Prince Allguard sat with a dozen of his siblings. Most of them girls waiting to be old enough to go to their betrothed. So many dukes, counts, and various nobles being married into the family to reinforce the binds of civilization.
He pushed the mashed peas on his plate with his spoon while he pondered what it would have been like to be a girl. To be so sought after that someone was already lined up for you. No one wanted to wed the eighth prince in line. Born of the fourth wife of the king so he was even further from the throne than anyone else.
It wouldn’t have mattered if he could have what his heart truly desired. Someone to protect and shield him from the sight of the church while he embraced his deviated heart. To be wrapped in the strong arms of another man, to feel their lips, the scruff of their beard on his skin. No matter how grating it could be on the skin to know that he was wanted so much he would be smothered in love.
He looked over his shoulder at his own guard. Each one of the royal family had their own swordsman with them as their personal protector. Allguard could see the bruised throat of Sir Royalsworn. How brave he was in the face of death made Allguard’s core quiver in need. To kiss those hurts and make the man who saved his life feel better.
Even just to hold him, to sit upon his lap and bury a nose in the crook of his neck and inhale his scent for hours on end. It would be bliss upon this earth. Sighing wistfully the prince settled for the thoughts of playing with himself tonight. He had found that rod in the hallway that would suitably fill him in the ways he enjoyed most. That would have to wait though. There were princely duties that even he had to attend to today.
Lessons in the blade, the pen, and etiquette when in another man’s court. All things he had done before but he was woefully poor at all of them. His mother often lamented that his written words work like a chicken dancing upon the page. Shameful and never suited to send to another. They wanted him to start writing letters of introduction and send them to all the eligible ladies in the lower courts. It would be up to him to woo his own bride into finding his hand amenable.
A strong rough hand landed on Allguard’s shoulder and he startled. Snapping his head around to look into the deep blue eyes of Terrance. The man looked worried. “You should eat your majesty. You’ll need your energy for your lessons today.”
“You’re right, of course Sir Terrance. Just lost in my thoughts for the day is all.” Allguard touched the hand on his shoulders, taking some solace in its warmth as he got lost in those deep blue eyes like sinking into the ocean.
The knights lips quirked in a smile. “It doesn’t help that it is your least favorite meal.”
He knows my favorite meal?! Allguard’s cheeks flushed hot as his heart quickened for a few beats. That this man cared for him enough to know such details. It made him melt deep inside. The request to be picked up and carried away by the man was on his lips before he choked it away and turned back to his meal. “It does not.”
Taking spoonfuls of the mashed peas and ham, Allguard ignored the foul texture of the overcooked combination. They were not in the higher tables where the master of the kitchen cooked. Instead he was at the table reserved for those training to rise through the ranks. But often just the barest effort was put into flavoring and balancing the meal as the chefs just harvested their paychecks like a farmer does wheat.
The hand squeezed his shoulder before Terrance stepped away. The guardian watched his charge. The way the prince’s cheeks flushed burning into the warrior’s soul. That heat that had stirred in the loins. Terrance sighed to himself and swore he would find some way to vent the need he had to take someone. Maybe visiting a whorehouse and request their daintiest waifish woman. Someone he could pretend was the boy’s equal. No matter how long the prince had turned eighteen he was still a boy in Terrance’s eyes. The small frame, long hair, and wide hips to grab onto. Surely there would be someone close enough.
Swallowing Terrance stared forward at the room. Eternally measuring all those in the room should the worst come to happen and some royal play was made to cull the herd as it were. Needing to do something with his hands he settled it upon the hilt of his blade and stroked the pommel with his thumb, rubbing circles slowly around the orb of steel.
Taking a deep breath the prince took the final bite of his meal and pushed back from his spot to take his leave. There was no one of higher station to ask permission from so he slipped to his feet and stood. A full head shorter than the warriors in the room the prince motioned to be led into the training halls.
Stalking through the halls the two felt the chasm between them. The sheer distance that their stations demanded they keep. No matter how much either of them wanted to close the distance. Terrance was brave enough to face a dozen blades, to war against them and dance on the edge of death. But he was not brave enough to follow his heart.
“Can we practice the bow today Sir Terrance?” The prince’s voice was like a soothing balm upon a blazing soul that needed more. To have that be whispered into his ear instead of having it filled with strict business.
Terrance shook his head, “You must practice the longsword more. Your father has demanded you use the weighted blades and try to build a manlier frame.” Which is a shame. They stood upon the open-air training hall. The long room having both an archery range and several fighting rings for those dueling with training blades. “I shall fetch your blade. Please attend to putting your hair in an appropriate tail for training sir.”
