The Prince’s Boy: Chapter 83

Welcome to The Prince’s Boy by Cecilia Tan, a tale of a prince and his whipping boy ensnared in a plot of dark erotic magic. Warning: explores themes of dubious consent and situations of sexual jeopardy. NSFW.

A new chapter appears every Wednesday. This week is Chapter Eighty-Three: Kenet

83: Kenet


I was sitting up in a tangle of blankets on a sleeping pallet when Marksin came into the tent carrying a silver tray. He set it down next to me on a trunk and I saw it held a silver wine cup.

“I know it is better fresh from the source,” he said,”but…”

“Thank you, Marksin,” I said, and drank it before I could think about it much more. It was cold and thick, and had the scent of heartbreak. But I was now done with tears.

Marksin bowed and took the cup back.

“Please, don’t,” I said.

“Don’t what?” He stood holding the tray, unsure.

“Don’t bow to me and treat me like, like…”

“Like royalty? But my prince…”

“Like I’m made of spun glass. You know me better than most, Marks. Please, treat me as you used to.”

He set the tray down and sat on the pallet. “But you’re not who you used to be,” he said, though his hand rubbed familiarly at my leg through the blanket. “If you were, I would have fed you your breakfast myself.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of that now.”

“Even if it would work magically, my prince, the general has given orders we’re not to touch you.”

I looked up, stung. “Has he?”

“He is nothing if not respectful of who belongs to whom,” Marksin said gently. “He is far too honorable to do else. You belong to someone else now.”

I folded my knees and rested my arms and head on them. “I know.”

He continued the soothing circle of his hand on my ankle. Apparently the rule against touching me didn’t preclude touching through the blanket. Or my ankle. “I don’t understand why you no longer want to be his. I thought this was the guard you had set your heart on?”

“He is. Or, he was. I… I cannot explain.” I clutched my stomach then, as a new pang of hunger seized me. I remembered how voraciously Jorin had eaten after waking up in Pellon and wondered if I would need more than my usual share of sustenance, too.

Marksin looked as if he wanted to say something then, but he held his tongue. “I will come visit you later.”

“Am I a prisoner in the tent?”

He laughed as he stood. “Hardly, my prince. But if you wish to avoid him, this is the one place he is forbidden to go.”

“Even though I am his?” I asked bitterly.

“You are. But the tent is mine and he will not trespass here without my leave. Roichal and I will bring you your dinner.”

“Very well.”

I went back to sleep for a while, and was surprised when Marksin returned much sooner than dinnertime. He muttered something about there being very little to do, with most of the cavalry in hiding and scattered across the foothills awaiting word.

“I don’t mean to presume, my prince, but if your hands are idle, there is leatherwork to be done…?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I would welcome the distraction.” And besides, working side by side to condition and treat his and Roichal’s boots and tack, I could pretend for a little while that I was still the third note in their chord, brought together by a harmony of fate and my own choices. We fell easily enough into the familiar task with no need to speak.

After some time, though, Marksin did speak, and at first I thought him merely making idle conversation. “Did you know,” he began casually, as we worked, “that your guard’s magic gave the general back what the mage had stolen from him?”

I jerked in surprise. “Jorin didn’t do that. Seroi did so that he…”

Marksin shook his head. “It was Jorin’s doing that he kept it. The mage was driven off, unable to take it back.”

The girth strap in my hands slipped to my feet. “I… I didn’t realize that.”

“I believe you were a bit occupied at the time,” he said mildly, “which is why I mention it.”

I grabbed his arm. “But Marks! How can you be so… so calm about it! You’ve been waiting… how long has it been you’ve been waiting for Roichal to be whole?”

He put on a sly smile. “It depends how you count it. Ten years? Or just since we discovered his injury? Or never, since I never expected him to heal?”

“But but, have you not… haven’t you… touched it yet?” I found myself asking, even though I could somehow tell that he had not.

