🍌 CW - sexual content

Council went poorly. The King took supper in the Great Hall and soothed his men with violinists and acrobatic displays. They played cards in the salon and smoked, which had long been forbidden because tobacco made Philip III queasy.

The sun was swimming in a great pool of orange and pink when they returned, staggering, gripping the King's white fingers as they fell over themselves.

I had spent the evening in the study, my only company a pair of page boys and countless books I couldn't read. The boys lay sprawled on the floor, a game of draughts between them, while I hunched by the window and squinted at the opening line of a nursery rhyme collection.

The letters swirled together on the page, inky soup.

I heard the footsteps approach. A chorus of fawning and tittering and hands petting my King like he was a fucking rabbit.

The page boys scrambled up from the floor. "Y'Majesty," they chorused. Wigs askew, clothes rumpled. They stood with chins jutted perfectly straight, eyes on the wall behind the King.

Philip looked right at me. "Auden."

Like a child whose father had just returned from war, I threw my book aside and went to him. When my King called, I came.

He clasped my hands to pull me into the hall. "Auden, you have to come with me." I pulled back as a copper-wigged courtier leaned saucily into his shoulder. He was a younger man, around five and twenty, face powdered white save for a proud mole on his chin.

"What's wrong?" I eyed the circle of men, searching for glowers of disgust, but they all seemed merry enough, some redder in the face than others.

"Nothing." Philip buried his face in my shoulder and giggled. "Nothing's wrong."

I understood now. Beauregard was gone. There was no one to tell him to conduct himself, to stay on schedule, to behave. The courtiers swarmed us, drunk at the chance of glimpsing the King's chambers.

Within hours, news of the Lord Chamberlain's dismissal had spread and many hoped to obtain a position in the Privy Chamber. Hoped to be the first to wake him, first to kiss his hand, first to plea for money as he used the pot.

"The servants have prepared a meal for us." Philip slotted me into the group. I jumped as an older courtier with a pluming mustache locked elbows with me.

"Elias Limsey, Earl of Hamilton," he introduced.

"Murray," I returned weakly.

The gold walls of the King's bedchamber shone under the high chandelier. The green armchair had been pushed up to the table, a smaller chair without arms facing it. Steam rose from a slab of steak, red and glistening, adorned with greens. A servant unstacked two plates, still hot from being washed in scalding water.

The group grew silent. Undoubtedly doing the mental calculations. Philip smiled before leading me inside. Elias Limsey watched on from his imprisonment in the hall.

Charles poured us each a glass of wine, so red it looked almost black. He took up the knife to cut the meat before Philip stopped him.

"We can do that."

Gray eyes twinkling, Charles withdrew from the table. "Some dessert, then?"

"Dessert would be lovely," Philip murmured. As the butler turned he grasped his hand tightly and mouthed thank you.

Charles gave him a wink and led the servants out.

The flames between us danced as cool air blew in from the balcony. My stomach rumbled with the anticipation of food. I watched Philip cut his steak, fork anchored firmly in the tender meat, knife sawing with elegant precision. He raised the slice to his lips, wet, still pink inside, leaving a pool of red juice on his plate.

"Do you like it?" he asked, mouth full.

I hadn't eaten a bite. "Yes."

His lips pinched together, red as blood. "Eat."

I cut into a potato. Legs of pheasant nestled among mushrooms and greens, slick with glaze. Squares of butter swam in thick circles. More food than we could ever eat in one sitting. But tonight, I wasn't thinking charitably. I filled my mouth with the steak, savoring the rich flavor, dulled by the potatoes and sweetened by the carrots.

Tonight, I was starving.

We spoke little, only to comment on the food. I watched him eat, watched him empty his glass, then another, cheeks flushed from the wine. He was watching me too, flashing me glances as he drew up his fork or reached for his glass. I wondered if this was one of his games, to see who would crack first.

That was a game I didn't mind losing.

"I'm surprised you're hungry," I said. "You were at supper a long time."

"I ate little," he admitted, twisting the fork between his fingers. "I wanted to wait for you. I thought... hoped... you might spend the night."