Prince Allguard undid the ribbon on his wrist that he had wound tight enough to be hidden up the sleeve. It was an old trick he had learned from one of his sisters when she was lamenting her own long hair. Pulling his locks tight he let his hands dance as they tied his hair into the low tail to keep it from flowing from his back into his eyes.
Terrance brought forth the weighted training blade. The wooden shaft had a thick iron rod inside it to make it heavier than a normal sword. It was light to the warrior. He had wielded such a blade since his young years. Building a strong set of shoulders. Long had he known he wanted to be skilled enough to serve in the royal guard with all his adopted family. At the time he hadn’t known that being surrounded by your equals would be stressful in its own ways.
Allguard took the blade and the weight of it threatened to drag his arm down to his side as instead he assumed the first of the stances he had been trained to practice. It was silly that he even had to learn the blade. When he could instead have someone fight a duel for him instead of threatening his own life.
Terrance pulled out the whiplike switch. He had never struck the prince hard enough to hurt as a correction. The thought of hurting the frail boy made Terrance feel ill. “First position, high guard. Go through and flow to downward strike, step forward, and into front guard.”
The prince kept a slow agonizing pace. Swinging in a way that did not let the blade lead but instead was in perfect control through the shoulders and wrist. He was practicing a two handed longsword style instead of the traditional one handed forms that the royal guard used. Some of the other princes whispered that the styles were opposed so that if a royal family member had to fight a guard they would have a better chance of surviving, if not winning. The eight guard stances they were trained with did lend credence to it though.
“Thrust, sideways slip, deflect sideways slip again, counterattack.” The smooth instructions glided over a mind that sunk into focus. Always random, always a challenge in some imaginary battle controlled by the instructor.
Like being walked through a dance, Allguard moved. Focusing on grace and fluid control over powerful explosive movements. He could feel sweat running down his back and the air burning his lungs. Muscles quivered and shook after only a couple minutes of work. His steps became faltering as his arms weakened from the weight he was accustomed to.
A wooden rod braced his arms, the switch in Terrance’s hands correcting his movements ever so slightly. Adjusting him like a puppet. The thought of suddenly being tied up in strings and hanging before the man he yearned for burned in his mind in a shameful flash.
The sword clattered to the ground as Allguard lost his grip. The sound of wood on stone knocking his mind free from its daydreams and he stepped back worried about the reprimand. None came. Instead those deep blue eyes studied him. Something hawkish and predatory in them as the young prince quivered with fatigue. “If it were up to me you would not be studying the longsword my prince.”
Shaking his head, Allguard bent down and picked up the blade, leaving the tip on the ground to take some of the weight off his overtaxed shoulders. “Father said that it was our namesake at one point. That we were descended from Sir Richard Longsword himself. And that to wield any other blade would be a blasphemy to our name.”
“You are now the Crownbearer family though your majesty. You should learn the rapier, or even the dancing blade of the scimitar. The longsword doesn’t suit you. The fighting style the royal family uses doesn’t function with your frame.” Terrance stepped behind him. The switch laying across his shoulders, “Your shoulders are too thin. Even if you build muscle they wouldn’t be strong enough to overpower a blow with a standard block. You're shorter, with less reach so your counter attacks would come in slow and without putting yourself at risk you would fail.”
“Are you just here to degrade me Sir Terrance. We do not have a choice in this matter. I must learn the longsword. That and the bow for hunting. For father doesn’t want us to rely on the new arquebus. The ones the mage colleges created that shoots a bolt of stone at such incredible speeds it can’t be cut out of the air.”
Terrance had to swallow the retort for it was treason to voice it. Instead he pulled the weighted blade from the young prince’s hands and retrieved a lighter version of it. The boy’s face was grateful as he took the practice blade and held it aloft. “Are you ready to continue my prince?”
“I am.”
Guiding the prince to the practice dummy of stray and wood he pointed at it, “Let’s start with an attack flurry. Do the eightfold strike combination. Avoid my counter attack with the switch and repeat. Make sure to vary the directions and keep your opponent guessing.”
…
Hours later prince Allguard sat in his bath sulking. He hadn’t been able to sneak the rod into the bath with him. He would have taken this private time to sully the depths of his body with it. Feeling that fullness while stroking his pitiful cock until he spilled his seed upon the floor. Instead he would just let the heat take the pain from his muscles and go on his way to bed after. He would have to live out his heart’s desire in his dreams instead.