Warnings: Dubious Consent, Non-Con, and Violence from here on out.
In the Empire of Carolingian, they preferred beauty over austerity and iconoclasm over invariability. For some, this meant losing their enduring nature to wishy-washyness. For others, this was a necessity for progress.
In reality, it was merely the gains versus losses.
And they always loved a good game.
Roses and yellow narcissuses covered the game field as the jousting continued. Horses stampeded as arms flew up with the crash of jousting sticks. The battles were well-fought. And the Emperor stood up with wine spilling over his wrists just as red as blood and as red as his hair with his cool blue eyes overlooking the sportsmen.
"We welcome an era where there are no losers! There are only men! And the winners!"
The stadium cheered in their granite seats as they laughed, giggled, shared treats among them, and prodded their matches. The Empress, Alana, with her golden locks streaming down her back waved on the game as it started anew.
"There is a meeting I must attend to," the Emperor said as he patted his wife's hand. "I hear the Eastern Empire wishes to ally with Sonhrai."
"Well," the Empress smiled back. "That is surely a failed endeavor."
"It is indeed, my Empress, it is indeed." He boasted as he stood up with his thick cape woven out of fox and lion fur, lined with gold and parakeet feathers, there was nothing grander than it sweeping behind him. With his goblet nearly empty, he gestured to his guards and they trailed behind him as he swept through into their palace connected through a granite tunnel to the stadium.
Winding staircases led him to the palace with gold and granite white stained floorings to the walls, and the columns.
Candlelights swung above distorting his shadow as he sped down the halls, through the Great Hall, and into his private quarters. Soft, careful hands unclasped his cloak and folded it along his private quarter's table.
Here stood a woman wrapped in equally fine fur but the colors were not bright and instead, much like the cloak itself, draped in shroud. Curly dark locks spilled over her shoulders much like her breasts pressed against her corset in full display.
"What's the matter?" He said as his hands took one of her well-groomed fingers and kissed them one by one. "I haven't seen wind of Erich. Things have already moved to such a position. The pieces must be set."
"Our son," she sighed as her green eyes met his. Her lips pouted. "He does not wish to take the throne."
"He states such as if he has a choice," the Emperor pulled away and spat out. "The Empire cannot fall to that bumbling spoiled son of mine. He's like his mother and knows nothing of what building an empire requires. It will all lay to ruin at his feet."
"The Corderos have been made aware that the army is shifting," the woman said. "Erich has always been good in bringing soldiers and civilians together. He doesn't mean to but already has the makings of someone worthy of being born your son. With the devotees soon singing songs of a prophecy, there will be nothing in your way."
The Emperor puffed out his chest. "My dearest Laurel, sweeter than any flower ever could bloom, how well is Charles in the Eastern empire?"
"His letters sound well and with our people at his side," Laurel Castro said delicately and her eyes flashed. "He will certainly succeed in being by the Crown Prince's side."
"When all is said and done," the Emperor smiled. "The empire will finally be in safe hands again."
At this moment, unaware of the quiet opening of his door, the Emperor's bumbling spoiledson, slipped back out of the room and closed the door with no one the wiser.
He had the face and demeanor of his father with the likeness of his mother in appearance. And he had to admit, there was some truth in his father's words. His interests concerned more with horses and weaponry than it had anything to do with strategy, war, and imperial expansion.
"Bentley?"
His steward, James Bentley, had been waiting down the hall. Usually, the prince was found with his mother in greeting the civilians after a game but recently sentiment had been shifting among the masses. They called his mother shallow and greedy, while calling him selfish and narcissistic. He wasn't worried before. He thought it was the goods and bads of living as a prince but now, today, after what he just heard, he was worried for his life.
"Yes, sire."
The prince whispered something in the steward's ears.
"Sire, I'm not sure that's appropriate."
"James," the prince repeated. "I will bring guards and protections but my mother won't. Could you--?"
"I will do what I can, sire."