He shook his head. “Things have been busy here. And you have been asleep. I’ve waited this long, I can be patient. Besides, how long did you wait for your lover… only to have it turn out as it has? Perhaps I should wait…”

“No no, this is different,” I assured him.

“Is it? Tell me how it’s different,” Marksin said, setting down his work and turning his full attention on me.

“Well, among other things, you know Roichal would never hurt you.”

Marksin chuckled. “Wouldn’t he? Do you remember how he made you fuck me?”

Oh. My cheeks felt hot. “But that was… that wasn’t like I… I tore you. Did I?”

His gaze was sharp. “Did Jorin?”

I froze. “I… maybe. It… it felt like he did, even if he didn’t.”

Marksin pondered that a moment. When he spoke, it was haltingly. “Don’t you think, though, after all the years I’ve waited… that if Roichal told me he was going to tear me open… but that if he did, we’d win the war…? That I’d choose to let him? No matter how painful it was?”

I bowed my head. “I’m not as self-sacrificing as you, Marksin.”

“Are you sure, my prince?”

“If I’d been given the choice, well, perhaps I would have chosen to suffer for the sake of my country, my people. But I wasn’t given a choice.” My voice broke. “He just… t-took me.”

“Tell me.” Marksin urged, neither commanding nor coaxing.

I shook my head at first, but then began to recount the tale. The noble house high on the hill in Port Aris. The challenge. And me jumping into the fight, trying to keep Seroi—in Roichal’s body—from defeating Jorin.

“I was trying to save him. I never thought it would turn into what it did. I wasn’t ready for anything like that,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t… ready.” After all the endless hours I had spent so hard it was painful, how ironic was it that that time, I was flaccid as a rotted peach. “I was terrified. Too terrified to be aroused. And he… he didn’t even…” How could I say this? “Even most of the men in my travels who came close to taking me against my will made sure I was… at least giving the appearance of wanting it.”

I thought I was done with tears, but I began to cry silently as I sat there beside him.

He stroked my hair, then, either forgetting Roichal’s prohibition or perhaps this was allowed. “And it hurt,” he said. “But you must remember, it was your enemy who made you into a slave, not Jorin. It was your enemy who fashioned you for a life of pain. Was it… was it as bad as if you’d given yourself to the mage?”

I had to admit that it was not. “No. The mage taunted me, you know, in my dreams, terrifying me with visions of the monstrous thing he has made his cock into—fashioned from the cocks of all the men he has taken them from like Roichal. He… he said he would tear me open with it no matter how I fought. And… and then…” I broke into sobs of terror, remembering the vision that I now knew was no mere dream.

Marksin held me then, and stroked my hair. “You don’t have to tell me.”

But somehow that meant that I did. “He would tear me open to complete the bond, and then I would need him. I would need his milk, and I would crave it, and he said I would… I would force myself willingly onto his cock to satisfy my need, even though it would tear me open again…”

Marksin squeezed me tightly. “And none of those things will happen now. None of them, my prince.”

I was silent, trying to catch my breath and accept what he said.

“All because your guard did his best to sever your ties to that madman,” he went on, his voice soft. “Your guard succeeded in his purpose to protect you.”

I cried a little longer against the rough wool of Marksin’s jacket, trying to muster an argument. “He still hurt me terribly,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said. “And that he regrets terribly.”

“How do you know?”

Marksin was silent.

I raised my head. “How do you know?” I demanded again. “Do not keep secrets from your prince, Marksin.”

He rubbed a thumb across my cheek, wiping away tears while he composed his answer.

Before he could, though, I heard the voice of Roichal barking an order outside. Marksin pulled his hand back quickly and we both composed ourselves instinctively before he entered.

He stooped just enough to clear the flap of the tall tent, and then took in the sight of us, our leatherwork scattered about, me still under the blanket on the pallet, while Marksin had gotten to his feet.

“How are you, my prince?” the general asked, coming close.

“A little hungry,” I admitted. “Otherwise, merely tired. I need not be treated like a convalescent.”