Desire quickened my pulse. Hot, coiling lust that made me want to throw every dish on the table aside and climb across to him.

The door clicked as Charles entered with dessert, a chocolate pudding encircled by tiny pastries. He set a full pitcher of wine atop the bedside table. "In case you grow thirsty," he said. "Goodnight, sire."

"Goodnight, Charles," Philip said cheerfully.

I waited until the butler had left to rise from my chair. Philip cut a bite of steak but lowered his fork as I approached, looking up at me eagerly. I traced his wrist with my fingertips, lifted his hand to my cheek and kissed his palm. Soft. I looked down at his plate. "Keep eating."

He fit the steak into his mouth as I kissed his fingers, one by one, slipping the rings off and setting them atop the table. Gold, topaz, citrine. Kisses along his ivory skin. His other hand clenched the fork as I sucked his fingertips.

I slipped behind his chair, leaned down so our cheeks brushed. He let out a breath as I untied his cravat and let the material slip into his lap.

Philip moaned when I kissed his exposed neck, warm and sensitive. Vulnerable. I wanted to sink my teeth in. Devour him. Drink in his beauty and taste its sweetness.

The silverware clattered. He gave me a wild look, mouth open, and caught my hand as I straightened. "Bed?" I whispered, though any place would do. Chair. Table. Floor.

He reached for his glass, hands shaking, but knocked it over instead. Red pooled in his plate, soaked his sleeve, red steak and red wine.

The sight entranced me. Swirling red. Philip gulped and stared at the mess.

"Leave that," I said. "Come."

Obediently, he held my hand and followed me to his bed, where the satin sheets lay like a field of liquid gold. He trembled at my touch, and I remembered: despite my desperation, I was the experienced one. I knew what I was doing. He was my darling, beautiful, sweet little lamb and I could bring him to pasture, or to slaughter.

And he was so appetizing, like a ripe forbidden fruit, hanging just within reach. "I promise, I'll teach you everything," I told him. "But tonight I just want you to enjoy yourself, alright?"

He nodded.

"Will you tell me which things you like when I do them?"

Another nod, still silent.

"Good." I kissed him softly, using my hands to frame his sides and caress him. My angel deserved to be pampered and spoiled. And that was exactly what I intended to do.

"Like," he whispered.

My mouth met his again, dusting over his open lips and the wet tip of his tongue. I could taste the wine, the steak, meaty, raw.

His hips lifted off the sheet and rubbed against mine, slowly at first, as if testing the waters. Using my knee, I pushed his legs farther apart and felt a soft hum of pleasure against my lips. Our tongues danced between every kiss, faster and deeper. Needier. Hungrier.

He groaned softly as I dipped lower, lips skimming his throat. His fingers threaded through mine as I descended, kissing and sucking until I got to the collar of his shirt.

There, I took my time marking the smooth canvas of his skin, claiming an inch of him here, an inch of him there, until the top of his chest was scattered with blooming rose petals. Still, it was not enough. My hunger for him was insatiable, deep within me, clawing to get out.

"Like," he breathed, slow and heavy as if in a trance.

I sat up and lifted one of his feet into my lap. Carefully, I untied the frilled bow and slipped off his shoe. Philip watched me, his toes twisting inside their white stockings. Those I left on - they were pretty. I took his other foot in my lap, removed the shoe, and traced my fingers from his ankle up his calf.

"You're taking forever," he whined.

"I want to take forever."

I crept up his body, noting with a soft smile how he unconsciously parted his legs for me. His hips jerked up and rubbed on me. "Patient," I said. "Or have you forgotten all the times you tortured me with waiting?"

"Hurry, Auden, please?" He fumbled to unbutton his vest while I pulled my shirt over my head and tugged down my trousers. I untied my garters and took off my boots, careful so they wouldn't dirty his bed. I'd never been fully naked for this before. Most of the time I never even undressed. But there I sat, naked as the day I was born, embarrassment creeping up my neck.

His eyes shifted down.