And Prince Jonathon II Jacobs wayward journey by boat began. The armor was a last minute edition that had been given to him by his grandfather, Jonathon I. It stood in his room like a trophy he never earned. A set of armor that he never planned on wearing and never wanted to wear until today. To prove to his father that he was not without bravery, even if that bravery was not the same sort as his.
If his father is not the man he thought him to be, who else is he to aspire to but his grandfather instead. All father kings and father Emperors were cruel but to plot the demise of your own child? Raised by your own hands?
It no longer mattered what he thought.
He would need to survive first and hope that this bastard brother of his never showed his face.
When he reached the docks under hood of night, the guards packing the stow, he found a corner padded with blankets to prepare to sleep in such a way he knew was odd. Raised in plush fabrics and comfort, somehow, this scratchy roughness was oddly freeing just as it was confining, like stretching string until it starts to make music in its vibrations. He closed his eyes with the shimmer of his armor out the corner like a lullaby.
His eyes blinked to wakefulness in the comfort of a well-furnished bed with the cool breeze of the dungeons. The recent days sat more like nightmares than memories. Newly sewn clothing fit for nobility, even if not for a prince, sat folded at his side with a bag of gold. Not enough to do anything but survey the city. Some of his manuscripts had gotten damaged in the tussle but the important ones, especially the ones he knew could never been seen by anyone else, were well hidden.
He dressed himself in what appeared to be like western and southern empire fashion blended together. It wasn't distasteful but he did long for the ribbons and silk of his home robes. Their robes folded, twisted, then overlapped in angles and purpose that he had not seen anywhere else. He had to ask one of the guards had to get tips for how it was done.
As it wrapped around him and he tied it with the gold tassels lining his figure. His hands reached the door upwards and pushed it open as the sun stunned his eyes. A captain that he couldn't remember the name of stood waiting. His red hair reminded him of his father but his sharp nose and aquiline features were nothing like his fathers flat but piercing look. In fact, he looked slightly familiar.
"Your highness, we should set up some ground rules before we begin," the Captain crossed his arms. "My name is Captain Luciano Boucher. I--"
"From the family of Bouchers?" The incredulous look upon the prince's face must've offended him, when his brows tightened and his biceps bulged, and so the prince coughed awkwardly before he continued, "I have met Lord Colin over a game of noughts and crosses. He's a dour but wise man. This is all I mean."
"My father and I are nothing alike," Captain Boucher scowled. "So do not, firstly, expect niceties, I have no patience for them. You will follow my directions in regards to your safety, secondly. And last of all, you will never spend more than a sun's wane outside. As the sun sets, so will this door. There is no compromise. I do not expect your agreement. I will have it or you will be locked in this dungeon no different than a criminal. Are we understood?"
The prince had heard of the Bouchers' angry and rebellious son. There was once a rumor that he murdered a man who accidentally grabbed the reins of his horse. More brutal fights and sins later, he, a man of noble birth, was thus sent away to pay the price for his sins.
"Ah, no need Luciano to be so harsh," Commander Berman laughed and clapped his hands on the burly captain's shoulders. "The prince is no one we have to worry about behaving. His pedigree doesn't allow for such mistakes, does it, your highness?"
"I think--" the Prince added. "Captain Boucher is correct. I will need to hold back my nature of royalty and you all should call me something different. Ser will work just as well."
"Ser Jacobs it is then!" Commander Berman said before adding, "There is an important meeting in town today so we would hope that you limit your activities to the camp. Anywhere else tomorrow should be doable with the right guards."
"Meeting?"
Commander Berman swept into his own designs as the sun raised up and the rest of the camp in follow suit marched out of their barracks and quarters to begin training. Soldiers swiped at hay-filled mannequins. Others worked on repairing their barracks and quarters with wet mud and clay. The rest marched around practicing rounds and routines of attack.
"The Ouagadou meets today," Captain Boucher growled. "This isn't a threat but the truth. One mistake, whisper, even muffled half-word mention of you in that meeting could destroy decades of balance between our empires. People will die if you take one false step. Don't."
The prince said nothing but wanted to correct the captain that for a member of the royal family--this is a matter permanence and not complacence. A prince's single actions always carried the burden of repercussions. "May I take the trails near the training?"
The Captain gestured for him to go first and as the Prince walked down the uneven sands, feeling the strain and discomfort in his ankles, he realized then what his father had said about him was true. This pain was manageable but to do this day in and day out multiple times in a day was unfathomable to him. And one day, these soldiers would even die for a land they hadn't seen in years. Surely, there had to be something else that kept them going.
Rugged sands scratched against his ankles and when they finally reached the training grounds, he had to sit down and collect his breath.
"Ai, a new noble sent here for punishment?"
"He looks prime for a beating on the marches."
A soldier pushed through waved the interested audience away with a quick glare. One that was more than a little familiar. It reminded him of the one Captain Casas gave him on his docking.
He rolled his shoulders and said, "The Captain lets his son lord over other soldiers."
Soldiers who had been lulling in the back dropped looks at Enzo, whos blank look offer no reprieve.
"A man who can earn his place can lord over all he wants," Enzo said lazily. His head cocked to the side and sweat from earlier training dripped down his temple. "Would you like to take my sparring partners place?"
Contrary to popular opinion, the prince was out of shape but not without athleticism. He was without focus and purpose, yes. He was not unskilled.
"Fine."
The soldier cheered and whooped as Enzo's grin widened as the training ground opened up. He eyed Captain Boucher to see if he would ask them to stop but the man pointedly stared in the opposite direction. With a shrug, he followed Enzo to the main area.
Rolling his robes back and tightening the strips around his leg, he crouched forward into position and Enzo mirrored him with a wide grin still plastered on his face. Without blinking, Enzo lunged forward grappling for his shoulders and slid his foot on the sand sweeping up dust before kicking underneath his ankle. His ankles, still weak from the walk, shook unsteadily. The split second was barely enough time for the prince to yank Enzo, still grappling to his shoulder, off balance.
Two foot drags and a few shoulder yanks later, the field was full of dust. Only Enzo and the prince could see the other as they yanked and slid forward nearly knocking the other off balance before the motion was returned. Every tit for tat. Until the prince's adrenaline started to waver and Enzo, like an eagle, struck, his fingers yanked on his sleeves kicking behind his knee and swept back to throw the prince clean out the circle.
He rolled against the sand and coughed as the sand began covering his face. Hands began dusting at his face and when it cleared, Enzo stood over with a smile.
When the dust settled, the prince could see that no one had stayed long enough to see the end. Captain Boucher had sat down with his head on his fists seemingly fallen asleep. Enzo motioned for him to be quiet as they snuck out the field and into a more closed in area.
"I heard some rumors about you."
"Me?" the prince said sheepishly. "I do nothing but read and sleep."
"Isn't that odd for a stowaway? You won't beg for your freedom. Instead, you'll pay with your service."
The prince blinked as he realized what the other soldiers had been told. They didn't know his identity yet. "I'm not sure I'm paying with my service as a soldier. I would be better off as a scribe or someone who organizes records. The only things I like to break is wood and iron but bones? I would rather not."
"A noble too soft-hearted for violence." Enzo said but his eyes flickered as if the words had another meaning. "Nobles too soft-hearted for violence tend to think honesty and words cure all illness--mind and the soul, as well."
"They are rather simple-minded in that way."
"But a royal would be different," Enzo said decisively with his head cocked to the side as if searching for something. "A royal must be a liar, play around with words in circular logic, and be as hardened in the heart that no illness that find its way in."
The prince frowned. "The royal family should be kind and considerate. Why would you want liars, thieves, and villains as the governors of your future?"
"Because no one would dare threaten such a soul."
"You think like daggers because this desert has corroded your kindness."
"Or maybe there is no kindness in the desert."
"Maybe because we were never meant for these deserts."
Enzo laughed. "Oh ho ho, now who's stepping on unsteady territory. Next you'll say we should remove our military."
The prince was quiet and Enzo laughed again.
"It's no longer strategic or beneficial, but I know the people's confidence and esteem relies on this success because of the lying, thieving, and villains of the past."
"You are wise," Enzo replied but the prince felt as though he were mocking him.
The prince sighed but said nothing else.
The dried bushes and desert trees sprouted up as their walk delved deeper and deeper into the camp where he could smell the fragrance of flowers and sweets.
His companion said, while rubbing his head, "We wandered too far out into the relief servant area."
"Relief servants?" The prince had never heard such a thing. "If they have muscle salves here, we should've already gone--"
The area was a wide space with a large cloaked covering well-sewn as it fell over top wide stilts. Large sections were cut out of the canopy leaving it waving in the breeze even as it covered the greater portion of space beneath. And inside of this canopy were the sounds of groans and moaning of various undress but what caught his attention wasn't the undressed but the form of what looked like a soldier being grabbed by the neck as his trousers were yanked down.
Short-haired, lightly scruffy, sun-tanned skin, and callused hands were not the makings of an omega. His mind wandered dancing over the idea of why.
"That's Marcel," Enzo tsked as his timbre voice rolled over the Prince's ears. "Sometimes, even though it's rare, they designate later in life."
Another soldier dragged the trousers down to his ankles as the front soldier squeezed Marcel's mouth open and groaned as his cock filled his mouth, grappling his hair as he thrust in and out of the warm cavern. His hips gyrating as spit covered the thick member.
"How--?" The prince was a gentleman but he had to swallow and wet his throat. "A former soldier then."
"What makes it worse is that his family, the Soriano-Orozcos, are a servant class," Enzo sighed and the Prince shivered as the soldier pulled away. "He might've had a chance as an alpha but now?"
The back soldier barely loosened his own trousers before he grabbed the young soldier's hips and dribbled his seed over his ass before reaching his hole. Pushing in until the force of the front soldier's thrust pushed the young soldier fully on his cock. It was a game of see-saw between the soldiers as Marcel grappled to hold to the front soldier's hip, but, alas, the soldiers were lost in their own pleasure as Marcel's body was used.
"We should leave," the prince's voice cracked. "This is cruel."
"Is it?"
And the prince winced at his own sudden movement, when he could feel his own cock filling his trousers. He cleared his throat and said, "Yes, it's not fair or righteous."
They could both hear the slick sounds of spit, cum, and groans behind them.
"Because they're unwilling."
"Yes," the Prince tried to drown out the sounds of quickened thrusts and continued on, "They're unwilling even when willing."
"So if I--" Enzo leaned close and grabbed the prince's cock, already slick with cum beneath the silken robes. "Ask if you're willing."
The prince grasped Enzo's robe as the young man rubbed his cock sliding the folds of his foreskin and his balls jumped at the speed as his fists quickened. Finger to cock as if his hands were right on his skin. He could hear the groans from behind him and his own as Enzo breathed on his neck, feeling his body heat as if filling up. His cock kept thickening as if he had never been this hard in his life. The other soldier playfully flicked his cock with his thumb before tightening his fist around his it like a weapon. And started it all over again. His hips stuttered and wetness coated his cock as Enzo's fingers drew against his softening member hardening it again.
Enzo hummed in his ear, "You should return the favor."
Nodding against the nape of his neck, he couldn't see his jittery hands being led into his trousers with bare skin on skin. His open palm met his dribbling cock and he slid against it using his cum to glide around the tip. Enzo's breathing sped up and a groan escaped his lips. But the prince couldn't focus hard enough to keep track and Enzo's hand guided his as their bodies leaned on one another thrusting and groaning until they couldn't tell who was making what sound.
His free hand reached up to Enzo's neck petting it as he carefully pressed his thumb against his pulse and his hand cradled his head as he pressed on Enzo with his lips kissing his jugular.
Their release struck them like lightning. His hands no longer in his trousers but holding his hips tight and riding the shaking pleasure.
Enzo detached from him, straightening his uniform with a huff and the prince felt the absence viscerally. He felt like he was grappling at a cloud.
"Will you be able to make it back to your quarters?"
Prince Jonathon II brushed his hair back and nodded careful of the fact that there was no eye contact.
"Good."