Well, heaven knows I'm happy for you," I said, a smirk playing on my lips. "I'm finally free from listening to your endless pining."
Alocan rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face was unmistakable. "You know how hot she is, dude!" He said, his voice filled with the excitement of a boy who had just snuck into the royal kitchen for a midnight feast. "It was like winning the jousting tournament, but better!"
I chuckled. "So, what was it that finally tipped the scales in your favor?" I asked, curious about the tactics he had employed to win over the fair lady.
Alocan's eyes darted away, his cheeks reddening even more. "Well, I did what you told me to do," he mumbled, looking down at his hands.
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, the smirk growing on my lips. "Do tell, what was this grand advice of mine?"
Alocan looked back at me, his eyes a mix of embarrassment and something else. "You said I should be more assertive." He took a deep breath. "So, I did. I told her straight out how hot she was and that I wanted her."
I couldn't help but laugh. "That's it?"
Alocan laughed, "And that wasn't even the best part!" He exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "She was so head over heels for me, she couldn't wait. We ended up going at it right there in the hallway!"
"No way!" I exclaimed, slapping Alocan's broad shoulder in astonishment, barely able to contain my laughter. "You're pulling my leg, aren't you?"
"No, I swear!"
I shook my head. "Well, who would have thought that a Lady, the epitome of chastity and grace, would hop on your dick that quick?" I teased, disbelief lacing my words.
Alocan shrugged, his face a picture of innocence. "I guess she was tired of waiting for the right knight," he said with a wink.
I couldn't hold back my laughter anymore. It bubbled out of me like a fountain, and soon Alocan joined in, his deep chuckles echoing through the quiet we were passing through. Our horses seemed to pick up on our mood, prancing lightly and tossing their heads. It was moments like these that I treasured the most, where the weight of the castle and its expectations felt a million miles away.
We continued our banter as we made our way back to the castle, leaving our horses with the staff at the stable, before walking over the castle grounds towards the side entrance. The guards lining the perimeter nodded respectfully as we passed, their eyes lingering briefly on Alocan before shifting to me, their expressions a mix of deference and curiosity. It was a dance we had performed countless times, a silent acknowledgment of my royal status and the whispers that surrounded my personal life.
As much as Alocan fit the mold of what I found attractive in a man, with his powerful build and chiseled features, the spark of romance had faded long ago. Our friendship had grown too strong, too comfortable, for me to tarnish it with unrequited love. He was like a brother to me, and I knew that pushing for more would only serve to complicate things.
He accompanied me up the grand staircase, the heavy tapestries that adorned the walls whispering stories of battles and conquests. The rushing staff members, with their arms laden with decorations and supplies for the impending festivities, stepped aside to let us pass, their eyes darting towards me before quickly looking away.
"See you at lunch," Alocan said, his hand resting on the heavy oak door to my chamber. His gaze held his usual warmth, a carefreeness that could always hightened my mood.
"Looking forward to it," I replied, matching his enthusiasm.
As the door to my chamber closed behind him, I let out a sigh. I knew I was probably reeking of sweat and horse, a scent that lingered from our impromptu ride. I called for a servant to prepare a bath for me, the thought of sinking into warm water infused with fragrant oils and herbs washing away the earlyday's grime and stress was incredibly tempting.
The tub was already filled with steaming water when I entered the adjoining bathing chamber, scented with lavender and rose petals. The tapestries on the walls depicted scenes of ancient battles, their vibrant hues bled into the misty air. My attendant, Tuff, a burly man with a gentle touch, had anticipated my needs and had the bath ready in minutes. He hovered outside, waiting for my call.
I peeled off my riding clothes, feeling the sticky fabric slide off my skin. The stench of horse and sweat clung to me like a second skin, a stark contrast to the opulent surroundings. The bath was a sanctuary, a place where I could shed the expectations of being a prince for a brief moment. I stepped into the water, the heat enveloping me, and sighed as the tension began to melt away.
As I lounged in the tub, my thoughts turned to the festivities that awaited me. My heart grew heavy with the weight of the impending week. The castle was already alive with the buzz of preparations, and the air was thick with the scent of ambition. It was a week where alliances were made and futures were decided, often without the consent of those whose futures were being bartered.
I sank deeper into the water, feeling the heat seep into my muscles as the bubbles popped against my skin. For a second, I allowed myself to consider the possibility that my father had been planning this all along. It would explain his sudden lack of interest in my combat training, his willingness to let me spend my days reading and riding instead of in the training yard. Maybe the festival was his way of showcasing me to potential suitors, a way to secure political alliances without the burden of his "weak" son as a sargent next to the throne.
But then, I dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. It was too much like a plot from one of the courtly romances I read in secret, too dramatic and too... degrading. Surely, even in a world where power was king, a prince would not be treated as a commodity to be traded for land and gold. I was his son, not a prize heifer to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
Yet, as I lay in the tub, the warmth of the water doing little to ease the cold dread that had settled in my stomach, I couldn't shake off the feeling that my father had something up his sleeve.
Deciding to stop overthinking, I stood up, the water sloshing around me. I knew that stewing in my fears would only make the week worse. Instead, I resolved to face the festivities with an open mind, to make the best of the situation. I was determined not to let the whispers in my head ruin the fun I could have. After all, I had always enjoyed the festivities in the past, and there was no reason to assume that this year would be any different.
As the day grew long, the shadows danced on the castle walls, hinting at the approaching evening. I made my way towards the great hall, the thoughts of the morning long forgotten in the whirlwind of preparations and gossip that had filled my day. The castle was a maze of bustling activity, tomorrow's ball being the central topic of every whispered conversation.
My heart thudded in my chest as I approached the heavy wooden doors of the hall, adorned with intricate carvings of battles long past. The sound of laughter and the clank of silverware against plates grew louder with each step. The scent of roasting meats and sweet desserts wafted through the corridors, setting my stomach to rumble.
The two guards standing sentinel before the entrance snapped to attention as I approached. Their faces remained stoic, but I caught the flicker of curiosity in their eyes as they recognized me. They knew the whispers, the rumors about the prince who didn't quite fit the mold. Yet, they held their tongues, respectful of my status, if not my person.
With a nod, they pulled open the door, each one taking a side as if they were presenting the grand stage of my fate. Their biceps bulged under the strain of the effort, the fabric of their uniforms stretching tautly over their muscles. The sight of their brute strength never failed to stir something in me, a mix of arousal and longing that I had learned to overplay over the years.
I took a second to appreciate the guards' imposing figures as they held the doors open for me. Their chests were like carved marble, each breath causing their pectorals to flex slightly under their tightly woven shirts. Their arms looked like they could crush boulders with ease, the bulging biceps and forearms hinting at countless hours of training with swords and shields. The fabric of their trousers strained against their powerful thighs, which I knew were as solid as the castle's foundation stones. Their boots were polished to a mirror-like shine, the leather stretching tautly over their thick calves.
As I passed through the doorway, my eyes lingered on the very visible bulges in their pants. It was not uncommon for guards to be well-endowed, but these two seemed to be in a league of their own. The fabric of their uniforms stretched tautly over their crotches, leaving little to the imagination. A small part of me felt a thrill at the thought of such power and masculinity being at my disposal, if only in my fantasies.
I stepped into the great hall, my eyes scanning the sea of faces. The room was a tapestry of colors, with lords and ladies dressed in their finest silks and velvets, their jewels sparkling like stars in the candlelight. The long tables were laden with food that looked too exquisite to eat, the aromas blending into a symphony of flavors that made my mouth water.
As I walked through the throng of guests, my gaze was drawn to the head of the table, where my father sat. His usual stoic expression was replaced by one of forced joviality, as he held court with the nobility from distant lands. The chandeliers above our heads cast a warm glow over the scene, but it did little to warm the cold dread that had taken root in my stomach.
I recognized a few faces from the nobility that had arrived early for the week-long festivities, but most of the guests were strangers to me. They had come from distant lands, their names and faces etched into the annals of our kingdom's history through battles and treaties. They were the cream of the crop, the ones my father had handpicked to ensure the most advantageous matches could be made.
As I approached the high table, my eyes searched for my brother. There he was, sitting on our father's left, his broad shoulders straining against the velvet of his tunic, his blond hair gleaming in the candlelight. The chair next to him was empty, reserved for me, a silent reminder of my position. I took my seat, the cold wood a stark contrast to the warmth of the room.
"Joshua," Landon said, his deep voice carrying over the din. He flashed me a grin that made his blue eyes twinkle. "You're just in time. Father was about to regale us with another one of his war stories."
I sighted. Alocan's family, seated a few tables away from the high table, but he was too engrossed in his own conversations to notice me. His broad back was to me, and the distance between us suddenly felt like a chasm that I had no hope of crossing.
My fathers voice began to boom over th table, he began with one of his usual storys that had been told so many times that even the wallpaper seemed to yawn in boredom. I picked at my food, the succulent meats and flavorful gravies holding my attention more than his recount of the Battle of Redmere.
I endured through my father's story, when he finally concluded, the nobility erupted into applause, the sound echoing off the high vaulted ceilings. As the clapping died down, the conversations grew more intimate, the lords and ladies sharing their own tales of valor and triumph. Their voices, a blend of pride and ambition.
It was then that the topic of conversation shifted to my brother. The room buzzed with whispers of his strength, his tactical brilliance, and his unmatched skill on the battlefield. The air grew thick with the scent of adulation as they recounted his numerous victories and the ways in which he had brought honor to our house.
Landon, like the gracious prince he was, took the praise in stride, his cheeks flushing slightly with each compliment. His eyes, however, never left the crowd for long, always searching for approval from our father. It was a dance they had performed since childhood, one that I knew all too well.
But what surprised me was when the topic suddenly switched to his second son, me. The buzz of conversation grew hushed, and theyer eyes turned to me. I felt the weight of their gazes. It wasn't like with Landon, where the air was electric with excitement and anticipation. When it came to me, there was a palpable curiosity, a question they all wanted to ask but dared not voice. And when it did come, it was from one of the braver nobles, his voice carrying across the table like a knight's challenge.
"And what of Prince Joshua?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of disbelief. "Why is it that we rarely see him at the tournaments, or the field?"
My father took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving mine. "Ah, my youngest," he said, his tone patronizing. "Joshua prefers the company of his books and his horse. He is not cut from the same cloth as his brother."
The weight of their stares bore into me, their curiosity piqued by my father's words. I felt my cheeks heat up, the sting of his implication clear. It was as if he had thrown me into the lion's den and was watching with a smug smile, waiting for them to devour me whole.
"Your Highness," a lady with a neckline that plunged dangerously low began, her eyes glinting with a mix of intrigue and challenge. "What is it that you contribute to the kingdom, then? Is it diplomacy, perhaps, or the arts?"
The tabel grew quieter, the clinking of silverware against plates the only sound as everyone waited for my response. I took a deep breath, my heart hammering in my chest. This was it, the moment where I would have to defend my very existence in the face of those who saw me as nothing more than a weak link in the royal chain.
"My purpose," I began, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands, "is to serve the kingdom in my own way."
The lady's eyebrow arched, a smug smile playing on her lips. "And what way is that, Your Highness?"
Her words were like a gauntlet thrown before me, and I knew I had to respond with poise and confidence, or risk becoming the court's laughingstock. I took a deep breath, drawing strength from the very core of my being. "I contribute through my knowledge and understanding of the world beyond our borders, Lady Catherine," I said firmly. "Through the books I read, the languages I learn, and the strategies I study, I am preparing to be an asset to my brother's reign."
The table remained silent for a beat, the weight of my words hanging in the air like a sword poised to fall. Then, a smattering of applause began, growing louder as others joined in. I felt a surge of relief, but also anger. Why did I have to justify my existence to these people? Why was I not allowed to be me, without the constant scrutiny and judgment?
My father's eyes bore into me, his expression unreadable. He had thrown me to the wolves, and now he sat back, watching me squirm. But I would not let him win. I would not let them all see me as the weak link, the one who could not live up to his legacy.
I knew my father's intention was to let me suffer before he "saved" me, but I was good with words, and I wouldn't do him the favor of letting him see me squirm.
The conversation and dining continued for what felt like an eternity, the air thick with the weight of expectations and unspoken judgments.
If it was for me, I would have left the table, but I knew that would be the very thing my father wanted. So, I remained seated, sipping my wine, and engaging in small talk with the guests. My tongue danced around their probing questions, turning their scrutiny into a game of wit and charm. Each time they thought they had found a chink in my armor, I parried with a well-placed compliment or a disarming smile. It was a dance I had learned from watching my brother, one that kept me safe from their barbed words.
As the hours dragged on, the conversation grew stale, and my mind wandered to the books and scrolls that awaited me in my chamber. The etiquette of the royal court was a cage as unyielding as the castle walls themselves. It dictated that no prince could leave the table before the king had risen from his seat. So, I remained seated next to Landon, who shot me furtive glances filled with pity. He knew i wasn't built for this, that I was a square peg in a round hole of warrior kings and political machinations.
Finally, the moment came. My father's boisterous laughter faded to a gruff nod, and he announced his intention to retire for the evening. The room stiffened, the nobles quickly pushing back their chairs and bowing as he stood, the heavy fabric of his robes whispering against the stone floor. He was a towering figure, even among giants, and his presence was felt like a storm cloud that had just passed. The relief that washed over me was palpable as I watched him stride out of the great hall, his entourage of advisors and guards trailing behind him like a shadow.
I waited a few more minutes, not wanting to let them know that I was eager to escape. The nobles took their leave one by one, their voices echoing in the now almost empty hall. When time felt right, I stood up, my chair scraping against the stone floor. I looked over to Landon, his eyes met mine with understanding.
"I'm going to turn in early," I said, my voice low. "It's been a long day."
Landon nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment too long. "Of course, little brother," he said, his voice filled with the weight of his own unspoken concerns. "Rest well. We'll need our wits about us tomorrow."
With a sigh of relief, I turned away from the table, my eyes scanning the room for the quickest escape route. The great hall was vast, the shadows cast by the flickering candles playing tricks on the walls.
As I approached the same grand oak door that I had passed through earlier, one of the guards stepped forward. His eyes, usually filled with respect, now held a hint of curiosity. "Your Highness," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "The king has requested your presence in his chamber."
Surprise flickered through me, and I paused. "Now?" I asked, my voice a shade higher than I would have liked.
The guard nodded. "Indeed, Your Highness. He said it was most urgent."
My stomach churned with a mix of dread and curiosity. What could my father possibly want from me at this hour? As I followed the guard, the castle's corridors grew quieter, the whispers of the festival outside my father's chamber the only sound echoing through the hallowed halls. The guard halted before the heavy oak door, its intricate carvings telling the story of our ancestors' reign. He rapped three times before opening it and stepping aside, allowing me to enter.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering candles casting long shadows across the floor. My father sat at his desk, his broad back to me, his silhouette framed by the towering bookshelves that lined the walls. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the faint whiff of pipe smoke. He didn't turn as I entered, and the silence stretched taut, as if waiting for the strings of fate to be plucked.
"Father?" I asked tentatively, my voice a mere whisper in the cavernous room.
King Aldric turned slowly in his chair, his expression a mask of seriousness that sent a shiver down my spine. "Ah, Joshua," he said, his eyes sweeping over me in a way that made me feel like he was sizing up a prize stallion at the market. "Come, sit."
He gestured to a chair opposite his desk, and I obeyed, my legs feeling like lead as I approached. The chair creaked under my weight, the sound echoing through the silent chamber. His gaze never left me, and I could feel his scrutiny like a physical weight.
"Joshua," he began, his voice heavy with the weight of his own importance. "You know why I've called you here."
I swallowed hard, my heart racing. "No, Father, I do not," I replied, hoping my voice didn't betray my fear.
King Aldric leaned forward, his hands steepled before him. "Your performance tonight was... adequate," he said, his voice like a knife sliding from its sheath. "But let us not forget, son, that your true value lies in your ability to produce an heir. And as a prince, that means you must marry."
My heart sank. "Father, I've told you before, I'm not interested in taking a wife," I protested, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
"I don't care what you're interested in," he said, his voice a cold slap to my face. "What I heard tonight was a son playing the fool, trying to charm his way out of his duties. You think your books and your wit can replace a son's legacy?"
My heart hammered in my chest, my palms growing slick with sweat as I met my father's gaze. "But Father," I began, "my intelligence, my understanding of diplomacy and strategy-"
"Pah!" he interrupted, his hand slashing through the air like a sword cutting down my words. "You think that makes you fit to stand beside your brother? To counsel him when the time comes for battles and alliances?"
The anger in his voice was like a storm that had been brewing all evening, finally breaking through the dam of his patience. "Intelligence is a tool, Joshua," he spat out the word like it was a piece of rotten meat. "But without the strength to wield it, it's as useless as a sword in a scholar's hand. And what I heard tonight was a son who thinks he's clever, playing with words instead of weapons."
My heart was a hammer in my chest, each beat echoing the fear that he would never understand me. "But Father," I protested, my voice straining to stay level. "What do you expect of me? To be a copy of Landon?"
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "I expect you to be a prince," he said, his voice like a whip crack. "A man who can stand beside his king and offer counsel in times of war and peace. Not some... some... court jester who thinks his words can win battles!"
The anger in his voice stung, each word a barb that pierced my soul. "But I am a prince," I insisted, my voice quavering with emotion. "I am your son, and I wish to serve the kingdom with honor. You can't force me to act like a substitute for what you wish I was."
"You think I don't know what you are?" His tone grew harsher, the words cutting through the air like sharpened steel. "You're not a warrior, not a leader. You're a... a decoration, a plaything to be paraded around for the amusement of the court. If you were a women, I could marry you off and be done with it. But as a man, you're a liability. You're a prince, and yet you refuse to act like one."
My eyes narrowed, the heat rising in my cheeks. "I may not be a warrior, but I am still your son!" I retorted, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. "And if being a man means marrying for power and playing these games, then maybe I don't want to be a man!"
My father's expression darkened, his jaw clenching. "You dare speak to me like that?" he thundered, slamming his fist onto the desk. The candles flickered, casting jittery shadows across the room. "You ungrateful whelp! I've given you every opportunity to live a life of luxury, and this is how you repay me?"
The room grew hot, the air thick with tension. "I've never asked for luxury," I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. "I've asked for your respect, for you to see me for who I am, not what you wish I could be!"
My father's eyes narrowed, but there was a glint of something else in them. Something darker, something that made my stomach twist into knots. "You think you're clever, don't you?" he sneered. "But let me tell you something, boy. Your precious books and scrolls can't teach you the ways of a real man."
"And what is a real man, Father?" I spat back, my temper flaring.
"You know nothing of the world," he slammed his goblet onto the desk, the dark liquid spilling over the edges and staining the parchment. "Your kind," he sneered, "My father, your grandfather, taught me that you are nothing but whores, to be used by real men when they tire of their wives. If it was for him, you'd be in the stables, serving the knights and squires."
His words hit me like a blow to the chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. The room grew hot, the candles casting a hellish glow over his face. "I am not a whore," I spat back, my voice trembling with rage. "I am your son!"
He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed off the stone walls. "You're acting like a fool, lusting after these men," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think I don't see it, but I do. You want to be part of their world, their battles and conquests. But you're not made for that, are you? Instead, all you want is to warm their beds."
The room spun around me, my heart hammering in my chest. "Father," I began, my voice strained, "you're wrong. I'm not like that."
But his smile grew crueler, and before I could protest further, he called out to the guard who had been standing at the door. "You," he barked, pointing at the stoic figure. "Come here and remove your belt."
The guard's eyes widened, but he did as he was told, his movements stiff with surprise and confusion. My heart raced, knowing what was coming, and I could feel the blood rushing to my face. "Father, no," I whispered, but he silenced me with a glare that could cut glass.
"You want to know what a real man is?" he sneered, gesturing to the guard, who now stood before us.
My stomach twisted in knots as the guard obeyed, his eyes on the ground. I could see the muscles in his forearms flexing as he unbuckled the thick leather, and the way his legs tensed as he pushed his pants down, exposing his bare flesh to the cold room. The room was silent except for the sound of fabric against skin, the heavy thump as his pants hit the stone floor.
"Look at him," my father barked, jerking his chin towards the guard. "This is what a man looks like, not some simpering child playing with words and silks."
The guard's eyes remained on the ground, his cheeks reddening. I could see the veins in his neck pulsing with tension, and I knew that he was as uncomfortable with this situation as I was. But he remained silent, his loyalty to the king unquestioned.
My father leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. "You see, Joshua," he said, gesturing to the guard's exposed body. "This is what true strength looks like. This is what a man should be."
I felt a chill run down my spine, the weight of his words like a boulder pressing down on my chest. "What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice angry but trembling with fear.
My father's smile grew colder, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Make a choice, Joshua," he said, his tone a mix of challenge and contempt. "Either you show me that you can be the man I need you to be, or you show me your true colors and admit what you really are."
The words hung in the air like a noose, tightening around my neck with every breath I took. The guard's eyes flickered up to meet mine for the briefest of moments, and in that instant, I saw something that chilled me to the core: understanding and a strange glint of excitement. It was as if he knew what was coming and was eager to prove his own worth. He began to harden under my horrified gaze, and my father's laughter grew, the sound like nails on a chalkboard to my ears.
"See, even he knows his place," my father said, his voice a gruff chuckle. "Now, let's see if you can be a real man, too."
The guard stepped forward, his cock now fully erect, a clear sign of his willingness to participate in this twisted game. My stomach turned, but I knew that I couldn't back down now. There was no way I could prove him that I could be what he wanted. And the only thing that was worse than degarding myself by sucking a man off, was proving to my father that I was everything he thought I was, by doing nothing at all.
So, with a deep breath, I bent my knees before the guard, his manhood standing tall before me. The smell of him was faint but present, and I had to fight the urge to gag. The room was silent except for the sound of my own ragged breathing and the crackling of the fireplace. I reached out, my hand trembling, and wrapped my fingers around his shaft. It was hot and hard, and I felt a wave of acceptance wash over me.
I took him in my mouth, tasting the salt and sweat of his skin, the musky scent of his arousal. The guard's eyes closed, a soft groan escaping his lips as I began to move my head in a rhythm that was both practiced and forced. My father watched with a smug expression, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes gleaming with victory.
I tried to act like a prince, but as soon as I took the guard's cock into my mouth, it was clear that in my father's eyes, I was nothing more than a whore. The salty taste of his flesh filled my mouth, and I had to suppress a moan. I couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through me as I began to move my head in a rhythm that was as natural as breathing.
The guard's eyes remained closed, his chest rising and falling with every breath, his hand resting lightly on the back of my head. I knew he was enjoying this, that he was getting off on the power play, the thrill of using the prince as his personal plaything. And as much as I hated it, a part of me reveled in the depravity of the moment.
I began to suck him with more enthusiasm, my cheeks hollowing as I took him deeper into my mouth. I ignored the fact that this act was a perverted version of the very thing my father wanted to prove about me. I was a prince, not a whore, but in this twisted game, he forced me to play, I had to win on my terms. I closed my eyes, blocking out the sight of my father's smug face and focused solely on the guard's cock, feeling it swell with each bob of my head. I had always loved the taste of a man, the feeling of his power in my mouth, and as much as it disgusted me to do it for my father's amusement, I couldn't help but feel a spark of arousal deep within me.
The guard's hand tightened on my head, guiding me faster, his hips bucking slightly as he grew closer to climax. My father leaned forward in his chair, his eyes glinting with excitement as he watched the scene unfold. "That's it," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Take it like the little whore you are."
I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I pushed down the humiliation, focusing instead on the power I had in this moment. The guard's muscles tensed under my touch, his breath coming in ragged gasps as I worked him over. With each passing second, I could feel him getting closer, his cock swelling even more in my mouth.
And then it happened. My father leaned back in his chair, his hand gesturing to the guard, who took the cue and grabbed the back of my head, pushing himself deeper into my throat. I gagged, but I didn't stop, my eyes watering as I took him all in. The guard's hips began to thrust, his movements growing more urgent as he used me for his own pleasure.
"Look at him," my father said, his voice low and dark. "Look how eager he is to serve. Perhaps you are more of a man than I gave you credit for."
The guard's grip on my head tightened, and he began to thrust into my mouth more forcefully, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had me gagging and fighting for air. But I didn't stop. I wrapped my hands around his massive thighs, feeling the muscles tense and release with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, and the taste of him grew stronger, mixing with the bitter taste.
My father's eyes never left the scene, his smile growing wider with every moan that was torn from the guard's throat. "At least you know your place," he sneered, his voice filled with a twisted sense of triumph. "You're not fit to marry a lady, but perhaps you can still be of use to the kingdom."
The guard's hand tightened on the back of my head, his strokes growing more aggressive. His breathing grew ragged, and his cock swelled even further in my mouth. I could feel the warmth of his seed building, the pressure in my throat as he neared climax. And then, with a roar that seemed to shake the very stones of the castle, he came, his hot, sticky release filling my mouth and throat.
I swallowed, the act feeling like a betrayal to my own identity, but also a strange victory. The guard's grip loosened, and he stepped back, his chest heaving with satisfaction. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, the taste of him lingering. My father's eyes never left me, his expression a mix of disgust and triumph. "Good boy," he said, his voice cold.
"Guard," my father barked, the man's eyes snapping to attention. "You have served your king well tonight. Take tomorrow as a day of rest, and I will inform your superior of your... dedication." His words were a clear threat, and the guard nodded, his eyes flicking to me before he pulled up his pants. "I expect you to keep this between us," the king added, his voice a warning growl.
The guard didn't dare to speak, he merely bowed before retreating from the room, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the corridor. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me kneeling before my father's desk, the bitter taste of the guard's climax still lingering in my mouth.
My father leaned back in his chair, his expression one of smug satisfaction. "Now, that's what I call a prince serving the folk," he said, his words clearly taunting me. "But fear not, you showed me tonight that you truly understand your place. I will not force you to marry a woman. Instead, I shall grant you the privilege of marrying a man."
The words hit me like a sledgehammer. "What are you saying?" I managed to ask, my voice hoarse from the guard's use of me.
"I'm saying," my father leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction, "that I see you now for what you truly are. And as your king, I shall grant you the mercy of marrying a man who knows how to handle your kind." His voice was like a serpent, slithering around the room, filling it with venom. "I have invited a few esteemed guests to the festival, men of high standing who share your... preferences. If you get them to want you for marriage, you may choose one to be your husband. If not," his smile grew wider, "I shall choose for you."
The revelation hit me like a punch to the gut. Marriage was still a prison, but now it was tailored to my despised nature. I was too stunned to speak, my thoughts racing like a wild steed galloping through a minefield. I wanted to scream, to argue, to tell him that he was wrong, that this wasn't who I was. But my tongue felt thick and useless in my mouth, and no words came out. The silence was deafening and my father took it as my acceptance.
He waved his hand dismissively, his smile fading back into the cold mask of a king. "You may go," he said, his voice a chilly dismissal. "Think on what I've said. Your performance tonight was... informative. Perhaps tomorrow you'll be more amenable to the idea of serving your kingdom in a more traditional way."
I stumbled to my feet, my legs wobbly from the kneeling and the weight of his words. I wanted to contradict him, to shout that I was not a whore to be bought and sold, but nothing came out of my mouth. My thoughts were a tangle of anger, disgust and strangely, a hint of excitement that I couldn't ignore.