He bowed. “We mean to treat you like a guest. In fact, we think you would probably benefit from some afternoon entertainment.”


He chuckled at that and sat on the edge of the pallet. I pulled my legs up and crossed them to give him room. “Actually, it is that we believe you deserve to be a part of this.”

I nearly said, “Of what?” but before I could get the words out, Roichal was gesturing to Marksin.

And Marksin, though his eyes showed surprise, was undoing his military jacket and hanging it from a peg on the center pole of the tent.

I watched with rising anticipation as he carefully undressed, removing each piece of clothing and folding it neatly or setting it aside.

Then he knelt in place, all surprise schooled from his face, while Roichal said, “Underneath the uniform, he is just a man. As am I.”

He stood then and cleared his throat, and Marksin moved to do the same for Roichal’s clothing he had done for his own. When the last thing had been set aside, Marksin knelt facing Roichal, his back to me, looking up at Roichal’s stout, red cock. It was already protruding from its skin, a dewy drop gathered at the pronounced slit.

Marksin leaned forward and took the dewdrop on his tongue and then Roichal bent to kiss him. I was reminded of Sergetten’s loyalty spell.

When Roichal lifted his head, he asked, “Did you get what I asked from the Night Riders?”

“Yes, Sir,” Marks answered. “There is a jar of cock grease in the chest.”

“Get it then. Your mouth is sweet but I am powerfully impatient to try your other charms.”

“Yes, Sir!”

I watched as Marksin hopped up with alacrity and presented the jar, opened, with military precision.

“Anoint me,” Roichal said.

Marksin dropped to his knees and dug his fingers into the stuff, then rubbed his palms together, coating his hands. Then he moved to coat Roichal’s cock with upward strokes, each hand following the other, up and up until Roichal groaned.

“Page,” he said, and I sat up straighter suddenly, “do you think you could prepare the field marshal for me without touching his cock?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Marks, give him the jar and get on the bed.”

Marksin handed me the jar and then climbed onto the pallet on all fours, facing away from me.

I rubbed my hand along his buttock for a moment before teasing with some of the stuff at his hole. I did not tease long, though, as Roichal was waiting. One finger sank easily into him, as if his body were eager for penetration. Two was harder, but when well-greased still went quite deep. I fucked him with just those two for a while, then began working a third finger in. “After all,” I said, “you’re quite wide, Sir… I want to make sure he is quite ready for you. If it’s to be your first time…”

“Yes, well done,” Roichal said without further comment on Marksin’s state of readiness. “How is his other side? No no, don’t touch it. I shall do that. Rear up, Marks.”

Marksin kept his knees spread so I could continue working my fingers in and out of him, but straightened his back.

Roichal stepped forward and stroked him, drawing a groan and a shudder from Marksin. “Hm, perhaps I ought not touch it either, lest he spill sooner than I would like.”

“You have both waited such a long time for this, Sir.”

“And that wait is now over. Leave him be, Page. Marksin, bend over the edge of the pallet, please.”

Marksin moved quickly to kneel at the side of the pallet and bent over, his palms against the rumpled blankets.

Roichal pushed Marksin’s knees apart a little more with his own, then bent to kiss his back. “If you spill before I am ready, you will disappoint me,” he said.

Marksin merely bit his lip.

“We do not have the magical tricks of some others,” Roichal went on. I could see him rubbing the head of his cock back and forth. Teasing. “You have only your strong will, Marksin, and your loyalty to me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And that is its own kind of magic. Let us see if it is enough. Page, would you like to kiss him while I breach him?”

I swallowed hard. “I would, Sir, but I do not want to… to distract him from… from something he has anticipated so very long.”

“You are wise,” Roichal whispered, his hips rocking slowly as he continued to tease Marksin. “Thank you for allowing us to cherish this moment. Neither of us is unaware of the sacrifices you have made that have made it possible.”