I squirmed, resisting the urge to clear my throat.

"Like."

I smirked. Crawled to him where he lay stretched out in the sheets, one leg bent comfortably, a small smile on his lips. "It's all yours."

His hands graced my chest, warm against my beating heart. He fit his thumb in the dip below my sternum and felt the bone. I wanted him to feel everything, feel my body, all the flesh and blood and bone. Feel me breathing. Beating.

"Touch me, please," Philip whispered.

I obeyed, slowly at first, taking my time to hold him and unravel him, unbutton his breeches and pull those down, until he was only in his linen shirt and silk stockings. I kissed his knees, the tops of his thighs, then moved between his hips.

"Like," he mumbled. "Like, like, like, like, like."

I fit him tightly in my mouth, relishing the thickness in my throat, his fingers knotting in my hair, the fleshy weight of his thighs pressed to my face.

It was ironic how selfishly I wanted to please him. I wanted him to moan for me, to reach down and grasp me for dear life as I made him feel better than anyone else could. I wanted to be the object of his desire and I wanted to fulfill his every want without hesitation.

I want to be the only thing that can make you feel like this.

His body began to tremble, his back curving as his breathing turned ragged. His toes clenched tighter in his stockings. I pulled my mouth off him and sat up, basking in the sound of his sharp whimper.

"Sorry, sweetness," I smirked.

Philip's hands lay motionlessly at his sides, as if afraid to touch anything without me. His hips bucked up once as I lowered myself over him, bare flesh united finally. I kissed my way back up his neck, sucking the tender skin into my mouth and leaving dark red marks in my wake.

He moaned as I traced the tip of his cock between my fingers, then rubbed it against mine. His knees came up around my hips, perhaps on instinct, bridging the gap between us. I started to move between his thighs, pressed against his belly in delicious soft heat.

I moved in time with his breathing. Slow little waves as his palms sailed the slope of my back. A breeze fluttered the canopy curtains and pricked the hair on my arms. The outside world was cold but in this bed, locked in this embrace, we burned alive.

In my hand, he warmed like ice, first dripping, then throbbing. Melting. He panted and pinched shut his eyes like he was trying to grip the edge of a cliff. I held him where his blood pulsed for me and looked down into his eyes.

"Let go," I whispered.

He came apart beneath me, head craned back, lips broken. I kissed him gently as he gasped, my hand working through his high, drawing him out. There was nothing more beautiful in the world than the sight before me. He was all the treasures of the earth. He was the sun, the moon, the stars, the rolling hills stretched as far as the eye could see. My King. My God. My beautiful boy.

I love you so much.

When his skin cooled, I ran my thumbs over the soft rise of his chest and felt it slow. We were back to touching each other, his hands scoping my ribs, mine feeling his nipples harden as I rubbed them. He stared at me like a starving animal. I smiled.

I was surprised when he gripped my wrist. "Lie down," he told me.

Desire pumped through my blood, straight into my groin. "Yes, sire."

I settled into the golden sheets while his fingertips skimmed my stomach, making me tense beneath his touch. One breath. He wrapped his hand around me. Two breaths. His hand moved slowly, as if he was afraid to squeeze me too tight.

I bit back a moan. "Don't stop."

Philip rolled over onto his belly and crossed his ankles in the air. He looked so innocent, eyes wide, laying between my legs, and yet devilishly sure of what he wanted.

"God-" I broke into a gasp and gripped the bedframe as he took me in his mouth, plump lips wet and stretching around my cock. In the luster of the chandelier his eyes looked almost gold. I slipped my fingers through his silky curls and caressed his scalp as he sucked the tip.

Heat. I couldn't have imagined how hot the inside of his mouth was. It was like being engulfed in flame. If this was hell, I craved it.

He slid down a little further. I felt the inside of his cheeks, his smooth tongue slickening my cock. He choked, throat contracting, eyes wet. Saliva dribbled from his swollen lips onto my thigh. I shot up as a familiar tightness gripped me. "Philip, wait."

Cold air washed in as his lips left me. "What?" His voice was low, raspy. My tongue felt thick inside my mouth.

"I don't want to..." I breathed slowly. I would rather throw myself into the Thames than finish that sentence. "It might be... unpleasant for you."

"Oh." He stared down at me. "But I want you to."

I couldn't protest. I could barely breathe. He used his hand to stroke me slowly, then leaned down and closed his lips around my cock. I came with a dark groan, sudden and harsh, a flash of heat followed by cool relief.

He gave a strangled murmur of approval. Swallowed.

I pulled him to me. His belly hung down and rubbed against mine as he settled on top of me, head on my shoulder. I felt weak, dizzy even, breathless. "Are you alright?"

"I'm alright," he whispered. I placed smiling kisses along his damp hairline. His weight was grounding, soothing, like a warm blanket. "What now?"

I breathed a weary sigh as he hovered over me, big saucer eyes watching me in earnest. "Aren't you tired?"

"Mm." He hopped up and bit into one of the chocolate pastries Charles had left. "Just a little."

He crawled into bed with a handful of pastries for us both, giving a little hum as he nuzzled against my bare chest. The pastries were buttery, the chocolate rich and sweet. He giggled and licked the sugar off his fingers.

"Come, let's sleep," I murmured with a yawn. "There's always the morning."

"I've never let you sleep here," he commented.

I kissed the back of his hand and gave him my biggest puppy eyes. "Am I still banished to the daybed? Cold, cruel exile?"

"Stay." He pulled me down so we lay on our sides, facing each other, both my arms wrapped around his waist. "That's an order."

I kissed him one last time before he cuddled into me and let his eyes close. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Shut up," he said.

I smiled and shut up.

🦢•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢

That night I dreamt I was fighting for my life.

The alley was dark. The chill of the night air tore at me, sinking its claws deep as my boots slipped in the mud. I was up against two men. They were identical, clad in black cloaks and heavy boots. I knew they meant to kill me.

Panting, I fumbled for the leather strap on my boot. Pulled out the knife, jabbed clumsily, aiming for anything I could. Shoulders. Chest.

Fear inched up my throat, but I didn't stop long enough to feel it. Couldn't. I cut the first man down with a single slice. His throat tore apart like a strip of parchment, fast and smooth. Hot blood spurted and soaked us both, drenching my clothes. I left him to choke on his own blood and scrambled to my feet.

One down.

The second man lunged at me, but not before I drove my blade straight into his gut. He doubled over and slumped to his knees in the alley. I wasted no time pinning him on his back and grinding my boot down over his throat, making his eyes bulge out and his white tongue dangle from cracked lips.

Two down.

My senses began to return with each heartbeat, and suddenly I could smell the metallic blood that covered me, feel the droplets of rain on my face, the sting as they wet the bloody scratches along my cheek.

I looked around me, searching for something familiar. I glanced down at the men, and suddenly terror like nothing I'd ever felt before gripped my very soul.

The man with his throat slashed was my brother Westley.

I fell to my knees in the mud and ripped back the other man's cloak. It was Gale.

He was still breathing, clinging to life by a thread. With every gasp another pump of blood seeped from the puncture wounds in his torso. I held him as he wheezed, light green eyes wild. My mother's eyes.

"Hey, hey, look at me," I babbled as he clutched weakly at my vest. "Gale, it's me. It's your brother. It's gonna be-"

"Murderer."

The deep grunt came from behind me. I twisted, knife tight in my grip. The man wore a blood-stained shirt, black blood from a dark slit across his neck. He breathed deep as he looked down at me. The butcher.

A flash of red pulled my eyes to the left, where the guard stood, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. "Murderer."

"No," I choked. "No, no, no-"

I looked up and suddenly the rain was gone, the alley gone, the slain bodies of my brothers gone. I lay on the floor of the throne room, staring up those wide carpeted steps.

The Lord Chamberlain sat on the throne.

He cocked his head at me, smiling with a row of bloody teeth. A bright red tongue jutted out as he licked his lips.

"Devil."