"What?" The general's usually cool face was a mask of disbelief. "Is that a joke?"

 Lorcan bit his lip. Damn!

 "No joke, Sire. You asked me what I wish for. I didn't mean to offend you."

 "But why on earth would you wish for something like this?" the general asked, still looking incredulous. "I could give you an estate on the northern hills or arrange a marriage with a noble's daughter for you. You could even have my stallion, the one you helped save, one of the finest horses of the royal stables!"

Lorcan shook his head. "I thank you for your generosity, Sire. But you can keep all those things. And even if you won't grant me my wish, I declare your dept repaid nevertheless. You owe me nothing, General."

There was a long silence, and Lorcan couldn't look the other man in the eye. He expected to be thrown out any moment, even discharged from the army altogether for such an outrageous demand. What had he been thinking?

"Fine," the general said finally, his face calm and emotionless again. "As I said, you have my word, so I will grant your wish although I cannot understand your reasons. Come to the opposite side of the tent after sunset. And remember: this might not be a military issue, but if you breathe a word to anyone about this, I'll have you punished for disrespect against your commanding officer. Is that understood?"

Lorcan bowed again. "Of course, Sire. Thank you," he managed to answer somehow.

General Whitestorm turned away from him. "You are dismissed."

The captain felt weak in the knees when he exited the tent, still awed at his own brazenness and, even more, at the general's compliance. But the matter of honor was a grave one, and even if no one would ever learn that General Whitestorm had taken back his word, he himself would have known it. Lorcan couldn't help but admire General Whitestorm even more for this, although he was starting to feel like he had blackmailed the man.

He returned to his tent and poured himself some wine to calm his nerves. It was very watered down, but it helped a bit.

Finally, Lorcan worked up the resolve to go back on his demand. He'd visit the general later, talk a bit, and then return to sleep alone in his own tent. After all, he hadn't specified the means of how they'd spend the night together, although the implication had been clear.

An hour before sunset, Lorcan took a bath in the nearby river, shaved properly and donned his most presentable civilian clothes: nice, brown pants and a green tunic with embroidered hems. He firmly reminded himself that he didn't want to impress anyone, just look proper for the visit to a prince.

According to several tavern wenches and boys in various towns, the captain was very good-looking: a tall, trained, albeit scarred body, witness to a soldier's life; a cleanly-cut, tanned face; dark-brown hair; and sharp green eyes. He was no match for General Whitestorm's aristocratic elegance, of course, but he was certainly not ugly.

Not that this would be of any concern today.

As soon as the sun had vanished behind the hills, Lorcan made his way through the camp. Most of the uninjured soldiers were sitting around the big fire to eat their meals, drink, and brag about their triumphs during the battle, so nobody noticed Lorcan at all.

There was no guard at the rear side of the big tent, and the captain pulled the flap aside while clearing his throat. "Good evening, Sire."

"Good evening, Captain." General Whitestorm put down a bottle of wine he had just opened. His private tent looked like any officer's, austere and simple with a bed, a writing desk, and an armor rack. There were no satiny cushions, carpets or comfortable chairs at all, as one might expect in the quarters of a noble.

The general himself still wore the plain gray clothes, but the light of the little lamps cast a soft, warm sheen to his skin and made his hair seem to smolder like embers.

Lorcan's resolve faltered again. How could he behave properly and honorably when the object of his desire looked like this – and didn't protest at all?

But doing this solely out of duty was something completely different from wanting it, and that was the problem. Lorcan could never force the general to do something like this.

General Whitestorm poured two glasses of wine and offered one to the captain.

"To a won battle," he said. "And a won war."

Lorcan took a sip, but barely noticed the exquisite taste.

"Sire, I…"

But the general interrupted him. "Before we proceed, I'd like to know your reasons for this wish, Captain. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Under that scrutinizing gaze, Lorcan couldn't help but be honest. "I… I was fascinated by you the moment I saw you for the first time," he confessed. "My respect for you grew every time you brought us to victory. But since I came face to face with you on the battlefield that day… I don't know," he said a bit sheepishly. "I'm not good with words, Sire. But the sight you presented then… I've never seen anything more… beautiful."

General Whitestorm's eye assessed him with puzzlement in the gray depths. "Well, I was used to compliments about my looks back at court, before I became General, but I've always despised it. Praise for my leadership is something I've worked hard to earn, despite my youth. But I guess this is the strangest mix of compliments I've ever gotten."

"Everyone admires you for your leadership skills and tactics, Sire," Lorcan reminded him. "But why do you despise compliments on your looks, if I may ask?"

The general scoffed. "Because having pretty looks isn't a desired trait in a prince. Have you ever seen my older brother, Prince Cormac, or my father, the Queen's Consort? Tall, broad-shouldered, strong, and imposing, the both of them. That is why I'm even grateful for this scar." He touched his eye patch.

Lorcan began to understand. The general had tried very hard to be respected and feared for his abilities and not be judged by his seemingly delicate looks in comparison to his brother and father. And now that he had accomplished this, Lorcan had come and reminded him of that.

"I'm sorry, Sire." The captain bowed deeply and cursed himself inwardly. "I have no idea what's gotten into me. I meant no disrespect, and with your permission, I'll leave now."

"No, you're not excused. I gave you my word, and I'll keep it. You saved my life, it is the least I can do. You've told me your reasons. I'm thankful for your honesty and faith in me, Captain, although I still fail to understand how you can refer to me as 'beautiful'."

"That scar on your face is proof of your valor, Sire. I admire all of you, and I'm sorry nobody has ever told you so. Nevertheless," Lorcan continued. "I can't do this if it's just an obligation to you."

He was surprised by a faint smile that ghosted over the general's face. "Maybe it isn't. I think it is up to you to convince me otherwise."

"Are you… are you telling me to seduce you?", Lorcan asked in disbelief.

The general didn't answer, but the enigmatic smile stayed in place for a moment longer.

Still barely believing the events of this evening, Lorcan emptied his wine glass in a swift move. That smile made him absolutely helpless and unable to resist. It was like a silent promise.

Suddenly, the captain felt the urge to see that eye, that the smile hadn't quite reached, darken with pleasure, those delicate lips beg for more. On the battlefield, the general was like a force of nature. It was almost like General Whitestorm was a completely different person from the cool and collected Prince Aileas that was now standing in front of him. If only this passion, that was normally reserved for fighting, could surface for tonight as well…

Lorcan put his glass down and took a few steps, until he was standing directly in front of the general. The other man's face once again betrayed nothing, the smile having vanished like mist.

Slowly, the captain raised his hand to touch a cheek. It was a bit cooler than his own rapidly heating skin. He stroked the skin gently and then reached into the hair to loosen the tie that held the braid. The fiery locks were indeed as silken as he remembered.

All the while, the general watched him as if studying an unfamiliar military maneuver. Although Lorcan would have loved to kiss him, he refrained from doing so. It seemed too intimate, too emotionally charged. He would ask for that later, much later.

"Maybe we should take our clothes off, or do you prefer we keep them on?" General Whitestorm's question had the same tone as if he were inquiring if Lorcan wanted another glass of wine.

It was so strange that the general wasn't disturbed by all this in the slightest. For a moment, a thought crossed Lorcan's mind: maybe the other man was so jaded by past conquests at court that being intimate with someone was completely insignificant to him. But the captain shoved that idea away. His admired prince and general didn't seem to be the sort for mindless indulgence at all.

"I'd like us to undress," he finally answered the general's question and hoped for a reaction: modesty, shyness, coquetry, whatever.

None came. General Whitestorm simply took a step back and started to undress.

Unashamed of his own lust, Lorcan watched him revealing more and more white, perfect skin. The only mark aside from the missing eye was an old scar on his left upper arm, possibly from a sword strike that had been parried too slowly. All in all, the general was slender, but wiry - like a finely-made bow rather than a broad sword.

Finally, Lorcan managed to tear his gaze away to undress himself. He felt a bit self-conscious in comparison to the other man's beauty, but then he reminded himself that the general probably saw it the other way around, in regard of Lorcan's broad shoulders and chiselled features.

It was such nonsense. Looks were deceptive as the general had proven many times before when he had defeated much stronger and bigger opponents with wit and speed rather than brute force.

The captain felt General Whitestorm's gaze on him, still cool and assessing, but his eye seemed to widen a bit at the sight of Lorcan's arousal. A blush threatened to rise in Lorcan's cheeks, and for a moment, the whole situation seemed almost absurd.

"I… I hope you find me acceptable," he finally managed to say, still feeling like a green boy about to make his first intimate experience. "As I said, I don't want you to be appalled by this in any way."

The little smile was back again for a moment. "You look fine, don't worry. And as you said yourself, scars are proof of valor." With an unconscious gesture, the general touched his eye patch.

"You're still perfect," Lorcan blurted out, and this time he blushed for real.

At these words, an undefined emotion seemed to darken the general's good eye, but it was gone in an instant.

Suddenly Lorcan wished this reaction would last, whatever it may have been, on the other man's face, or to provoke another one. But words started to desert him, so he resorted to actions. Very gently, he pushed General Whitestorm backwards until they reached the bed. It wasn't meant for two people, but this night neither of them would get much sleep.

The general sat down. "Should I…"

But Lorcan interrupted him. "You don't have to do anything. Just lean back and… enjoy it."

"This is about your wish, Captain," the General Whitestorm reminded him. "You are the one who should enjoy this."

Lorcan smiled. "I will – if you do."

He climbed on top of the general, careful not to put any weight on him. The face beneath him was so close to his own now, wearing an expression of mild curiosity. The hair was fanned out on the white cushions and framed the beautiful, pale visage like a glowing aura.

Lorcan needed all his willpower not to lean down and kiss those faintly rosy lips. To distract himself, he kissed the hollow of the throat instead, slowly working his way down the chest.

Maybe he was imagining it, but the skin felt a bit warmer now, and the pulse seemed to have quickened a fraction. When he looked at the general's face again, he thought he saw a faint blush gracing the cheeks – although it might have been just a trick of the light. But skin as fair as the general's easily betrayed any reaction.

Acting on impulse, he reached for the eye patch.

To be continued...