Marksin seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Instead he moved one hand to take hold of mine. And so it was that I felt the tightening of his fingers at the moment Roichal breached him at last. His eyes closed and his entire body went taut as a bowstring, then vibrated as Roichal moved within him. He seemed unaware of the long, low cry coming from his open mouth.

Roichal spared one more thought for me, reaching to wipe my wet cheeks one last time, before he turned his full attention to the man speared on his flesh. One arm around Marksin’s chest, he pulled him upright so that I could see the cock there. His other hand stroked Marksin’s dark-furred milksacks, then grasped the rampant prick.

“There is no need to hold back any longer,” Roichal said. “I want to feel the spasms of your body as you come. Want to feel them deep inside you.”

Marksin’s answer was a higher-pitched cry, and a fountain of milk against his belly, spurting up in time with Roichal’s thrusts into him. Then Roichal pushed him down against the pallet and fucked him urgently, with such urgency I feared for a moment he might have some difficulty spilling. But no, it was merely passion, not trouble, that urged him to such rough use of his lover.

They lay still except for their breathing for a few long moments afterward. Then Roichal pressed a kiss against Marksin’s shoulder, and eased himself free. “I do not think I could have withstood to wait another hour,” he said.

Marksin chuckled. “Then I am glad you did not, Sir.”

I clutched the blanket to my chest. “I am honored you waited until I awakened!”

Roichal bent and kissed my cheek. “It would not have been the same without you to witness it,” he said. “You will always be a part of us, my page, my prince.”

He dipped a cloth into the bucket and wiped his face, then his cock, before drawing his uniform on again. Then he wiped down Marksin’s back and buttocks before encouraging him to sit up for a long kiss.

When their mouths parted, Roichal said, “I shall see about getting Kenet some dinner. Rest with him a while.”

Marksin nodded before saying “Yes, Sir” and then curling tiredly beside me. As Roichal went out into the evening chill, I rearranged the blanket to cover the field general.

“How… how was it?” I found myself asking.

He chuckled. “Have you any doubts? No, do not answer that—you must or you would not have asked. I shall be somewhat sore, my prince, but never happier about it.”

“Very well.” I could not help but wish that Jorin had treated me so, but I could not envy Marksin, not truly. That he and Roichal had made their love whole, now that Roichal was whole… even in my distressed state I could not help but feel the warmth and joy. “Thank you, again, for including me.”

We were silent for a bit, huddled side by side under the blanket and perhaps Marksin dozed. I could not maintain the fantasy, though, that we were back at the old mustering grounds, both awaiting Roichal’s return. Instead, I thought over all Marksin had said before. It was true; Jorin had saved me from a gruesome fate through his actions. He had acted in every way nobly, to restore Roichal, weaken Seroi, and protect me, except in one regard.

Our interrupted conversation of earlier suddenly sprang to my mind. “Marksin?” I asked softly.

“Yes, my prince?”

“You were about to tell me why you believe that my guard regrets his actions.”

Marksin raised himself on one elbow, suddenly alert.

I met his gaze. “What did he say?”

He hesitated. “It is not his words, but his actions, by which a man is judged,” Marksin said.

“And words cannot possibly hurt as much as his actions did. So tell me.”

Marksin reached out and combed his fingers through my hair gently. “Perhaps this isn’t my tale to tell, but you are right, my prince. I cannot disobey you, reluctant though I am to share this…”

It felt like I was waiting for a blow to fall, and his words hurt like one.

“…Your guard tried to take his own life last night, my prince.”

Like a blow to the heart.

Reluctant though he might have been to say it, Marksin’s eyes were pitiless as he looked at me. “Never forget that men are willing to die for you, Prince Kenet. For all your guard’s faults or mistakes, remember that he would have gladly made himself the first.”

* * *

Can’t get enough of Kenet and Jorin? Visit The Prince’s Boy fan art gallery on Cecilia’s website!

About the author: Cecilia Tan is the award-winning author of many erotic books and stories and the founder of Circlet Press.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *